A/N: happy holidays, have a little Christmas special. I hope y'all enjoy because I haven't written a comedy in a while and don't really write for Pokemon in general (up until recently).
Snow bleached the ground so white that the presence of footprints were barely shadows. The trail of faint boot-marks in the snows headed towards a house that was vocally occupied, as most homes during this time of year are. What was assumed to be a rental for some rowdy college kids' winter vacation was instead bequeathed to another diverse bunch of individuals. Whoever they were, they took advantage of what they chipped in and payed for.
A young man shows up on top of a nearby hill, snow covering his shoulders like a cap. He roofs his brow with a mittened hand as he watches the lights that appeared to him in the form of colorful bubbles from the distance. His bottocks drops at the edge of the hilltop and he is sent sliding to the bottom. The ride was over soon after he cried out in enjoyment. After that, all he could think about was removing the snow that entered his pants. The normally tanned skin inside them felt pale and thin in his mind.
Someone is coming around the base of the hill from the right, the boy quickly stands and flings the ice off his back. It was a girl who met up with him as he feared but luckily that girl was just a friend who he never considered any more than a friend. She was pretty none the less, especially that night when the cold added blush to her light skin. If she was a bit older he might feel differently.
The rosy cheeked girl called out, "Brock!"
He picked his arm to the sky with a grin and she waved back in return. Brock was a little concerned that she was not wearing any gloves like him; the boy took her by the tiny frozen hand and dragged her to their destination the rest of the way. Misty, the girl, made a joke in her head. She thought about how for somebody who loved being shirtless even the cool temperature of a cave-like gym, Brock suddenly became fatherly when it came to bare hands wintertime. The pair dashed to the loud house all decked out in lights but came to a complete stop just outside the heavily powdered lawn. Brock asked Misty if she saw what she saw - which she did. Her head bounced up and down but her face was stagnantly banal from shock.
Lt. Surge was equipped with a brazen axe, Erika weeped in the enormous shadow he cast over her. The axe blundered its target until it crashed down the opposite direction of the one who held it. A normal sight to him but traumatic to the shrinking flower of a woman who accompanied him. Unfazed, the military man laughed at how this paled in comparison to the carnage he witnessed.
Brock guarded his head with crossed arms and tackled Lt. Surge, who let out a confused grunt. The larger man did not even wobble from the impact while his attacker collapse as if he hit a bricklayer wall. Snow splashed in the air when Brock's body slammed to the ground; Misty slid on her knees over to where he fell and checked whatever part of him was left vulnerable like the head or neck. He was barely conscious, with his slurring speech and forgetfulness of the situation at hand. Misty was just glad Lt. Surge's wall of muscle did not knock the boy out until Spring, she helped him steadily stand up to his boots. A porch-light blinded the eyes of the four like the convicting searchlight of a police's chopper.
"What's all that mankeying around going on?" Mouths went agape on all their guilty little faces. Except a horror-stricken Erika, tears came out of her eyes that remained stuck on the axe. Its hilt was on a slant as the sharp end was inches under inches deep in a crack. The leftovers was but a tree-stump, brittle chips of wood were shedding off from the dreary weather. Even the erect part that fell apart was long deceased. Black and blue yet usable for the next upcoming days.
"But trees are our... FRIENDS!" Erika lost her natural ability to breathe. Misty rolled her eyes, Lt. Surge scratched the back of his neck, Brock sighed in relief and annoyance at the same time. The unseeable person walking out onto the porch pointed his cane at Erika, his other hand seized the stair's railing to support him. It was an old man, his funny mustache concealed his mouth until he opened it widely to holler. "Damn hippy, it's only a stupid tree! I thought somebody got murdered!"
"Can't we just use a fake, Blaine?" Lt. Surge said, internally wanting to convince the old man. Blaine was so offended that he held his cane at arm at arms length so it was possible to whack the head of the tall Lt. Surge. In between whips, he preached about tradition. The pain made it difficult to pay attention to whatever was being said. Misty and Brock took the opportunity to sneak through the front door before both the cold and the secondhand embarrassment became too overwhelming.
Neither Misty nor Brock wanted to admit it - but Giovanni was a brilliant host. The place he reserved for his "fellow gym leaders" was even more wonderful indoors. If the window weren't crowded with snow globes and miniature Christmas villages replicating Kanto with cotton balls all over, then any passerby will catch a glimpse of the decorations past them. Being a collaborative effort, all the partygoers had conflicting ideas for a theme for their holiday get together. Giovanni, electing himself as the host, stripped his guests of the power and pulled the strings. Although it was much to their dismay, he proven that he had a talent for planning.
"Shame that talent went to waste on Team Rocket," Misty murmurs.
Frozen air escaped into the consistently toasty house when the door briefly opened. Lt. Surge had broad red stripes dented across his head, a few winces can be heard among the gathering. Erika followed behind him and Blaine behind both her and Lt. Surge. The grass gym leader had to be planted on the couch for at least an hour before recovering to her usual calm and collected self. Although Brock was still in the aftermath of being bothered that he almost broke an arm for nothing, he could not blame Erika. If he saw a rock crumbling, a tear might shed from his otherwise tight eyes.
It was only a matter of time before Blaine threatened Lt. Surge again to retrieve the tree he promised he would bring but abandoned. He marched right outside obediently and finished the job. Under the count to twenty he managed to grab the tree, brush off the snow, shove it through the door and set it up. To make up for lost time due to nonsense, Lt. Surge was also ordered to put up the majority of decorations. Lastly the star, as he was the only person in the room to reach. The only other possible candidate was Koga but he was busy with preparations of his own.
Balancing on his toes, Koga inhaled quietly through his flaring nostrils. Some utilized their height, others possessed the skills of a ninja. A hoop of coiled lights hung around his arm, he string them along the border of a ceiling with a tower of ceramic crystal balls supporting his weight. The slightest mishap could shatter them one by one but Koga pride himself as disciplined.
His daughter, the youngest guest, kept the oldest guest company. Janine sat on the floor near Blaine's rocking chair as he adjusted a knob on the primitive radio. All the stations played exclusively holiday themed music that everyone and their great grandmother know the lyrics to. One song came on that made Koga turn purple; there was not a single time where "I'm Giving Santa a Pikachu for Christmas" played somewhere in earshot without him belting out at least one line. Even his own child knew her father could not hold his tongue for long, Janine awaited the inevitable.
"—a SLEW of new e...lectric traiiiinnnss!"
Sure the distraction made Koga lose control of the perpetual grip he had using his strong core, causing the glass spears to crack under his feet, but he matched the singers' voices in pitch perfect harmony. Luckily, Koga dismounted and landed softly on the floor before further damage could be made. The string of festive bulbs, however, remained unfinished. He growled, isn't one of us physic or something? Imagine how much easier it would be to just float it up with your mind. And why can't we use our pokemon?
Giovanni suddenly shown himself and everyone went dead silence. It was mutually expected that the host would harshly punish Koga, or Lt. Surge, or any of the attendees over any mild offense. He glared throughout the crowds before speaking... Giovanni simply wished that the party continues. The host was jovial himself, wearing a bizarre red suit patterned with little pine trees, though no one knew if it was but a facade. He declared that this year's Christmas will certainly be one to remember. Just as long as they were obedient.
The gym leader grew more comfort around the strangely sociable host. The house was the loudest it ever was all day; music jamming, Erika snoring on the couch, Giovanni complaining about the lack of lasagna, Lt. Surge once again being forced to venture out to fetch food, Koga being in charge of finishing arranging any ornaments missing from the tree, someone breaking the door open who it naturally was concluded to be Lt. Surge but wasn't.
"Guess who's joining this party," the stranger boasted. A silhouette stood center of the door way with flowing bits of snow flying at his back. The mysterious body was left unaffected by the roaring weather surrounding it, the spiky hair did not have a crumb of ice in it. Not a single brown follicle was wet even though his garbs was without a hood.
Kanto's champion, or has been champion, spread out his arm in acceptance of praise. But not one of the nine prior guests said a word. The silence somehow was just as glaring as when the party was most active. The blinking of eyes could be faintly heard. Whoever had a mouthful of food stopped eating mid chew.
"Get your punk-ass out of here." Giovanni oust the former champion through the door with a ruthless kick in the chest and slammed it shut.
Not a second late, Lt. Surge returned carrying a plastic bag heavy with Tupperware. A tasty slab of lasagna filled each one; enough for a family, or a circle of friends, of eight to nine people. The table was covered in plates of appetizers in the meantime until dinner begins at 6:30 pm. Appetizers consisting of fried calamari, antipasto, eggplant parmesan, mussels bathing in red sauce (we get it: Giovanni is Italian). Most of the mussels went untouched by anyone other then Misty. Being in touch with all that is the sea does not make her like shellfish any less. Her blue and yellow jacket had to be discarded soon after it became blue, yellow and red.
Giovanni prided himself on being the best dressed of them all. Instead of the popular ugly Christmas sweater party, he requested a classy and stylish holiday fashion party. Casual wear was invited just so long as it was appropriate. Lt. Surge, for example, had a tee-shirt with Santa Claus' profile illustrated which bear resemblance to a traditional Coke ad. Seeing the printed face was made possible by his unzipped gray hoodie. Koga and his daughter were even more casual than their electric specialist friend judging by their matching loose pants that were likely their seasonal pajamas. The sole difference between their near identical snowflake pattern pattern with matching tops is the fact that Koga refused to expose his bare neck collar without a mesh shirt to confine it.
Each gym leader wore their own choice of party attire but Giovanni's was the most notable in his mind. He picked up his tie by the nose with a smug smile, it was brown like the fedora angled on a slant on his crown. "Don we now our gay apparel!"
Sabrina rolled her eyes. A tacky red suit with rows of little pine trees on it was an easy target for a joke about "gay apparel" (not that there was anything wrong with that). A joke no one was willing to risk saying out loud. Sabrina can confirm this as a mind reader. Just like she can predict what was inside the gift Lt. Surge wrapped for her and put under the tree. She knew it was not polite of her to peak but the familar essence of silverware fed her brain.
"A spoon," Sabrina droned under her breath. "Again."
Speaking of spoons, Giovanni clicks one against his wine glass. All eyes were on him as he alerts the gym leaders of the upcoming meeting in the kitchen for dinner time. He approached trainer to trainer with a pail in hand like a basket. Whoever brought along their pokemon, which was close to all of them, were to disposit their pokeballs in the pail until the party's end.
Blaine and Janine postpone their dinner attendance to watch television. Unlike the timeless entertainment of Christmas music on the radio, the airing programs were utterly disappointing. Yet another one of those redundant TV movies about a romance blossoming in the holiday season. A good third of them shared the same premise too; a girl with an affinity for ice type pokemon falls in love with a dashing young male trainer who prefers fire types. The girl is reluctant about the relationship and Christmas all together, writing off the love interest as incompatible for some silly reason. Usually he is an ice sculpture ironically, an actor, or both.
"If the boobtube airs any of these blasted movies one more time..." Blaine growls. Koga seemed to reappear from the thin air behind Janine to put his hands on her eyes. He says "you're showing her WHAT?!"
Sternly, Giovanni demands the three to go find a seat in the kitchen. Blaine was insulted that he was given the privilege of extra time to walk as if he was a feeble old man. With his cane, he made it to the kitchen just fine. He was in no rush to race against the unfairly advanced two ninjas that precede him in half of a second.
The boy who they call a has-been champion with a verdant name, stalks the feast from outside the window. He was in plain sight but was free from shame to dissuade him from pleading for lasagna. Any food off the table was fine enough for him, or the equally desired access to the lit fireplace. Either would be sublime.
"There is only gonna be one fruitcake at the table this year." Giovanni closes up the curtains so his guest were spared from seeing Green's pathetic face. When did such a promising young man become as embarrassing as some of his Team Rocket henchmen?
Over dinner, the activities taking place that night became the subject of collaborative planning. A closet in the house had a decent supply of board game but many of them were intended for Janine's age group. The original owners of the house were likely parents of small children no older than Misty. A majority of the Kanto gym leaders were long past the phase of being interested in games like Pin the Tail on the Slowpoke.
Brock was a seasoned planner - after all he did help cater the food. After a glass of s'mores flavored whiskey bourbon was handed out to each colleague, they were herded back to the living room. The TV left running by Blaine was turned off so Brock can read a story that masqueraded instructions. At surface value it was about a boy named Red going on a pokemon journey. With every mention of his name in any context, they were to take a drink.
Giovanni took a gulp of his whiskey and sighed. "I love Christmas", he acclaimed with confidence. The host was not alone in his lack of involvement in the game; Sabrina joined him, stirring a cinnamon stick in her drink using her mind.
"What is your favorite thing about it?" she asked. Giovanni responded with cliche but heartwarming sentiments. He claimed to love the taste of sugar cookies, the sounds of happiness, the smell of firewood and goodwill between men. Sabrina closed her eyes and chuckled, hidden under her lids were glowing balls red as flame. In the darkness of her head she can hear his true thoughts echo from the distance.
"The presents, duh. Ol' St. Nick is gonna snag me a Mewtwo under the tree tonight."
Sabrina smirked. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Her newly opened eyes had not the slightest hue of red mixed with their natural colors. Giovanni cheered her with a greeted clink of their glasses.
There was a boy named RED who wants to a pokemon trainer. He wore a RED hat. His rival's name is Green or Blue if you are from Japan. RED picked charmander as his starter because it was his favorite color, Red. He was given five RED pokeballs by Professor Oak, Green's grandpa or Blue's grandpa if you are from Japan. RED traveled all over Kanto, from Pallet town to Cinnabar island. Cinnabar is a fancy word for "RED".
It was like a terrible combination of Simon Says and every single drinking game in the world. Proven to be borderline problematic as players were on the verge of puking their pasta up. Giovanni urged them to hold it back while reminding them that the prize for finishing the most glasses is a mysterious extra present of his. He was deviously satisfied by watching professional trainers make fools of themselves deep down. When sudden death came round, it was all the more amusing.
Pokemon RED and Blue were classics from the Nintendo Gameboy library but due to limited technology, the games were only in black and white. It wasn't until later successors where we can play Pokemon with all kinds of colors, like RED.
Lt. Surge held his mouth on his run to the bathroom, the sounds he produced were worthy of scowls. Many others were encouraged to forfeit except for a determined Koga, who ignored the purpling of his cheeks and the spinning of the room. That sheer discipline would have won him the game if it wasn't for Misty. She drank like a fish and went through eight glasses by the end of the story. The victory was a happy one until she received her prize, that she opened right away. It was common knowledge that silly Christmas games usually bear gag prizes but the gift of underwear with jigglypuffs on them gave Misty a headache.
Giovanni ordered everyone to go straight to bed before they drink him out of house and home. And it was not even his home. He refused to allow his Christmas Day to be ruined by a groaning choir of hangovers. An older gentleman dressed in all red makes his appearance at the foot of the stairs once it was time to.
The suspect eats the cookies presented in the kitchen, hops into the living room and checks every corner. Remembering in a sudden moment, he looks atop of the fireplace with a brick roofing supporting nine stockings by nails. He reaches above where they were pinned instead of filling them with gifts. There was a decorative plant that he dug his hand into the plastic leaves and fishes out a bucket by the handle.
It was filled to the top with pokeballs which the red suspect grins over. Giovanni primarily wanted them out of the picture for the evening to allow this fellow to tag himself along. There was no lie in his carefully worded statement except that it was not Santa Claus crashing the party. He wore red but also a bit of green; he took cookies but is not planing on leaving presents.
Giovanni rattled the pail to measure the amount of pokeballs with his ears. The gym leaders can have their gift, but he has their pokemon. The exchange was fair in his mind - although a last minute plan he thought of as he collected them. He was on his way to the door when Giovanni feels dragged backwards by an invisible hand. A sensation so unearthly it made him tremble from inside out. Just before he trips and heads towards the floor along with his dropped pokeballs, he is saved by the power that held him.
That power had him bashing against the walls with vigor not to be seen by the human eye. Giovanni hears a voice manufactured by sinister waves flying to his head saying, "is this what you wanted for Christmas, little man?"
"S-Santa Claus?" Giovanni moans. He is again subjected to a force that rips him away from where he stood. His body gliding down the hallway, he almost crashes into a ethereal being wearing a red coat not like Giovanni's suit and tie getup. St. Nick was slimmer than anticipated, a lot less friendly too. Instead of serving coal to the naughty, he serves painful beatings.
His eyes shined like the blazing white headlights of a car. Santa's misshaped hand reached for the thick whiskers on his chin; the fingers were bulbs that closed together to pinch it and tear it clean off his face. This holiday model did not possess the fat rosy cheeks many interpret him to have. His structure was vulpine and narrow, all the sharpness of a skull. The clothes on his back was all he had in common with the jolly old man.
"Santa Claus... is a Mewtwo!" cried Giovanni in a mix of surprise and terror. The fissure grew more crippling until he was brought to he knees.
"You wanted me for Christmas?" the pokemon sneered. "Well now you'll have me— kicking your ass."
Mewtwo tormented Giovanni for as long as he pleased, which was long enough for Giovanni to loose feeling in every inch of his flesh. The legendary pokemon posing as a legendary human was every bit as powerful as expected. If it was not for the merciful mood he was in, there would have been a crime scene the most brilliant private eye could not comprehend. Mewtwo was careful enough not to make noise while keeping Giovanni quiet as well.
Breath totally knocked out of him, Giovanni is given the chance to recover before it went too far. He took deep inhales and laid on the floor belly side up - pale skin regain its original olive coloring within minutes. It was close to being as blue as the sky of the breaking dawn.
Wooden sandals pattered the stairs with delicate steps; Erika picked up the ends of her silky robe so they would not tangle up her feet. A balled up fist rubbed one of her closed eyes as she yawn. Her comatose appearance coupled with the drool running down the side of her mouth made her look like a Gloom. It took a refreshing yawn to liven her up to the world around her on this special day. But the first thing she sees might make her wish she never woke up.
Erika was taken aback by Giovanni's loaf about on the floor, apparently not too much. She giggles into her hand and said, "Merry Christmas Giovanni! You're up rather early this morning."
Giovanni cranes his creaky neck and glares at her in disbelief. He looked for Mewtwo but he was not around. The scattered pokeballs miraculously vanished from where they were poured, even the bucket was gone. A dark breeze hits him and him alone as Erika did not seem fazed by the cold. The window in the kitchen, where Green was last seen, was noticeably opened. Falling snow escaped into the kitchen along with the freezing wind.
The ringing of bells was faint but captivating - too far away to be the jingle of carolers' noise toys. Despite the cold, Giovanni sticks his head out the gaping window to continue the search for Mewtwo. A much more interesting sight side tracked him from his goal flying across the sky. Amongst the clouds was a silhouette of four-legged pokemon swimming in a line high in the air. They had skill matching winged creatures, Giovanni felt like he was in the middle of a fever dream.
The soaring pokemon pulled a carriage or sleigh by the ropes on their backs. A single person sat alone and cracked a whip that was held in three rounded fingers.