"They hate whom they fear."
- Ennius
My mother would always tell me that it was the best thing she could ever give to me. She worked two jobs and my father worked overtime just so they could afford it. She would say that the rewards of receiving it far outweighed the costs. And, in my small little boy voice, I would constantly bug her, questioning, "What is it?" time and time again. Every time, she would delicately put her finger on my nose and say, "You will find out soon enough, junior." Not satisfied with her answer, I would run up into my room, slamming the door behind me; I would tear apart my shelves until I had located my trusty doodle pad. I flipped through previous drawings and lunged happily onto my stomach on top of my bed. The pad was filled with what I thought this wonderful gift might be. The notion plagued me throughout the day; my curiosity would grab hold of me and wouldn't let go until I had transferred my latest idea onto a sheet of paper. My drawing book was definitely worn in, with dog ears, creases, rips, and the occasional unidentifiable stain; on the cover, in typical childish chicken scratch, it read "My Secret Surprise".
I scoffed at my earliest ideas as I flipped towards a new page in my book: a plane, a star all for my own, and a space ship. Even at the tender age of six, I had begun to realize that these were not possibilities. Although I was not the brightest bulb of the bunch, I recognized that my family was not too wealthy, with my mother and father having to work extra hours to afford this big surprise.
No, I would say to myself out loud, butchering big words I had heard the adults use, those ideas are absaladly porpoiseless!
I would quickly move on to my later drawings; the scale found in them was much smaller than the monstrous scale seen in my earlier drawings. These included a bike, or maybe a GameBoy, or my very own television. Once I had thought that they might give me my very own Pokémon, though, all these other ideas were pushed to the curb. The pages on my doodle pad transformed from outlandish ideas not even remotely alike to the previous idea, to pages and pages of which Pokémon I would like to get the most. As my opinion on which Pokémon was my favourite changed from day to day, each page featured a new sloppy drawing of my latest favourite.
One day, after a few months of guessing which Pokémon my parents would give me (latest inkling: Persian. It would probably be expensive, and that's why my parents would have been saving up for so long!), I woke up and trudged downstairs, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Grabbing a piece of bread and putting it into the toaster, I turned around to find my parents standing directly behind me. My father held a small suitcase in his hands, while my mother had my favourite green backpack in her arms. I usually didn't see my father in the mornings, so I knew something suspicious was going on.
"Mommy? Daddy? What's happ'ning?" I questioned nervously.
"This… this is your surprise, honey," my mom said with a weak smile. My face lit up instantly: I believed they had gotten me so many Pokémon that they needed a suitcase to carry around all the Pokéballs. I ran to the suitcase and practically ripped it out of my father's hand. Undoing the latch, I tore open the case and found…
… A suitcase full of my clothes. I looked up to my dad's face, and then to my mom.
"You got me a suitcase?!" I said, anger quickly rising within me.
"Not exactly…" started my father.
Boarding school.
The big surprise: boarding school. They saved up for years and then give me the worst gift possible: boarding school. Looking back, all the stuff my mother told me makes sense now: "the rewards of receiving it far outweighed the costs". Their whole purpose was to provide me with an education so they could make sure my life was better than theirs was. My mother must have thought she was so funny, leading me on like that.
Totally disappointed, almost two years of suspense falling on me like a ten-tonne weight, I realized they were telling me the truth when they loaded the suitcase into our family car and strapped me into the backseat. The boarding school was all the way in Cerulean City, so we had to travel by train from Fuchsia City. We arrived at the train station and hopped out of the car. My mother handed me my suitcase while I slung my small green backpack over my shoulders. My father gave me an awkward hug, and my mom kissed me on the cheek. Having got over my short-lived anger with them, I smiled and waved as I lugged the heavy suitcase behind me (what on earth did they put in here?).
Unbeknownst to me at the time, I would never see my parents again. At the moment, it was all so surreal; I was going to be out on my own, a big kid. I didn't think for a moment that that would be the last hug I would ever have with my dad, the last kiss I received from my mother.
"Travelling by yourself, too?" said a small boy around my age, forcing me back into reality. I scanned the boy: roughly my height, maybe a bit smaller; emerald green eyes that had intensity not usually found in a child his age; red-brown hair combed perfectly into place; and a forest green wool blazer with some sort of logo embroidered on the breast pocket, along with gray slacks.
"Yeah…" I said shyly. I pointed to the logo on his chest, "What does that mean?" Before he could answer, I added, "Are you going to boarding school too?"
"Pokémon Tech?" he replied; I nodded. "Yeah, I'm going there too. Hurm… if you are going to Tech, where is your uniform?"
"My parents packed all my stuff… I hope they got one for me."
Silence. We walked together towards the station's entrance, struggling to drag the large suitcase behind me. I swung my head quickly to look at the other boarding school boy, who walked with a confident yet painless stride. Why was he not toiling with the weight of his suitcase? I looked in front of him, at his side, behind him, but I did not see a suitcase at all.
"Why don't you got a suitcase?" I questioned between desperate gasps for air; even at my tender age, I had a flair for the dramatics, though my grammar was obviously lacking.
"But I do," he said with a smile, seemingly predicting the bewildered expression that came to my face. "Did you not notice my lovely Pokémon, Baldwin?" He gestured to a small Growlithe about 10 feet behind him, walking slowly with the handle of a leather suitcase gripped between small fangs. I shook my head slowly as I marvelled at the incredibly luxurious coat of the puppy, the way the early morning sun caught the rich red of its coat perfectly, its dark brown eyes suggesting a ferocity that contrasted its innocent exterior…
"Why, don't you have a Pokémon of your own?" he asked me with a concerned look. I shook my head weakly, as if it was embarrassing to not have a Pokémon.
"I guess they will have to give you one at school."
Silence again, but it only lasted for a moment, as soon we found ourselves in the bustling train terminal of Fuchsia City. I quickly realized that the other boy and I were not alone on our trip to boarding school; all of the other parents from around the area had dropped their children off at the station and went back to much more peaceful and quiet households. We became separated for a moment as we parted through the bustling crowds to get onto our train, but we found each other once more on a train car. I realized that out of all the kids on the train, I probably didn't know any of them, and if I didn't stick with this boy, I would be alone.
"Do you want to sit together?" I asked him.
"What cabin are you in?" he replied.
"Uh… cabin number… 22."
"I'm in the first class cabin, number 1. It looks like we won't be sitting together."
"Oh," I said sadly, not realizing what the cabin number on my ticket meant.
"I guess we'll just have to see each other at school!" he said cheerily, and my mood lightened as well. He turned to leave through the northern exit.
"Wait!" I called; he paused. "What's your name?"
"Blaine. And yours?"
"Giovanni."
We left the car laughing at each other's equally silly names. We would be good friends.
I headed towards the back end of the train, and I noticed that with each car I passed through, the occupants and their belongings got progressively cheaper and poorer. It was then that I realized that my friend Blaine must have been very rich to sit at the very first car. Eventually, I reached my cabin: number 22. It happened to be the fourth last cabin on the entire train, and my fellow peers already inside were a stark contrast to the children I saw when I stumbled on to the train with Blaine: they too did not have a uniform, nor perfectly coifed auburn hair atop, nor a Pokémon waiting loyally and affectionately at their side, eager to perform their owner's every whim. One boy, who must have been at least 14, was smoking a cigarette, filling the cabin with a poisonous stench; another, perhaps my age or a year or two older, had already fallen asleep in one of the provided beds. My final cabin-mate was another boy my age who, despite his lack of years, was already developing muscles. He had a crew cut and a white wife beater, along with olive green pants and leather boots. I identified him as an army kid when I saw the light from outside the train catch the silver dog tags that hung around his neck.
"You must be Giovanni," he said at me. The other boys sniggered. "I'm Bob, Bob Surge. But you can call me Surge."
"Pryce," said the teenager with the cigarette. "And the boy asleep on his cot is-"
"Koga," the boy on the cot said as he snapped awake, suddenly sitting up fully awake on the bed, "and I was not asleep. I am mastering my ninja training." This comment elicited a laugh from all the other cabin members. "I'M SERIOUS!" he shouted over our rising laughter. I took a deep breath to calm myself down as I dragged my luggage underneath the only remaining bed, and I flopped down on it, fatigued. Soon enough, the train began to move, and eventually, I nodded off.
"Hey kid," a voice said to me as I felt someone shaking me rather strongly, "We're here." I blinked my eyes a couple times as I slowly woke up. Pryce was staring at me strongly, a new cigarette in his mouth. "You slept the entire time." With that, he grabbed his suitcase and left the cabin. I examined the cabin with tired eyes: Koga and Surge had already left. Rubbing my eyes with my fingers, I grabbed my own suitcase and headed out the door. The station was only a stone's throw away from the boarding school, so soon I was standing outside Pokémon Tech.
It was amazing: located right in the core of downtown Cerulean City, its Victorian-style architecture made it stick out from its skyscraper-filled surroundings. It had a stunning red brick exterior and vintage windows, along with a large double-door entrance. It was also much larger than I had expected: the school and surrounding green space covered an entire city block. Hundreds of students were walking onto the campus, all carrying a suitcase or two. I crossed the street and was directed towards a table, where a man pointed me towards my dormitory.
I was on the basement floor of the dorm, and I was not excited: it was dark and damp in there. Other boys seemed to also be disappointed when they arrived at their new home. Fortunately, I was in the room with Surge, and Koga was just down the hall. At least I knew a couple people.
School was a blur for me. I barely remember any specific events, besides becoming close friends with Koga, Surge, and Blaine. I remember receiving numerous phone calls and letters from my parents, who could not afford to get me home for the holidays. My mother lost her job soon after I left and now they were barely getting by on the bare necessities. So, in the summers, I would live with my uncle in the suburbs of Cerulean City instead, and we had video-calls with my parents back home (who would need to use the Pokémon Centre's video screen as they did not have one). Those video-calls were the only time I would get to see my parents, and this had a profound effect on me. I had the notion that I needed to become wealthy in order to visit my parents once more.
The only other one specific event I can remember is the day Pryce lit himself on fire in the courtyard during the winter. It was three or four years after my arrival at the school, and it was Pryce's last year at the school. He and his group of friends were known as the school's troublemakers, always causing a ruckus. One night, they hit the liquor particularly hard, and they stole Blaine's Growlithe and started using Flamethrower on all the bushes and trees. Not wanting to stay out in the cold, they headed back inside, into the main lobby of the dorm's entrance, and started lighting the furniture in there on fire. The fire alarm began to ring, but it did not even click in their heads; all of the other kids were woken from their sleep and began rushing outside. Meanwhile, one of Pryce's friends dared Pryce to make the dog use Flamethrower on himself, and, not knowing what he was doing, he did. As I hurried up the stairs to the main floor, I heard a terrible scream. Swinging my head to the left, I saw his clothes light up with flames, and he was flailing his arms madly. I stopped for a second to look only to be carried out the door by the stampede of children moving outside. He would be ok, but he would never be the same.
I became quite close with Blaine. I knew that he was quite rich, so I though that maybe if I followed in his footsteps, then I would become rich myself. Blaine was very interested in science, and the potential to clone a Pokémon in the future. Although I thought his ideas were foolish, after we had both finished our school, I went to work with him on his father's laboratory on Cinnabar Island. This experience together was quite fateful: it would lead to much future collaboration between us, and it was also there, on Cinnabar Island, where I would hear of the tragedy in Fuchsia City.
I woke up one morning and yawned as I headed out of my room in the apartment that I shared with Blaine. I flicked on the television as I prepared some cereal. The morning news was on, and I was just about to change the channel when I heard the phrase that I will never forget in my life: "Flames Claim Dozens in Fuchsia City". I dropped the spoon in my hand and my eyes were now glued to the screen as the reporter began her story:
"Our top story this morning comes from Fuchsia City, where flames roared through the downtown yesterday night. It started from an apartment complex and quickly spread to surrounding buildings before firefighters began to suppress the flames. Police are confirming at least 26 deaths and over 50 more injuries in what is quickly becoming known as the worst fire-related disaster in the history of Kanto. At this point, police are not sure as to whether the fire was accidental or intentional but I'm sure the investigation will reveal plenty more information in the coming days…"
I sprinted out the door and took the first ship that was travelling to Fuchsia City. I then ran from the docks to my former home in the middle of the city, where the fire took place, unable to think of anything but the wellbeing of my parents. Big Blastoises and Gyarados were hosing down the buildings, putting out the last of the fires. I scrambled to the apartment but I was blocked off by police tape. An officer restrained me from going any further.
"Are my parents ok?" I shouted. "I need to see them!"
"Calm down, son," the officer said while he tightened his grip on my struggling body. "Maybe you should sit down for this…" He cleared his throat as he directed me to a park bench. "Are you sure your parents lived in this exact apartment building?" I nodded, examining the charred remains of the building. "Hurm… I'll check to see if any of the survivors match the names of…"
I gave him the names and he walked away to ask his supervisor. The moments before he arrived were the scariest moments of my entire live. After what felt like an eternity, the officer returned to me with a frown. He did not even have to say anything before I broke down into tears. He patted me on the back twice, doing nothing to console me, before leaving to return to his post.
I was alone in my sadness.
A cat with singed fur approached me, and it gave me a sad "mew". It was a little Meowth, and it seemed to want to comfort me. It hopped up into my lap, and I stroked its head as I cried. It purred affectionately, and that's precisely when I fell in love with it.
It was revealed over the next couple of days that it was arsons that had lit the building on fire. I came to despise mankind for the evil that they possessed. I also began to think that Pokémon were loving, good creatures: the Pokémon that dragged Blaine's luggage willingly, the Pokémon that hosed down the burning buildings, and, most importantly, the Persian that was there to comfort me in my time of need. I began to believe I needed to protect the Pokémon from the evil ways of mankind.
Or, at least, that's what I told myself, to validate the fact that I started to go around beating up crooks on the street and stealing their Pokémon. Soon, I began to steal innocent peoples' Pokémon, and eventually I had started my own crime syndicate. All to exact revenge on the arsons who had taken the lives of my parents.
And that's why I believe that I am not guilty of theft, that I am not guilty of seizure and restraint of property, that I am not guilty of illegal gambling and betting facilities, that I am not guilty of cruelty to animals.
No, Your Honour, I am not guilty of any of these charges. I believe that the arsons of Fuchsia City, 27 years ago today, are the guilty party.
Author's Notes: The first thing I've written in a long time. I kinda rushed the ending in the hopes of actually getting something finished, but I hope it isn't too bad.
I know, Blaine should probably be older than Giovanni, but Ken Sugimori's original art has him with receding auburn hair, so I figured they could both be around the same age. Pryce could probably be older, too. Oh well.
This story developed out of a desire to write about a Team Rocket Grunt (and was to be named simply "Grunt"), but it quickly morphed into a Giovanni fan-fiction. Previous titles included "He is Gracious" (He referring to God, the meaning of the name Giovanni or John. Too vague), "The Arsons of Fuchsia City" (sounds like a band name gone wrong), "27 Years Ago Today" (sounds like a romantic comedy), and the English title, "The Gospel According to John", which just didn't sound as artsy as the Italian title. The more and more I wrote, the less and less the quote at the beginning applied, but I decided to leave it in to make me seem smart!
Enjoy, and please leave a note with any constructive criticisms, comments, and compliments!
- tinfoilman