Prelude: Before Everything, There is a Story
In a forest, far from civilization, lived a mother and daughter—and they were arguing. Fearsomely.
"It's not fair!" the daughter cried. "I don't want to live alone and sad! Not like us—not like you!"
"Our lifestyle is law. It'll prove to be a disaster if we decide to assert ourselves with humans." The mother was adamant, and her lifestyle was a scientific theory, meaning, a theory backed up heavily by evidence, but yet, it could be proven wrong.
The daughter was determined to do just that, and as the mother walked away, she screamed, "I won't! I won't do it!"
The next day, the mother found herself daughterless.
Sunny and Will were sitting on a small stone bench in the outskirts of Floroma Town, hands clasped together, and their antsy eyes darting across the green, flowering meadow. They had a child, a baby not more than a year old. She slumbered, cradled in her mother's arms.
"Sunny…" The world was constantly chipped away at by time, and Will Green was no exception. He looked tired and older than he really was under the yellow lights of the street lamps.
"Yes?" she whispered, because she knew what he wanted to say, what he wanted to do. She pretended to be occupied with her baby—their baby—by nudging the tan blanket across her child's face.
"The world's changing too fast," was all Will said, and Sunny understood the hidden message to it.
Another thing that's changed, thought Sunny ruefully. Sometimes…as humans say…ignorance is bliss… But I suppose being in the dark isn't all that smashing either…
"I know…" She let loose a long sigh.
"Where to next?" Will's eyes, long eroded from hardships, were focused on the darkening horizon.
Sunny tried to sit up straight, and fixed her lips into a determined, solemn line.
"Pallet."
Bending her knees to stand up, a thought—so sudden and horrible—flitted through her head. It left her terrified and mind blank. And it was this:
We used to be so happy.
On the porch of the yellow house off Ganandy Street, sat two people in fluffy armchairs, their eyes fixated to the cerulean sky overhead, but ears finely in-tune on what the other had to say. The paint of the methodical little cottage was repainted every six months. The little blades of grass in the front yard grew in uniformed lines, bowing to the trending winds, like tiny saluting soldiers. One might say such perfectionism is dangerous—frankly, perfectionists were more than likely to be nosey; to of course, gloat on the prospect that outsiders were mere mortals, and as themselves, spotless in the world of gossip and scandals.
Today, Ronald Hinnigin and Gloria Aberforth were discussing the Green family.
"There's something strange about the wife, I tell ya. The entire family, actually. The father is the only decent one, I suppose," insisted Ronald Hinnigin wildly.
They had been debating upon this particular subject for ten strenuous minutes, and as while Gloria and Ronald—the biggest gossips in town—usually agreed with each other, but when they found that they hadn't on the Green family, they didn't know how to deal with such a strange concept.
"I don't know what's wrong with you these days, Ronald! Being so incredibly tactless to the neighbors." Gloria was usually an insinuative hypocrite.
"I swear on Arceus. There's something suspicious about the wife… The other day, she fell from the roof—I suppose she was mending, or whatnot—and she landed plumb on her side. And not a scratch on her, I tell ya."
"Did she see you?" inquired the woman sharply, and relaxed when he shook his head. Gloria sniffed caustically. "I suppose that is something to let the mind wander about, but honestly, Ronald, there are far more interesting stories than the Greens. Like the Oaks, for instance. Did you hear that Julianna and Trevor Oak left their four-year-old behind with Samuel? Malicious, I might add. There is nothing quite worse than abandoning your own child."
"Quite right," Ronald agreed, and his dove-gray eyes enlarged ever so slightly when the Green child toddled into his line of vision. The wife hurried toward her daughter, and carried her back inside. The door slammed shut. And then with the cerulean sky back in his vision, the wine burning itself down his throat, and Miss Gloria Aberforth's (usually enjoyable) mumbling in the background, Ronald Hinnigin couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something quite off with the family.
And silently, with lips curled into a mirthful smile, he promised himself to find out just what.
But as they say, all's good is due within time. Ronald Hinnigin plucked a meticulously sliced lemon from the tea tray, and with a flick of dexterity, lemon intermingled with wine.
"Jenny! Officer Jenny!"
In the small, local police station of Eterna City, Officer Jenny was writing. As there wasn't much crime in Eterna, the station was usually left to its own devices. This usually meant paperwork for Jenny Blalally, and a day with absolutely nothing but waiting for a crime of some sort to crop up.
Oh, and to go home.
(Privately, the officer knew it was simply awful to wish such thing… But once in a while, Jenny wished Team Galactic was still on the move. Hence, the emphasis on boredom.)
Once upon a time, if Officer Jenny had heard such a call, she would've straightened like a board, automatically fingered her gun and her pokeballs. But, once upon a time was far away, and today was the present. Nowadays, such call usually meant that their lunchs had been devoured by co-worker Dan.
"Tully?" said the officer lazily, nudging her foot against the desk so that the chair and its occupant, whipped around to face Jenny's caller. Jenny did not note Tully's horrified face. Yawning a bit, she asked, "Did Dan raid the fridge again, because frankly, you know how he gets and—"
"No—no—no—no!" cried Tully, her red hair glowing like a small halo. "It's awful! There's this man…this man…"
Officer Jenny stood up from her chair, but alas, her reflexes had long eroded, and she didn't even linger on about her Pokemon or her gun. "Tully, calm down," she advised, and placed a comforting hand on her assistant's shaking shoulder. Jenny distantly wondered what sort of thing would reduce Tully to tears.
"It's a civilian!" wailed Tully, face ever-so pale. "He was knocked away from the Cycling Road and fell, but I—can't—find—him! And the blood! It's everywhere!"
Tully's voice rang sharply in Jenny's head, and she barely felt herself bounding down the steps, and for a few desperate moments, she fumbled for her radio, and clipped it clumsily onto her belt.
There was this...thing... A suspicion... A memory.
No...
Today is the present.
He's gone.
Delete memory.
Delete.
Delete.
Delete.
Jenny blew open the station doors, and stampeded down the road, toward the aforementioned Cycling Road. As she was running, she distantly felt Tully's presence behind her. When the officer skidded to a stop, her eyes barely skimming across the hastily put together yellow caution tapes, a crying bicyclist, and several other pedestrians who were milling around, expressions worried and antsy.
Jenny peeked over the railing, and her breath hitched.
Blood.
It was everywhere—the blood. Wildly crimson, and innocently sinking into the soil, staining it red. Jenny felt rather faint; which was sure something, coming from a woman who'd experienced and witnessed numerous gruesome injuries during the Galactic days.
As if in a daze, she heard the small voice of Tully, who insistently nudged a plain tan wallet into her hands. As if inanimate, Jenny robotically flipped it open, and as expected, an ID card with a smiling face of a man stared back at her.
Darrel Ketchum.
Black hair.
Red eyes.
Darrel Ketchum, who would be proclaimed as missing. Or dead.
No—no—no—no…not again…
The world began spiraling, and somehow, Jenny pulled out her radio… Just like all those years ago…
"Victor! Come in, do you hear me?!" Jenny found herself screaming, borderline to hysterical.
"Jenny?" A pause and the crackle of static. "Are you…radioing me?" came the voice of Victor, voice light and amused. "I actually can't rem—"
"Shut the hell up, Victor!" she screamed, eyes frantic and scared; she was speeding back to the past...mush, much too fast... "A civilian has disappeared near the Cycling Road! I repeat: a civilian has disappeared near the Cycling Road!"
"The cave?" whispered Victor, and a bout of static muffled what sounded suspiciously like a chocked sob.
Jenny ignored it, and against her will, tears pricked her eyes. "Gather Dan, Logsby, and Ann." Officer Jenny felt something wet cascade down her cheeks.
Plop.
Drip.
Plat.
She hastily rubbed them away, tensing her mentality, before slumping, already defeated.
"We're going in."
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Darrel Ketchum was gone—a man that Jenny never met, and would never meet.
Darrel Ketchum is gone.
a/n - Welcome to my first leafgreen/oldrival fic! I have epic plans for this, and I hope you'll stick around, yeah? (It'll give me something to do than groan over school:p) kehkeh.
well, this is (obviously) the prologue/prelude, so if that grasped your attention, follow...or something... Keep tabs... I dunno. Well from here, it'll circulate a bit through Leaf and Gary's childhood/first meeting/getting their first pokemon-the like. Then...to the present. Dundun...dun.
note: Anyone wondering about RC? I'm wondering too. I'm just going with the flow.
Review? :)
