And now, for something a little different...

Touch The Skies

Hatchling Arc (0-1)

All According To Plan

"Strong pokémon, weak pokémon, that is only the foolish perception of people.

Truly skilled trainers should try to win with their favorites."

- Karen of the Johto Elite Four.

For all that the screen is no larger than my two hands splayed side-by-side, streaked through with hair-thin scratches and prone to flashes of static whenever the storm above Pallet Town unleashes a bolt of lightning, I can't tear my eyes away. Darkrai himself could come to Kanto, trailing apocalypse and death in his wake, and my hyper-focus wouldn't break. I'm enthralled. My eyes are wide and unblinking, and my entire body is tense but almost deathly still, like a caterpie caught in the grasp of a hypno.

How could I not be? The Silver Conference is the single greatest tournament in all of Johto. Trainers from all across the world devote their entire lives to tracking down rare and powerful pokémon, raising them into powerful beasts to do battle with, and then conquering eight of the strongest league trainers in the region with them, for the sole privilege of competing in it. Hundreds of the best and brightest flock to it in the hopes of achieving five minutes of fame, and hundreds of thousands do the same just to cheer them on.

And some no-name trainer from Ecruteak is sweeping the entire thing.

"You're the last one, Umbreon," the proud figure on the teevee is saying, the soft words cutting through the roar of the crowd with ease. In that moment, she looks like she could hold up the sky itself with nothing but her own two hands. "Show him our power!"

She kisses the black-and-blue moon ball's release, and arcs it into the air with a graceful flick. Umbreon manifests in a brilliant plume of crimson light, and stares down the mammoth rhyperior with a disdainful huff. He turns around and looks up at his trainer with exasperated eyes, as if to ask, "Do I have to?", and his trainer just smiles.

"For me, dear?" she asks, and Umbreon melts. I melt with him.

Karen is beautiful, confident, and strong. I had never looked into the face of perfection before, but I think Karen just might be it. The way her hair catches on the wind kicked up by her team's Dark Pulses, the little smile she wears whenever her opponent falls to their knees in defeat, the adoration that shines in the eyes of her pokémon during her infrequent interviews-

I had skipped class with Gary and Leaf every day this past week for the sole purpose of watching her battles. I had printed out a super-sized picture of Karen and her team just so I could pin it up on my wall, had begged my mother for a honchkrow plushie I could fall asleep cuddling, had even considered asking Professor Oak if I could have an eevee for a starter instead - though Karen's own words had convinced me not to. My dream is still to be a pokémon master, but Karen had taken Champion Lance's place in my idle fantasies of glory and prestige, without me even noticing.

I'm going to defeat Karen one day, I know. I know it like I know the sun will rise, or like Professor Oak knows Arcanine. It's simple fact. I don't believe in fate, but I know that victory is in my future - I just need to reach out and take it. It might take my entire lifetime, but I'm going to make it happen.

"Begin!" the announcer screams out, and Umbreon blurs into motion.

I don't get any sleep, that night.

Sixteen Months Later…

"Stupid old man," I hiss, furiously wiping at the tears trickling from the corners of my eyes. I'm not crying. Karen didn't cry when Lance demolished her entire elite four-slaying team with a single pokémon, and I'm not going to, either. I've just got something in my eyes, is all. Both of them. "Stupid, stupid, stupid… I don't need a stupid starter pokémon, anyway…"

I had showed up to the Corral thirty minutes early, but as there was a mix-up in the notification emails, that was still thirty minutes after the other Pallet Town rookies had left with starter pokémon in tow. Oak - not the professor, I'll never call him such a respectful title again - had greeted me with a sorry expression and shifty eyes, and told me that he had already given away all three pokémon.

I didn't understand how that was possible. Still don't, actually. Oak had known there are four prospective trainers in Pallet, and I had told him an entire year ahead of time that I wanted, want, a charmander of my own.

I had taken Karen's advice to win with my favorites to heart, and decided that I want a pokémon I can fly with - a pokémon I can touch the skies with. I had dedicated the entire past year to researching a charmander's dietary needs, recommended exercise regimens, and most common likes and dislikes and dreams… I had even drawn up a list of nicknames it might prefer. It is over three hundred lines long.

Correction, was. I had torn it apart and thrown the shreds in a river.

To his credit, Oak had admitted to his mistake, and began to tell me about another pokémon I could have as a replacement starter. I hadn't listened - I don't want his pity. By the time he mentioned off-hand that he found the mouse chewing on his power cables, I had already been out the door and down the road to Viridian, alone and afraid.

It's not fair. It's not fair. Gary got two starters - I know, the jerk was bragging about it all last week, apparently Oak's very own arcanine had sired some children and Gary was slated to get one of the babies - and I was supposed to be happy to get some delinquent wilder of a rat? Arceus, if it was found chewing on power cables, it probably had pokémon rabies or something. That can't be healthy for a rattata, or whatever stupid species he had so kindly procured for me.

"Stupid old man…"

All I want is to touch the sky. Charizard is the only pokémon this side of Cerulean that can. Fearow aren't strong enough for it, though a rider might manage it for a couple of hours a week until the beak pokémon's bones start to break down. A pidgeot could probably do it, too, if it's trained right, but everyone knows it's impossible to catch a prideful pidgey without beating it into the ground first - and how can I do such a thing without a pokémon?

Wonderful. I need a pokémon to catch a pokémon. I could probably manage it - maybe if I caught a nidoran or something to poison it? No one said I have to train every pokémon I catch - but I only brought one pokéball. I'm not Gary, I don't have a rich grandfather to buy me a car or a case of evolutionary stones or a dozen spare pokéballs, and I had blown all of my money on worthless charmander food.

…Why am I even carrying it all around? There are no fire-types in Route One, and no other pokémon could eat a charmander's treats without combusting. I had almost forgotten, considering the bag is so… light…

My heart skips a beat, and I freeze for a moment. Then, growing more and more frantic with every passing moment, I throw my messenger bag to the floor and riffle through it, only to give up with a desperate wail. Choking down a scream, I pull out the box of charmander treats and violently hurl it at the nearest oak tree.

I clutch my cheeks between my hands and try not to cry. I cry anyway.

"I… I forgot… I was gonna swing by home so I could show off my charmander… all I brought were the ball and the treats…" My mother had always said 'the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach' - I assume the same principle applies to pokémon. Men are a lot like pokémon, after all, and vice versa. They're just as stupid.

I look up and around, realizing with a rush of anxiety that I have no idea where I am. I must have wandered off the path when I was throwing myself a one-woman pity party.

The routes surrounding Pallet are famous for having a small range of relatively weak pokémon. Due to the migratory habits of bird, rat, and most bug pokémon, a wealth of eggs are left behind on the strip of land both north and south of Viridian City. Pokémon are naturally more vicious during the mating season, and the mothers of these eggs make sure to scour the land of any other pokémon that may be a threat to their offspring. It's because of this phenomenon that the league year begins when it does - and why rookie trainers the region over are encouraged to begin their journeys from the Indigo Plateau, just west of Viridian.

That being said, all of those trainers are given starter pokémon to protect themselves with. The children of Oak's associates are given one of the elemental three, and I've heard that children in Viridian are given tauros or rhyhorn while those in Cinnabar either vulpix or growlithe. Even utterly untrained, all of these pokémon are raised from birth to be naturally docile, strong, and enduring.

There's not a one among them that can't fight off a flock of spearow, which the league ensures is the single greatest threat in a hundred miles of the Plateau. It's a time-honored tradition.

A time-honored tradition that Oak took a long piss on, of course, and that means jack-all for my chances of survival.

A flock of spearow would slaughter me with ease and feast on my bone marrow, after all. I wouldn't stand a chance.

…

Clutching my late father's shard necklace with white fingers, I whisper aloud, "Alakazam? Alakazam, I'm sorry. I'd like to go home, now."

Oak's trusted psychic doesn't respond.

Clouds grasp onto the sky with smoky tendrils, spreading farther and farther with every passing gust of wind and twirling into arcane shapes as they do. Great trees rise from the earth like an army's lances, primed to stab into the oncoming storm, trembling all the while - as if in fear. There's an echoing song rising from the leafy sheathes, like the battle cry of a hundred thousand soldiers, and I can see crimson eyes in their shadowy depths. They can see me, too.

I shiver once, twice, thrice. My red-laced white jacket was designed with humid mornings in mind, not the freezing bite of a wild forest with no shelter in sight. At least I hadn't taken my cue from the significantly more fashionable Leaf and chosen a skirt - I'd probably die.

…Not that I'm necessarily safe from that fate, mind. I had thought that memorizing several subtly different maps of Kanto would have idiot-proofed my fledgling sense of direction, but I had gotten lost on Route One on the first freaking day. The sprawling cloud cover handily prevents me from locating the setting sun or the north star, and the gargantuan trees block off any attempt at spotting Mount Moon or even Silver. When I'm lucky, I might catch a whiff of the ocean to the south, but the storm has confused the winds to such an extent I'd sooner find myself in the Trio Cave then the peaceful coastline connecting Kanto to Johto.

I gave up on contacting Alakazam several hours ago. I'd try to call my mother or even Oak the mundane way, but telecommunication devices smaller than the arrays at a pokécenter are incredibly expensive - researchers down in Johto have been pushing the pokégear's release back every six months or so for a decade now, and only the rich and the elite have a StoneCo pokénavigator. There are just too many electric- and steel-type pokémon in the world screwing around with electromagnetism for cheap, reliable cellular phones to be practical.

Gary has a pokénav, of course, but I am just as wroth with him as I am his grandfather. He had taken off down Route One in a sleek new car long before I found out my chosen starter had been… misplaced. If he had been a better friend, I wouldn't be curled up against a tree in the middle of the woods at night, with no shelter, no food, and no pokémon.

(…Rationally, I know it's not Gary's fault. But my anger keeps me warm, and I'd kill for some more warmth. Besides - I can't cry when I'm mad, and I'm sick of crying.)

The vaunted journey of self-discovery I'd been preparing for my entire life has literally gone wrong in every conceivable way, but so what? It can only go up from here. …Unless I wake up a spearow flock and suffer a death of a thousand bites, in which case it can go very, very down very, very fast, but I'm too cute to get murderized. My mother told me so.

But. But! I still have the clothes on my back and an empty pokéball. If Karen were in this situation, she'd pull through, wouldn't she? And if Karen can, so can I!

"Chin up, Ash," I mutter, stumbling to my feet and rubbing my arms together in a futile bid for more warmth. A long, feather-soft blade of grass snakes up my pant leg and gives me a tickle, and I jump back with a startled squeak. Growling like a baby glameow and stomping on it, I give a low, restrained giggle, saying, "See, you're already defeating the grass. Keep goin' at this rate, and you'll be takin' on Umbreon in no time."

For all my bravado, I reach into my red-on-white messenger bag and nervously palm the single item still held within - the only pokéball I own. I'd decorated its surface with an intricate, heavily-stylized feather knot design last night, in anticipation of using my charmander to catch me a pidgey.

Considering the kind of day I've been having, I'm not surprised when the skies open up and pour rain on me, smearing the sharpie ink across my palm in the process. I just smile thinly. Without a pokéball for my charmander to place in the same bag, it's not like the purpose behind the art - so I don't mix up my friends - matters, anymore.

"…What's with all the maudlin thought?" I berate myself aloud, inwardly hoping I don't scare off any kind, prospective pokémon with the crazy vibe I'm radiating right now. "My pidgey is probably up a tree right now, havin' fallen asleep while it was waitin' for me to catch it. I'll just… I'll just climb a tree… and catch the first sleepin' pokémon I cross."

The entire reason I was planning to torch the pidgey a time or two before catching it was so it would be too tired to resist the capture, right? By that logic, a sleeping pokémon wouldn't put up any resistance at all, right? Right!

"This is a great idea."

"This was a stupid idea! Stupid, stupid, stupid…"

A great, blood-chilling shriek rents the air, and I narrowly evade a spearow's full-body Quick Attack-cum-Take Down. I'd call it a rare variant of Brave Bird, but it was missing the Tailwind-esque wind shadow - oh shit spearow dodge dodge dodge-

The thick, salty scent of the sea strikes me like a battering ram, and I have a moment of clarity. If I make it to the coast, I can dive into the water and hold my breath. The storm's currents might sweep me away, but if I swim down, grabs onto the cliff side, and try not to piss off any shellder, I just might outlast the annoyed birds.

Then a third spearow strikes me like an actual battering ram.

I have never felt pain before. …That's not quite true; I've suffered my fair share of roughhousing bruises, schoolyard papercuts, and even a broken ankle from the time I had aggressively pet a freshly-caught mightyena I found at the Corral. I thought I was prepared for the life of a trainer and that, should I ever be struck by a pokémon, I'd be able to stiffen my upper lip and be strong for my team.

This isn't the first time today that I've realized that I'm not at all prepared for the life of a pokémon trainer. This isn't even the first time today that that realization was accompanied by a sinking feeling in my heart and far too many tears.

It is, however, the first time that it makes me furious.

"Hey, fuck you!" I scream at the surprised and offended spearow, using the new word I learned from Gary last month. I'm not sure what it means, but it seems to be super-effective against the proud creature, so I make a mental note to use it again in the near future. "You're not the only one having a less-than-stellar night, y' know? Don't you think I'd prefer to be comfy and asleep right now, too? Huh? Well, do ya!?"

The spearow then immediately wins the argument by unleashing a loud, keening caw, summoning forth the rest of its flock. In less than three seconds, there are nearly thirty of the cruel hawks darting through the foliage and sharpening their gleaming beaks on their crest feathers and staring at me with their horrible, horrible eyes, and-

I tumble to my feet and keep running.

…

I reach the beach in five minutes. I'm not sure if it feels like five seconds or five eternities - all I know is it's too long, either way.

It's a miracle. My survival, that is. I've read the reports, I know how territorial Kanto's most prevalent bird pokémon can be. They're usually smart enough to refrain from harming humans, most knowing that the League will crack down on them if a child trainer's corpse is ever found, but it has happened and always directly after said stupid, stupid trainer worked them into a frenzy - by, say, wandering into their territory, waking them up during a thunderstorm, and then screaming at them in anger.

The fearow leading the pack is highly intelligent; I can see it in his black, beady eyes. Maybe I'm not as great at evasion as I like to think I am, and the spearow are merely pretending to attack me so I'll keep up the pace and vacate their territory. Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Fearow are known for playing with their food, and chasing their midnight snack to the coast so it'll be caught between an ocean and a, well, a flock of spearow and fearow sounds just like them.

It doesn't matter to me, anymore. I don't just want to survive today - I want to win today, I want to be able to look back on today and say, "Do you see that? I conquered." I'm a trainer, and trainers capture pokémon - not the other way around. I might not have my charmander, or my emergency supply of potion, or that bottle of max repel my mother forced me to buy, but what I do have is a pokéball; and, really, isn't that all a truly skilled trainer needs? (It's all Karen would need.)

I can't use it on any of the spearow - even if it works when they're as pumped full of power and adrenaline as they are, a single spearow can't beat back the flock. I can't use it on the sole fearow, either - if it wouldn't work on an annoyed pidgey, it's not going to work on a downright hateful fearow. I might end up trying it anyway, as a distraction or a last-ditch, might-as-well gambit, but I have a bigger fish in mind.

That is to say, a fish.

I reach the beach in five minutes, after all. That's a very long time for a fish pokémon to hear strange noises approaching its home and decide to investigate.

It erupts from the coastline in a great plume of vapor and reflected starlight, and I throw the pokéball at it in sheer reflex, more out of surprise than because of my great plan. As the mystery creature vanishes in a blaze of crimson light and the very world seems to still, I'm not sure if I threw the device with the intent to capture or in hopes of bludgeoning it to death as blunt, metal objects are wont to do.

But I'd spent entire days dreaming about this experience, and half as long practicing with the pokéball's in-built homing technology. I flick my wrist and the pokéball containing my newest (and currently, only) friend zips through the air and into my palm with a heavy snap. It shakes in my hand once, twice, and I have a horrible premonition of a seaking materializing at point-blank range with a horn speared through my heart, before it stills with a satisfied click.

I have all of a moment to appreciate my new friend before the same asshole spearow from before knocks me over with its improvised Brave Bird.

I shriek in surprise, and hurl the freshly-filled pokéball at the reeling spearow where it fulfills its second utility by bludgeoning the hawk across the skull. It then snaps open in an increasingly-familiar flare of incandescent light, materializing a heavy, flailing fish directly on top of the dazed spearow. Needless to say, it is immediately knocked out.

"Magi-karp?" the garish red fish bleats uncertainly, looking around with a clueless look on its face.

And then the world freezes over.

"…And then you showed up, and were all like, 'Blizzard, Starmie! Follow with Thunderbolt!,' and you know the rest."

"That was very… detailed. Thank you." Misty Waterflower, youngest and coolest of the Cerulean Gym's Sensational Sisters, stares at me with a strange look on her face. "What I fail to understand is why you thought you were capable of handling an entire flock of spearow - complete with fearow! - with naught but a magikarp."

"In my defense, I thought it was a goldeen." I pause. "That… sounded a lot better in my head."

"I'm sure."

I get the acute feeling that my third-favorite Kanto Gym Leader is less than impressed with me, right now. I wilt like an oddish in the Unovan desert.

Of course, Misty isn't my third-favorite Gym Leader, anymore. 'Dramatic rescue when all hopes seem lost' is right up there with 'synthesizes pokérus' and 'kinda looks like Karen if you squint and turn your head, maybe' on the list of things that makes me like someone. That pushes her neatly in front of Sabrina on my People I'd Like to Befriend list, whom is behind only Agatha of the Elite Four, Steven Stone, and, of course, Karen.

My new-found reverence for the youngest Waterflower is only compounded by how kindly the more experienced trainer had asked if I had somewhere to sleep.

Thirty minutes, a recalled and slightly less confused magikarp, an awkward autograph on said magikarp's pokéball, a much more relaxing jaunt through the forest, and an incredibly detailed depiction of my life's story later, Misty is far more caught up than she probably had any desire to be. That being said, not every aspect of my story makes sense when combed through by a far more clear-headed mind.

"Okay, one more thing I don't quite get." Misty traces a comb through her fiery red hair, eyes glazed in thought, absently beckoning a bored-looking staryu to refill the pot above the campfire with water. I try not to fidget, and fidget anyway - I feel awkward and uncomfortable and ten kinds of out of place, dressed in pants soaked in saltwater and a muddied jacket that was probably white once, clutching a pokéball like one would the secret to immortality and trying not to gape at the slowly spinning starmie that maybe-kinda-sorta saved my life.

This is not what I had in mind when I set out for Oak's, this morning. Arceus, my mother must be terrified. I certainly am, still, and I don't expect a full night's rest for another month, at least.

"Professor Samuel Oak is the pokémon researcher. I could walk up to any random Sally in any random region in the hemisphere and say, 'Hey, that pokémon scientist guy just discovered something crazy!', and nine times out of ten that person will say, 'Oh, you mean Professor Oak? What'd he find out this time?'

"Not getting a trainer under his care a starter she asked for an entire year in advance isn't just negligent, especially when that trainer runs away from civilization without protection and isn't immediately tracked down by his arcanine - who are the greatest pokémon trackers in the world - or his alakazam - who can teleport across continents and speak to someone across the world; no, it's incredibly, criminally negligent. That sounds like something Professor Elm would do, not Oak. I mean, sure, the guy can be absent-minded at times, but it just… I don't know. It doesn't sound like him, is all I'm saying. I think we're missing something."

"It seems pretty clear to me," I huff, still hurt and upset and trying to bury it under righteous indignation. "He got his grandson two starters and a corvette, and was trying to pass off a rattata he found chewing on power cables or something to me. Sounds like he had better things on his mind."

Misty purses her lips. It's clear to me that she doesn't buy it, but doesn't say anything. For that, I will be forever grateful.

"…Can you teach me how to train a magikarp?" I eventually ask, half out of necessary need and half out of a simple desire to talk about something brighter. "I, ah, hadn't expected to catch one."

"Yeah, it's no problem." Misty reaches elbow deep into a pouch smaller than her closed fist and pulls out a spare change of clothes in a flash of brilliant red light. My eyes shine; league-affiliated trainers really do get all the best toys. "The gym has a gyarados we use against trainers with seven or eight gym badges. I hate the thing with a burning passion and will ask that you make sure I am far away before you evolve that fish of yours, but I can teach you how to care for it, easy. I've got some clothing you can borrow, just take the pot of boiled water and clean up a bit first, alright? We look about the same size; it should be fine."

I had increasingly felt like Atlas with the sky on my shoulders ever since I ran away from - vacated Pallet Town. After hearing Misty's casually confident declaration and seeing the extremely powerful starmie keep watch over the camp, though… now, I'm just holding up a small mountain. I can deal.

Only up from here, right? Only up from here.

I accept the pile of cloth a moment later and smile ruefully. "Aah… Thanks."

I'm not talking about the clothes.

Alakazam teleports into the tent in the middle of the night. We react as well as can be reasonably expected.

"…This isn't quite what I thought I'd see," he thinks into our heads awkwardly, sidestepping the Ice Beam and falling magikarp with insulting ease. He disappears and promptly reappears with a stack of clothing, a white hat, potion, repel, wilderness supplies, training guidebooks, three separate maps, a notebook and pen, and a strange, rectangular computer no larger than my closed fist and painted a garish red. He then pauses, cocks his head, and pulls his teleporting trick again, reappearing with a small canister that seems to be filled with candy.

I recall my slowly-asphyxiating fish and just, sort of… stare. Did Alakazam just break into my house?

"I apologize on behalf of my master, Miss Ashlynn," he continues casually, absent-mindedly waving a hand to disintegrate the starmie's Bubblebeam and send the valiant pokémon to sleep. Misty doesn't send out another. "In his defense, he has a very compelling reason for refraining from procuring your desired starter pokémon, lying about it, and then allowing you to wander off into the woods… without… protection…" He pauses. Tilting his head to the side like a puppy would, he stares off into space and blinks. "Never mind, the reason isn't very compelling."

I cover my eyes with a forearm and begin to shake. With laughter or disbelief, I'm not quite sure. Alakazam has always been my favorite of Oak's pokémon.

"My master has forbidden me from speaking of the following things, but as I am incapable of conventional speech, I will merely think of them very loudly and in your general direction." He begins inspecting the spoon held in his right hand - or, perhaps, his reflection in the flawlessly polished silver. If I don't know better, I might think he's already forgotten about my presence completely. "When my master was a young boy, he was caught up in an incident with a celebi. A malicious trainer in the employ of Team Rocket was attempting to capture the legend in a specialized pokéball designed to torture those within into mindless obedience and rage. Naturally, both my master and the celebi took exception to this. Long story short, through perseverance, quite a few displays of blind faith, no small amount of skill, and a powerful trainer from the future called Ash Ketchum, the day was saved and the villain, slain. I'm sure anyone uncouth enough to eavesdrop on my very private thoughts can divine the rest of the tale themselves."

"…Hypothetically speaking," I begin, speaking slowly, "If a powerful trainer from the future had a certain mouse as a starter pokémon, and not a certain flying, fire-breathing lizard…"

"My, my, I wonder how a paradox would affect dear, dear Kanto. Maybe it'd be sucked into a singularity and explode, or simply cease to be - or have never been at all. What a tragedy that'd be…" Alakazam switches his focus from one spoon to the next. He then begins making faces at his reflection, not bothering to affect solemnity beyond the mockery. "Why, it sounds like just the thing to have a celebi, a Guardian of Time, show up to correct things. When no such legend shows up, one might think that they are too busy doing other things and can't make the time. Naturally, the only reasonable recourse one could come to if such a thing were to happen is to fix things one's self. What a very arrogant thing to do. It's a good thing no master of mine would be so foolish."

"You know, Misty," I begin, as if making chit chat. "I like flying-type pokémon. I like flying-type pokémon a lot. One might even say that flying-type pokémon are my favorites. I'm going to grow up with my starter flying-type pokémon, make a lot of friends with flying-type pokémon, impress my personal hero Karen with my flying-type pokémon, conquer a league or three with my flying-type pokémon, become a master of flying-type pokémon, and then settle down with my flying-type pokémon to open up a gym specializing in flying-type pokémon. When I grow old, I'm going to die riding my flying-type pokémon.

"On a completely unrelated note, do you know what is not a flying-type pokémon?"

"No?" Misty states.

"Rattata."

"Pikachu."

"Pikachu."

"Ah, I know that," she says. "I saw a pikachu once. I noticed the most curious thing. It didn't have any wings."

"How strange. What kind of flying-type pokémon doesn't have wings? Could it levitate, maybe?"

"No, it couldn't."

"Baffling." I manage to almost sound confused.

"Most."

"This conversation has been scintillating, and all," Alakazam cuts in. "But I much prefer to sleep for twenty-three hours a day, and though it's not yet three o' clock in the morning, I have already been awake for an entire half hour. I do believe I am going to return to my master's home and go back to being utterly useless for a while. Oh, how I miss it."

"You do that, Alakazam. Reminds me of when you used to babysit me and what's-his-face, Gary."

"I recall those years far differently than you, Miss Ashlynn." He casually warps space, and is soon levitating a scrapbook of- No. He wouldn't. "In fact, I have photographic evidence."

"…Don't you have sleeping to get back to?"

"Yes. I do." Even with a completely alien physiology, a frozen, unmoving face, and a telepathic monotone utterly devoid of inflection, I can't mistake that smug superiority anywhere. It's endemic in the Oak line - even among their pokémon, apparently. "Back to more serious matters for a moment, if you'll forgive me. Please, do not think too poorly of my master. He has drank from the river of success for far too long, and has forgotten the taste of defeat. He meant well."

I swallow thickly. I want to forgive Oak - the professor. I really, really want to. My mother didn't raise me to hold a grudge, and I know how unhappy Gary became after he formed one over Daisy's seeming abandonment. I love him like a brother, but I hate how shallow, petty, and spiteful he has become from it. I don't want to turn out like that, too.

And yet… And yet…

"…That depends." I snag the corner of my lip with a sharp tooth. "Does he have my charmander?"

A telepathic link projects more than just thought, and I reel under a sudden feeling of sorrow, regret, and exhaustion. Blink and I'll miss it - it disappears before I can consciously realize what happened. "I'll inform Miss Delia of her daughter's continuing survival. She'll probably ask me to remind you to change your underwear." A pause. "Oh, and don't eat the vitamins, they'll probably kill you."

He waves a spoon in a happy mimicry of a wave good-bye. "Toodles."

Alakazam is gone. Misty just sighs.

"You're going to drag me into all sorts of weird situations, aren't you?"

"Haa… probably."

…

I'm still angry - no, furious, but…

…When I fall asleep again…

I have much more pleasant dreams.

End of Chapter One

A/N: I won't be including any polls or reader input in this story, but I adore reviews and treasure every one of them - if you'd like to see Ash catch a certain flying pokémon (not necessarily flying-type, mind), if there's a character in the source material that you feel is underutilized and would like to see, or even if you just want to give your support, please feel free to drop a review. Who knows, maybe it'll inspire me.