Disclaimer: I don't own… not my property… non-commercial… spearmint Trident… random words… you know the rest.
To kyuuketsuki fang and my anonymous reviewer who both agree on things: Thank you for the reviews! I don't get that much. Your encouraging words err… encouraged me to be more creative and honestly slightly ecstatic. I am currently doing a very strange dance to Green Day's "Holiday" including finger-snapping and arm flailing while chewing spearmint Trident. Quite a sight to see, really; a sixteen year-old (17 in less than a month) gay white boy who likes Pokemon listening to a song that, sadly, has fallen to obscurity in past years trying to dance (did I mention "white?") reinforcing the totally true stereotype about white people being unable to dance without the influence of alcohol (I like Brad Paisley too). But enough senseless random fun talk. I'm supposed to be writing a fic here.
An Elite Wager
by Ore-kun
aka ferricflame
Chapter One:
Wally and Bebe
My name is Luke. I live in Yekman Village, a close suburb of Goldenrod City. The Day-Care, where I assist in the care of newly-hatched Pokemon, is one of the thirteen buildings in the town, and the only one zoned for commercial use. You see, the Day-Care couple is my grandparents, and the only time I get to spend with Pokemon is with them, due to a lack of funds on my part.
I am fifteen, and would have started an adventure with Pokemon years ago, but my mother couldn't afford a bus ticket to even Azalea Town, let alone New Bark Town without her, me, and/or my ten year-old brother going without dinner for at least a week. My grandparents have offered her money on several occasions, but she's a proud woman. She works hard. She also hasn't had quite the same relationship with them since my father disappeared. He was a firefighter, her "knight in shining armor" so to speak. He saved her from her burning house, and there was no denying it: they were in love. Seven years ago, he answered a call: a fire in a tower in a town up north. They were the closest team to the blaze. A fire truck was at the house within minutes. He climbed in, and we never saw him again. A few days later, when there was no sign of him, mom called the office. They told her that they never called him out. We checked the news and there was no report of any fires whatsoever.
Then things started to go downhill financially. No proof that he was dead meant no life insurance, and we were no longer getting dad's monthly paycheck, so mom had no choice but to take an extra shift at the restaurant. She works upwards from seventeen hours a day at minimum wage and we barely scrape by.
Grandma and Grandpa have also offered to pay me for my help, but I shot that idea down. Times were hard for everyone, and I knew firsthand that their business was suffering. Fewer and fewer trainers wanted their services because it had too much of a "small-town" feel to it. Plus, I got to spend time with Pokemon every day. I gave up on my fantasies of becoming a spectacular trainer. My situation transformed me into a realist. I still have book knowledge of Pokemon, a knowledge that grows every day, but I was no longer a dreamer. My dreams had forsaken me.
Anyway, I was walking home from the Department Store in the city, carrying a bag containing a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and bologna galore. Dinner for the week.
"Whoa!!" I exclaimed. Some jerk had run into me and knocked me down, narrowly avoiding squishing my bread.
"Ah!" Another jerk tripped over the first and landed right on top of the bread.
"Can you guys watch where you're going?!" I shouted, pissed. "Who do you think you are, the Elite Fo-" I stopped short as I turned around. It was, indeed the Elite Fo-. Two of them, at least. Well, one and a Champion. Whatever. "Sorry for the outburst," I apologized. "It's just that these groceries are my family's dinner. For, um, for the rest of the week."
Drake, the one who had smashed the groceries looked through the flattened bag. "Not much here. I take it you aren't a trainer, or you'd have some Pokemon food or at least ingredients for it in here." He gave Wallace, the other one, a look that made him smile. "Good enough for you?" he asked.
"Far more than satisfactory," Wallace responded. Then to me he said, "How would you like to help us in a little wager?"
"Explain."
"You see, we have a little bet going between us. The bet is as follows: find a rookie trainer and have him raise a newly-hatched Spheal," with that, he sent out a young Spheal, "and a newly-hatched Bagon." Drake proceeded to sent out a Bagon.
He continued where Wallace left off, "After a year's time, we determine which is stronger. And that's pretty much the bet in a nutshell."
"What about the Pokemon? What happens to them after the bet is settled?" I inquired.
"You, I mean the chosen trainer," Wallace amended, "is then free to do whatever he chooses with the Pokemon. Would you like to be that trainer?"
"It's the opportunity of a lifetime, but I'm afraid I must decline. I just don't have enough money to do it-"
"Covered," Drake stated, pulling a bag of money from his pocket. "And we'll make sure your family eats well, too."
"My mom-"
"It will be handled. More importantly, it will be an anonymous donation. What do you say?"
"You guys have made it impossible for me to decline. I'll do it."
They handed me the Pokeballs. Wallace then gave me a slip of paper "That's my number; there's sufficient money there to buy a PokeGear at the Goldenrod outlet. And give the Spheal a name."
"Bagon deserves a name as well. Give her a good one," Drake said. They started to leave.
"Thank you!" I called.
"Name!" Drake shouted back, and then he let out a laugh.
A name I thought Wally for Spheal, in Wallace's honor. What about Bagon? There's nothing feminine about the name Drake. Think! She's a baby, Babs, Abby, Bebe...
BEBE! Perfect! Wally and Bebe.
I'm inspired right now. I've been planning this fic for months and know I'm just really motivated. Two days in a row. Wow.
