A/N: So I decided, after looking over this chapter for a while, it's time for a update to this story. In this chapter we have: the intro of Moony, a shocking development, and the start of the true crackfic-y goodness. Enjoy.
-Be Andrew Hussie.
You cannot be Andrew Hussie at this time, because he's currently unconscious. However, there is a white and pink ribbon-y sparkledog that's coming into your line of sight. They look like some sort of new fangled magical girl thing, with those flesh bows and pastel colors. Very modern. Or something.
Anyway, you'll take what you can get, right?
-Be ribbon-y sparkledog.
You are now the ribbon-y sparkledog, who seems appalled at the lack of proper respect and introduction. I mean, come on, what fool approaches the aid of the Kalos champion without bowing to their knees? Utter blasphemy.
Your name is Sir Moonington, though you are usually called Moony by your friends. You're a three-year old Sylveon and you are a permanent member of your Trainer's team. This pleases you, because how else should it be? You are her favorite, after all!
You have a large variety of interests, that of which include battling, spending time with your Trainer, and attempting to teach the ruffians on your team proper manners. God, they're all a bunch of animalistic slobs. And the words that they say! It pains your ears and makes you bleed red. But it's all for them, because you can't stand seeing the other wonderful members of such a elite team act so poorly.
And because you're so nice.
You are currently sniffing at the end of a blood trail that has led you through the woods near Laverre Town, all the way to the small cemetery near the old abandoned house. You found this mess after moving away from your parties campsite to look for firewood. Oh, you hope they haven't reverted to their silly old selves while you are away. It's taken ages to train them...and ugh. You stepped in the nasty stuff! You gag, and then turn your attention back to the task at hand- which is to say, no task at all.
What will you do?
-Investigate end of blood trail.
Even though you are totally grossed out by the horrible smelling stuff, you put your nose to the ground and begin to paw around the marsh near you. The blood seems to be pooling around a single gravestone here. It's pretty spooky, and you shiver. You have had it with spooky stuff today, after Yellow gave you such a fright. You sniffle at the gravestone. It seems to have been disturbed; the ground seems to have been freshly turned.
Oh god, does that mean...? Uggggggh, gross.
-Dig, you sissy.
You bristle but begin to dig into the ground, flinching as your paws grow wet and dirty. You hate doing stuff like this! It's always so gross and uncomfortable and just ugh. You are sure you're getting blood on you, and that makes it all ten times worse. Plus the fact you're digging into a grave. Ugh!
For a while you are just dig through earth, the clods of soil flying behind you. And then-! Your paws strike something furry and soft, and you recoil with a shriek. Holy Arceus, what the heck is that! You sniff at the exposed limb, an arm that looks as if it's belong to a Braxien. It's warm, the shoulder wrapped in a bloodied bandage. You hesitantly poke the arm, but nothing happens. You scoot away with a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, it's de-
"Argh..."
Okay, maybe it isn't dead. Maybe not. It's okay, don't panic. For the love of all things holy, don't panic, Moony. You attempt to keep a clear head as your heart tries to escape your chest and your stomach turns in knots. Be calm, be calm-!
-Give into panic.
You submit to terror. "Oh my Arceus! Run, flee! The undead are here, curse Yvetal! Flee for your liiiiives!" You then take your own advice, dashing away while still hysterically screaming into the bushes around the cemetery. You cower in a bush, shaking violently. You have always given thought to horrible, supernatural creatures and tried to get your teammates prepared and to grasp the true danger. You have always believed one day the supernatural would rise up and demolish the would of the living. You teammates...would never listen.
Until now! You are certain; you are witnessing a zombie come back to life right in front of your own eyes, and it is terrifying yet awe-inspiring. The zombie -you were right! It is/was a Braxien!- is slowly pulling itself from the earth, shaking twigs and mud and blood from its wretched fur. Decay seems to have stripped it of the fluff in its ears and around its waist, and it wears stained clothing; perhaps the garments were from the old Trainer. The shirt is ripped down the chest and between the folds of fabric you can see a scar, slicing right down the middle. It is huge, and ugly as a Feebas covered in mud.
The zombie takes a step, stumbles, and collapses in a heap only a foot from its grave. It shakes it head, dead eyes rolling listlessly around in their sockets. It coughs, wipes the blood that flies out of its mouth onto its wrist, and then glances around with a curious expression. It is still lying on the ground, though.
It is completely and entirely disgusting.
-Approach zombie Braxien.
You step towards the zombie, legs shaking in fear and anticipation to run away. It doesn't look up at up until you're standing right above it, softly poking it in the ear. It lifts its head when you do this, and stares at you unblinkingly for a heartbeat before letting its face drop back down into the mud. You think you hear it mumble something about ribbons, but you aren't sure. You poke it again, but the only response you get is a rapidly twitching ear. You let out a huff. This must be one of the stupid zombies; certainly they'd be able to speak clearly! "You're quite the boring undead phenomenon," you grumble, and the Braxien lifts it head again. Blood trickles from its mouth as it begins to laugh. You are quite startled, to say the least. What nerve, to laugh at the elite!
"So this...is the afterlife. Or maybe I'm just dreaming? Either way, this kind of sucks." Its chuckles die down after a moment and it flicks its eyes up at you, cocking its head. "Do you know anything about this, sparkledog?"
You spit in anger, teeth gritted. "Address me properly!" you bark, the Braxien flinching at your yell. "I am the heart and soul of the team that saved this ungrateful and pathetic world. I demand the respect that I deserve!" The zombie lets out a soft groan, ears flattening against its head. "Okay, okay, I will, Your Highness. Just shush; you're making my headache worse with all your yelling. I have no idea what you mean, though. What are you on about?" You roll your eyes, sitting down with a huff.
"Do the undead lose their petty memories when they revive, or are you just stupid?" The Braxien glares at you, the first emotion you've seen ignite in its cloudy eyes. "Last time I checked," it says in a matter-of-fact tone, "I was pretty smart." You meet its eyes, fire beginning to burn in the back of your head. "Well, with the impression you're currently making and such a weak response, you still seem unintelligent." The Braxien bites its tongue as it hisses through its teeth, "Then enlighten me, Your Highness. Show me I'm the idiot here; I am ready for the onslaught of bullshit." Its voice is laced with quiet venom and you shudder.
It actually seems a little coherent and lively, now that you've began to talk. In fact, the little asshole has you trapped; you either have to look like a fool and obey him like you are the peasant, or look even more foolish and admit that your accusations were wrong. You really don't want to do either, but oh well. A elite must do whatever it takes to maintain their honorable reputation.
Even if it means stooping to same level as a living Braxein corpse who apparently is as uncivilized as your teammates.
"Let me put this to you in simple terms," you say slowly, each word drawn out and clear. "There was a dreadful organization called Team Flare that were attempting to destroy the current world and rebuild into their own beautiful standards. They would have managed to actually achieve their hideous goals had it not been for me, my Trainer, and our team. One by one, they fell until we reached the organization's heart. We ripped the black, beating glob of death from its arrogant perch and killed it, disbanding Flare and recruiting the Legendary Xerneas Inkheart in the process." You take a breath, eyes half closed as the memories replay in front of your eyes.
"Then we went to the League, and simply annihilated the Elite Four. We swiftly defeated the Champion and took our rightful place as the best. There was a parade in celebration of our radiant exploits, in which we received the Honor of Kalos award- as it should have be and was. Even when AZ challenged us, we won easily and showed that we were the owners of this young region. Since then, we've held the spot of Champions for two years and running." You puff out your chest proudly. "This why everyone bows and trembles before me and my companions. We are simply the best!"
The Braxien stares with a deadpan expression at you, blinking a few times before saying flatly: "You saved the world?" Your frown deepens. "You have no regard for poetic storytelling, do you, zombie?" It snorts, and you see a smirk creep onto its face. "That was just a lot of purple prose and opinions," it says. "Not the best way to approach retelling a event, buddy."
Smug bastard! You growl under your breath. Thinks it knows anything about stories! No one is better at storytelling then you, and you know it. This constant show of boldness and bravado is getting under your skin. Who does this zombie think they are, to say such stupid, stupid things with such certainty?
God, what a asshole.
The zombie reaches out and grasps your paw, making you screech and jerk away. It arches an eyebrow, a amused look crossing its face. "What's the matter?" it asks, and you bite back a retort. You will not stoop to arguing with the undead and lowly. Your reputation simply cannot allow it. "So, zombie," you say, and its ears twitch towards you, "are you dead or not?" It is silent for another moment before saying slowly, "I have no idea, honestly." Your frown grows ever deeper, beginning making you look like you drank some bitter coffee and didn't spit it out. "What I'm implying," you continue, "is a question of do you need my assistance?" The Braxien shrugs. "You know what, sure. You seem nice enough." You gape at it, utterly shocked.
You had not expected it to actually take your offer, not to actually have to go through with it. You growl softly. Again with this crafty trickster! You have to hand it to the zombie, though; it has successfully managed to drag you down into the dirt with it and shove your face straight into its disgusting blood. Ugh.
-Go through with your offer.
"Alright then, hold still." You carefully drop to your belly and nudge your nose under the Braxien. Being so close to cold and scarlet ground makes you want to hurl, but you hold your breath and scramble under the zombie, maneuvering it onto a stable position atop your back. It relaxes as you slowly rise up, and you realize it is attempting to make the load less painful for you.
You inhale sharply. That is quite an insult! You are of elite status; you need no pity or aid. How dare this mutt try and make you seem weaker then you are! You do not mention this, though. You grit your teeth, tail waving in hard and furious time with your bows. You'll show this peasant who's the alpha around here!
You begin walking, trying to avoid stepping in the blood on the ground. The ground squishes and you can't help but wince every time it makes a sucking noise on your paws. You follow the trail out of the cemetery and back through the woods, flinching at every odd noise in the now dark forest. Your ears twitch as the Braxien murmurs, "Is all this my blood?" He sounds genuinely impressed, and your nose twitches in disgust.
"I...don't know," you answer, swallowing. You know it's way too much blood for a corpse to have left, but...it's still warm, and still brilliant red. The zombie doesn't seem to be bleeding anywhere except from the wound on its chest, and that's only a little. That would alone could not make this much blood...weird. You shiver. Really, really weird.
Ugh, hadn't you already said no more spookiness for today?! It's like the universe is against you for some reason; how else could you explain this horrible series of events that have befallen you in the past weeks? First there was the sudden outbreak in crime, then the murders, and now your own Trainer is in hiding because a killer is after her! And now this whole zombie thing! It is almost too much to try and comprehend.
You walk in silence, aware of the zombie looking around every so often. It is as if it is a child, and you have no inclination of teaching it. Let it learn on its own; maybe if it makes a big enough mistake, it will die and be out of your ribbons forever.
You grimace. Well, Maple, it seems your teaching have gone to waste. I am once again being a 'snobby little jerk' and frankly I enjoy it. So thanks but no thanks, my fair green lady. You sigh. Poor girl, really, thinking she can change the elite. She shouldn't have even tried.
As far as you know, the elite cannot be changed- and that goes for the lowliest of the low as well.