From the Author:

Thanks everybody for reading through to chapter two! If you have any questions, comments, thoughts, money, etc to through my way, feel free to do so, I'm good about returning my reviews.

I'm going to try and write a little note from me to you in each chapter, at either the beginning or end, just so you can know what I'm thinking as I'm writing (I dunno if you're interested, but I figure it's better to supply too much than too little). I'll also be posting some bio information to my profile page as it's revealed in the story about characters and their Pokemon… so stay tuned!

On a final note, the little bit at the beginning with Weavile (you'll know what I'm talking about soon) is my little satire on Ash's repeated electrocution in the anime, because let's face it, how can he survive those massive shocks each time? I don't get it…

So, without any further adieu:

Misery Loves Company

Now, I know we've only just begun here, but I'm temporarily delegating my narratorial responsibilities over to Lorelie, because I wasn't there. Neither was she, but she's an artist, and this is her artist's representation of the events that led Humbra to my apprenticeship. Spoiler alert. Oops, too later.

Anyway…

Fingers of light pried their way through the cracks in the shutters, sending a slant of radiance into the dark room. Thin strips of the room were illuminated: narrow parallel islands of blanket, blanket, hair, headboard, floor were highlighted by the mid-morning sun.

Mid morning…?

Just beyond the probing lights, a yellow feather quivered. The feather sprouted from the head of a shiny Weavile, which sat childlike in the center of the square room; it was only one of a crown of yellow feathers (all tinged slightly with pale green, like overripe lemons) that adorned Weavile. The Sharp Claw Pokemon was slumped back on its slender but supple arms, looking inquisitively at the blanket-strewn bed that occupied one corner of the room. Weavile's yellow ear twitched at the sound of steady breathing coming from somewhere inside the blanket.

The little Pokemon glanced at the backlit shutters, then back at the bed. It swung quietly to its feet, its magenta fur absorbing any sound it made. Weavile padded across the carpeted floor and hauled itself onto the bed without a sound.

"Weeeeeeeavile," it crooned softly. Then, as if curious, "Weavile?"

Somewhere beneath the mass of blankets and sheets, there was a mumble, a snort. Weavile continued to stare, now standing above the precipice of the comforter pile. The innocent look vanished from Weavile's face, replace for a mere second with a flickering snigger. Weavile raised one razor-tipped arm…

"OW!"

The mountain of blankets erupted with a muffled thump. Sitting up rapidly the explosion's epicenter was a long, thin boy in a white t-shirt and boxers. His light brown eyes were stretched wide in pain, eyebrows jutted up like gables, mouth agape. Shaggy, mint-green hair spilled down to the middle of the boy's back.

The only thing out place, and that which was causing him a tremendous amount of pain, was the trio of parallel slash marks across the front of his t-shirt, which was already reddening rapidly.

"What the fuck was that, Weavile?" he yelled, rolling out of bed past the aptly-named sharp clawed Pokemon. A smirk lit up Weavile's face as he passed.

The boy hurried to the sink in the adjacent bathroom, stripping off the ruined shirt and blotting his chest with an old towel. The slashes were thankfully shallow, as were all of Weavile's "affectionate" scratches, but that didn't make them hurt anything less.

"Jesus Weavile, you know you're not supposed to use Poke-moves on people! Especially not me! It's unacceptable! Seriously, just shake me or something if you need me…"

Weavile reappeared in the doorway, looking like nothing so much as a small, fuchsia child who had accidentally misbehaved and felt unspeakable guilt. The boy clearly didn't fall for it, nudging the dark-type Pokemon out of his way with his foot as he returned to the bedroom.

"What time is it?" he asked nonchalantly, scratching the back of his overgrown head.

Weavile shrugged, pointing at the remains of what must've once been an alarm clock. The poor appliance had clearly been shredded and smashed into a thousand useless pieces. The boy looked at Weavile, realization slowly creeping into his face.

"Weeeavile, weave, weave…" the Pokemon murmured with a shrug.

The damn thing wouldn't stop beeping, what else was I supposed to do?

The boy looked at the broken clock, then up at the shuttered window…

He ran to the bedroom door and flung it open. A blinding wall of daylight met him, and he shut it quickly again with a shriek. Whatever time it was, he was already late.

Swearing none-too-quietly under his breath, the boy dressed quickly, neglecting to shower off his sleepiness. White button-down, black slacks, sharp black vest, leather shoes. He pulled a white waist-apron from a drawer and tied it around his hips with a flourish, then bound back his mint hair in a bushy tail. Finally, he removed a silver name plate from his vest pocket and pinned it to his lapel.

Jay Humbra

Enter, Jay Humbra, our… something protagonist.

Humbra slammed the door to his bedroom open once again and bolted out into the sun, pulling on a baseball cap as he went to both shield his eyes and contain his hair. Weavile scampered out behind him on all fours, shutting the door as it came. Humbra's room was on the second floor of a Pokemon Day Care Center, run by his older brother, an acclaimed breeder; it opened directly onto the back stairs of the Center, which Humbra vaulted down in two steps. Weavile jumped from the top of the stairs and landed lightly on its trainer's shoulders. Humbra rounded the building quickly.

He burst into the garage, where his older brother, Zee, was dolling out vitamin pills and Pokechow into Pokemon's food bowls for lunch.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," said Zee, smiling with sincere warmth. Zee Humbra, a sometime trainer himself, was a good-looking twenty-something who looked like a taller, wizened version of Jay with caramel colored hair instead of mint green. His was clad simply in dusty overalls and a plaid shirt, and he listened to talk radio as he worked around the Day Care. "I thought you had to work today."

"I do," muttered the younger Humbra, brushing off his brother's affections. He brushed by, careful not to severely disturb any of the food bowls, only rattling a few.

Jay Humbra grabbed his motor scooter from the corner and yanked the cord that opened the garage door. The metal bay door swung open with a series of loud creaks.

"I see," said Zee softly. "Well, ta-ta then, baby brother! I'll see you at dinner, I hope?"

"Yeah," replied Jay, straddling the seat of the scooter and revving it to life. "Oh wait, Andrew's flight gets in from Unova tonight at eight. I said I'd go pick him up…"

"Oh, well bring Andrew," said Zee with a smile. "He's a nice kid, and your friends are always welcome for dinner, of course."

"Right." Jay pulled his cap lower and dawned a pair of road goggles. Weavile clung tight to his shoulder. "Well, later."

"Yes, later," replied Zee dreamily, lost once again in the alchemy of Pokemon food and vitamins.

Jay turned and accelerated out of the garage, down the gravel driveway lined on either side by corrals in which the Day Care Pokemon could roam, and through the front gate, onto the open road. He zipped west, through the fertile, tree-rimmed valley that between Mauville City and Verdenturf town. He was headed toward the latter, which thankfully was much closer to the Day Care Center than the former.

The black tarmac wove its way among the steep green hills. Far to the north, a dark ash cloud surrounded Mt. Chimney's peak, but the rest of the sky was clean and clear, thanks to a favorable wind. The sound of Humbra's scooter, a modest silver model with a seat and a peppy electric engine, echoed through the pass. Humbra passed two cars and one cargo truck on his way; all were bound in the opposite direction.

After about fifteen minutes of nonstop scooting, Humbra rolled into the outskirts of Verdenturf. Quaint yellow cottages and shops lined the main street. As Humbra puttered into downtown, more tightly packed buildings, all bearing window boxes full of blossoming plants, were arranged around a circular plaza with a mini-meadow of wildflowers and a fountain.

He parked the scooter next to a lamppost across the street from the plaza and chained it up. Radiating apathy at the radiant day, Humbra sighed, removed his cap, and tightened his apron. He stood in front of the Lapilli Bistro, a trendy, frustratingly popular establishment located between a mom-and-pop boutique and the town's Pokemon Center. Remembering something, he reached into his pocket, fumbled out a light blue Poketch, and fastened it onto his rest. The time read 11:55. Swallowing some excess saliva, and his pride, Humbra pushed open the door and strode in.

"You're late," hissed Tabbi through false-smiling teeth; she was seating an elderly couple in the middle of the room.

Humbra shrugged semi-apologetically. Tabbi was a generally an alright girl, just excessively motherly despite her twenty-odd years. As long as Tabbi was around, just about everyone did their jobs correctly and promptly, but she also became a scapegoat for the underling's managerial hatred.

Humbra pushed open the swinging kitchen door and timed in furtively. He set immediately to work, and at first, no one seemed to notice his tardiness. Weavile leapt from his shoulders and onto the top of the giant metal freezer that contained most the bistro's meat supply. The Sharp Claw Pokemon perched happily on the appliance as Jay set about his work.

He hoisted a tray piled high with someone's order and whisked it out into the restaurant. He delivered it without a real smile to any of the patrons, just a half-hearted twitch of his cheeks and lips, and then excused himself with a little bow before returning to the kitchen. Thus went the days of Jay Humbra: skating about on autopilot at work, running late, sleeping in, ignoring his brother…

Thus went the days of Jay Humbra, until I walked into that poorly-lit hole in the wall smack in the middle of Podunk.

It's me again, in case you couldn't tell.

A deadpan girl with a comedy-mask-fake smile seated Lor and me in the corner, by the kitchen door. Figures. As we settled into our seats, I immediately began scanning over the menu, picking out two or three things to order. Lorelei fumbled with an oversized road map of Hoenn, knocking over the salt, pepper, and napkin holder as she did. I quickly pinched off some salt from the spilled pile and tossed it over my shoulder.

"Aren't you going to right those?" Lor asked, as if speaking to a small child.

"Write those what?" I replied, ignoring her tone and continuing on my observation of the menu.

With a sigh, Lorelie half-folded the map and picked up the spilled shakers and toppled napkin box, setting them back upright. She swept up the scattered grains of salt and paper in her hand and walked off to deposit them in a trash can. My eyes barely left the menu.

As she strode back toward the table, Lorelei was almost walked into by a thin waiter with stupid hair, pale green, like mint ice cream, and longer than Lor's by several inches. My first thoughts were, Damn hippies, taking jobs from honest working men, like to give 'em all a good shave… but he seemed polite enough, apologizing softly and stepping back of out Lorelei's way without spilling a single French fry from the platters he was carrying. Lor bowed slightly and hurried past, her strait, cherry-hair bobbing gently. She returned to her seat.

"Well, I don't know how we did it," she said, her eyes returning the map before her, "but we managed to land on the opposite side of Hoenn from Mt. Pyre. We're actually a few hundred miles off, here. Pyre is all the way over here. See?"

I grunted an affirmative without actually looking at the map: there was an endless pancake platter that had my name on it…

Behind me, the hippy-waiter passed by again, baring an empty tray. He vanished through the kitchen doors.

"Agatha?" chided Lor. "Are you listening at all? If take off again this afternoon, we can make it to the caldera by nightfall and hopefully find an inn, but we won't be able to go up the Mountain until tomorrow."

"We'll go just go up after nightfall then," I said. "This was supposed to be a day trip, we'll do it in a day."

"That's ridiculous. My Pokemon can only fly so much in a day, he gets tired, especially when he's carrying two people. I can't make him fly us all the way to Mt. Pyre and then back to Viridian tonight!"

"Fine then, we can rest in Mt. Pyre with the ghosts! They'll take good care of me, and they shouldn't eat your soul or anything as long as you're with me…!"

I pulled my cheeks wide with two fingers, baring my old tombstone teeth and waggling my tongue indignantly. Something about spending time with Lorelei made me act like a petulant child. Probably has something to do with how motherly she acts, especially, it seems, toward me. I don't get it, but there you have it. That's not to say I don't enjoy it, just a little bit.

"You're ridiculous," she assured me. The waitress that seated us, the girl with the plaster smile, poured Lorelei a cup of ice water, which she sipped delightedly. The girl proceeded to pour me a cup as well, but the visual of clear, flowing fluid set something off in my old innards.

"I've got to use the loo," I said, standing up quickly.

My chair skidded away from the table, right into the path of that damn clumsy longhair waiter, who was just passing by with a new tray laden with dishes. He grunted in surprise and pain as he flipped over the projectile furniture; his burden went flying across the room and smashed into an occupied table, splattering its occupants with lunchmeat and condiments.

The man at the table, a hulking body builder-type in an uncharacteristic sweater and scarf, stood up, enraged, toppling his own table.

"I have to wait forty five minutes for sandwich, and when it gets here, it was airdropped? Hell no…"

He started across the room toward the green-haired waiter, who was still in the midst of picking himself up off of my chair. I, needless to say, was already in the bathroom washing up. Lor saw what happened, though:

The red glint of a Poke ball's upper half appeared in the patron's hand as he stalked across the room. He stopped short of the poor, sprawled waiter and cast the ball to the ground. It bounced heartily with a chime, releasing a flash of white light that solidified into a five-foot-tall purple wall of a Pokemon; broad, stocky body covered in smooth purple skin, no neck, bulging eyes, and a mouth that took up most of the front half of its body, a Loudred. The Big Voice Pokemon gaped its tremendous jaws, showing its four massive teeth, and howled ear-achingly.

The water stumbled back upright, only to be blown into the far wall by a Roar from Loudred. The muscular man chuckled, rubbing the top of his Pokemon's head happily, when suddenly the kitchen doors blew open.

A magenta blur slid beneath a table and manifested as a shiny Weavile, leaping into a Low Kick that caught Loudred in the stomach and sent it out the front window of the Bistro. The Big Voice Pokemon missed its trainer by inches as it rocketed out of the building, so that now there was nothing standing between Weavile and the massive man. the dark-type Pokemon glanced up at the man with big, innocent eyes… there was a sudden flash of malignance in those eyes; Weavile's razor-claws twinkled menacingly. The man turned and ran from building, through the hole in the wall his Pokemon had created. His lunch mate, probably a girlfriend, sat still at her table for a moment, jaw dropped, then began shrieking for the manager.

As the girl with forced smile rushed to the woman's aid, assuring her she wouldn't have to pay for her lunch and would receive credit at the restaurant, the green-haired waiter collected himself from the wall he had been thrown into, his Pokemon leaping quickly to his shoulder and checking him over for injuries. He started for the door, removing his apron as he did so and handing forcefully to the waitress. With a sarcastic salute to the room, he was gone out the door.

Agatha reemerged from the restroom, paying literally no mind to the carnage of the café.

"Did you order yet? I'm hungrier than a…"

She noticed the Loudred-shaped chunk missing from the adjacent wall, as well as the toppled tables. Sniggered.

"Maybe we shouldn't have come here…" she started softly. "It turned out to be a bit of a hole in the wall, didn't it?"

Agatha collapsed into laughter, much to the gapes of everyone else in the room. Without saying anything, I left a tip on the table for the water we had been served and grabbed Agatha's hand. I led her outside, after the boy, careful to use the front door and not the gaping rift in the wall.

Sorry it turned out so long! It won't always be so.

Anyway, thus begins the first arc, Misery.

Thanks for reading! And henceforth, I'll be updating every Saturday or Sunday.

-SE