People often tell their lethargic peers to take initiative and make something of themselves, to reach for every opportunity one has and seize it with force, to make the most of the golden concept that is life, to act independently, yet responsibly, in order to fulfill one's desires and become someone. Someone. That word, used in this context as 'a person of importance', sounds foreign as it rolls off the tongue, yet I keep striving to reach that title, and in doing so, I have been making life harder and harder to live. I have been living finicky and independent, when I could just be living in accord with the people around me and their lifestyles, camouflaging myself amongst everyone else and blending in. But that wouldn't be fun, would it?
So, sometimes all it takes for lazy people to take initiative is simply getting off their asses. Simple as that. But my take on taking initiative is hectically more intense.
Starting a world-wide revolution is going to be a lot harder than that.
Both halves of my brain are in a constant battle with each other. One half says, "You're only young, and you can't take on an entire world by yourself. Let the present-day counterparts of Nat Turner, John Brown, HBS, et cetera, deal with this." The other half, fortunately the weaker and less persistent of the two, says, "Don't you know there's no such existing equivalents, and that you're the only one here who believes in stopping this madness?"
All the opposing armies in my head make me ache. I should be too young to be going through such frustrating inner-conflicts! I should have stuck with my reading, my sleeping, my video games, my average teenager doings, but instead my weaker half got the better of me and now I'm knee-deep in, well, tall rainforest grasses...
«Talks About Evolving»
When I first met neonate Eevee, she was quite similar to Riolu in that she always seemed to be in her own little world, oblivious yet curious. Emotionless. She remained that way throughout her labor days, until I started giving her attention.
As she grew fonder of me, I noticed her overall attitude change. What once was a stare devoid of expression turned into an inalienable grin of miniscule fangs. The only times I saw her she was usually grinning - probably because those were the only times she saw me. As she grew more comfortable, she also adapted a mischievous alter-ego. Yes, she was a sly little trickster, but she meant no real harm.
Eevee have a little too much forehead, if you ask me. So I gave Eevee a hat, to conceal that vast mass as well as help her bear the snows, but she ate its cotton insides, promptly after going to town with it and gnawing apart its seams. I've never seen a pokémon as playful as that.
The only thing I can vividly remember of Eevee, other than her forehead and saucerless eyes, was a peculiar marking on her tail. There was an abnormal patch of brighter fur that looped entirely around the circumference of the tail nearest the base. She was proud of it, I could tell. At times, she was even overtly boastful, and would pompously parade around me with her tail waving like a discolored flag in the air.
Like I said, Eevee was a jokester, and I was utterly astonished to find that out. I feel like any pokémon who is shown that much affection will turn out to have much more of a personality than one would original percieve from its depressed, laboring state. If Riolu and I survive any longer, maybe it could end up showing more than just a blank stare...
Suddenly, I get to thinking about my flat bed and refrigerator again. I can go back... I think I can go back! I can make things how they were. I can be normal, and keep my lonely mansion, and save myself from prison. Yeah, I could go home and raid the refrigerator and empty it of its liquid contents. I could take a cool shower, and fall on my bed, free of spine-warping kinks and tree roots. The thought of a flat bed is almost too blissful!
In my dehydrated state of mind, I completely and intentionally vanquish all desires to find out whether Riolu can truly become more friendly.
I raise my arms with Riolu in their grasp, removing Riolu from the safety of my chest. Riolu looks around, slightly confused at first, but as I slowly and mindlessly pace towards the men, Riolu grows more concerned and panicky.
I took after this riolu here when I found it on the road, I'll say to the men. Took me a while, but I finally caught it, the slippery bugger. No need to thank me. It'd be awful to have a useful slave such as this escape.
It swivels around between my hands and looks me dead in the eye. Its eye twitches a little as it holds its stern look. As it makes to snap at the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, I sober up and recoil both hands, dropping it onto the ground before it can fully sink its teeth in. The men stare at me.
"Don't let it get away!" shouts the main man as he draws a pistol from a holster on his belt, which I had failed to acknowledge until now.
"Hey, hey!" Casual Attire waves his hand frantically at the main man. "You can't shoot my riolu!"
The main man rests his gun-wielding hand on his hip and looks at his teammates. "Well," he stammers, "I don't know how we're supposed to get it back! Nothing like this has ever happened. If we had some tranquilizer-dart-thingies, it'd be more useful, okay? But we don't got none of them, so I gotta shoot it or something."
"Shooting my slave – sir, I need it intact, else't'd be useless."
I can tell they're just as flustered about this situation as I am. Riolu sneaks backwards behind my leg, glowering up at who I'm guessing is its owner. As the men continue to argue, Riolu creeps off into the shrubbery.
Oh shoot, oh shoot, oh shoot. What do I do?
I slowly follow the riolu through the bushes, keeping a wary eye on the group of men. I'm much bigger than the riolu, and therefore less shrubbery-dynamic. The bushes rustle and garner the attention of the group. They stare at me as I stare back awkwardly.
"Don't-don't do anything, I'm doing nothing wrong," I say as I keep treading through the shrubs until I slowly disappear. As soon as I'm out of eye-shot, I look around until I spot Riolu, who has darted off without me. I take off in a sprint as well. Behind me, I can hear the men bursting through the thick wall of greenery that had separated us before. They yell out after me.
"Hey, why are you running?" they cry. "We need to talk to you!"
I turn my head around as I run, glancing questioningly at the men.
One of them notices and calls out, "Can you help us catch that slave?"
...I still have a chance at escaping from this, and, perhaps, if I'm lucky, I can escape without having to turn Riolu in to them. I inwardly thank them for their ignorance, and begin conjuring a plan (which is remarkably hard to do while running - for me at least). I slow down and rest against a tree, panting. Water would be nice right now. I turn to the men and flinch as they approach within seconds of me turning my head. Now's the time to see what their true intentions are.
"What are you doing?" the main man asks harshly. "You let it get away!"
At the moment, it's still hard to decide whether or not they want to jail me. One question has remained unasked by them: why did you run off to the mountain? Them asking that question could immediately decide my fate, and it's certain that the main man knows that I'm the "runaway kid". If I can get out of their sight, I'm home free.
"Sorry, I'm out of breath, sir. I'll catch that slave for you, though! Don't you worry, just give me a moment."
"Good, son. A young lad like you should be faster than us, I hope. But the longer we talk, the farther that slave is gettin' away." The man turns to his group with doubtful eyes. "Let's split up and meet at the peak if we find the riolu. Mr. Waters, you come with me." He turns back to me. "If you get a hold of that riolu, return to the peak. Good luck."
The group disperses and travels down the hill. I look around, dazed.
My plan is working...I think. All I need to do is find Riolu, so we can get as far away from here as possible. I wipe my forehead. I'm drenched with sweat. It's soothing, but I'm not producing as much as I usually do when I exert myself. I recall certain people in that group having water bottles attached to their belts...
As the day proceeds, I grow more and more disconcerted towards Riolu's safety with the passing of each fruitless hour. The sun is nearing the horizon, coloring the sky and its clouds in the usual, stunningly beautiful way. I'm about to give up and begin my journey home, to my flat bed and refridgerator, when something bounds from a nearby bush and practically splits its skull in two on my shin.
"Jeez!"
"K'argh!" Riolu lays on the ground, hiding its face behind its caressing paws.
Relief had come in the form of a shin-splintering thud, and I'm thankful for it. I lean down and rebuke the riolu for being so oblivious. What were the chances of it running into me, and not all the other men? Perhaps, all the other men were holding onto their cubical candies—pokéblocks, I think they're called—and Riolu had associated all distant traces of the blocks' scents with the slave hunters.
I go to grab a hold of Riolu, but it tenses and hisses and claws at me. "What's the matter? I'm not going to hurt you; it's me."
Riolu gets to its feet, still rubbing its head, and stumbles away. It turns around and gives me a glare that's surprisingly menacing for its size.
Finally, it clicks. I had nearly handed Riolu over to the men. After two days of "nurturing" the poor pokémon, I had nearly handed it right back to its owner.
I'm sorry, Riolu, I was just thinking about my house and-and I got a little confused! I sigh and try to reason with it. "I would never return you, don't you know that? If I wanted to return you, I would have done it already, wouldn't I have?"
Suddenly, Riolu's eyes, as well as its nostrils, widen. Oh no.
The all too familiar main man appears from behind a tree with his weapon aimed at Riolu. The sight of the glistening metal in his hand is enough to paralize the tiny being. "Now, don't you move a muscle, little one." The guy waves his gun towards "Mr. Waters", the slave owner. "Come back to your master. He misses you. Don't you miss him?"
Mr. Waters shyly says, "I don't think it does miss me." What a shocking anomaly! This slave, just recently caught, disobeyed their master! Unbelievable! Just the word "disobey" is utterly inconceivable.
"Return to your owner at once, or else I'll shoot." The main man's hand struggles to keep the gun from slipping from his grasp. He wouldn't dare shoot such a valuable bipedle.
Slaves have different ranges of prices, depending primarily on their size and anatomy, and secondarily on their skills. A four-legged houndour, if it were to ever be used as a slave, would be less expensive than a four-legged, colossal arcanine. A four-legged arcanine would be less expensive than a bipedal psyduck. A bipedal psyduck would be less expensive than a bipedal, towering scizor. The only exception where this rule does not apply is when there's telepathy involved. Lord Lucifer, I cannot tell you how much slavers go crazy over pokémon with telepathy.
But, to me, the whole size/shape-over-skills seems like it would be a fairly ineffective way to categorize pokémon. Because, say there was a small four-legger with the psychic power to lift tons and tons of something with its mind, and compare that to a two-legger with barely enough strength to push a rock. Why would such a weakling be purchased for more money than a quadruped with such biblical strength? Stature counts. I've been trying to figure out the ways of this society. So far, no luck.
Riolu takes a final glance at me before sighing and slumping towards its owner. I blink.
I open my mouth to say something, but I decide against it. I could be put in prison if they find out I'm on the same side as their slave.
Mr. Waters raises a brow. The main slave hunter lowers his gun and breathes out, relieved that this whole hunt is finally over.
Riolu... What's gotten into you? Don't just give up...
We can still do this!
As Riolu is barely just out of reach of its master's awaiting arms, it raises its head and huffs out in a fit. It suddenly draws back its fist and releases it full force, like the spring launcher of a pinball machine. Its fist meets the kneecap of its owner. All the leeway on either side of the man's leg could not prevent the following from happening.
The hit lands at such a degree that the mans knee bends inwards with a sickening crek. Had the man not been standing perfectly straight, his leg wouldn't look like it's bent in the opposite direction as the front of the body.
Mr. Waters shrieks and crumples to the ground as Riolu continues mercilessly unleashing its Close Combat.
The main man looks on in silence as if he's about to condone the whole act and simply walk away, not wanting to risk his legs. Instead, with a shaking hand, he brings the pistol back up. Riolu notices quickly though, and snarls as it darts towards the main man in zigzagging patterns, leaving poor Mr. Waters alone on the ground.
Before a single shot is fired, Riolu leaps into the air, extends its Shadow Claw, and tears through the man's face, leaving three clean cuts to fester, one of which, the most critical one, starts at his left temple, trails through his eyes and the top of his nose, and ends at his right cheekbone. Riolu ricochets off his chest and lands on the ground. One of the man's eyes slides ever so slightly out of its socket and oscillates for a moment below like a pendulum, before gravity pulls the eye's innards downward, puss and all, out of the slit on the iris and pupil. The yellow, watery custard spills on his chin and drips from there onto the forest floor. In disbelief, he slowly brings a wavering hand to touch his face, before letting out a gasp and fainting. His entire body collapses soundlessly, without a single grunt or shuffle.
Riolu, with its fists balled, stands still, breathing in and out heavily. I'm overcome with dizziness. I slink to the main man and kneel down. He gurgles and whines quietly. I try my best to refrain from looking at his face, and instead search around his belt. I pull the water bottle from its pouch. I hesitate, wondering whether I should take the pistol. Riolu just shamelessly tore an island "policer" apart, so I suppose tearing more people apart, should we ever have to, wouldn't effect our reputation any more than this initial tearing. I remove the man's belt and wrap it around my waist before sliding the gun into its holster.
I move to the next victim. I take Mr. Water's water bottle and look over his buckled legs, most likely swollen and purple underneath his dungarees. I shudder at the thought. He lets out a loud and sudden groan.
"Help... Somebody help!" He tosses and turns on the ground, cringing every time his legs rub against each other.
Enough wasting time! I uncap the water bottle and allow the nectar down my desert of a throat. I finish the bottle within moments. I let out a satisfied sigh. I grab the other bottle. I should give this one to Riolu, to atone for almost turning it in. As I turn to Riolu, my eyes are met with a bright luminescence, dancing all along Riolu's deforming body. I stare on in both horror and awe. Something I cannot explain is going down.
Something screams in my head. I jump back with a start. I look around nervously for the sound, but the bright light and I are the only existences in the proximity, unless one of the slave hunters is lurking amidst the darkness.
I turn back to the light to notice that it has doubled in size. I swallow and speak out with a small, stuttering voice. "R-Riolu...?"
"Damian..." wheezes a soft, strangulated voice.
My eyes have adjusted to the light. It's now easier to distinguish Riolu's outline from the forest background. But the outline doesn't look like Riolu... The coruscating entity has what I'm guessing are its paws wrapped around its neck. It moves on its knees towards me, reaching out with one paw while the other still clutches its neck.
"Dam-i-an," it cries out in erratic gasps. "Listen... I-I can't evolve unless-ack-unless this collar is off..." The light falls to the ground and pulls its knees to its chest. It lies there, coughing violently, until the light fades and its elongated arms and legs retreat back into its body.
The blue and black colors, as well as the small body shape, have returned. All is quiet. I sit in the darkness for a few minutes, letting the stifled pokémon recollect itself. Finally, it shakily gets to its feet and looks at me through disappointed, scarlet eyes. It shakes its head and starts to walk off. It is bound to its rioluhood by its shackle and collar.
"...Hey, where are you going?"
"Kah!" Riolu exclaims in frustration.
An idea comes to me. "Hold on!" I fumble through Mr. Water's clothes until I pull out his wallet. Riolu has stopped storming off and is curiously peering around its shoulder at me. "A-ha!" His driver's license displays, in bold letters amongst various other information, his address. "Riolu, I have his address. If we go there, we might have a chance at getting your collar key." I know there's a minute chance of actually finding the keys within what could be an enormous slave complex, but in such a dire situation, I'm up for anything.
Riolu approaches skeptically with folded arms.
"Listen, I would never return you to your owner, and that's that." A rush of guilt comes over me. "Now, if we raid this place soon, we might have a chance at finding the keys without getting caught."
The riolu gives a sigh and accepts. I hand it the last water bottle, which it takes in its paws gratefully. . .
. . .Sure enough, Mr. Water's address is the address of a massive slave complex. A lot of the time, people who deal in slaves need large storage spaces to organize what is to be sold.
Riolu and I scan the complex from our hiding place amid some dirt mounds not too far away. I don't know what we're going to find in there, but chances are, there are going to be a whole lot of pokémon. I turn to Riolu and ask if it's ready. Riolu anxiously nods.
If we're lucky, Mr. Waters would be the only person to tend to his slaves, but in some cases slaves need to be tended to by an entire team of slavers. Should we be so unlucky, there will be guards patrolling around the cages within the complex. These people are really serious about money. Pray to God that's not our circumstance.
In between us and the complex, there lies what could be Mr. Waters' house, which is the address that we searched for. It's a small shack, less menacing than the monolithic warehouse next door. This house has less of a chance to hold other people than the complex, unless Mr. Waters has a wife and kids. A little peeping wouldn't hurt.
There are no lights on in either building, but the islanders on this island usually go to bed before midnight.
Finally, after a few deep breaths, Riolu and I move out. We run towards the shack, avoiding the floodlights that spot the area. When we reach the house, we peer through each window and, to the best of our eyes' ability, try to determine whether any figures lurk inside. Riolu looks at me and shakes its head.
"What?" I whisper.
The pendulous aura-receptors on each side of its head are slightly hovering in the air. They slowly drop back to their normal position. Riolu starts circling the perimeter, me following, until it reaches the door. It looks up at me, waiting. I check the doorknob. It's locked. I remove Mr. Waters' keys from my pocket and try each key in the door until one of them fits. I slowly push open the door and sneak in with Riolu following behind.
Inside the shack it is quite messy and unkept. The first room, with the front door, is the kitchen. We quickly gather all the water bottles we can hold, and scavenge some of the food from the small fridge.
The next room is Mr. Waters' bedroom. We search it in case Riolu's keys are somewhere within. No such luck. I predict that, somewhere inside the complex, there is a master key for all the slaves' collars and wrist-shackles.
The next and last room is a full-bath. Nothing to see here. We exit the building, making sure to close and lock the door behind us, and hide our collection of bottles in the grass nearby.
We take another minute to rest and survey from afar the complex's property for any potential dangers. I look at Riolu as it inspects the grounds with its aura-receptors. When it was evolving, I felt a tremendous fear inside me. I have never experienced something like that before. Frankly, I thought evolution generally takes years and years to successfully undergo, and that Riolu's evolution would be an arduous step by step deformation process, such like ours. However, if that were the case, I doubt we'd have enough time to wait out in the jungle for Riolu to transform, so this system of pokémon evolution is much more ideal.
And that voice... To add to my fear, there were reverberating cries for help inside my brain, making it painfully hard to hear my own thoughts, that sounded much like an average human in distress. The telepathy frightened me to no extent, yes, but Riolu - Lucario, rather - had a voice that was not animalistic nor alien, to my surprise, but rather genuine, like an average human's! Though my mind was in a daze and my body shaking in fear, my interest in Lucario's instinctual idiosyncrasies had been sparked.
What really piqued me, and at the same time unnerved me, was the softness of Lucario's voice. It was gentle and soothing—despite the interfering gags and wheezes. Its voice...was feminine. All this time, I have never considered Riolu to be a female, simply because I will tend to subconsciously categorize normal-looking pokémon as males and extremely feminine-looking pokémon, such as frillish and petilil, as females. It's a bad habit, I know, but hey, I've been referring to Riolu as an "it" in case such a discovery were to come about. Otherwise, I would have been calling Riolu a "he", had I no qualms about accidentally insulting it.
If Riolu was a girl, which has yet to be fully determined, that would change my entire look on it. I had caught it once peeking at me (not peeking, more like conspicuously gawking) when I was taking a leak in the forest. I stared at it questioningly until it backed off and disappeared. I didn't take much note of it, but that's because I figured that Riolu was just casually strolling around, you know, doing things a typical, curious pokémon would do, having a look at the scenery, being a male... If Riolu was a girl...that'd change my entire outlook on that once-unexceptional situation.
I blush in embarrassment. I become serious and clear my throat. "It's time," I notify my partner in crime. We advance.
A note from the authors:
Hello dearest readers! We've recently come to realize that this story is lacking in reviews :c Please review! It really boosts our confidence, as well as fuels us to write more Turnaround! It would bring tears of joy to our eyes to know you appreciate this story as much as we appreciate you continuously following along. Thank you.
And sorry for the semi-short chapter. Spare me :l