Spots of Silver
A Pokèmon: SoulSilver Drabble Collection
Set Six
056. First Up: Will (No, Not That One - The Other One. The Annoying One)
Initially, Lyra was nervous when she walked toward the door leading into the room that housed the first member of the Elite Four. She knew absolutely nothing about them, after all, save for what the guard in front of the door said before he passed. Something about the way he grinned when he said that they were incredibly tough and that she couldn't exit once she entered set her on edge, and though Dean walked with cool confidence beside her, Lyra still couldn't help but feel as if each and every one of her nerves had been jolted by an extremely rude Thundershock.
But when she entered the first room and found herself faced with strange, three-dimensional floating blocks that seemed to be made out of nothing but light and a strangely costumed man staring at her, she felt most of her nerves melt away into pure bemusement.
"Welcome to the Elite Four!" the man called out as he approached, his voice somewhat high-pitched and sounding as if it was holding back perpetual laughter. "I am Will! I -"
"Will?" Lyra repeated before she could help herself. The image of a boy with red hair and fierce gray eyes flashed before her mind's eye, and the man before her nodded.
"Yes! I have trained all around the world, making my psychic Pokèmon powerful. And at last, I have been accepted into the Pokèmon League! I can only keep getting better! Losing is not an option! And here and now, we shall battle to determine which of us will go on, which of us will see this to the end! There will be many twists and turns, but ultimately, I am confident that my psychic Pokèmon will prevail! I -" Will stopped his long speech suddenly, finally noticing Dean, who yawned loudly by Lyra's feet. "Is that an Umbreon?"
"Yep," Lyra affirmed, nodding once. "Dean, you're up." Dean pounced forward, his teeth suddenly barred, a ferocious glint in his eyes. Will hastened to regain his composure, fixing his mask.
"No matter! This does not matter! For in the end, Lyra, I shall be the one who wins! We psychics never give up! Until our power reaches zero, our opportunities are limitless! We psychics -"
"Talk a lot," Lyra interrupted, folding her arms. "Can we please just start the battle already?" She knew she was being rude, and she could tell that Will was offended (and could only wonder at what that would mean for her upcoming match), but his high-pitched voice was beginning to grate on her nerves. As he sent out his Xatu, causing Dean to lick his fangs, Lyra knew one thing for certain:
They may have been name-twins, but this annoying member of the Elite Four had nothing on her rival.
057. Ask-a-Koga
There was a chance, of course, that Will (of the Elite Four) being weird was just an exception rather than the rule. The Elite Four was comprised of expert trainers, after all; surely they couldn't all be bizarre. Surely they had to be normal on some level, right?
When Lyra entered the next room to find the next member of the Elite Four hanging upside down from the ceiling, she found that she was proven wrong.
"Um, hi?" Lyra called, and though he smirked, he offered her no response. "My name is Lyra. I'm here -"
"I know why you're here," he called down, folding his arms across his chest. Lyra raised one eyebrow, yet then nodded.
"Uh . . . Okay, good." After a few more moments of silence with no change, she asked, "So . . . Why are you on the ceiling?"
"I am a ninja," he replied. Lyra nodded slowly.
"Okay . . . But how -"
"I am a ninja."
"Right, but -"
"I," he interrupted, speaking each syllable slowly and distinctly, as if she hadn't heard him the first time, "am a nin-ja."
"I know you're a ninja!" Lyra retorted, throwing her hands up. "But what I don't get is how you're going to battle me if you're just hanging up -"
"A trainer doesn't have to be at ground-level in order to carry out a battle. In fact, a true ninja works from the shadows, using abilities to confound their opponents before said opponents have a chance to react."
Lyra nearly jumped a foot in the air, spinning around to find that Koga had somehow moved from the ceiling to behind her without her ever noticing the difference. Her heart thundering against her chest, Lyra looked up at the ceiling, found that he was indeed gone, and then looked back to see that he'd moved again.
"How do you move so fast?" Lyra demanded. "Where did you go?"
"I'm a ninja," Koga replied, his voice coming from everywhere at once. "And now it is time for us to battle. Prepare yourself!"
"How do I - whoa!" A Pokèball was thrown from seemingly nowhere, landing in the center of the floor and revealing an Ariados. "Where did that come from?"
"I'm a ninja," Koga answered, and Lyra sighed, gesturing for Byrnison to barrel out in front of her, taking the Ariados head-on.
"I should have known better than to ask . . ."
058. Bruno: A Man of Few Words (But Plenty of Wangst)
First there was Will, who was over-dressed.
Then there was Koga, who had acceptable clothes - or at least, Lyra thought he did. She barely saw him, so she couldn't really say.
And then there was Bruno who . . . wore nothing but cut-off pants.
Lyra was reminded forcibly of Chuck, who dressed in a similar style as he sat underneath a pounding waterfall. Still, if there was one thing she could say about Bruno, it was that he at least had the abs to back it up. If it weren't for the Murkrow's feet around his eyes and the tangled, ratty, long blue hair he had, he might have actually been somewhat attractive - he might have been impressive.
As it stood, he was . . . not. At first Lyra had thought that his trick of kicking the Pokèballs was somewhat cool (he said that he refused to use his hands, though he refused to say why, only that there was a very important, very serious reason behind his refusal), but it grew old after the first couple of times, especially with the way he put way more force into kicking them than necessary (one almost hit her in the face). And at the end of the battle, when she expected him to say something at least somewhat cool, the most he did was sit down and hang his head, looking away from her.
"Having lost, I have no right to say anything," he said. "Go on to your next opponent."
"Okay," Lyra said, glancing down at Sam with a confused expression. "But, Bruno -"
"No," he interrupted, refusing to meet her gaze. "I have no right. What I have done . . . I have failed beyond all imaginings. I will never be forgiven."
"Never be forgiven?" Lyra raised an eyebrow, exchanging another look with Sam. "Um, you do know that you just lost a Pokèmon battle, right? It's going to be okay. You don't need to -"
"I have no right to have this conversation with you!" Bruno interrupted, and Lyra jumped a little at the sudden volume of his voice. "My past . . . You could never understand my past! The mistakes I have committed . . . Go! Go, Lyra! Onto your next challenge! Leave me in my shame!"
". . . Okay, then. Bye, I . . . guess . . ." Lyra stepped around Bruno, and though she glanced back at him, he studiously avoided her gaze. She almost felt bad for leaving him alone to brood in the middle of the floor, but in the end, it really wasn't worth it. Whatever Bruno was angsting about, he'd surely get over it eventually, and if not . . . well, it clearly was not her problem.
059. Karen the Shameless Hussy and Her Bloody Awful Houndoom Lilith
The fourth room was . . . dark. There was no other way to describe it. Cloaked in purples and blacks, it gave off an eerie atmosphere that made Sam shiver until Lyra recalled him, calling out Byrnison instead. But as dark as the room was, it was a stark contrast to the coy voice coming from the center, and as Lyra neared, she saw a young woman with silvery hair talking on a Pokègear cell phone, giggling fiendishly all the while.
". . . positively adorable when you're flustered. To think, you don't even have reason to be flustered yet, Mortimer." The woman didn't even seem to notice Lyra, and instead merely smirked, twirling one lock of silvery-blue hair around her finger. "Just wait until I get a hold of you. I'll show you a time you'll never forget." Another dark giggle followed her words, and it stopped Lyra from interrupting based on the sheer implication behind the laugh alone. The laughter subsided briefly, but the smirk remained, and after a moment she asked, "Oh? Is that little Eugene I hear in the background?"
Eugene? Mortimer? Lyra looked over at Byrnison, who looked just as confused as Lyra felt. Does she mean Eusine and Morty? Granted, Lyra knew that the chances of that probably weren't that good, but all the same . . .
"Oh, yes, yes, I meant Eusine, of course," the woman said, rolling her eyes as if she found the subject to be of very little importance. Lyra's eyes widened, even as she reasoned with herself that there tons of people in the world, including other people named "Eusine" as well. "Well, just - oh, Eusine, what a surprise." The woman clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Yes, yes, I'm fully aware of what you think of me. But let me clue you in on a little something: what I do to Mortimer in our private time is none of your business. Is that clear enough for you, or do I need to spell it out in simpler terms?" Apparently whatever the woman said did not mesh well with Eusine (and Lyra couldn't say she blamed him, because the words "do to" didn't exactly inspire comfort), because the woman held the phone away from her ear briefly. Lyra couldn't make out the words, but she could certainly hear the angry tone. When Karen put the phone back to her ear, her tone was as mocking as ever. "Of course I meant do with, Eusine, please don't get your Suicune pajamas in a bunch." If Lyra had any doubt about who Karen was speaking to before that moment, the mention of Suicune squashed it, and she sighed. He just follows me everywhere, doesn't he? Even if this isn't really following me, but even so . . .
Finally, the woman's eyes flickered to Lyra, and Lyra felt something cold shoot through her at the gaze, despite the fact that the amusement still hadn't left the woman's face. "As much as I would love to continue this conversation, it appears as if I have a challenger, so I really must be going. Tell Mortimer I send hugs and kisses, and I will see him later. Goodbye." The woman snapped the phone shut without giving Eusine a chance to reply, and turned her attention fully to Lyra.
"Do you have a name, little girl?"
"I'm Lyra," Lyra replied, bristling at being addressed as a "little girl." The woman merely chuckled.
"Lyra? How amusing. I am Karen of the Elite Four, a master of dark-types. I simply adore their dark power and the aura of mystery . . . but I believe in showing rather than telling. Words are for the weak and the young."
"Tell that to the guy in the first room," Lyra muttered, and Karen laughed.
"Oh, yes. Dearest William does have a rather hard time shutting his mouth. Fortunately, my Pokèmon often do it for him." Karen pulled a Pokèball off her waist, spinning before throwing it out in a powerful swing. "Lilith! Let's begin!"
None of the other members of the Elite Four had nicknamed their Pokèmon, so it was surprising to hear that Karen had - and doubly surprising to see that it was a Houndoom, of all creatures. The Houndoom looked just as arrogant as Karen herself, its hackles rising over its fangs in an unmistakable canine smirk. Karen's smirk mirrored it, and she tossed her hair over her shoulder.
"Don't get used to the sentimentalities, little girl. Lilith is the only one of my Pokèmon with a proper name - and she's also the only one I'll need to utterly destroy you. Try to fight; you won't get far."
"I'll do more than try," Lyra retorted, reaching out an arm to hold Byrnison back. As strong as he was, she only one had Pokèmon that would be able to combat a Houndoom's fire. "Go, Hydra!"
. . . But Hydra couldn't. Hydra's Surf was strong, but Lilith's Dark Pulse was stronger, and Hydra was felled after two hits. Byrnison lumbered out next, but was quickly mown down. Scoresby went down after a single Flamethrower, and Lilith seemed to take particular delight in trying to tear Dean's throat out while Sam - who's psychic attacks would be utterly useless - struggled to illegally enter the fight, restrained only by Lyra's arms. Finally, it was down to Pantalaimon, who faced Lilith bravely despite the leer in the Houndoom's eyes. Karen smirked, her arms crossed confidently across her chest.
"Down to a little Furret, hm? Wonderfully amusing. Well, let's continue then, shall we? Lilith, Dark Pulse!"
Lyra shut her eyes tight against the oncoming dark wave, and shouted the only thing that had even the slightest hope of getting them through it:
"Pan, use Return!"
060. Lord Lance, the Dragon Champion
It took a good chunk of Lyra's items to heal her Pokèmon back to their proper health, but as she entered the regal room with the golden Dratini statues, she knew it was worth it. Lyra had wondered about who the Pokèmon Champion was - had heard about how Red had abandoned his post without so much as a reason why, passing the baton to someone else - but had never guessed that it could be him - that it could be Lance. And as he grinned a tight grin at her as she approached, the expression just as fierce as it was at the Lake of Rage, Lyra felt a ripple of true fear run through her - not just nerves, but fear.
She had seen his Dragonite take on Team Rocket's Pokèmon. More than that, she had seen his Dragonite take on a person. Lance's smile and eyes were burning with a ferocity that extended beyond Pokèmon battling, and as she walked up with Pantalaimon at her side, she wasn't so sure she was ready to face it.
"I knew you would make it here, Lyra," he said, and Lyra swallowed, nodding once. "With your skills, I was sure of it. And now, as the standing Pokèmon League Champion, I will put those skills to the test!"
"R - Right," Lyra managed, taking a few steps back. Pantalaimon twisted around to look at her, his eyes wide. "You're up first, Pan," she said, crossing her fingers at her sides. "Don't worry, I'll call you back if I don't think you're ready to deal with -"
"Go, Gyarados!"
"- oh." Lyra looked up at the towering blue sea serpent, and Pantalaimon did the same, his striped tail swishing back and forth in anticipation. "Well, in that case . . . Pantalaimon, Thunder!" Pantalaimon clapped his paws together before smacking them down onto the ground, his fur bristling with static electricity before a bolt of pure lightning struck the sea serpent where it stood. Far from being felled, however, the Gyarados seemed to shake the shock off, and - upon Lance's command that it use Waterfall - charged at Pantalaimon like a hurtling train made of pulsing water and pure muscle. Pantalaimon was thrown bodily across the room, crying out as he thudded across the floor, but able to stand afterward, looking a little dazed.
Lyra glanced back at Lance to see that his expression was just as wild and fierce as before. For all of his talk of loving and caring for Pokèmon, of treating them gently and with kindness and respect, he loved this. He thrived on it. The thrill of the battle, of commanding his Pokèmon . . . he enjoyed it in ways that Lyra didn't - that Lyra couldn't even imagine enjoying it.
Lyra crossed her arms across her chest, running her hands along the goosebumps that raised on her arms.
Lance could call Will - her Will, of course, not the freak in the first room - cruel all he wanted, but he was only denying his own raw craving for the heat of battle - not when it showed in each and every one of his Pokèmon.
The Gyarados was stubborn, but another Thunder from Pantalaimon managed to faint it. Likewise, Lance's Charizard fought hard, but Byrnison's Rollout won out in the end (despite how Byrnison suffered rough injuries before finally taking the fire-breathing dragon down). Lance's Aerodactyl, on the other hand, was a demon on par with Karen's Houndoom; Hydra managed to get its health down halfway before Lyra recalled him, refusing to risk another Thunder Fang, and sent Scoresby out to stall for time while she healed Hydra's injuries (she felt bad, but there was little else she could do; desperate times called for desperate measures, and Skarmory's agility allowed him to dodge most of the Aerodactyl's attacks, the two fighting viciously against each other in the air). Once he was thrown back into the fight, Hydra managed to take the Aerodactyl down, but not before it landed one more vicious Thunder Fang around Hydra's mid-section.
As horrendous as the Aerodactyl was, however, the three Dragonite were worse. Sam took on the first two on his own, using Psybeam constantly, refusing to stay in one place for very long. By the time the third Dragonite rolled around, however, Sam was exhausted, and a single well-placed Outrage knocked Sam into a Dratini statue so hard the gold actually cracked, a splinter appearing through the gold plating before Sam fell limply to the ground.
"Sam!" Lyra cried, abandoning all thought as she ran over to her Espeon. As if she'd called his name instead, Dean charged forth from his Pokèball, rushing the Dragonite with fangs barred and bloodlust in his eyes. Lyra turned just in time to see Dean leap at the Dragonite, yet then disappear from view as soon as the Dragonite took a swing with its massive paw. The Faint Attack did hardly any damage; the Dragonite barely flinched before it retaliated with Outrage, and Dean slammed into the floor at the Dragonite's feet, his yellow rings dimming due to his injuries.
"Dean, no!" Lyra pulled out Dean's Pokèball, hastily trying to recall him before any more damage could be done. "I never sent you out - don't do things like that! Return!"
Dean ignored her command, much like he always did, and instead stumbled his way back onto his paws, shaking his head roughly. But instead of continuing the fight, he ran back to her, crouching down beside Sam, nudging the Espeon with his paws. Sam looked back weakly, and though she wanted to recall both of them - though she knew she should recall both of them - Lyra left them, just for the moment. Better to let them comfort each other than to let them suffer in their Pokèballs apart.
Besides, she still needed to deal with the Dragonite.
"I never thought this would happen," Lance said, and he sounded for all the world like he was watching an interesting movie, or reading a particularly fascinating book. "I fight until the end and never give up - I suppose you're the same, Lyra?"
"You can see that I am, Lance!" Lyra shot back, her voice a bit high-pitched due to hysteria. But what could she do? Hydra, Sam, Dean, Byrnison, and Scoresby were in no condition to fight. That only left Pantalaimon, who was still tired from his earlier battle against the Gyarados, and had no possible type advantage against the Dragonite - the Dragonite, who was staring at her like she was lunch. Lyra was fairly certain this was the same Dragonite from the Team Rocket hideout in Mahogany - the same one who had ruthlessly attacked the Team Rocket grunt as per Lance's instruction. Lyra didn't think Lance would order it to attack her, but part of her couldn't help but wonder if the Dragonite wanted the order - if it craved the chance to bypass the Pokèmon and go straight for another human. The thought made shivers of revulsion shake through her, and she tried to banish it as quickly as she'd thought it.
"Fair enough," Lance replied. "If that's the case, send out another Pokèmon. If you aren't going to surrender, then . . ."
". . . Pan," Lyra said in a quiet, final tone. Pantalaimon scampered forward, pausing by her side to look up at her. Lyra looked down, meeting his eyes, hating the look that she saw there in the same way that she loved it. Pantalaimon was looking at her in an unquestioning, unfaltering way. Whatever she ordered him to do, he would do it. He would face the Dragonite for her. He would fight for her. If she commanded him to, he would die for her. Lyra had known that Pokèmon battles were serious before that moment - had treated and cared for every one of her Pokèmon's injuries, had rushed them to Pokèmon Centers and worried herself sick until they were returned to her, nice and healthy - but until that split second, it had never truly hit her what it meant. It never truly hit her how much power she had over these creatures - how much she truly asked of them. Lyra supposed Lance knew - supposed that was what made that fierce joy light up his eyes, supposed it was the power behind his smirk. But while it made him feel strong, it made Lyra feel sick - feel sick and scared and loved.
"Lyra?" Lance asked, and Lyra glared at him, holding up one finger to silence him.
"Just a moment."
Lyra knelt down and opened her arms, and - just as she knew he would - Pantalaimon bounded forward, into them. Lyra wrapped her arms tight around his warm, furry body, holding him close, burying her face in the top of his head to kiss it. Even when her eyes were closed, she could still see that look he'd given her. That look of complete and utter adoration and loyalty. He loved her. Pantalaimon loved her, and he fought for her, and he would die for her, and the thought of that happening - the thought of him dying because of a careless order on her part, because of some stupid dream of glory or of winning some stupid League championship . . . it made her sick. It truly, honestly made her shake.
And it wasn't just Pantalaimon. It was all of her Pokèmon. Sam had taken down two Dragonite and was now seriously injured because of his fight with a third. Dean, out of love for Sam and out of his own pride for both himself and (well, sort of) his trainer had risked his own life trying to take down that very same Dragonite. Scoresby had fought his hardest against the Aerodactyl, the fight only ending when he slammed into one of the swinging pendulums in the walls. Byrnison, dear Byrnison, had taken down the Charizard but was unable to stand against the second Dragonite. But still, he had fought. He had fought his hardest, for her. He had followed her every order, he pushed himself until the last. He fought until he was too worn out to fight anymore and she had finally recalled him.
What kind of trainer was she?
"Lyra," Lance called again, this time sounding almost impatient. "Are you all right? If you want, we can call the match off -"
"I said to give me a moment and I meant it," Lyra tried to snap. The effect was ruined by the way her voice was trembling along with her body. She'd always been so sure of herself - so sure - but now . . . now she wasn't so sure. She would be by the end of the battle - she knew that - but right then, at that very moment . . . It would be the defining moment. It was time to prove what kind of trainer she was - to find out for herself. It was not about winning or losing anymore; it was about her Pokèmon, and about her, and about whether they really worked as a team or whether she didn't deserve them at all.
"Pan," she whispered, pulling him away from her, but only just; he met her eyes again, his ears perked up, watching and listening intently. Drinking in her every word. Ready to follow it to the last. Lyra felt like she was going to cry. "Do your best," she continued, stroking one hand from the top of Pantalaimon's head and down his back. "Do your best, but do not push yourself too far. If I . . . If I don't realize what's going on soon enough, and you need to withdraw, do so. Do not risk your life, Pantalaimon. This battle isn't worth that." Lyra looked to Lance, glaring fiercely at him. "It's not."
"Then forfeit," Lance said, and Lyra shook her head, standing up.
"No," she retorted. "We won't. Not yet." Looking down at Pantalaimon again, she saw him nod once before he bounded forward, looking up at the Dragonite defiantly.
"Dragonite," Lance ordered, "use Outrage." Once again, the Dragonite's eyes seemed to gleam with its power, and it swung one of its massive paws down. Pantalaimon bounded out of the way, his claws scraping audibly against the polished floor as he attempted to evade the attack. The force of Pantalaimon's look still burned audibly into her mind, Lyra took a deep breath and shouted the only command that made any sense anymore.
"Pantalaimon, use Return!"
Just as he had against Karen's Houndoom, Pantalaimon charged straight at the Dragonite, pushing himself off the floor and scrambling to get at the Dragonite's throat. Return wasn't any specific attack, after all; it was merely a wild attack, a fierce attack, an attack of pure emotion spurred out of loyalty and love. The Dragonite barely knew how to react, stumbling backward to try and get away from the Furret, but Pantalaimon hooked his claws into the Dragonite's soft belly flesh, scampering up the Dragonite like he was nothing more than a great orange tree, and then - hissing and spitting - launched himself at the Dragonite's face and throat.
Lance ran out of the way as the Dragonite - bellowing in pain, surprise, and anger - stumbled backward, flailing at both Pantalaimon and an attempt to keep its balance. Pantalaimon bit down hard on the Dragonite's throat, refusing to let go even as the Dragonite swung its head - or even as the Dragonite fell backwards, crashing hard onto the floor and half-slumped against the wall.
"That's enough!" Lance called out suddenly, despite the fact that his Dragonite was still conscious - could still stand up, maybe, if Pantalaimon would get off. "Call off your Pokèmon. The match is over. I . . . concede defeat."
". . . You do?" It wasn't a move that Lyra would have expected - not from Lance, the man who claimed that he never gave up. But he nodded, and Pantalaimon - paying just as much attention to the two trainers as he was to the Dragonite pinned under the force of his desperate attack - pounced off the Dragonite, scampering back over to Lyra, pride glowing in his eyes. Lyra recalled Sam and Dean into their Pokèballs before gladly accepting Pantalaimon up into her arms, holding him close, unable to resist the smile that was beginning to split her cheeks. Truly, she felt tired - beyond exhausted due to the myriad of emotions she'd faced in just that battle alone - but more than anything, she just felt thrilled. They'd won. They'd really, truly won, and all of her Pokèmon were alive and they would be well once she healed them. But as a thought occurred to her, she looked down at Pantalaimon, her smile turning a bit sheepish.
"You know, if you think about it, you really only used one attack against that Dragonite," she said. "For all my theatrics, you didn't face that hard of a time, did you?" Pantalaimon shook his head, his expression a bit exasperated, and Lyra laughed a little, the sound just as sheepish as her grin. "Well, if anything, I guess it made the entire ordeal even more exciting than it already was . . ."
References and things borrowed (but nothing blue):
1.) In my head, Will of the Elite Four sounds like LittleKuriboh's rendition of Arkana from Yu-Gi-Oh! The Abridged Series, especially with how verbose he is in-game.
2.) "I'm a ninja" is taken quite blatantly from the Ask-A-Ninja, as that is often his response to anything.
3.) My rendition of Bruno was based off Regal Bryant from Tales of Symphonia since they look eerily similar.
4.) Karen being a shameless hussy isn't really based off anything, but I imagine that she would always be all-over Morty, and BFF Eusine would not be pleased. However, her Houndoom is named Lilith after a demon from the TV show Supernatural – a demon who commands legions of hellhounds (and, in particular, sends them after Dean).
5.) "Lord Lance" is a reference to "Lord Asriel" from His Dark Materials, because both characters have a sort of holier-than-thou feel to them. Beyond that there's nothing in common, but something tells me Lance wouldn't object to the title of "Lord" if it was bestowed upon him. And no, it's not that I hate Lance – it's just that I view him as rather arrogant and I think the power went to his head, and besides, he's not really the greatest person – he did have his Dragonite attack a person back in Mahogany Town, after all. Lance really isn't one to talk smack about people fighting dirty, now is he?
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