DISCLAIMER: a statement, document, or assertion that disclaims responsibility, affiliation, etc.; disavowal; denial.
The laughter of the partygoers echoed down the dark street, keeping even the heaviest sleepers awake. Merrily they danced about, too drunk or high to care about the ruckus they were causing. Oh, sure they'd heard rumors about the escaped murderer loose in their town. But being teenagers, they thought of themselves as invincible, and had easily dismissed that news. There were some among them who had taken careful thought of it and almost refused to come to the party altogether. But the allure of a night of merriment was too great, and everyone invited, and even some who hadn't been invited, had shown up, much to the anticipation of one person in particular.
Right now, he stood concealed in the shadows of the house. While in prison, he had been deprived of his favorite hobby. And now he finally is able to enjoy it again. He picked up the sack that was lying next to his feet and rummaged through it. His sack of 'toys'. He pulled out his longtime favorite: a meat cleaver, rusted and worn from frequent use. He stealthily crept over to the front porch, not that it was necessary; everyone inside was too inebriated to stop him if they noticed. But it was part of his hunting technique, and he always followed proper form.
He silently opened the front door and stepped into the pit of unshielded joy and merriment. There! Right in front of him, at the foot of the stairs, sat a young couple who had one too many drinks. They didn't seem to notice him until he raised his right arm in preparation to strike, bringing the cleaver down toward their-
"(Staraptor, will you shut up! We know you're a sadistic kind of pokemon, but that doesn't mean that you have to laugh at every blood spatter,)" growled Floatzel for what seemed like the tenth time.
"(S-s-s-sorry!)" he managed to get out between giggles. "(I c-can't help it! Wahahaha! Look at it! Her brain is leaking through her skull! Wahaha!)"
"(Damn birds of prey and their sadism…)" muttered Floatzel under his breath, forgetting that birds of prey also had exceptionally good hearing. But fortunately, Staraptor was still consumed by laughter, and Noctowl pretended not to hear his comment.
"(Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…)" wondered Noctowl out loud as another blood spatter engulfed the screen,
"(Tell me about,)" snorted Sceptile. "(This movie sucks. The setting sucks. The characters suck. The plot sucks. Everything about it sucks.)"
"(No, not the movie! I mean our plan,)" clarified Noctowl.
"(Oh, yeah. That sucks too.)"
"(You're just exaggerating. I'm sure it'll all work out in the end,)" sniffed Noctowl, slightly miffed. It was his plan, after all.
"(Yeah, it was such a marvelous idea to promise some random Porygon we've never met before that we'll get him a… what was it?)"
"(A time machine,)" suggested Noctowl meekly.
"(Yeah, we promised a random Porygon that we'll get him something that doesn't even exist in exchange for him checking out a few websites that Torterra found when he was reading a random newspaper. And while he's doing that, we're watching a pirated horror movie on Gary's desktop.)"
"(Okay, I'll admit that there were some tiny flaws, but that doesn't mean-)"
"(Shhh! Your chatter is drowning out their screams of pain and suffering!)" interrupted Staraptor, silencing the talking duo.
"(I must say, it is appalling to me that people still find this kind of stuff entertaining. We haven't changed much from the ancient Romans and their love of gladiatorial combat…)" mused Haunter, receiving another "Shhh!" from Staraptor in the process.
"(Here comes the finale!)" whispered Staraptor, his eyes glowing with anticipation.
Only two people were left alive in the house. They were cowering in each other's arms in a corner of the darkened kitchen. With a creaking that sounded like a gunshot in the dreadful silence, the kitchen door opened, and the man stepped in. He had had his fill for the night, but these last two would be his dessert. A bloody, claw-like hand groped along the wall until it found the light switch. He hesitated briefly. The darkness was his friend. But without light, how would he be able to see the terror in his final victims' eyes? After a moment's more consideration, he flipped the switch, revealing himself to be-
"(Hey, guys! I'm finished!)"
"(AHHHHH!)" shrieked all four of the movie-watchers while falling over in terror. Well, in Haunter's case, it was more of a midair somersault.
"(I… think… I… had a stroke…)" panted Floatzel.
"(No more horror movies for while…)" muttered Staraptor, the wild glow now gone from his eyes.
"(Even for a ghost, that was scary…)" thought Haunter out loud.
The Porygon hired to scope out Torterra's websites had returned… partially. Half of his body was sticking out of the computer screen, while the over part was still in cyberspace.
"(So… what did you find?)" asked Sceptile, who was the most of recovered of the four.
"(Lots!)" he declared happily, and he flashed them a cheeky grin.
The four now-recovered pokemon shared a glance.
"(Uh… we meant about human relationships,)" said Noctowl.
"(Oh, that! Well, when a man and a women love each very much, they-)"
"(Not that!)" hastily interrupted Floatzel. "(This is a t-rated story!)"
"(-get married,)" finished the porygon. "(What did you think I was going to say?)"
"(…nothing…)" sighed Floatzel, relieved.
"(Well, anyway, the standard human procedure for 'dates', as they're called, seems to be going out to dinner together.)"
"(Hmph. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard,)" snorted Staraptor. "(Hunting together would be a much better bonding experience. I can just imagine it: myself and my mate, diving down on an unsuspecting buneary or rattata, sinking our talons into its juicy, tender flesh…)" He trailed off as he started to salivate.
"(While I find it hard to agree with Staraptor's disgusting statement, I must say that simply eating together does not seem like an adequate bonding experience. Even that so-called 'date' we trashed a few chapters ago doesn't seem adequate. How can one find romance from simply observing events occurring on a theater screen?)" pondered Noctowl.
"(Well, if you don't want to know, that's fine, but I thought this might interest you,)" said the porygon as he moved his body aside so they could see an image he brought up onscreen.
They curiously crowded around the screen.
"(Oh, no, dear Arceus no…)" moaned Noctowl.
"(Oh yes!)" murmured Floatzel, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint.
"Ash, honey, can you get the mail?" called Delia Ketchum, who was occupied with preparing dinner in the kitchen.
"Sure, mom," he called back, and flipped off the television. Nothing new on anyway, only replays of the Sinnoh championships, and he had enough bad memories from that to haunt him for a lifetime.
As he trotted out the front door and towards the mailbox at the foot of the driveway, his thoughts drifted to his future, because that happens all the time in real life.
"What should I do now? I've competed in the leagues of five regions, seen hundreds of pokemon, traveled around most of the world, and even saved the planet a few times! What else is left?" he thought absently as he reached the mailbox and started sifting through the mail. There was the usual collection of advertisements, bills, junk mail, fan mail, hate mail, and… what was that?
May and Max were just returning to their hotel after a long and fun/miserable day of shopping. Since the port had mysteriously burst into flame the day before, both siblings were stuck in Kanto and were currently sharing a room at May's original hotel. And since they had only planned to stay in Kanto for a few days, they hadn't packed enough clothing, and May happily dragged Max off for a day of shopping, much to his chagrin.
As they walked into the hotel's entrance, the employee behind the main desk called out to May, "Hey, miss! You've got mail!"
This made her pause. How could she have mail if no one except her friends knew that she was here? But she shrugged off that thought.
"Be right there!" she called back, and she turned around and dumped her armload of shopping bags into Max's already-full arms.
"Hey! What am I supposed to do with these?!" said Max indigently, starting to sag over from the weight of the bags.
"Take them up to the room. Duh!" replied May as she walked over to the front desk, pretending not to hear the muttered curses that were directed towards her.
"Here's your mail," said the hotel employee as he handed it over. And with that important task done, he resumed the nap that had been interrupted earlier by the postman.
May flipped through the small stack of envelopes. There was the expected letter from her parents asking if she was okay (the dockyard fire had been broadcast around the world) and the expected letter from fans, who, no matter how secretive she was, were always able to track her every move, and there was… wait. What was that?