Author's Notes:
First: the word 'halfie' was used at the end of the original Ch. 1 without my knowledge or understanding of its status as a slur. I cannot apologize deeply enough if I have inadvertently offended anyone. It has been removed, and will not reappear. If you desire a more thorough explanation of its inclusion in the first place, I am happy to give it, although including it here feels like I'm trying to excuse its presence in the first place (which I do not).
In other, better news: it should be noted that all prior chapters have received heavy revision — but in such a way that returning readers have only missed one very important thing: the new introduction to Chapter 3. Robin's father has some advice and choice words for Mike.
Besides that major addition, Chapters 1 and 5 have new introductions, Chapter 2 received a lot of rearranging and reimagining, various pieces of lore and flavor have been scattered about, and — in the spirit of the fic — the fat has been thoroughly trimmed.
Changes of this scale should not be a common occurrence, but since this fic is still in the early stages, I felt confident in making and implementing them. This message will remain until the upload of Chapter 7.
Thanks for reading The Loser!
Mike had to be led by Justin all the way back to camp. His head and gut swam with nausea long after the visual effects of his Litwick's Confuse Ray had faded. He stumbled over candy canes— no, roots, on more than one occasion. Every time he moved his head, it felt as if his eyes were only loosely fitted in their sockets, swirling about wantonly. If he didn't need to avoid being hit in the face by low-flying clouds, or swarms of bees, or whatever the hell they really were, he would have kept his eyes firmly shut.
Justin was left juggling the trainer, a carton of Pokéballs, and their prize: a ball containing a freshly-caught Nidoran. He babbled and bubbled with adoration for Mike, but since every other word sounded like it was switched around, the adulation was lost.
When Mike was finally leaned up against a log, he shut his eyes tight. Familiar with the excuse of hunger-induced nausea, but also in genuine need, he invited Justin into his food stores and left him to his own devices.
Mike sat, eyes shut, rubbing the heels of his hands into them every so often, and listened. Against swirling darkness, the audible din of the woods slowly came into focus. He absorbed the sounds around him, enjoying that one of his senses still made sense. He made a game of guessing what Justin, Robin, and Chop were up to based on their noises.
Justin, as far as he could tell, was making breakfast for dinner. He heard his cooler pop open and the cast iron clang, and his nose filled with savory songs of butter and bacon fat.
It wasn't until Mike had noticed the lack of buzzing that he realized what Robin might be up to. He finally peeked and found her bobbing through the grass a few yards away. Her pale flame shone as brightly as it could, and every few seconds she would swat at the air or give a small jump. Almost every time a different voice was lost from the insect's choir.
If Mike had to guess, Chop wasn't doing much at all. Until, after each egg cracked, it was followed by a feverish crunching. He had no idea that Oshawotts ate eggshells. Unless it was playing with it? A thought he entertained only until the otter belched.
"Where's your— what are you doing," Justin asked. Mike beamed, eyes still shut.
"My eyes are fu—," he caught himself, "funny. The Confuse Ray."
"Oh. Where's your spatula?"
"You made eggs without your spatula ready?"
"Shut up! They're gonna burn!"
"I'm blind," Mike shrugged. "The adult is broken. Pop quiz! What do you do!?"
"Tell me!" Justin's demand was punctuated with an unexpected kick to the bottom of Mike's shoe. He jumped with a snicker.
"Fine, jeez," he hefted himself off the ground, blinked away the blinding firelight, and set about saving dinner.
The little ball containing the Nidoran sat like a centerpiece between the boys as they ate. It occasionally wiggled or shuddered in the grass. With the safety still on, that was as much as it could do.
"So can I keep it?" Justin asked when Mike finally cleaned his paper plate. The man snorted.
"Sure," Mike oozed. He picked up the ball and offered it to Justin. "Wanna get expelled?"
"... No."
"Yeah, I thought so," Mike smirked. He tossed his plate into the fire. The grease caught and produced a sudden plume, washing them with heat. The Oshawott looked up from chewing at its owner's leftover paperware, bristling and giving low growls. Mike was quite thankful to have a little living water hose close by.
"Wait," Justin turned to Mike, "You didn't even know what Nidoran were. Why did you catch one?" Good question. Mike had a response prepared, but it wasn't an answer.
"If you saw the way you lit up when you were looking at their poop, you— you woulda—" Mike couldn't help but laugh, and the rest of the thought was lost when Justin joined him in it. Mike performed a crude, ridiculous pantomime of Justin's tracking earlier, and the boy laughed so hard that he had to excuse himself.
"I had a plan!" Justin called as he returned a short time later. He double-checked his fly, then continued. "We can give it to my brother!"
"Whaaat?" Mike was both intrigued and offended: he had caught it fair and square, even if he still didn't know why.
"Yeah, Ben can have it, legally, and he can raise it until I turn thirteen!"
"Which is when?"
"November twelfth!"
Mike pulled a face that very clearly asked 'and you really thought that was a good idea?'
"What?" Justin shot back.
"So your brother is gonna be okay with looking after a poisonous rabbit for three months?"
"Not even!" Justin shot back, "Like, two and a half!"
"And you thought I would just, like, give you this super rare thing?" Mike's question prompted a groan.
"Ugh, no, that wasn't supposed to happen!"
"So," Mike smiled, rolling a limp hand in a grandiose way, "what was your original plan?" Mike still avoided the main question — if only because it asked a difficult question of himself — and instead reveled in the hare-brained scheme.
"So I was gonna take you to the glade," Justin began, speaking as much with his hands as he did with his mouth, "and if we found anything super cool, I was gonna pay you for some Pokeballs, but I," he enunciated, with a smile, "was gonna use Chop to weaken it. And then, once I did the work, you throw the ball— which is legal. Then I give my brother a call and we send it to him!"
Mike's wide-eyed, drawn-lipped skepticism should have been enough to shatter the already delicate idea, had it not been posed by an overly ambitious twelve-year-old. Even still, he saw Justin's morale waver under the glare.
"You said you wanted—" Justin started, and Mike could detect genuine anger in his raised voice.
"Yes, I did say," Mike cut across, raising his own voice. Choppy growled and gurgled at him softly. "I said I wanted to catch you something when I talked to your mother because I wanted to know what the ramifications of my actions would be if I did. That doesn't mean I caught this for you."
"Then why did you catch it!?" Justin was on his feet, almost teary, yelling at the man. The sudden anger caught Mike off-guard. The two locked eyes.
Though he wore a firm mask of offense, beneath the shallow facade Mike truly didn't know. He wished he knew. Catching the Nidoran on a whim went against everything he told himself he wanted to do when he became a trainer. There was no calm observation to this catch, there was no thought and care, there was no prior research.
The Nidoran clearly didn't want to be captured either. The fight was quick, chaotic, borderline dirty. It had no escape, and no strength to fight the ball. He was legally well within his rights, wasn't he? And if they didn't escape the ball, they were caught, right?
Mike knew to his core that this was all a whim: Justin found them, Robin trapped one, he caught it, and that was it.
Another knee-jerk, life-altering choice for the growing list. And now it affected several living beings, one of them permanently.
The question still lingered. Why? Why did Mike pluck a wild, unaware, and unwilling Pokémon out of nature?
Admittedly, he had captured it partially at Justin's behest, and partially because of Justin's fervor. But he wasn't going to admit that and strengthen the boy's already shameless bid for the creature. Nor did that absolve Mike.
Mike's gaze hadn't faltered in those few seconds of thought.
And then he checked himself.
Took a deep breath.
Justin waved his arms and shook his head, waiting for an answer.
Instead came a now calculated silence, along with a gaze Mike had imagined giving students a thousand times: He leaned his head forward, letting his eyes ask the question before he did. Body relaxed, but head, mind, and wit poised to strike.
Justin's arm's dropped, and so did his gaze.
"Breathe," Mike spoke, somewhere between a suggestion and an order. He saw the boy's shoulders lurch, heard air hiss through his nostrils.
Mike continued: "It's been a long day. I do have an answer, but I must admit it isn't a brilliant one."
Justin's eyes looked up, but not his head.
"Because I'm a trainer," Mike concluded, simply. Justin's renewed glowering was received with a shrug. "I see rare Pokémon, I catch rare Pokémon. I think— I want to give it a chance," he caught himself, more to reassure him than Justin. "If it's not a winner for me, I can always trade it or put it right back. You even agreed that I should get one, remember?"
Justin frowned at him hard. Mike sighed and returned his focus to the fire, prodding it with a long stick. The Oshawott burped.
"But I found it," Justin finally muttered, frumping back down onto the ground next to Mike. "And if I talked, they woulda run away. I coulda told you the plan if..." the boy trailed off, tucking his knees into his chest.
"Justin?"
"Yeah?"
"That was a terrible plan."
"... Yeah."
The tension finally dissolved, and Mike rolled his shoulders out from where they had crawled up under his ears. He leaned back against the log and looked up at the stars.
"Thank you." Mike eventually spoke. He turned to Justin and smiled. "I really couldn't have done it without you."
Justin gave Mike a side-eyed glance but didn't unscrunch himself.
"... You're welcome," Justin eventually muttered into his knees. Mike patted him on the shoulder.
They sat and stared at the fire for a few quiet minutes. Robin drifted along the top of the log the boys had leaned up against in their exhaustion. Every once in a while, she made a gentle sucking sound, and then there was one less buzz or chirp or clumsy flutter in the background.
"Can I at least—" Justin asked, reaching for the ball. Mike snatched it and leaned away, surprised and amused with Justin's continued lack of social graces.
"If I let it out now, the poor thing's gonna bolt," Mike frowned at the ball in his hands. "We'll let it out in the morning and see how it's doing."
"She's hurt!" Justin protested.
"She? Well, she's in a Pokéball," Mike retorted. "She's stable, even if she's really bad. Which…" Mike pulled out his Pokédex and scanned the sphere.
After a few prompts and requests, Mike was able to set aside the nickname entry window and see her statistics. A little yellow bar quantified her health, and yellow was hardly dire.
"She's not," Mike passed the verdict, lazily skimming some specifics. She had no burns or major injuries but was definitely worn out. He leaned the screens toward Justin. "Wanna see?"
The boy scrunched up next to Mike and the two poured over the Nidoran's information. She was a Poison-type, which Mike had guessed from Justin's earlier description. There were lots of little numbers which Justin fawned over. It was barely level five, which put it quite a few notches beneath Robin at this point.
"So," Mike dared to poke the Beartic sitting next to him, "Nidos… Are they any good?"
"Are they any good?" Justin gave the distinct impression that Mike had slapped him in the face. Mike pulled away with a snicker, lest the boy actually slap him. Justin instead launched into a passionate spiel.
"Nidokings are crazy strong! That's what the boys turn into: first they're Nidorino, then Nidoking. They have these big thick tails that can crush cars and wrap things up! Their horns can even spin!"
"No they can't," Mike drawled.
"It's true! I swear!"
"Ahhh," Mike held the ball in his fingertips as if examining a fine jewel. "But this is a lady. Can she do that, too?"
"No, she'll get a shorter tail and horns. She turns into a Nidoqueen. Nidorina first, though. Either way, you need to get your hands on a Moon Stone! But, like, Nidoqueens totally make up for it with smarts. They're, like, Linebacker-Mom-Geniuses." Mike rolled his eyes. "Seriously!"
"So why did you tell me to get a female?"
"Because Nidoqueens don't need a R.E.D. permit." Justin's reasoning provoked a knowing nod from Mike, though to be honest, he'd forgotten the acronym.
"Pop-quiz," Mike posed, trying to veil his ignorance, "what does—"
"Rare, Exotic, and-or Dangerous," Justin regurgitated. It must have been on his homework several times by now. Mike remembered that his new book noted several of the evolved ghosts as a 'R.E.D. Species.' Mike tried to hide this sudden recollection
"But Nidoqueens are just as strong," Justin plowed on, "and smarter, and, since they aren't naturally crazy, you don't need a permit!"
"You've thought a lot about these little 'mons, huh?" Mike's question was answered with a nod.
"My dad had a Nidoqueen," Justin continued, a little softer, a little slower. "And now Ben has it. They never lay eggs, so Ben was always trying to find me my own Nidoran. He's only seen them one other time, and they all scattered, like, instantly. We got so lucky!"
Mike looked down at the Pokédex in his hands, quietly mulling over an idea.
"Go ahead." He pushed the device into Justin's hands. The 'nickname' screen for the Nidoran was pulled up.
"Really?" Justin asked.
"It's the least I can do." Mike opened his mouth to say something else, but Justin was already hammering in a name:
Elizabeth II.
"Lizzie for short," Justin added, confirming the registration. He returned the 'dex and simultaneously made a move for its ball "Can we let her out n—"
"No," Mike raised the ball high above his head. Justin scrunched up his nose and recoiled from the sudden odor Mike's pits issued forth. The man chortled at the serendipity, then continued: "It's late, it's dark, it's mad, and I'm still not sure you're not a duck. Now let's go to sleep."
"A duck? Wait, was I a duck? Am I still a duck?"
"Your face still quacks me up, so I'm not— Ow! Hey! Mom said no hitting! No hitting— Ow!"
Good news! I caught my first Pokémon!
Bad news! It's an angry little rabbit covered in barbs!
Route 2 Campsites North
#WhosThatPokemon #FirstCatch #UnovaRoute2
Robin prodded Mike awake sometime shortly after dawn. Both literally and, in her strange way, 'emotionally.' The cohesion of his dream began to spiral away shortly before he awoke. Robin giggled as she poked his nose, her violet flame petering away as the dream — an admittedly steamy affair featuring a very familiar Ace Trainer — slipped from his memory almost by force.
"Oh, I don't wanna wake up," Mike groaned, wrapping an arm around the Litwick and squishing her in close. She let out a shrill giggle, deforming and dematerializing in his grasp. Only her harness held her fast.
"Too bad!" Justin called from outside, "breakfast is ready!"
"What's for breakfast?"
"More breakfast!"
"Yay," Mike deadpanned, running the calories in his head. He could still feel the last breakfast sitting like a rock, and decided that more greasy toast would be begging for trouble.
Mike refused to allow the Nidoran out until after everything was stowed. Justin complained loudly as they worked, probably still irked at his plan falling to pieces. Though Mike noticed that he barely had to lift a finger for any collective chores. When Justin begged for a cup of coffee, Mike obliged from two different kinds of guilt. He thought he might come to regret it, but he could tell from the large bags under the boy's eyes — and his own relative spryness — that Robin had fed much more on the kid last night.
After Mike had double-checked the campground for garbage and tent stakes, he relented to Justin's never-ending request. He set out a burn heal, a potion, and a small bag of granola for the Nidoran, overpreparing just in case. He pulled on a pair of sturdy leather gloves from his bag. He patted himself down and found the Nidoran's ball in his breast pocket, where he had been hiding it from Justin's gaze. Just before he let it out, he pulled an antidote from his supplies for himself.
"Ready?" Mike called over to Justin, who was standing with his Oshawott about ten feet away.
"Yes!" Justin almost yelled. Both boy and otter were poised, eyes glued to the Pokéball. Mike cautiously tossed the sphere down in front of where he knelt. It popped open and released a flood of dim red light.
The Nidoran's small blue form materialized in front of them. Huge, crimson eyes snapped open and met Mike's. He guessed that it must have been sleeping: it looked ruffled and tired but seemed uninjured.
It quickly became horribly tense, its whole body stock-still — save for its rapid breathing and twitching nose.
"Hey there, Lizzie," Mike murmured. Its round, barbed ears snapped to point in his direction. He reached to his side, not breaking eye contact, and scooped a small pile of granola out of the open bag.
As he went to put the treat in front of the Nidoran, it struck out and bit his forefinger hard. Mike yelped and suppressed the urge to cuss. The rabbit bolted as granola went flying. Mike snatched its Pokéball and was just quick enough with his recall; the thin beam struck the fluffy, prickly backside as it tried to dart between Justin and his Oshawott. The Nidoran froze, paralyzed by the transformation, and vanished back into its ball.
"You two are no help," Mike snipped half-seriously at the younger pair, who both looked away. Justin muttered an apology, but Mike missed the exact words. He pulled off his glove and tried to shake the pain from his finger. He imagined the mark would ache for quite a long time, but the glove had saved his digit for now.
"What should we do?" Justin's question was a good one. Mike didn't know exactly how to handle this situation. He had always thought that he would catch a Pokémon and immediately have some semblance of respect from it. Then again, he always thought he would put a lot more thought into catching a Pokémon. This poor creature was still terrified, and its situation was a surprise to everyone involved. Mike mulled over his options as he scooped together the scattered granola.
"Justin, can you get straight across from me?" Mike asked, pointing. "Maybe— yeah, right there. Can you get Chop over there? And I'll get Robin on the other side." Robin stirred from Mike's bag a little bit away. She looked to Mike and the two locked eyes. After some mental imagery, Robin nodded and moved to complete their loose square.
"Let's try this again." Mike opted to beam the Nidoran out this time, to keep his hand on its ball. The rabbit bolted the second it completed the shift from energy to matter.
"Stay," Mike called as he withdrew it before it got too far. Everyone else had shifted in the direction it had tried to run. Exactly what Mike had wanted: even if the Nidoran slipped past the beam, they were now all poised to stop it and give Mike another chance at a recall.
Mike repeated this process three more times. He'd release the Nidoran, who would attempt to run, who would then be told to "Stay" as it was recalled. On the fourth attempt, something different finally happened.
The Nidoran sat there, irritation plain on her face, and glared at the Pokéball in Mike's hand.
"Good girl, Lizzie," Mike soothed, motioning to the granola. The Nidoran bristled up a plethora of hidden quills from within her fur as his hand approached. At least she was giving warning this time, Mike thought. She turned and tensed to run.
"Stay," Mike demanded, moving the Pokéball in her direction. The lesson seemed to click: she turned back to Mike and — albeit still tense — lowered her barbs.
"Good girl!" Mike motioned to the granola again, which Lizzie finally acknowledged. She tentatively hopped over and began to nibble at some of the dried fruit, while simultaneously trying to stay as far away as possible from her new trainer. They all gave her gentle cheers and praise.
After a few moments, where the Nidoran relaxed and assumed a more natural position as she ate, Mike motioned for Justin to move in. Lizzie flinched at the movement from Mike but didn't budge from the granola pile.
"Gimme a sec," Justin called. Mike took fleeting glances at the kid and saw that he had begun to dig a weed out of the dirt with a pocket knife. When he finally got the long root free from the earth, he made a few gentle kissing sounds. The Nidoran jumped at the noise, turned, and sniffed in the air towards the boy.
"Hey, Lizzie," Justin called, proffering up the weed. To Mike's great surprise, she hopped right over to the plant he was holding. She gave a few tentative sniffs, then yanked the root out of Justin's hand and set her teeth to work on it.
"Good girl," Mike offered with a chuckle. "What'd you find, Justin?"
"A dandelion!" Justin reached in with a bare hand to pet Lizzie. Coils threw themselves around Mike's chest, anxiety squeezing him instantly. But…
Nothing happened. Justin pet the Nidoran front-to-back, careful of the obvious barbs but unharmed by the hidden ones. The Nidoran sat eating, perfectly content. When the weed was nearly gone, Justin set to work pulling out another. This time, Lizzie ate the root from the offering hand. Justin scratched behind her ears and the Nidoran gave contented little squeaks through its munching chews.
Mike, however, had no such luck. Even using some of the weeds that Justin had pried up, he couldn't confidently pet Lizzie if he wanted to. She would freeze, tense, and bristle under his gloved hand. He and Robin must have made a terrible first impression the night before. Robin, for her part, was sitting a distance away and puffing up her violet flame. Mike only noticed her wick alight when she was eating or fighting, and he wondered if she was trying to nibble away at the Nidoran's fear.
Lizzie surprised them all when, as Justin went to scoop her up, she hopped into his hands. Mike took that as the cue to hit the road. He hauled on his bag and helped Justin awkwardly into his. Both the boy and the Nidoran seemed loath to part with the other, and Mike didn't dare test the hypothesis.
As they walked, Justin made a few calls on his Xtransciever. The first was to his brother, Ben. He was working in an office in Nimbasa, a phone pinched between his ear and shoulder as he spoke in hushed tones. Mike was surprised at how intensely similar he looked to Justin, even with their wide age gap. He was ecstatic to see a Nidoran, but couldn't talk for very long.
Neither could Justin's mother, who was on shift and spoke in quick distracted bursts for barely a minute. Though she at least took a screenshot and promised to show Tiffany when she saw her next.
Mike, meanwhile, was surreptitiously taking pics of Lizzie, trying to capture her at her cutest for his blog. He was having quite a difficult time, as every movement he made caused the Nidoran to tense and bristle. Eventually, he settled on the least threatening one.
It's Nidoran!
And it bites!
And it stings!
And sometimes it kicks!
So my gloves are never coming off!
#WhosThatPokemon #Nidoran #FirstCatch
Elizabeth II was perfectly content to be held by Justin for the two-ish hour march to Striaton. She half-dozed for as long as Mike didn't try to interact with her. When he did risk it, she would sniff herself fully awake and stare at his hands.
Especially his fingers.
As sweaty and miserable as his gloves were, Mike didn't dare remove them. They were the only thing shielding him from the hidden quills and quick mouth.
While the two boys chattered about the creature, Mike felt the coils of anxiety squeeze ever tighter. He still wasn't entirely sure why he caught the Nidoran in the first place. It felt like a challenge, maybe? Did he want to impress Justin? Or just humor the kid? He wished dearly he could give his new friend the Pokéball and be done with it, but feared the wrath and ruin it would incur for the both of them.
For better or worse, the little Nidoran was Mike's now. He'd simply have to strive for the former.
The sun was still high when most of the small troupe crossed onto the pavement marking the city limits of Striaton. Mike stopped just short, admiring the aged brickwork through the trees, and the ease which Justin had with the Nidoran.
"You know," Mike called, "it would probably be cheaper if we stopped for lunch before town." He jerked his head over his shoulder, toward a campground they had just passed. "Lizzie should probably stretch her legs, and we can, like, work on her basics?"
Justin lit up and nodded vigorously. Mike wasn't sure if this was really the best of ideas, but he couldn't help giving the two a little more time. They walked back and began to set things up for lunch. Mike consulted his Pokédex for a freshwater source. Justin took Choppy's little shell and had the otter fill it for a quick drink. Mike retched as he watched Justin down it, the attempted joke more genuine than he expected. There were things about trainers and training that he didn't understand.
Mike picked out the least fresh of his foods and threw together something he dubbed "leftover surprise." Justin laughed at the name and insisted Mike had actually made "trainer-fried rice," even though the only starch was some hastily cooked ramen. Thanks to some clever spicing up from both of them, they were all pleased with the result. Even Lizzie picked at a small bowl when Mike offered it to her.
Mike started the Nidoran out with the actual, factual basics. Lizzie was slower on the uptake than he expected: he spent the better part of an hour ironing in her name, bribing her with scraps from lunch and some painful-looking plants that Justin kept digging up. Compared to how quickly she had learned 'stay,' this exercise was painful. When Justin wasn't prying up this root or that weed, he was paying rapt attention to the older trainer.
Mike had also noticed that Robin was becoming quite pouty and irritable. He at first assumed it was because she was awake during the daytime, but eventually it became clear that she was very jealous of the attention the newcomer was getting.
"Well," Mike muttered to the Litwick as he hefted her from his back, "you're usually sleeping. Do you wanna be awake with us?"
Robin frowned up at him from his outstretched arms. Mike tried to focus his mind on the two of them working on some moves. He wanted to iron out that Confuse Ray, and imagined Chop stumbling around.
With a puff of violet from her wick, Robin giggled and nodded. Mike beamed with the success, exhilarated at the bond the two were forming. Mike hadn't expected communication to come so easily with anything but a psychic-type, and was delighted to see Robin learning to read him as much as he was learning to read her.
"Your turn, Justin," Mike called. "Robin deserves some time, so we're gonna go work on her new moves." Justin didn't need to be told twice, and immediately set to work with the Nidoran. Meanwhile, Mike and Robin set off into the grass to torment the local wildlife.
As Justin and Lizzie worked, Mike tried his best to focus on both them and Robin. He couldn't help but notice that the difference for Lizzie was night and day: she responded to her name immediately; 'Sit' and 'stay' were ironed in within moments; Mike noted that it became less and less about treats, as Justin completely abandoned them when he moved on to some attack practice. With Choppy demonstrating, Lizzie picked up her little suite of attack commands in short order.
Robin, on the other hand, had a terrible time with verbal commands. Mike found conjuring constant, firm mental images challenging, so he tried his best to pair them with words and phrases. The downside to this being his mental pictures were foggier when he did so. Though, in time, Robin was able to delineate all of the words Mike was saying into what she ought to do. Unfortunately, Mike was well aware that her confidence seemed to depend almost entirely on the presence of his imagery.
In Robin's final bout of the day, against a particularly wily Patrat, Mike made a point to not picture anything at all. Robin whimpered as Mike cleared his mind, and hesitated after each and every order.
"Fire spin," Mike prompted, holding a mental image of a donut in his head. His stomach growled. Robin turned to look at him, her eyes wide with bewilderment. The Patrat squinted at her hard. Mike flicked out his Pokédex and realized that Robin might be in a pickle.
"You gotta learn, kid," Mike insisted. "Fire spin!" He thought of a burrito. Robin wailed, whirled around, and finally threw out a smattering of purple flames.
The Patrat charged through them with a squeak. Robin vanished, and — as Mike expected, but Robin did not — the rodent chomped down around where she had been. The Litwick reappeared with a shriek, caught fast by the teeth. Mike's heart panged with guilt. Was he pushing her to hard?
"Minimize," he called, with false confidence. To his delight, he watched the Litwick shrink and slip from the Patrat's jaws. She swelled to nearly her former size, her flame on her head blazing, and pelted the rodent with flame after flame.
Finally the Patrat squealed and bolted into the brush. Robin went charging right after it, her waxy body still bearing large teethmarks. Mike stepped in and scooped her up, and she flailed against his grip but did not vanish
"Shhhh," Mike squeezed her tightly, "I know, that was a tough one. You did so good." She sniffled and hiccupped, but stopped struggling. Mike smoothed out her wax and smothered her with affection as they walked back to the others.
The Nidoran looked up at Mike as he approached, and across her fur a myriad of little quills perked up. Justin, who had also decided to take a breather, reached a hand down without looking. He offered it to the Nidoran but didn't quite touch her. Lizzie sniffed the fingers and relaxed, bowing its head.
"She really likes you," Mike said without thinking. Justin beamed up at him for a moment before focusing the pride back on the Nidoran, rubbing its face and cheeks slowly but deeply.
Fearlessly, Mike thought to himself. He wondered if he would ever be able to be that way with the poor thing. Mike rubbed Robin's head absently, and she snuggled deep into the crook of his arm.
"Let's see what you've been working on." At Mike's behest, Justin and Lizzie got back to work. He couldn't help but be astounded by their progress, and found a new appreciation for the ACE program.
After executing this or that command, the Nidoran always looked to Justin hopefully. Even when Mike took over and began slathering on as much — if not more — praise. He felt some coils squeeze in his chest. She didn't want treats or just anyone's praise; She wanted Justin's praise.
Mike finally couldn't stand to let the two bond any longer and, with ample protest from Justin, insisted they pack up and get to town. They were back at the city's outskirts in short order, with Lizzie once again nestled in Justin's arms. Mike knew he should insist on carrying the Nidoran, but the two were too damn cute together.
As they passed into the city proper, Justin began to rattle off historical nonsense that Mike barely caught. Something about the stairs of the old brick houses and buildings and their former necessity due to heavy snow. How this thin, crookedy street used to be the main thoroughfare decades ago, but the Center and the Gym pulled business — and businesses — away.
Mike could tell without Justin's words just how old this town was. Everything was mismatched: buildings seemed to be thrown together, the angles of streets made very little sense, intersections were a complete mess of shared space and slow, almost plodding vehicles. And yet, the patina of age made it all match just so. Browns, reds, and grays of all hues complimented the slowly changing leaves of the old trees popping the brickwork from the sidewalks.
As the boys searched for the Center, with Choppy happy to exist alongside them and Robin pretending not to, the two continued to dote upon Lizzie. Or, in Mike's case, did his best to.
"How am I gonna train this thing if she—" Mike started, feeling the quills pushing against his gloved fingers.
"Lizzie," Justin insisted, holding a wilting, prickly weed by the root so the critter in question could munch on the leaves.
"If Lizzie," Mike continued, trying - and failing - to repeat the name without attitude, "won't relax around me?"
"I can take her!" Justin's enthusiasm made Mike's stomach lurch. He wanted dearly to say yes. He'd been thinking so all day.
"You wish," Mike grumbled with a smirk, rubbing the Nidoran just above her nose. The short fur there couldn't hide any surprises. Lizzie finally - almost begrudgingly, Mike thought - made some gentle, contented little chuffing. That 'purr' had so far been reserved for Justin's touch. Mike smiled at the small success.
"Anyways," Justin continued, "when the Gym first opened, they—"
"Oh, look, is that the Center?" Mike pointed ahead of them as they turned. The edge of a red roof was just visible down the street and across a wide road. Next to it, to Mike's delight, was a bustling restaurant. Which was quite remarkable, considering they were no closer to dinner than they were to lunch. He felt he deserved a cheat day at this point and made a mental note to skip his free Center dinner.
Then he made a second mental note to check his bank account and pinned it to the side of his brain over the first one.
A third note, the most important one, pinned itself over the first two: Get on a scale.
Mike and Justin entered the Striaton Pokémon Center a short time later, both of them dirty, gross, exhausted, but very happy. Justin reluctantly allowed Mike to recall the little Nidoran and they both checked in their 'teams.' Their Pokémon's healing wouldn't take nearly as long as their resting would, but Mike still asked if Justin wanted to come wait in the cafeteria.
"You, uh," Justin stumbled, "I think you gotta check me in at the school." Mike's tired eyes snapped open and he nodded his agreement.
"Right, right," he said, turning in a wide circle and heading automatically for the front door.
"Hey!" Justin's squawk of indignation stopped Mike, who was very much on autopilot. "What about our 'mons?"
"Well, how far is the school?" Mike rubbed his eyes with his still-gloved hands and immediately regretted it. Thin traces of poison began to sting and burn. He heard Justin explain what happened to someone, who led him to an eyewash station immediately.
Sometime later, their teams safely returned, Mike's eyes slightly puffy, and with a bottle of eyewash apiece, two made their way out into the city. Justin insisted the Academy wasn't far, and they began to plod along without much earnest.
They made their way down a lazy thoroughfare, which seemed both more modern than the outskirts they had passed, yet less sophisticated. Lots of sleek, familiar brand names were crammed in shoulder-to-shoulder with the patina of the local storefronts, each trying to out-compete the other.
The corporations and their slick, minimalist designs were, "As much of an eyesore as Nidoran juice," Mike quipped. He much preferred the aging brick and crumbling mortar of the mom-and-pops.
Many grocers had large bins and barrels of fresh local fruit set out beneath their sun-bleached canopies. Mike made a point to stop several times to buy fresh fruit and vegetables, not unaware of Justin's lack of enthusiasm for their main trip. Shopkeepers would come to greet them in moments, happy to have customers in the early afternoon.
Mike would ask about this or that, mostly making small talk, playing up his west coast accent and relaxed manner. Then the dickering would begin. His mother was a shrewd and cunning shopper, and Mike had learned from the best, and it paid off in spades.
They all enjoyed some fresh treats together as they ambled the wide, people-friendly streets. Mike and Justin split several little punnets of berries, the former carrying the punnets and the latter carrying Lizzie.
The Nidoran was content to steal a berry here and there - Mike had to call it stealing, as she grabbed the little fruits from his fingers with such hesitance and speed. Mike was thankful that Justin wasn't insisting on feeding her. Maybe he knew that Mike needed to bond, too. Or maybe she was just a little too cumbersome to juggle so the boy could both eat and feed her.
Choppy enjoyed using his little shell to slice rounds and chunks out of a Sitrus Berry. The oils of the fragrant rind did nothing for Mike, but the Oshawott had beads of drool in the corners of his mouth with each cut. He ate with the reckless abandon only afforded to beings that could produce huge volumes of water. Mike was surprised to find himself jealous of the gluttony. Even with (what he thought was) the sloppy state of his diet, he found himself counting each and every blueberry.
Robin slept peacefully in Mike's bag, only stirring if and when they stopped. She did, to her credit, try a blueberry. Just the one. After that, she seemed intent on nibbling at Mike's enjoyment of the berries instead of the real thing.
After a peculiarly short hour or so, Justin pointed out the building they were looking for. Tiffany had been right: they really couldn't miss it. The Striaton Academy of Combat Enthusiasts rose like a pillar from a large, square plot of neat grass. All around it was a low wall, sparsely decorated along its top with discrete little signs naming donors or advising people to pick up after their Pokémon. Twin poles at the head of an old concrete path flew crimson flags trimmed in gold, each emblazoned with the letters 'A.C.E.'
Mike was not entirely sure how things would go for any of them. He was going to try to talk to someone - anyone - about making an exception for Justin. The professor made one for him. They were both technically Aces, and that had to count for something, right?
Choppy halted just before crossing onto the property, turning back to look at his trainer-to-be. Justin freed a hand from under the Nidoran and withdrew the Oshawott. Mike followed suit for Robin, but not for Lizzie. That could wait.
They strode the short walk up to the main entry in silence. When they were a few yards from the door it opened, and an older, sharply-dressed woman emerged. She was followed by a bow-covered Pokémon that seemed to be wearing a black dress.
"And there they are," the woman spoke, nodding to her Pokémon, "Thank you, Trelawney. I might have missed them entirely." The Pokémon gave a bow and returned inside.
"Hello, Mrs. Halu-Marun," Justin chanted.
"Hello, Justin," she replied with a smile, "And you must be Mister Tapersson." She stepped forward and offered her hand.
"Yes, Mike's fine," he replied, and they shook. "So do I need to check him in or anything?"
"Seeing as I'm here, I can take care of that," she replied, "I'm the vice-principal of this campus." She turned to Justin and the little Nidoran in his arms. Lizzie was nearly asleep, and Justin's fingers dug gently into her fur around her horns and quills.
"Well, this is quite a surprise! What did you find?" Mrs. Haru-Marun reached out and stroked the Nidoran with the same ease. Lizzie started and bristled up, but as long as the woman stroked in the same direction, there was very little they could do.
"This is Lizzie," Justin spoke, now quiet, "she's Mike's." The little Nidoran looked up at the woman for a moment before snuggling deeper into Justin's arms.
"Well, congratulations, Mike! Nidoran are quite hard to find, aren't they?"
"Justin made it look easy," Mike replied, "You'd think he'd tracked them all his life. I dunno if I said it before, Justin, but that was cool."
"Thanks." Justin squeezed the Nidoran a little tighter. Mike and Mrs. Halu-Marun made eye contact. Meaning flowed between them. Mike looked at his feet, defeated almost instantly.
"You gotta say goodbye, Justin," Mike finally said.
"I know," Justin croaked. He held Lizzie so tightly that Mike winced. The boy either wasn't poked or didn't betray it. As he relaxed, the Nidoran propped herself up on her paws and pressed her nose against his, purring and chuffing with delight. Justin smiled and let out a few little sobs, rubbing his cheeks against hers.
Mike wiped his eyes. The vice-principal frowned hard at the ground.
"Goodbye, Elizabeth," Justin finally hiccuped.
The Nidoran disappeared in a flash of light.
"Justin," Mike started, not quite sure what he was gonna say. The boy looked up, his arms seemingly stuck cradling his missing friend. "You— She and you, you were—" He looked vainly at the Vice Principal again. She shook her head.
"I tell you what," Mike finally found an idea and ran with it, "I'm gonna take great care of Lizzie. I'll raise her up to be big and strong, and I'll make sure she's safe and happy. When you become a trainer and get a few Pokémon, I want you to give me a call." He put his bag down and pulled a nearly empty pad of paper from a front pocket. He scribbled down his name and number, tore the sheet off, and handed it to Justin.
"I'll trade you," Mike said, finally spitting out the idea, "but, I want something totally cool, okay?"
Justin nodded, wiping his face, his fragile smile slowly gaining strength.
"No Patrat with extra toes," Mike began to list, "no three-eyed Lillipups, and if I even smell a Purrloin I will—"
"You're t-totally getting a Purr—"
"I will rename Lizzy 'Fart-Bubble' and you will be stuck with that forever." Justin finally, genuinely laughed. Mike stuck out his hand to shake. To his surprise, Justin wrapped his belly in a hug.
"She better be the happiest, strongest Fart-Bubble, okay?"
Even Mrs. Haru-Marun joined the laughter.