1 Pokémon is not mine. That pretty much covers it. Aww, we're out of
chocolate chip cookies.
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"Uunhh," the girl muttered as she woke up.
"Are you finally awake?" an annoyed voice asked. As she slowly opened her eyes she saw a boy standing over her. His light brown hair fell over his eyes, deep brown eyes that flashed with the concern his voice lacked. He wore pale blue jeans and a long sleeve ocean blue shirt, though she couldn't really understand why. The dull throbbing in her head and chest inhibited her movements greatly. She groaned again and closed her eyes once more.
"Why couldn't I just be dead?" she asked herself, shaking her head slowly. She was met by a hard pounding.
"You really don't want to be dead, I assure you," the boy replied, his voice a bit gentler, but still retaining that sharp, biting edge to it. "This could all have been avoided if you had just used your Pokémon, you know," he said, irritated at nothing.
"I don't have any," she whispered. The boy looked down at her, startled.
"What do you mean you don't have any?" he asked.
"I let them all go," she replied quietly. The boy sighed.
"Well, I have two questions for you. One: Why in the world would you release all your Pokémon? And two: What's your name?" the boy asked, sorry for the exasperated tone of his voice. She must feel like some kind of idiot by the way I'm talking to her. Actually, she had been smarter than most people, and he knew it. If she had stayed facing the sky her spine would have snapped from the impact of the ledge.
"I couldn't stand using my Pokémon the way I was," she replied. "I let them go so that they might be found by better trainers than me. My name is." she cut off there, moaning in pain. The boy reached out quickly and gently rubbed her temples. Her cry faded, but her breath was still slightly ragged.
"Still hurts, huh?" he asked. This time he knew his voice lacked the edge it usually had. He thought back to how he had ended up in this situation in the first place. After he and his Pidgeot, Arrow, had picked her up during the storm he had looked out for a place to stay until the storm let up. That was how he found the interlocking network of caves where the two of them were now.
Even before he had made the fire that even now warmed the space around them, he had wrapped her in some dry blankets. His father, a doctor, had taught him some different tricks, just in case they came in handy on a trainer's journey. Over the past few days that he had taken care of the strange girl with no name he had figured out exactly what it was that pained her.
"You'll probably want something to eat," he said, trying for all he was worth to sound at least slightly cheerful. Of course, what was there to be cheerful about? It was pouring rain outside and the cave was very damp, a danger to the girl's already fragile health. There was too little food even for him, although there was an abundance of fresh water.
"Not really," she replied weakly. She wasn't in the least bit hungry, but her throat was dry as a desert.
"You have to at least have something to drink," he said firmly.
"Okay," came her meek reply. That worried him for some reason. He didn't like to hear girls talk like that. They sounded too innocent for anyone to be safe around them. He pulled a clean, durable cup from his orange backpack.
Oh, how he had BEGGED his parents to get rid of that backpack. They refused, saying that since it had belonged to his sister when she went on her trainer journey he could use it, too. It may have been tacky, but it was better than the one he had wanted. The pockets were large enough to carry far more than the average maximum capacity of a backpack.
He carefully stood up, careful not to disturb his 'companion'. A small hole in the roof of the little cave let in a stream of fresh water, probably from a real spring above them. It was plausible, since the two of them were almost a mile underground. He held the mug beneath the stream, waiting patiently for it to fill. The girl coughed and he looked over at her. She was very pale, and she had a slight fever. He hoped she wouldn't catch the flu. A cold he could handle. The flu was on his dad's ground. He felt the ice-cold water running over his hand and looked back at the cup. It was now overflowing. He pulled it out from under the rivulet and poured some of the water out. Then he walked back to the girl.
He raised her head slightly and held the mug to her lips. Slowly tipping the cup forward, the water poured into her mouth. She swallowed all that he gave her, giving him a bit of reassurance.
"Think you can tell me your name now?" he asked gently.
"It's Mare, but most of the people I know call me Mêlée," she replied, her voice soft with shame. He could understand why.
On his trainer journey he had fought many Team Rocket trainers, and after each battle they said that 'Mêlée' would avenge them. He had thought that Mêlée was a super-strong Pokémon, not a person, and definitely not a girl.
"I've heard of you," he said, and he bit his tongue. His tone was accusing, he knew by the way Mare flinched. "My name's Zeke."
"I know you," she said, laughing slightly. "The people at Team Rocket used to complain night and day about you."
"You're a Team Rocket member?" he asked, even though he already knew that answer. He was wary now that he knew her true identity.
"Was," she replied, her tone now proud. "I left because I never liked the way I was made to treat my Pokémon and other Pokémon. I just need to find a decent change of clothes and I can forget all about Team Rocket. That and a good hiding place."
"They're after you? To kill you?" he asked. She nodded. Of all things, Zeke hadn't thought the rumor about Team Rocket killing defectors was true. Shaking these dismal thoughts from his head, he said, "You'd best get some more sleep. It's still raining out, so we'll probably be holed up in here for a while longer. When it stops we'd best get moving again."
"Okay," she murmured, and her head slipped slightly to the side as she fell back asleep.
"A Team Rocket renegade," he muttered.
"Quill?" a voice asked. He looked down and saw Cinders, his Quilava, watching him.
"Hey, Cinders, you remember Team Rocket," he said, bending down and stroking the Pokémon's silky fireproof fur. "Those guys in black with the big red R on their shirts." His Pokémon's fur began to blaze up as it looked at Mare.
"No, Cinders, she's not a Team Rocket member. She's a renegade, a person who left Team Rocket."
The Quilava calmed down slightly, but was still on guard, as though saying, "There're others on the way here, aren't there?"
"I hope not," Zeke whispered, glancing back at Mare. She was fast asleep, her breathing deep and regular. Her rook black hair was fanned across the makeshift pillow he had crafted.
Cinders rubbed its head against Zeke's hand, as though saying, "You and me both."
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"Uunhh," the girl muttered as she woke up.
"Are you finally awake?" an annoyed voice asked. As she slowly opened her eyes she saw a boy standing over her. His light brown hair fell over his eyes, deep brown eyes that flashed with the concern his voice lacked. He wore pale blue jeans and a long sleeve ocean blue shirt, though she couldn't really understand why. The dull throbbing in her head and chest inhibited her movements greatly. She groaned again and closed her eyes once more.
"Why couldn't I just be dead?" she asked herself, shaking her head slowly. She was met by a hard pounding.
"You really don't want to be dead, I assure you," the boy replied, his voice a bit gentler, but still retaining that sharp, biting edge to it. "This could all have been avoided if you had just used your Pokémon, you know," he said, irritated at nothing.
"I don't have any," she whispered. The boy looked down at her, startled.
"What do you mean you don't have any?" he asked.
"I let them all go," she replied quietly. The boy sighed.
"Well, I have two questions for you. One: Why in the world would you release all your Pokémon? And two: What's your name?" the boy asked, sorry for the exasperated tone of his voice. She must feel like some kind of idiot by the way I'm talking to her. Actually, she had been smarter than most people, and he knew it. If she had stayed facing the sky her spine would have snapped from the impact of the ledge.
"I couldn't stand using my Pokémon the way I was," she replied. "I let them go so that they might be found by better trainers than me. My name is." she cut off there, moaning in pain. The boy reached out quickly and gently rubbed her temples. Her cry faded, but her breath was still slightly ragged.
"Still hurts, huh?" he asked. This time he knew his voice lacked the edge it usually had. He thought back to how he had ended up in this situation in the first place. After he and his Pidgeot, Arrow, had picked her up during the storm he had looked out for a place to stay until the storm let up. That was how he found the interlocking network of caves where the two of them were now.
Even before he had made the fire that even now warmed the space around them, he had wrapped her in some dry blankets. His father, a doctor, had taught him some different tricks, just in case they came in handy on a trainer's journey. Over the past few days that he had taken care of the strange girl with no name he had figured out exactly what it was that pained her.
"You'll probably want something to eat," he said, trying for all he was worth to sound at least slightly cheerful. Of course, what was there to be cheerful about? It was pouring rain outside and the cave was very damp, a danger to the girl's already fragile health. There was too little food even for him, although there was an abundance of fresh water.
"Not really," she replied weakly. She wasn't in the least bit hungry, but her throat was dry as a desert.
"You have to at least have something to drink," he said firmly.
"Okay," came her meek reply. That worried him for some reason. He didn't like to hear girls talk like that. They sounded too innocent for anyone to be safe around them. He pulled a clean, durable cup from his orange backpack.
Oh, how he had BEGGED his parents to get rid of that backpack. They refused, saying that since it had belonged to his sister when she went on her trainer journey he could use it, too. It may have been tacky, but it was better than the one he had wanted. The pockets were large enough to carry far more than the average maximum capacity of a backpack.
He carefully stood up, careful not to disturb his 'companion'. A small hole in the roof of the little cave let in a stream of fresh water, probably from a real spring above them. It was plausible, since the two of them were almost a mile underground. He held the mug beneath the stream, waiting patiently for it to fill. The girl coughed and he looked over at her. She was very pale, and she had a slight fever. He hoped she wouldn't catch the flu. A cold he could handle. The flu was on his dad's ground. He felt the ice-cold water running over his hand and looked back at the cup. It was now overflowing. He pulled it out from under the rivulet and poured some of the water out. Then he walked back to the girl.
He raised her head slightly and held the mug to her lips. Slowly tipping the cup forward, the water poured into her mouth. She swallowed all that he gave her, giving him a bit of reassurance.
"Think you can tell me your name now?" he asked gently.
"It's Mare, but most of the people I know call me Mêlée," she replied, her voice soft with shame. He could understand why.
On his trainer journey he had fought many Team Rocket trainers, and after each battle they said that 'Mêlée' would avenge them. He had thought that Mêlée was a super-strong Pokémon, not a person, and definitely not a girl.
"I've heard of you," he said, and he bit his tongue. His tone was accusing, he knew by the way Mare flinched. "My name's Zeke."
"I know you," she said, laughing slightly. "The people at Team Rocket used to complain night and day about you."
"You're a Team Rocket member?" he asked, even though he already knew that answer. He was wary now that he knew her true identity.
"Was," she replied, her tone now proud. "I left because I never liked the way I was made to treat my Pokémon and other Pokémon. I just need to find a decent change of clothes and I can forget all about Team Rocket. That and a good hiding place."
"They're after you? To kill you?" he asked. She nodded. Of all things, Zeke hadn't thought the rumor about Team Rocket killing defectors was true. Shaking these dismal thoughts from his head, he said, "You'd best get some more sleep. It's still raining out, so we'll probably be holed up in here for a while longer. When it stops we'd best get moving again."
"Okay," she murmured, and her head slipped slightly to the side as she fell back asleep.
"A Team Rocket renegade," he muttered.
"Quill?" a voice asked. He looked down and saw Cinders, his Quilava, watching him.
"Hey, Cinders, you remember Team Rocket," he said, bending down and stroking the Pokémon's silky fireproof fur. "Those guys in black with the big red R on their shirts." His Pokémon's fur began to blaze up as it looked at Mare.
"No, Cinders, she's not a Team Rocket member. She's a renegade, a person who left Team Rocket."
The Quilava calmed down slightly, but was still on guard, as though saying, "There're others on the way here, aren't there?"
"I hope not," Zeke whispered, glancing back at Mare. She was fast asleep, her breathing deep and regular. Her rook black hair was fanned across the makeshift pillow he had crafted.
Cinders rubbed its head against Zeke's hand, as though saying, "You and me both."