*~*The Felicities and Fallacies of Pokémon Training*~*

Chapter Ninth: A Pair of Blue Eyes

Written By the Duke of Briarcliffe

*~*

Author's Notes: Thanks for everything. Please enjoy this new chapter. And, due to the advice of Keleri and Marie, I will provide the translations of French and of Spanish. Hey, wasn't my newsletter pretty cool? —The Duke of Briarcliffe

*~*

"The teacher, if indeed wise, doe not bid you to enter the house of their wisdom, but leads you to the threshold of your own mind." —Kahil Gibran, 1883-1931, Lebanese Poet, Novelist

*~*

"I WANT A MATCH RIGHT NOW!"

"What?" Duncan dubiously asked. He'd been right in the middle of a conversation about the past night's events. The Nutcracker Suite had been a major success and they both had enjoyed it greatly. Everything was on key and they both looked pretty damn good, and thought so. However, surprisingly, upon Duncan returning her to her house, he had not received any sort of display of affection aside from the very-tame hug in which it was all-arms and no groin against groin. He couldn't deny that it was a bit surprising, or maybe even disappointing, but he knew that Aerin was a full-fledged innocent and that she is not the type to do anymore than the aforementioned on the first date—or probably until many more after that.

"I didn't stutter. I said, 'I want a match right now'. And don't think that I'm going to go easy on you because Boomer is young. Besides, if you've been training at all, then you should at least have a minor chance of winning," Imagen angrily repeated.

"Whatever you say, Jen," Duncan said. They hadn't even spoken to one another since the night on the street, when he couldn't even get out what he had to say—which he had conveniently forgotten during the lapse of time that followed.

"Only my friends call me that and, the last time I checked, you weren't one of them. Imagen will do just fine."

"Jen, don't you think that you're overreacting just a little? I mean, more than you usually do?"

"I am not overreacting. I haven't had a match in a while and I know that Duncan obviously hasn't battled since he's been here; well, at least not with two pokémon involved. We both need the practice."

"If you really want practice, you should have a match against me," Aerin informed her.

"No thanks, I prefer to challenge Duncan right now. You guys can practice something else later on, after the class is over, if you don't mind that is." Her mouth was pressed into an angry line and her eyes straightforward as she gazed into her friend's pair of blue eyes.

"Not at all," Aerin gave in. There was no point in continuing, for Imagen would match her word-to-word no matter the circumstance. It had always been that way, ever since they were five. Aerin couldn't argue—or at least argue and win—with Imagen for beans.

"Thank you. Now, Duncan, I hope your ready, because this is not going to be an easy victory." Then, she stomped onwards to one of the practice fields, which were about half the size of the official field, and waited for his arrival.

Duncan looked from Aerin to his necklace before marching to his destination. Aerin discovered that he didn't look like his usually buoyant, confident self, and it made her wonder. She'd looked at his records a while ago and discovered that he'd spent many years at Pokémon Tech. It was only just that she assumed that he had had prior experience. So why he looked that way puzzled her; it intrigued her. However, being a docile creature by nature, she remained in that state: it wasn't right to just question him about it.

Aerin stood there and waited for the match to begin. She discerned that Imagen was clearly pissed off and that something was wrong. And, with her hasty exit from a few nights ago, she started to worry if there was anything wrong at home. She knew her situation very well; and, even though she was already a slave to her grandparents will, things could possibly got words; but, she just didn't understand how.

Her thoughts were halted once she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned to see who it was and found that it was nobody else than David. They looked so unalike, even though they'd the same parents. Aerin took more after Erika and he more after their father, Faulkner. "What's up?" he asked.

"Nothing really; just watching those two have a match."

"Oh Duncan? And Jennie? She looks pretty heated."

"I'd say."

"But then again, she's always angry."

She stared at him. "That's my best friend you're talking about. I don't talk about your friends, so don't talk about mine."

He rubbed his chin and asked, in an unsure fashion, "If I remember correctly, it was just last night when you came home from some stupid ballet and commented that 'I wish that you would move out and take your prissy girlfriend with you.'"

"I don't remember any such thing."

"Uh huh. Right. Anyways, before you said that, you seemed to be in a bubbly mood. I wonder why," he lingered, slyly looking at her from the corner of his eye. A grin had begun to spread over his face.

"I went out on a date."

"I thought that you don't 'do' the whole dating scene," he said with an inquisitive air.

"I think that that is just you. You just pick them up from off the street."

"No," he droned, ignoring the last statement, "it's you. I mean, nobody really likes you."

His last statement summoned up the conversation that she and Imagen had shared the night before, and all of a sudden, she didn't feel too well. Duncan genuinely appeared to be enjoying himself. And afterwards, he very much seemed to be grateful that she'd invited him. She was torn between the truth and what she thought was the truth and, right then, her conscience was telling her that perhaps Imagen was right. No! It can't be that way. He didn't even try to make any moves on me. Yeah, that's it. Duncan is cool; I have nothing to worry about.

"You looked a bit...perplexed," David commented. He frowned in wonderment.

"Oh, I'm okay. Why do you care anyways?"

"Brotherly duty. Otherwise, I wouldn't be bothered with you."

"That's comforting." She looked back to what was at hand and said: "Oh look. They're about to release their pokémon. I hope that Dunc—Imagen—they get a lot of experience."

"God, make up your mind!"

She turned away from him and looked to the combat ahead. With someone as fiery as Imagen, this was bound to be at least entertaining.

*~*

"All right, Duncan. You'd better be ready, because I am." She reached down to her ankle bracelet and unclipped a shiny red and white pokéball from it. Then, she tossed it up in the air so that it would go into a graceful arc. "Go Buster!" A crimson energy beam precipitated to the ground, where it "splashed", and formed into the shape of a robust Bulbasaur. Buster smiled in a wicked way, which reminded Duncan of his trainer. You never knew what was going on in that head.

"Go Boomer," Duncan called as he pressed the silver button of the metallic ball. The energy formed a small puddle on the ground that soon materialized into a thriving, living creature that, upon its arrival, brushed up against Duncan.

"[Hey look! There's Buster.]" Then he looked around. "[What? Me no see any other friends.]"

Sensing his puzzlement, Duncan informed him that they were participating in a pokémon battle and that this was where he used his special powers beat his opponent. Appearing to have somewhat comprehended, Boomer put on his most steady face—which wasn't that steady at all, more comical than anything—and waited for instruction.

"Good luck, Boomer!" Aerin called. Then, seeing Imagen's angry glared, she added, "you can wear him out, Buster."

"Who's side are you on, Aerin?" Imagen queried.

"I'm neutral."

Imagen stared Duncan deep into the eye before calling out. "Use your razor leaves, Buster."

Automatically did Buster leap into action. His strong, powerful legs pumped, causing him to trot even faster. With a little shriek, four leaves were hurled at the unsuspecting Boomer. Boomer cowered and fell to the ground, evading all but one, which grazed his derrière. Boomer shot into the air and shrieked out his pain. Aerin couldn't help but giggle.

"You have to keep a steady face, Boomer. And, it would really help if you jumped out of the way of any distance attacks," Duncan explained. "Now, show him your razor leaves."

"[Yahoo,]" he cried as he threw his head forward and launched a surprising seven razor leaves at Buster. Instinctively, Buster released his vines and whipped each one to the ground, which produced a loud—thwack! Overwhelmed, Boomer began to sniffle.

"[They didn't hit him!]"

"Don't be discouraged; you have to just keep on trying. Now use your vine whip attack."

"Tackle him before he attacks."

Buster took off, his mouth clamped shut and his fiery red eyes matching his trainer's temper. He was pretty fast for a Bulbasaur: it was something that he and Imagen had worked on. She'd melded him into a lean, mean fighting machine. He was gaining on Boomer fast, and Boomer had only just released the vines, which went in all the wrong directions. Afraid, as Buster neared him, a translucent red barrier formed an energy barrier around the young pokémon. Unable to move out of the way in time, Buster barrelled onwards, remembering that that move didn't eliminate all pain. The collision made a loud crashing noise, and the force caused Boomer to fly back a few feet. But, recalling that Buster had also been blasted back, Boomer continued the attack, using his inertia to whip Buster over his head.

"Great maneuver!" Duncan cheered.

"What?" She shook her head. "The match isn't over! Buster, use your vine whip attack and slam him!"

Whatever pain that Buster felt was vanquished right then as he did as he was told. Boomer was too busy cheering to dodge the assault and pretty soon, he was entangled in Buster's web of vines. Soon afterwards, he was being pulled towards buster, and believe me, he making a boisterous hassle out of it.

"[Me don't want to go! Me don't want to go!]"

"You can gain the advantage if you use your vines also."

Boomer obeyed. Pretty soon, they were a grunting and pulling bunch of pokémon. However, after about a minute of struggling, Buster began to drag the spunky Boomer closer and closer to him.

"Loosen the slack on your vines and charge," Duncan commanded.

Buster was sent high into the air, but he hadn't let go of Boomer. Boomer too was sent flying, over Buster's head to be exact. Both skidded across the ground and winced from the friction that had alighted on their skin.

"[Me can't go on. Me tired!]"

"You can't give up just yet. We're so close to winning. Try to tackle him."

Buster countered that with a tackle of his own and pretty soon, they were dashing about the arena, occasionally jumping into the air and slamming into each other in the middle. Both were panting now, but Buster was much too stubborn to give in and Boomer was much too loyal to Duncan to just quit.

"We have him, Buster. Look, he's tired. Now, use your leech seed attack and finish him off!"

With the last rations of energy in his body, Buster jumped back many feet. A loud growl was emitted from his mouth as the bulb upon his back turned a blinding white. Then, it pulsated and ejected a large yellow seed into the air which, like a comet, had a tail of energy trailing behind it.

"Look out!"

But Boomer was much too fascinated by the maneuver to equivocate. He was awe-struck. "[ Whoa! Cool! Me want one of those!]" Only at the last minute did he even attempt to move out of the way, but by then, it was too late. Sprawling green vines smothered his body and, as if on cue, red energy traveled through the vines and zapped Boomer senseless. In an exasperated heap did Boomer fall to the ground after getting the life zapped out of him. The seed dutifully returned to the bulb, leaving Buster more than just rejuvenated. He was exuberant.

"Excellent work, Buster, as always." Imagen stooped down and hugged the sturdy pokémon close to her chest. He beamed while in her warm embrace as she said soothing words.

Duncan, however, spent a very long time trying to comfort the heartbroken Boomer, who had gained an amazing sort of zeal in pronouncing that, under no circumstances, would he ever be involved in another pokémon battle again.

*~*

The night was still young when Madison ventured outside of the loft and onto Bijou Boulevard. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and a beautiful crescent moon spread its mellow light across the landscape. The streetlights had just flickered on. He was on his way to the Pokémon Center.

He didn't know that Imagen worked there so, meeting her behind the counter was a surprise—a very pleasant surprise. She didn't look too happy though. Instead of looking straight ahead like she usually did, she glanced down at the slick counter with her face supported with an open hand, bored. Upon seeing him enter the facility, she put on a decent smile and said, "Hey Madison."

"Hey Imagen," he said, not really sure if he wanted to expand upon the simple greeting. He decided to let her have the prominent role in the conversation because he was sure that if he asked too many questions, she would grow even more irate; and that was the last thing that he wanted, or needed.

"How's it going?"

"Fine. Just bringing my pokémon in for a treatment."

"Oh, you have pokémon? What type do you collect, or are you just a random trainer?"

"I really like water pokémon," Madison told her. Scratching the back of his head he added, "I guess that I get it from my mom. She's the Cerulean City Gym Leader."

"That must be nice. Sometimes I wish that my mo—uh...it must be nice," she said quickly, leaving much to be desired. Madison found it strange, and slightly suspicious, how she just changed up her sentence like that. He shrugged it out of his conscience. Maybe it was just a slip-up.

"Yeah," he agreed. Smiling, he thought of Ms. Waterflower and Ashley sitting down in their little cottage and eating some food, one of his mother's Princess Dolls, probably the Poliwhirl, sitting in the middle as an ornamental centerpiece. He had to call them that night.

"I'll take your pokémon, if you want. That weirdo Nurse Joy is out sick, so I'm stuck with doing her job. I'm glad that I'm getting paid overtime."

"I would too," Madison said with a laugh as he handed over his three pokéballs. While doing so, they briefly touched hands. Hers were so soft and smooth. He wondered how they would feel on his face... When he noticed what he was thinking, he quickly colored. Imagen, however, appeared to be unaffected, and went about her work saying that "I'll be done in about ten minutes. You can go sit over there if you like."

He scanned over his surroundings and found that there was a videophone booth over in a secluded corner. Immediately was he drawn there and, within seconds, was scanning his telecarte and dialing the seven digits of his home phone number plus the area code. After three perceptible rings, the screen flickered on and Ashley was there on the screen.

"Madison! Mom, Madison's on the phone!"

"Nice to see you too, squirt."

"I thought that I told you not to call me that. I'm thirteen, not twelve," she haughtily told him.

"As if that makes a very big difference."

"It does!"

"All right, I believe you. Anyways, how's the training been going?"

"Great! I caught a Pupitar the other day near Silver Cave. It is so awesome. He doesn't like to move a lot, and may even be a bit grumpy at times, but with my soothing touch, I'll win him over in no time."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

"I just am, okay?"

"Fine, fine. Where's Mom?"

"She just tripped over one of the Poliwags. Oh, here she is. I'll talk to you later, kay? Call me on my pokétalky sometimes. Bye, big bro."

"Bye Ash."

Then, Misty's face appeared on the screen. She was absolutely beaming at the joy of speaking with her son. And, she was stunningly beautiful for her age. Her big blue eyes gleamed with health and exuberence. Only a chevron of gray hair streaked her carrot-orange hair which was in a long queue that trailed down her back. "Madison!"

"Hey Mom."

"It seems like I haven't spoken to you in ages."

"Mom...it's only been like a week."

"Well to me it's been like a month."

"Oh, wow. So, how's the Gym coming along."

"I lost for the first time in two months to some girl named Hillary Jenkins. You'd better tell Aerin to watch out for her, she's good."

"I will. So, how are you, Mom?"

"Same old, same old. Doing what I have to, to get by. There's not much to do when you've been on countless pokémon journeys with people as nosy as Brock and your father." Her cheerful mood evaporated into a somber one in a matter of seconds, which made Madison worried.

"Have you talked to him lately?" he slowly asked.

"I told that bastard not to call me again, except for when you were here. He said that you haven't called him; therefore, he didn't know that you were gone. He wanted to know why."

"I might give him a call...one day. Just not now."

"So where are you?"

"At the Cheapside Pokémon Center. I have to heal Bubbles, Pendragon, and Junior."

"How are they?"

"Fine."

"Well, son. I'm going to let you go for now. Call me in a few days. I'll be here. I love you."

"Love you too."

"Bye."

"Bye, Mom."

*~*

It must have been about two o' clock in the morning. The whine of passing cars had become barely audible. The moon was at its highest point in the azure expanse called the sky. It seemed to make the stars shine even brighter. A light breeze swept through the landscape, picking up tiny amounts of clutter and making them into funnels in the middle of sidewalks. And Duncan was sound asleep on his futon in his usual sleeping apparel. Boomer was resting in his little bed, on a set of fluffed pillows, making soft, mewling noises, and Madison was probably doing the same.

Duncan had been having a dream when he heard a tiny knock on the door. Naturally, he thought he was still having the dream, so he ignored it. That was until, it came again, and this time much harder. Duncan shifted his position and pulled up the thin, green sheet over his chest, having become a little chilled. But when it happened the third time, he was sure that it was real; as a result, he struggled out of his bead and trodded across the floor, making a rest stop at the refridgerator for some water to clear his parched throat.

Not even bothering to ask who it was, he turned the brass handle and pulled open the door. "Who is it?" he asked, in a voice much like an inebriated lush who had painted the town red that very night. There was no reply and, from what he could discern, nobody there. I must be hallucinating.

But he was rather sure that he'd heard a knock on his door. Leaning forward into the hallway, he couldn't find anything. To the left, nothing. And then to the right...there was a dark figure there. However, still drowsy from his slumber, he wasn't able to ascertain that it was there.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

No vocal reply. The only reply was a rock-hard punch to the throat, whose force sent him sprawling across the floor and writhing in his place, while scrambling for the essential mixture of gases, mainly the oxygen. Then, everything went dark. That was when he lost all hope of survival...

*~*

Concluding Statements: Ha! There it is. I've finished yet another chapter. I've finished this kind of early, so by the time you read this, it'll be a few days old. However, during that time, I can edit it so that it'll be virtually flawless. I hope that you enjoyed this and I graciously accept your comments and/or criticism. Hope the match was satisfying. (Marie, lol) Hey! Does anybody know the name of the guy scientist who did research on Omanyte and Omastar? I need to know! —The Duke of Briarcliffe