Various people were so kind in their reviews that I decided on extending this tale two more chapters. My thanks are extended to:
Cosmic Mewtwo - I honestly don't know how common Ash/Misty parings are, only that they seem to be the subject of virtually all mocked pokemon fics.
shadow/phantomness - I have no clue what an AAMRN is, nor why you would chose to be an anti one, but I'm glad you enjoyed the story.
act01 - I imagine that there are a few legitimately good Ash/Misty fics out there… I also imagine it's like finding a needle of good writing in a haystack of poorly composed slop to locate such a piece. Although I'd hazard a fair guess that this fic itself is not the first mockery of such attempts.
SilverFeather - I attempted to hit a couple of common things found in the much hated Ash/Misty pairings (not all of them mind you, just the ones that invoked enough wrath for a proper MiSTing), and hopefully in this chapter and the next I'll be able to touch on a few that I missed. I doubt I'll ever watch the show as I lack both cable and satellite, but once in my college I may tune in for a few episodes out of sheer boredom/curiosity. I'm sure an Ash/May parody is rife with opportunity; unfortunately I have no clue who May is, therefore it would be a very short fiction along these lines:
Brock: So, that May, whadaya think of her?
Ash: Hate her.
Brock: Cool.
Now that I have over half a page of Author's Notes (also known as "padding" or "filler") up, we might as well get to the actual chapter.
Chapter Two
The Murderous Sunrise
FACT: A group of crows aren't called a "flock", they're called a "murder". The same can be said of crowbars…
Ash stared at Misty across the room, as she continued sharpening her talons. She apparently hadn't noticed yet that he was awake. Only one thought managed to be formed within Ash's brain, and it crept down his spine and pushed out his mouth, his lips forming a simple, two syllable word in a horse whisper : "Revenge."
Misty looked up, hearing a sound coming from Ash but wasn't able to derive its meaning. She smiled when she saw his eyes open and put away her nail file. Stepping lightly from the chair, she walked over to where Ash was laying and stooped down next to his prone form. She gently stroked his bruised cheek, careful not to harm him. He didn't flinch, so she assumed she wasn't. "Does it still hurt?" she asked gently.
"…" was all Ash said, which is a neat trick if you can do it.
"Still upset about that little love pat I gave you?" she cooed. Ash maintained his silence, giving her a glare that would have sent Eminem scrambling for cover, although this doesn't say much. "Let me see if I make it all better," she smiled shyly. She reached up and pulled her silken hair out of the tight bun she kept it in. Ash had to admit that having her hair down certainly enhanced her visage. Misty moved her head up, moved her mouth to the side of Ash's face, and hesitantly began to bring her lips to his cheek.
"Don't even think of spitting on me," growled Ash at last.
"Dang," said Misty, stepping back. "How'd you guess?"
"I just know you that well," Ash replied, turning over to his other side, facing away from the girl. Misty snorted loud enough to scare intimidate an adult walrus, then stepped back. She looked at the nearby clock, then again at Ash, who was obviously still awake.
"Seven hours until dawn. Three hours until it begins" she stated, then left as quietly as she came.
Ash lay awake, pondering what that meant. He felt he had a clue.
Misty jogged into the woods, and after finding a good hiding spot, settled down with her blanket and prepared to get a few hours rest before the game began.
They were older, Ash and Misty. As far as was possible to tell, they were in their late teens, although the cloths they wore made them appear to be more mature, perhaps in their early twenties.
Ash was wearing a proper tuxedo, not a cheap prom rental. His real gold cufflinks glittered in the candle light as he bowed then extended a hand to accept hers. Misty blushed slightly, her pale blue ball gown contrasting delightfully with her hair. She accepted his hand, and they walked together to the center of the large ornate room, in between the other swirling couples.
Ash wrapped his right arm around misty, taking her right hand into his left. They began to sway to the music coming from the orchestra, feeling as though there were no one else in the universe but them. "Earth angel, earth angel," crooned the lead singer of the band. "Won't you be mine? My darling dear, I'll love you for all time…"
"It is an honor to dance with you, Miss. Ketchum" Ash smiled, guiding her in the well practiced steps.
"'Miss. Ketchum,'" breathed Misty. "I've waited so long to be called that." A tinkling of silverware against a glass was heard, and the newlyweds did not wish to break tradition. Ash's hand traveled up her back, below her waist-length hair, and cradled the back of her head as he brought his face down to kiss her.
Ash and Misty woke up from the dream simultaneously while screaming.
"I'm serious," Ash stated, downing another mug. "She did some kinda freaky magic on me, giving me nightmares!"
"Let's be reasonable," Brock said, purchasing more of the beverage. "Maybe it was just something you ate."
"All I've had to eat in the last six hours was a huge bowl of jello," replied Ash. "If that doesn't give you sweet dreams, nothing will."
"Alright, fine. When was the last time you saw Misty? Her punching you, so maybe the dream had something to do with…"
"Actually," Ash said, interrupting. "She broke into my room a little after you left. Tried to spit on me, said that in three hours 'IT' would start."
"What is 'IT'?"
"I don't know!" exclaimed Ash. "It's impossible to figure the woman out! Then I fell asleep, had that scary dream, woke up three hours later, and hunted you down to go bar hopping with me." Ash downed another mug, impressed with himself for saying all of that in one breath. His lung capacity was improving.
"So 'IT' has already begun then?"
"Approximately a half hour ago, yes," Ash confirmed.
"And we haven't any idea on what has started, is that correct?"
"Well, I do have one idea," replied Ash. "See, I was on this pokemon fansite, right?"
"Dude," Brock interrupted, "Why do you even bother looking at that junk?"
"Hey, call me shallow if you want," snapped Ash, "But I enjoy seeing how many teeny poppers claim they are 'Just so in love with Ash!' even if they are scary. So anyway, one of the sites quoted some supposed representative of the guys who make our cartoon. Apparently, this is the season finale, and 'Something big is going to happen between Ash and Misty!'. I'm gonna guess that Misty knows more about it that I do, and whatever big thing happens will happen at dawn."
"And also in the intervening time," Brock said, checking his watch, "which would be three hours, forty eight minutes."
"As far as I figure it," continued Ash, "We either kill each other, or fall in love. If it's the later, then I'm going to have to sit here all night and drink till she's beautiful."
"Which won't happen any time soon," replied Brock, "Considering I've been buying you root beer."
"In that case, we go with my preferred option, the former," commented Ash. "Now then, where's the local arms dealer?"
A few inquiries led them to a stately building entitled "Arthur's Armory". The proprietor of the establishment was actually named Bob, who inherited it the from the original owner, Bob Sr. No one seemed to mind the heading despite the fact that no Arthur had ever been employed by, or even associated with, the store.
"Greetings shop keeper," Ash said elaborately, strolling up to the counter. "What armaments do you have for sale?"
"Well, good Sir," the man said politely. "We have some nice toy swords over on that wall, I'm sure you'll enjoy playing with them.
"Perhaps I should have introduced myself," Ash said, checking his fingernails. "I am Ash Ketchum."
"Well Mr. Ketchum, the toy swords are over on that wall over there, enjoy."
"You don't recognize me?" Ash asked, shocked. "Dude, like, your very existence hinges on my character." Bob sighed and pulled out a copy of the script, flipped a few pages, and handed it to Ash.
"You see," he asked, pointing, "It says that I'm not supposed to sell you any actual weapons because you're to young." Ash tore the script in half, grabbed his money pouch, and poured a foot tall pile of gold coins on the table; a small sample of what putting his face on various pokemon merchandise had accomplished.
"I'm sure you could find a way to improvise this scene," Ash said, gesturing to his bribe.
"Is that even remotely legal?" Brock asked.
"It's the season finale," Ash replied. "What are they gonna do, write me out of the script?" Bob had already deftly swiped the coins into the strikingly modern cash register and was hastily gesturing Ash to follow him towards the big-ticket military hardware.
Brock and Ash walked down isles of gigantic swords, hefty axes, tightly strung bows, elaborate knives, and even heavily armored mechs. Finally, at the end of the last aisle stood a weapon.
Misty was well aware of the promised "big thing" that was to come upon herself and Ash at dawn. She just didn't know what it actually was. If she had to guess, she would say that they would fall in love, and by contrast, oblivion sounded good.
She cleaned and polished her shot gun, then laid it down to check the A.I. of her advanced battle droid. Her small clearing had become populated with many tools of war, including among other things an assault rifle, a sniper rifle, a fore-arm mounted mini-crossbow, a morning star, an evening star, a gantline cannon, and a ferret high on catnip. She felt ready, but knew that Ash would only get the most powerful of armaments to use against her. She could only hope she was prepared.
It was a weapon in every meaning of the term. The wickedly hooked head, with its glaring fangs of death, inspired almost as much fear and awe as the price tag. Meanwhile the other end split into a seemingly demonic bifurcated tail, albeit a bit stubby. The crimson paint that covered the main bulk of the weapon was offset by the gray steel ends capping off the shaft. Ash drooled. Brock looked at it skeptically.
"It's a crowbar," Brock said, an eyebrow raised.
"Yes it is," breathed Ash. "It is indeed a crowbar." And it was.
"It is a perfect crowbar," corrected Bob, "Crafted by giants and blessed with magic. A woarrior's glory; except that this best of weapons, a strong and splendid, gigantic work, was more than any other man might carry into the play of battle."
"Say what now?" Brock asked.
"Er, sorry, got carried away," apologized Bob.
As Ash exited the shop, clutching his new prized crowbar, he was completely oblivious to a high powered 30.06mm sniper rifle with a long range scope aimed right at his head. "Hey Brock," Ash said for the twentieth time, flipping through the instruction manual. "Listen to this: 'the crowbar can ALSO be used to pry up loose nails.' Who THINKS of this stuff?" Brock sighed miserably.
A muffled pop from one hundred yards away was not enough to warn Ash of his danger; and even if it was, the speed at which the bullet traveled left virtually not time for evasive movement.
It is rather fortunate then for Ash, that Misty was giggling over how clever her plan was, and hence missed his head by one and three quarter inches. The window of Arthur's Armory cracked in an intricate, spider web type design, with a small round hole right in the middle. Ash continued babbling on about the crowbar, as Brock gaped in shock at the window. "And you can also use it to wash clothing!" Ash exclaimed. "You just fill a bucket with soapy water, dump your cloths in, and swish it around with the crowbar. Dude, this thing is the high-kicking shiznet!" Brock chassed after Ash as Bob came out wondering what happened to his window.
Misty tried to get a second shot off, but Ash had moved behind a thick clustering of trees and she couldn't get a clear angle. Muttering words that her mother would have whapped her upside the head for had she been present, Misty retreated back into the forest to plan her next assault.