This story was co-developed by Titan127 and beta read by ShonnaRose.
[1-3] The Girl Trapped in the Present
July 2011 - Two Months Ago
Right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right.
Kris felt her breath hitch from the exertion, but she caught herself. No. Bad. She matched her exhales with the rhythm of her feet. This wasn't a track meet. There wasn't a hurry. She was just a normal seventeen-year-old girl on a normal, average, boring, regular afternoon jog.
She saw the villa coming up and let the wind carry her the remaining meters until she skidded to a stop at the doorstep. Taking a few moments, she placed her fist on the panel siding and took in a massive gulp of air that incinerated her throat on the way down. Talk about refreshing. She much preferred the climate of Sinnoh to the perpetual burn of the Grand Axis. If the Pokémon League was so smart, why did it build its main headquarters on an equatorial hellscape?
After she finally recovered, Kris readjusted her sweat-adhered shirt and running shorts to be at the very least slightly presentable. But she stopped halfway after reminding herself, yet again, that this was home. She pushed in the door and called. "I'm back."
"Welcome home!" It was Mom, who was standing in the parlor in front of the television. A river of platinum blonde flowed from her head, highlighted by her black sweater and slacks. A library's worth of paperwork was scattered between the coffee table, some chairs, and the hardwood flooring. A thick notebook with a worn, leather cover sat central to the pile. "How was your run?"
"Geez, Mom, you really threw things around while I was out. I was only gone about..." She glanced at the elaborate clock on the far wall. Three rings twirled in concentric motions until they eventually came to rest, the inner two emulating an analog clock's hands. "Eighteen minutes?"
"Dr. Cassius asked me to write a chapter for a book of his about the evolution of Sinnohan origin myth," she said, seeming to believe that explained something.
Kris looked down and kicked a paper beneath her foot. "Did it require turning the parlor upside-down?"
"Oh, absolutely! A project like this needs the most practiced techniques academia has to offer."
"Sure, Mom," said Kris. "Where are Dad and Saber?"
The villa trembled. Glass implements over in the kitchen—hanging up on angled hooks—tinked against each other and the assortment of papers slid across the floor. After a few seconds, the vibrations came to rest. Mom said, "I'd assume they're sparring."
"Yeah, I got that. I'll go make sure they don't level the house." Kris headed down the hall, tracing a hand along the spotless white wall. It felt cool under her fingertips.
The house surrendered itself to the sun in the glass passage to the courtyards. Rebounding rays left sparkles on the glass, as if she was walking under daylight stars. Their own little paradise, for the few days they could be together. Her summer break, which was really a self-imposed escape that threatened some missed classes, was her only option to see her parents since she started at SPTI—Saffron Polytechnic Trainer's Institute. No longer was she flying between Johto and Sinnoh every weekend.
She came up to the intersection of the complex. Most of the villa's living space was concentrated at the front, while the extensive open-air courtyard was split into four and outlined by the glass halls. The quadrants were microenvironments for their Pokémon to explore, but they had another purpose. Each was a functional, and reinforced, battle arena.
Kris grabbed an invisible handle and pulled open the glass panel to invade the wonderful world. It was a flower patch of infinite color and beyond infinite aromas. Each second, she discovered a newly synthesized scent among the swirling particles. Some included the sting of draconic flames, and she noticed a few of the flowers catch under a rain of violet embers.
"Command: Repeat Dragon Breath!" Her brother shouted.
His Dragonite summoned power from the earth, the flowers, the sky itself, and released a stream of flames. It bounced off the curled wings of his target, the emerald Dragonite owned by Dad—the father of Saber's own. It dispelled the remaining fire with a shake and took off flying across the field, catching its offspring off guard.
"Command: Hyper Beam!" Saber's order was desperate, and from a quick glance Kris could tell his Pokémon was running out of steam. It was pouring all its energy into one final gambit.
The younger Dragonite's gaping maw yielded an orb of pure, radiant energy. It expanded until its light nearly engulfed the Pokémon's head. Then it fired. The weapon's wielder sank into the dirt as it tried to control the recoil. The sheer power of the fired laser tore up every flower in its path, and nearly blinded Kris despite standing at the edge of the arena.
Flying within the Hyper Beam's sights, the elder Dragonite made its own decision to dodge. It charged a Hyper Beam of its own, and without delay, unleashed its fury not at the oncoming laser but at the ground beneath itself. The near point-blank discharge launched it into the air to soar over the oncoming attack. With gravity on its side, and with one final beat of its wings, it plummeted towards its enemy with an arm poised to strike.
Dad gave his order. "Use Dragon Claw!"
The emerald Dragonite slashed its charged claw. It tore across the younger's hide, making it topple to the ground, defeated. The Pokémon gently landed beside and stood over its ward. It offered the same claw that delivered the final blow.
The younger's antenna drooped as it laid in the destroyed flowers, and though it whined in pain—and possibly disappointment—it eventually took the hand of its parent to pull itself up. The beasts regarded each other with proud stances as their Trainers met in the middle. Father and father and son and son.
"That was an exceptional fight from both parties," said Saber. Despite the heat, he was wearing black slacks and a crimson button-up, similar to an outfit Dad sometimes wore. "It was genius for your Dragonite to redirect itself with Hyper Beam's recoil, and I was completely caught off guard. As expected from a Champion's Pokémon!"
Dad smirked through the statement. "You're blustering to distract from your sixth loss."
"Unfounded claims! It's simply best to be a good sport to my opponents and let them know they're doing well."
"You'll defeat me one day." Dad reached out a hand and ruffled his son's hair. He was one of few people who had the height to even make that gesture. "Both of you will."
Kris was brought out of her spectating wonder by his words and stepped forward to meet them. She toed between the flowers to hopefully save them some additional suffering. The gardening service would have their work cut out for them.
"Christine, shouldn't you be training for the World Trial as well?" asked Saber.
"Pssh, it's still about a year away. I'm just trying to enjoy a break for once," she said.
Saber shook his head feverishly, to the point she was sure he'd spin his head clean off his neck like a screw. "You should always be seeking new heights with vigilance." He grew this awful, toothy smirk. "Why do you think our battle record is the way it is?"
Kris pointed a finger and a glare. "If you're going to talk so big, why don't we go next and let your actions speak for themselves?"
"I think his team could use the rest for now. Perhaps a few days," Dad said as he finished discussing with his partner. The Dragonite took off into the air to trace the coastline, unwilling to be contained by the bounds of the villa. "Why don't we all sit down for lunch?"
"I'm starving and parched," Kris said. "Count me in."
"Our duel will have to wait, then. But rest assured, I'll collect my dues in due time!" Saber marched through the quadrant, not waiting for either of them to catch up. His own Dragonite followed him in a weakened slump.
Dad sent her a bemused look. She looked up at him and felt a warmth stronger than the summer sun. He said, "I'm glad you're home."
"I'm glad to be home. I wish we could spend more time together like this. Yeah, yeah, your jobs are the most important in the world and all that, but I'll still keep wishing."
"To some degree, it's our fault," he said, watching his marching son. "I suppose we're afraid of what happens if we take a step back for ourselves."
Kris felt her eyes drift to the crushed, burning flowers. They fought with the last of their strength to stay upright, but even the ones that survived would eventually burn away if the fire weren't snuffed.
She breathed a huff. "Yeah, don't I know."
"We shouldn't keep them waiting. Would you like me to reserve a nice establishment in the city?"
"No," Kris said. "Let's just do something here."
Dad smiled at the suggestion and, with a hand on her shoulder, led her from the battlefield. When they returned to the parlor, it wasn't long before it was enveloped in a savory mist. Her partner's Flamethrower ignited the wood-fire oven, they pulled glasses from their hooks, and the cutting board was stacked with meats, fruits, and vegetables of all nationalities. The staff kept the villa stocked well.
"Might I put in an order for dumplings?" asked Saber. Kris eyed him over the counter, where he had joined Mom's quest for knowledge.
Neat stacks of notes towered over the unorderly piles already present. She watched him rip open the plastic wrap of a sparkling textbook, no doubt something he'd recently requested from a subject library of his graduate school. His program was linguistic research, building off his undergraduate major and capstone.
"That'll take extra time, buddy," Kris said. Steam framed her face when she dumped freshly chopped potatoes into boiling water, and she decided to add something exotic for fun. Her hand found a Chople Berry at random, and its sliced components joined the pot. Kris zipped between stations—sink, fridge, cutting board, stove, oven—while Dad took up post wherever she left off.
Between herself and her father, a banquet had been set to cook. Perhaps they overdid it. It looked more like a holiday event than an average midday meal, the sinks piling higher with dirtied metal, but she supposed it was a kind of holiday.
Dad's guiding hand pushed her away from the preparations. She asked, "What's up?"
"I can handle the rest from here," he said, taking command of the stovetop and checking the meat roasting on the open fire. "Why don't you play something for us?"
Light on her feet, she took his advice to the grand piano sitting at the corner of the room. Kris popped the knuckles in her fingers and peered over her right shoulder. Her mother, brother, and even Zara were waiting for the traveling orchestra. Her fingers found rest on the keys. She inhaled. She exhaled. She played.
Pages flipping and food sizzling was joined by the hammering of keys. Silvery tones bubbled from the instrument and floated about the room. Her left hand on the treble slammed four keys in an uneven rhythm, while her fingers on the right danced between notes in rapid succession. Then she repositioned and danced down the scale, before settling into a dramatic melody. Perhaps it was too dramatic for the occasion, but it was a song that Mom had mastered herself as a child.
The villa, their home, was alive. They were working. They were playing. They were enjoying life. And they were together.
Soon she'd have to return to Saffron, her brother and father to the Indigo Plateau, and her mother to Lily of the Valley. But as the flavors of food and music intertwined, she banished her longing thoughts. She had to enjoy the time they had left, and she couldn't let the inevitable end hold her back.
She just kept on playing.
September 2011 - Present Day
A white granite monument. The stone should have reflected brightly, but it was severed from the sun by an infinite barricade in the sky.
Kris kneeled in front of it, soiling her black dress. Countless flowers, incense, coins, and empty Poké Balls were laid on the ledge near the headstone's base. None of the gifts were her own. She had forgotten to bring one. The epitaphs were carved in three languages. Sinnohan, for her Mom. Johtoan, for her Dad. Unovan, for the mourning world to understand.
Cynthia Masuta
December 2nd, 1966 - August 30th, 2011
Lance Masuta
July 29th, 1964 - August 30th, 2011
May our peace be yours. May your peace live forever.