Long time no speak, huh? I was intending on releasing this portion as part of a larger chapter, but I figured it's been a loooong time since my last upload, and there have been certain developments in the factors that will effect my writing, and the development of my little corner of the pokewars universe, so I figured I would cut the finished and edited portion out and release it with some updates, though this is a little short for my liking. The good news is that there is a good chance that the final part of this annoying, seemingly pointless mini-arc will probably be uploaded later this week, and you'll finally see that there is some reasons for it's existence.
The length of the time between uploads has, as usual, been the result of both personal and creative factors, the former I will elaborate on slightly and vaguely in the end of this chapter. However, I have not been idle. While I haven't been actively writing this chapter (or, what it was attached to), I have in the interim of my uploads established several systems of government in this world, multiple political movements and cultures, four new characters with fully fleshed out several year long arcs, done large quantities of research into the SCIENCE of pokemon, for my side codex, collaborated with other Pokewars writers to establish boundaries and larger narratives, designed military equipment for multiple factions, created several minor factions, finalized the final plot line of this story, began setting things in motion for two sequels, began planing a parallel story, invented multiple in universe religions, determined the ultimate fates of each character involved in this story (well, those that survive), extensively fleshed out and sketched the remaining fights in this story (to help me write them and make them seem, if not authentic, believable), and studied several other well established fanfics on this site that share and have succeeded in some of my goals, and science'd the living shit out of EVERYTHING.
Now, if only I had that kind of go-get-em attitude with actually WRITING my story.
September 11th
"What are those tracks?" I asked, poking at said tracks with my feet. They looked like car tracks, but the ground the wheels scraped against appeared much wider, perhaps more than twice as wide as one would expect from typical tires.
Scar didn't spare any time to stop and look, instead firing out his answer immediately, "A truck, pulling a trailer with something in it…probably a boat."
"A boat? But the ocean isn't anywhere nearby, is it?"
"Not as far as you think…but not that kind of boat, a river boat."
Several more minutes, and we approached a small fork in the road, with the tracks veering off to the side, which Scar promptly followed, bringing us to a small clearing, with an even smaller house. Next to the house- under an open garage- was an old red truck, a small metal boat, and an old wooden boat; little more than a small dinghy.
Scar approached the metal boat, and quickly took inventory of what was present; pulling out some sort of spear, a long hook attached to a long stick, and a fishing line. Seemingly unsatisfied, Scar climbed into the boat, opening a small compartment and riffling through it as quietly as possible, while I stood and watched in disbelief.
"Scar…we're not stealing anything are we?" I asked, trying (and failing) to keep the uncertainty out of my voice.
"No, not at all." Scar assured me, still digging through the compartment, "I am looking for…what was it called… a wa- no, a tide chart."
"Why do we need a tide chart? And shouldn't we just…ask, instead of riffling through his stuff uninvited? We might not be stealing, but it sure looks like we are."
"I would rather avoid a confrontation…but it seems too late for that." Scar said, jumping out of the boat, and sitting on the ground, his hand placed on his hip-at first glance a harmless tic, but it was right over where I knew he kept his sidearm. Deciding that- as per usual- Scar either knew best, or that it would happen as he intended regardless of what I did, I sat on the ground next to him, attempting to appear harmless.
The owner rounded the corner after about thirty seconds of resting on the ground- an older man, short and stout, his hair full of gray and his skin full of wrinkles and creases, and eyes that were tired and cautious, beneath thick brows. He dressed in the style that I had come to consider typical of rural occupants of Johto: an orange and red flannel with bleached, heavy jeans- an outfit that was intended to be durable, warm, and able to stand out enough you didn't get run over by a tractor. While the brightly colored clothing first captured my attention, it was long gun in his hand that kept it- either a rifle or shotgun, I could not tell which. At the very least, he held it only in one hand, and only limply at his side, which did much to alleviate my anxiety.
He looked between Scar and I slowly, his eyes sweeping back and forward over us several times, before he finally spoke, slowly and calmly, in a deep odd accent so thick it was palpable "As much as I would like to assume the best of everyone, the two of you don't look particularly friendly."
With this simple statement it felt like a veil had been removed from my eyes, and I became aware of how ridiculous the two of us looked. Scar's army uniform was caked with mud from his furret hunt, and that notwithstanding, his face and left arm was covered in filthy bandages, with dark hair beginning to poke out of them in some places. Overall, he looked like a Halloween accident. Meanwhile, I looked like something between a hobo, a lunatic, and an animal- and likely smelled worse. My dark hair had grown unhindered down to my jaw in a filthy tangled mess, and my bangs nearly reached down to my eyes. My clothing was ratty at best, nonsensical at worst, with massive, blood stained hole lining my shirt where I had been shot, stabbed, and simply neglected my attire. My jeans were still muddy, and both my palms were still bandaged. If I were the old man, I would have likely come out and greeted us guns blazing, not with calm (if cautious) words.
"We're friendly, just desperate. My friend and I have been in these woods for a week." I said, wiping patting some of the dirt off of my clothing for emphasis, "He had the idea of looking for a tide book, and we didn't want to draw more attention to ourselves than necessary."
"I wished to know if the tides favored Magikarp moving up river." Scar explained, "We aren't starving, but our straits do not favor those that shirk opportunities as they arise."
"With your bare hands?" The man asked, skeptical, to which Scar wagged one finger for several moments. I looked on in confusion, but the man seemed to understand, "The tide book is inside, I've wanted to go down there myself for a while, but my neighbor said he got jumped by a Seeking, so I figured better to stay away until he came around, and we'd go together. Come with me."
We both rose from the ground and followed the man around the garage, and into his small house; more of a cabin, really, perhaps only five-hundred square feet in size, with a simple but well-furnished living room, a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a hallway that had appeared to open up to a small bedroom. There were a couple of older, grainy pictures about the place- a younger man with a young woman and a small boy, a portrait of an older woman, and a young man wearing some kind of uniform, and a much more recent picture of a young girl with dark red hair holding a diploma. The man walked over to an end table next to a small sofa, and picked up a small booklet and handed it to Scar, who paced to the other side of the room, flipping through it, "Odd, you have beds instead of futons?"
"What's so strange about that?" The old man asked, "Ever since the Orreans more or less shattered the Union, city folk have been copying a lot of your stuff. Maybe we can't quite figure out those flying cars and such, but beds are simple enough, and it beats sleeping on the floor."
"Hm." Scar grunted, "Perhaps it has simply been too long since I've been to the countryside, but I thought it was strongly traditional, as is typical of reconstruction period states."
The old man simply smiled, understanding, "You've not been this far west then. Most of us out here in the west have at least a little bit of Orrean in us, my own father was from Orre, though my mother was Johtoan- not one of those Kantonese settlers, mind you, honest to goodness Johtoan. People forget that a while back, the Kantonese were as much occupiers as the Orreans were in the war. That aside, they swept through us so fast they didn't need to beat us down like they did in the East, so there's not whole lot to reconstruct."
The conversation went on for a few minutes with me watching awkwardly, not having much to contribute. Eventually Scar returned his attention to his book, and quickly found what he wanted, and returned the book, "Many thanks, sir. If it is not too much to ask, would you be willing to loan me your harpoon? It would greatly simplify the task ahead."
"I want to trust you all, I do, but I…" the old man pinched the bridge of his nose, "How about we trade for a little while. Your rifle for the harpoon and the gaff, that'll help you plenty,"
Scar shook his head, "I must admit to the same doubts. Furthermore, I find the idea of leaving my primary weapon being…unlikeable. I have an alternative proposal. Take the boy hostage. Return him to me once I return with the equipment and fish for us all. Or better yet, accompany me."
The old man scratched his arm absentmindedly before answering, "I'll take the boy off your hands for a while then. The last couple years haven't been so kind to me…I can't walk down to the river willy-nilly nowadays."
I stood there watching, wondering whether or not to intervene and protest to being used as a bargaining "IOU".
'It certainly feels like I should…'
'But what is the point?'
I resigned myself to the pessimistic voice in my head and remained silent.
The old man scratched the back of his head nervously, "That sounds good, but you're not some sort of…asshole father, are you?"
Scar stared at the old man intently, intention unfathomable beneath his bandages, his posture rigid. The silence seemed to stretch out and fill the room, making the old man uncomfortable and screaming volumes of SOMETHING to both of us. As the silence became thicker, Scar's lips began twitching upwards, into a smile, though it felt like a threat. Scar seemed to swell in the room, to the point no one could NOT notice him.
"I am nothing of the sort." Scar spoke, softly.
With those words spoken, it felt as if air flowed back into the room. The old man relaxed, and I released the breath I was holding.
'What was THAT all about?'
The old man chuckled nervously, "Well, I've got no objections. Keep an eye and an ear out, woods aren't like they used to be."
Scar nodded, turned without a word, and left the cabin, leaving just me and old man alone. The old man wrinkled his nose, put his gun down in the corner, filled two glasses with water from the kitchen sink, and sat down on his couch. The old man began drinking from his cup, placing the other on the table and gesturing to it. I took the cup from the table and finished it in one gulp, placing it down just as quickly. The old man looked at me oddly for a moment, then took a long drought of water from his own cup. Satisfied, he placed his cup down gently and grabbed my cup again, walking back over to the sink to refill it, "Where're you from son? You look like you tussled with the great outdoors for a while."
I pondered the question, wondering how thoroughly to answer that before deciding the correct answer was 'as little a possible', "Goldenrod, but I've bounce all over the coast since then."
The old man gave a hmph and handed me another glass of water, which I drank just as quickly as the last, "That's not too far…my daughter is actually a professor of ecology over at the University of Goldenrod, you wouldn't happen to know how she's doing, would you?"
'Fuck.'
"I concur. Many fucks."
The briefest consideration confirmed that 'No, I'm not going to tell a kind old widowed man that his only daughter was MOST LIKELY killed by a giant angry electric cat, PROBABLY eaten by corphish, or POSSIBLY killed by a swarm of angry bug types.'
Thankfully, I was gifted at lying. Extraordinarily gifted, and I had a satisfactory response prepared in half a second, "I'm not sure, I left just around at the start. Last I checked the national guard was going to evacuate everyone, but they hadn't decided where to yet. After the first day there wasn't too much trouble, so your daughter should be out of harm's way by now."
The old man seemed to relax considerably, a bit of a smile gracing his weathered features, "That's good to hear. It's hard to get information about the bigger world in normal circumstances, let alone with whatever this is." The old man nodded to himself, as if affirming something that he knew all along, and then looked at me again, his gaze feeling more direct. "Well son, you look like shit, and if you're staying in my home you are not doing it looking like some uncivilized forest child. I have a shower in the back that you can use, just for a bit, might get some of the worst of the muck off of you, hot water too."
I looked at the old man, somewhat surprised by the generosity of his offer, "Are you sure? I couldn't use what water and power you have left for a shower, it seems careless."
The old man smiled and waved off my concern, "Plenty of water in the well, and my daughter got me the money to set up a tiny little wind turbine out back, it's enough to run the well and a light, and my battery box is full anyways, no point letting it go to waste, and five minutes won't hurt. Now go on now, get."
I stared up at the shower head as it steadily shot water into my face. The stall was tiny, so there wasn't much else to look at, but I could have found something, if not for my moral quandary.
"You're taking advantage of his generosity. You know he's only doing this for you because you told him his daughter is alive, when YOU know she's not."
'What else am I supposed to do? I couldn't tell him the truth, and if he insists, what else can I do?'
"You COULD have, but I don't think you should have, if we're being honest. I think it's wrong, and you think it's wrong, and I'm telling you why."
I shook my head until the voice in my head fell away, I was showering, and I wouldn't allow myself to waste time entertaining a phantom with no sense of privacy. I turned down the faucet to preserve water, and went about scraping my shampoo covered fingers across my scalp, working away all of the dirt. Satisfied, I turned the faucet back up and rinsed, then repeated the process with every inch of skin I could reach, and then quickly exited, unable to avoid and unwilling to confront my own thoughts. I briefly glanced around the bathroom, but couldn't find my clothes, so I instead wrapped a towel around my waist and then exited the small bathroom.
The old man was sitting down on his couch, fiddling with a radio when he noticed me. He put the radio down gently, "Took your time, didn't you? Well, least you don't smell so bad. I think it's time we do something about that mop of hair you got up there." The old man picked up a pair of scissors and snipped at the air experimentally, "Let's take care of it outside, and keep the towel on, wouldn't want to get hair all in your clothes."
I raised a hand to protest, "You really don't need to do that, I've gotten used to it, it's not that much of a hassle, I didn't even realize how long it's gotten."
The ends of the old man's mouth curled upwards just the tiniest bit, "You're right, I don't have to, but I want to. You look like a vagrant, and just the thought of someone looking like you do in my home would have my wife spinning in her grave. So we're doing it, get outside."
I nodded resigned. The old man's sight seemed to be fine, but I felt somewhat apprehensive at the thought of a stranger using scissors near my neck, but I nonetheless allowed him to coral me outside, and sat down at the edge of the deck when he motioned for me to do so. The man dipped his hand in a cup of water and then lathered my hair with it. "So what is the deal with you and the big guy anyways? You headed somewhere?" he asked, as he began snipping.
I opened my mouth, expecting a simple response for a simple question, but realized I had none. "I don't know, it just kind of turned out that way. I was lost in the woods, and he patched me up. He has some plan, but I don't know what it is. I don't think I'll be with him to the end of it…for now I'm happy to be heading anywhere but where I am right now."
The old man hummed in agreement, as he cut a fistful of hair and tossed it to the ground beside me. "A young man has no sense of direction in the best of times, let alone now."
'That doesn't seem like a fair comparison…but.'
"If there was a chance that you could accomplish something good, maybe even great, but you didn't know what it is, didn't know for sure if you could do it, but someone said you could… would you still try? Even if you didn't know if you were the right person for the job?"
The old man's snipping paused for a moment, but only a moment, "If it was me today, I'd say no. I've roots here, and I've made something in this world, and I've seen it fall apart, build itself back up, and disappear, and other times I've seen it become something I would have never expected in my greatest dreams. I want to keep on in this world, and I'm too old to throw my back behind a whim, and see what else those things'll grow into." The snippings of hair fell faster now, much faster, "But when I was your age? No boy builds anything like I have, nothing that they want to live to watch, without being a little stupid and very reckless. Mistakes make men, and at your age, you can't tell what causes you want to fight without tossing your lot into them until one sticks."
I resisted the urge to nod as he continued maneuvering the scissors near my neck, "So I should act on it?"
"I don't know what your deal is, all I know is that I did a load of dumbass things when I was younger, and I wouldn't change a thing. Act within reason of course, don't give your life to the first soul in a subway talking about how he needs money to combat some great spiritual threat that endangers us all." His hands stopped moving, and I felt him hold one particular clump of hair firmly, without a single tremor, "The last person I told this to throwed his life away not long afterwards, for a cause he thought he believed in, so it's not an excuse to not use your head, mind you."
I chose not to respond to that, instead silently mulling over my options in my head inconclusively as the old man finished his cutting, but a rather stiff breeze reminded me that I was wearing a towel, and had no idea where my clothes were, "Sir, where did you put my clothes, the wind is a bit…chilly."
"I was going to wash them quickly, but honest to Arceus, it wasn't worth it for everything except the jacket. Your socks are worn down to the last thread, your shirt has more holes than swiss cheese, your jeans are more mud than denim, and I swear just looking at your johns was going to give some kind of fungus. I washed your jacket, got all the...whatever that pink shit was out of it. I've got some clothes here that should be small enough for you, warmer than what you had too, I think this winter will be harsher than the last."
My first instinct was to refuse the gift, but another breeze reminded me exactly how poorly off I was. I accepted his generosity, even as my eyes drooped from guilt.
I could imagine Scar's voice in my mind, chiding me, "Beggings cannot make choosings."
I shook my head free from the thoughts, and the old man swore and jerked the scissors away from my hair, "Careful there, do you like your ears?"
"You know, he's doing this for himself too."
My heart stopped for a moment, as my eyes darted towards the source of the sound, finding little miss boo from the corner of my eye, leaning against the railing on the other side of the porch, "You can talk to me, he can't hear you."
I took a deep breath before responding, trying to calm myself, "I thought you didn't like being around other people."
The snipping of the scissors stopped, Boo began laughing hysterically, and as the old man opened his mouth to respond I resisted the urge to slap myself for my gullibility, "Not all of us mountain men are old, cranky recluses. I help my neighbors."
"I'm sorry," I apologized, "I just wasn't expecting this much generosity. I don't really know what to say."
The old man gave a hmph in response, "Well, a 'thank you' would be nice."
Boo managed to reign in her amusement enough to speak, "Good people to good things because it makes them feel good, get over yourself and say thanks."
"Thank you."
"Well, it's not like I have anything else to do out here. As it is, I've been done for a while, I've mostly just been trying evening it out, but you actually look human, which is enough, I suppose." The old man stood up and tapped my shoulder, urging me to do the same "Come on, let's get inside and get you into some clothes."
The old man opened the door and then gestured for me to enter before him, and he entered seconds later, leaving the door open. He walked briskly, disappearing into one of the back rooms, before reappearing, dragging a large trunk behind him.
"Now let's see what we have here," The old man flipped the trunk open, and moved aside a military uniform I did not recognize, pulling out a pair of old underwear, wool socks, a navy blue flannel, green jacket, and a pair of light blue well-worn jeans. I considered the clothing briefly- they were far too long and not nearly wide enough for the man himself.
"It's not his, stupid." I did my best not to start as I noticed Boo again, still in the corner of my eye, now leaning against the kitchen counter. "It belongs to the guy in the pictures on the wall, the one in the suit."
I nodded my head, "Right…thank you."
The old man gave something between a nod and a shrug, and handed the clothes over to me, "Right, your jacket is hanging out there, it's worn like a piece of shit, but things like that don't come cheap nowadays, so figured you'd want to keep it for…posterity. Do you want me to step out while you change?"
I nodded, "I'd appreciate that."
The old man stepped out again, without another word, quietly closing the door behind him, leaving me and ghost girl. I turned my head slowly towards her with a questioning look on my face, "Do you mind?"
The girl cocked her head in (mocking) confusion, "Do I mind what?"
"Giving me a bit of privacy?"
"I'm a ghost, bound to this mortal plane with nothing to do but make fun of the living, I have no sense of the word. Besides, I'm always watching, except for when I'm not."
I chewed a bit on the inside of my mouth, "Even when-"
"Especially then…except for when I don't."
I bit my tongue.
"So what I'm hearing is you're a ghost."
The left corner of Boo's mouth turned upwards into something approaching a smirk, "Or I'm a figment of your imagination telling you that I'm a ghost, in which case, it doesn't matter if I'm here or not. It's the logical explanation, so logically you shouldn't care either way."
"Don't be creepy about this, just go."
"A ghost being creepy, imagine my shock."
I said nothing, choosing to simply stare her down, hoping that my expression would convey my feelings on the matter.
Boo tossed up her hands exasperated, "Geeze, an atheist with no sense of creativity OR humor. Arceus dropped the ball on you, can't take a little joke."
And she was gone.
I quickly disrobed (or distoweled) and wasted no time changing into the new clothes. They managed to fit surprisingly well, though the sleeves extended past my wrist, and the flannel itched where it made contact with my skin, but more importantly, it was warm.
'Beggings cannot make choosings indeed.' I mused.
I looked at the sleeves and tried rolling them back, as their length were annoying and could hinder my wrist's movement. As I reached for them, I noticed there with some delight that there were small buttons at the ends of the sleeves that could hold them in place after rolling them back, and walked over to the bathroom mirror as I struggled to secure the tiny buttons.
The person that looked back at me looked incredibly different than the one that had only more than an hour prior- the unruly mop of dark hair had been trimmed to about an inch and a half, my skin was a shade lighter, my eye's less bloodshot, and my lips less cracked. Looking at myself in that mirror with the new clothes, I looked normal- no bloody holes crimson stained sleeves as evidence or memento of the minor and major injuries I had accrued in the last weeks, no sign of where I had dragged myself through the mud, no threadbare fabric that barely held together after numerous scrapes with death.
Just normal.
It felt utterly alien.
But it looked right.
I stared in the mirror, trying to puzzle myself together from the stranger looking back at me.
Black hair, of course, darker eyes, which were-
The door to the cabin opened quickly and shut quietly. The old man walked quickly over to where his gun lay and picked it up, then walked over to the wall opposite of the door and pointed it at the entrance.
That caught my attention, and I tore myself away from the headache-inducing mirror and quickly turned my attention to the door, "What is it?"
The old man turned to me with mild surprise, as if just remembering I was there, "It's probably nothing, just a bad feeling. I'd stay in there and close the door if I were you, and keep quiet."
I complied and cracked the door shut, then scrambled around the bathroom to pick up the rest of my things, before returning to the bathroom door and peeking through the crack. The old man remained completely still, a bead of sweat running down his forehead, as he stood rigid facing the door. I opened the door more and slipped my head through, to peek at the door.
A large shadow passed in front of the door, and with my strained ears I heard scratching on the deck, and heavy huffing. I inched myself back into the bathroom, hiding behind the door as heavy pounding rained on the deck.
'Inhale'
Pound
'Exhale'
Pound
'Inhale'
Pound
'Exhale'
Grunt
'Exhale'
Pound
'Exhale'
Silence.
'Exhale'
With a final huff, the shadow passed, each consecutive pound thereafter growing more quiet and muffled. The old man stood still, staring hard at the door, as if his glare alone could burn a hole through whatever was currently retreating behind it.
Only after the footsteps were completely faded into the sound of the forest, and after my vision started going dark around the edges, did I fall to the ground, sputtering and gasping for breath. After ten seconds the old man glanced in my direction, after fifteen he started looking concerned, and after twenty he walked over to make sure I was alright.
And then suddenly the wall behind me exploded; splinters and insulation flying everywhere, and in some cases imbedding themselves into the opposite wall. The old man, who had been standing above me, was sent flying out of the bathroom and into the kitchen counter, where he sunk to the floor from, in a sputtering daze.
I then felt something behind me, something large and angry, and warm breath blasting against my back, and then I too was sent flying, in the opposite direction of the old man, further into the bathroom. I curled into a ball where I fell, and peeked to try and get a look at the malevolent force attacking us, but the assailant had already retreated through the hole in the wall it had come from.
Once more the ceiling behind me exploded, and once again I was pelted with debris, and once again I felt the malevolent force above me, but I sat there still as a stone, utterly petrified by the suddenness and the ferocity of the attack. My heart beat rapidly, as my lungs expanded and contracted quickly, too quickly for me to get any meaningful amount of air in them.
Suddenly a scream cut through the chaos, shrill and filled with fear and righteous fury. My head jerked towards the sound, and I saw the old man shakily standing up, a large revolver in his hands. I felt my assailant turn it's attention away from me for a second, and the man cried out again, pulling the hammer back and pulling the trigger.
Crank
Click
Click
BANG
I shuddered at the sound, the sheer volume of the sound echoing off the walls sending me closer to the ground. My assailant seemed even more effected, rearing back slightly, and I felt something warm and wet and familiar splatter across my back.
Crank
Click
Click
BANG
I trembled now, ears ringing, abdomen itching. Somewhere in the back corner of my mind I noticed that the roar in response echoed less violently through my skull, as the assailant fell back several steps more.
"Freeze! Hands in the air, now!"
Crank
"We need to talk."
Click
"So here's what we're going to do."
Click
"Hey Cresc-"
BANG
I jolted, as certainly as if I had been shot myself, I gasped, and kept gasping, until I saw only the dark.
Well, it's kind of dull, but it's set up for something greater, and that's something I'd like to see what you all would think of, so review, and let me know what you think about the last bit, a bit of thought actually went into that. If you think you can see what I'm trying to accomplish in this arc, I'd like to hear what you're thinking.
Oh, and that bit about me saying I'd elaborate on my personal situation? I lied, or, I changed my mind and I'm to lazy to take that out. Maybe next time, till then, if you're still willing to put up with my antics, please let me know what y'all are thinking.
