Red Skies

Summary: She was a sailor's warning, as well as his delight: a pilfering pirate, a life-saving siren. What was she, then, if not the sea in all her duality? /AU Pre-Pokéshipping/

Rating: T

Genre: Adventure/Drama

Shippings/Pairings: Pre-Pokéshipping (AshxMisty)

Warnings: historical inaccuracies, sexual innuendoes, swearing, possible allusions to suicide, implied character death(s), dead children

Disclaimer: Pokémon is the intellectual property of The Pokémon Company.

A/N: OK! So, one night I brought up my idea of pirate!Misty at the Pokéshipping Trash Discord – the next thing I know, I'm borrowing books on piracy from the local library and typing away at this...thing, whatever it is. Thank you for all the peeps on the server, especially Hollylu and johnnyd2, for letting me bounce this idea at their heads! (I hope I didn't give you concussions.)

Chapter 1: Red Sky at Morning, Sailors Take Warning

Up in the north, it is said that a beloved child has many names – but so does one that is feared.

To the navy, she was the Red Gyarados of St. Anne: a ferocious force of nature that they could not control nor capture (and men feared that which they could not control). She struck like a storm: suddenly, often out of the blue, and without mercy (for if Mother Nature did not discriminate, neither did she). She had sunk many a vessel – those of the navy's, those of traders' – and took whatever whenever she wanted. Just like the waves had their whims, so did she have her fancies.

She was a feared child for sure. And, yet...

To sailors lost at sea, she was a siren sent to save them: the one who had dragged them out of the dark depths, the one who had steadied them and kept them afloat when all hope had seemed lost – only to disappear as soon as their driftwood had hit the shore. There had never been enough time to say thank you, much less to ask for a name – so, when prompted, they all simply referred to her as "the Maiden" out of reverent respect.

As to who she was to those closest to her, well –

"MISTY!"

Misty sighed and lowered her spyglass.

"Yes, Ash – what is it?"

She could practically hear the cheeky grin in his voice.

Suddenly, there was a whoosh and a thud, and then, right next to her:

"Land ahoy!"

Misty nodded, not bothering to turn to the boy who had just jumped out of the Murkrow's nest. Instead, she slid her spyglass shut and pocketed it into her coat. Then, she barked:

"BROCK!"

Soon, she had both of them before her – her little crew of two. It was difficult to man a ship the size of St. Anne with only three pairs of arms, yet somehow, they made it work. (The two were excellent crewmates, but Misty made sure not to let that go to their heads.)

"We're low on provisions," she said and saw Brock nod, "so we're going to dock soon to stock up."

She turned to look at the landmass that was approaching them in the horizon.

"That'll do," she said to herself and watched, worried, how Ash had begun to vibrate at the sight, winding up like some hunting Herdier before the first shot. She sighed. Some orders were in order, then.

"Behave," she hissed, and for good measure, hit the boy in the head with the flat of her blade, "we're going there to make business."

"Aww," Ash whined, not even feeling the hit, "but Misty, what if..."

"No funny business!"

They arrived at the port soon after. Surprisingly, no one there seemed to even bat an eye at their Jolly Roger – Misty was somewhat taken aback by that. It was a small seaside town – she had supposed the townspeople would not fancy pirates that much, given how prone such places often were to pillaging. And yet, despite that fact, their welcome was almost warm, for the old Hoothoot of a man in charge of the harbour, after having a coin or two, had this to say:

"I do hope ya don't mind me saying this, miss, but yer ship's one purdy beaut!"

Misty was sure that the old man was only complimenting the ship in hopes of more coins, but it was not as if he was wrong: St. Anne sure was a beauty. She was a big one, for starters, and yet faster and more agile than any ship her size had any right to be. (And all this fit into the hands of three!) With her imposing girth and sails as scarlet as the setting sun, she struck fear from afar, making the hapless easy pickings once the ship caught up – and she always did – and that more effortless to plunder and Purrloin from.

Misty stared over her shoulder to see the figurehead sway at the front of the ship: the woman's wooden face looked as immaculate as always – the hibiscus in her hair as unalive as ever.

"Yeah," she muttered, "the prettiest."

She tossed the man another coin, which got him to sing some more praise:

"Looks like she can weather a thing or two," he honeyed, and Misty was not sure whether to feel flattered or furious. She did not have the time to make up her mind, however, before the man continued: "Still, it sure is good that ya made it in here in time!"

She stopped in her tracks, one boot in the air.

"In time for what?"

Suddenly, the man looked as surprised as Misty – no, he was not surprised, she realized with a start, but startled. He took off his hat (without it, he was a baldpate with only a moulting tuft of grey left – a Braviary past his prime) and wrung it in his hands like a towel.

"Miss hasn't heard, has she?"

Misty shook her head, slowly. She did not like where this was going.

"No, I haven't. Mind telling me more? I'll pay," she offered, plunging her suddenly shaky hand into her pocket to fish out more coins, but she would not have had to do that, as all of a sudden, the man began to babble without any further prompting, as if desperate for someone – anyone – to listen to what he had to say:

"Oh miss, it's terrible – a terrible storm," he said, not even eyeing the coins she had in her hand anymore, "it's started to rage not far from here. Miss here was lucky – some others weren't."

Misty felt a familiar tug in her gut.

"A shipwreck?" she asked but already knew the answer. She looked up to the sky, cursing as she saw the clouds in the horizon. How had she not noticed? She squeezed her eyes shut – out of sight, out of mind – like she could have willed the storm away. (It never worked.)

"Aye, miss," the man said sadly, lowering his gaze as if at a funeral. He went quiet out of respect – but Misty was having none of that. A single thought ran through her mind, like it had so many times before.

She had to act fast.

"Which route?" she snapped, far more aggressively than she had meant to. However, she did not stop to apologize for her tone as the man blubbered out a number: she was already sprinting down the pier and past her boys, who had gone ahead without her. As she went, she barked out her orders – "Get grub; do NOT get in trouble!" – and continued to push towards the lonely cliffs she had seen on the empty side of the town.

The boys were surprised but only mildly so: it was not as if this was anything new. Their captain was an eccentric and then some, somehow prone to both bursts of comical violence as well as the occasional oddity. This seemed to be the case in particular whenever there was a storm a-brewing, which had made them wonder whether there was perhaps a connection between the sea and women. Brock was adamant to claim that there was one. "A woman's heart is as unpredictable as the sea," he would often say (while holding his swollen ear) as if that alone would proof his theory correct. Ash did not know where he stood on the matter. (He was not so quick to believe Brock blindly, given his friend's track record on life.)

Suddenly, Pikachu perked up upon his shoulder: its cheeks were striking sparks.

"What is it, boy?" Ash asked absentmindedly, about to pet the thing, but stopped when he felt an odd chill. Confused, he held up his palm. He would not have had to do that, however, for as soon as his hand faced skywards, a sudden shower of rain hit them both from behind. Ash swivelled where he stood, staring back at the wharf, and saw waves where there had once been none at all. He could hear St. Anne groan as she resisted every push and pull of the sea in order to remain, ever dutiful, where she was. What on earth –?

But then there were hands pulling his arm, and he was running next to Brock, looking for cover. Yet, even as they were running from the rain, the boy could not help but think that with how quick – how sudden – the storm had been to rise that if the sea were a woman – in all her capriciousness –

...then she would perhaps be a lot like Misty.

Still sitting on his shoulder, Pikachu was surveying its surroundings. Try as it might, even its eyes did not see the figure heading towards the faraway cliffs – tailing their captain.

Had Todd not been a professional – which he was – he would have no doubt fainted then and there. The Red Gyarados of St. Anne, he thought while running through the rain, right here, in front of him and his finder!

He had almost dropped his camera when he had seen her fly past him. There was no mistaking her, not with that hair – that flash of red all well-seasoned seafarers knew to fear. If only he had not lost his bearings!

Todd shook his head to dispell his doubts; he was a man on a mission now. He would get his photo: he would get a picture of the pirate whom everyone knew yet had never been able to capture on film – not until today.

He followed after the famous figure, staying but a step behind at all times. A turn here, a turn there – where was she leading him? He had trouble steadying his own footing, slick and slippery with the now runny mud, but he tried to hold firm nonetheless. His pride as a photographer was on the line – he could not fail!

It was not until Todd saw the cliffs, rising to meet both the sky and the sea, that he saw it fit to stop his pursuit. Still thinking on his feet, he hid in the foliage. There's nowhere for her to go from here, he reasoned, a bit perplexed but nonetheless grateful, I'll have my perfect shot soon!

With that thought in mind, he got down into position and readied his hand over the shutter button. He looked through the finder: there she was, her back to him, facing the cliffs, the crashing waves and the winds. If only she showed more – and there went the coat –

Todd's train of thought came to a sudden, screeching halt. He blinked. Had he seen –?

But no, he had not been imagining things: the coat was followed by a blouse, which billowed and blew upwards in the wind like a big plume of smoke.

And just like that, Todd was panicking.

We're not aiming for that type of shoot! Oh my gOSH –!

His very first instinct, which was so strong that it almost blindsided him, was to shut his eyes and avert his gazealtogether. But he bit his tongue to fight that urge and forced his muscle memory to activate and take over. You've got to stay professional, he continued to remind himself as his hand, now a little shaky, made its way back to the shutter. Don't sweat the details; all you need is to shoot –

The boots were the next ones to go, followed by the belts. (It was at this point in time that Todd noticed the pirate was wearing swimwear under all those layers of clothing, which he would find peculiar only later on, once he had his perfect shot safe and sound in his possession.) The hat was the last thing to go: the leather tricorne adorned with trinkets clattered to the ground, and Todd followed how it began to roll towards the edge –

– and through the finder, he saw the pirate disappear off the cliff.

The tavern that the boys found themselves in also happened to be the only one in the whole town. The owner was a kindly lady with a rosy complexion and even rosier tresses, which immediately made her the target of Brock's incessant wooing attempts. (The keyword here was "attempts.") However, the lady paid him no mind whatsoever; in fact, she seemed rather lost in thought as she stood in silent vigil by the tavern's only window, staring out to the sea and at the ever-approaching, ever-growing storm. (It was getting so strong that they had had to bar the door to prevent it from blowing wide open.)

All of a sudden, a strong squall rattled the window panes, which prompted her to grip her necklace and make a hasty sign above her breast.

"Maiden be with them all," she murmured, almost inaudibly – had Brock not been there to listen.

"What worries thee so?" he asked while striking a dramatic pose no one in the tavern took notice of, "I shall lend you my ear, my deaArgh –!"

(Similarly to how the wooing theatrics were dismissed, no one noticed how Ash, taking it upon himself to carry out one of Misty's daily duties, performed the routine Brock-removal manoeuvre and dragged the lovestruck fool down under the dining table.)

The lady seemed to return back to the present with a start. She looked at the two boys and smiled.

"It's nothing," she said, although the corners of her mouth told otherwise, "I can only hope that she's looking after these waters."

"She?" Ash echoed, halting his spoon in mid-air, suddenly puzzled, "Who are you talking about?"

"IDIOT!"

This time it was Ash who had to hold his ears as Brock bellowed at him from beneath the table. Hoisting himself up from the floor, he launched headfirst into one of his tirades:

"THE MIRACULOUS!" he shouted to the heavens that was the ceiling, "THE MYSTERIOUS!" He continued to add as many adjectives as he could find, dashing down his lexicon of praise with the skills of a seasoned orator, until he finally finished off with a noun –

"THE MAIDEN!"

"...the...Maiden?" Ash parroted, the tone of his voice incredulous yet quiet, lest he suffer another tongue-lashing. This precaution did not save him, however, as Brock got on his case nonetheless. He butted into the boy's personal bubble, poking and prodding him with an accusing finger while laying down his sentence:

"You," he said and pointed at him so that the poor boy went cross-eyed when trying to follow along, "of all people should know her. She saved you, didn't she? Oh, you lucky bas–!"

"Oh," Ash echoed in a hollow tone, "oh, her."

Ash did know her, but the fact of the matter was that he did not want to remember.

But by now it was too late: down the memory lane he went, unwittingly diving into the depths of his fragmented memory of "that day."

It had been his very first day on the high seas, having bid farewell to his mother and simply set sail towards the horizon with nary an inkling of where to go next. (It was almost a creed he abided by: do now, think never. It had not served him that well.)

Perhaps it had been because of this carefree attitude of his (often bordering on nigh carelessness) but whatever the reason, not soon after leaving the shores of his hometown, he had found himself in a crossfire. His boat had been hit by a stray cannonball from a broadside that – to his shock and horror – had also knocked Pikachu overboard.

Ash was the first one to admit that Pikachu and he had not had the best possible start to their budding partnership; in fact, the two had bickered and fought all day. Regardless, as caustic as their relationship had been up to that point, Ash had dove in after the thing without a second thought.

Unfortunately, this action had merely made the situation worse: now they were both about to drown. And they would have met their demise then and there (and his poor mother would have been none the wiser for weeks, if not for months) had there not – well...

To be honest, he did not remember that much. (Almost drowning did that to a person, he supposed.) A whisper of a figure and a face – that was all.

(That was also a lie: he remembered how he had been out of breath; then there had been a touch, and suddenly, air had filled his lungs –)

"Leave me alone!" Ash cried out abruptly, all of a sudden feeling disoriented, and above all, angry.

"Why do you even care?" he continued and pushed Brock away with more force than necessary. Pikachu hopped in front of him; it was giving him a worried look –

BANG

The situation defused itself immediately as they all heard a loud BANG, followed by a frantic series of smaller, desperate bang bang bang –

"Someone's at the door!" the lady gasped.

"I'll get it," Brock answered, quick to unfasten the many makeshift bars. He nudged the door ajar until a figure, soaked and sopping wet, fell in through the sliver and onto the floor with a dull thud.

"The –" they tried to say but could not get a word out through their coughs, "she –"

"Calm down, sir!" the lady placated, already pouring a warm drink, "Deep breaths, please."

But the figure was having none of that; this was urgent, he had to –!

"She –" he started, wheezing, "she went and –!"

"Who? Who went where?"

It was Ash who spoke up this time: while the lady was busy pouring the drink, he had got up to try and aid the stranger. "What happened?" he asked as he helped the other stand upright. As he did so, their gazes met. Suddenly, the stranger's eyes went as wide as saucers. He recognized the boy, like he had recognized her –!

"She," he said, "your captain –!"

(He looked almost apologetic.)

"She jumped off a cliff!"