After Being Blue
Poke Ball 9: Joke
Red had lost it. Or he'd finally learnt the finer points of a well-played prank and Blue was suffering for it. And, honestly, the first of those were more likely.
He wasn't supposed to show up out of nowhere – or the league, really – prattling on about a rebellion. Not that it wouldn't be cool. And adventure. But adventures were Red's style, not Blue's.
Hence why Red was the one who brought it up. Even if there was no way he'd make it through one. He was too naïve. Too trusting. Too determined to see the good, the possibilities –
But that was all wrong, wasn't it?
Red wasn't supposed to stand at the top of the League either. That was no place for an idealist.
Maybe that's why he wasn't one anymore. Or maybe he was. Maybe tearing the League down was his way of following that idealism. Because Blue might've made that sort of sarcastic mark and let Red run with it a bit before confessing the joke but Red was too straight-forward, to passionate, for something like that. His idea of a joke was juvenile – sneaking up on someone and making some loud noise. He didn't get those finer points. And maybe that was why he could dream big and believe. Maybe that was why he was an idealist while Blue was the realist of the two.
A year ago, idealism was walking along a dirt road, battling amateur trainers and getting stronger and dreaming of the day they'd challenge the league. Idealism was winning and losing and lamenting on the losses, was struggling through every Gym match and taking something more valuable than a badge away in return. Idealism was the dreams they'd both nurtured, but of the two of them Red had been more likely to fail, and more likely to push on.
And Red won and Blue lost, and Red was at the top of the League like he'd wanted and realised it wasn't as glamourous as it seemed while Blue hadn't had that chance. He'd fallen too quickly, and now he wondered in the snow, wondered after a dream he didn't really have anymore, wondered after a part of himself he couldn't see, wondered after Red's new dream.
Maybe Lance was right. Maybe he'd find the answer retracing him steps. Or maybe it'd be a total waste of time. Who knew, maybe it was a ploy by Red to make him bored enough to agree with his insane idea. Or maybe he'd see it wasn't so insane after all. Maybe he'd see a way to make it work.
Because he hadn't got a clue how two kids were supposed to rip up a government when one of them was at the top of the region and yet just a figurehead, and the other was yesterday's news. SO yesterday, in fact, that not many people recognised him. Brock had. When he called ahead to book a battle at the Cerulean Gym (he didn't want a repeat of last time where the Leader had been out on a date when he'd arrived; at least Red had been fortunate to show up in the city in the aftermath of a break-in instead), Misty had. And she'd promised him something special. Her true team, like Brock had used his, probably. And maybe she'd be better prepared because she was forewarned.
He supposed he'd see when he got there. And when what he was looking for kindly smacked him in the face – or when this revolution of Red's either was tossed out, confessed to have been said in jest, or became a reality, or he became a part of it instead of it trying to eat out of a part of his brain.
Really, Red was one of the few who could get words to stick themselves to him like parasites. Even if he hadn't been in that category for very long.