The Johto Odyssey
a Pokemon Fanfic by Galbinus-Rayquaza

Disclaimer: Very, very, very, very, very sadly, I do not own Pokemon.
Dedication: Daydreamer Gal for being an awesome reviewer and beta. (though not for this story.)
Chapter Rating: K
OC's In Use: Lyokoluva's JoJo Dodgson and Aqua059's Holly

Thanks for the reviews! As always, they were greatlyappreciated.

Also, if it's not too much of a bother, could you please comment on the new title of the fic? I'm not too confident about the sudden name change, so I'd like your feedback.

If you've forgotten the new Contest rules, I suggest that you go back to the fourth chapter to view the counter-lady's more detailed explanation. But it shouldn't be too hard to follow anyway. I've re-employed number-notes for this chapter, though I didn't put all too much in. And if I haven't emphasized this enough: No more OC's, please, until further notice. I really think that I have enough for now. Thank you if you've submitted one.

Well, enough with my useless blabber. On with the story!

Chapter Six : Cherrygrove Contest Part II

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—11:22, September 6: Thursday

Harley Davidson sat on the toilet, fiddling with the hems of his long green sleeves. Latias, he would teach those brats a lesson! Anguishly, he tugged at his long purple hair as he desperately tried to think of a plan. Gah! He had used up all his plans lettered A—K, and he was just working on 'L' when his Wigglytuff accidentally 'wet' his Pokeball for the second time that day.

The purple-haired Coordinator was interrupted rudely by someone rapping sharply on the lavatory door. Irritably, he pulled up his pants, since he did not actually use the bathroom, and twisted on the tap to give the impression that he was washing his hands. Ending the flow of water with another twist of the tap, he irritably jerked open the plastic door, hissing an equally agonized 'what the heck do you want?!' across the thin threshold.

"You've been in there for twenty minutes," An angry, high-pitched feminine voice hissed back. Harley squinted his eyes and scrutinized the tall girl standing in front of himself. Black hair was pulled into a high, sophisticated bun, tied with a light azure ribbon, and he instinctively shuddered under her piercing yellow-green gaze.

"Oh have I, hun?!" Harley snaps, pulling himself to his full height and towering over the girl by some good four or five inches. However, despite the fact that he was taller than her, the girl emanated a predatory sort of air that made him feel dwarfed by her intimidation. Of course, Harley, being Harley, did not show this, but simper irritably.

"Yes, you bloody well have, old lady," The black-haired girl grunted in reply.

"Hey! I'm not a woman!" Harley exclaimed, plastering an aghast expression on his pointy face, though he was secretly pleased that he had managed to fool someone into believing that he was female. Of course, the purple-haired man didn't detect the strong sense of sarcastic irony in the girl's voice.

"You sure look like one," The girl said, snorting perceptibly. Harley's face turned a shade of purple reminiscent of his hair color. Too flustered to speak, he could only splutter indignantly and fume as the girl sauntered past him and into the bathroom.

Clutching his face in anger, Harley let out a mixed stream of swear words and curses as the lavatory door shut behind him and locked with a resolute 'click.' Angrily, he roared in the direction of bathroom door barring him from the water closet, "Oh! You're almost as bad as May!"

The door flung open so quickly it was rather startling, and the purple-haired Coordinator had to leap back several inches to prevent his straight, long nose from being flattened by it. Harley was glad that the girl had not actually used the toilet. Wearing an expression of cool dignity, she stepped out of the bathroom and immediately shut the door behind herself. "Did you say May?" She asked, her voice toneless, though Harley suspected that it was forcibly so.

"Yes," Harley replied, a frown forming on his face. Why did she care, anyway?

"As in, Maybelline Sapphire Maple of Petalburg City?"

"Wahh—? You know her full name?" Harley said, feeling his mouth unhinge of its own accord.

The girl waved her hand dismissively. "It doesn't matter what I know or don't know." Harley suddenly felt struck by the eerie possibility that the girl knew ten times more about May Maple than he did, and he knew quite a lot. "Anyway. . . you don't like this May, do you?"

"Don't like her? Don't like her? I HATE HER GUTS!" Harley bellowed, his voice rising dangerously with every syllable, and his face purpling to the exact same color of his lavender hair. When it came to hating May, he was a professional—literally, since he made some money off of beating her at the one Contest he beat her at.

A wry smile graced the refined facial features of the black-haired girl's face. "Let's talk business."

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—11:24, September 6: Thursday

Andrew Rosalind casually flicked his hair and shot May a smug glance as the loudspeakers boomed his name. "May Drew Rosalind please report to the stage."

The brown-haired girl leveled his confident emerald gaze with her sapphire eyes. A bit taken aback by the girl's noticeable boost in self-confidence—only a few weeks ago, she would have cowered and looked elsewhere—Drew shook the thought away and, by way of addressing his Roselia, tapped the Thorn Pokemon on the head and glided over to the back entrance to the stage. Some feet away, JoJo's dark blue jacket sleeves rustled quietly as his muscles tensed and his grip tightened around his PokeEgg.

Roselia gave a small growl which Drew hoped was nerves and not reluctance—admittedly, though the Thorn Pokemon was female, perhaps the outfit was a little too feminine—but began striding over to her Coordinator all the same. Content, Drew strode through the threshold and inhaled a healthy lungful of stage air, blinking rapidly as his light-colored eyes adjusted to the intensity of the spotlight.

As usual, Roselia had already voluntarily leapt back into her Pokeball, so that Drew could throw her out again for even more effect. The Thorn Pokemon appeared in a bright, spherical burst of red light, twirling around on the spot to flaunt her purple outfit. Her actions were met with cheers from the crowd, and the 'Crowd Bar' immediately began filling up.

However, after a good twenty seconds, the bar had not scraped past the 9/10 mark, and Drew was getting slightly worried. Was his outfit not good enough? He personally did not have much experience with making clothes, and though he hated to admit it, May's Blaziken's tuxedo was a lot better than his Roselia's tutu. It escaped Drew how May was able to design such a good outfit within twenty-four hours notice. She seemed far too clumsy to be able to wield needles without the need of being escorted to the most nearby hospital every five minutes.

He flipped his hair in an attempt to boost the 'Crowd Bar' number. Incredibly, it rose to a respectable 9.5/10. The shadowed silhouettes of the three judges simultaneously raised three boards, where the neon numbers '9', '8', and '10' flashed. The orange-haired MC bounced onto the spotlight—which Drew was most possessive of but reluctantly surrendered—and, raising her microphone to her lips, said cheerily, "What a great start for popular Coordinator Drew! And now for the next appeal!"

Drew felt highly offended that he was being pushed away to make space for an obviously less talented and attractive Coordinator, and even more affronted that he was given a lowly one sentence for praising purposes. Nevertheless, he edgily beckoned for his Roselia to follow, and the two strode off stage. Though excitement pervaded the air around him, Drew felt as if he had just taken a serious slap in the face.

It was almost an insult to him—no, it was an insult—to his Pokemon—to his bleeding hands after poking himself, much to the amusement of his Roselia—to—to—

"Didn't do so great, did we now, Drew?" May's high-pitched voice piped up from somewhere to the bottom-right of Drew. His double-lidded eyelids fluttered open, and he was suddenly aware of the fact that he had been pacing around for several seconds with his eyes shut as if he were meditating or struggling with some great internal conflict, which, to a certain extent, he was. Slightly disorientated, the green-haired Coordinator turned to survey the brown-haired girl, who was wearing a most uncharacteristically smug expression.

He then registered the subtle sarcasm that was present in May's words, smeared stealthily over her usually pure, untainted voice, an ugly blemish on a piece of untouched white printer paper. Drew didn't like it one bit. It didn't fit May—didn't fit her childish facial features, and the almost arrogant twinkle in her dark azure eyes was absolutely alien.

Could this be a result from spending too much time in Brendan's company? Drew had to admit that it was a possibility. Though the green-haired Coordinator hadn't stayed too long in the black-haired Trainer's presence—he feared for his own mortality at times, and was simply unable to standBrendan for reasons unbeknownst to both boys—Drew had exchanged enough words with him to perceive that Brendan was of the cynical nature. And he feared that the black-haired Trainer's sarcastic personality would contaminate May, but Drew couldn't quite fathom why he was spending precious seconds worrying for the girl anyway.

"Yoo-hoo Drew?" May said, leaping to her feet and, mockingly, waving her two gloved hands in front of the green-haired Coordinator, who immediately snapped out of his second stupor. "Skitty got your tongue now?"

Well, Drew certainly didn't expect her to know such an adage. He replaced the blank expression on his face with his usual smirk, and intensified the wry smile as May's smug façade wavered slightly. "I believe the cat's been far too busy yanking your own to preoccupy him-, her-, or itself with 'getting my tongue'."

May took a moment to decipher his words, and Drew almost breathed a sigh of relief that she was still her usual dense self. He drifted off into another reverie, content with watching the world from behind glazed eyes, brushing aside May's undoubtedly lame comeback, with an automatic smirk.

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—11:30, September 6: Thursday

"Wow, that guy was terrible, huh?" Maxson Maple commented, lowering his magazine from his round glasses so he could peer over the mop of black hair of the girl sitting in front of himself and gaze, across the multi-colored heads of the audience, at the stage, where one frightened-looking ten-year-old boy and his more terrified-looking Torchic were being bombarded by showers of ripe tomatoes.

Brendan, who had been viewing the disastrous performance to the right of Max, could only nod dryly in agreement. However, he seemed unable to refrain from adding in impulsively, "I can't believe that 'Fire Spin' actually backfired and singed off the heel of his left sneaker."

"Nor can I. . . wow, the Johto crowd really is kind of rough, huh?" Max remarked, cobalt eyes flickering over the jeering and booing crowd, as well as the softball-sized flecks of red being hurled about the place. He was sincerely glad that the first Contest Hall May performed in didn't harbor an equally rude audience, else she might have actually been hospitalized from being hit by too many vegetables, though tomatoes were technically a fruit. Well, Max could have sworn he had seen some carrots in the mix.

"Yeah," Brendan said. Max glanced at him, and noted that the black-haired Trainer was wearing a deeply disturbed expression. "Well. . . this region's much more modern than Kanto, Hoenn, or even Sinnoh. . . I guess that their crowds, or more correctly, mobs, are therefore naturally harder to please."

"Oh, hey, it's finally time for the dancing part," Max said after a silence of several moments. He intensified his gaze on the stage, noting that the girl—was her name Holly? Max had forgotten—who had received a tomato on her face was still allowed into this section of the Contest. . . well, he remembered reading from somewhere in the Contest Hall that thirty-three Coordinators and their various Pokemon were entered in that day's Contest, and since the dancing part used thirty-two of that thirty-three, it was very likely that the boy with the Torchic got kicked out instead.

The screen opposite the many rows of benches that the audience could seat themselves upon lit up with the rectangular headshots of the Coordinators who had managed to pass the clothing section. The first four of these digitized photographs were outlined in red, and just as Max read off their names, the four Coordinators appeared from the left of the stage, all looking somewhat nervous.

"All right! Now, I haven't introduced myself before, but I'm your Master of Ceremony, Trillion!" The MC shouted enthusiastically over her microphone, quieting the excited murmurs of the crowd. Max thought it was somewhat strange how Trillion was named Trillion, but he didn't comment upon it.

From somewhere above him, cheery, high-pitched pop music began blaring from the loudspeakers. Max winced slightly—he didn't know it was going to be this loud. Glancing at the black-haired boy seated next to him, Max noticed that Brendan was looking as if he were ready to criticize the choice of music, but decided against that particular choice of action in the end.

Trillion pushed Holly and her rather timid-looking Cyndaquil to the front of the stage. She gulped perceptibly—Max noticed there was still a tomato-colored stain on her blouse—and awkwardly directed her Cyndaquil to move forward.

The fire-typed Pokemon hastily stumbled to the very edge of the podium, hesitantly moving its rodent-like head from side to side, observing the waiting audience members. Max thought the Cyndaquil resembled an embarrassed child awaiting punishment, but then again, Holly looked equally abashed.

"P—P—Pyro!" The auburn-haired Coordinator finally choked out after ten seconds of nervous idling. "St—step forward!"

The Cyndaquil did so, albeit very hesitantly. Several seconds passed, and nobody did anything else—Max was beginning to wonder just what they were going to do, when, almost simultaneously, the three other Coordinators ordered their Pokemon to step forwards. Mutterings of approval rippled through the crowd, and Max decided that the other Coordinators must have been following some sort of pattern in the song; in fact, if the blue-haired boy forced himself to do so, he thought he could detect a certain beat to the song, though it was hard for him to listen to the music and watch the Pokemon perform at the same time. Max decided that the Coordinators and their Pokemon must have done prior training, and he began feeling nervous for May, who had not practiced dancing at all.

They continued in the same fashion—Holly hastily ordered her Cyndaquil around the 'dance floor' with somewhat sloppy orders, and the shrew-like Pokemon sloppily complying. After a minute elapsed, Trillion motioned for Holly to step back, and a boisterous brown-haired youth took her place, exuberantly—and, in Max's opinion, somewhat femininely—ordering an equally boisterous Totodile to do a series of complicated dance moves. The other Coordinator's Pokemon fumbled awkwardly through it, unprepared for the more difficult moves after Holly's rather bad performance.

Thus, the first round passed. To Max's surprise, though the other two Coordinator's Pokemon were pretty good in mimicking the spotlight-Pokemon's moves, their Trainers were ridiculously bad at thinking up original moves, and so the brown-haired male—Max remembered him as a certain 'JoJo'—and Holly scraped past.

Max watched as more people came onto the stage. They were differing in skill level, and obviously, the better Coordinators were accepted into the next part of the Contest. The blue-haired boy noted that some of the Coordinators who were kicked out of the Contest could have possibly made it to at least the first round of battling in a Contest in Hoenn or Kanto; evidently, Johto's Contests were up a notch. He secretly feared for his sister.

To Max's surprise, Harley, who Max had not noticed participated in the first part of the Contest—though this could be because of the fact that Max had buried his face in a magazine on grooming one's Pokemon that Brendan had purchased at the Pokemon Center—magically appeared in the second batch of Coordinators. The purple-haired Coordinator, much to Max's distaste, dominated the spotlight with his original and flamboyant moves for his Banette, who wore perpetually a creepy simper, not unlike his Coordinator's own. Though Max didn't think Harley's performance was exceptionally remarkable, the rest of the audience did, and even Brendan let slip a shocked expression for a split second.

Thankfully, however, May didn't mess up dancing. She was the second person to take the spotlight with her Squirtle, and though not the sharpest tack in the drawer, she was smart enough to grasp the general concept after half a minute. May's Squirtle, quite on the contrary to his Coordinator, took to dancing like a fish to water. Max wondered when the turtle-like Pokemon acquired such skills, and wondered if other Squirtle were equally good at dancing.

When the orange-haired MC announced that May and an eerily familiar black-haired girl were accepted into the Appeals section, the brown-haired girl gave a delighted yelp and happily walked offstage into the Coordinator's room. Next to Max, Brendan smiled. The other girl followed, and Max suddenly had the odd feeling that she was up to something, though he couldn't quite place his finger on the problem.

Drew, expectedly, soared through his dancing round, making the rest of the contestants in his round look like sleepy Munchlax in comparison. In fact, the three judges forgot to pass a second Coordinator as they were too absorbed in Drew's Absol's fluid dance moves, but they did when one of the Coordinators abruptly burst into tears when she was not accepted. Ironically enough, the judges did not pass her, which served only to heighten the volume of her wails. In the end, she was escorted off stage by two burly Machoke.

Finally, the last round's Coordinators finished their routine, and after two of the four were accepted into the Appeals section, Trillion bounced back into the spotlight and declared loudly, "Well folks, that's it for the dancing! Please stay seated for a few more minutes for the Coordinators to prepare themselves for their appeals!"

Max wondered what sort of preparation they would do.

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—11:51, September 6: Thursday

Mimi was a strange character.

If you met her on the street, taking your Growlithe, or perhaps Vulpix, out for a quick walk, she might jump you and proceed to send out one of her Pokemon to thoroughly soak your fire-typed Pokemon with a blast of pressurized water before sending out another Pokemon and quickly flying away. On the other hand, if you met her while you were taking your Skitty out for a walk, she might smile at you in such a way you wondered whether or not she had just won the lottery, and then proceed to drop a thousand Pokedollars into your lap.

Nevertheless, despite her eccentricities, the black-haired girl had never before questioned her motives or morals. Though her parents—or more correctly, mother, as she had never met her father—didn't do a particularly bad job in her upbringing, they must have overlooked something in her development. She had never stopped to ask herself 'Is this right?', as she simply did not care for whomever may be affected by her actions, or even worse, she actually wished harm to the victim of her plans; and Mimi certainly was not about to stop not.

Hunched over a couple of wires in the Coordinator's locker room's water closet, she examined the circuits and, after several moments of decisive pondering, deftly severed two red wires with a pair of pliers she kept in her scarlet backpack. Her green-yellow eyes glistened with concentration as she continued severing select few of the wires.

Irritably, she rolled up the sleeves of her black waistcoat when they got in the way of her work. Someone was banging on the lavatory door, but she ignored him or her. They would just have to wait for Mimi to finish her job.

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—12:09, September 6: Thursday

Brendan Ruby Birch, situated comfortably in his chair, wondered when the Coordinators would be let out for lunch. Though he felt guilty about letting his mind wander away from the rather boring appeal some Coordinator was struggling to give with his or her Pokemon, Brendan had to think about his stomach as well. Glancing at his red Poketch, he did some quick calculations and decided that the Contest would end around one or two o'clock, which would allow for a belated lunch.

He looked back at the stage. The brown-haired JoJo was sending out a star-shaped Pokemon, which, after solidifying, turned out to be a Staryu. The water-typed Pokemon looked relatively healthy, and Brendan felt his concentration sharpen itself. JoJo shouted an order that was inaudible to Brendan over the roar of the crowd, but he was able to guess what JoJo had commanded from the vortex of white-blue water that was exploding out of one of the golden Pokemon's corners.

The flecks of water caught the light and glistened silver. The audience cheered, and JoJo beamed brightly before ordering something else, looking somewhat authoritarian with his wild gesticulation. At hearing its master's words, the Staryu seized its water-typed skyward attack, and as the water began to fall, the Star-shape Pokemon spiraled upwards in a near-perfect execution of a 'Rapid Spin', slowing down the descent of the mass of water with the air created from the spinning.

The air created from the 'Rapid Spin' attack also succeeded in vaporizing the water, so when the Staryu finally touched down, the water around it had evaporated into mist. JoJo beamed again and his Staryu nodded politely in the direction of the applauding audience. Brendan heard the judges speak for the first time.

"Remarkable!" The round-faced Mr. Sukizo exclaimed.

"Very smart combination of 'Water Pulse' and 'Rapid Spin'. Your Pokemon demonstrated exemplary control of its techniques, though you could probably work on originality," Mr. Contesta said kindly. JoJo nodded humbly, though looked as if he would like to retort. The Staryu hummed ambivalently.

"Your Pokemon looks very healthy," Nurse Joy complimented.

The judges' scores appeared on the giant computer screen above, which displayed a total score of 26.5—9.5 from Mr. Sukizo, 8 from Mr. Contesta, and 9 from Nurse Joy. Everyone looked, and nobody noticed the small gray figure that hurled across the stage.

"Good job! And now, time for the next contestant, Harley Davidson!" MC Trillion shouted as JoJo returned his Staryu and shuffled offstage. Harley waltzed onto the stage, his purple hair rendered a girly shade of pink under the glare of the spotlight. Brendan recognized him after a few moments during which Harley blew kisses at the crowd as the purple-haired gender-confused Coordinator May had described in such detail to him. The black-haired Trainer's stomach rumbled with both hunger and new uncertainty.

"Hi everyone!" Harley shouted, wearing a creepy grin. Without a further word, he plucked a Pokeball off of the maroon belt strapped around his waist and flung it into the air. The rounded figure of a monstrous arachnid appeared, and as the red light cleared from the release of the Pokemon, Brendan immediately identified it as a two-year-old Ariados. The distinct red-and-black striped coat of the large spider was exceptionally glossy, and Brendan found himself wondering what type of shampoo Harley used to wash his Pokemon's fur.

The Long Leg Pokemon hissed menacingly for extra effect. Several members of the audience shrieked in delight at the Ariados's dark demeanor.

"Aww, you look so cute when you hiss like that!" Harley squealed. Brendan began questioning the purple-haired Coordinator's sanity. "Okies, how bout we try a 'Scary Face'?"

The very air seemed to blacken as the Ariados's eyes began glowing a vivid vermillion. The hairs on Brendan's neck nearly stood on end as the spider-like Pokemon swept its orange gaze across the audience, and he found himself paralyzed, frozen to the spot. From a very distant part of his brain, Brendan recalled that 'Scary Face' greatly reduced the speed of the recipient of the attack. He remembered typing an essay when he was nine on the very move as one of the frequent tasks his father assigned him.

"Great job, Ariados!" Harley said, as if from far away. "Now, 'String Shot' yourself to the ceiling!"

Complying, the Long Leg Pokemon slowly tipped his head backwards, stretching out the 'Scary Face' attack for as long as possible, and fired a thick string of silky thread at the ceiling, which easily stuck. Brendan felt blood slowly flow back into his numb fingers when the Ariados relinquished his hold on the speed-reducing attack. To his left, he heard Max shudder audibly.

"Awesome, Ariados! Now use 'String Shot' again!"

Grunting, the spider-like Pokemon shuffled across the ceiling, spitting strands of white silk down at the ground at seemingly random intervals. Brendan looked at the ground and noticed that the Ariados was forming a picture on the ground. Squinting, the black-haired Trainer made out the form of a skull before the Ariados landed in the center of his masterpiece with a dull 'plunk.'

"Remarkable!"—Mr. Sukizo, 10.

"Stunning, with an unique macabre touch. I applaud you, Mr. Davidson."—Mr. Contesta, 9.

"Your Ariados's coat is so shiny! Sadly, though, all its shininess distracted me from the actual appeal."—Nurse Joy, 7.

"This guy's not too bad," Brendan muttered under his breath as Harley bowed, dark green eyes practically glittering with delight as he flopped off the stage.

Several more Coordinators came onstage, though none were quite memorable enough to leave a lasting impression in Brendan's mind. He found his train of thought veering off in the direction of his brunette companion, and how happy she seemed when she managed to pass the dancing round. His heart swelled with affection as he recalled the radiance of her smiling face, and his attention quickly snapped back to the stage when May herself bounced onto the stage.

Waving at the cheering audience, the girl flung out the short, tottering figure of her Munchlax. The normal-typed Pokemon looked rather oblivious to the roar of the crowd, fatuous as ever. May, on the other hand, looked as if she was ready to burst with excitement, and her energy was contagious, though not to the immune Munchlax.

"Okay now, Munchlax!" She declared happily, twirling around on the spot. Brendan could not help but feel his heart swell with affection at her childish actions. "Let's try a 'Metronome!'"

The plump blue-yellow Pokemon gave no immediate reaction to her words, but after a few moments, he began swaying to his left and right, waving his stubby arms accordingly in the air. The Munchlax's clawed hands began glowing white, and in due time, a basket-ball sized sphere of light had gathered at the tips of his sharp nails. A few more seconds elapsed, and suddenly, a giant barrel of scarlet flames rocketed out of the light-ball.

The randomized 'Flamethrower' attack stopped right before hitting the ceiling, and the Munchlax was able to direct the fire-typed move so that it fanned out in an enormous crimson flower. The audience ooh-ed and aah-ed, and Brendan found himself close to wolf-whistling, though he regained his dignity in time and stopped himself. May looked absolutely brilliant, she was grinning so widely.

"And now, 'Solarbeam!'" May ordered extravagantly, her voice rising with exhilaration. The Munchlax continued to maintain the 'Flamethrower', and at the same time he began gathering the required energy to launch the grass-typed attack. Brendan could not help but feel impressed at the small Pokemon's control over maintaining his first move while preparing to another one.

A hush fell over the audience as everyone watched, enraptured, as the Munchlax persisted in his difficult endeavor. The 'Flamethrower' attack was slowly dwindling away, and Brendan began fearing that May's Munchlax would not be able to meet his Coordinator's standards, and yet the 'Solarbeam' still looked many seconds away from completion.

"You can do it, Munchlax!" May said encouragingly. Though Brendan's eyesight was poor, he could tell that the Coordinator's face was shining with sweat, though if this were from sheer focus or the heat caused by the fire attack, he did not know, but Brendan liked to think that it was the former. Upon hearing his Coordinator's reassuring words, the Munchlax seemed to emanate renewed energy and shut his ovular eyes in tight concentration.

Amazingly, several moments later, the Munchlax let out a blinding streak of lemon-yellow from his mouth. The beam of solar energy rapidly entwined itself around the already-present fiery cylinder, binding itself against the 'Flamethrower' and strengthening it.

The audience promptly erupted in an equally monumental round of applause as the two combined attacks slowly faded into the air. May, smiling with pleasure, returned the Munchlax, and turned towards the three judges to await her praise and criticisms. Brendan felt his heart flutter as May, in pivoting on the spot, found his face among the other hundreds and winked surreptitiously at him—and if May was anything, stealthy would not be the best adjective to describe her. He felt special.

"Remarkable!"—Mr. Suziko, 10.

"A literally brilliant combination of moves. The fact that your Munchlax managed to sustain the 'Flamethrower' and generate a 'Solarbeam' is absolutely incredible, though it was a little unstable in doing so."—Mr. Contesta, 9.

"Great job! Your Munchlax looks a little overweight, though. Might I suggest limiting intake of Pokeblocks to one or two per day?"—Nurse Joy, 8.5

May nodded politely as she took in all three judges' words. Brendan was glad to see that she had retained a level of humiliation in her actions—he would hate to think that her sweet nature had evolved into a beastly one, which, oddly enough, was very common among girls of her age. (1) He was slightly disappointed when she left the stage, replaced by some other Coordinator.

Brendan watched the rest of the appeals with much less interest, though he groaned along with the rest of the audience when an inexperienced Coordinator's Bulbasaur accidentally nearly strangled an audience member near the front with a badly-controlled 'Vine Whip.'

After several more Coordinators came and left, Brendan noticed that the next one up was Drew. The pit of Brendan's stomach flared with fury, and he began angrily shifting around in his backpack, extracting his special sewing glasses and flinging it onto his nose bridge with an irritable thrust to better observe Drew's appeal. (Brendan preferred to call his actions 'market research'.) He valiantly ignored the several turned heads in his direction, all of which were staring directly at his burgundy-rimmed glasses.

Drew flicked his frontal bangs, compelling a large number of girls—and strangely enough, a small amount of boys—to shriek in absolute glee. Brendan had the weirdest feeling that they would not have been here if the 'famous Andrew Rosalind' weren't there.

The green-haired Coordinator, shifting his weight on his right leg, suavely flung out his Roselia again, who was no longer wearing her tutu—Brendan was glad, for it was obvious (to Brendan, at least) that Drew had done a poor job of stitching. The Rose Pokemon bowed deeply, and proceeded to execute a series of highly, well, glittery was the only word to describe it. Brendan really thought that Drew should be called the glitter-Coordinator, as everywhere the black-haired Trainer looked, there was glitter. And more glitter.

Despite Brendan's growing dislike of Drew's glittery 'style'—and his character in general, really; how could May tolerate having such an ass for a rival?—the rest of the audience seemed to like his Roselia's glittery moves: glittery 'Petal Dance', glittery 'Solarbeam', and even glitterier 'Stun Spore.' Even stranger, the judges also seemed to really like his appeal. Brendan thought this a conspiracy, though he kept this thought to himself. He was already sacrificing some masculine dignity with his donning of his old glasses—well, burgundy had been the fashion then! (for girls, at least, Brendan reminded himself.)

"Simply remarkable!"—Mr. Sukizo, 10.

"Absolutely wonderful; I loved your wonderful use of glitter,"—what?! Thought Brendan—"and your Roselia has a very healthy sheen to her."—Mr. Contesta, 9.5

"Like Mr. Contesta said, your Roselia really is very healthy-looking! Great job on raising her, and her shiny glitter moves are simply superb!"—Nurse Joy, 9.5

Seriously, how many words can they use to praise 'glitter' with? (2)Brendan thought to himself sulkily, removing his glasses and stuffing them back in his glasses case. He felt his spirits elevate when he saw the back of Drew reentering the Coordinators' locker room door.

Cherrygrove Contest Hall—13:30, September 6: Thursday

May felt her heart leap to her throat when her photo appeared on the computer screen inside the locker room. The other Coordinators crowded around her accordingly shouted happily when they saw their own photos, and when all eight had appeared on the screen, the ones whose photos had not shown up on the display groaned in disappointment.

Scanning the two rows of photos, May noticed that Drew, Harley, JoJo, and, surprisingly, Holly were all accepted into the next round. She looked around herself, and found that the crowd of Coordinators had lessened considerably as three-quarters of them trudged out the back door. Drew was examining his fingernails, Harley was probably in the occupied lavatory—not that May was complaining or anything—as he was nowhere to be seen around the locker room, JoJo was rubbing his Pokemon's egg for good luck, and Holly simply stood there, staring at the screen as if she could not believe her eyes.

Deciding that Drew probably would not answer her if she asked him a question—he was too 'high' for things like talking to 'lower' Coordinators such as May—she settled on talking with Holly, who was nervously tugging on a strand of terra-cotta hair.

"Hi! Holly, right?" May began cheerily, using her toothpaste-commercial smile and amusement-park commercial voice. The small girl, who May noticed disgruntling was not much shorter than herself, turned to slowly face the brown-haired Coordinator.

"Yeah," Holly mumbled, nearly inaudibly. Apprehensively, she rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm Holly. . . you're May, right?"

"Yes," May said, a bit taken-aback that the young girl was paying close enough attention to her that she noticed May's name. "Well. . . I'm glad that you managed to get into the next round! Maybe we'll battle each other."

May had intended her words to increase the girl's confidence, but they seemed merely to amplify her misery. Dejectedly, Holly turned to May, and as if confessing some heinous deed she had committed, the auburn-haired girl told her in a hushed, low voice, "I—I've never won a battle before. . ."

May didn't quite know what to say to that. And since most things May said when she didn't quite know what to say usually worsened matters, she wisely kept her mouth shut.

"I mean," The girl went on, a dull glazed look appearing in her gray-green eyes, "I've always thought they would be easy, but, well, they're not. . ." She sighed with a crestfallenness May had never before seen in a girl of her age.

"Well," May started, stopping short as she fished about for the correct words, "When I first started out, all I did was lose battles, too. But, I guess after a while, you sort of get the hang of it. I mean, look at your Cyndaquil—it looks, ah. . ." May trailed off after gesturing towards the vegetating shrew-like Pokemon, who honestly did not look extremely praise-worthy, ". . . relaxed?"

Holly eyed May as if questioning her intelligence. May began feeling very bad about starting the whole conversation, and she wished that she hadn't ever thought of talking to the girl in the first place. She was saved, however, by the computer screen suddenly beginning to shuffle the photographs.

Curiously, May turned to watch the display screen. She noticed with a painful sort of wince that she was paired in the first round with Holly. Drew, on the other hand, was paired with JoJo. Harley was paired with some other Coordinator.

JoJo seemed to take the hit surprisingly well. With a somewhat cheeky grin, he said, "And now let the games begin."

x

Unfortunately, May's match against Holly was not really a match. The girl had very little self-confidence to start out with, and when May's Squirtle had landed a lucky 'Bubble' attack on her Phanpy's long snout, she looked almost on the verge of tears.

May seriously considered forfeiting the match—she really didn't want the girl to erupt in wailing because of her. The brown-haired Coordinator stopped herself, though; first off, Brendan would never forgive her—secondly, Harley would never let her hear the end of it—and thirdly, Drew would find that as an excuse to further demolish May's own self-confidence.

Settling for encouragement, May piped up, "C'mon Holly, I'm sure you and your Phanpy, er—what's his name again?"

"Rhua," Holly answered miserably, "And she's a girl."

"Oh," said May, forgetting what she had set off to do in the first place. Her impatient Squirtle, unable to stand the suspense any longer, had pounced on the ground-typed Pokemon with a well-aimed 'Withdraw/Rapid Spin' combination attack. The Phanpy let out a squeal of pain and toppled backwards, and when she at last pushed herself back onto her stump-like feet, there was a nasty dark-red bruise across the rectangular red hump on Rhua's nose.

May began to apologize, then stopped herself, remembering that, well, a battle is a battle, and no matter how much she may pity the poor girl and her even poorer Pokemon, she shouldn't force herself to verbally advocate this. She remembered how insulted she felt herself when someone else pitied her and her Pokemon—surely Holly couldn't be much different?

"F—finish her off," May stuttered, looking away as she didn't want to witness the event. Unfortunately, she could not block her ears, and the ominous sort of thump that reverberated through the auditorium signaled the Phanpy being knocked out. Her Squirtle gave a happy squeal, but May couldn't quite rejoice.

Forcing herself to look, May turned around again and saw Holly kneeling on her knees, tears streaming steadily from her large eyes. May wanted to say something—anything—to comfort her, but the roar of the audience would have drowned out anything May said, anyway. She glanced at the display, and noted that, while she had full points, Holly's circular point-bar had completely emptied. Three 'X's appeared on the judge's panels, and Holly, miserably returning her Phanpy, marched offstage.

May followed the small figure of the girl, and felt increasingly nauseous. She rounded the doorway back into the locker room just in time to see Holly stuffing her two Pokeballs in her bag. Feeling like she should do something, May walked up to the girl just as Holly was about to slip through the doorway leading outside.

"Hey, Holly," May said. The auburn-haired girl turned to look at May, and the brown-haired Coordinator noticed unsettlingly that her face was overrun with tear stains. "Um. . . I'm sure you'll be a, uh, a great Coordinator when you grow up and if you keep training."

Holly looked at her feet, not saying anything. She simply stood in the doorway. May thought she heard the next two Coordinators—one of them including Drew—exit the locker room and onto the stage, but she couldn't quite care. A minute trickled past, and May wondered if Holly was going to say anything at all.

"I'm—I'm just not good enough," She murmured after a while.

"No, you just don't have any self-confidence!" May said, slightly exasperated. "If you just believed in yourself, I'm sure you can be really—"

"Don't say it!" Holly interjected, looking positively aghast. "I'm not good—I never will be! I have no idea how I managed to scrape into the battles!"

May was trying to think of something to counter this when a shadow passed over her. Confused, May turned around, only to see Drew looming above her. Her breath caught in her throat. Did he finish the battle already. . . wait, didn't he battle against JoJo? Sure enough, May could see the lone figure of the tall brown-blonde Coordinator some yards behind Drew, but was distracted by the green-haired Coordinator's biting words.

"That's right, little girl," Drew started in a deadly quiet voice, brushing past May as if she were an insignificant bug. Holly trembled visibly as Drew stared down at her. "You are absolutely terrible at battling and appealing, and you do not deserve your Pokemon's dedication." May almost gasped aloud at Drew's cruel words, but somehow she was able to stay quiet. Fat tears rolled down Holly's face, and Drew bore an almost indifferent expression, as if he were wasting his time with pointing out Holly's pitiful existence. "If you know what's good for you and everyone else around you, you should quit Coordinating and go into some profession where talent is not required."

Saying those words, Drew turned his back on Holly, flashing May a condescending glance as he passed, as if saying that his words applied to her as well. May, meanwhile, was at an absolute loss for words; she simply stared at Holly, who was determinedly not meeting May's eyes.

"Look, Drew's just—" May began, but before she could finish her sentence, Holly was gone in a whirlwind of salty tears. Flaring with anger, May whipped around and located for Drew, intending to deplore him for insulting Holly so heartlessly, but before she could even say anything, Drew had spoken.

"Shut up, May."

"Wha—What?!"

"I said, shut up." Drew repeated irritably.

"B—b—I didn't say anything!" May retorted, miffed.

"You were going to," Drew said, looking away from her undignified face. May didn't have a rebuttal for that—he was right, but she was angry that he had told her so briskly for her to stay silent. "And if I were you, I would be more worried about 'my' upcoming match against Harley."

"Huh?" May asked, befuddled. She turned to look at the display screen, and saw that she was paired with Harley for her next round. Drew was paired with a black-haired female Coordinator. May noticed that if she won this round, she would be in the finals. Before she could comment on this, however, the loudspeakers had called out for her to report to the stage.

Gathering her courage, May discarded all thoughts of Holly and Drew's cold words. She walked out the door, and saw that Harley was already outside, giggling almost manically. His Banette was bobbing up and down in mid-air in front of his Coordinator. May was a bit suspicious that Harley might be up to something else, but she shrugged her uncertainties away and flung out her Munchlax.

"All right!" Trillion declared. "Let's get started! Squirtle versus Banette!"
At her words, the audience began raucous applaud. May, fiddling with the hems of her red blouse, called out to her Munchlax, "Start things off with a 'Metronome'!"

The normal-typed Pokemon began swaying on the spot. Harley, not about to allow the Munchlax to make his move, commanded, "Banette, 'Thunder' that Munchlax!"

A jagged shard of electricity exploded out of thin air and hit the Munchlax before May could bark 'dodge'. The Big Eater Pokemon, dazzled, wobbled around on the spot and landed on the ground. Smoke rose from the round body of the Munchlax, and May could see quite well that his short fur was frayed from the electric-typed attack.

"Munchlax!" May cried out in alarm, dropping on her knees. "Are you all right?"

The Munchlax nodded slowly and pushed himself to his feet. Above May, her points bar had lessened by a fourth, and she winced just looking at it.

"Good one, Banette!" Harley shouted happily, doing a ridiculously juvenile-looking victory dance, while the ghost Pokemon cackled contentedly. May felt her face flush in embarrassment. "Hit it with another 'Thunder'!"

"N-not so fast! Munchlax, try to dodge it!"

But May had called out too late. The 'Thunder' attack hit her Munchlax for the second time, and he once again landed on the floor, dazzled but not yet unconsciously. Time was passing by, and so were May's points.

"Munchlax!" May cried out again. The Pokemon responded by grunting and reluctantly pulling himself to his feet again. The Munchlax's blue and yellow hair had been severely blackened by both 'Thunder' attacks, and May had no intention of letting her Munchlax suffer for the second time. "'Tackle' it!"

The Munchlax lunged at the Banette, and though the attack had hit the ghost, it had absolutely no effect on it. May suddenly remembered that ghost types, such as Banette, were unaffected by normal and fighting type attacks, and instantly regretted her decision. What was worse, Munchlax was now very close to the Banette, and would not be able to dodge an attack even if he tried.

"Haha! Bad choice, May!" Harley yelled happily, "Banette, fry that thing with a 'Will-O-Wisp!"

Simpering evilly, the Banette waved his gray hands and blue flames materialized around the uncertain Munchlax, wrapping around the normal-typed Pokemon. Oddly, however, the attack didn't seem to hurt Munchlax very much; May suddenly recalled that her Pokemon had an ability called 'Thick Fat', which mitigated the damage caused by fire and ice type attacks. Banette's 'Will-O-Wisp' was actually a blessing in disguise!

"Munchlax! 'Solar Beam'!" May declared. Her Pokemon cried out "Munch!" in reply and began gathering energy from the very flame attacks that were supposed to burn him. Harley, undoubtedly assuming that he could order his Banette to dodge in time, didn't immediately yell an order, which was his mistake.

Mere seconds after May had ordered the attack, Munchlax had fired the wide ray of light at the Banette, and before Harley could yell for the ghost Pokemon to dodge, the grass-typed move had already hit. May squinted to prevent from being temporarily blinded by the 'Solar Beam'. As the attack faded, the Banette dropped from the air and onto the floor, twitching feebly. Consequentially, the ghost released his grasp on the 'Will-O-Wisp', and the flames surrounding Munchlax vanished.

"Yay! Great job, Munchlax!" May said cheerily. She glanced up at the screen again, and noted merrily that Harley's points had been cut in half. The two Coordinators were now of the same standing. Harley, meanwhile, had taken to the task of shrieking anguishly over his Pokemon's near-immobile body.

"BANETTE!" Harley shrieked. The ghost Pokemon wearily floated back up. Harley's face purpled to a shade identical to that of his own hair, and he turned, shaking with pure rage, to face May. "You little—! You'll pay for this!"

And as if his words were a signal, the lights died, and the Contest Hall was plunged into blackness.

Author's Notes:

(1) -cough-thismeansyoumisty-cough-
(2) Seriously. Drew uses too much glitter. ITS UNORIGINAL OKAY GRASS ASS LULZ. Now who agrees wiff me?! (But I like Drew.)

I apologize for the very unsatisfactory battle. . . the chapter just turned out to be far too longer for any extremely 'epic' matches. . . I am very sorry if you are disappointed, and I promise that I'll strive to do better in the future, and better allot the word numbers to each section of the Contest. Well, actually, now I officially hate writing battles and appeals, so there you have it.

I'm so sorry that I have to leave a cliffhanger, but I didn't want you to feel too 'bloated' if I had finished this Contest all in one go. And I know this chapter probably is not very good, but it's the best I can churn out right now. I also know that this chapter really should have been the last of the Cherrygrove Contest, but. . . you all know me and my tendency to. . . rant on and on about. . . crap. . .

Thank you very much if you have made it this far. Now. . . review, please?

Next Chapter Excerpt:

""Hmph! No need to get so high and mighty, Mr. Rosalind," May snapped back, planting her hands on her wide hips, speaking in the same mocking tone that Drew had heard her use not three hours ago, "I was only trying to help."

Drew frowned slightly at her attitude, but disguised his initial expression with a half-formed smirk that easily surpassed May's low standards. He decided it was best not to reply, and sank into a stupor, running his thoughts over some things. Cold blood rushed through his veins as he suddenly realized that his next match—and the final one—was against May. Glancing obliquely at the girl, he noticed that she, too, seemed to be mulling over the same thought, as she bore an uncharacteristically sullen expression.

Unable to restrain himself, Drew asked, . . ."