Author's Words: I do not own the words I make proliferate through your mind. Words are open-source, ideas aren't. The basis of the story, the genre and all the stuff others make money off of, belongs to everyone who holds ownership of Pokemon. Everything else, the plot, the idea behind the plot, is in part mine, and in part yours. Why, you ask?
I haven't the slightest idea.
Anyways, college is still hurting my left cheek 😉 and I still have plenty of work to do. But instead, I feel like writing. So here I am. Enjoy.
Please don't think I use emojis seriously by the way. I only do it because I know I would never seriously do it. It's not who I am. It's not who I want to be. If I start to become that person, stop me.
Serious Disclaimer: I hold no ownership of pokemon or any franchises/parts of its franchises. The closest thing I have to ownership is a bunch of the games.
Comments, Critiques, and attempts at contact are always welcome. I'm just not the most prompt of people when it comes to -based-communication. Try twitter nprismine, although the results will probably be the same. Thanks for reading, and enjoy.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
I do not like having a name.
Names are gigantic brands, social nametags, sounds that distinguish one individual from another. I see their use when it comes to others, but I never needed that. If people needed to talk to me, they would just walk up to me and talk to me. Sure, the only people who did were the police or shop owners, and those who weren't ended up bruised and crying somewhere, but they never needed to give me a name; they gave me space instead. Now there's a weight pressed into my skin, into my muscle fibers and organs, a weight flushed with excited neon and other elements to make me glow with the colors that make up my newfound social identity: a gray and white with some parts of darkness between them, the combination shouting to the world "My name is Nemo".
Where the hell did the professor get my name from, an old maritime science-fiction novel?
The marketplace remained as lively as ever: the bickering old hags dressed to be aristocrats, the children who lived the lives of mongrels, the police who did what they could to balance their consciences and the law, and the many Pokemon participating in every role. Stall vendors would laud their wares, trying to impress upon others that their products were the cure for cancer, the secret to immortality, and the one true love everyone supposedly desired deep in their hearts all at the same time. The few who that did work on ended up pickpocketed by the children before they could get robbed in the legal sense.
I feel like something needs to be clarified: I am not returning to this place to "say goodbye to my old home." This place was only a place to lay my head when I got weary, a place to find food and shelter. There was nothing to love or hate about the place. In my mind, it simply existed as a place to be forgotten. The Starter Pokemon Lottery was located at the bazaar's most busy corner, so the many sweaty bodies bumping into me—with a few stray hands rifling through my pockets for the nothing I left in them—would be tolerated.
In the sea of tents and carts and screaming children, there lay a single island of a building at the rear, as if observing and documenting the chaos ensuing beneath it. The vendors made sure their wares were bright and colorful to catch a customer's eye; the building was a pure white, not even trying to attract attention and yet doing exactly that.
The interior was elegant in that it was not clad in the excess of its surroundings. The walls and rooms were a plain white, referencing the Aether Foundation's role as a parent company. The staff, however, were much more casual than the Alolan organization's counterparts, for they wore … whatever. Since the Lottery had its own regulations, and since there was no real image to maintain due to their unparalleled necessity to the current meta of society, the employers and employees simply did not give a damn. The same went for the customers.
A woman in gym shorts and a running shirt that clung to her skin walked over to me with a tablet in hand and a headset on head. She called out my name, and picked me out by the ill shudder I made in response. In hindsight, I should have gotten her face memorized in that moment; not only did she have an air of belonging to this place, she also would become a companion of mine. The closest thing to a defining characteristic I could define was her bone-white hair, allowed to flow down like a fountain of haunted milk.
She asked me questions off of a questionnaire, and recorded my exact responses with her tablet. Questions like, "Do you have a region of preference?" "What made you want to become a trainer?" and, to end the bombardment of queries, "What is your goal?"
I only answered as honestly as I could.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
More words: OK, guys and girls and all others I'm not accounting for (sloths included), THIS PART HERE is where I ask for what little involvement you can spare. I would like some help narrowing down what Pokemon our Nemo receives from this "Random Lottery" system. On my profile ( frozenshadow56 here on ) I have made a Poll. Please use that to do the absolute least amount of work.
IF you want to be SUPER SPECIAL COOL-AF, just directly message me what Pokemon you would like for me to start with. It can be from ANY region of the established franchise (including Alola, despite them being part of a game I haven't gotten to fully enjoying yet). ANY first form, non-legendary Pokemon is fair game here. Any pokemon you want. The decision is, in part, yours to make.
Let's have some fun here