Chapter Six
Debut
Paul's trainer license arrived in the mail two days after leaving Annabelle's house. He shook the tiny card from the padded envelope and held it up to the light to take a closer look. It wasn't a flattering photo of him. He had never been what most would say 'conventionally attractive.' He conceded he was not ugly, not by a good margin, but where his sisters had snagged both their mother's good looks and father's brains, he had been left treading in the shallows of the gene pool. The photograph seemed to highlight his heavy set jaw, widened forehead and thin lips. Not his good side. A strange, shallow urge to replace the photograph with something a little more appealing fought its way to the front of his mind.
Then he remembered it was only a temporary source of ID and crammed it into his wallet, tucked away behind some ancient receipts and his driver's license that was dangerously close to expiring.
He had made up an excuse to his work, of course. 'Going off on a Pokemon journey' was not under the list of acceptable reasons to just not turn up indefinitely. Mumbling something about a death in the family and needing time to sort everything out netted him a straight week of bereavement leave. Adding on the annual leave he had accumulated left him safe for about a month, give or take. As he left the supermarket without so much as a goodbye to any of his colleagues, he prayed for a quick resolution. For more than one reason.
He travelled as light as possible, cramming what little possessions and clothes he could into a worn backpack. Yet even by the time he reached Annabelle's house, he was panting and sweating and a thin film of sweat pricked at his hairline.
The knock on Annabelle's door was so light and hesitant he found himself doubting it had even been audible. However, the door still sprang open only seconds later and an exuberant Annabelle beamed down at him. Dusty, her Shroomish, sat balanced on her head like a precarious, grumpy top hat.
"Oh! You're here!" she cried. "What kept you?"
"Trainer license took forever to turn up."
"Ah, I see." She barely paused for breath before she grabbed him by the arm and, with more strength than expected for a woman her size, dragged him into the living room. "I've been ready pretty much ever since you left the other day. There was so much to do. We've got a really long trip ahead of us, you know? I hope you've brought enough; that doesn't look like a big enough bag for things."
She talked incessantly fast, many of her words crashing together and becoming unintelligible. Paul let her speak, allowed her to fire instructions and concerns at him like bullets, until she eventually grew suspicious. "Paul, are you listening to a word I'm saying?"
"Of course."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't pursue it. "Well, it doesn't matter. The quicker we get on the road, the better. We've got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall."
"How much ground?"
"Well… We're heading for Violet City first. You do know where that is, right?"
"Course." Paul said, feeling his heart sink a little. It took a good hour or so, even by car or bus to get to Violet City. He hesitated before asking "We are… walking, I presume?"
Annabelle's brows furrowed until they practically met in the middle. "What the hell else would we be doing?"
"That's like 20 miles!" His protest came out as more of a whine, and he instantly regretted it.
Annabelle swung an overstuffed backpack onto her shoulders. "Well, I guess we better get moving then, hadn't we?" she said, not skipping a beat.
Paul allowed himself to groan.
"Before we go, though," she paused, rummaging around another smaller bag she had left on the sofa. "There is something I have to give you."
"Oh? What's that?"
"Your Pokemon, you dumbass."
From the bag she pulled out a single, minimised Pokeball and Paul felt a strange emotion he couldn't quite describe twist in the bottom of his stomach. It was one part disbelief and one part dread, and it gripped his insides so strongly he was suddenly afraid he was going to throw up. That was his Pokemon in that Pokeball. Not a pile of animated pixels on a tiny screen. A real, living and breathing creature contained within the walls of the capsule. For a moment, the emotion even surpassed the knowledge that it was tiny and frail, and most importantly, a Ledyba. It would be doomed from the start. There was no way such a feeble thing could ever achieve any sort of greatness.
Annabelle had her hand outstretched and waiting expectantly, and it took Paul a moment to realise he had zoned out of yet another one of her long-winded talks. "Huh?"
"I need to see your trainer's license. Jeez, does anything go on in that big empty head of yours?"
Paul grumbled, fished about for his license and held it up, his fingers obscuring the photograph. Annabelle made to take it but he held it out of her reach.
"Look with your eyes, not with your hands."
"Shut the hell up. I need to see the whole thing so I can make sure it's valid. It's the law." she snipped and snatched it clean from his fingers.
She glanced at it for only a few seconds with the same seasoned nonchalance Paul used when checking ID at work. Where he expected some sort of comment or joke at the photograph there was none, just a swift nod as she handed it back.
"Well, it's all completely in order. I guess all I can do is give you your Pokemon."
She held out the Pokeball and Paul took it, finding it surprisingly heavier than the tiny capsule would have led him to believe. He rolled the ball over in his palm, unsure of what to do with it. Annabelle watched him with raised eyebrows.
"You do know what you're doing with those things, right?"
Paul said nothing.
"Don't you?" she pressed.
"Of course I do. I'm not an idiot. It's just...been a while."
Paul could count on one hand the amount of times he had held a Pokeball. When he was sixteen and still in high school, a blind classmate of his had a seeing-eye Growlithe and thought himself better than anyone else there. He and a few other classmates had aimed to 'take him down a peg' by kidnapping the Growlithe and leaving the blind classmate helpless for a few hours to teach him a lesson. Paul had been in charge of 'acquiring' the capsule that swung from the blind boy's unguarded belt. He couldn't remember exactly what transpired but a faded scar in the shape of a sharpened incisor and a vague memory of a month's detention was all he needed to know.
The second time was during university. The girl who lived next door to him, whom Paul had admired greatly, had been a Pokemon trainer in her youth. Apparently quite a decent one too. She had had little patience for people who didn't approve of the bizarre menagerie of Pokemon she kept, which ranged from a Seviper that left a fully formed casing of its own shed skin lying in the kitchen every week, to a Combusken that crooned and crowed like a feathered alarm clock on the dot of six every morning. Her time in the shared flat had been short-lived - after a series of complaints made against her - but Paul had spent many a futile evening trying to get to know the girl; which mainly involved him listening to hours' worth of stories from her time as a trainer. She had allowed him to hold her pride and joy - a premier ball containing an irascible Kingdra - and Paul had finally called time on his attraction to her when he ended up covered head-to-toe in ink when he accidentally released the horned beast.
Paul's fingers sought the release mechanism. Was it a push of the button? A tap? He revolved the ball around in his hands again and pretended to be fascinated with it.
"It's this button here,"
"I know!" He yanked the Pokeball away from Annabelle's prying fingers and stowed it deep within his pockets. "I know how it works."
"Don't you wanna open it and see your Pokemon?"
"I don't need to. I already know it's a Ledyba. Unless you've hidden something way better in here by way of surprise."
Annabelle sucked her teeth. "No. Just the Ledyba. Which I'm trusting you to take good care of. Train it properly, feed it properly, talk to it, give it plenty of cuddles… you know, it's a real thing. Not a pile of pixels."
"Spare me the sermon. I thought you wanted to get moving?"
She was visibly trying to restrain herself. Paul could see it yet he made no attempt to stop. Annabelle sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "I suppose you're right. One thing, though. Are you going to nickname the Ledyba?"
"Nickname?" It was a thought that hadn't even occurred to Paul. Nicknaming implied sentimentality. Some kind of bond, respect even. He had never remembered nicknaming a Pokemon in the many games he had owned, save for the rules imposed on Nuzlocke runs. He shook his head.
"Well, why not?" Annabelle looked personally insulted.
"Takes too much effort." was the least offensive answer he could think of.
"I suppose not everyone nicknames their Pokemon…" Annabelle relented. "It's just down to personal choice."
"Yeah, sure." Paul muttered noncommittally. "Are we going or not?"
"Why? You in a hurry?"
"No. But you seemed to be."
She opened her mouth as if to say something, then snapped it shut, muttering something like "You wouldn't understand". She took one last look around the house before meeting Paul's eye and holding his gaze. "Let's go, then."
Annabelle was surprisingly matter-of-fact about locking up and leaving the tiny house. She plastered a hastily written sign over the front door saying "CLOSED" with a contact number over the front door and bounced down the steps as if nothing was happening. Perhaps she travelled often. She supported the giant bag on her shoulders and walked with a spring in her step under the warmth of the sun.
"We'll stop once it gets to midday. It'll be too hot to walk too far then, so we can stop, have lunch or whatever. Sound okay with you?"
Paul shrugged. Annabelle sighed and readjusted the backpack. "Fine." she muttered, and without another word, headed off down the path back to town.
As they cleared the busiest part of town, Paul cast a longing glance at the bus terminal fast disappearing from their sight. Why did they have to walk, anyway? Surely if Annabelle was so concerned about time and accomplishing things quickly, it would have made more sense to take public transport? He wanted to voice this concern to her, but she was marching some ways ahead of him, the heel of her boots stomping against the pavement.
By the time they pulled away from the main part of the city and the streets effortlessly melted into grassy hedges and trees, Paul was exhausted. He wiped his forehead, glazed with sweat, as he pretended to study the weathered old sign saying ROUTE 30. It was stamped on in capital letters, like it was shouting at whoever went by.
"It's the same basic sign they have at every route." Annabelle said, peeking over his shoulder.
"I know."
"So let's keep going."
He trudged after her. By the time they had walked another ten minutes, Paul forced himself to come to an admission. He was unfit. He was hopelessly unfit. Sure, he walked to work every day but that was five, maybe ten minutes at most. And certainly not carrying two weeks' worth of clothes and supplies on his back. Sticky and sweaty, he prayed for a breeze to waft in; no such luck.
Annabelle was unbothered by the issues plaguing Paul. She strolled along at an easy pace, keeping her head up and eyes alert to her surroundings. She seemed fascinated by every tree, plant and bush they passed and often Paul heard her remark something to herself that he couldn't quite catch. He was glad, at least, that she knew where she was going. There was so much green, the varying hues all blending together into some indistinguishable mess, that he was quite overwhelmed by it all.
He had vague memories of Route 30 from the games. He remembered an unremarkable route frequently marred with annoying hedges and equally unremarkable Pokemon. Standard bugs, birds, the occasional Bellsprout here and there, and a family of Poliwag in one of the tiny ponds. Nothing worth catching. In fact, as he and Annabelle continued on, he didn't notice any hint at the presence of any Pokemon whatsoever. No clichéd rustle of the bushes. No Pokemon frolicking at the water's edge. Not even the cry of a solitary bird Pokemon flying overhead. All was still and silent apart from the whisper of a light breeze through the leaves.
The route was deviating uphill now. A gentle incline that had once held promise of easing into a steady plateau had suddenly heightened and become punishing. Paul trudged along angrily, feeling the weight of his heavy straps cut deeply into his shoulders. He was grateful when Annabelle threw her bag down and announced they'd be stopping for lunch.
She had packed a lunch for them. Tiny sandwiches cut into triangles, more of her homemade lemonade and various crisps and snacks. Paul ate and drank greedily under the protective shade of an elderly tree.
"Don't get too used to this," she cautioned him as he helped himself to his fifth sandwich. "We need to be careful with our supplies once we're out into the proper wilderness." She paused, watching him lick a dab of mayonnaise from his lips. "Is it good?"
"It's food. Of course it's good."
"…right." She drew her knees up to her chin and let out an audible sigh. "Hey, you mind if I let Dusty and my other Pokemon out to feed them?"
Paul's attention left the wads of bacon and lettuce crammed into the sandwich he was trying to resist. "What? Other Pokemon? You have other Pokemon?"
"One other Pokemon. And yes. I told you this. Weren't you listening?" She didn't wait for an answer; busied herself by retrieving two Pokeballs from the front pocket of her heavy backpack. From one came the familiar grumpy face of Dusty the Shroomish and from the other, a tiny ball of reddish-orange feathers.
Paul recognised it instantly. "Wow. Is that a Fletchling?"
The tiny bird Pokemon hopped from foot to foot and pecked at nothing in the grass. Annabelle lay down some pellets for both her companions. "Yep. This is Abigail."
"Abigail, huh?" Paul watched the Fletchling chirp and aim a wayward peck at Dusty when the oversized plant attempted to poach on the remainder of her pellets. "I suppose that makes sense. A Fletchling for a breeder, after all."
Annabelle looked at him as if to say she didn't understand at all, but didn't say anything until her Pokemon finished eating. Paul took it upon himself to protect the last of the sandwiches from a greedy Dusty. The oversized plant glowered at him and buried itself into Annabelle's lap.
"You know, that Ledyba of yours will be pretty hungry, you know?"
Paul had wondered how long it was going to take for this to come up again. The words hung heavy in the air for a moment before he swept them away with "Didn't you feed it before you left?"
"He's not an 'it', Paul." Annabelle's voice was surprisingly gentle. Resigned. Paul almost would have preferred for her to shout. "And of course I fed him. But Pokemon need to be fed more than once a day."
Paul said nothing.
"You're going to have to open that Pokeball sooner or later. You can't put it off forever." Annabelle pushed herself to her feet, saying she was going to take a short walk to get her bearings.
It took Paul a few minutes to register the fact that she had left him with her Pokemon. Abigail the Fletchling was pecking at the frayed edges of the blanket Annabelle had set down, and Dusty was still doing his best imitation of a grumpy old man. But at least neither of them were causing trouble. Paul leant back against the tree and let out a long exhale. His body ached for rest. Pleasantly full and cooled down, he felt his eyes slowly begin to close of their own accord.
Thud.
He groaned, not wanting to open his eyes.
Thud.
Thud.
What even was that? Surely Annabelle wasn't back already?
Thud.
He couldn't ignore it any longer. He opened his eyes just in time to see Dusty slam his oversized head directly into the trunk of a nearby tree. Paul blinked, several times, to make sure he wasn't just vividly hallucinating.
Thud.
He headbutted it again. Then again. Paul watched the Pokemon's antics, half bemused, half concerned. Was that normal behaviour? Surely that was indicative of some sort of problem. Perhaps a short attention span. Or sociopathy. Paul shook the thoughts from his mind as the Shroomish screwed his face up and continued to slam himself into the tree.
"Hey." Paul said as the whole tree shook with the force, leaves drifting down to the ground. "Hey, stop that."
The Shroomish paused briefly to fix Paul with such an intense glare that it left him oddly intimidated. What the hell is it doing? Taking no heed of Paul, Dusty continued attacking the tree. Paul frowned. Stupid disobedient Pokemon.
"I'm not gonna tell you again. Quit that." He said, this time much louder.
Thud.
As if purely from spite, the Shroomish seemed to put all his remaining strength and defiance into one last headbutt of the giant tree. There was a surprising amount of force behind this one and somewhere high up in the branches, Paul heard something dislodge itself. It crashed to the ground a few feet away and Paul caught sight of a flash of black and yellow before the thing started vibrating and buzzing angrily.
He tried to back away but his shoulders slammed against the bark of the tree and he could go no further. He felt his mouth dry and the strength evaporate from his legs.
"You're not supposed to find Beedrill on Route 30…"
Author's Note
Hi guys. Me again.
I've not got too much to say on this chapter. It was pretty difficult to write this one. Inception chapters always are.
Don't worry, I've got plenty planned so I shouldn't be running out of ideas/motivation anytime soon.
Thanks as always to everyone who's read and reviewed thus far. You guys absolutely make my day with your kind words and comments.
I'm hoping to get the next chapter updated as soon as possible. I've started beta-reading for The Neverending Meep's new fic which is a Pokemon GO concept infused with aspects of Sword Art Online. So I'm super excited for that too.
Enough of my rambling. See you all on the next one.