Hey all! Once again, thank you all SO much for the reviews. They really make my day. And sorry for the lateness of this chapter. . . lol.
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Pokemon.
Thanks to: Daydreamer Gal for beta'ing this chapter—but more correctly, going to beta this chapter.
DAMNIT！ I got so far with this chapter and then everything just suddenly deleted. . . ;; So I apologize for any lack in quality. ZOMG I AM SO SORRY FOR THE EXTREME LATENESS OF THIS CHAPTER ;; but hopefully the plot move-on will compensate for that XD
You will now find out why this story is rated 'T'.
Chapter Eight: Pallet Town's Assimilation
Ketchum Residence, Pallet Town, Kanto
◊ "I. . . STILL CAN'T BELIEVE I lost," Dawn Berlitz Ikari gasped, shortly after she had finished sobbing into Tyson's shoulder. She vaguely realized that they were inside Ash's house by registering the blurry haze of brown in front of herself as the interior of the wooden house and the slightly stuffy smell of a typical building.
"It's okay, Dawn," Kenny reassured her warmly in his usual child-like voice.
"Yeah, Ash is a really tough Trainer, Dawn!" Tyson reassured her cheerfully, so like his usual energetic self. Dawn sniffed and rubbed the last of her tears away on her napkin and sneezed raucously into the thin piece of disposable cloth. Cranking her crystalline violet eyes open wider, she registered the alarmed look on a passing Brendan (was that his name? Dawn wasn't entirely sure) face. She wondered if it was because of the snot clinging to her hand, which she quickly wiped away.
The blue-haired girl sniffed again to show that she appreciated her friends' support. After clearing all debris out of her eyes, she noticed that Zoey and Kenny were jaxterponed alongside each other, both looking sympathetic for her cause; Lucas was nowhere to be seen, while Tyson continued rubbing Dawn's sock-hat to comfort her. Though a touchy person at best times, the girl welcomed her friend's physical reassurance; perhaps because he lost as well, perhaps she simply liked the touch.
"Look on the bright side, Dawn," Zoey said suddenly and unexpectedly. Dawn instinctively looked upwards, and Tyson instinctively pulled his hand away; she regretted the loss but focused her attention on the red-haired girl's next words, "There's still the Contest."
"Right!" Dawn said, purple eyes lighting up with renewed energy. However, a cold realization then flooded back into her stomach, and she tottered back on her chair. "But. . . I'm going against. . ."
"Me." Zoey finished for her, smiling in a wry sort of way and distorting her boyish features. Kenny gasped unnecessarily loudly, brown-yellow gaze darting rapidly from Dawn to Zoey. The blonde boy simply bore a sure expression, having high hopes placed in the blue-haired girl's abilities. . . Dawn wasn't so sure, however. She had never managed to defeat Zoey before—in fact, Zoey was the one who had defeated her and that Robert guy to claim the Ribbon Cup.
"Gah!" Dawn cried desperately, flinging her bare, milky-white arms into the air and flailing her limbs wildly as panic invaded her mind. "I'll never be able to beat Zoey! She's too strong!"
"Thanks for the compliment, Dawn," Zoey said, an odd shine in her green-gray eyes as she chuckled. "But you were pretty close to beating me in the last battle. . . If Purugly hadn't managed to land a lucky hit on Prinplup, you probably wouldn't have lost."
"Wah! Don't remind me!" Dawn wailed. She was a sunny girl who hated dwelling on losses and usually brushed these unsettling thoughts away with upbeat choruses of 'No need to worry!' Kenny looked empathetic for her cause—he, too, knew how hard Zoey was to beat, having lost to her on all occasions they met in battle—but for some reason he was not cheering Dawn up like he usually would have.
Oh god, perhaps Kenny cares more for Zoey than he does for me? Dawn thought, growing panicky. But no, that couldn't be it—in total, he probably hadn't been in Zoey's presence for more than a few days at best; how. . . how then?
Tyson, on the other hand, assumed an uncharacteristically studious facial expression, entirely on Dawn's side. Her heart fluttered at his unanimous support, though she worried slightly if Zoey found this offending—she was Dawn's rival, after all. . . though at times Dawn perhaps tried a little too hard to prove her worth in front of the uneasily pleased carrot-haired girl. Well, Dawn was naturally ambitious; people usually said she was very similar to her mother in this aspect.
Thinking of her mother and her exotic dome-shaped hairdo brought waves of nasty nostalgia to the blue-haired girl. She wondered how her mom and her mom's Glameow were doing at home, and if Glameow's odd taste in Poffins had subsided. It had taken Dawn many failed tries to find a flavor of Poffin that satisfied her picky Pachirisu. (She had given up entirely on her other Pokemon.)
"Oh, gah," Dawn murmured under her breath, pushing herself out of her chair and steeling her heart for her battle against Zoey. A battle is a battle, after all, and the blue-haired girl had no intention of losing to the orange-haired Coordinator simply because Zoey was her friend. Tyson commended Dawn's apparent boost in self confidence with a hearty beam and helped her readjust her pink scarf.
Without waiting for Kenny, Zoey, or even Tyson, the girl strode out of the house, closing the door behind herself and trotting down the short flight of stone steps. Sunshine washed over her exposed limbs and face, and she sampled the spring scent slowly, the same way one might sample a foreign delicacy.
"What're you doing, breather girl?" The cold, nasty voice of none other than Paul sounded. Dawn opened her eyes, blinked, and whipped around.
Said maroon-haired Trainer towered a good foot over herself, handily blocking the sun. Dawn instinctively recoiled under his fierce golden gaze and averted her own amethyst. Oh good Uxie, how he freaked her out at times. Perhaps it was a good thing that they had hardly met during Dawn's three-year tenure in Sinnoh; then again, Paul was awfully good looking and easily the most attractive boy she knew (sort of) personally.
Dawn, don't judge based on appearance, she chastised herself. Especially since she knew just how cruel and indifferent Paul could be, and always was.
"My name's not breather girl." The blue-haired girl retaliated crossly, folding her arms over her chest and defiantly sticking her chin up. "It's Dawn."
"Whatever. Do I look like I care for a pathetic girl like you?" Paul sniped back. Dawn blinked again. Hardly anyone dared insult her, for fear of their own mortality, and yet here was the boy, dissing her like he didn't have a care or bother in the world. It was then, when anger began bubbling in the pit of Dawn's stomach, that she realized that he, too, had lost the first round of the battle tournament.
"Hey, didn't you lose to that Gary guy?" Dawn piped up. She was rather taken aback to see a flash of what was unmistakably pain and embarrassment cross Paul's yellow eyes—even shame—but then it disappeared so quickly that she began wondering if it was simply a surge of derisiveness that had surfaced. However, Dawn's instincts were naturally good (something she also inherited from her mother, though Lucas had also inherited this quality and was seemingly more in-control of it, whatever it was) and she had a gut feeling that Paul was actually somewhat abashed. Dawn even began feeling a little sorry for the Trainer.
"That's none of your business," He snapped, turning away from Dawn, and any sympathy Dawn might have felt for the maroon-haired boy was gone.
"Well, I was just asking. No need to get so pissed," Dawn retorted, unable to restrain her fiery temper. She resisted the urge to grab Paul by the shoulders and force him to face her, but decided against it.
Paul grunted in reply, and began striding away. The blue-haired girl's meticulous purple eyes, so keen when it came to spotting details, noticed that his movements—usually so smooth and self-assured—seemed somewhat jerky. Fitting of his personality, admittedly. Well, Dawn really shouldn't care too much, should she? After all, she barely talked with the boy. However, she could not help but feel somewhat. . . well. . . wistful. Almost as if she craved his presence.
Oh, Dawn, that battle you lost against Ash is really getting to you, the girl told herself, shaking her head and flexing her arms to rid herself of the aftereffects of her temporary reverie. She didn't have to wait very long for someone to come along and distract her, though. Tyson came bursting out of the door a few seconds later, promptly crashing into Dawn's side and knocking her onto the grassy ground.
"Ouch, Ty!" The blue-haired girl groaned as she stood up and helped her blond friend to his feet. His yellow hair had been ruffled from the collision, and flecks of brown dirt marred his otherwise flawlessly porcelain complexion. She could not help but allow a small giggle to escape her throat at his innocent appearance.
"Sorry, Dawn. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going," Tyson murmured apologetically, blushing crimson and deliberately averting his cerulean gaze to his knees.
"It's okay, Tyson," Dawn reassured him, allowing a kind smile to grace her facial features. He dipped his head in thanks and opened his mouth slowly, evidently to say something, but Dawn was distracted when Kenny beckoned for her to come to the grass field.
Helping her blond friend up to his feet, Dawn walked towards Kenny, raising quizzical eyebrows. "What is it, Kenny?"
It was then that Dawn noticed how Kenny's usually perky face had blanched enormously. He raised a shaky finger to point at a place some way behind Dawn. Nonplussed, Dawn swiveled around, to find herself staring at Drew and Brendan, locked in a staring contest of some sort. Both tall boys wore angry, contemptuous scowls, and both boys did not so much as bat an eyelid at the increasing amount of spectators.
"What. . . ?" Dawn muttered in confusion, tentatively approaching the thickening crowd, asserting herself among the audience before they could obscure her view from the oddity of a scene.
Though Dawn was probably not the sharpest tack in the drawer or the brightest bulb in the house, she certainly was not oblivious to the air of her surroundings. And it was obvious that the feelings pervading the air of this particular scene were undoubtedly less than friendly. Drew and Brendan, both rather charming teenaged boys on the whole, Dawn had to admit, wore uncharacteristically nasty snarls, and the green-haired boy had rolled his sleeves while Brendan had compensated for by throwing his gloves onto the ground.
When it began looking as if the situation was headed a bleak downhill, the bandana-wearing May suddenly appeared from the crowd, pushing her way between the two boys. Wearing a smile that looked more like a grimace, May was trying to the two teenagers apart from each other. Dawn watched on, vaguely registering the appearance of Tyson, Kenny, and Zoey beside herself.
"Heh," May said, falsely cheerily, "Let's. . . let's not hurt each other, oh-okay?"
As if her words were some sort of signal, Brendan and Drew immediately relinquished their hold on the staring contest at the exact same time. The white-haired boy's ivory face flushed an ugly shade of maroon. The green-haired teenager flicked his bangs with his right index and middle fingers, and this action, usually casual and suave, looked more irritable than anything.
The situation becoming apparent that it would not evolve into a fight, the crowd accordingly began dissipating. May seemed to breathe a sigh of uncertain relief. Dawn felt bad for the girl, but didn't exactly know how to comfort her—already, her little brother and green-golden-haired boy friend had appeared by her side, so it seemed that any efforts Dawn might exert would be futile.
Shrugging, the blue-haired girl turned away and immediately, Tyson began discussing something random with her. A slight smile tugged at Dawn's light-colored lips, and though she was sure Drew and Brendan's rivalry was going nowhere good, everything looked all right for her. Dawn thought that she might as well enjoy the precious few minutes she had before the make-shift Contest started.
Kanto Skies
"S-sir. . . we're passing P-pewter City. Do you want to s-stop or s-something?"
Giovanni lazily turned one dark eye to survey the skinny shaking grunt in front of himself. Pathetic excuse for a Team Rocket member, he thought to himself, suppressing a snort of utter disgust.
"No, you bumbling idiot." He replied sharply, glancing at his diamond-wrought watch with dull interest before waving his hand to dismiss the grunt. With a scared glance at the floating purple Pokemon some meters right of Giovanni, the low-leveled Team Rocketeer scampered away quickly, leaving Giovanni to dwell in his idle boredom. Wondering where his Persian went, he lazily yawned and began shifting around in the desk in front of himself to find his prized Pokemon's special whistle.
The jet plane gave a turbulent lurch, and papers flew out of the drawer and onto the carpeted floor. Cursing loudly, Giovanni began stooping down to pick up all the papers, but then remembered that he had a powerful psychic Pokemon at his disposal.
"Mewtwo, get it for me."
The Clone Pokemon shifted its long purple tail before opening its eyes to look at the mess on the floor. Then, lavender eyes glowing a brilliant orange, Mewtwo instantaneously rearranged the papers into a neat stack inside the drawer with a powerful burst of telekinetic energy. Giovanni didn't say thank-you, because there was no need to.
He contented himself with observing his manicure and wondering how long it would take before they reached the shore.
Pallet Town, Kanto
Wally Winter never thought of himself as unobservant.
Frail—yes. Weak—hell, yes. But unobservant? Shaking his head and sighing under his breath, the golden-green-haired fifteen-year-old tiredly raised his green eyes to survey May arguing animatedly with her brother—undoubtedly over some trivial matter, such as the size of her pores—and Brendan and Drew hung around sulkily in the background, occasionally shooting each other angry glares but for the most part, simply looking sulky.
Oh, Latios. How could Wally miss this?—and he thought he was in touch with his emotional/spiritual side. Brendan hated Drew's guts. Drew hated Brendan's guts. And Wally now knew why.
He was not upset because he himself was attracted the object of attraction both Drew and Brendan sought—no, his relationship with her was purely platonic; she just wasn't his 'type', or it could be vice versa. As if any girl would like a sickly boy like himself, who can't say two sentences without having an insane coughing fit.
Shuddering, Wally tugged on his left long white sleeve, as if doing so would allow more heat to spread throughout his body. Naturally slight and frail, the latter crisp afternoon air was not exactly beneficial to his health. His mother would throw a fit if she found out, in any case. He could almost imagine her naggy voice.
'Wally! Wally! You look so cold! Come in, have a cup of hot chocolate, and let me take a look at your inhaler!'
The teenager winced slightly as he fingered the inhaler Brendan had so kindly sown on Wally's collar. Invisible to the unwatchful eye, a slightly more observant onlooker may notice that there was an unnatural bump in the front of Wally's T-shirt. This bump harbored his inhaler. Stopping his wince, Wally continued his pondering of his asthmatic condition. Certainly, he did not resent his mother; it was simply that at times he felt that she cared perhaps a little too much for him. Maybe it had something to do with being an only child; maybe it was more because he was suffering from a severe case of chronic asthma.
Well, Wally couldn't pretend that spending two years in Verdanturf didn't help. Two years ago, if he had come to Pallet Town, the whole experience would've been nothing less than a terrifying ordeal. Naturally shy, Wally would not have asked for help—and he really hated being offered it; not because he wished to isolate himself, but rather because he hated those sympathetic stares, when obviously the 'sympathizer' knew nothing—or very little—of the true nature of his condition.
He simply didn't want to think about it all. Turning away from his friends—his only friends—Wally made his way through the gathering crowd, who had undoubtedly come out to observe the sunset and listen to the news Delia Ketchum was to shout sooner or later regarding the makeshift Contest. Oh, blast it. He didn't even enter himself in anything.
Tears accumulated in the corners of his overly large, almond-shaped eyes. He turned his back on the small crowd and began walking towards the outskirts of Pallet Town. Even with his less-than-average vision, which was another byproduct of Wally's health condition, the edges of the small town were clearly visible.
Pushing his way through the thicket of bushes, Wally stumbled upon a clearing. Glancing around himself, he deduced that the circular glade he was now in could be no larger than twenty meters in diameter before trees or shrubs blocked his way. Sighing again, the green-blonde collapsed upon a nearby tree stump. Lazily, he unclipped a Pokeball from his belt and tossed it into the air.
The spherical capsule device snapped open with a 'hissing' sound as chalky vapor seeped out of the interior. A beam of red light sprang from inside the Pokeball, rapidly forming the silhouette of a feminine humanoid Pokemon. A few seconds later, the smoke had cleared and Wally's Gardevoir had fully materialized.
It was then that Wally detected the sudden drop in temperature. His Gardevoir, sensitive to emotional, psychic, and physical alterations, must have also felt the sudden coldness in the air. Subconsciously, he shivered, and the Embrace Pokemon turned to eye her Trainer with some concern, her celadon eyes widening. Wally groaned—what he needed least of all now were inquiries from his very own Pokemon.
Fortunately for him, Gardevoir had sensed defensiveness swell inside her Trainer and refrained from commenting upon his health. Instead, she decided to remark on the weather.
'It's getting pretty cold, isn't it?' She said telepathically. Wally, who was used to communicating with his Pokemon mentally, merely nodded in reply. 'And in the middle of May, too.'
At the mention of the name of the month and one of his best friend's names, Wally awoke from his small trance with a start. "Wait, you're right. It is May the twentieth. . . it shouldn't get this cold," He mused, half to himself and half to his Gardevoir, "Hey, Gardevoir, can you measure the temperature right now?"
The Embrace Pokemon dipped her head obediently and shut her eyes. A vein near her temples pulsed as she tightened her concentration; Wally watched on. He could almost feel her drawing energy from her the air around her—a special talent of his Gardevoir—and approximately ten seconds later, the Gardevoir had relaxed her focus and opened her eyes again.
"Well. . .?" asked Wally, rather impatient.
'It's fifteen degrees Celsius. And dropping.'
———
Maybelline Sapphire Maple sighed for what she felt was the hundredth time.
Brendan and Drew were engaged in another staring contest, and the two were so concerned with their trivial competition one might think that they were competing for a truckload of solid gold, with matching diamonds. However, May, being May, didn't know the true nature of what they were 'fighting' for. At the present moment, she was concerning herself with finding a way to distract the two. May had never even known that Drew would concern himself with someone other than. . . well. . . himself.
She couldn't think of anything. Sighing again, she plopped down on the wooden floor, cringing slightly as her bosom hit the ground rather painfully; well, at least her fanny pack had somewhat mitigated the damage.
Though not exactly the most acute in emotional issues (ironically, only those regarding herself), May was quite tuned into her physical surroundings. And though they were inside Ash's house, with a warm fire burning in the nearby furnace, and a red-cheeked Pikachu—who had somehow separated himself from his Trainer—was busy chattering away in Poketalk with May's Skitty, Brendan's Swampert, somebody's rather twitchy Meowth, and Drew's bored-looking Roselia, there was something quite wrong with the entire situation. May could've sworn that she could now see her breath.
Nobody else seemed to have noticed, though. Her brother, who was occupying one of the two chairs around the square dining table, was ultimately too interested in his book to notice; and a rather tired-looking Tracey Sketchit occupied the other chair, busy sketching Pikachu, Swampert, Meowth, and Roselia. Drew and Brendan were too into their stupid staring contest to care for anything other than the other's unblinking eyes.
Not the most subtle of persons, May decided it was time to pipe up.
"Hey! I'm cold!" She said loudly. Pikachu stopped in his vociferous narration of some story or other of his journey across the four regions to eye the irritable brunette. The twitchy Meowth twitched. Max didn't glance up from his book—May noted that it was something about Pokemon abilities; well, it was typical of her brother. Tracey didn't seemed to have heard May, for he was far too engrossed in his drawing—all he did that indicated he had indirectly acknowledged her declaration was his erasing of Pikachu's pose to better represent the electric mouse's current one.
To her surprise, Brendan and Drew broke off from their staring contest, though only to ask, annoyance lacing the word, at the exact same time, "What?"
"I'm cold over here! Can I have a sweatshirt or something?" May said. She began shivering dramatically—both involuntarily and on purpose—to emphasize her point.
Brendan blinked twice, as if he didn't expect her to say that. Drew simply flipped his bangs, looking as if he didn't give a damn about her coquettish needs—the big jerk. The former perhaps understood May's needy demands a little better than the latter, and after a few moments of ogling her in perplexity, Brendan began digging around in his green backpack to find her the required article of clothing.
Out from his backpack came the oddest assortment of items May had ever seen. A pair of pliers—a bottle of UV 75 sunblock lotion—a meticulous map of the four regions—a tube of cerise lipstick—and finally, his old black sweater.
"Here you go, May," Brendan said as he handed her his sweater. May accepted it gratefully. Examining the yellow-cuffed and –collared sweatshirt, she noticed that it was exceptionally rumpled for something that belonged to Brendan, but decided that perhaps it was because he hadn't had time to iron it out. Brendan's familiar cinnamon-pine needle scent floated up from the soft fabric, and she found herself dreamily inhaling it.
Minty clouds drifted towards May's direction from Drew's hair, mixing in with Brendan's smell. She inhaled the air with even more vigor.
"Uh, May?" Brendan said, tapping her on the shoulder. Her eyes fluttered open, and she was instantly jerked out of her reverie. Drew was eyeballing her with a patronizing expression which caused the pit of her stomach to bubble with hot anger. Well, she couldn't say that was a foreign feeling.
"Oh, yeah, yeah," She replied groggily, pulling the sweatshirt on. Noticing pleasantly that it fit quite well over her clothes—spacious enough to retain warm air inside, but not too large as to make her feel dopey—May turned to thank Brendan, and was dismayed by the fact that he and Drew were competing seriously in another 'serious' staring contest. She congratulated herself for being able to use sarcasm so aptly. "Don't you two have something better to do?"
"No," said Brendan, "I finished reviewing my Calculus textbooks."
"Yes," said Drew, too focused on the silly contest to notice that he was actually 'wasting his time' answering May, "But I have to beat Brendan first."
"Boys," May sighed again, cocking her head to one side. She didn't really want to find out who would win, and had the oddest feeling that the loser would need to be carted off to the hospital for their eyes to be examined. "Why don't you two, like, play chess or something?"
Again, to her surprise, the two complied. Brendan pulled out a chessboard from his backpack, and Drew pulled out a quarter from his purple knapsack. Boys probably would never cease to amaze May.
"Heads," said Drew.
"Tails," said Brendan.
"Winners get white," said Drew.
"I know that, Grass Ass," said Brendan sarcastically.
Drew frowned but flipped the quarter nonetheless. Though from where May was sitting on the floor, she couldn't see the entire thing, a disappointed groan from Brendan told her that Drew had won, although the green-haired Coordinator hadn't said anything that indicated so, but May could almost hear Drew's smug smile, if one could hear something done.
The scraping of wood on wood sounded. May repositioned herself so that she could see the chess match. She noticed somewhat embarrassingly that, in their heated rivalry, Drew and Brendan had pushed Max and Tracey off of the two chairs so that they could use the table (and the chairs). Max, May didn't really care about, but she hoped that Tracey wouldn't mind so much since she didn't know him all that well. Fortunately for her, the Pokemon Watcher was too preoccupied with drawing Pikachu and co. to notice, and with another glance, May noted that Max hadn't put down his book, either.
The game commenced so quickly and moved at such a rapid pace that May had difficulty following along. She remembered her father explaining the basics of chess to her and Brendan when she was six or seven and Wally was away at the hospital for some thing or another, though May recalled that at the time, while Brendan was listening intently, she was busy painting her fingernails (with Brendan's pink nail polish, no less.) May then noticed it.
The double-paned glass windows, tainted an orange-red with the sunlight. . . was misting.
———
Ashton Red Ketchum blinked. His eyes couldn't be playing tricks on him, could they? Did he just see his breath?
He was suddenly aware that the air around him was actually quite cold. Of course, he hadn't noticed this before, since he had been too busy listening to Gary giving a play-by-play account of his battle with Paul. But now that the auburn-haired researcher had paused to take a breath, muscular figure silhouetted handsomely against setting sun, Ash could finally turn his attention to his surroundings.
Dawn and her friends, who had been discussing appeal combinations, stopped in their conference. A grave silence ensued, and, fearing the worse, Ash allowed his obsidian gaze to flit around himself.
The grass, once a bright shade of green, had turned to a deadened-looking blue-gray. Flowers wilted and crumpled on the ground within seconds. A thin sheet of frost had spread across the ground, and for as far as Ash could see, the grassy field had transformed into a mass of white. Weird. He turned to look up at Gary, wanting to ask him a question.
At the sight of the auburn-haired teenager's stricken expression, however, Ash stopped. He had never seen Gary look so baffled before, save that one time Ash had suddenly declared in kindergarten that he liked rainbows and Pikachu's. Ash didn't have much time to mull over complicated things such as what Gary might be thinking and feeling, mostly owing to the fact that it was getting extremely cold. He could barely feel his toes.
"We should probably head inside, right?" Ash suggested timidly, attempting to make his scratchy boyish voice confident. Needless to say, he failed. Everyone turned and stared at him; it was clear that they wanted to stay and see what would happen next.
They didn't have long to wait. Not twenty seconds after Ash had spoken—and nobody spoke after that—did storm clouds, crackling with what was undoubtedly electricity, gray and ominous, begin to form in the sky. Ash wanted to say something, but he found his throat inexplicably dry. Everyone else was far too enraptured in the incredible events that were unfolding before their very eyes to talk.
But instead of lightning, or even rain, it was hail that poured from the pregnant clouds.
Hail.
Jagged ice spheres the size of baseballs exploded out of the skies, pummeling the ground and creating foot-wide dents in the field, blasting apart with a nasty 'shreee' sound that sounded very much like claws on a chalkboard and sending sharp shards flying all over the air. Almost instantaneously, everyone suddenly began to move. Panicked shouts arose from the crowd which was now a mob, and Ash found himself abruptly separated from his friends.
And as if from far away, a shrill, blood-curling screech boomed across the heavens.
Ash blinked. He couldn't have just heard a Pokemon's cry, could he? It was by far too loud and high-pitched to be any Pokemon that he knew of. Unfortunately for Ash, he didn't have to wait very long to find out.
The huge, monstrous emerald body of a flying serpentine Pokemon burst out of a large cloud. Mouth unhinged, he—she—it let out another piercing, sharp screech, and the amount of hail instantly doubled. Though Ash knew that he was in imminent danger, he stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, as everyone rushed past him, leaving him the only one—the only one—standing on the now empty field. The shrieking of the crowd grew fainter and fainter as the stampede of people drew away.
He was helpless—completely helpless—and the only thing he could do was watch as the enormous dragon streak over his head and turn one of its luminous yellow eyes to maliciously survey him—
"Ash! You idiot! What are you doing, just standing there?! Do you want to die?! For the love of Moltres, get a move on!"
At the sound of Gary's deep albeit slightly nasal voice, Ash turned. He must have looked like a complete dope, just standing there, awaiting his doom like an obedient dog. The auburn-haired researcher was beckoning to him, and when Ash did not—could not—move, Gary lunged forward and grabbed him by the elbow, darting backwards with astonishing speed and running away—grabbing Ash—running away—
Ash bent to Gary's will and began pelting, flat-out, away, away, away—with Gary by his side. Shortly after thinking that, Ash felt stronger, and began running forward with more vigor, as if the thought of the person next to him fuelled his desire to escape. Perhaps it was simply childish rivalry—perhaps it was the acceptance of the knowledge that he was going to die if he did not get out of there fast—or perhaps it was something more. . . needless to say, it was the least of his worries.
What mattered was getting out of there.
———
Jimmy Gold Tekan yelped and jumped back a good foot as an ice ball shattered the double-paned window and blasted apart on the wooden floor.
The others around him immediately blanched. Pikachu stopped talking altogether, and the Meowth stopped twitching. Brendan's Swampert growled—the sound low and foreboding, and perfectly suited to the deadly bizarreness of their situation, the beat of drums to war.
"Oh. My. ARCEUS." Brendan whispered.
Through the hole in the window that the hail-ball had created, Jimmy and everyone else could clearly see the horrific scene unfolding before their eyes. A terrified wave of people, interspersed with a smaller amount of Pokemon, charged in their direction. They were not three hundred yards away, and they were getting closer every half-second. Although the group was inside the Ketchums' house, Jimmy didn't think that the mob was incapable of sweeping away the entire building.
Doing some quick calculations in his head, Jimmy figured that the people would overcome them in less than ten seconds. He immediately began saying his prayers.
"We need to get out of here now," Brendan said. The urgency in his voice immediately started the others out of their still postures, and even Drew lowered his dignity to comply with Brendan's order. Two beams of red lights later, Brendan had opened the door and was ushering everyone outside. The Meowth and Pikachu bounded outside without hesitation, sparks flaring wildly from the latter's cheeks.
Jimmy was far too shocked to do anything except get herded out of the house; all the while, he admired the white-haired Trainer's finesse. He didn't know if he himself possessed such leadership abilities. He didn't have any time, either, to dwell on these unconfident thoughts as the stampeding mob engulfed him.
Staggering as the people around him pushed and shoved and jostled in a mad flee for their lives, Jimmy remained steady—perhaps not calm, but definitely steady. One word, and one word only, pounded in his head, through his veins, echoing in his ears.
Marina.
———
Turquoise shrieked as she was shoved by some person or other onto the ground. Her bare knees scraped the grass, and blood smeared all across her blue T-shirt as she landed, face-first, onto the ground.
Yelping in pain, she pushed herself up again—spinning around wildly as someone else hit her jutted-out elbows—and fell down again. Despite herself, some fashion-sensitive part of the brown-haired girl thought that she must have looked like a complete idiot, a girl of six feet flailing about in a shorter crowd looking utterly helpless. A hot, sticky liquid trickled out of her nostrils.
She lifted one white-gloved hand to her nose, which felt oddly crooked, and as she drew her hand away from her face she noticed with disgust and horror that the warm substance she had felt was her blood. Oh, great. On top of the frenzy, it now looked as if Turquoise had broken her perfect nose, or at the very least she was suffering a bad nosebleed.
Tears mixed with blood as Turquoise began to cry. The combination of body fluids dripped into her open mouth, smearing her lipstick and dripping onto her toungue. It tasted both like the salty, sea-water of her tears and the metallic tang of her blood.
For the second time since she came back to Pallet Town, Turquoise felt pathetic again.
She couldn't help herself—couldn't even think straight. Everyone whirled past her in a blur that mirrored the mixed emotions swirling inside her stomach—pain, guilt, shame, embarrassment, desperation. . . For the first time in her messed-up life, Turquoise wondered if she was going to die.
Just after she thought these dark words, strong, bare hands unexpectedly grabbed her waist and lifted her into the air, at least a good foot above the crowd. Surprised, Turquoise ignored the fact that her panties might be exposed to the world for all to see and tried to look down to see who it was that was rescuing her in such a manner. Was it the (rich) auburn-haired son of Professor Oak whom she had been trying to seduce all day?
No, it was someone with a mass of silky red hair.
———
Marina Crystal Clearwater carefully maneuvered herself through the panicking crowd.
Though it may not seem like it, the blue-haired girl was quite used to frenzied mobs like these. She had experienced enough for one lifetime, at least, though where she would never tell anyone. Presently, her primary concern was making sure that nobody unexpectedly hit her backside and upset the fragile balance she had created. Yet another part of her brain throbbed with guilt—she should be looking for Silver, she should be looking for. . . Jimmy.
Her heartbeat quickened. Where was Jimmy?
Panic consumed her, and all she could think was her black-haired baseball cap-wearing friend and his goofy, optimistic smile. Suicune, she needed to find him. . . she needed to find him NOW. Unfortunately, panic and collectivity did not mix, and soon Marina was another raving member of the crowd, though the one word stamped in red across her mind was not 'run'.
By coincidence—or was it luck? Was it fate?—Marina bumped into Jimmy.
"Jimmy!" She cried, just as Jimmy cried "Marina!"
"Where were you?!"
"I was so worried!"
"We have to get out of here now!"
"Where's Silver?"
"Where's Silver?"
The two friends stopped as they realized that they asked each other the exact same question. Shit. Silver. Silver. Silver. Jimmy's hot friend. Silver. Was. Gone.
Double shit.
Jimmy's facial expression rapidly transfigured into one of total disbelief and shock. Knowing Jimmy, Marina assumed that they would now have to spend the rest of their time in Pallet Town searching for the redhead until they found him; and, knowing Jimmy, Marina knew that Jimmy would not realize that he was both jeopardizing his—and her—lives.
"Good Entei! Silver's a big boy, he can take care of himself!" Jimmy unexpectedly declared. His voice was barely audible above the congruous roar of the crowd. Marina stared—'honorable', 'traditional' Jimmy had been replaced by 'logic' and 'self-concern'. "If I know Silver, he's already left Pallet Town and he's already a good mile away! We should be more concerned about our asses!"
"You're right. Let's get the hell out of here." Marina jerked her hand toward the direction of her Pokeball belt.
———
Tyson Haste, naturally fast, easily rushed past the front line of the stampeding crowd.
As of the moment, he was concerned with running out of Pallet Town as fast as possible. Even as he ran, buildings to the right and left of him exploded in splinters as ice balls—now easily surpassing the sizes of cantaloupes—and unfortunate people hit by the hail collapsed on the ground, the more unfortunate of these getting run over by the others, trampled into oblivion within seconds.
It was no laughing matter. It was life or death.
Abruptly, he stopped in his run, which was probably not a good idea. His slight body was easily pushed around, but Tyson didn't care. He was fleeing like a coward, and he had forgotten completely about Kenny, Lucas—who Tyson still had no idea where he went—Zoey. . . and Dawn.
With steely determination, the boy pivoted 180 degrees. Though not a difficult action under normal circumstances, under the pressure of the rushing crowd, Tyson felt fully justified in taking a long while to turn around. Sweat beaded his cherry-red forehead, dripping from his curly straw-colored hair onto the tip of his nose and chin. Come on now. . .
At last, when he was facing the opposite of where he had been running, Tyson swiftly grabbed a Pokeball from his brown bag, which was conveniently located next to his hip, and flung out his Rapidash. The Fire Horse Pokemon appeared in a raucous burst of red light. Her vermillion flames seemed to sparkle with solicitousness as she bent her long neck to lightly dab her warm nose on Tyson's forehead, as if asking 'what's wrong?'
"No time to speak, Rapidash! You gotta let me ride you!" Tyson said, waving an impatient hand. The fire-typed Pokemon hesitated for a split second—a proud beast at best, Rapidash paused to consider whether or not the exigency in Tyson's voice was worth the demolition of her pride—but ultimately decided to allow him onto her back.
Tyson quickly leapt onto the tall Pokemon's back, fueled by his usual bounciness and his rush of much-needed adrenaline, ignoring his Rapidash's flaming mane as the Pokemon's fire didn't hurt him. Luckily for Tyson and the Pokemon, Rapidash's fire was off-putting enough to most people around him that they consciously avoided them—Tyson didn't want to scorch people unless it was necessary.
"Find Dawn!" Was the only command that Tyson gave. The Fire Horse whinnied obediently in reply and began dashing through the crowd, employing her excellent sense of smell and hearing—thought he latter would probably not assist them much in the horrible din—to fulfill her master's wishes.
———
Garrison Blue-Green Oak pulled to a stop. Ash, who was some meters in front of himself, did the same.
He felt Ash's concerned gaze sweep over his shuddering back, and felt the chilly air around himself warm ever so slightly as the black-haired Trainer pulled closer. "What's wrong, Gary? We have to get going before—well, whatever that is—gets closer!"
Gary, still breathing heavily, lifted his aching body just high enough to make contact with Ash's worried-looking eyes.
"Look. At. The. Sky," Gary said, pronouncing each syllable with distinction. It was hard to him to articulate his words when he was practically out of breath, but the auburn-haired teen managed to do so, and Ash caught on with uncharacteristic speed.
Flanked on either side of the huge dragon were two bird-like figures—perhaps smaller, but emanating equally powerful auras. One was yellow and physique rather chunky—the other a cream; brilliant flames were flowing from the latter's wings and head.
"Gary. . . let's get out of here," Ash murmured, tugging at Gary's hand. The auburn-haired researcher lurched at the contact—Ash's hand was unexpectedly warm—but only readily complied.
Had they stayed any longer, they would have noticed the sleek black helicopters—bold red 'R's emblazoned on either side of the planes—follow the three Pokemon.
———
Brendan Ruby Birch gulped as he tightened his already firm grip on May's gloved hand. His brown-haired friend's usually bubbly-expressional face had given way to a twisted look of absolute terror. It was all Brendan could do to prevent her from slipping away from him in the midst of the crazed crowd.
"May! Where are you going?!" Brendan yelled over the discordant roar of the stampede as he felt voluntary tugging from May. No. . . she couldn't possibly be wanting to leave, could she?
The brunette turned her head to eye Brendan for a few moments. He braced himself as he waited for her explanation, which came in due time. "Brendan! Drew's gone!"
"What?" Brendan yelled again. He felt pleasantly surprised at the news, but did his best to prevent it from showing. A moment later, he felt sick with himself. Simply because of his and Drew's rivalry, Brendan was wishing him death? Lost by yourself in an uncaring, selfish crowd like this could easily cause accidental injuries, and in some cases, even induced comas or death.
"We have to find him!" Came May's pleading cry. "Please, Brendan!"
He didn't need another reason. Quickly unclipping his Dragonite's Pokeball, he sent out the Dragon and waited for his Pokemon to fully form. But in her haste, May had forgotten about her brother.
———
Andrew Rosalind stumbled through the crowd.
He felt like an idiot for relaxing his grip on May's hand; a feeling, which, if you knew Drew well, very rarely came to him.
Great; Drew's Pokeballs were in his knapsack, and if he paused to send out his Flygon, there was a high possibility that he would be hit by the crowd before he managed to do so, which, despite the absurdity of such a suggestion, could potentially be fatal, not to mention the gigantic ice balls that were thundering down from the skies.
Shame burned inside of the green-haired Coordinator as he thought of just how useless he was. If May and Brendan were still looking for him. . . and if they found him like this, lost without a clue of how to get back. . . embarrassment and guilt tripled inside of Drew, though he highly doubted the latter would even bother to assist him. Drew was unsure whether he would come to Brendan's rescue had the roles been swapped.
Fortunately for him, he was proven wrong in his last assumption. Not three seconds after he had thought that, did the conspicuous and steady wing beats of a large Pokemon sound somewhere above him. People immediately began backing away from Drew, and he looked upwards to see what was causing the helpful distraction.
Drew recognized the bulky figure of Brendan's Dragonite quite well. He quickly leapt backwards a foot to clear space for the Pokemon to land, and saw that both Brendan and May were sitting atop the orange Dragon. His insides clenched as he saw that May had her arms wrapped around Brendan—and he desperately wished that this was because she had to do so to avoid falling off.
He must have stood there, staring at May 'hugging' Brendan for a few seconds too long, for Brendan's snappy cynical voice eventually penetrated Drew's stupor. "Hey, Grass Ass! Hop on, or do you want to be trampled flat?"
Snapping out of his temporary daze, Drew hastily clambered onto the Dragonite's lowered back, gladly noticing that the Pokemon's orange scales were warm despite the cold weather. With a contented snort, the Dragonite beat her wings again and began spiraling upwards, Drew's extra weight compensated for by the cooperative upwind caused by the hailstorm.
Hesitantly, Drew wrapped his arm around May's midriff. She fidgeted slightly but gave no other indication that she felt his contact. Slowly but surely, Drew moved closer to May, shuddering with satisfaction as her heat flowed up his cold and thinly-garbed arms.
Several minutes—or it could have been hours, as Drew was completely content with his current position—passed, and Drew dared himself to look down. Gulping, he noticed that they were now flying over water—sparkling scarlet water, so reminiscent of blood—though he noticed with opposite pleasure that the temperature had risen considerably. He vaguely wondered what had caused the sudden decrease in temperature back in Pallet Town.
"Shit!" Brendan cursed after another minute of steady flight, a meter in front of Drew. "Dradra's not used to carrying so many people! We're going down!"
May gave a girly yelp as the Dragonite's body racked unstably and quickly began to descend, dropping towards the ground. Drew felt his heart leap up to his throat—the experience itself was not too different from a roller-coaster ride—except that a roller coaster usually did not end in getting oneself drowned in the sea.
"Shit shit shit!" Brendan continually cursed. Drew could almost hear the cogs turn in Brendan's usually sharp mind, trying to find a way out of here.
If only Drew could reach his Flygon's Pokeball—but if he let go of May now Drew would surely fly off of the Dragonite—
When all hope seemed truly lost, a sparse archipelago of green islands appeared underneath the Dragonite. Drew's emerald eyes widened in hope; if only the Pokemon could land on one of the islands, then perhaps they weren't doomed—
Brendan obviously had seen the group of islands as well; though May's frequent shrieks indicated that she had not. "Okay, Dradra!" The albino yelled. His spiky silver hair, Drew could see, was streaking all over his face and must have been obscuring his vision to a reckonable degree. Despite his intense dislike of Brendan, Drew had to admire his nerve. "Try to land on one of those islands!"
The Dragonite gave an almost incoherent grunt and, seemingly with great strain, veered to the right to position herself for landing. May stopped shrieking, and all that Drew could hear for the next ten seconds was the pounding of his blood inside his ears and the deafening scream of the wind as they cut through the sky—
Drew could feel the ocean spraying up to meet his knees—they were now skimming across the sea—if Dragonite miscalculated a single move, they would go crashing into the water—doing some quick calculations, Drew realized that they were at least ten, twenty miles, perhaps even fifty, off the coast of Pallet Town harbor—and yet, all this time, the island neared—
Two meters—one meters—one inch—half an inch—
The Dragon Pokemon crash-landed into the creamy-colored beach of the island. Sand flied up, and Drew had to shut his eyes so that he would not be blinded by the particles. The green-haired Coordinator relinquished his grip on May's waist to steady the swirling feeling in his head and stomach.
Brendan leapt off his Dragonite, landing on the sand with a dull 'thunk', and proceeded to helping May off of Dradra. Drew's insides again clenched, this time possessively, but he decided that he didn't want to upset the person who had rescued him from the insane weather of Pallet Town—well, not immediately. Maybe after several minutes. The Dragonite's purple leathery wings twitched feebly before falling flat by her sides.
Completely ignoring Drew, Brendan patted Dradra's large orange head matronly, muttering a near-silent apology in the Dragon's ears, and raised the Dragonite's Pokeball to return her. Hurriedly, Drew leapt off of the Dragonite just in time as she was sucked back inside her spherical container.
A silence passed. May, as if realizing something very important, suddenly piped up, "What about Max?"
———
Brock Slate panted as he led himself and Misty into the outskirts of Pallet Town. He assumed that they would be safe there, away from the mad crowd.
The orange-haired girl, also panting, doubled over, her hands, beaded in sweat, placed on her knees as she struggled to regain her composure. Brock beat her to the punch, however, and managed to straighten up, though he was still breathing heavily.
"Well, Brock, what do we do now?" Misty said shortly after she had recovered, her cerulean-turquoise eyes focused intently on Brock's dark face.
"I—I guess we should start looking for Ash or someone else at least," Brock stuttered. Despite himself, he had just noticed how beautiful Misty was, when she was standing like that, her resolute determination practically pouring off of her. Misty must have realized that Brock was staring at her in a way that made her uncomfortable, as she swatted him (lightly, thankfully) across the back.
"Yes, we probably should," She said. Brock nodded and they began wandering around the wild growth of the first route, calling out Ash's name at random intervals.
Sure enough, after a few moments someone stumbled out from a bush. Brock's muscles tensed and he quickly averted his slanted eyes to look at the new arrival, who was, if his memory did not fail him, Wally, the green-blonde friend of May. A Gardevoir was by the frail-looking boy's side, distrusting green eyes flicking over him and Misty. Brock had the sudden feeling that they were being X-rayed.
"Hey, you're Wally, aren't you?" Misty asked, barging straight up to the boy, disregarding the fact that a powerful psychic Pokemon was half-'guarding' him. Wally looked perturbed by her directness but nodded all the same. "Good. Tell me, have you seen Ash anyw—?"
She didn't have a chance to finish her sentence. Max had burst out of yet another bush; scratches were all over his clothes and exposed skin, and he bore a perpetually frightened expression that did not suit his systematic character.
"Max!" Brock exclaimed, walking over to the blue-haired boy. Max looked towards Brock, and upon noticing that Brock was someone that he knew well, seemed to relax slightly. "What brings you here? Wait, where's May?" Pausing, he looked around. "And Drew? And Brandon or something, her white-haired friend?"
"They're gone," Max squeaked, fear glazing his onyx-black eyes. "I saw them. They left on Brendan's Dragonite."
"What? Impossible," Brock said, surprised that May would so easily ditch her brother. Though they didn't quite get along, he could hardly believe that she actually deserted Max so casually; well, as put by Max, at least. "May wouldn't do such a thing. I think that she must have been going to get help, or something."
"Maybe," Max said dubiously.
Wally's Gardevoir made a sudden movement. Brock, Misty, Max, and Wally looked towards the Embrace Pokemon, who had began making complex hand gestures with both arms, as if trying to create something that the four humans could not yet see. Her eyes were shut tight in concentration, and rather slowly, a shimmering green-blue circular shield had formed around the five.
"Wha—?" Misty asked in confusion. Obviously, she had never seen such a phenomenon, and Brock assumed that the fact that she was suddenly trapped in a protective sphere was unnerving; but he knew quite well what the move the Gardevoir was using was. Evidently, so did Max, because he immediately launched into a complicated definition.
"Wally's Gardevoir is using a special form of 'Light Screen,'" He explained fervently, "Which, as we all should know, is a protective move a Pokemon can use to defect another attacking Pokemon's moves. However, this particular version of 'Light Screen' blocks not only Pokemon attacks but basically anything that attempts to enter inside the sphere. If done correctly and if the Pokemon utilizing the move is strong enough, it can protect whatever is inside it even from the worst explosions."
"Oh," said Misty, somewhat dumbly.
Wally stirred restlessly, and Brock eyed him questioningly. "You okay there?" The breeder asked, laying a hand on the yellow-green haired boy's shoulder.
He didn't get a chance to answer. A high-pitched screech sounded from the skies, and as Brock looked up, his mouth widened in horror and he released a silent scream.
Author's Notes:
As you can see, the story takes a much darker turn in this chapter. It was kind of hard writing the 'angry crowd' scenes, since I haven't had much experience with them, but I hope that they turned out all right and managed to portray the aura I wanted to convey.
Whatever will happen to the other people I haven't mentioned yet?! And what of Brock, Misty, Max, and Wally?! I hope that you want to find out, because I sure as hell am sick of typing all this. It's almost twenty pages on Word, so you'd BETTER HAVE LIKED this chapter, because I freaking slaved over it.
And from now on, I will work ensure that an update won't take so long. . . but given the monstrous length of this chapter, perhaps you can spare me the angry reviews?
Speaking of which, I'd really like it if you do review. They 'fuel' me as an author, and if you write fics yourself, you'll probably know what I mean. Though I hate to admit it, but the review number does influence the frequency of the updates, and besides, how hard can it be to click on the little rectangular blue button that reads 'go'?