Natural Disturbances Chapter 9: Shadows, a pokémon fanfic

Natural Disturbances
by Galbinus

Quite a few things have happened since I've last updated this story. . . One of them, you may notice, is my change of pseudonym, which I hope doesn't appall you all too much. Many thank to Daydreamer Gal for her beta'ing work on this piece.

No more time and date dividers until our heroes near the end. . . which is very far away from this time. (this fic probably won't end for some years. Hah.)

Nevertheless, it is time that I updated this story. I hope that you'll like this chapter!

Chapter Nine: Shadows

Foolish humans.

They do not understand what they are doing.

And yet. . . they still do.

They chain me down—use me as a tool. They know my potential, and they exploit it; they show me no admiration, no reverence that is only mandatory for that of a creature of my status—not even the usual, inherited respect from one to another as simple living being. Even now, as they use the Cloned One's psychic abilities to burst the translucent turquoise shield—how frail; like a bubble framed from fragile foam—they do not understand the consequences of their unforgiveable actions.

Yet here I hover; powerless, unable to utilize my own abilities. What have I become? I cannot even control my own movements; the man—who I have learned thinks of himself as my master; what a ridiculous assumption; he, a mere mortal; and yet, I cannot break free of these binds—is the controller. I am the puppet and he is the puppeteer.

I angst and I curse and I make dark vows, yet I do nothing.

I am a fragment of my old self.

However, I can still feel my innate power—it is burning with rage at the unforgivable acts the humans in black have committed; but it is restrained by the sapphire and ruby orbs.

How strange. I recall two humans running in the slowly dissipating crowd beneath me with eyes so reminiscent of the all-powerful jewels. . .

A coincidence. It has to be. Unless. . .

No, that is an impossibility. The very suggestion is ludicrous; is this my usual systematic self, thinking up of such whimsical lies?

And yet. . . I still wonder. . .

Now, I glance down. The Team Rocket helicopters has descended, mostly stationary on the ground, save for their slowly rotating blades. The Gardevoir has collapsed on the floor; her ivory dress sprawled on the grassy ground, her body limp. A cold chill sweeps my serpentine body, one that I recognize all too easily; but I can't discern it from the other cold feeling. . .

Either the Gardevoir had been knocked out, or. . .

She was dead.

But, how is the latter possible? The Others and I have made so many efforts long ago—ah, I hope that my memory is not failing me—to insure that no Pokémon would die easily in a battle of any sort. . .

Unless. . .

No. . .

It can't be. . .

Rayquaza looked away to shake away his chilling thoughts; glancing down, he saw that Giovanni had tied together the four humans with a gray tape. The orange-haired girl had put up a bit of a struggle—two of the Team Rocket men had blood streaming profusely from their noses and one had a prominent bump protruding out of his head. Her rebellious actions had resulted in her being treated the worse of all four captives; Giovanni personally knocked her out by slamming the back of his briefcase into her head.

The orange-haired girl slumped to the floor, very much unconscious. Dismissively, Giovanni flicked his wrist, and two more servile Team Rocket members rushed out of the helicopter, down the ramp, and hastily drag the body of the girl back up the ramp, throwing her haphazardly into the helicopter. The other captives, a brown-skinned man, frail-looking teenager, and spectacled boy, were frozen; pure terror contorted their faces.

"Throw these three into the other helicopter," Giovanni said gruffly, snapping his fingers at the burly Team Rocket grunts holding the other three captives. The green-blonde-haired boy's eyes widened spectacularly, undoubtedly realizing that he was to be separated from his Gardevoir. At this revelation, he promptly began kicking at the two men who were dragging him away (both of whom were easily twice his weight), attempting to near the fallen Pokémon. All that he received for his efforts, which were already futile, was a sharp slap across the head that immediately rendered him unconscious.

Wisely, the other two captives decided not to struggle, though it was ostensible that the young boy was nearing the verge of tears. His pallid lips wobbled, and, unable to restrain his turbulent emotions, the boy burst into a cascade of tears. Giovanni looked at the blue-haired boy emotionlessly, before slowly and very edgily nearing him.

The boy's crying ceased as the darkly-garbed Team Rocket head stopped near his feet. Trembling furiously, he looked up, and was kicked square in the gut by Giovanni. He 'umphed' painfully, and Rayquaza saw the little muscles in his skinny arms convulse as they attempted to work his hands to near the bruise, but as the two Rocket men were holding them, he could not do so. The other conscious captive instinctively barked an angry, "Hey! He's just a kid! Don't hurt him!"

Giovanni swerved around, anger burning in his onyx eyes, and punched the dark-skinned man in the face. There was a sickening crunch. Blood burst out of his nose and began streaming profusely. Though the blow looked extremely painful, the man gave no reaction that he had been hit—undoubtedly, he did not want Giovanni to have the satisfaction of knowing that his punch had hurt him. Unfortunately for the captive, this merely made the Team Rocket leader more irate, and he pummeled his other fist into the dark-skinned man's face, then once again for good measure.

Smirking as he watched dark patches of venomous purple blossom on the man's skin, Giovanni turned to watch the whimpering boy, whose eyes were widened with fright at the sight of the other captive's badly bruised face.

"I do not have time for crybabies and cowards," Giovanni articulated coldly, elucidating his distaste for the captives. Rayquaza felt disgust turn over in his stomach—how he longed to unleash a well-deserved 'Hyper Beam' on the Team Rocket leader's back! Yet he remained hovering behind him; unable to control his own body, and just barely controlling his conscious thoughts; a slave. "Hurry up, imbeciles," Giovanni barked at the other Rockets, who grunted and dragged the three into the other helicopter.

The Team Rocket leader himself huffed importantly and promenaded towards Rayquaza. He held up the gray remote, the small spherical ruby embedded in its side glinting under the sunlight, and pressed a button on it.

Rayquaza felt his body twist to allow Giovanni to easily step onto his back—obediently without the dragon's permission. However much the legendary screamed inside his mind, his fierce objections were only his own and only audible to his inner ear. Yet. . . He could feel the ever-so-faint but definite sensation of his conscious mind slowly succumbing to Giovanni's will, against his own. . .

That was what sickened Rayquaza the most.

Unknown Island off the Coast of Pallet Town, Unknown Time

Brendan Ruby Birch cursed his luck for what he felt like was the twentieth time that day.

As the last scarlet rays of the sun gradually faded into the dim silvery illumination of the moonlight, so did the white-haired boy feel his already weak hope evaporate into despair. Their situation was so—despairing at its pinnacle of misery. His only means of aerial transportation was very much unconscious inside the Pokeball that was one of the six clipped onto his green belt. His companions—a May overflowing with worry for her little brother and a Drew who was as composed and stoic as ever, but surely he felt some emotion?—were no better.

"Fuck!" Brendan swore, cursing his luck for the twenty-first time. May turned to look at the black-haired teenager, too tired, scared, and worried to reprimand her friend's vulgar language. Drew gave no sign that he had heard Brendan speak at all. This was the reaction that infuriated the Birch the most.

Turning angrily towards Drew, Brendan kicked sand in the direction of the green-haired Coordinator. The fine particles showered Drew's knees, but he still gave no reaction.

Now furious, Brendan kicked the sand with even more vigor, ignoring the frightened expression that was crossing May's porcelain face. This time, the sand flew as high as Drew's face, and, snapping, the green-haired Coordinator looked swiftly towards Brendan, his upper lip curled in a vicious scowl.

"What the hell is it, Santa?" Drew snarled, his muscles rippling under his black sleeves. It was then that Brendan noticed how well-built the green-haired Coordinator was, as compared to Brendan's own rather lean physique; yet Grass Ass still managed to radiate a sort of felinity that, for some reason, merely enhanced his grace and fastidiousness in maneuvering himself, well, anywhere. It occurred to Brendan that this was perhaps why May, despite the numerous occasions in which Drew teased and berated her and degraded her, still looked up to Drew with

such warm admiration and such intense fondness. This revelation merely fueled Brendan's already heavy dislike of the green-haired Coordinator.

"What the fuck is your problem, Grass Ass?" Brendan said, lacing his words with as much hatred and revulsion he could muster. Drew's chartreuse eyes widened in fury; Brendan heard May 'kah!' in fear as events unraveled towards a seemingly inevitable fight. "Why the fuck do you always act like you don't care about any-fucking-thing?"

For a moment, Drew seemed to struggle with something—perhaps it was his anger attempting to override his better sense of dignity—but in the end, the latter won. Coolly, Drew flicked his bangs out of his face and replied, irritatingly fluidly, "Don't get rash, Birch. Simply because I have better control over my emotions is not a reason why you should seek a fight with me." Saying that, Drew closed his eyes, stuffed his shaking balled fists into his jeans' pockets, turned his back on Brendan and promptly walked away, stopping only when he was the size of a paper doll on the horizon.

Brendan let out a string of choice swearwords and flung himself onto the sandy ground. It was a hard enough struggle simply to prevent himself from running over to where Drew was idling and punching him where it really hurts.

"Brendan. . ." May began tentatively, seating herself next to the white-haired boy. The two syllables were heavily laden with concern, and yet Brendan ignored her. "Please don't do this, Brendan. Drew really cares; he does, I'm sure of it." Here, May glanced towards Drew. Brendan did not want to see what emotions crossed her eyes when she looked at the green-haired Coordinator, afraid of what he might witness. "He's just. . . an ass at times."

"Damn straight," Brendan muttered, cracking his knuckles out of irritability. May heaved a sigh and shook her head, muttering something despondent underneath her breath.

"Oh. . . how could this happen?" May lamented, burying her face in her gloved hands. Brendan was startled to hear the sound of choked sobbing escaping her throat, and solicitously turned to face the brown-haired Coordinator. Despite how he had acted, care was always right below any emotion Brendan Birch showed for any of his friends. "It was—just—supposed—to be a normal reunion!" A dry, rattling sob. "Then,"—Brendan patted May reassuringly on the back, and she sniffed, her tears receding somewhat—"then, that freakish hailstorm came and—and—we all—just—"

No further explanation was needed. Brendan embraced May, and she was content crying bitterly into his shoulder.

Brendan felt something slim and thorny skim his forearm before plopping, almost silently, on May's lap. It was a rose. May stopped crying and looked up. Drew was standing above the two friends, yet no emotions encompassed his stony features, although the faint spark of apology was dancing in his jade eyes. Brendan frowned slightly.

"I'm sorry, May," Drew finally said, though still in his usual monotonous drawl, after what felt like what was eons.

The last of May's tears evaporated into the salty air and she nodded, barely perceptibly, in acceptance of Drew's apology. Brendan was less certain of Drew's honesty; he simply didn't trust the guy, and Brendan was sure that Drew didn't trust him, either.

Standing up and helping May to her feet, Brendan shot Drew a glare and said loudly enough for the two to hear, "Well, I guess that we should, er, set up camp now or something."

Wiping tears out of the corners of her almond-shaped sapphire eyes, May nodded timidly and dusted her black shorts. Drew's eyebrow twitched, and Brendan perceived this to be a sign of agreement, which was a slight improvement from before. Without waiting for them to follow, Brendan took the initiative and scooped up his bag from the beach, heading towards the jungle which, by the white-haired Trainer's ballpark, made up most of the unnamed island.

"Wait! Brendan!" Came May's shrill voice. Brendan stopped in his tracks and looked around, seeing May fretfully tug at her bouncy side-bangs. He didn't know whether to frown or smile at the fact that more and more of his friend's old nervous habits were resurfacing—didn't know whether or not to frown at immaturity returning to May or smile at how cute she looked doing so. "Do you have a plan of some sort?"

Before Brendan could reply, Drew, seemingly having forgotten the apology he had made not two minutes ago and unable to restrain himself, said, "Obviously, Santa Claus does not have a clue. Should he actually possess some brains, the first thing he would have done was send out a strong Pokémon to ensure his and our personal safety."

Brendan bit back a sharp retort, then, very grudgingly and edgily, unclipped his Gallade's Pokeball from his belt and tossed it into the air. A beam of translucent red light, conspicuous amidst the terrestrial colors of greens, browns, and creams, arched from the center of the Pokeball as it opened with a hissing noise. The humanoid silhouette of the Blade Pokémon simmered gradually in solidity, and before long Ruru the Gallade was bowing to Brendan, politely addressing his Trainer with the usual, 'How may I be of service?'

It undoubtedly took naught but a mere flick of his telepathy to sense that something was horribly misplaced with the situation—that, Brendan mused dryly and gravely, and the fact that 

we are on a fucking island. Before Brendan could gather his thoughts for a command, Ruru was displaying signs of extreme unease. Tentatively, the Gallade rubbed his celadon elbow-blades and nervously awaited Brendan's orders.

"Scan the forest," Brendan said curtly. Bowing, Ruru knitted his face into that of intense concentration. The white-haired boy considered adding 'please' as a polite afterthought, but decided against it. He did not want to appear courteous at all in front of Drew, though a part of him was wondering what May thought of his behavior. Shaking his thoughts away, Brendan turned himself into his surroundings, noting that a peculiar feeling had occurred around his upper abdomen, much like that of a flurry of soft feathers passing by.

A few moments later, Ruru ostensibly concluded his telepathic scan and straightened to his full height, an imposing six feet and half an inch taller than Brendan himself. "The rainforest appears to be relatively safe for the time being. I do sense some carnivorous presences, however, and advice you to look out for them. Also, there appears to be an abundance of well-concealed bug Pokémon, but I predict that they will not cause too much trouble." Brendan nodded slightly, both apologetically and thankfully; the gesture was so subtle that he was sure only the observant psychic Pokémon would have noticed.

"Return, Ruru," Brendan said, though he felt his words were unnecessary. Nobody commented, however, and the teenager dismissed the thought. Obediently, Ruru waited as Brendan enlarged with a click and pried open the Pokeball; a flash and a few seconds later, the Gallade had been sucked inside the capsule device.

An unnatural, eerie silent ensued. Brendan blinked and turned back to face Drew and May, the grainy sand still warm underneath his sneakers; he noticed resentfully that Drew's muscular right arm had slipped around May's neck in a protective gesture. When the green-haired teenager found Brendan staring, though, he retracted his arm and stuffed it inside his pants' pocket in a somewhat embarrassed sort of way. Vaguely, Brendan wondered if the original action had been instinctive rather than conscious.

Forcing himself to tune back into the absurdity of their situation, Brendan said, "We better get a move on. It's nightfall already; who knows what sort of nocturnal predatory Pokémon this island boasts?" Promptly, Brendan turned his back on the duo and began making his way into the forest. He then realized how stupid it was to attempt a nighttime walk in an unknown jungle.

Realizing with further irritability that he would actually have to request help from either May or, worse still, Drew, Brendan began turning around again, only to notice that May had, with stealth unlike her usual self, appeared by his side.

Wordlessly, May dug out a Pokeball from her emerald fanny pack—it hit Brendan with a pang that he had sewn May's bag a mere fortnight ago—and raised it above herself. A brilliant glow, tainted scarlet by the Pokeball's translucent red hood, expanded out of the spherical instrument and proceeded to bath everything within a four-meter radius in a red light.

"Let's go," Brendan said, and off they went.

o o o

Cold air!

—too cold for late spring—

Turquoise inhaled a lungful of air, but it felt like she was inhaling the gaseous state of dry ice. Everything before her appeared to be a blur. Dazzled, the girl blinked twice and slowly her eyesight began sharpening to its usual attentiveness.

It was then that Turquoise was aware of hushed whispers resounding over her; her ears, however, received the conversation rather jarringly, and it took another half minute for them to become distinct enough for the girl to understand the words.

"She's awake!" A husky, low voice exclaimed with vociferousness and energy that should not have been prevalent in its usual monotonous drone. Turquoise blinked again and saw that, in addition to a couple of anonymous Pallet Town residents, a very attractive adolescent boy was hunched over her, scrutinizing her face with alarming solicitousness. His long crimson hair draped down on her, tips of which lightly dusted Turquoise's high cheekbones, sending an odd tingling feeling down her spine.

Despite these subtle and not necessarily intended flirtatious actions, Turquoise could not feel her heart being pulled to a state more advanced than purely platonic appreciation. It was strange.

Struggling, Turquoise attempted to pull herself to her feet, and found that she could only manage to sit up, and then, only just. She then noticed that she was still garbed in her blue T-shirt and her red skirt, though the latter article of clothing was concealed by a heavy woolen blanket. The red-haired boy jumped stupendously and hurried to Turquoise's side; then, as if realizing that he were revealing such care for her, scrambled back to his old position with surprising speed, wearing an abashed expression.

Despite herself, Turquoise managed to chuckle for a few moments—unfortunately, she found that the action hurt her throat and her laughter came out as hoarse coughs. The red-haired boy, unhesitant as ever, pounded her on the back, applying just the appropriate amount of pressure

and soothing her coughing by striking just the right section on her back. Turquoise frowned for a split second; how could this boy know just where to hit to cure her of her cough?

Nevertheless, her wheezing ceased quickly. Turquoise managed a coy smile at the red-haired boy, who blushed at her small gesture; the Trainer was finding it a bit overwhelming how readily he was to assist her and how humbled her appeared by her thanks. She could not even remember the boy's name, apart from the fact that he was, from Johto—or was it Kanto? Turquoise could not quite recall. Then again, there was something familiar about that dimple in his right cheek. . .

Turquoise took it to examining her surroundings. She noticed that she appeared to be inside a house of some sort; then, with a deadening feeling in the pit of her stomach, noted that the roof had been torn clean off. There were deep gouges in the wooden walls that looked like they were caused by impact. Recalling the bizarre—though 'freak' would have been a more appropriate word choice—hail storm, Turquoise wondered if the ice pellets could have caused such extensive damage to the housing.

Looking towards the three windows that remained intact—the last one had been shattered—Turquoise noted that snow still coated the glass; she could not see outside of it.

"Are you—all right?" The red-haired boy asked suddenly; Turquoise looked towards him, noticing that his silver eyes were effusive with concern.

"Yeah," Turquoise said, ending her response with another cough. "I'm all right." She added, coughing after each word, heavily dismayed that her health condition had reduced her to monosyllabic speech. Despite her inclination to coughing, though, the rest of her body felt relatively limber and she pulled herself out of her bed.

The Pallet Town residents backed off to give Turquoise space to balance. She stepped about on the wooden floor experimentally, accidentally treading over a sharp splinter in the wooden floor and suppressing a wince, not wanting to trigger another almost sibling-like response from the red-haired teenager.

"Um, you saved my life, right?" Turquoise said, reverting to her usual terse speech as soon as some of her health returned.

"Yes," The teenager admitted, somewhat embarrassingly, a faint flush gracing his pale features.

"Hope you don't mind me asking, but why?" Turquoise continued, hoping that she did not sound offensive.

The silver-eyed boy exhaled deeply, as if preparing to jump head-first in a turbulent morass of sorts. Seeing the boy enter a state of such apprehension, Turquoise mimicked his actions and her breath caught in her throat.

"I think. . . I think I know you."

"What?" Turquoise said, blurting out the first thing that came to her mind.

"I think you are my sister."

Unknown Island off the Coast of Pallet Town, Unknown Time

Maybelline Sapphire Maple awkwardly cleared a small space in the ground as the sylvan setting around her plunged into nightfall.

Finding it difficult to navigate, despite her almost perfect eyesight, she bumped twice into Brendan and Drew, and apologized quietly but empathetically, as both seemed to be in rather volatile tempers. Having seen both teenagers' angered sides, she had no desire to ignite such fury nor spark a physical altercation.

Nighttime sounds were all around the trio and their small camp. May could not identify the individual Pokémon, possessors of the voices, but she wagered that most of them were of aerial genes, and all nocturnal Pokémon. Occasionally she would hear a scampering in the bushes of feet that belonged to a small creature. Nothing was exceptionally intimidating yet she could not help feeling fearful.

Her Eevee, which May had sent out earlier, too lost her usual sense of bubbly deviousness. Curled in a ball in May's lap, the fox-like feline shivered perennially and tremors constantly shook her brown fur. May felt a bit guilty that she was so selfishly sending out her Pokémon for comfort, but the feeling of a warm body against her own soothed her nerves so much that she had no space for being considerate.

"May, you're not going to be cold or anything, are you?" Brendan's concerned voice wafted over from the fire he had started with the assistance of May's Blaziken and some moderation of the flames by his Milotic. May heaved an internal sigh of relief, glad that Brendan had seemingly entirely forgotten his argument with Drew and the lack of immediate side she had taken.

"No, thanks," May said, a small smile brightening her dreary mood. However, with the realization that Brendan was no longer angry, her train of thought switched tracks and moved in the direction of the extremely disconcerting thought of how her little brother was faring.

Despite the fact that she may not have shown it all the time, May cared genuinely for Max, and it was only with all the self-control she had slowly accumulated over her fourteen years could she prevent herself from not completely breaking down. Mentally, she lamented and cursed her rotten luck. She was so confused; everything had happened just so damn fast!

A movement on her right told that Drew was, too, preparing to go to sleep. She spared the green-haired Coordinator an oblique glance, noticing that his usual impassive expression was tainted with worry. May wondered what Drew was feeling at the time. From the few insights he shared with her about his childhood and experiences outside of the Contests and two Grand Festivals they had met, she inferred that his upbringing was leisurely, a pleasant experience. He undoubtedly came from an affluent household.

Not noticing May looking at him, Drew flounced a hand through his bangs, shut his eyes, and, green hair falling over his silky eyebrows, began to drowse off. May stared at Drew for a little while, admiring his perfectly-formed features and the slowing up and down heaving of his chest. He had not said a single word. Between the green-haired character she was observing, her thoughts darted constantly between Drew, Brendan, and Max.

The rose she was holding in her hand cut into her flesh and she began bleeding, and a tear rolled down her round cheek.

Fearing that if she spoke, her voice might crack, May lay in the opposite direction as Drew and curled her legs up to her chin, hugging herself and burying her face into her knees, returning her Eevee with reluctance. After a while of silent weeping, she felt fatigue tug seductively at her and gave into her body's demands.

The last sensation May was aware of was Brendan tucking her under a piece of warm cloth, which was probably his jacket.

Author's Notes:

Yes, it dragged on for years and years but I finally managed to find time and enough inspiration to complete this chapter (which has been collecting dust in my hard drive since January).

You might have noticed some tweaks in terms of direction and pace (well, not really for the latter. It's been three-fourths of a year and we haven't completed a single week in terms of events yet..) For example, I have decided to establish Turquoise and Silver's relationship as sisterly and brotherly, but since this is a cliffhanger I'm not going to say what happens next.

DAMNED LOLITA I HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY NOW.

-dies-