Good Day Splendid Readers,

I present to you, finally, Chapter II! Enjoy

Note: I own my OC's, and the plot, thats it. No, I don't own Pokemon, Nintendo, Gamefreak, many of the characters, etc etc.

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Chapter 2- A Strange Encounter

"Ruuubbbbyy... why are we sneaking about at this ungodly hour? I want to sleep." Tyson grumbles to his slightly younger sister who was leading the way, her long brown hair swishing about as she walked. Normally he was the upbeat one, the lively one who liked to take charge, but now, at this early time in the morning? "This is when the Vermillion patrols switch, and our chance to get out of here before it's too late." Ruby explained to her slightly older brother, grimacing in annoyance. If he could just shut his mouth for a few minutes, this would be so much easier, and she wouldn't have to be panicking about some slow guards hearing them. I love Tyson to death, but sometimes, oh yes, sometimes he can be an agitating loudmouth.

"Why you even wanted to leave Vermillion in the first place is my question. I mean, that guy, the gym leader, Lt. Surge, he said he was going to give us a position to work with the rebels. He even said he could arrange a boat to Hoenn-" "Surge is lying, Tyson! You heard the people in the city- he is a tyrant, a military dictator. All he does is get people to join his 'army' and then keep the city under lockdown. Surge hasn't even sent help to the neighbouring towns, and with the forces that he has, Lavender and Celadon could be freed easily!" I shout whisper to him, stopping dead in my tracks to face my brother. I am already an inch shorter than him, but if I stand on my tiptoes I can stare into his tired, half closed grey eyes. He looks as though he is in a trance, still waking up, although I shaked him into consciousness over an hour ago. I shouldn't snap at him, I really shouldn't. If I was the tired, confused, moody one at the moment, he would try to cheer me up, instead of getting unecessarily angry at me. So I take a deep breath, and keep walking, listening carefully to hear his trudging footsteps going through the brush.

After 10 minutes of walking, we stop, Tyson literally walking right into me. I mostly ignore it though, my eyes stuck on the scene before me, slightly shaking my head in frustration. My brother dozily mutters "Wha?" before his gaze shifts to what my fiery red eyes can already see, even though it is still slightly dark and the sun has not cut through the mist that wafts in from the nearby ocean, ghostly fingers that despite everything, can only go through us. The trees and brush we were walking through is reduced to sparse shrubbery, the occasional large rock jutting from the earth. I imagine that if we were to turn around, we would perhaps be able to view the vague walls surrounding Vermillion, and the hordes of soldiers standing guard. But my attention is currently on what is before me. The ground here is acrid and sandy, and a little ways ahead of us, I can see the long stretch of boardwalk that surrounds the eastern coastline, and could potentially take us to Lavender Town. However, there is one distinct, particulier unfortunate obstacle in our way. If it was evening, or the fog was any thicker, I would assume it to be a large boulder. But judging by the perfect smoothness of the object, the small, obtuse blobs protruding from the mass, and the loud, heavy sound coming from the object, there is only one conclusion to be made.

There is a Snorlax blocking our path.

To anyone in the world who could be unaware of the nature of this being, Snorlax is infamous for being the sleepiest pokemon on the face of the earth. They will plop down anytime they want, no matter where it is, and just go snoozing for hours upon hours on end. They are like hibernating bears that never, ever want to wake up. When we were in Hoenn, there was a huge news report on how a town was in madness for a week because a Snorlax had somehow gotten there fro Kanto, and had decided to take a nap by city hall- the snoring kept the locals awak for a week. And nothing could be done to awaken the massive organism- loudhorns, stereos, beeping cars, shouting, even when the people tried to beat the pokemon into consciousness, it would not stir. It was not until an associate of Professor Birch came and played a Pokeflute melody that the creature awoke from its slumber and proceeded to dozily waddle its way out of town. And that was a stroke of luck. Normally, from what I have heard, when anyone has ever managed to wake up a Snorlax from its sleep, the creature gets into such a fit of rage that it is considered an indestructible juggernaut. Trees, boulders, people, even small towns have been completely oblierated due to the power and grumpy rage of a Snorlax. In conclusion, when one sees a Snorlax, unless you are a particularly talented trainer with a lot of guts, it is considered wise to just let it sleep.

"That's a pokemon, isn't it?" Tyson asks, rubbing his eyes once, twice in order to wake up and better see the creature. I sigh, and then say. "Yep, judging by its loud snoring, its got to be a wild, sleeping Snorlax. Why on earth it would choose to sleep here is beyond me, but if its sleeping, there's no way we will be budging that thing. Great, so we'll have to walk along the shore, and then the cliffs in order to get to Lavender. I mean, we could swim to the boardwalk and go from there, but the waters here are teeming with Tentacool's and Tentacruel's, not to mention the rare Gyrados." I thinks aloud to myself, pondering on how to get around. I mean, if I wanted to, I could just summon Staraptor to fly me over to Lavender Town now, but Tyson doesn't have any flying pokemon, and I don't want to get separated from him, not again.

"Chill, Ruby. I have a plan." Tyson says, pulling me from my thought process. I pause, waiting for him to explain it to me. After a few minutes of telling me his idea, I shake my head. "Are you crazy?! Do you know how risky that could be? Of course you do, so why are you even considering it? And what will you do with it? Can't just keep it around." "Let me handle that. Just trust me on this one, ok?" he mutters reassuringly, lightly patting my shoulder, and steps forwards, Pokeball in hand. I open my mouth to object, to make a suggestion for an easier solution, but I hold my tongue, know that Tyson won't listen to me now- he's as determined as he is stubborn after all. "Go, Lux!" he shouts, and from a blast of white light, his Luxray appears, looking sinisterly at us, although he always looks like that. "Ok, Luxray, here's the plan! I want you to tackle that Snorlax with everything you've got, and then use Crunch! Ok?" Tyson asks, and though the pokemon rolls its eyes at his trainer's enthusiasm, nods his head. "Alright then, lets go!" Tyson shouts, and with that Luxray charges the sleeping pokemon, aiming for its side. When Lux hits the pokemon full on, sparks flare up from its fur, and discharge onto the Snorlax while Lux sinks his teeth into the blubberly creatures flesh. A deep, rumbling noise is heard, and in anticipation of a counter-attack, Lux darts back, prepared for the worst. I turn my eyes to my brother, filled with determination and excitement in his eyes, a smile on his face despite the risk in this plan. He watches as the sleeping being shifts a bit, as though sitirring from slumber, before rolling onto its back and releasing an alarmingly loud snore.

"What? It's still asleep?! You've got to be kidding me!" Tyson exclaims, the surprise in his voice shadowed by the excited gleam in his eye, the one he gets whenever there is a challenge for him to face. "OK, lets really do this! Lux, give it a charge, and then use Thunder Fang!" He shouts, and the pokemon does so, glowing as the tension in the air augments and sparks of electricity begin dancing around the Luxray. When the light around Lux becomes too bright, I can barely hear Tyson shout "Now!" and I can hear the pokemon crying out "Lux Lux Luxray!" and then it disappears in a flash. After being properly blinded, I turn and look around, to see Lux biting into the resting pokemon, sending electric charges into it in the process. As though its heart was being restarted, the Snorlax jolts up and down, its fat jiggling about in the process, until one of its pudgy arms slams the earth. Tyson orders Lux to get back, and he does, waiting anxiously. After a moment, the snoring noise stops, and the massive creature begins to move, rolling up into a standing position, and eventually we can see its face, which vaguely resembles that of a cats, with the ears and all. Its gaping mouth opens, revealing a pair of sharp incisors, and it releases a great yawn, stretching its arms and legs about before turning to look at us.

The closed slits for eyes slightly open, revealing tiny, black pupils staring dozily back at us. For minutes it stares at us like this, no expression on its face while it takes in the surrounding area. Then its hand covers his mouth, as though to surpress another yawn, and suddenly drops back on the ground, the earth shaking from the goliath's weight. The snoring resumes, possibly louder than before, and at that sound, Tyson looks utterly defeated. "Hey, c'mon, wake up buddy! Go find some other comfy spot to sleep, huh?! I mean, that can't be the greatest place to sleep, right? So move it!" he shouts, and proceeds to try to budge the pokemon, without the creature moving a millimeter, besides its own breathing. I sigh dejectively, feeling that it shall be a long walk to Lavender. "Let's go Tyson- once the shoreline gets close enough to the boardwalk, you can get Lux to stun all the Tentacool, and we'll swim." I tell him, and begin marching back towards the rocky coast. After a few minutes, he follows me, ultimately taking the lead from me. "I'll walk in front- don't want you to step into a trap or something." He says simply, and I nod, as though as I believed him. I try to be patient as he grumbles and mumbles about that infernal Snorlax, whom we can still hear snoring long after it has vanished from sight. "Stupid Snorlax, it's lazy, that's what it is! I challenge it, have the audacity to awaken it from its slumber, and that's what I get?! Why, this isn't the end of this; if I ever again encounter that lazy little couch potato, I'll have Char turn it into a roast, and then I'll teac-"

"Stop complaining, brother, you're getting on my nerves."

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I hate morning drunks, I really do. I mean, after when they come in and buy their first drink of the day to mix in with their morning coffee and muffin, I smile to myself and add another 10$ dollars to the bill. I don't even mind if they come in for another drink an hour later, once I make sure to get a 20$ tip from them after chatting them up about the weather or something like that. But the ones that just sit there, drinking bottle after bottle of beer, shouting like a fool and scaring away customers? Those are the ones I dislike. I don't need drunks like that, especially when they're wearing the Team Rocket uniforms. I get those ones alot, and they are always such a pain to deal with. They tip well, even when they aren't all that drunk, but they like to go flaunting their power about. Think that they can get away with anything, and that they own the god-damn place, going about fighting, spilling drinks, graffitting the bathroom stalls, denting the walls, and leaving glass stains on my bar counter. True, it isn't exactly the nicest bar in town, but when I got this bar from my parents, it was in swell condition, and I won't have those idiots go messing up my joint so that I've got to pay to get the wood redone or something.

In fact, it's usually the folks from Team Rocket who are the worst of the bunch- they always want to have a party, or worse, to stage pokemon fights in the middle of the bar. There's a bunch of old boxer rings downstairs where they can have battles, and I'm always telling them that. "You wanna fight? Go downstairs and do it." Is what I say. A few of the sober ones will listen to me, if it's a good day. But there are always the stupid ones who just go right ahead and make a scene out of it, meaning I've gotta kick them out. It really is such a pain. And when they get hung over the next day, I see them lying on the tables or the bathroom floor, covered in sweat and vomit, reeking of booze. Do you know how long it takes to clean up that scum?

"Hate 'em." I mutter to myself as I clean another wine glass. It's morning now, and suprisingly there are few guests here at the moment. Then again, it's not that late in the morning- by seven or eight o'clock they'll come strolling in; the whole rocket gang, and the rare townsfolk who has the time and money to sit and get eggs and bacon served to them. At the present time, there are a pair of grunts in the corner, talking and laughing while they eat the plates of pancakes on the table, each holding a half empty bottle of dark ale. There's also an old man sitting next to me, sipping on a tonic and gin, pale blue eyes wide and speckled from cataracts. He murmurs things under his breath sometimes- he's a regular here- things that sound rather funny if you ask me-though it's more because of his intonation than the actual words. I write down the stranger phrases for my own amusement sometimes. "Goldeen needs log." "They're hiding in the smoke and mirrors, with the ghosts of Marowak." "Can I have some of your delicious nuts?" are just a few examples of the mans quizzical sayings. There's also a stranger sitting by my bar, a middle aged woman by the looks of it. She wears a navy blue, bulky winter coat, molted grey sweatpants, and holey boots. Her long brown hair has been left unkept, and hangs in front of her dirty face like a mane. She is silent, save for her raspy breath, and the squeaking sound she makes when her hand drags the shot glass of Baileys Whiskey off the table and towards her peach pink lips.

TING TING goes the doorbell, and in walks another client, one whom I have very rarely seen here in my bar during all my time in Lavender Town. She waltzes in, all grace and poise with her black tights, black and red skirt, long black corset shirt, black gloves, looking like a bringer of death. Her long, silky black hair shifts about as she walks, a red ribbon keeping it out of her eyes, one a pot of molten gold, the other a pool of blood. She takes the seat directly in front of me, and stares at me head-on. "I have a message to give you, Mr. Westland." she whispers in a quiet tone, almost like a sigh. "James would be fine, Mrs. Cross." I murmur in response, but if she hears me, she does not acknowledge this, but continues to speak "I believe you are a friend and patron to a mutual client, Mr. Ellis?" "What about i-" "Ba'tender! Nother botte of, of thiis schtuff." the middle aged woman shouts from her seat, interrupting our quiet discussion. I indicate for the young admin to take a seat while I call the woman to say I'm going to get her drink. Going behind the bar to the kitchen area, I open the fridge, and pull out another bottle of the Bailey's Whiskey. Popping the lid silently, I pour half of the creamy liquor into a bottle, and seal back into the fridge. Quickly and cleanly, I fill the half full bottle with milk, reseal the lid, and then give it a good shake.

Walking back out to the bar table, I give the drunk lady her bottle, and she slurs out a words of thanks before opening the bottle and filling the shot glass up to the brim. Cross gives me a look, but says nothing, and I proceed to sit beside her while pulling out another cup from the sink to dry. "What do you want with the likes of Ellis? He isn't exactly the type to interact with." I whisper softly as the dish towel wipes the specks off the foggy glass, and she cocks her head strangely. "Tell him that it is done, and that he is to get to work now. Also, tell him that he is to inform us of any progress he makes, or any lack thereof. That is all." Mrs. Cross replies cooly, and goes to shake my hand. I proceed to put down the cup and towel, and stretch out my left hand. When we shake hands, a wad of neatly folding bills pass from her cold hand into my warm, wet one. "I shall be sure to let him know, at the soonest possible time then." I tell her truthfully, and she curtly nods her head. I offer her to stay for a drink and talk, but like always, she quickly and icily refuses the offer, complains of the smell of the bar, and leaves the bar, the door ringing TING TING as she departs.

I turn my back to the bar, silently counting the bills as they pass my fingers, the last one giving me a paper cut. Damn, I think to myself while in a stealthy manner slipping the bills into my pocket. I dunk my bloody finger into the full sink for a few moments, watching the blood tinge the soapy water a translucent vague crimson. It doesn't help that at that particuliar moment, the middle aged woman decides to puke out her guts onto the floor with a painful hacking noise. I shout at her to clean up the mess and get out of the bar, and she curses back in a hoarse tone once she's down vomiting. The woman cackles as a witch would, wipes the excess bile off her face, and gives me a sickly grin. I stare through the tangle of hair, trying to find the no doubt bloodshot eyes being hidden, but there is nothing but a broken pair of rose-coloured glasses and the white teeth within her red mouth. From her pocket she pulls out a wad of cash, screeches for me to keep the change, and then stands up from her chair. With one last look at me, the middle aged lady turns around and wanders aimlessly out to the door. Bottle still in hand, I can vaguely hear low words being spoken beneath the hair and clothing. "Heh, me getting thrown outtas bar! Whattya think o' that, Redtie? I know all bah things, but its innnteresting, eh? Now I jus' need something to damper up and right then I'll fix it all, i'll make it like it never happened. Lapras! Lapras, give me a shot! It's not lie that, ye stupid Smoochum, so f$% off, aiyeee..."

Sighing again, I pull my finger from the water, which has lost its tint of red and returned to a scumy grey, and shake the drips off the finger. "Crazy bitch." I mutter so that none of the remaining patrons can hear me. I look up at the clock and curse again- the morning rush will be coming in the next hour, and I gotta clean the crap up before I can start up the grill- Millie is late for work again. And someone's got to start prepping for the breakfast crowd- they tip poor if they've got to wait longer than 15-20 minutes for their food. This is why I hate morning drunks, I think to myself as I walk towards the mop and bucket. They pay well, but they just leave such a revolting mess.

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The Team Rocket Hideout in Lavender is to say the least, a decrepit building. Then again, it is this setting which is more fitting for an organisation as corrupt as this one. Hidden perfectly in the open, desperately in need of repairs that never seem to get done, despite how I have urged for these updates to take place, and of course well fortified. The hideout consists of multiple levels, each with various purposes, from sleeping quarters to training rooms, prison cells and interrogation chambers. And the labs, of course. I personally detest the labs- waste of time and resources. Not the actual experiments mind you- no, the sutdies there are considerably valuable. But the scientists running it are a whole different story. Lazy little nerds who seem to think they are the bosses around here- especially the crop of them here in Lavender. Hmph, well, I'll teach them soon enough that they have to work to earn their keep, and that if they don't do their assignments quickly or efficiently, they become a liability. Ones that I am more than willing to cut. It's nothing personal- never is. It's just business. And the grunts, well, they aren't all that much better. Barely know how to fight in a pokemon battle, let alone hand to hand combat. A few of them are proficient at firearms, but all lack in the reconnaissance and informative stealth. What irks me the most about them is how they think they are so high and mighty because they decided to put on a shirt, talk to the right guy, and start skipping school. If they had half of the dedication that we had when we were preparing to take Saffron, I wouldn't have to be here.

When I came to this town from my initial posting on Six Island, I was told that things had slackened up, that it would take a little work to get this facility, and these recruits, up to speed. A position that was to take a month at the maximum. But after being here for a few months, I can already feel that this is a long term project that Giovanni will have to hand to someone else. It's not that I can't do it myself, but my efforts would be better spent in dealing with Cinnabar."That's where I ought to be." I grumble to no one in particular, sitting quietly at my desk and finishing a report. Why am I here, writing a report on the statistics of this facilities performance when I should be appropriating a mission to deal with the Cinnabar crisis? Because as the head admin here, I am supposed to deal with this paperwork. A task which is menial and tedious for one of my abilities. I would hand it off to some grunt to do, but honestly, I'm sure they'd botch the whole thing up, and get me in trouble. Something which I would be able to get out of, but I would much rather prefer to avoid dealing with.

They, we, have taken over Kanto, and essentially now have Johto in the palm of our hands. And as a result, Giovanni is planning to expand his range to Hoenn, a decision which surprises me, but not all that much. He dreams that one day Team Rocket shall have complete control over all the regions as a powerful monopoly. I share is amibition, but not his haste. Before we expand our sphere of influence, it would be wise to first guarantee that there are no pockets of opposition in the areas we have already claimed. Vermillion is not a concern at the present time- Lt. Surge is stubborn, and won't go on the offensive unless he has allies to help him, so he'll just wait. Fuschia is a battle that shall soon be concluded- they are determined, but I feel nothing good shall come for the rebels. If we can only quelch the nut of a base that Cinnabar has become, any substantial risk to the organisation's position here will be expulsed. Of course, they are those who are concerned that the old trainers, the great trainers from before our uprising, shall appear as if by magic. I put little thought in such tales, considering that most have either been placed under our custody, or annhilated. And while the few may try to fight, it takes more than one trainer, no matter their calibre or prowess, to fight against an armada. I would place Johto as a second priority- their forces are more organised, and they have supposedly contacted Unova, and possibly Sinnoh, for help. But until they have eliminated our presence in their own domain, they shall not help Kanto. Once Kanto is completely mastered, we could regroup our forces and attack Johto in full force, and then expand into Hoenn.

Furthermore, the new Grunts are scared to go to Hoenn- they have never dealt with a turf war, certainly not of this magnitude, and things between Magma and Aqua are nasty enough, according to our sources. We don't know the area half as well as Johto and Kanto, and we would have to considerably alternate our tactics. Because unlike Johto and Kanto, Hoenn is one giant island, and I imagine that many of their defenses shall be naval, a field in which we are presently lacking. To come in now, it would most certainly be foolish. I told Giovanni myself that it would be stupid to try to invade Hoenn until we are completely established here, and one of the sides had been sufficiently crushed by the other. He disagrees though- feels that the lack of stability caused by the civil war would be an advantage, and plans on sending a small brigade to scope things out in preparation. And then he sent me to this god forsaken town to straighten things up. As if it is a punishment for stating what I imagine to be a likely truth to him, in the prescence of the other admins.

Oh, Giovanni... he who first had the vision, who ultimately led us all towards this glorious reign which we are now living in. He can speak of respect, loyalty to the cause, and trust in one another. According to him, it is these things that have brought Team Rocket to where it is today. He can talk the talk, and has won the hearts of many of his followers as a result. But there are those of us who have seen both sides of this man. While he can put on a demeanour of patience, understanding, and serenity, there are those who see the other facets. His unbridled temper, fueled by his headfast determination, stubborness, and inability to accept defeat. The smooth-talking, oil-slicked hair business man who can sway the most diligent and opposing figures to his side. His cold, calculating mind which allows him corner his opponents and crush them. And his pride, his own sense of loyalty to this group as its leader, and that if there is any doubt as to the dedication of anyone to him, they are a risk, a threat, which must be erased before that doubt breeds in the hearts of the masses.

All manner of low lifes had joined in order to partake in stealing, raping, and all manner of vile, despicable behavior under the wing of this criminal organisation. Giovanni knows it, and whenever he finds another one of the filth have infiltrated his ranks, he has them disposed of. But what blinds him is that there are those of higher rank who might not be all so loyal to him. Those who would seek to let him rise up to the highest, and then have him fall into the abyss of no return. There are some who feel that his methods are impractical, risky, and too much resembling that of the old days. That his time as a leader should be coming to a conclusion, and that someone else should lead this empire to full greatness. I know what I know, and that those who oppose Giovanni are clever fools. They may be right in that his ways can be unorthodox, and that his temper and pride may be his fatal flaw. But he is, undoubtably, a great leader. And there are those who lie in wait, watching for those who plot in the safety of darkness to strike, and then make a preemptive blow to the threat.

I sigh as I finish the report, including my signature at the bottom, in a messy scrawl Harold Grayson. Carefully sliding it into a manila folder and stamping it sealed, I call over one of the grunts wandering aimlessly about. He shuffles over, avoiding eye contact. "Take this to administrative envoye, and have them send this via messanger bird to Saffron." "Yes, Sir." the grunt cries, taking the envelope from my hand, careful not to touch my skin, and gives me a quick salute before walking away. I casually note that as usual, he prefers to stare at his feet instead of myself, and even during the salute, navigates his gaze just beyond my shoulder. I have vaguely grown accustomed to this behavior- they fear me, not solely for my imposing physique, but my reputation as a strict admin. They are wise to fear me. For I am not one to be messed with.

As if on its on accord, my right hand reaches up to touch the deep scar across my cheek, an old wound which refuses to heal. Although the fight in which I received my mark was not all that long ago, it feels as though eons have passed since that day. And while much has changed since that first encounter of a unfamiliarly strange quality, the memories still plague me. For through the incessant chattering of the computers and keyboards and opening doors, I can almost imagine hearing that voice taunting me. When I turn around the street corner, I can see the gun pointed to my chest, finger hesistantly lying on the trigger. And then it points away, and the voice returns to mock me. It claims I have grown docile under my 'master', that I will not be so lucky the second time around when we meet again. I quietly smirk in response to the voice, for I know it is an illusion. And when the owner of that voice and I meet again, things shall have changed. She has made her mark- now it is my time to make mine.

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Well, that's Chapter Two. Introduction of a few characters, the crossing of paths, etc. I hope it was alright- let me know what you think.

I shall try to get Chapter Three done before the weekend (I'm going away for a music thing), so hopefully the plot shall thicken. Until then,

clarinetti