Pokémon Journal

Chapter 2! Jezzus, my brother is a DEMON with this story! Though, I guess that's what happens when your internet privelages are revoked. He gets no sympathy from me; it's his own fault. And it's productive :)

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Chapter 2: Rowan Rulez and My Turtwig, Not Yours!

"What is the meaning of this infernal racket?" Rowan asks us, obviously annoyed by Jo's screech attack.

"Sorry professor, my brother Wes here has come for a starter Pokémon and was being mean." Jo lies whilst putting on a pout. Rowan seems to ignore Jo and stares at me so intently… it's like he's looking into my soul. It's also kinda creepy.

"So, you're this Wes I have heard so much about." the Professor says with… a kind of innocent curiosity, the kind you would expect to see from a new-born Eevee and not an archaic professor. "I believe you want a Turtwig for your starter Pokémon, am I correct?" He guesses with pinpoint accuracy, "I believe we have one more left, but he's a bit hard to control so be careful with him Wes. He has also been trained a little so he isn't that bad at battling."

I cannot believe what I am hearing. Professor Rowan is entrusting me- me! - with a powerful, partially-trained Turtwig, without even one question asked! This is so hard to believe I have embarrassingly lost all sense of communication and am currently just staring, dumbfounded, at the pokéball now in my hand (not sure how it got there without my noticing…). When my speech finally returns all I can say is, "Thank you, sir."

Very quietly.

As I walk home, still staring at the pokéball, I can't help but wonder why this Turtwig's previous trainer ditched him. Was he really that hard to live with? After I return home with Jo I decide to get out my Turtwig and introduce myself.

"Come on out, Turtwig." I can't resist saying the corny line as I throw the pokéball (I doubt I'll do it again, I felt kinda dumb). A cute-looking Turtwig jumps out onto my bed and turns around with a cry of "Twiiiiig!" (obviously.)

He seems happy. This is a promising start. "Alright let's check out your moves." I whip out my dad's (old, tacky, outdated, not-as-many-functions) pokédex and check out his stats (whoa, listen to me!). It turns out my (still getting over that) Turtwig is quite the fighter with the moves Tackle, Synthesis, Razor Leaf and, amazingly, Energy Ball!

I need to get some insight into how well trained this Turtwig is. My instincts (note: memories of watching my sister, though it's only natural that Pokémon can sense her completely crazy-psycho-ness) tells me it isn't gonna be easy finding out. I'm still grateful for Rowan trusting me like that; but how did he know me? Must have been Jo running her mouth. I hope she didn't weave anything too incriminating, as I doubt anyone will believe my truthful pleas of 'Not guilty, Your Honour!'

I think I'm gonna check how powerful my Turtwig really is (no cheesy, corny or just downright weird nicknames from me!) "Time for training!" I shout (though I really didn't need to shout).

We go outside into the back garden where I decide to grab a giant rock and a few branches for this exercise. I take a moment to wonder why, and then shrug. As I always answer when asked what I'm doing, I don't know. I'm making this up as I go along. I stick the branches into the ground so that they stand upright and can't be knocked down too easily and then place the rock at the end. "Turtwig, use Tackle to knock down those branches!" I order from afar.

Turtwig, which is generally conceived as quite a slow Pokémon, races through all of the twigs like they were toothpicks to a chainsaw. "Alright, now use Synthesis to heal that bruise you got from ramming those branches."

Obviously, Turtwig heals himself much more efficiently than any untrained Turtwig. So, seeing how good he is with melee attacks, I decide to try out his ranged ones. "Alright Turtwig, use Razor Leaf on that rock to whittle it down." To what, I'm not yet sure. As I mentioned before, I'm improvising. Something small.

Again, Turtwig slowly but surely breaks the rock down to size. A small size. After about a minute I order him to stop and unleash his most powerful move. "Alright Turtwig, destroy that rock with Energy Ball!" I then scold myself for repeating 'alright' too often when addressing my Pokémon. He's going to think it's his name.

Turtwig charges up the attack for a good three minutes then releases a grape-sized orb of energy that couldn't blast a leaf let alone a rock. Upset that I didn't get quite the spectacular finish I expected I walk over to the sulking Turtwig and say reassuringly, "It's alright Turtwig; we can always work on it." At my remark Turtwig brightens up a little but still looks a bit down. To be honest, I'm in no position to console him when I'm still dealing with my own disappointment. But, Turtwig doesn't need to know that.

Half an hour pass while we lay there in the sun, enjoying its rays. The Starly are singing, the fountain is gurgling and… my stomach is rumbling like Mt. Coronet. I forgot it's almost dinner! We rush inside to be welcomed into the warm kitchen where the smell of roast beef with Yorkshire puddings, carrots finely sliced and green beans drizzled in gravy… and a bowl of Pokémon food for Turtwig… are awaiting us.