Chapter 11: Proelium Committamus!

Disclaimer: In 2010, I owned nothing but Maecenas, Mycroft, and the plot, and barring any earth-shattering events, the same will persist into the new year. And now, a slightly shorter (e.g. NOT 37 pages) but still utterly fascinating Pokѐtopia chapter!

The view from the upper floors of the Pokѐtopia Grand was an expansive one, encompassing what seemed to be miles of the glittering city that surrounded the four-star hotel. From any suite balcony, a guest of the Grand could gaze down at the matrix of streets far below, observing the urban bustle of innumerable Trainers and businesspeople as though through a microscope, or directly across at the many other skyscrapers of Pokѐtopia's busy downtown surrounding the Grand like a forest. Indeed, it was something of a point of pride with the Grand's management that when you reserved with them, you would be guaranteed a room with a view.

That view was at its most particularly exceptional at around seven-thirty on one of Pokѐtopia's many exquisite summer mornings. It was too early in the day for the heat to be unbearable, but there was absolutely no biting chill in the air—Pokѐtopia was, after all, a tropical island. So far above street level the air was fresh and invigorating, the shadows of passing Wingull and Pelipper sharp and clear against the cement below, and the sky often a simply indescribable shade of blue. No matter how seasoned the traveler was who occupied a suite at the Grand when these conditions were in place, he or she just couldn't escape an absolutely exhilarating sense of possibility, that the day could hold anything in store—a feeling particularly fitting for the morning of a new tournament's official beginning.

The sliding glass door of Room 918's balcony unlocked and slid open with the distinctive screeching crunch of its rubber frame, and Ferk Ramalo allowed himself a few moments to savor the cityscape from where he stood, his feet balanced on the shoreline between the rich carpet of his suite and the cool, creamy tiles of the balcony. The Trainer himself clashed with his surroundings about as much as a Jumpluff in the middle of a volcano. In contrast to the subdued elegance of glass, marble and chrome that defined his stateroom, Ferk was attired in his most eye-wateringly bright tie-dyed T-shirt, neon orange shorts, and a purple rimless cap. Even his hair, which naturally would have been an unremarkable blond shade, was highlighted with streaks of blue of such a violent color that it was surprising that they hadn't been convicted of visual assault and battery. Not even his eyes could escape the jarring explosiveness of his appearance—they were acid green, and currently sparkling as they focused on the vista in front of the balcony.

The view cemented Ferk's already strong gratitude to Professor Oak for having paid his way to the tournament in style. The contestants' village, he was sure, was all very well, but as it was hardly able to contain the more than one thousand entrants to the tournament he was glad he'd found such an excellent alternative.

This sure beats all those nights camping out in the bush, beating Zubats off with a stick and trying to keep the bonfire from going out, Ferk told himself, pulling up one of the balcony's two deckchairs and balancing his acoustic guitar—a customized model that he'd carved himself one memorable summer, with a stylized Exploud painted onto the body—on one knee. His Shedinja, who had floated out onto the balcony with him, gave him a creaky ghost of a middle C, then perched on the balcony to watch. After listening to the distant crash of waves and the more local rush of the city for a few moments to set the tone, Ferk strummed a few arpeggio chords to warm up before bursting into song.

"This land is Staryu's land

"This land is Starmie's land

"From Snowpoint City

"To the Sevii Islands

"From the Ilex Forest

"To Hoenn's waters

"This land was made for Pokemon."

At the conclusion of this opening chorus, Ferk paused, habitually glancing around in search of any of the all-too-common objections to his musical stylings. Reminding himself that he was on an isolated balcony eight stories above street level that was empty except for his own Shedinja, who had always displayed a general indifference to his playing, he sighed, shook his head and continued with the first verse.

"As I was walking

"Route Twenty-Nine

"The sun was shining

"I was feelin' fine

"I was struck from behind

"By a Thunder Wave

"Yeah, this land belongs to Pokemon."

"Ferk?" The familiar, resigned-sounding voice seemingly coming from nowhere startled the Orange Islander enough to make him drop his guitar pick, which bounced once on the tiles of the balcony before tumbling past the guardrail down to the balcony below.

Ferk Ramalo sprinted to the guardrail and stared down to the next balcony, and by so doing became the eighth person ever to see Mycroft Williamson in pajamas. This scene convinced him once and for all that Mycroft truly had no "informal" mode—even caught unawares at an early hour of the morning, he was wearing an ornate bathrobe draped over burgundy-colored pajamas of some extremely rich-looking material. The tall Trainer's hair, though damp and disordered, somehow still looked neatly arranged, and his facial expression—one of bleary disbelief—looked just as carefully planned as always.

"While I cannot entirely blame you for deciding to serenade the rest of the hotel on a morning such as this one"—Mycroft squinted up at Ferk, looking thoughtful—"it is my painful duty to inform you that you are somewhat out of tune."

Ferk groaned and lifted his guitar. "No, seriously? I just tuned this thing…I guess it's the salt air or something…"

"It's your voice, actually, if you'll excuse my candor," Mycroft muttered. "In any case, I was wondering if you'd noticed that the first tournament schedules were posted some time last night. Apparently the first battle will take place at ten o'clock this morning in Main Street Colosseum, amid much pomp and celebration." Producing a P*DA from a pocket of his robe, Mycroft paused while he accessed the battle schedules. "Yes…Nick Brooks will be battling a girl named Mimi Darius. I somehow suspected you hadn't heard yet."

Ferk nodded. "After all that intense practice-battle whatnot yesterday, I've kinda been taking it easy this morning. I don't wanna miss the first battle of the tournament, though, thanks."

He did a sudden double take. "Hang on a second. I'm not on today, am I?"

Mycroft grinned. "Somehow, I doubt it. I believe you would have been notified by now if you were battling. In any case, I believe you'll want to leave for the stadium soon in order to get a good seat. As I mentioned before, they're making quite a production of this, and I expect that a large number of utter fanatics have occupied the front row since midnight."

The Trainer from Lilycove turned as if to return to his suite, then, apparently changing his mind, looked back up at Ferk's balcony and hummed a perfect middle C before disappearing.

Ferk Ramalo paused thoughtfully, shook his head and started the second verse.

Any casual observer who had happened by the Pokѐtopia contestants' village the previous day would not have recognized it now. The difference could not have been more pronounced—what once had been a quiet space, its central commons populated only by a flock of excitable Wingull and the occasional wandering Trainer, was now the center of a chaotic mass of humanity.

The giant, computerized ranking board now—at least, in theory—bore the legend FIRST BATTLE OF POKѐTOPIA TOURNAMENT: NICK BROOKS v. MIMI DARIUS, 12:00 NOON, MAIN STREET COLOSSEUM, but few could verify this firsthand, as it had disappeared completely into the mass of Trainers surrounding it. The roaring noise of thousands of intermingled conversations only grew louder with each tick of the clock, the once tall and reedy grass had been trampled down into a frenzied carpet, and the cool morning breeze had been quickly stifled and replaced by the heat of anticipation.

Naturally, Lucianne Delaray couldn't stand it. "This is totally insane," she complained, her elbow knocking into the back of a spiky-haired Trainer with an Espeon as she turned. "How's anyone supposed to breathe like this?"

"You're not wrong there," sighed a rueful voice somewhere to her left. "I mean, anyone with a P*DA can read who's going to be in the battle anyway, but, ooh, no, let's all stumble around the main board and talk about it loudly, all at the same time!"

Looking around to see who had spoken, Luce quickly spotted a girl of about seventeen standing several feet off to her left and regarding her with a wry expression. For a split second, Luce pondered the pros and cons of continuing the exchange. She heartily agreed with the stranger and would be glad of a chance to vent, but on the other hand, she had been avoiding company even more than usual since the banquet incident. Furthermore, she wasn't sure if a brief conversation would be worth fighting through the chunk of the crowd that separated them, including – she noticed with distaste – Kane Yaiba, who was loudly arguing with someone about Effort Values a short distance away.

Luce's past life gave her a little mental nudge, which felt oddly like the nose of her Camerupt. She noticed that the stranger, who was strikingly dressed in black and white, had short blue hair almost exactly like hers. Luce's face broke into a wide and slightly nervous grin, and she strode, businesslike, towards the other girl, taking care to accidentally step on Kane's feet as she went.

"Are you sure we're not related or anything? Those were my own thoughts exactly. I'm Lucianne Delaray," she added, her voice taking on a slightly apologetic note.

The stranger shook her hand. "Celeste Skye. C'mon, let's get out of here, shall we?"

Celeste led the way, plowing remorselessly through the crush of Trainers until the two of them stood at the outskirts of the commons. Luce heaved a sigh, grateful for a breath of air to call her own.

Her companion suddenly adopted a dangerous look, her icy blue eyes dripping with mischief. "They all need to cool down, don't they? Glyde, do some crowd control. I mean cloud control." She chuckled. "Hah, I made a pun and I didn't even know it!"

Celeste's Abomasnow exploded into being some distance away and stretched expansively, its mighty green-and-white arms whooshing through the air like demented tree trunks.

The blue, cloudless sky arbitrarily began to snow.

Celeste recalled her Pokemon just as a wave of complaint began to move through the mass of suddenly chilled contestants. "I'm totally obsessed with Ice-types," she explained. "It's been really coming in handy in weather like this. Anyway, if we want to get stadium seats ahead of the Raging Mob of Fanatics, we should hurry. Race you to main street, Lucianne!"

Luce's once-nervous grin grew more sincere every time her feet hit the path. Blinking snowflakes out of her eyes, she realized two things: That she had apparently made her second friend in as many days, and that her Camerupt really had been right after all.

"Mimi Darius, huh?"

"Yeah, I can't believe it. I saw that girl practically every day for like ten years, and then the next time I see her she's opening this tournament! You going for the cheese fries?"

Maecenas Augustus Octavian, Xavier Omnik, and their new friend Media – whom Maecenas had briefly met at the banquet – were standing in line at one of main Street Coliseum's many concession stands, eyeing the menu thoughtfully, the pulsing heat of the sunlit cement all around them. Media grunted. "Speak for yourselves, but I've gotta have a burger today."

Maecenas grinned, beginning to scrounge through his shoulder bag. "Then that last slice of sausage pizza is all mine."

Purchases in hand, the three of them began to stroll towards the stadium entrance, joining a steady stream of early arrivals, all of them still talking excitedly about the upcoming match.

"So what's this Mimi girl like?" Xavier asked Maecenas thickly through a mouthful of ice cream, guitar chords already dancing through his headphones.

His companion shrugged, studying one of the many posters of the contestants that had been put up around Main Street. Mimi Darius' face, framed by a dramatic backdrop of Mount Coronet, stared back at him. Maecenas almost imagined that she was daring him to say that she could possibly lose.

"Mimi? She's … extremely confident. She's a really good battler, too … I'd guess that Nick will have his work cut out for him."

"And you two grew up in Celestic Town together, eh? Must be kinda weird seeing each other again, now that you've both hit the big time."

"Yeah … " Maecenas trailed off musingly, his emerald eyes searching the cloudless sky above him. "Speaking of which, Media, I don't think I know where you're from."

"Just say the records got lost," Media replied brusquely, breaking neither his stride nor the stoic gaze he kept resolutely focused straight ahead of him.

Maecenas raised his eyebrows and decided to change the subject. "Come to think of it, I've never really heard of this Nick Brooks guy. Do you two know anything about him?"

Xavier shrugged, but Media grabbed his P*DA and started punching buttons. "Let's see – he's from Fallarbor Town, placed high in a couple of League tournaments – he's got a Blaziken, Castform, Ludicolo, and a couple others. Interesting, he looks a lot like that Kane weirdo. I hope they're not related or anything."

By this time they had reached the top of the stairs leading into the stadium, a pastel arena dotted with greenery that rose high above the street below. It was dwarfed, however, by the massive Pachirisu and Bidoof-shaped floats that towered over the battlefield, far larger than even any Wailord could ever aspire to be.

Maecenas looked at the gargantuan Bidoof and sighed, "you just can't get away from them, can you? First they're all over every route in Sinnon, and now this …"

The trio headed toward the giant rodents, hoping to find the best place in the stands from which to see the battle begin.

A tall, lithe-looking girl dressed in blue stood in the shadows of the Colosseum, far removed from the steadily increasing crowd that had been flooding into the stands all morning. She was paging intently through the Pokѐtopia Gazette, a calculating stare frozen onto her attractive features.

The girl suddenly stabbed at a certain article she had found, recognition dawning in her eyes. Raising her left arm to her mouth, she spoke into the watch on her wrist, her eyes habitually darting around the shadows that surrounded her. "Okay, I found it. You're right about the planning – if this was any other day but the start of the tournament, everyone would have noticed. I bet I'm the first person all day who's read this."

Snapping the newspaper to fold the article back into prominence, the girl read in a dramatic voice, "'An explosion occurred at about 11:15 last night on a high floor of the Toxicroak building on Pokѐtopia's waterfront. No major structural damage was caused, but repairs are estimated to…' yadda yadda…" her eyes skimmed the rows of type like a rock skipping over the surface of a pond. "Ah. 'The organization currently working in the building's top floors, Cinque Research and Development, disclaimed responsibility, blaming a gas or electric problem for the incident.' Riiiight."

Her contact let the silence blossom in the air for a moment. "Well, there seems to be a lot to read between the lines there. I'd appreciate the benefit of your professional opinion."

The girl frowned, brushing her hair out of her eyes and kicking absently at a crumpled paper bag near her foot, starting slightly as a dingy-looking Rattata shot out of it and dashed away. When she spoke, it was in a more measured and careful tone than she had used earlier. "Well…I kind of doubt that an organization would blow a hole in their own building, unless they have some really low hiring standards for grunts….and I…kind of doubt that somehow. I guess an experiment could have gone wrong or something, but that seems unlikely."

She took a deep breath, her already pale skin totally draining of color as she did so. "I think…th-that it was someone like me. Maybe he got cold feet and tried to escape."

"Mmm. That does sound likely," mused the girl's confidant. "The evidence does sound like classic 'signs of a struggle.' You mind checking that out?"

She sighed. "Not until later. The tournament's starting in a half hour; I want to be sure I get a good seat."

"Well, I'm glad you've arranged your priorities so nicely," the other stated evenly, evidently trying and succeeding to keep the sarcasm from his voice. He sighed. "Well, that is part of why you're here, after all, and you've already done a lot for us in the past day or two. We're tremendously proud of you, Lauren."

She nodded briskly. "Thanks. I'll just let whatshisname know about this before I grab a seat. I'll keep in touch."

Touching a button on the watch and breaking the connection, Lauren stuffed the newspaper into her shoulder bag and retrieved a shiny key card. Turning it over, she examined its surface very carefully.

In the heart of the stadium, Media's Pokѐtch began to beep.

Megan Rayme was unquestionably one of the "fanatics" that Mycroft had mentioned, something she would have admitted with pride if she'd been asked. Far too excited to remain asleep for long, she had noticed the new battle schedules almost immediately after they were posted. Before the first hints of dawn had appeared on the horizon, she'd been on her way from the contestants' village to the stadium, pausing only to call Maecenas and postpone their battle until later that afternoon. Practice battles, Megan told herself, were all very well, but the official beginning of a tournament was something else altogether.

Megan just couldn't stop herself from grinning as she leaned forward in her seat, staring at the empty (for now) battlefield and savoring the building thrill of anticipation in the air.

She checked her Pokѐtch for what felt like the hundredth time. Less than fifteen minutes to go now until the match kicked off, although the truly deafening noise of thousands upon thousands of fans could've told her as much. Overall, it was precisely the kind of atmosphere that Megan lived for.

"This is gonna be awesome," she happily informed a complete stranger to her left, a thin, pale girl dressed in red and gold who mouthed, I know! in reply, her mismatched green and blue eyes glowing in exhilaration.

If I'm this excited now, just as a spectator, Megan mused, what must it be like to actually be down there, preparing for battle?

Nick Brooks was panicking. He had arrived at Pokѐtopia fairly late compared to most of the other contestants and had always been susceptible to jet lag, and as such had slept in quite late indeed that morning. His Castform, Nimbus, had woken up long before he had, and, all other methods failing, had finally been reduced to waking up his Trainer by generating a small hailstorm directly over Nick's bed.

This was far from an ideal way to wake up, but Nick was grateful enough when he saw that he would be one of the opening contestants of the Pokѐtopia Tournament in less than an hour. Somehow or other—the details had been lost in the rush—he'd managed to throw on a hoodie and a pair of jeans, make sure all of his Pokemon were with him, and make a mad dash for Pokѐtopia Main Street, taking time along the way to muse that out of hundreds of tournament contestants, this had to happen to him. Sooner or later he'd arrived at the Colosseum, shaken off the exasperated looks of the tournament staff, and been shown to the right room. There he stood now, marveling at just how quickly an hour could pass.

With a start, he realized that his dark hair was still hanging loosely around his shoulders. You don't want it getting in your eyes in the middle of the battle, you idiot! he chastised himself, hurriedly bunching the spiky mass into a messy ponytail.

That'll have to do, he reflected grimly. Hopefully girls will go for that careless, unkempt look.

Staring at the clock as nervously as though it were a seriously annoyed Garchomp, Nick grabbed his P*DA and accessed Mimi Darius' page.

Images of her Pokemon stared back at him: Lickilicky, Heracross, Fearow, Ninetales. Nick couldn't help being a little unnerved by the incomplete team, especially given the rows of credentials and accomplishments that filled the screen below it. How good was this girl, if she didn't even need six Pokemon to win?

"Well, at least I know what I'm getting into," he told the blue door that he would walk through in a matter of minutes to face his fate. It stared back at him blankly.

With six minutes to go before his grand entrance, Nick Brooks took several deep, calming breaths and began to plan his strategy.

In the Colosseum, it was as though the very atmosphere had been set aflame.

A huge musical ensemble blared a sweeping and epic score, dueling outright with the thunderous roar of countless people and Pokemon. A titanic digital clock opposite the stands counted down the seconds incessantly: 2:59, 2:58, 2:57…

Even here, in the heart of an uncontrollable tumult of heat and noise, Pokѐtopia asserted its true nature of a tropical island. The expectation was more like a massive ocean wave than anything else, sweeping through the stands, cresting higher and higher still…

A bell tone boomed out over the masses, and both doors into the stadium hissed open at once. Simultaneously, the clock collapsed into a burst of digital flames and was replaced by a scoreboard, blank for the moment.

Nick and Mimi slowly walked out onto the field and met in the center, shaking hands. Nick's entire frame was shaking as well; he heard nothing of the noise of the crowd, which had coalesced into one great scream, nothing of the announcer's excited voice reverberating in the air.

Nick Brooks stared at the mass of faces in the audience, the giant Pachirisu and Bidoof towering over them all. The Trainer from Fallarbor Town struggled to draw forth his courage, as though it was part of another life altogether. His hand automatically moved to the gold, heart-shaped necklace he was wearing, which shone like fire in the glare of the sun, and a momentary spark of peace stole through him.

He grabbed a carefully chosen Pokѐball off of his belt. Like his opponent, whose piercing green eyes betrayed no outer sign of nervousness, and like all of the Trainers in the audience, he was waiting. Waiting for the one sentence from the announcer that they all knew was coming. Waiting for a sentence that finally rang out in the air, sending two Pokѐballs. blazing red and white in the summer heat, soaring into the stadium.

"LET THE BATTLE…..BEGIN!"

The two Pokemon faced each other, and the Pokѐtopia Tournament began.

And so Chapter 11 concludes! Happy New Year to you all, consider this a little present. Next time, the first battle will take place in full (barring a cliffhanger).

Here are the character credits, though I fear that some of my usernames have become outdated (no offense meant):

Ferk Ramalo—SilentlySnowing

Mycroft and Maecenas—Yours Truly

Lucianne Delaray—K. Fang

Celeste Skye—Nicole Vermillion

Kane Yaiba—Ability King KK (last time I checked; his name may have changed again)

Ziste Katsuya (who was unnamed; he's the spiky-haired Espeon guy)-Ziste

Media-MediaMessiah

Xavier Omnik-LastPrelude

Lauren: Tyltalis

Megan Rayme: Fire Drastar

Rhoslyn Reyes: The Artist Formerly Known as Thunderstorm k i s s e s (which has since changed)

Nick Brooks: Supreme Kimchi

Mimi Darius: PokemonJoe1

Note to the fans of my other fanfiction, The Rising Stars: Renovations and Chapter Five are nearly done. When the Lost Hero came out, it basically invalidated all my Jason Williams plans, so I've updated and modified the whole thing. You can look forward to that in (HOPEFULLY!) Early January.

Thanks for sticking with me all this time, and welcome to the REAL Pokѐtopia Tournament!

Maecenas out.