Disclaimer: I do not own the Pokemon series, or any of its content.
When I awoke I was sitting on a fluffy, unfamiliar substance. Alarmed, I hastily poked it with a foreleg. When it didn't attack me, I allowed myself to lower my guard just a bit.
"Hey, you're awake."
The voice was unexpected. I sat up quickly and looked around to find the source, but my head began to spin. I cradled it as best I could in my short forelegs and continued to look for the source of the voice.
Lord was glaring at me from its perch on a makeshift tree. "You're sitting on The Couch," it said enviously. "Lucky. Whenever I try to do that they shoo me away, yes, yes."
I was unsure of quite what to think and decided to start with, What is a couch? I looked down at what I was sitting on. A big, fat, maroon-colored object with two cushions, one of which I was sitting on, and arms poking out from more cushions lined up to my backside. The Couch took up a whole wall of the room.
Room?!
My mind sparked and raged as everything began to fall into place. It was a small room, but a room none the less. I didn't take in many details; I didn't want to see any of it—especially after glimpses of the rug, petite tables, and paintings of fruit on the walls. I was in a human abode.
A growl rumbled deep in my throat and I made to thrash around in my fury, but Lord said, "Whoa, there. You got pretty banged up, yup, yup."
At first I was going to ignore it but I rammed my foot into the arm of the chair and it felt as if it were splitting in two. I hugged the foot to me until the pain had passed. Once the wave of hurt had left me, though, I felt bone tired and every bit of me started to ache. My forelegs, my feet, my whole battered torso . . . and my head especially felt like an overripe berry: mushy, and like it would explode if squeezed too hard. One of my forelegs left my foot and instead went to rub at what I could reach of my head. The horrid Bagon body was too young and weak to take hits like it had the day before. Even more so than before, I missed my body that could take the very same hits this Bagon one had yesterday, and yet not have even a scratch from them.
The envy had left Lord's expression. Amusement replaced it. "You don't just tackle a Skarmory and expect your head to be whole and well, no, no. Especially when you're so young. I'm surprised your head didn't deflate on impact."
I grumbled to myself, hating this body more and more every minute. At least Bagon's rock-hard head had proven itself. Lord had a point. Had it not been for the hardened head that Bagon are so famous for, my young, baby body might have been smashed because it's so weak. I grit my teeth, too tired and sore to reply to Lord's statement. I hadn't felt this awful in millennia. I loathed it.
But memories from before came pouring back to me. The poison, the two human females, the Skarmory, the Crobat . . . and . . .
"The human!" I shouted.
"Sshhh!" Lord shushed me.
"Don't shush me!" I snarled. "You . . . you brought it there! You fetched it! You waste, garbage, scum! Unfit to bear the gift of flight! How dare you bring such a foul, disgraceful, a product of land-waste—!"
In a split second Lord was on top of me with its claws pinning my forelegs to The Couch. I tried to snap at it, but it kept its head out of reach—just close enough to my face for its eyes to bore into my own. It was very, unexpectedly strong. "Do not insult Damion if you wish to remain bodily whole. And do not dare to insult Aldemar if you wish to live."
I was startled as it released me and flew back to its perch as if nothing had happened. I had thought seriousness beyond Lord's mental capacity.
I glared at the room adjacent to this one. Two humans, one very old and one very young, were sitting at the table. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Just looking at them made my lip curl, so I looked away and focused on Lord instead.
"Bird, what happened?" I demanded, meaning What's going on and how did I end up here because I'm leaving.
"This morning?" Lord shrugged his wings. "Well, I fetched Damion because he can keep a cooler head than I. I'd lost it; those Pokemon were big." He nodded in gesture towards the younger of the two humans. "He took that Shadow Ball for you, by the way," Lord added coolly, and I noticed some marks on the boy's arms leftover from the attack similar to the ones left when one scrapes themselves on the sidewalk. The older human was saying that they wanted to bandage it, but the younger one shrugged and shook its head, hiding its arms from view under the table. "If anything, you owe him."
My teeth were bared. "I owe it nothing!" I snarled. "Nothing! Now tell me, bird, what I am doing in this human den!"
"Well," Lord continued, "I went to fetch Damion and . . . well, you were really weak and needed help, the poison was spreading . . . but dude, you weigh like, a hundred pounds. I couldn't pick you up for the life of me and Damion tried to hand-carry you . . . he's strong enough to, don't get me wrong, but it would have taken longer . . ."
As pitiful as Bagon snarls are, the guttural sound gurgling in my throat was fairly impressive. Carry me? I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream and then curl into a ball on the floor and isolate myself from the world and never uncurl from that ball. My eyes burned as the anger flowed through them. Even Lord flinched while looking me in the eye. "And then?" I croaked.
"And then . . ." Lord shifted uncomfortably on its perch. "And then . . . uh . . . well, listen. They're talking about it now."
Suspicious, I protested, but it didn't look at me again.
Grumbling, I turned to the humans, loathing the fact that I had to listen to these creatures for my answers.
"Are you certain that's what you want to do?" the older one said.
"Yes, Grandpa."
The old man leaned back in his chair, eyeing the boy thoughtfully. "Recount for me again exactly what happened."
The boy fidgeted with his hands under the table, rubbing his arms where the Shadow Ball had hit. "I was walking back from the Mart with the groceries you'd asked me to fetch for you when Lord ran into me in the street—literally," he added, chuckling. Then seriousness returned to his face. "It was in a bad state, all its feathers ruffed up and it was squawking like there's no tomorrow. It looked like it wanted me to follow it. I know that Lord doesn't usually act up over anything small, so I did."
"And you went . . . where, exactly?"
The boy removed one hand from under the table and gestured with it, as if drawing the location on the table. "There's that path by the front gate that goes on for awhile that no one seems to ever use—it's for travelers only, that's why. You know what I'm talking about?" The old man nodded and the boy continued. "Well, Lord had me running as fast as I could and I found the Bagon. You saw what shape it was in when I brought it home. And there were these two really—weird looking—girls that were battling it, even though it was already in such an awful state." He scowled and his tone took on a biting edge. "I don't know what could possibly drive them to do that—"
"What happened next?" the old man interrupted.
The boy closed his eyes as he dropped that other subject and started again. "They looked suspicious, so Lord and I followed them while they were running away. They ran to some helicopter that they had hidden in the woods and took off before I could do anything—"
"Which is just as well. You shouldn't have gotten involved," Aldemar scolded. "They could be dangerous. You should alert the police."
"I have, Pa, and I couldn't let them do that," the boy growled, clenching his hands into fists. "If you'd been in my place, you would have done the same thing. Besides, Lord wanted me to do it. You wouldn't want to contradict your old, faithful Swellow, would you?" This last sentence was said with a lighter, teasing tone to ammend for the harsher one and Aldemar rolled his eyes.
I couldn't believe my ears. While they continued to argue over what the boy should and shouldn't have done, I snapped my gaze back to Lord, who was still sitting as if nothing had happened. "You . . . you're . . ." I spluttered.
Lord looked at me and blinked. "Yes, yes?"
"You belong to that human!" I yelled. "But you were in the forest!"
"Why, yes," Lord said simply, gazing at me as if I were stupid and this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course. Aldemar lets me roam around away from home if I wish because I will always return, for I have been his companion for many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many—"
Each 'many' felt like a physical blow to my brain. I flinched each time it said it.
"—many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many—"
"Shut up!" I groaned. My head was spinning again.
"—many years."
Aldemar wiped a hand tiredly over his face. "Damion . . . what if it belonged to those people? As wrong they may have been, if it was theirs you shouldn't have interfered . . ."
Damion grinned nervously. "It didn't belong to them. If it did, well . . . this wouldn't have worked . . ." He reached into his jacket pocket and began to retrieve something.
"Just remember that this was the quickest way to get you back here for aid," Lord said apologetically.
I opened my mouth to retaliate or demand what it was talking about, but no words would come from my mouth.
Because Damion had just set a Poke Ball on the table.
The ball was the only thing on the table and the boy, the old man, and I all stared at it. The old man in mild surprise, the boy in uncertainty, and I . . .
I stared at it in horror, in disbelief, and in plain shock all at once. I felt numb.
Aldemar looked mildly surprised as he gazed at the ball. "Where did you get a Friend Ball?"
Damion shrugged and picked up the ball, passing it idly from hand to hand. "My parents made it together when they went to Johto before I was born. And they gave it to me when I set my heart on being a Trainer, before they . . ." He swallowed hard. "When I was young."
"Ah," Aldemar said in understanding.
I looked at my Poke Ball . . . I never thought I'd have to say "my Poke Ball", nor had I in the least bit wanted to; the very idea was horrid . . . My Poke Ball wasn't red and white like the other ones I'd seen. It was green, with four red dots and one yellow one centered on the top portion of it. I just gaped at it. I couldn't think of what to think.
"I'm caught?" I roared, and thrashed around. I hurt, but I didn't care; I was caught, captured, I had a blasted Poke Ball, my freedom was crumbling through my (nonexistent) claws, and it didn't matter if I was sore or tired because I was captured and WANTED OUT OF THIS HUMAN WASTE DEN!
I knocked over a lamp on the table next to The Couch and it crashed to the floor, breaking into a thousand pieces. I'd punched the lamp with my foreleg and felt like I'd jammed the bone straight up the socket. I stuck it in my mouth to relieve the pain, seething.
The noise caused Aldemar and Damion to look up. "Looks like your Bagon's up," Aldemar grunted, rising from the table. He stretched. "Let's move this conversation into the living room. There's some things we need to settle."
Damion nodded and they came into the room. Aldemar sat down while Damion swept up all the little broken pieces with a broom—which, after my experience with brooms, made me very wary—and when he was done Damion tried to sit down on The Couch with me. I snarled and snapped at him, even when Lord shot me a warning glance. I thought at first that Damion was completely oblivious to my attempts to be fearsome and I was sulky, but then he turned to look at me strangely.
And I saw that he'd been completely aware of every movement I'd made, yet he hadn't reacted to it in the least.
This made me stop, in confusion more than anything.
Aldemar was looking at me in contempt. Evidently he had seen my actions towards his grandhatchling and wasn't pleased. "Are you sure this is the one?" he asked doubtfully.
Damion nodded without hesitation. "Absolutely."
"Do you know what that mark is from?" the old man asked. He gestured to his chest and drew a ring in the air in front of it.
The boy shrugged. "No clue. But some Pokemon have different markings. It's nothing too distinguishing."
Aldemar wasn't convinced. "Someone may have marked it for a reason; 'Beware Dangerous Pokemon', or something similar."
Damion shook his head in exasperation and hid a smile. Aldemar still saw the smile and sighed. "Damion, I just know that you've waited a long time to find the right Pokemon. I don't want you to be mistaken."
"Grandad," Damion said, firmly, "this is it. I know it. I don't know how, I just do. The way it wouldn't give up when it was fighting against all odds . . ." He shook his head and threw his hands up. "I can't describe it. Just trust me."
"Mmm." Aldemar was silent for a few moments. Then he clapped his hands with finality and sat forward. "If you're sure about this, he needs a name."
"Ray," Damion said. At Aldemar's glance, he shrugged. "Before I intervened earlier, one of the girls said 'You're mine, you're mine, Ray!' So that must be its name or something. Pokemon get attached to their names. Giving it a different one would just confuse it."
Aldemar nodded. "When do you plan on leaving?"
The boy idly fingered his ear as he thought. "A week."
"A week?"
"A week."
I'd jumped off The Couch several minutes ago. The hard floor was more fit to my mood than the stupid couch. I found the coldest corner in the room and curled into a ball, blocking out the rest of the conversation. I'd lost track of what was happening. All I knew was that I was trapped by four walls all around me.
