A/N: After the dark material of the last chapter, I'm not sure how to transition into the rest of the story. So, I figure, this is as good a place as any for you to learn more about Rocket Grunt Dixie.
It wasn't that Dixie's life was completely unbearable. There were happy times, and there were sad times—just like every one has. It was the fact that there were so many sad times that made him leave.
When he was a child, he'd sit for hours at the edge of town, on a ledge, watching the ocean gently rise up, darkening the sand, before retreating back into itself. He'd pull his knees up to his chest and lock his arms around them, while the sea breeze flitted gently through his auburn hair. It was his own paradise and, even after it had been a long time since he'd seen it, he carried the spot with him in his heart, always. And when he was feeling down, or when he was cold and hungry and every day was a seemingly endless line of chores, he'd close his eyes and imagine the sparkling, sapphire ocean, and the swimmers taking laps in it with their pokemon.
His mother wouldn't let him swim in the ocean.
"You'll get hurt," she said, sternly. She worried about him too much, Dixie always thought. She was overbearing, Dixie always thought. She was old and didn't remember what it was like to be denied simple joys, Dixie always thought.
"Yes, mother," Dixie always said in the end. He knew where she was coming from; he was her only child and, at her age, she wouldn't have any more. It was a shame. Dixie would have liked very much to have a younger brother. Or maybe a sister. Someone to protect and teach and guard like his mother guarded him—except, thought Dixie, he'd guard them with more understanding.
"Good boy," said his mother, pinching his cheeks. "Now, go bring in some leeks. I'm making soup."
"Yes, mother," Dixie said, exiting their modest home with a bow.
He was twelve at that time, and he was short and thin for his age. It wouldn't be long until he grew taller, but he never did manage to get any buffer. However, that didn't bother him—after all, he didn't like to fight. When the other kids of Fuchsia came around to pick on him, he didn't fight back. They pushed him around and hit him and threw stones, but he didn't fight. Some of them had pokemon, and they would sick them on him. When he came back home, battered and bleeding, sometimes his mother would ask him what had happened. Sometimes, though, she'd just pretend not to notice.
So it was that day. He went out of their modest home, around to the back of it where their vegetable garden was struggling to produce food. Dixie knelt down beside a row of carrots, and turned his face toward the earth as he saw the familiar bullies approach, hoping that if he didn't make eye contact with them, maybe they wouldn't stop.
Suddenly a foot came into view, as it stomped down hard on the meager leeks. Dixie couldn't help but look up. "Jeffery," he said weakly. "You're standing on my family's vegetables."
The boy and his gang of pals grinned as he dug his heal down, grinding the leek into the dirt. Dixie lowered his face again. "What… what do you want, Jeffery?"
"Get up," said the boy, thrusting out his chin. Dixie stood up, his eyes still on the ground. Jeffery drew back his arm and punched Dixie in the mouth, hard enough to make Dixie stagger back, against the wall of the house. The gang of boys laughed as Dixie slumped against the wall. A few took turns punching him in the gut, and some kicked him when he fell to the ground under their assault. Growing tired of their game, the boys departed, laughing.
"Pathetic," said one of the boys as they moved away.
"Doesn't even try to defend himself!"
For a while, Dixie lay on the dusty ground, blood dribbling slowly from a cut in his lip. He closed his eyes and thought of the ocean, and not of the pain in his body. At length, Dixie sat up and shambled into the house.
His mother looked up from her cooking. "Dixie, where are the leeks I told you to pick?"
"Some one accidentally stepped on them," Dixie said. "I'm sorry, mother."
She frowned. "It… it's alright. Not your fault, I guess. But, your father will be disappointed when he gets home…"
"I'm sorry," said Dixie.
"It's fine," said his mother, looking back down into the pot she was working with. To Dixie, she looked disappointed. "Wash up, please. You're getting dirt all over the house."
"Yes, mother," Dixie said with a bow.
Later that evening, long after the sun had gone down, Dixie's father came home. He stumbled through the front door, slamming it behind him and loosening his neck tie. Dixie's mother frowned. "Dear, what happened to your coat…?"
"Don't worry about it," said his father gruffly, sitting down at the table. "Where's my dinner?"
Silently, Dixie's mother fixed his father a bowl of soup and set it down in front of him. The family ate in silence.
"No leeks," murmured the father, swirling his spoon through the bowl slowly.
The mother responded quietly, "They got ruined."
"I'll bet," the father said, glancing at Dixie and furrowing his brow. Dixie slid down in his chair.
"Dixie," said his mother. "Sit up. If you slouch, you're going to have bad posture. Do you want to spend the rest of your life bent double?"
"Sorry, mother," said Dixie, fixing himself in his chair. He stared down into his bowl. He set down his spoon, and placed his hands on the table.
"Eat your soup," growled his father.
Dixie frowned. "I'm not hungry, sir," he said.
His father scowled at him. "Kids that don't obey their parents don't get to have pokemon, you know."
Dixie shrugged weakly. "You don't let me have pokemon anyway, sir," he said softly. After a moment, he added, "I'm sorry. That was disrespectful."
"Yes it was," said his father, standing. "I'm going to sleep. Millie, don't wake me up when you come to bed."
The woman watched him leave silently, before looking down into her soup. Dixie stared after him for a long time. "Eat your soup," said his mother.
"Yes, mother," he said. She pushed her chair away from the table and stood.
"I'm going out to wash the laundry," she said, looking away from Dixie. The boy nodded, as his mother retrieved a large basket full of dirty clothes and headed out the door. Dixie sat for a while, running his spoon back and forth through his soup before standing, with a sigh, and clearing away the dishes. For a time, he stood in the shadowy hall, just outside his father's room, afraid to pass it to go to his own. Finally, the boy worked up the nerve and started along, only to be stopped.
"Oi, Dixie," came his father's voice from within the room, slurred and half-asleep.
"Yes, sir?" said Dixie, freezing outside the door.
"Come in here," said the man. "I've got somethin' for you."
Dixie bit his lip and—though it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do—entered the room. In the dark room, his father sluggishly beaconed him forward, to the edge of the bed. Dixie came to him, and stood, body tense, waiting to be hit. His father didn't sit up.
"What are you doing in here?" he asked, raising his eyebrow.
"Y-you called me in here, sir," said Dixie.
"Liar," said his father. "Get out of here before I smack you in your lying mouth."
"Ye-yes, sir," said Dixie, bowing. He turned to retreat.
"Oi," said his father, sitting up. "Where do you think you're going? You too good to accept a gift from your father?"
Dixie paused, and turned back around. "You… you have a gift for me, sir?"
His father narrowed his eyes at him. "Oh, so now you want a gift, you entitled little shit?"
"Eh—you said… n-nevermind," said Dixie. "I'm sorry, sir."
He turned again to leave.
"Oi," said his father. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball. "This. Take it."
Dixie approached cautiously and picked it up. By the faint light, he examined it. At first, he was unsure of what it was and, even after he identified it, he was sure he was wrong. "A pokeball?" he asked breathlessly. "Is… is there a pokemon inside?"
His father smacked him in the side of the head. "Don't say 'thank you' or nothin'," growled his father. "Get out of here, you spoiled brat."
"Y-yes, sir," said Dixie, shaken up. He retreated quickly, clutching the pokeball against his chest. When he was in his room, he sat down on his rickety bed, and rolled the pokeball between his palms.
"G-go, pokemon," he said, quietly, pointing the pokeball at the foot of his bed.
With a flash of light, an ekans appeared before him. Tears welled up in Dixie's eyes to see the pokemon, staring at him so trustingly, and he threw his arms around its neck. "I—I have p-pokemon of my own."
"Eeeekans," said the pokemon, wrapping its tail around his waist.
"I want to call you Nathair," he said. "Is that—is that alright?"
"Ekansss," said the ekans, nodding its purple head.
After that, when he went to the ocean, it was always Nathair. The ekans would wrap itself around him, lay in his lap, and they'd watch the waves roll in and out together. During these times, Dixie would talk to Nathair quietly. Always he'd talk about leaving Fuchsia City—about heading north, and making his way as a great pokemon trainer.
"It wouldn't be very hard," he'd say. "I'd have you, and that's all I'd need. We'd be side by side—battling gym leaders and other trainers. We'd be free and we'd be happy."
"Ekansss," said Nathair sadly.
"Don't be sad, Nathair," said Dixie. "If—if you don't think it's a good idea, I'll stay. I'll stay…"
Nathair nuzzled against him, and he rubbed the pokemon's head.
"Only for a while, though," he whispered. "I'm not going to stay here forever, Nathair. You and I are going to leave this place someday. Someday soon, perhaps. We're going to go, and we're going to battle, and we're going to be heroes and make friends and fall in love and do all the others things that get done in stories. You and I, Nathair… We're going to do that."
A/N: The picture of Dixie and his team is now up; link's up on my profile. That concludes the team pictures for the major players of this story, at the moment. I'm not sure what I'll do now... Maybe I'll do some portrait-profile hybrids. Or possibly I'll do scenes from the story, or maybe just take requests... Dunno. I'll be doing something more, though.