A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.
The Fight Club, 2 P.M.
STEVEN
The next day, Steven and Cynthia entered the Fight Club with his trusted team, where the former Hoenn champion got a moment to see Trodaire in action. He could only watch as the gym master began running around the gym, yelling out instructions to Paulie and their Conkeldurr. Get the heavy bags out, Trodaire shouted. Find the PSI counter and wire it up. And and for Arceus' sake, get the first aid kits ready! That last bit worried Steven. What was Trodaire planning to do to his team that required first aid kits? He didn't show it, but he was concerned. Cynthia, on the other hand, was much better at reading emotions than most people and walked close to him.
"It'll be okay, Steven." She said reassuringly. "I trust him." Steven sighed.
"I know, Cynthia. But that doesn't make me any less concerned. I mean, what was it about this guy that made you insist on dragging me in here, of all places? Couldn't we have gone to a league-sanctioned gym?" He asked. Cynthia looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
"Do you really want to have to deal with league newspaper beat writer paparazzo asking why you're training so frantically to get ready to lose to Lance?" She asked. She knew that she'd touched a sore spot. "Honey, don't act like that isn't what people are thinking. For all intents and purposes, you're supposed to be a warm up for Lance. Everyone's billing it as either his tournament to lose…or his friend's." She added. They both let the mention of that second person hang reverentially in the air for a few moments. "Besides," Cynthia added. "How great would it be to be called Steven Stone, Dragon Slayer?" She asked teasingly, with a wink. Steven blushed.
"I'd rather die than be called something like that." He said with a small smile. In front of them, Trodaire and his crew had finished setting up the gym to their liking. There was a machine with a heavy bag attached to it. Paulie pressed a button on the console, and the thing whirred to life. Trodaire cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.
"This baby right here is an old-school PSI counter. Throw everything you've got into the pad like so-" He smacked the pad with his fist, registering an impressive 200 PSI on the counter. "-And Paulie here will record it. Think of it as your baseline number. You are starting from the bottom. I want to know if you can make marked progress in the time we're given here. Make sense?" The six Pokemon nodded in acceptance. Trodaire clapped his hands together. "Great! Who's first?"
There was a guttural growl, and a steel-covered Pokemon stomped forward. Steven couldn't help but smile. Of course his Aggron would volunteer to be the first striker. Aggron was one of his oldest friends, and easily the proudest. It prided itself on bone-rattling shots, and clearly wanted to prove that to Trodaire. It stood in front of the heavy bag, waited for Paulie to give it the thumbs up, and then with a roar smashed it as hard as it could with a Mega Punch. The machine immediately shot up to 2150 PSI, and everyone in the gym (Pokemon included) expressed impressment. Everyone except Trodaire.
"Pssh. I've seen female Tyrannitar slap their newborns harder than that." He chided. Aggron turned around to face him, its face raging with anger. Trodaire just laughed. "Don't worry, big guy. When I'm done with you, you'll be able to collapse skyscrapers." This confidence placated the wounded ego of the Pokemon, and Aggron stepped off to the side. Then came Armaldo. 1750 PSI. Claydol hit 1020. Cradily could only use its head, so its 1000 PSI was impressive given the lack of limbs. Excadrill got to 1600, and then proceeded to whoop and holler with excitement. Metagross stared at the machine with what appeared to be a bemused expression. Its eyes glowed, and suddenly the bag lurched back like it had been hit by an invisible punch. The PSI counter? 2000. Trodaire did a double take to Steven, who just shrugged.
"Metagross likes Extrasensory." He said sheepishly. Cynthia giggled.
For a few moments, Paulie tallied the data. After giving it to Trodaire, the young man smiled and nodded.
"Alright, this is a good start." He said. "Each of you is very promising, and has a lot of potential to get better." He began to scribble something absently on the clipboard he had grabbed earlier. Steven raised an eyebrow.
"That's it, Trodaire? That's all you've got? My guys crushed that bag!" He said somewhat indignantly. Trodaire didn't even look up from the clipboard, and walked over to the wall. He took out a dry erase marker, and in big blocky letters wrote 5000 in bold. Paulie cleared his throat.
"Uh, Troddie? What's 5000?" He asked. Trodaire turned around and smiled. He looked at the six Pokemon, and drew their collective attention by pointing at the number.
"This is the number 5000. That's a big number, is it not? It's the estimated IQ level of an average Alakazam. It's how much it costs to ride the S.S. Anne for a weeklong cruise. And it is ON AVERAGE-" He suddenly raised his voice to grab everyone's attention. "-How HARD a Dragon can register on that same damned machine!" He nearly shouted. He looked at Steven's Aggron directly in the eye. "You see that number, big guy? That means that the average Dragonite can hit you more than twice as hard as you can hit it. The average Dragonite. Don't get me started on Hydreigon, or Salamance, or Haxorus, or even Garchomp. And let's not even BEGIN on when they start using Dragon Dance." He looked at everyone else in the room, and in the dim light he looked frightening. "Now do you understand what I'm trying to do, here? Now do you understand why I need you to listen to every word I say to the letter the way you'd listen to Steven? Because the only way you are beating Lance's Dragons is if you can hit them harder than you…and you're already two and a half times in the hole."
There was silence. Trodaire stepped into the light, and then spoke again.
"Do you know something? When you guys left last night, I took the liberty of researching what people are saying about this fight. Do you want to hear it?" He asked. Steven blushed, but nodded. So Trodaire began. "They think you're all a joke. A gimmick of a team. Steel types can't beat Dragons. Dragons are legends. Dragons are what the stories we tell our kids are made of. They'll dazzle the crowd, and crush you and throw you into the wind! That's what they all think is going to happen to Steven Stone and his Steel rejects." He paused. "But you know what I see? I see a group of Pokemon and a trainer that don't have a drop of flash in them and furthermore couldn't give a shit either way. You're not going to this fight to put on a show. You're going to this fight to beat the Hell out of something. That's the essence of building hurtin' bombs, boys. But in order for you to get to that point, you need to know: your first day is going to be pathetic. Even if you think you are strong, you are not. But you will be. By Arceus, you will be. Now!" He clapped his hands, startling everyone. "Let's start working the heavy bags, hmm?" He led the six Pokemon over to the heavy bags in the corner of the gym.
SABRINA
"He's up to something. I just know it." Sabrina said. She had been meditating for the past hour, hovering slightly over the carpet in front of her desk, her thoughts continuously going back to that punk next door. In the corner of the room, her Alakazam tutted.
"Madame, if I did not know any better, I would say you are smitten with our neighbor." It chided. Sabrina's eyes snapped wide open.
"NO!" She shouted. In that split second, she realized that she had broken her concentration, and fell on her butt with a dull thud. Groaning, she rubbed her backside as her faithful partner floated over to her. It opened its eyes to reveal a knowing glint.
"I may be ill-read on Shakespearean literature, but I do believe that you doth protest too much, My Lady." It said. Sabrina growled.
"That's the last time I give you classic literature to read out of the library." She grumbled. Alakazam shrugged, still hovering in the air.
"I doubt you would be able to stop me if I wanted to brush up on my readings, My Lady. I have already gone through your private reading library and I must say…I never expected you to find trite and sparkling creatures worthy of your time." It said. Sabrina whirled on Alakazam, her face cartoonishly angry.
"SHUT IT!" She hissed. Rare was it that anyone could get Sabrina to break her stoic demeanor. Alakazam was one of the rare few. It noticed her staring at the window intently, and frowned slightly.
"You must not spend so much time worrying about this boy." It said. "He poses no threat to you." Sabrina turned around to face her old friend and to Alakazam's surprise there was genuine confusion on her face.
"But that's the problem, Alakazam. He has not made a single move on the Saffron Gym. Not one! He's never asked to request a sparring session, he's never made a challenge as to be the supreme gym of the city…nor made a crude pass at me." She added this last one with a slightly embarrassed tone. Alakazam's expression was mirthful.
"What a pity that last one is." It said. It conjured up two spoons in its hands, and began to spin them around playfully. "It has been such a long time since I have been able to indulge in my Kitchen Fu." Sabrina turned to her Pokemon and rolled her eyes. For a supposed intellectual supercomputer, Alakazam certainly had a childish sense of humor.
"I don't understand you sometimes, old friend." She admitted. Alakazam raised an eyebrow.
"I suppose that is the truth, My Lady. But do not let it bother you. There is only one that really understands my thinking, anyway." It said, floating back to its meditation corner. Sabrina was confused.
"Who would that be?" She asked. Alakazam finished floating back to its position, and before it turned itself off to the world to again explore the wonders of the infinite, said a single word.
"Me."
It closed its eyes, leaving a very bemused trainer next to it.
Sabrina took a seat at her desk, and checked the watch. It was almost closing time. There was no point in bothering Alakazam: the Psychic was more than capable of being a one-Pokemon night watch. Yawning loudly, Sabrina decided she'd crash in the small bedroom she'd had installed next door to her office, forgoing the long walk back to her mansion home. She made a quick call to her butler to let him know this arrangement, before walking to the door of her home away from home. Unlocking the door, she proceeded to collapse on the bed, groaning in exhaustion. Another day, another grueling gauntlet of curb stomping the hell out of every challenger. She'd received an email the other day from the Pokemon League, both congratulating her and expressing surprise at her 0% trainer success rate over the few months, and in particular over the past few weeks or so. It was as if she had found something new to hate, and was channeling that into fighting spirit. If only they knew…She thought to herself. Still, she couldn't fall asleep yet. There was still something she needed to take care of.
Namely, she needed to figure out what the deal was with this Trodaire kid. But how? What was his weakness?
The answer would come to her soon enough, and in a way that almost seemed like an accident.
PAULIE
Paulie had seen many crazy things in his life. A freshman in his boxing team knocking out the defending senior regional champ with one punch. The launch of the global Pokemon storage system founded by Bill. And even the coming of Sabrina was kind of crazy. But none of these things held a candle to the stunning display in front of him here at the Celadon department store.
There was Trodaire, holding some supplies they needed for the gym. Steven's team had been going through padded heavy bags like tissue paper, so Trodaire had proposed a radical solution to fixing this problem. Personally, Paulie had thought this was a hare-brained idea even by his standards, but decided to go along with it. Plus, it still wasn't as crazy as the sight in front of him. Trodaire was currently talking to the three elder Sensational Sisters of Cerulean City, a trio famous for their beauty and perkiness. Also, the fact that they had a creepily large male fanhood. Okay, so that wasn't so impressive. Trodaire wasn't a bad-looking guy, Paulie reasoned. It wasn't beyond reasonable doubt he could get the time of day from those three. No, the absolutely insane thing was this:
Trodaire wasn't really talking to the girls. He was blushing furiously and mumbling like an idiot, his voice barely rose above a whisper. And the broads weren't getting the hint! They thought he was being cute and "playing hard to get." They were so badly invading his personal space that if it were possible for a human to do so Trodaire would become a tomato. Arceus, the girls were practically running their hands through his pockets looking for loose change! So Paulie came to his rescue.
"Ladies!" He said, waddling over to the quartet. "I hate to interrupt your meeting with my friend Trodaire here-" He was cut off by the middle sister, Violet.
"Oooh, Trodaire? What a cute name! What's it mean?" She purred, leaning towards Trodaire. The poor guy was clearly out of his element.
"Well, uh, it-um, it means-" He was cut off by Paulie.
"Don't worry, dolls! There'll be plenty of time to meet your new friend Trodaire here at the Fight Club, the newest addition to the fine city of Saffron!" He threw that last sentence in to attract attention to the scene, so that the sisters would finally realize they were massively breaking societal rules of PDA. So they drew back a bit, but they were intrigued by the little man's statement.
"Oh, The Fight Club?" Lily, the youngest of the three, said. "Sounds like fun. I think we'll be there, won't we girls?" She asked her sisters. Daisy, the oldest sister, just nodded. The three of them giggled, called out a goodbye to Trodaire and promised to visit the Fight Club, and then blew him a synchronized kiss that would've knocked the swooning guy over if not for Paulie grabbing onto his waist and escorting him away.
"Great bumbling Groudon!" Paulie grunted to Trodaire when they had walked back to Paulie's pickup truck. "You gots rocks in ya's head, Troddie?" He asked incredulously. Trodaire blinked dumbly.
"Huh?" He asked. Paulie legitimately smacked his forehead with his palm. Ignoring the stinging, he cleared his throat.
"Them dolls! They was droolin' all over yahs! And yah were too clueless ta sees that they thought you were the bees knees?" He said. Trodaire finally realized.
"They thought I was hot?" He asked incredulously. Paulie just sighed, and with a chuckle exclaimed that he had found Trodaire's flaw: great with a punching bag, gawdawful with the gals! He was singing off key ditties the whole way back to The Fight Club.
What those two hadn't noticed in the midst of that incredible scene was that someone else had spotted the whole event from the safety of her café table. By the greatest stroke of luck, she'd been visiting Celadon to see her friend Erika, and to even go shopping later with her and their other friend Misty. Misty, the fourth of the Sensational Sisters (Though Misty was prone to beating people up with that mallet of hers whenever someone made that connection) that is. And here she'd seen something that proved that that dumb ol' kid from the Fight Club had a weakness after all: he was painfully shy around girls.
"Well what do you know…" Sabrina muttered to no one in particular. Originally, she hadn't any plans for the weekend. Now, it looked like she'd finally found something to plan for. And she was going to need a little help from her friends…
A/N: Yup, for all of his savant-like genius in the gym, Trodaire is the anti-Brock. Wonder where that'll lead the story? We'll find out! Read and Review!