A/N: I own a copy of at least one game from every Generation, but that's about it.
SABRINA
Sabrina was used to being the center of attention once she entered the room. She had already been denied that opportunity when she and her friends managed to sneak into The Fight Club and Trodaire hadn't even noticed them. Now, seeing this ball of tears and shrieking garnering the attention from everyone in the room for being a sobby baby…well, that was just too much.
"QUIET." Sabrina shouted, using her psychic powers to amplify her voice to unnatural levels. All movement in the gym ceased, and even Whitney had stopped her crying. Everyone looked at the frustrated Sabrina, who scoffed. "What is going on in here?" She demanded. Whitney spoke first.
"He hurt my Pokemon! He hurt my Miltank!" She wailed, before breaking down into tears again. This stunned Trodaire, who had managed to recover enough (and deemed it safe to climb down from the rafters) that he was almost within arms reach of Whitney. Almost. He didn't want her to suddenly decide to wring his neck.
"What are you talking about?" He asked. "Who are you, and what makes you think I've hurt your Miltank? I've never even seen a Miltank!" He said. It was clear he was trying to tell Whitney the truth, but the red-haired trainer wasn't buying it. Sabrina, however, had been watching Trodaire closely. He wasn't acting any differently than when he was with people he knew. His emotions were heightened, but that could be written off as a product of the current environment. Sabrina couldn't believe that she was saying this, but…
"Whit, I think he's telling the truth." She said. Trodaire looked at her like she had three heads. Paulie even had to look at her funny. Last they'd checked, Sabrina hadn't exactly been the most supportive person to Trodaire's endeavor. After all, this was perfect! A well-respected (if slightly immature) gym leader accusing him of abusive behavior towards her Pokemon…and Sabrina was taking his side? What was this world coming to?
"Whuh-what?" Whitney blubbered, just as surprised as the others. Conkeldurr loosened its grip on Whitney, but only slightly, as no one wanted to pick pieces of Trodaire out of the cracks in the wall. "Why, Rina?"
"Let me explain," Sabrina began, clearly recognizing that no one knew what the heck she was doing this for. "Mr. Phoenix, I am not absolving you of guilt in this matter so don't assume that you are off the hook. I want to hear Whitney's side of the story first, and then I expect to hear from you as to why she is claiming what she is claiming." She said. She looked at Whitney. "Once you feel ready, you can begin." Whitney sniffled a little bit,
"Well, he didn't do it himself because he wasn't there." She began. Sabrina noticed a look of some sort of realization crossed Trodaire's face, but decided to let Whitney continue. "But there was this group of guys who were in my gym talking about how one of their buddies had gotten training at this new gym in Saffron which was weird because I thought that you were the only gym leader Sabrina and then the guy in the middle challenged me to a one on one fight and I sent out my Miltank and he sent out a Machop and then that Machop put my Miltank in some goofy looking hold and it grabbed Miltank's arm and…and…" She couldn't finish, too busy trying not to cry. To everyone's surprise, Trodaire placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Whitney, did this kid call his Machop by a specific nickname?" His voice was dark and threatening, and Sabrina knew that he knew who was responsible. Whitney sniffled, but then nodded.
"Y-yeah. He called it…Bracer." She said. But Trodaire hadn't even stayed to hear the end of the name. As soon as Whitney started speaking, Trodaire had abruptly walked to his coat hanger, grabbed his coat, and walked out into the night.
"Paulie! Watch the gym!" He barked. Whitney looked at him with a bewildered expression. Sabrina was even more baffled, before realizing what was going on.
"Mr. Phoenix, STOP!" She yelled, running out the door after him. Paulie, Conkeldurr and Whitney looked after them with confusion.
"What are they going to do?" Whitney asked. Paulie sighed.
"Miss Sabrina? Probably gonna try to stop Troddie." He said. He turned to Conkeldurr. "Get a pot of hot water boiling, Conks. I think Miss Whitney would do well to have a bit of Bettie's special recipe tea." The lumbering Pokemon grunted, nodded, and walked off to do just that. Whitney smiled at the old man's kindness, but then realized something.
"What about your friend? What's he gonna do?" She asked. Paulie sighed.
"I don't know, sweetheart. But it's probably a good thing that Sabrina is going after him." He said.
"Why?" Whitney asked. Paulie's look darkened.
"Troddie's from Orre, sweetheart. They don't take it very well when someone hurts a Pokemon for kicks." He said.
TRODAIRE
He'd been walking for about two minutes before he'd heard her voice. When he looked around, he realized that he'd walked several blocks before he'd even heard anything. All he'd been feeling was a white-hot rage. But there she was, that persistent gym leader, and she did not look happy.
"Mr. Phoenix!" She yelled, her face a contorted combo of fury and confusion. "I've been yelling for you since you left the gym! That was the middle of an investigation being orchestrated by the gym leader of the city of Saffron City! You can't just walk away from that!" She yelled. To her shock, Trodaire fired right back.
"Spare me your technicalities, Sabrina!" He spat. He looked nothing like the awkward young man around girls or the calm and collected trainer who was teaching a former champion how to beat a current champion. Honestly, he looked…scary. "I don't need to hear you go on about how that was a flagrant violation of the city ordinance, which is just a fancy way of saying I left without giving you the time of day! Which I apologize for, but to be honest I have way more important things to worry about than whether or not I've hurt your feelings."
"I can have you arrested!" Sabrina yelled. "You're actively impeding a judicial inquiry!" She said. Trodaire threw up his arms in frustration. Rain was beginning to fall.
"What does that even mean?" He asked. "Stop trying to bury me in legalese! What am I doing that's got you so mad?"
"You're…walking away and not telling me what you're doing!" Sabrina finally sputtered out lamely. "I have a right to know!"
"You don't have a right to know my business, Sabrina. But if you really want to know what I'm doing, then you are welcome to follow me." He didn't say anything else, and started walking the same way he'd been going. Sabrina stood there for a few moments, biting her lower lip in thought. Finally, she decided to take a leap of faith and followed after him.
SABRINA
Trodaire found them on a basketball court, taking cover from the rain under a tree. Kind of a stupid plan, but then again he hadn't pegged them for their brains or long-term wit. Four guys, all in their teens to maybe early twenties, talking about random crap and laughing it up with their Pokemon. But right in the middle there he was.
"Ritchie." Trodaire's voice wasn't loud, nor was it particularly rough. Just a cold and calm tone, barely able to hide the venom in his voice. "Thought I'd find you here."
Ritchie didn't say anything, instead a look of anger and fear crossed his face. One of his friends, a beefy guy with a buzz cut and cut-off tee shirt, stood up and started walking towards Trodaire.
"Hey, little man. What do you want with my man Ritchie?" He asked. Trodaire didn't even flinch.
"I'm here to talk to him about something. When was the last time you were in Goldenrod, Ritchie?" He asked. Ritchie found his voice.
"A few weeks ago, why?" He asked. Trodaire smirked. The rain was beginning to pour now. Sabrina, who had managed to catch up to the action, had taken cover under a nearby overhang and was watching quietly.
"That so?" Trodaire asked. "Did you take on Whitney?" He asked. Ritchie gulped.
"No, I didn't." He said. It was a bad lie, and everyone knew it. Trodaire frowned.
"That so? Interesting, seeing as she's currently crying her eyes out in my gym over the fact that her Miltank is currently in the Pokemon Center ICU for a severely broken arm and dislocated knee." He said. "And according to Whitney, it was done by a guy with a Machop named Bracer." He stared bullet holes at Ritchie. Sabrina noticed that Ritchie seemed to be fearful (and maybe remorseful?), while his bigger and meaner-looking friends seemed offended that Trodaire was even mentioning this stuff.
Trodaire seemed to notice this too. "You look like you're hanging out with a rough crowd, Ritchie. Did they encourage you to do that to Miltank? Did they tell you that it would be cool, that it would make you and Bracer tough?"
"Buddy, I don't like what you're implying." One of the guys, a reedy guy in a biker vest with a ridiculous Mohawk, growled. "I don't like being questioned about our toughness."
"I'm not questioning your toughness, bub. I'm denying its existence." Trodaire said. "You think that going out of your way to hurt Pokemon is cool, that it's tough? You don't know the meaning of the word. And where I come from, we don't take kindly to people who get their kicks from deliberately hurting Pokemon."
"Yeah?" The third guy, the tallest of the group and covered in tattoos, said. "Then maybe you should go back to where you live then, twerp. Cuz the way I see it, it's four of us…" He gestured to himself, the others and Ritchie. "…against one of you." Trodaire shook his head.
"Hardly a fair fight." Trodaire said. The big goon nodded.
"That's right, little man." He grunted. He and his friends were cracking their knuckles menacingly. Trodaire just smiled.
"I meant for you."
Enraged, the big guy rushed him. Trodaire side-stepped past a wild left haymaker and threw his shoulder into the guy's chest, while at the same time threw a calculated right jab into the man's gut. Winded, the goon staggered back, clutching his stomach to regain composure. While he was hence preoccupied, his two friends rushed Trodaire. Again, it was clear who the better fighter was. Trodaire sidestepped the first punch, grabbed the guy's arm, and swung him back so that he ended up hitting his buddy square in the face, sending Mohawk face-first into the concrete. Sabrina winced. She had only now just realized that these guys were fighting on a hard surface and that Trodaire was repeatedly knocking them to the ground at high speeds. That must really hurt.
And on another note, Sabrina noticed that Trodaire wasn't really doing anything particularly fancy or brutal. He was just redirecting an attack here, countering a punch there, and flipping a foe there. It looked so fluid, and graceful. Sabrina remembered back when she had visited the Fighting Dojo and seen those stuck-up meathead martial artists stubbornly declaring that only their highly choreographed and overdramatic form of fighting was the proper way to do anything. All pomp, and not a lick of substance.
If Sabrina didn't know any better, she'd say that Trodaire was making fighting seem…kinda cool.
Big Guy had stopped wheezing from the gut punch, and had come swinging for Trodaire again. Only this time, he decided to make the genius decision of throwing a what amounted to a drunken right hook instead of what amounted to a drunken left hook. Because strategy, you see. Trodaire responded to this move by grabbing his arm, and then leading Big Guy around in what looked like a mockery of ballroom dancing as he jockeyed for position before suddenly and violently flipping him over his shoulder, causing the guy to slam hard onto the concrete.
All that was left was Ritchie. Clearly, he was the weakest of the group. With a desperate yell, he threw a punch at Trodaire. Trodaire caught the punch with his left hand, and then in the blink of an eye shifted his grip so that he had complete wrist control of Ritchie. He turned the joint ever so slightly, and just like that Ritchie was on a knee, bawling like a baby.
"Owowowow stop stop stop…" Ritchie begged. Trodaire tsked.
"You're feeling it now, aren't you? This is what Miltank probably felt like when you told Bracer to break its arm. Scary, isn't it?" He said. He turned the wrist ever so slightly, and was rewarded by Ritchie howling in anticipated pain. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna actually do it. Because I exercise restraint, see? That's the thing. I don't just go around teaching people techniques that are tough because I want them to deliberately hurt their foe. I teach them so that they can end a fight quickly and with minimal effort. See how easy it was dealing with your 'friends?'" He asked. With his free hand, he gestured to the moaning trio on the ground.
Trodaire cleared his throat. "Here's what's gonna happen." He said. "You're gonna give Whitney a formal apology tomorrow at my gym, and you're gonna forfeit your win to her because it was with an illegal strike. You're gonna ditch these deadbeat 'friends' here like a bad habit, and you're gonna start showing up to The Fight Club consistently. Of course, I'm gonna give you a choice here. Because you can choose not to, in which case I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Whitney files a complaint to the Pokemon League about a trainer abusing Pokemon with malicious intent. You could get your license revoked, and I know people who've had that happen. By the time you can reapply…you're old. So it's either that…or my gym. Tomorrow. 9 AM sharp. See you there."
He wrenched Ritchie's wrist in a direction that did nothing except give the boy a shooting pain to knock him to the ground, and then walked away. He walked past Sabrina without saying a word. The Psychic looked at the four men he left moaning in pain, and then back in his direction. Silently, she walked after him.
SABRINA
They walked silently for some time. The rain was beginning to let up, and if Sabrina didn't know any better she could have sworn she saw a break in the clouds in the distance. However, by the time it actually reached anything it was going to be after dark anyway. The streetlights cast a pallid yellow glow on the ground below them, and Saffron City looked like it was finally going to sleep. Trodaire hadn't said a word since they'd left the basketball court, so Sabrina decided to break the ice.
"You know that I'm supposed to file a report about what happened." Sabrina said finally.
"Go right ahead." Trodaire said. "I'm responsible for the whole thing, anyway."
"What makes you say that?" Sabrina asked. Trodaire snorted.
"Are you kidding? I taught Ritchie how to use a powerful move that can seriously hurt a Pokemon if it isn't used properly, and what happens? He goes and seriously injures a Gym Leader's star Pokemon because of his newfound knowledge. Doesn't take long to trace the blame back to me. And because I don't have League certification, I don't have a proper legal team for the eventual legal problems we'll be facing." He stopped walking, and looked Sabrina directly in the eye. "You win, Miss Sabrina. You've got your excuse to run me out of town. Just give me a week's notice so that I can give Paulie severance pay."
Sabrina didn't say anything for a long couple of seconds. Then, without her expression changing from the blank one she currently wore, she spoke.
"According to the official League Rulebook, it is to the discretion of the city Gym Leader to decide whether a witnessed (either firsthand or secondhand) incident constitutes negligence or abuse on the part of the accused trainer. From my knowledge of the situation as well as proper evaluation of the related events…I don't see anything to find you or your gym at fault." She said this with an overly disappointed air, as if she really, really wanted to have found Trodaire at fault for something, but the young Orrean knew that she was doing him a favor. Trodaire breathed a sigh of relief, only for Sabrina to hold up her hand. "However, I am not in the business of charity. I expect a few things in return." She said. Trodaire nodded.
"What comes to mind?" He asked. Sabrina cleared her throat.
"First, there is going to be the annual Saffron Expo in front of Silph. Co. in five days. It has been an old tradition that the Fighting Dojo put on a form of entertainment act in between the two major keynote speeches. You will be resurrecting that tradition, and I do not care what it is that you put together as long as it is not offensive. Understood?" She asked. Trodaire nodded. Sabrina continued.
"Second, there is a League-sanctioned clinic that my gym holds for all of the youth trainers in the area that the Fighting Dojo used to be a part of before their disbanding. It is in one month. You will be resurrecting that tradition as well. Again, same principle as the Expo: keep it clean, and remember that you are dealing with children. Understood?" She asked. Again, Trodaire nodded.
"Finally…" Sabrina trailed off, as if this was a rather embarrassing thing to ask. "Each weekend on Sundays me and a few gym leader friends of mine take part in a sort of 'self-defense' seminar." She even threw in the air quotes around "self defense," and it was so out of character that Trodaire had to start cracking up. "After witnessing the way you…handled this event, I think it's safe to assume…no, that's not nearly strong enough…it is a definite truth that you could systematically beat the shit out of our wimpy instructor, who seems more interested in hitting on the female gym leaders anyway than actually teaching proper self-defense. So expect us every Sunday at noon. Understood?" She asked. Trodaire nodded one last time, and then chuckled.
"Here I was thinking that you were going to ask me to do something difficult." He chided. Sabrina smirked.
"Mr. Phoenix, I don't know if you've realized this yet, but in agreeing to these conditions you are essentially allowing me to monitor every little aspect of your gym to spot even the slightest screw-up." She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction at his "oh crap" stare. "That's right, Mr. Phoenix. I will be watching your every move. Every move." She said. With that, she began walking towards the Saffron gym (and the comfort of her bed), leaving behind one flustered young man.
She had turned off the lights to the gym, locked the doors to the main rooms, and was about to call it a night in her apartment. Sabrina was in one of her more comfortable nightgowns, and was quietly walking past her desk when she heard a voice.
"You've had quite a night, Madam." The tell-tale voice of her trusted Alakazam was a welcome sound to hear after such a busy day. Sabrina sighed.
"I suppose so. Though I didn't really do anything." She said. Alakazam opened on its eyes, and Sabrina saw its lips curl to a playful smirk.
"Of course not, Madam. You were far too busy being enamored with our young acquaintance Mr. Trodaire Phoenix." It said teasingly. Sabrina rolled her eyes.
"As if. I got everything we wanted out of him, Alakazam: he's going to be putting on shows, and I will be able to watch his every move. It's precisely how we planned." She finished. Alakazam did something that was so rare that it startled Sabrina: it chuckled.
"Please. When you left this morning you were all about how your choice of attire was sure to make the young man fall all over you. Then you come back home, and all I hear is how this young man is so proficient in his 'kung-fu' that it might rival my mastery of Kitchen Fu." To prove its point, Alakazam conjured up its two spoons and began twirling them in its fingers. Sabrina snorted.
"You overanalyze everything, old friend." She said.
"With an IQ of 5000, do you expect any different?" Came the playful reply. Sabrina just laughed.
"Good night, Alakazam."
"Good night, Madam Sabrina."
A/N: I'm back! What'd you think? Let me know!