Steel (Poke)Ball Run
Chapter 5 – VS CURRENCY
Gold coins splattered over a wooden counter. A mysterious stranger's hand shifted through them to prove they were all legitimate and that they would add up to the sum needed. The clerk scooped them up greedily and he did indeed confirm the sum. He squinted at this fellow.
'The 12, 000 entry fee is paid. There are to be no returns or refunds if you drop out of the race. The start of the race will be held in two days' time regardless of happenstance. Please sign here.'
The clerk pushed forth the waiver. The stranger signed it. He had fanciful handwriting. He was definitely foreign though. There was an uncertainty to his lettering which marked him as slightly unused to the characters used. The manager looked over the name. A funny name. He was definitely a foreigner; he didn't even have to check the region of origin section on the form. The manager accepted it as legitimate then pushed forth another piece of paper.
'Now, please record here what Pokemon you intend use throughout this race as well as which Pokemon will be designated as your mount; and don't forget to add nicknames, we need that data too, if you use 'em, of course. Your mount does not count as part of your team or team reserves.' the pudgy clerk informed.
From beneath the counter, he selected a mint green form as a plastic case. He let the fellow write out whatever was necessary. As the manager awaited for the second half of the forms to be filled out, something out be this stranger's outfit caught his eye. He had bizarre PokeBalls holstered down his chest; against a vibrantly purple shirt. They were green and metallic. He wondered what sort of fool - or genius, if it worked - got Apricorns plated.
'This is your Trainer identification sheet. Your identification number is B-636. It also includes your commemorative medal and your badge case. Keep these safe. There will be no replacement.'
A moment passed and he finished up. They exchanged forms. The stranger stowed his things and the manager looked up; hoping that he wouldn't have to end up shooing the man off given that their business was over. The stranger grinned keenly: a golden mouth as he wore an obnoxious grille. He chuckled to himself - a funny "Nyo ho ho" sound - and he hooked his thumbs over his belt. A belt with a golden buckle that managed to be even more obnoxious than his grille as they were engraved with hands pointed like guns; and in direction of his crotch.
'Thank you.'
A thick accent marked his words but turned them lyrical and lilting.
A sickly looking man approached the stranger and the counter. His greedy hands reached for the strange spheres holstered to this fellow's belt. His fingers practically twitched as they entered the stranger's personal space.
'Never seen PokeBalls like these before…' the sickly-looking man commented. His fingers grazed over them and something odd happened.
The man was twisted down as though someone had taken him by his arm, yanked him backwards, and into the ground. The man yelped in pain; yelling about his legs. The stranger protectively looked over these PokeBalls of his. Disgust rippled through his strong face.
'What the hell, man? I was only tryin' to make small talk!' he yelled as he gripped onto his legs.
'Is that so…?'
'Wait, excuse me, sir!' the manager piped up.
The stranger lifted his head and quirked an eyebrow; he was fully expecting some sort of scolding since it was unbecoming to roughhouse like this in public.
'You're missing two hundred.' the clerk informed.
'Must've counted wrong, clerk. I definitely paid you in full.'
'I double checked. I've made no mistake.'
'Can I get any discounts?'
'Of course not! Does this look like a general store to you?'
The stranger turned his attention back to the man who was on his knees.
'So it was you, you damned pickpocket.'
He grabbed onto the man's hand and pushed him into the dirt. It puffed up and spiralled around him. The veins in that man's arm throbbed and became prominent; even though it looked as though the stranger towering over him had such a loose grip.
'Give me back the money you stole or else I won't be able to enter the race.' He continued to strengthen his grip on the man and his arm twisted unnaturally. It didn't break but it was close. 'I won't be able to enter the race, would I?'
The man threatened with a leering laugh following his words. He twisted the man's arm. The bones began to creak. His veins popped beneath his skin. He whimpered. The man flashed his gold teeth. He was an eccentric but a scary one.
And throughout the entire region, strange money rules like king. Even the lazy bow to it. On a ranch somewhere near Nuvema Town, a father and son come to discuss the coins they use to earn their keep on the land they had been provided.
'What are you doing, Pocoloco?'
For autumn, September was lovely in the mid-afternoon. A pleasant breeze whistled through; shook the bright green grass and whispered sweet nothings against a gorgeous sky. Azure as anything and just as free. It was beautiful even with the streaks of milk white clouds going through. It was a lovely day to do nothing at all, from the side of the road anyway. Unfortunately, harvest said otherwise.
'Jus'... countin' the clouds.' Pocoloco replied.
Arms beneath his head, propping him, Pocoloco couldn't be more comfortable than as he was now. He rested on a collection of newspapers and anything else could find to soften the ground beneath him. His father looked onto him with disappointment; wondering where this young man, no longer a boy and hadn't been one physically for much time, had gotten this slothful streak from.
'Despite the revolution twenty years ago, men like us haven't gotten it any easier. People like me and my dead grandfather. Life will never be easy.' Pocoloco's father lamented.
Pocoloco looked outwards, unto the greater stretch of land. He turned his nose up at the idea of hard work and history.
'No way, man. From now on, I'm gonna take life easy. You should too.' Pocoloco decided.'
The Miltank that was pulling along the plough flicked its tail. She made odd grunting noises of displeasure then excreted by the plough. His father gave up on trying to discipline it and its son so he had let both do as it please. Pocoloco got up and he gave a look of displeasure at the mess the Miltank had made then laid down again. He pointed at the plough Miltank was pulling along.
'Hey Pops, I reckon you should loosen the belt on that poor Miltank. She's tryin' to conserve energy so she can produce Eggs.' Pocoloco said.
His father stared cynically at his son and then back to the Miltank. The Miltank cooed and he shook his head. There had been a slight note of dull pain to the creature's voice so he gave it a try. He loosened the notch on its belt by one slot and already, his Miltank was making sweeter sounds than before. Perhaps it had been in some sort of pain but the affairs of breeding was beyond him but Miltank Eggs to sell wouldn't be half bad so he mustered up some hope.
Pocoloco yawned. 'Darn, now I've lost count of the clouds. Which one was the forty-eighth again?'
Pocoloco turned over and pulled out the newspaper beneath him. He flicked through it idly whilst swinging his legs behind him; like a child.
'You know, I talked it over with the landlord. Reckons he might bump up our monthly pay from ten grand to twelve.' Pocoloco's father said, trying to make idle conversation.
His Miltank continued to waddle through the fields with the plough in tow. It was certainly making better pace now.
The numbers caught Pocoloco's attention. A thick eyebrow drew upwards as greed sparkled in his eyes.
'How much did you say to pay for the farm altogether?' Pocoloco asked.
However, back in Virbank City, close to the Ficapica Beach, gold coins were returned to an eccentric and handsome stranger. And they were returned to him by a sickly pickpocket.
'Hey!' the clerk shouted. 'That man did steal your remaining fee; I'm callin' the Sherif!'
The pickpocket was then accosted by men in green jackets who seemed to belong to a larger force than themselves. No doubt coppers the clerk called. The stranger stroked his strange balls and holstered them safely where they belonged; down his chest and off his belt. The pickpocket's heavy and terrified breaths punctuated the close air.
'Ah, deal with that later. Just take my money and give me my receipt; and don't address it to "sir".'
The stranger picked up his coins with a peculiar chuckle. Having dealt with that mess, the stranger was free to go. With his things, such as a bag and saddle, slung over his back akimbo, he was free to go and go he did.
He wandered off, taking in the sights and sounds: he was that idle about it, like a tourist. Unfortunately, though he was done with the pickpocket, the pickpocket was not done with him.
The pickpocket poorly attempted to resist arrest. He kicked up dirt and dust as he flailed around.
'Hey, hey! Those are your weapons aren't they? Those weird balls?' he yelled at the stranger. 'Well, go ahead, kill me then!'
The policemen continued to restrain him but the pickpocket made for the gun he had stowed away beneath his dirty shirt. The pickpocket vaguely freed himself and his gun was almost at blanc point. Its nozzle picking up long hairs from the stranger's head.
'Ha! You're dead!' the man yelled, almost crazed.
The stranger stiffened but remained calm.
Not a second later, the pickpocket was restrained again by the policemen. They disarmed him but he continued to rave.
'If I had felt like it, you'd be dead!' he yelled between cackles. 'Perceptive but an easy kill!'
The pickpocket had his face put to the ground. Someone's boot rested on his cheek. Despite being utterly restrained, he continued to spout nonsense.
'You think you're big over two hundred? Bah! I'll repay you for this humiliation; I'll stalk you! I'm gonna enter the race and stalk you!'
That intrigued the stranger. He turned around. 'The race, eh? Alright, we'll settle this by the race's rules. No guns, no weapons. Just our Pokemon, ya hear? It's all good, coppers, you can let him go for this unless he tries somethin'.'
The stranger stared coldly into the eyes of the pickpocket. The pickpocket stopped squirming but he grinned with much feral ferocity. No doubt eager to win and then whip out that flintlock of his again.
The commotion soon brought the attention to them. The policemen were hesitant but when two eyes locked a battle was to begin. Those were the rules in the rule book and the rule book was basically a second bible to them on this godforsaken beach.
The commotion also drew in the attention of women and children… even a strange young man barred from it all due to his wheelchair. Nevertheless, that youth in the wheelchair persisted against the others who were making it very difficult for him to get a view.
'What the hell was that noise? Let me through!' the lad yelled. 'I can't see what's in front of me, ya jerks!'
He tried to wade through the thick bodies of people circling the commotion. By then, it had already started - or was just about to, anyway.
The stranger stared down the pickpocket. The stranger gave off a powerful aura and the pickpocket was beginning to regret his choices.
'You sure, pal? I was only joking.'
'The rules state once our eyes lock, we are to battle. On this beach, that is law.'
'Ha, ha… true.'
The pickpocket got to his feet. He was in shambles.
The sheriff fixed his bolo tie. 'You heard 'im, you challenged 'im, now you battle 'im. I'll ref, make sure this doesn't get out of hand. One Pokemon each; battle 'til the other faints.'
The stranger and the pickpocket chose their Pokemon. The stranger handled one of his strange green balls whilst the pickpocket used standard fare: a Level Ball fashioned from the shell of a red Apricorn.
'Honchkrow!'
'Go, go, Custard Pie!'
The Trainers threw out their PokeBalls but in very different ways. The pickpocket had a standard way of throwing: over the shoulder. His Honchkrow unfurled its wings and manifested from seemingly thin air. The PokeBall was bounced back off of it and returned safely to its Trainer.
The stranger, meanwhile, had a more unusual way of throwing his PokeBall. It caught the eye and curiosity. His arm had swung from the side. His fingers caged his strange green PokeBall delicately. A flick of the wrist and from it, a magnificent spin was released. The PokeBall spiralled and twirled in the air; it opened from the vertical rather than the horizontal. From it, came a foreboding figure: a tall Ursaring. Some sort of trick of the eye took place. It seemed as though some sort of energy was being given off by the Ursaring: energy that twisted the air and its body.
It stood proudly before its master and growled. The Honchkrow yapped back; chuffed up its feathers and its pride. Both Pokemon awaited orders from their Trainers.
'Swords Dance!' the stranger yelled.
His Ursaring gritted itself and yelled. From around it, the spiralling energy burst to life: vivacious and visible to all. A Swords Dance like this had never been performed before. The light, steely yet opaque, faded. The Ursaring's claws seemed to glitter sharper than before. The spiral and spin from it seemed to have faded also and yet, the effects lingered and remaining like a threatening spook.
'Wi-Wing Attack!' the pickpocket yelled.
His Honchkrow swooped forth. Its wings flared. Its inky, blue-black feathers gleamed in the sunlight. It circled back then tried to barge past Ursaring. The Ursaring stood its ground and unflinchingly took the attack. Its Trainer whistled, impressed. The Ursaring did not appear to have taken damage.
The Honchkrow's Trainer whimpered. The people watching blinked and murmured among themselves. What a tough Ursaring, they were thinking. What a tough Trainer, they were thinking.
'Stone Edge!'
Light blue rings of light encircled Ursaring's body as it let out a ferocious roar. A deafening roar that caused grass underfoot to tremble, even. It raised its shoulders and strained its voice. From beneath the ground, a spiral of rocks erupted. Sharp, pointed, and dangerous. The erupted in a spiral like pattern and with the speed they had ruptured the earth with, it was like they too had spun. It was bizarre.
The rocks reached up and caught the low-flying Honchkrow in this midst. It was trapped between the solid planks of rocks. It struggled and flapped its wings; only furthering its exhaustion and nearing the stranger's win. The rocks slid down and released the bird.
With a weary beat of its wings, the bird collapsed. It fell inelegantly from the air. Puffs of dust spiralled out from beneath its body. Its eyes spun. It made pained, cooing noises. From beneath its wings, it bled; pierced by the pointed stones that had attacked it.
The stranger smiled to himself. The people who had watched applauded. The pickpocket returned his fainted Honchkrow to its PokeBall. The policemen forced him to pay up the loser's fee and then arrested him once more. His loss didn't cancel out the fact he had pickpocketed from the strange fellow.
The stranger, whilst that happened and whilst the crowds dispersed as the entertainment had stopped, approached his Ursaring. Though having a grumpy brow, the Ursaring appeared to lighten up as its Trainer gave it much affection.
'Who's a good boy? Who's a good boy? You are Custard, you are Custard Pie, my boy!' the Trainer cooed as he ruffled up the fur atop of Ursaring's head.
Only one youth remained from the audience now gone. The lad in the wheelchair remained. He wheeled through, panickedly, and almost barrelled over anyone who lingered between him and that mysterious man.
'Out of my way, out of my way!' he yelled.
He was starstruck to say the least. There was something bizarre about the way that man battled and it put a fire in his belly. He pointed at the Ursaring. He was breathless when he arrived by the stranger's side.
'Alright, that's enough love and attention for now.' the stranger told his Ursaring. 'Return.'
He held out the green, mysterious PokeBall. Jagged shafts of light that spun out from the PokeBall and captured the Ursaring, it disappeared. That PokeBall most certainly opened on its side.
'Hey you!' he piped up, frantic. 'That weird PokeBall… that thing - that Swords Dance - what was that?'
The lad in the wheelchair surprised the stranger to say the least. He half turned and the lad in the wheelchair reached out for the PokeBall. His fingers grazed its side as it was unprotected. Something mysterious shot through him and he got to his legs. It didn't feel like adrenaline or anything similar but just… pure energy.
'Hey, don't touch that! It's still spinning!' the stranger yelled.
The youth felt as though his fingers could have bled from just touching it, and yet the man was letting it spin on his palm without issue.
The stranger ripped his hand back and the lad fell from his wheelchair. It toppled over and he ended up face first in the dirt.
'My name is Johnny Joestar…'
The stranger lifted an eyebrow; hands on his hips. He didn't quite look down on the poor lad but with something else. Like he sensed that something larger than life was about to unravel from a simple introduction he thought he wanted no part in. But, having accidentally tipped a disabled youth out of his wheelchair, perhaps he ought to hear it and get the chance to apologise.
What seemed like an insgnificant encounter between a stranger and another face in the crowd had begun to turn. It had begun to grow and spin stronger: enough to entwine their destinies. This will be the story of learning to walk once more. Not just from one life stage to another but in a physical sense.
Ideally, anyway.