Ponyta and Roserade

The Wild West… an untamed harsh wilderness that often tested people and Pokemon to their limits. In these wide lands, towns were few and far between, at the mercy of local law or lawlessness. One had to be tough to live here. And the town of Lawrence reflected that. The streets were made of packed dirt, although little whirls of dust came up in the winds. The wooden buildings were both sun-bleached and storm-worn. While most of the people were friendly, they were always on the watch for trouble.

In the center of town, there is a place called The Squeaky Wheel. As Lawrence's only saloon, it shared both a dubious reputation and a status as the town's main social gathering place. The left front window was boarded up, having been broken in a bar brawl a couple nights back, but a couple of the older men of town sat in the shade of the porch playing chess. At the watering trough up front, a Ponyta waited patiently, flicking his flame tail every now and then to torch any flies that attempted to bother him. He wasn't tied down like that Stantler near him, but Blaise was behaved enough that he could be trusted to wait.

Blaise the Ponyta was known throughout the Wild West, but not for his own deeds. No, Blaise was owned by one of the greatest heroes of the prairielands. This man was the sharpest shooter, the bravest ranger, the roughest man in an unarmed fist fight despite the fact that he would have made Napoleon feel tall. Because he travels the lands all of his days, he is called the Wandering Pistol, an ex-cowboy who is never in the same town twice in one year.

Many tales are told of the Wandering Pistol, of how he survived alone in a heated gun battle against twelve thieves, of how he rescued a wagon train from attack when they didn't even know he was there, of how he didn't even let the threat of a nearby twister to help others to safety. And many tales will be told; many adventures are yet left for our hero. What plans does he have for today? What epic deeds will be done, what justice will be served? We will follow our grand hero today as he…

Um, as he…

Where is the Wandering Pistol?

Blaise flicked his ears up as the saloon doors came open, but it wasn't his human owner who came out. It was his Pokemon partner, Rosie the Roserade. Unbothered by the growing heat, she hopped onto a nearby post and balanced in a cross-legged sitting position there. She patted Blaise's snout, where his fires weren't emitted. "Morning."

Excuse me Rosie, but where's the Wandering Pistol?

Raising her leafy eyebrows, she glanced up. Blaise snorted, shaking his head. In response, Rosie put her head in her hand roses. "Oh drat. Today's the day we've got the narrator."

Is something wrong? I was told there would be an adventure to narrate today.

"Hmph." She put her hands down in her lap. "There might still be. But he's still asleep."

Asleep, this late into the morning? But most of the people around here have been up for hours already. I wasn't told that I'd be following a night owl.

As Blaise stamped his foot in irritation, Rosie explained, "What's your target audience again? Anyhow, last night was kind of crazy, if you know what I mean. He's not injured, but he's not going to be quick to get up either. You might want to come back later."

Ah. Well I'm not narrating under 4Kids or anything, but thanks for the vagueness. It lets me get a wider audience. I'll do some more atmosphere passages to pass the time.

"Okay. Our plans should make up for that."

The lands around Lawrence were rich, promising farmers strong crops and healthy livestock. But it also hid dozens of dangers, making such agricultural wealth something to work hard and struggle for. In the wilds, there were microbugs, animals, and Pokemon that would venture into human territory to take the crops and the livestock for their own meals. The weather rarely cooperated, giving long periods of dry harshness only to drown everything in sporadic downpours. And past those natural dangers, there were the outlaws.

As towns were so distant and communications so slow, groups of bandits grew and thrived without restraint. These humans and Pokemon decided to forgo work by taking what hard-working homesteaders had spent all of their days on. Some simply stole crops to keep their idle lives, while others would take jewelry and tools, things that were almost irreplaceable on the meager income of the farmers. Because these bandits kept on the move, it was difficult for honest lawmen to discover their identities and arrest them to face the judgment of the courts. And the lawmen weren't always honest, adding fuel to the problem.

That is where the traveling heralds of justice like the Wandering Pistol would come in. These fearless crime fighters would follow the trails of the bandits, bringing them to swifter justice. In these cases, the courts were often not called upon. But the homesteaders who got their things back were satisfied that the bandits were gone. At least, those bandits were gone.

It was now high noon, when shadows are minuscule and most folks are indoors to catch a break from the sun, along with a hearty lunch. Outside The Squeaky Wheel saloon, Blaise the Ponyta was still quiet and waiting, on his own now. His coat was slightly tan from the dusts of travel, but his flames still held a vibrant healthy red. Looking for ways to pass the time, he paced about and stomped on small pebbles with his hooves, made of a wondrous material that was hardened to a point beyond that of diamonds. After a few stomps, the pebbles were little more than the dust already whirling about the streets.

In an angered mood, Rosie the Roserade flung open the doors hard enough to cause the chess pieces of the nearby board to topple. She took a moment to drop a bag into a nearby cart, then got back up on the post and sighed. "Ms. Narrator? Are you around now?"

Yes I am. What's got you all flamed up?

In response, Blaise jerked his head up and snorted. He shook his head and stamped his foot. He was the Fire Pokemon of the pair, after all, so he should be the flamed one.

"Don't take it personally, Blaise," Rosie said. "It's how narrators talk. Anyhow, we finally got Mr. Pistol up and doing more than grumbling and complaining. I told him you were here."

Excellent. Do I get to do a grand introduction finally? I'll make it really over the top!

Still standing there, she put her rose hands on her hips. "I'm afraid not. At least, maybe not quite as grand as you'd like, given he looks something of a mess at the moment. And the adventure I thought we were doing… we're not doing it."

Not an adventure today? I guess it would be plotting to do one, then. He did hire me for a week.

"Oh dear," she grumbled softly. Then she shook her head and spoke up. "No, not even that. It turns out there's going to be a poker tournament soon, and he wants you to narrate him through that."

A poker tournament? I guess so. I mean, I'd have to take precautions against being heard like I am now, so that I didn't go announcing everyone's hands and messing up the games that way. And the people back East would have loved a Wild West adventure instead. But hey, I could do it…

Blaise whinnied, to which Rosie said, "He says that you don't sound enthused."

I've already been paid, so I'll do it. I don't think many people would be interested in hearing about a poker tournament. I'm sure it's more interesting to actually participate in. Then again, I was once hired to narrate a Slowpoke race.

"That sounds horridly boring," Rosie commented. "I think he was counting on hearing you to know what cards everyone else had. Or, if you wouldn't do that, then winning on the basis that he has a narrator and nobody else does."

He's got that completely wrong. I won't make his luck any better or worse. I'll just report it as it happens. Sure, it could be edited later to make him win, but that wouldn't make him actually win.

"That's what I told him. But then I thought of something that you might be interested in…" she stopped, looking down the street. "Hey, you're a narrator. Notice anything?"

Yeah, my plot senses are giving me alerts. So then…

A man in a ten-gallon hat and brown clothes approached the saloon. He carried with him a pistol and a knife. Stopping in the road, he greeted a comrade who was sitting on the porch of the store facing The Squeaky Wheel. "Hey, has the Wandering Pistol been around?"

Putting down his guitar, he nodded and pointed across the street. "Yeah, he's still in there. Haven't seen him leave."

"Hmm, right, and those are his Pokemon…" the man scowled. "And he's owed me money for months now. I know if I go in there, he'll just swindle me into some poker match. Unless…" he looked at Blaise and Rosie thoughtfully.

Smirking some, the Roserade pretended not to hear him by dancing around on the post. The man came up to Blaise, to look him over and figure out some way of capturing him. But although the Ponyta wasn't developed enough to speak like his partner, he was no idiot. When he got too close, Blaise quickly kicked out his back legs, nailing the man in the stomach and knocking him to the ground.

Rosie snickered. "You should've expected that," she taunted. "Even the most novice Pokemon thief knows not to approach a target from behind."

Without warning, the doors to The Squeaky Wheel slammed open again. This time, it was a short man with black hair and a heavy tan. "Rosie! Blaise!"

The Ponyta snorted and stamped his hoof impatiently. On her post, Rosie put her rose hands together. "Oh Pistol, there you are," she said with exaggerated sweetness. "You're just in time to…"

"You're stealing my narrator!" the Wandering Pistol shouted at the two Pokemon. "I hired him…"

Her.

"Her to account for my great triumphs! Not so you two can show off."

"Um, this guy here," she pointed to the cowboy, who was still crumpled on the ground, groaning in pain, "was just trying to steal us. Aren't you going to do your heroism thing and save us?"

Blaise tossed his fiery mane and held his head proudly. As if they needed any more saving, he thought. He had nailed the thief himself.

"Don't try to avoid the issue," the Wandering Pistol argued. "You're supposed to be my troopers, my support. Not the spotlight stealers taking my narrator from me."

Rosie glowered at him. "Well if you were a suitable western star," she lashed out with a vine whip, snapping its thorny end at a point two feet from him. The human still jumped back. "Then maybe you wouldn't have to hire a narrator to cover up the blemishes of your horrid reputation."

In response, the wanderer snarled at her. "You ingrateful animal. I don't know why I put up with you sometimes. I should have just left you to some whiny little girl."

Um, Pistol? I came here at eight in the morning, just as you said, and you weren't here. So I was waiting on you to leave the saloon and set off on an adventure.

He shook his head, dismissing the Pokemon for now. "I don't need to go off somewhere to make my triumph. Get in here; things are about to start." Then he went back into the saloon.

Despite possible internal bleeding and maybe broken bones, the would-be Pokemon thief got unsteadily to his feet. "Hey you… jerk! You owe me money!" He stumbled his way into the saloon.

And that would be your average day in the Wild West…

"Yeah, pretty much," Rosie said, getting an agreeing whinny from Blaise. "But as I was saying, it's good to be a loyal Pokemon, unless of course your Trainer is absolute crud like that. What I propose is that we do steal you as a narrator and make a daring escape."

Daring escape, huh?

"It is a bit chancy, as I can't guarantee that he'll come after us, even if we take you. But we'd actually be going out and doing the hero stuff, not him. Right Blaise?"

The Ponyta reared up for a second in anticipation, causing his flames to burn larger than usual.

That does sound more interesting. Besides, he did pay me in advance. Let's go.

Cheering, the Roserade twirled off the post, then ran over to the cart with her partner. It had a long brace that was made to go over the Ponyta's neck. As Rosie lifted it up, Blaise stepped into place and let her latch it into place under his torso. Then she got into the back of the cart. "Okay Blaise! We're breaking free!"

He neighed loudly, then bolted through the dirt streets and out of Lawrence. She hung onto the chariot cart, not fearing being burned by his fiery tail. What lie on the rough roads ahead of them, neither could tell. But they greeted this change with joy and cheer.

...

Ponyta Soul Silver entry: Its hind legs, which have hooves that are harder than diamond, kick back at any presence it senses behind it.

Roserade Pearl entry: With the movements of a dancer, it strikes with whips that are densely lined with poison thorns.

I adore over-the-top narrators in cartoons and stories.