Disclaimer: Sudo I Own Pokémon!
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Chapter 7: A Whiner
You don't even know who I am do you?
Never mind the fact that I've been here since the very beginning, I just know that if I were to introduce myself, you'd wonder why the hell I'm talking.
Fine, I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. Go back to Amber's first dialogue. I'm there. No, don't mind me. I'll wait. No, of course I don't have better things to do.
Back? Good, now who am I? … of course you only remember the Poochyena. I'm the Totodile. There, I said it. God.
It's just like everyone else to go on telling the story and not bother to mention what I was doing at the time. How was Totodile when the Dragonite of Death attacked? What was Totodile doing to help rebuild Cliffkiln? Why doesn't Totodile have an actual name other than 'Totodile'?
The answer to these questions, as you yourself were probably just thinking, is 'who cares?' Granted, I might not be as eccentric as Medici, who seems to be the only Pokémon people ever talk about, but I'm interesting too, you know! Who do you think had the thankless job of producing enough clean water for the citizens of Cliffkiln to drink until they got back on their feet? Yeah, me. Nobody seems to be handing over any credit though, do they? Self-centered egotists, the lot of them.
The only one who pays me any mind, really, is Axel. I know you're probably as tired as I am of hearing about how wonderful and perfect he is, but… well, it's kind of true. As we travelled down Route 657 (stupid numbering system, Salvout has), while Medici pranced about trying to impress Amber, Inigo darted ahead and cut down every single tree branch even slightly in our path, and Qwill and Shelligan took turns riding on top of each other, Axel was the only one to occasionally look back and wave, even talk to me. "Doing alright there Toto? We're not in Kansas anymore, huh Toto?" Stupid, trite stuff, but nice nonetheless.
Then again, seeing as Axel seems to be incapable of not being nice to anyone, I really shouldn't be flattered.
We were about a day's walk outside Cliffkiln when Axel suddenly motioned for us to stop. He walked forward a little, sniffed the air, and turned to us. "Plug your ears," he said quickly. "Now."
But it was too late. A scream echoed across the trail, and (after wincing in pain) we all turned our attention toward the source… a raggedy looking hobo cowering in almost comical fear from…
"AAAAAGH! A TOTODILE! GET IT AWAAAAAAAY!"
"Malick, calm down, she's with me!" Axel consoled quickly. "They're all with me, you know that, right?"
"I… I…aye…" He nodded, slowly and warily getting to his feet. "I'm sorry Axel… it just… brings back such terrible memories…." He sat on a nearby tree stump, holding his head heavy in his hands. "Seeing lines of Feraligators, blasting those deadly steams of water into buildings and people alike, charging like Rhyhorns and tearing into friends and allies with their godless, feral Crunches…
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Medici interrupted, levitating four feet off the ground in excitement. "When the heck did this all happen?"
"I guess I never introduced him properly, huh?" Axel apologized. "Guys, this is Manic Malick… he's one of the few surviving veterans of the Great War."
The Great War? That terrible time in history that they force young children and Pokémon alike to sit in a classroom and memorize? Seeing as that was over eighty years ago, that puts this guy at roughly… what, ninety-six, ninety-eight years old? And here he is living out in the woods and befriending/terrorizing random travelers. Sure, I'll buy that. Why not?
"Was it really that bad?" Medici asked, completely clueless (as per usual). "I mean… I only ask because, technically, my mental age is only one…"
"It was… awful," Malick said drearily, shaking his head back and forth. "The forces of Ginli were terrible, just…" he shuddered. "You've never had to face down a Machoke with nothing but your shaking hands and a Colt 45…"
That's an image I've never wanted in my head. And now it won't leave. Thanks a lot, Manic Malick.
"It all finally ended with the Great Armistice," Amber recalled from all those years of mandatory history classes. "Both sides finally realized enough people had died, and that, at least for the moment, they should stop fighting."
"Ay… but nothing changes," Malick whispered. "Politician's are always squabbling over oil this, land ownership that…" he sighed. "It never ends, does it?"
"I don't think we'd have what strained peace we had now if it wasn't for the Pokémon league…" Axel muttered, to nods of agreement from the others.
The others, of course, have not given you the proper context for understanding this statement. It only makes to leave the boring yet vitally important details to me, doesn't it? Jerks…
Basically, when the Salvout-Ginli war had reached it end (after nearly thirty years of fighting, I might add), the two leaders at the time agreed to a rather unconventional ceasefire. Not only was each nation to demand no reparations whatsoever from the other, but upon the island they reached their agreement on (henceforth named 'Armistice Island'. Creative, right?) they agreed to build a massive stadium for friendly Pokémon competition. The island is still the only peace of land that both Ginli and Salvout share ownership of.
The Pokémon league was set up so that half of the gyms were in Salvout, half in Ginli. If you were to start in say… I don't know… Pembrook, you'd head north to the closest gym in Woodale, then head even further northwest to Severna. From there, you'd cross the Ginvout River and end up right in the river town of Highbank. Further west is Jinford, and even further west (lots of space in Ginli) is Califrey. Finally, the path turns east and heads towards Lakeless, before the path crosses the river again and leads back into Salvout, where Clockton and Nightcastle are.
Seems like quite a bit of travelling for ten-year-old children to do, huh? Because it is. The entire purpose was for younger generations on both ends to get a look at each other, and possibly forge relationships that could lead to a more stable peace between the two nations. Suffice it to say… eighty years later, we're not a whole lot farther than we ever were. But we haven't gone back to war so… that's something, right?
This was all explained to Medici during our 'visit' at Malick's, by the way. And I suppose I could have just told you what they said, but it was pretty stilted, awkward, and circuitous. My version's a lot more succinct and informative. You're welcome.
Other than our run-in with Malick, not a lot actually happened on our trip to Woodale. A couple of trainers along the way were completely destroyed by Axel, and there were a few nights where Medici decided it was a good idea to whip out his triple-neck guitar (compensation much?) and play "music." Other than that, though… nothing.
Except… maybe it was nothing… or maybe it was just my own ego telling me what I already knew, but I could have sworn that one night, as I was curling up next to our dying campfire, I heard a small voice whisper to me:
You're better than all of this. Break away, before you become enslaved.
But it was probably nothing. Especially since the voice was so damn soothing.
So… yeah. After about a week and a half, we made it to Woodale. That's everything. Now buzz off.
Author's Note:
WHAT? Back-story? BADGES? There's been a Totodile this whole time? Yes, yes, and yes. We here at Amaxing Fan Fiction Incorporated have buckled down and actually come up with a decently thought out plot! For the next… chapter or so, anyway? Maybe more. Maybe ALL THE CHAPTERS. But that doesn't seem very likely, does it? BUT IT COULD BE TRUE! But it probably isn't.
Questions Never Asked… Answer Anyway:
Ok, seriously, what the heck is with this universe? Are you a psychopath or something? STOP RUINING MY CHILDHOOD, DAMN IT! –
Yeah… about that. No, I'm not a psychopath, but as a guy who was ten when Pokémon first came out (ever!), you could say I grew up with it. And while Pokémon Coliseum kind of sort of took the franchise in a more realistic, darker direction… it was still pretty ideal.
I suppose you could say this story stems from childish love of a franchise combined with the slow, creeping cynicism that my impending adulthood brings. I look back on the games and think to myself… how the hell is Team Rocket the only criminal organization worth mentioning? Every single human being from the age of ten is given the potential to possess a living flamethrower and no one uses them for anything but stealing? Stuff like that.
I guess, in summary, I apologize for ruining your childhood. But good news! It was going to happen anyway! At least this way it's entertaining, right? …right?