SAFFRON MOON
CHAPTER 1: SPRING FLOWERS
Natsume Kurosawa, the Saffron City Gym Leader and the headmistress of Senninso Academy, met Mewtwo for the first time at the local library.
Given that Saffron City was the capitol of Kanto, it was naturally the home to numerous attractions. There was the Silph Company Headquarters, where the leading manufacturers of pokémon technology worked. There was the Saffron Gym and Senninso Academy, which promoted the acceptance of and self-mastery in psychics. There was the Fighting Dojo, a secondary Gym which held annual competitions (the top prizes being rare fighting pokémon). There was the Magnet Train Station, which provided rapid transport to Johto's capital, Goldenrod City, for the fraction of the price of sea- or airfare.
Compared to these, the Saffron City Public Library was without glamour, having no association with the Pokémon League Circuits, nor drawing many visitors outside of the civilian crowds. However, it was still an impressive athenaeum, boasting seven sprawling levels and books on every subject.
The ground floor was devoted to children's literature, new releases, videos and DVDs, and the bookstore and checkout stations. The second was filled with young adult and graphic novels. The third was filled with adult fiction, the genres split largely between murder mysteries, science fiction and fantasy, and romance. The fourth was occupied with classical literature, much of it consisting of epic poem and countless plays, while the fifth was focused on non-fiction and reference books. The sixth was the archive, containing films, cassettes, records, portfolios, newspaper clippings, journals, and magazines. There were disks that held digital copies of each set, but even so, nothing in the archive was available for checkout.
Finally, the seventh level contained rare and ancient books, which - due to their delicate nature - where kept as far from the reach of children as possible. You'd even need a librarian-issued pass to have access to the floor: the elevators weren't programmed to open on level seven (not without the access code), and the stairway simply ended in a locked door. Teenagers often joked that level seven was where all the dirty books were kept. If any library workers happened to hear them, the usual result was a very loud and public lecture. The rumors still persisted.
Beyond the perk of being surrounded by books, Natsume valued the library for what else it offered her: insight into her fellow Saffonites. She felt as if she could learn about them from whichever level they prowled. Those who stayed on the first three floors were usually too busy or unmotivated to do more than "pleasure read," retreating into fiction to escape their banal lives. Those who frequented the fourth through sixth floors were the scholars, the ones who chased after the muses and the sciences alike. Those who entered the seventh level, the sacred level, were those with the highest of minds: they delved into the deep and forgotten past, which was riddled with strange tongues and littered with obscure meanings.
All in all, the psychic wasn't drawn to any of these groups. No, she was interested in the rare few who drifted through all the levels, scarcely touching the chairs, tables, or computers, instead preferring to wander between the shelves and pick out a variety of tomes to consume. Those who loved the ensemble of silent voices, who savored the smell of pages and ink - those were the people she found intriguing. In them she sometimes found kindred souls: the quick and curious and thoughtful of mind, whose hearts could tolerant even a strange woman like her.
Ultimately, Mewtwo would delight her by being one of those people. But when she first met him, it wasn't in the library itself, but in its western courtyard. That evening she sat cross-legged on a bench, reading aloud haiku as the sunlight faded and fireflies flickered over the lawn. Around her, the scents of cherry blossoms and jasmine mingled, drifting into her hair and rising from her skin. She was wearing a crimson blouse and dress skirt, a white undershirt and black tights. In the grass beneath her lay her shoes, slipped off over an hour ago. The usually stern "Witch of the Mists" was well-relaxed right then. She'd checked out her books already and, as such, was unconcerned about the building's closing time. She would leave soon enough, but for now, she would continue enjoying poetry until the streetlights lit up, signaling that it was time for her to head home.
And that was how the clone of mew found her: at ease on that bench, her voice almost melodic as she recited Japanese poems. The last of the sun's rays and lightning bugs were alighting her with gold, making the red hue of her irises seem ablaze with sparks.
As she recited a praise of the moon god, he lurked in the depths of the grove, his tail curled beside a man-made stream and a small Shinto shrine. Her voice, pitched in a low alto, was soothing to his ears. It also seemed to befit the enigmatic, ethereal beauty she possessed, which might better suit a siren or a succubus, those creatures of myth who could seduce even the coldest of men.
Yet she needed no supernatural charm to provoke his interest, to tempt both sides of his persona, the beast and the philosopher. No, if the allure of her physical form and voice weren't enough, then she also possessed what had drawn him to her in the first place: that bright aura which outshone all those around her, its light conveying to him her cunning mind, her aged soul, and, most clearly of all, the glory of her psychical abilities.
He supposed it was only natural for him to find her intriguing. It was rare that he encountered true psychics among her race, and given that her skills might rival his own, how could he not be curious? Add to that the rumors surrounding her, of how she'd lost her childhood friends in an unmentionable disaster; of how she'd trained herself until her mind – and her family – had fractured; of how she'd once ruled over and terrorized the trainers who'd entered her lair; and of how she'd been redeemed through the kindness of a child, thereafter striving to be a benevolent, if still mysterious entity….
Well, even with rumor about her turning people into dolls (which he frankly believed was hogwash), her history seemed to distinctly parallel his own. At the very least, while their wounds had mended, they'd remained outcasts from their respective societies. They were the same in so many ways...and to find such a kindred spirit in a (lovely, intelligent) woman...well, it captivated the clone.
Not that he'd descended to the point of stalking her. He wasn't even looking at her now, but leaning against the shrine, listening to her voice and to the gurgles of the stream. He was well aware of who she was, this Natsume of Saffron, this Gym Leader of the Marshes, this "Witch of the Mists." She trained psychic pokémon like him, having acquired a venomoth, a mr. mime, a drowsee, a kadabra, an alakazam, and, if the rumors were true, a rather playful haunter.
From what he knew, the primary five included her starter and adopted pokémon, all of which were highly trained. The ghost, on the other hand, was more of a pet than anything else. Supposedly he was even rather naughty and quite the trickster…and yet, to the bewilderment of the general populace, Natsume doted on the creature. Perhaps she was soft on him because he made her laugh – that, apparently, was a rarity, and was thus rather coveted. Those who'd attempted similar feats often failed miserably, which might explain (at least in part) why she was single.
Regardless, none of her pokémon were present, and since he was keeping his aura cloaked, he was all but invisible to her senses. After the sky began to blacken, he stirred from the grass and walked through the trees towards her, his cloak rippling around him as he strode forward. He'd decided hours ago that he'd like to meet and speak with her. If she proved a danger to him, he'd reassured himself that he could simply ease into her mind, erase her memories of him, and slip back into the gathering night. But if she proved benign to him, then things would become…interesting. In truth, out of all the cities in Kanto, he was rather fond of Saffron, with its vibrant nightlife, its sanctuaries for the fine arts, and its useful geographical position at the heart of the country. To have a companion in it of high social standing could prove beneficial to him.
That, and she really did appeal to his tastes.
Casting out his senses to check that no one was nearby, he smirked and stepped out from the foliage, walking towards her in silently. At first she didn't appear to notice him, but after he stopped a few paces from her, she glanced up from her book to find him staring at her.
Emotions flickered across her face in rapid succession: surprise at his sudden appearance, confusion over her inability to sense him, realization and awe upon finding that her senses had been fooled, and finally, equal measures of amusement and curiosity matching his own. She placed her marker – a thin red ribbon - in her book and leaned back to stare at him.
Finally, with her mouth curling into a tiny smirk, she said, "Good evening, stranger. Can I help you with something, or are you going to keep ogling me shamelessly?"
Her voice was light, but there was the potential for anger there. He quickly sought to steer clear of her ire. "While the latter option is tempting, I will settle on asking for your help. I was wondering if you might know the way to Senninso Academy, since I hear stray psychics might find shelter there. While I need no training myself, the idea of room and board sounds agreeable, and you seem the right person to ask."
She smiled, pleasantly surprised and growing even more interested. She stood and stepped towards him. Fireflies flickered between them. "I see. I know the way, but I should warn you, capable adults have to help provide for our facilities during their stay."
His lightheartedness seemed to waver, and sensing that, she added, "That is, we could always use more guides for the students, and people who can help with the odd jobs that crop up around the gym and school. Money wouldn't be necessary."
The stranger relaxed at that and nodded. "I am certain there are services I could offer in exchange. But would you be willing to allow a mere pokémon to enter your ranks without a trainer, or would you insist that the creature be caught and tamed?"
"Our mental gifts give us a unique understanding of the equality among living beings. Your proficiency determines your position, not your species. You'll be treated fairly there, I assure you." She cocked her head to the side, just a little. "But just in case, do you have a human guise you could wear in public? If you do, that would deter trainers from trying to catch you."
He nodded. "I do. If it pleases you, I can shift into it now."
Natsume's eyes seemed to gleam at that. "Please do. Afterwards, I'll walk you to the Gym."
And so Mewtwo invoked the gift of his ancestors, transforming in a wash of azure light, his tail vanishing, his legs straightening, his fingers splitting, his face smoothing, his fur melting into flesh, all painlessly until he looked every bit a human man, if quite fair of skin and hair. Despite all the changes, however, his eyes remained nearly the same, almond-shaped and amethyst in hue. They flashed sapphire-blue as he stepped forward and extended his arm to the woman. His self-appointed guide accepted it, and cast an admiring at his ruffled hair and the bristles across his chin, at his lithe body which exuded both confidence (perhaps even arrogance) and grace. Her pleased smile didn't fade as she led him under the streetlights, or as she asked him one question before nearing her home.
"By the way, stranger, what is your name?"
He smirked as he gazed down at her and answered, "Mewtwo."