Story Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable species, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Plot and original characterizations are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Part IV: Good Perseverence
Can’t Escape, Chapter 4: Good Perseverance.
Sparks crawled across the sink water’s surface. At the instant they subsided, a poised ninetales leapt from the floor and snapped at an ampharos’s face in an attempt to remind the new servant that there would be consequences if he tried to make use of his abilities. Zap snorted harshly to assert a little self-respect. He was testing his power hoping to make dish soap more effective in hard water, and considered his warden’s suspicions of treachery to be insulting. The ram slapped suds at an angle to splash some in the fox’s direction as he returned to his preferred resting place, but nothing happened. The ninetales spun about and huffed a burst of flame, boiling away the water in mid-air, and settled into his post wearing a smug grin across his muzzle.
Zap finished his work just in time for his new master to return home and order his dishes be dirtied again. All in all, living there seemed tolerable, although Zap knew that was only because he had been completely obedient since awakening from a poisoned stupor two days prior. No nightly beatings, no morning coffee baths, and he even received decent meals despite their being formed from inferior or left-over portions. Between inclement weather and the beans running out, his old master’s journey knew moments of suffering greater hardships.
With help from the warden to ignite the stove’s burners, Zap began preparing his new master’s dinner request while remembering life on the road with Vincent. It would not have been so bad if there was any reason to believe that their efforts were actually leading somewhere, but after each route traversed and each gym visited, their end goal seemed somehow further away. Curiosity where his new path would lead led the ram to look over his left shoulder. A man sat in a dirty recliner with a cheap cigar, fondling an obviously very old pokeball. Zap had seen older ones in gym battles being wielded by veteran trainers and kids who inherited their starters, but that did not take anything away from this ball’s age. The man took another ball from his trophy case and held it alongside the old ball. He rubbed its release button with his thumb and whispered something inaudible over the sounds of cooking, although his ninetales heard it and rose with a start.
The hiker stood and addressed his chef. “Is my food about done yet?”
Zap pretended to be confused at first, looked at the pot, then nodded briskly.
“Good. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I need you with me, Shade.”
The ninetales followed his master as he left their cabin. While a small part of Zap wanted to be free, a large part knew that he could never be a champion with Vincent, with the hiker, or in the wild, but at least here he could take pride in his productivity. This man may have been cruel to Fiona but he apparently held some respect for his team. Zap wondered how long it would take to prove that he could be trusted off of his chain while he monitored dinner’s simmering.
When the hiker returned, his table was set and his food turning cold. If Shade were half-again in height, his master’s arm would have been over the ninetales’ shoulder for support as he dragged himself inside. Dinner passed in silence. Afterward, Zap completed his chores and accepted an extra berry for dessert as a reward before heeding advice to go to sleep.
The man returned to his chair, turned on his antique radio, and fondled the old ball for another lengthy period before finally returning it to its place of honor: a sports-memorabilia display case sized for a baseball, adorned with a black ribbon and strip of masking tape that, decades ago when its adhesive had not yet hardened, once was attached to the ball and identified it as the seldom-used home of “Feathers.” Today, that deactivated ball’s identity was indicated by a legacy of pidgey blood that soaked into surface scratches and dried to become thin red lines that defied the wear of handling.
Theodore saw stars despite Ocimene’s night-time sky being heavily overcast and back-lit brightly by a waxing moon, giving it a foggy and featureless glow. He also picked gravel out of his coat. A novice trainer’s expression and the size of the wager he forfeited indicated that his two-ball Bug/Rock u-turn strategy for snagging journeying Fire-type-focused trainers just suffered its first loss. Not a single Water-type posed a challenge during the last two days, and Vincent wondered if this trainer ever saw one. He did not even seem to know what Phil was when that vaporeon spelt Tio, and responded by ordering his golem to charge blindly into a one-hit knockout. After seven field battles since leaving the hostile village, Vincent’s crew became both very exhausted and slightly wealthy. Theodore and Phil both walked beside Vincent to warn any other trainers that the local strategy would be ineffective, if only to not need to stop and battle again.
Stepping on a sharp rock aggravated Theodore’s foot, both because of the pain that it alone caused and because his patience ran dry after a long day dealing with that bothersome element. “I really want to make camp, Boss,” he grumbled.
Vincent wrapped his arm around his buddy to support him while Phil took a moment to run ahead and assault a passing firefly. “I do, too, but if we keep moving we can make it to the outskirts of the next town, get a real room, pig out on Chinese, sleep-in until an hour before check-out, then head into town and hit the shops. We went from rags to riches today and we’re off the gym schedules thanks to that suspension Fiona arranged for us, so let’s just have some fun. It is summer, you know, and once I’m in college, the better halves of the next three summers are going to be mauled by extra courses.”
Theodore half-nodded. “If by riches you mean we won back most of the money you spent on those useless vitamins. You’re the boss, Boss, but whatever I stepped on this morning is still in my foot. I’m not going to let you eat until you fix me up.”
Soon, Phil sang and directed his friends’ attentions. The hobbling typhlosion glanced upward to see a bargain motel with a green bird standing next to a second-story door. She was mostly hidden behind four stuffed bags, each with a red pagoda printed on its face. “Looks like we’ll be getting room number eight,” Theodore proclaimed before re-asserting, “my foot hurts,” and returning himself to his ball to prevent enduring the labor of walking another half-block.
The motel office seemed unmanned when Vincent and Phil entered. Vincent rang the service bell and Phil hummed a matching tone. The manager entered from a room behind his counter, leaving behind the dull din of a television program. He confirmed vacancy and passed Vincent a key with a red tag. “Room 2, check-out is 11:45.”
“Room 2?” A confused Vincent turned to leave but was halted at the door by the manager’s voice when the balding fellow noticed Phil, who had been out-of-sight beneath the counter-top, but revealed himself when he followed behind Vincent.
“Hold it. You didn’t say anything about pokemon. You’ll have to lock them in their balls and leave them here in the office, or put down a damage deposit on a trainer’s room. Safety concerns and insurance regulations; you understand.”
Vincent examined the motel’s deposit schedule. Fire-, Water-, and Dragon-type each carried a sizable premium. He almost checked off Electric out of habit.
The manager reclaimed the red key and instead gave Vincent one with a gray tag. “Room 8: upper floor, in the middle.”
Despite Vincent’s expectations, drawn from the outward appearance of this lodge, Room 8 put forth an inviting air, albeit somewhat spartan, with furniture chosen to be expendable over comfortable and its carpet indoor-outdoor, cut into square tiles for easy replacement. Vincent helped Vera transfer dinner from her wings to the table and released Theodore, who wanted nothing more than to crash on the bed and sleep.
Vera, however, took command of the situation. “Theodore, Vincent, get inside the washroom. You smell like you’ve been playing with the neighborhood children all day.” Vincent set his ball-belt on the table and shuffled toward the bathroom with Theodore limping behind him while Phil sniffed at their meal and Vera clumsily opened the other balls. A moment later, she chirped a haughty laugh and called to the absent pair. “Tooh-hooh! Wash quickly; you’re in a race against Hal and Fiona.” Two cartons of noodles were already nearly half-emptied as the dragon and the cat seemed to materialize with their mouths full.
Vincent stripped while Theodore cursed at a long wait for the “H” valve to show effectiveness. Phil buried his muzzle into a carton to help distract himself from the sound of falling water, while the xatu poked inside Vincent’s bag. The trainer was about to make a snide comment about their tiny bar of motel soap when Vera swung the door open and placed a fresh bar covered by a deep red wrapper on the counter. Her beak no longer carrying soap, she admitted to being of no further service. “You must make do with the shampoo provided, boys.”
Vincent’s team finished the first sack of Chinese food in silence before being interrupted by a bellowing howl and the sizzle of water boiling away inches from the shower head. Vincent examined closely a bloody metal scraping and the putrid green slime that defensively coated much of it. “Wow, this is more than just, ‘I stepped on something, Boss,’ Tio.” Theodore withdrew his foot and washed his wound thoroughly while his trainer prepared to bandage it.
Vera uncovered her ears, knelt beside a tiny bed-stand, and awkwardly positioned her wing over the room’s telephone, struggling to find an angle at which she could grip its handset for a few seconds. She managed as best she could and lifted it up at the exact instant it started a ring. “Yes, sorry about the outburst but it was unavoidable. Thorn in the paw, one-time incident, your other guests won’t be disturbed further. Goodnight, Sir.” The handset fell upon its switch hook as it slipped from the small fold between Vera’s clawed alula and wing body. Motel manager Norbert managed to say “okay” before hanging up his end in confusion.
A couple of minutes later, Vincent exited the bathroom in a towel and began to dine, while small wisps of steam slowly billowed across the ceiling as Theodore dried himself off through forced evaporation. Unable to bear the suspense, he asked after swallowing his first bite, “so, what’s the score?”
Vera dropped a rice ball into her beak and swiftly gulped it down. “Fiona has a slight lead, but the bottom of this carton is going to turn into a brick wall. Hal’s going to have half of the fourth bag to himself once Tio’s done.” Her share in her belly, Vera took her usual after-dinner station, draping her wings over her human and calming her mind.
Theodore exited the bath and started his meal, soon instigating some conversation. “We need to figure out the sleeping arrangements, Boss. Hers, in particular.” Fiona, paying no attention to anything other than food, ate oblivious to Theodore’s insinuation, at first, but became aware as his conversation developed.
Vincent stabbed at a particularly evasive noodle. “Well, I could put her in her ball, but that seems a little mean since everyone else is getting to enjoy the room, and it’s not her fault that what happened to her gives her nightmares. I guess we could put her in the shower with Phil.” Phil withdrew his muzzle from his carton and shot Vincent a dirty look. He did not want to be assaulted if she started thrashing around again in the night.
Theodore impatiently dumped his share’s remainder into his mouth and swallowed it all at once. He rose to his feet and performed a gesture with both hands as he spoke again, “just wedge her narrow ass into the sink. She’s skinny enough to fit. I’m going to sleep now, so keep it down.” The frustrated beast flopped onto the bed massively.
Fiona stared at the brick wall for a moment before setting her carton down, abandoning it to the ravages of a dragon. She poked inside her master’s bag, found her present, and took one of the calcium pills with a large gulp of water. Her stomach ached and she did not know why. Was it because she stuffed herself to the gills, or was it because of what Theodore said about her? She settled on a combination of both. Vincent tried to get her attention, but she did not respond to her name. He intended to call more forcefully, but Vera nipped his ear gently and snugged against him tightly. Room 8 became silent except for the noises of Hal slurping away at whatever remained amongst the devastated cartons.
After a while, The Boss rose to run the shower for Phil. His vaporeon always enjoyed sleeping in physical contact with water. At home, the bathtub was all Phil’s at the end of the night, but on the road he would take what he could get, even if that meant covering a motel shower’s floor drain with his body so a few inches could pool within its basin. While shower water ran at full-blast, Fiona entered with a tattered pillow in one hand and Vincent’s rolled-up sleeping bag in her other, tossing them both onto the counter so she could sleep leaning against something soft. She mantled the counter, squeezed in beneath the faucet head—a tight fit but Theodore was right—and covered herself with a medium-sized towel as a sheet.
Vincent did not notice her until he turned the water down to a steady drip, gave Phil a nuzzle, and turned to leave. “You don’t have to sleep there. I’m sure we—”
His weavile cut him off. “Is Tio mean?”
Vincent dropped the toilet’s lid and sat upon it. “I’ve known him forever, and he’s never been mean to anyone. Curt, yeah. But, well, I don’t think he has a problem with you, but with the trouble you’ve gotten into; gotten me into. Plus, you didn’t make the best first impression, trying to steal from us and getting lit up for it. Maybe he’s also upset about Zap leaving. Tio and I have always been each other’s world, but Zap was Tio’s first pokemon friend and he gained a lot of confidence knowing that Water-types would not get a bye off of us anymore.”
Fiona’s expression remained quite downcast. “Well, if he’s not mean, then I think I should sleep here like he said. You’ve been nice to me and I need to stop making trouble for you. I don’t want to need to be punished again.”
The trainer rose like a flash and grabbed Fiona by her shoulders. She whimpered slightly in fear before realizing his serious expression was one of concern. “Fiona; never, ever will I ever punish you like that monster did.” Vincent exhaled sharply. “Punished again. That sort of thing should never happen to anyone; not once.” He put his left palm on her cheek and kissed her forehead. “We’re going to make it work out together, little thief. Just keep your chin up for me.”
She cracked a sly smile for the only time that evening. “Will you help me with something before you go to sleep? Hal promised to tell me what happened when you got him, but only after I got you to tell me about you and Tio.”
Sitting upon the throne again, Vincent admitted, “I know which story he was talking about. There’s not much to it, but Hal has always been embarrassed about his, since Tio couldn’t help himself, and Hal… well, I’ll tell you both stories since if you told him you heard Tio’s story, Hal would just say that his paled in comparison and shoo you away.”
“In short, my cyndaquil got sick. He had a strange disease and it almost killed him. We tried drugs and a few shots and he kept getting worse. When he was abandoned by his original trainer, his ball was thrown away too, and lost. Because his ball was still registered and it wasn’t broken, Tio was still owned by his original trainer even though I’d had him for a few weeks. I couldn’t capture him for myself and use the ball to keep him stable until we found something to help him or try using the healing equipment at the pokecenter. So, I had to take care of him the old-fashioned way. He suffered for days, then a week. His nose wouldn’t stop running, he couldn’t keep any solid food down, and he was always flirting with dehydration from diarrhea. Even his flame vents were seeping something nasty and green. They’re still stained after all these years and two evolutions.”
“I spent my winter break trying to keep his fever steady, his body clean, and his belly at just the right amount of soup that would keep him nourished without making him vomit. My parents were worried that I could get whatever he had and wanted to dump him off at the center and let them deal with it, but I refused to let him out of my sight. I knew I would never get him back. They made me a deal: everything I asked for came out of my savings; the soup, the towels, the drugs. If I showed the slightest sign of his disease, he was gone, no argument. If he died, I would never have a pokemon again.”
“I used a timer so I wouldn’t sleep for more than an hour at a stretch so if he started getting worse I would be there for him. He got worse, and better, and even worse.” The storyteller began to tear up. “It was about four in the morning. He was hardly breathing and I was nervous as hell. I told him I didn’t think I could help him anymore and I asked him if he wanted me to take him to the pokecenter for emergency treatment. He—he opened one of his matted eyes, slowly shook his head sideways, and reached toward me. I leaned close and he struggled to lift his head. He licked my cheek; his tongue was bone-dry. He chirped faintly and lay down again. I thought he died at that moment and I started to cry, but when I picked him up he was still trembling gently. I went back to the routine of cleaning him up, getting an eye-dropper of chicken broth in him, wrapping him in a towel, and setting my timer to one hour.”
“Two days later, for the first time since he got sick, he got through a day without throwing up or needing a fresh towel. The day before I had to go back to school, I took him to the center and they said that he would probably be okay. They asked me about how I came to have him and I fibbed a little so it would sound like Tio got sick while under his old trainer’s care and that his trainer dumped him instead of taking care of him. That was enough to get them to check up on trainers visiting centers with cyndaquils registered and that weekend we got a call that a girl admitted to dumping one in my home town and didn’t want it back. She denied that it was sick of course, and they just fined her for improper release, but I didn’t care about anything except that I could now make Tio my own.”
“When it came time for my allowance, I knew it would not be enough to buy a pokeball because I didn’t do any of my chores while I was taking care of Tio and I had spent all of my money except for a few coins, but my father came to me that day and said that I had saved a life, and that was more important than any other duty. He handed me a box covered with postage stamps, and inside was a hand-crafted friend ball.”
Fiona could not find any words that felt appropriate.
Vincent stood to leave. “Tio isn’t mean, but I think he sees you as more trouble than you are worth right now. I’ll leave it to you to prove him wrong, but for now, let’s take it one day at a time. It’s clear that a part of you is still in that cabin. I’m tired. Goodnight, little thief. You can hear Hal’s story some other time.” He exited and turned off the light, leaving only an automatic night-light’s faint illumination behind.
Fiona stared into the darkness. Three meters away, a shower head dripped once every eleven seconds.
Vincent crawled halfway into bed, to be quickly dragged the rest of the way by Theodore, whose nose detected familiar flesh. The sleeping beast gripped The Boss tightly, chirped in an uncharacteristically high voice, and licked the young man’s cheek. His tongue was warm and moist. When both fell fully asleep, Vera brushed her wing over her boys’ faces before returning to her oddly standing rest.
An antique radio’s music stopped abruptly. “Well, shit. Shade?”
Shade rose and drew downward a rope connected to a pulley, opening a storage chest’s lid. The fox rummaged through it looking for a package of fresh batteries. Zap thought this could become an opportunity. He picked up the radio, shook out its exhausted dry cells, bent down to pick one up that rolled near the chair, and held it up while midget lightning bolts began dancing around his extremities other than the leg that remained grounded by a metal shackle. A boot to the back of his head broke Zap’s concentration.
“None of that in my house. Next time I hit you, the clock will jump ahead three hours.”
So much for Zap’s plan to prove his usefulness to a new master by quick-charging some batteries. He shook off the blow and carried the radio to the hiker while Shade returned with a quartet of D-cells. Music resumed and the cabin settled down once again. Zap, still slightly dizzy from the strike, staggered toward an old sofa cushion that now served as his bed. The ninetales followed him. Shade stood over Zap for a minute before slowly biting down on the servant’s neck. Defensive instinct begged for a static discharge, but Zap resisted that urge. The fox grew bored and huffed a mouthful of flame before releasing the ram and trotting away to his master’s dangling arm to ask for affection; a request never denied.
“Vinny-vinny-vinny-vinny-vinny—”
His organic alarm clock could not be ignored.
“Nnngh, Fi’, whu—” Vincent’s eyes opened to see a field of darkness, broken only by an amber bindi flanked by two wide eyes and an endless grin, all of which seemed to sparkle despite how little light pierced the window’s curtain defenses.
“I did it! I made it!” Fiona jumped into a victorious pose, standing tall over Vincent’s chest while holding a dry hand towel in the air like a trophy, and continued accolading herself. “I’ve got everything under control, now! I’m awesome like that! I wonder if I got any taller overnight.”
Theodore rose slightly. “We’ll buy you a tape measure. Get off The Boss.” He shoved the alarm clock, which landed on the floor with a thud.
She scrambled to her feet and ran to the other side of the bed. “Wanna pick a fight? Okay, bring it on! I don’t care if you think you’re hot stuff. I can take you!” Her taunting was ineffective. “Come on, Tio. I wanna fight with you!”
Theodore rolled over very slowly and sat upright on the edge of the bed. “You really want to fight me?”
Fiona jumped up, “yeah, right now, let’s do this!” She danced toward him and playfully took a swing at his chest.
He caught her arm, lifted her up, and spun her to face the direction he faced as he pulled her onto his lap. Then, clutching her with both arms, he rolled over to lie as he lay before. “I win. My prize is ‘sleeping until ten.’ We’ll share it.” Theodore reached over and pulled Vincent into the hug.
There were no further interruptions until the electronic alarm clock sounded at 9:57, later that morning.
Once again hunting for breakfast and trusting Hal to both sleep and guard the campsite, Vincent and Theodore traveled the route in search of sustenance. This time, their deliverance came via a fast-food restaurant with a well-designed bargain menu. When they returned to Room 8, Theodore turned on the television, but there was little to watch but local weather, which Vera could predict more accurately, a children’s cartoon that seemed to be focused more on selling games and toys than providing entertainment, and a cooking show. Everyone selected one of the delicacies presented on Calvin Grovewell’s Gourmet and pretended that their mass-produced breakfast patties were actually meals worthy of narration as you ate them.
After breakfast, Vincent visited the motel office. “Do you think you could cut me a deal on about a two-week stay?”
With summer’s journeying season winding down, Norbert offered a bargain and they settled on a schedule that was not much harder to swallow than pokecenter tent rentals. With plenty of time before League-sanctioned competition would again be an option, Vincent spent most of those days visiting the routes about Linalool City, sending Fiona to compete against the beginner trainers and letting his experienced fighters collect small purses by defeating the more-confident trainers. Watching them fight, Fiona learned what Zap meant by “The Tio, Hal, and Phil Show.” While Theodore and Hal were both somewhat susceptible to the Rock-types popular in this area, Phil had no problem washing them away, and whatever else the trainer had on-hand was usually unable to stop a rampaging dragon.
Vincent did not put Theodore into a battle unless the opposition looked Fire-weak, however; sending in Vera whenever she availed herself to fight in his stead. Vincent knew that his typhlosion would not always follow orders, and since they needed big wins to afford their accommodations, if a battle started going badly, Tio could not be trusted to fight fairly in view of a large-enough wager.
As the fortnight neared its close, it was time to restock on needful things. Vincent, Theodore, Vera, and Fiona rode together in an elevator at Linalool’s department store to a floor that offered health and beauty supplies. Fiona wandered around the shelves while Vincent searched high and low for his preferred brand of soap, which was often a challenge to locate. It became a running gag, with Vincent asking Vera if he would be successful, to which she would always reply, “I can’t know until you decide if you will look thoroughly enough to find it.”
An attendant with the appearance of that rare breed of woman that turn out to be fifteen years older than you would reasonably guess judging by her appearance and behavior operated a demonstration booth, promoting a new line of make-up. Fiona watched customers sampling lipsticks and mascaras. During a moment when the booth stood idle, the attendant beckoned her. “Now aren’t you a precious little thing. Come over here so I can get a good look at you.”
Fiona approached slowly, the word “little” rattling inside her skull.
“Aw, you’re such a beautiful pokemon already, I don’t think make-up would be able to bring your appearance any higher.”
Vera came up behind Fiona and withdrew a singed feather from her purse. “I was thinking something like this might be an interesting look.” The xatu held the little thief’s shed ear feather against Fiona’s crown.
The attendant smiled. “That could be interesting. You might consider bleaching the tips instead of darkening them, too. We have products for that, but a little peroxide would be plenty to try it with.”
Fiona took from Vera the feather and gave it a gentle sniff. Doing so triggered a strong memory. She paraphrased an advertising slogan printed on a nearby sign while observing herself in a mirror. “I think it might be the new ‘me.’ I’ll try it.”
The girls bade each other adieu and sought Vincent and Theodore, who had given up on the cosmetics section and migrated toward automotive.
When they emerged from the department store, Vera stumbled slightly as though something surprised her. Her friends watched as her pupils shrank to points before she closed her eyes for a few seconds during which her mood became clearly sullen. When her eyes opened, they revealed themselves dilated. Vincent asked what was wrong, to which Vera responded by stepping towards him with her left wing raised, sliding it over his right shoulder as she gave him half of a hug, nipped his ear gently, and whispered, “sometimes it’s more saddening when you see it coming.” She took a few steps away before launching herself straight upward into the sky.
Now a trio, they continued on their way and followed a path that took them beside Linalool Park. Fiona tugged on Theodore’s arm and showed him a feather that fell from her ear the night she evolved. “Do you think you could do this to all of my feathers?”
Theodore grunted. “What? Burn them?”
“Yeah, just the tips, like you did to this feather.”
Vincent shrugged in acquiescence when Theodore looked to him for advice. Descending to all-fours, Tio told him, “alright, Boss. Hold her back to mine,” and once Vincent confirmed that she was placed so the edge of her crown aligned with the typhlosion’s flame vents, he continued, “don’t flinch. Three, two, one, awesome.” A short rank of flames formed and extinguished so quickly that despite their height they were almost too swift to see. Where they so briefly stood, the tip of Fiona’s every crown feather became scorched to match the sample that she provided.
She rolled off of Theodore, dashed toward the park’s pond, and ice-punched its surface to make an impromptu mirror. Fiona held it high and admired her faint reflection, its tiara’s altered feathers contrasting strongly against the sky beyond the ice. Once again, she saw a new face in the glass and liked what she saw. Her gaze snapped instantly from her reflection to Vincent. “I like it!”
Theodore stroked from his fur some plant matter that clung to him when he knelt. “Great. Now she’ll want me to do that for her every time she molts.”
Vincent chuckled and started walking ahead. Theodore proceeded behind him and Fiona jogged to catch up and rejoin them. After traveling a short distance, the trainer handed his starter their purchases from the store. “Tio, do me a favor. Carry this stuff back to our room. I’m going to take Fiona to the center and see if I can afford to put an H.M. in her.”
Theodore knew little about which pokemon could use which H.M.’s, but there were only a couple that had any merit in battle that Vincent would be willing to spend money on, and Tio did not like the idea of losing any part of his elemental advantage over the over-staying guest that he considered to be quite beyond her welcome.