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 VI: Highly Curious
Can’t Escape, Chapter 6: Highly Curious.
“Are you kidding? She’s practically an addict; takes one with every meal. Fiona spent all weekend at that Battle Arcade marathon game the Frontier set up at Coumarin Gym trying to rack up enough points to win more pills.”
Jackie chewed on her straw and did not let it go just to speak. “Did she get one?”
Vincent downed a French fry. “Three bottles, actually. Not because she won much—she was getting battered—but as soon as she could get back on her feet she was entering another match. I guess, knowing the brutality she’s taken in her lifetime, that’s probably nothing. I’ve never really believed that vitamin stuff worked, but Vera didn’t say that they wouldn’t make her grow taller, and she’s still hung-up on thinking she’s short; and recently, slow, too.”
Jacqueline stabbed her straw through her cup’s ice to get one last slurp before rising for a refill. “I thought she was pretty tall.”
“She is; according to the pokedex you gave me, she’s one of the tallest. But, she’s shorter than the rest of my team except for Phil, and she said she was the smallest in her pack before she was trapped so I guess it’s just a pet peeve sticking around.”
Jackie smiled. “Girls always worry about their appearance, even the tough-on-the-outside ones, when they’re around the boys, and the less important something is, the worse we’ll worry about it. That’s part of what makes us fun.” She left her seat and traveled to the soda fountain to refill both of their drinks. She returned to find Vincent poking at his pokedex, looking frustrated.
“Do you think those pills actually do anything? I always thought they were a really profitable placebo to cash-in on kids desperate for an imperceptible edge.”
Jacqueline’s straw again fell under dental siege. “Yeah, they work. Daddy once supervised an R&D group that was working on making them stay effective. Used-to-be, after a while vitamins stopped helping and you had to spend days in a gym or in the field fighting the same boring battles over and over to focus on enhancing a stat. Today, if you can afford to, you can buy the right berries, a crate of vitamins, and tweak your pokemon’s, how did Daddy put it, ‘combat-relevant attributes of interest’ with a few days of square meals and extra bed rest. Caz does that all the time; doesn’t care that it makes half of his team sick to their stomachs before and after their matches.”
Vincent leaned back and a little to his side. “I know he’s your brother, so don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I wonder what he cares about. I mean, he has done well, but you’ve got a better league record than he has, don’t you?”
She blushed faintly and nodded in affirmation. “Caz cares about showing off. Usually, more than he cares about doing something that’s worth showing off. And, it’s not like I did anything special to win National; I’m just better at keeping his team’s morale up when facing tougher match-ups and they pulled through that year.”
Vincent leaned forward. “You won with some of the same pokemon he bombed out with. I think that’s something special.”
Jacqueline smiled brightly, then beckoned him to lend back her old trainer’s device. “I think I might be able to help you out with raising Fiona, if you like.”
Both of their drinks were empty again when Jackie stopped pecking away at the T.D.’s touchscreen.
“Okay, don’t tell anyone I let you see this stuff. According to her battle record, mostly from that Frontier tent promo, and the vitals recorded by her ball and visits to pokecenters, it seems she was born for special attacks, and the calcium will bring that up even more, so you should probably focus on that. Weaviles are naturally suited for physical combat, so she’ll never be a powerhouse, but trainers will have to change strategy in a hurry since she can use unexpected techniques that physical weaviles would never consider. Do you think she’s modest?”
Vincent was barely keeping up with all the information that Jackie poured over his head. “Well, compared to what I have heard about weavile behavior, I guess she’s pretty modest except when she gets excited.”
Jacqueline laughed, “no, silly; modest nature. If she is, her special attacks will be almost as good as her physical ones, so you should have her try all the moves she can learn. I see you’ve already got surf on her…”
Vincent felt more like Jackie’s lead-slot pokemon at this point, being trained in matters beyond his comprehension.
“I’ll save a note in here for you. Ice-beam you’ve gotta have, and shadow-ball should be good. If you can’t find anyone who will trade you some T.M.’s, let me know, and we’ll figure something out.” Jackie returned their device to him and slung her purse over her shoulder, breaking stride just before leaving the fast food joint to call out, “don’t forget, you owe me lunch; ciao!”
Vincent and Jackie had been in a perpetual state of owing each other lunch since third grade.
Another sign-up, another argument.
Vincent slackened. “For the thousandth time, Tio, it actually has to be ‘toxic.’ That’s the only poisonous move you can use in competition.”
Theodore grumbled, “officially,” while looking around the gym. A wide table indicated where judges would be seated; he knew that he could sneak in a poison-fang attack without any of them noticing. “Toxic sucks because toxic misses. Name one time I’ve fanged an opponent and not had them on the ground and twitching within twenty seconds.”
Vincent pulled Tio close to whisper forcefully into his ear. “Fang’s side-effect is supposed to fail more often than not and it’s not that powerful. Whatever you do, it isn’t natural. Can we get back to business, now? Do you think these guys are slow enough for you to sweep with eruptions, or should we stick with the generic sunny-day setup?”
“Pikachu gets to cheat,” Theodore diverted.
“What?”
“Pikachu gets to cheat. Remember two years ago, Palmitoy Creek? I got my ass surfed off and the judges said it was okay because, supposedly, one in thirty ’chu from that made-up forest county learn how to use that technique naturally.”
Vincent narrowed his eyes dismissively. “I remember you whining about it for the following week.”
“It’s a double-standard, this league letting those little rodents run around soaking honorable and fair fighters to the bone, but I get disqualified if I poison someone my own way.”
Vincent tapped Tio’s registration card with a pencil.
The typhlosion looked around the gym again and judged his competition as best he could from the appearance of trainers present and the pokemon they let walk alongside themselves. “Yes, sunny-day; same-old same-old. I smell lots of water here.”
Carl burst through Coumarin Gym’s front doors, spotting Vincent immediately and interrupting the filling-out of forms. “En-garde, twerp! You can’t escape fighting me today!”
Vincent hoped otherwise and sought an excuse. “The gym floor is closed, you know. They’re prepping for tonight’s contests.”
An elderly veteran wearing a fine robe approached the boys unseen and placed his hands on both trainers’ shoulders. “My ring is empty and I would enjoy a little matinee if you wouldn’t mind humoring an old man.” Carl and Vincent both noticed a badge on his gi; this was the gym leader that tonight’s combatants were vying for a chance to meet.
Minutes later, the sensei sat legs-folded upon a cushion near the vacant judges’ table and began picking at a cup of instant noodles. He noticed that Vincent wore only five balls on his belt. “Three against three, if you please. I see one of us is short-handed at the moment.” Vincent and Carl selected their leads in secret and released them into the ring upon the sensei’s signal.
Phil whistled mockingly at Lucas; as formidable as the feraligatr could be, between Phil’s ability and hidden-power, his options were few. His mass gave him great momentum and he was fast on his feet, but his balance was poor and his reach short. Phil cast an aqua-ring and bided his time while withstanding glancing blows until he found an opportunity to electrocute Lucas repeatedly.
As Lucas fell to his knees and then elbows, and tapped out, Carl voiced a grunt of disgusted disappointment and quickly cycled two balls into his hands, using the first to remove his traditional starter from the ring without giving him a chance to carry himself and his dignity away under his own power.
Vincent’s familiarity with Carl’s strategies guided his expectation of Lucas’s replacement. He recalled Phil, knowing the vaporeon ought to be rather exhausted despite not letting any hint of such show.
Materializing within a ring well before match time surprised and excited Fiona. “Huh? Oh, hey, cool. Whose ass am I gonna kick?” She turned around to see that Jean materialized opposite her. Jean’s species was unknown to her, so she guessed according to his color and apparent dorsal fin. “Hey, Vinny, is that some sort of grass shark?”
Vincent stood up straight and proud hoping to give her a boost in confidence. “Nope, Psychic and Fighting. I need to see if you’re ready for a real fight. Do what damage you can manage and absolutely never let him get his hands on you.”
Jean strode toward the ring’s center, staring at Fiona with a steady gaze. Obviously a Dark-type, he chose to play a defensive strategy this time, even though he could feel Carl’s desire to watch him slam her repeatedly against the mat.
Fiona did better than Vincent expected, capitalizing on Jean’s inability to get a read on her mind. She feinted a few attacks and squeezed in opportunistic ice-punches. She fought well, but she needed more training and experience to become truly effective. Their battle ended abruptly. She failed to withdraw quickly enough after one of her marginally-effective attacks. The gallade reached outward with invisible speed rivaling that of a trap-door spider. Jean gripped her head from behind, slammed her face into his on-coming fist, and in a rather merciful gesture, slung her unconscious body out of the ring like a rag doll.
Theodore strode into the ring, wiggling his shoulders as though he needed to limber up and engaged Jean in combat while Vincent gathered his fainted weavile and said, “you did good,” before recalling her into her luxury ball.
Battle between Jean and Tio usually came down to whether or not the latter could successfully not-think about how he would attack. Jean could read any strategy that the typhlosion might develop, so Theodore relied on spontaneous decisions. The gallade sensed only, “it’s coming,” from Theodore until it came. Jean attempted an aggressive strategy for this round, but getting close enough for close-combat also meant dancing beside the fire. Theodore hopped over an ankle-sweep and unleashed enough flame in one burst to almost suffocate his foe, causing Jean to black-out within seconds.
The sensei finished his noodles and held out the emptied cup to be immediately taken by an aide. Carl expressed his disappointment that Jean let Vincent’s weavile play around, and wear him down, for so long, but at least Jean roughed up the typhlosion a little. Finishing him off should be no problem for Carl’s third team member, a new addition that Carl took on as a quirky side-project during this summer. His poliwrath’s appearance drew a reflexive sunny-day out of Theodore. Amongst the other trainers in Coumarin Gym, a nearby castform quickly took the opportunity to undergo metamorphosis.
After forty seconds of non-committal engagement, Carl’s frog was still frosty and Theodore was running out of both stamina and patience. The typhlosion almost stepped out of the ring after receiving a staggering waterfall-laced uppercut. Panting heavily and deeply, Tio crouched low to manage his center of gravity. Seymour, amused by Theodore’s posture, blew a gentle bubble-beam over his head to taunt him.
Theodore coughed and gargled whatever came up while stepping around the rim toward his trainer’s position. He spat a bloody wad of fluid, as much olive green in color as it was crimson red. A bone somewhere in his body clicked as he straightened up. “Ow. Screw this. Boss, call me a cab.”
Vincent knew the judge was watching carefully and as wise as his age suggested. He expected soon to be disqualified.
Theodore exaggerated his fatigue and when Seymour overextended, Tio pounced atop him, delivering a powerful bite as they rolled across the ring. Vincent started counting to twenty while his friend evaded the frog’s increasingly sloppy attacks, but stopped at twelve, when Seymour’s legs gave out. Collapsed to the floor, the frog gurgled softly and twitched with an irregular rhythm.
The sensei applauded slowly but loudly, watching Theodore closely as he limped toward Vincent, mouth agape and with tongue, lips, and gums tinted green. They looked into each other’s eyes and said nothing. Vincent recalled Theodore and re-affixed his typhlosion’s friend ball to his belt. The veteran stood with a little effort and approached both trainers a moment after Carl recalled Seymour and turned to pout his way to the exit. “Thank you for your performances, children, but now I am afraid that the rest of this evening may be unable to best what I have just seen. Short-handed one, whatever the outcome of tonight’s competition, we should share a discussion afterward.” The old man returned to the back halls of Coumarin Gym, his cushion carried by another aide. Onlookers congratulated Vincent on impressing the gym leader, but he could only dread what their conversation would be about.
Vincent’s telephone rang as he traveled to the pokecenter for his team’s rejuvenation. It was Jackie, calling to warn him that Carl might show up early to pick a fight with him. He thanked her for the warning. Inside, the pokecenter was swamped, so Vincent finished up his registration cards after taking a number. With convenient timing, his registration paperwork exchanged places with medical reports. They revealed no surprises. Phil was fine, Fiona would have an almost-literally splitting headache upon release from her ball, and Theodore’s scan showed an inconclusive abnormality.
Vincent released Phil at the center’s door. The vaporeon materialized with a smile and whistled according to habit in celebration of a fight stacked in his favor. Noticing Theodore’s absence, Phil hopped up and leaned against Vincent’s body, pawing at Tio’s ball and emitting a quizzical sound while looking upward.
With a pat on Phil’s shoulders, Vincent grunted. “Tio broke the rules so he gets a time-out. We’ve got a few hours before the first round, so let’s get these forms dropped off and relax for a bit.” Upon returning to their motel room, Vincent reconsidered and suspended Theodore’s sentence. As soon as he was liberated, the typhlosion gave his best buddy a big and literally warm hug; a defensive mechanism that protected Tio after doing something he knew he really should not do but that needed to be done nonetheless. Vincent released Fiona next onto the room’s bed. He jostled her awake.
“Duuu, why so… hurting, awweiii.”
Vincent propped her into a seated pose while Theodore fetched a small paper cup from the bathroom and brought it to Fiona with water and headache medication. After taking the dose and taking a moment, her perception cleared enough to recognize faces.
“Vin-n-ny, did you just teach me all the moves?” she asked while her trainer nudged her a little to the left and right, countering her imbalanced leans.
He caught her chin with his right hand. “No. You learned why I said not to let Jean get ahold of you.”
Fiona concentrated on that battle, and remembered everything up to the big green guy appearing within the ring.
Theodore looked on the bright side. “Be glad he was in a good mood. You seemed pretty happy to have your teeth grow back when you evolved. Get on Jean’s bad side and half of them will be scattered around the arena.”
As Vincent reached for his phone to call Information and then order Chinese, it rang in his hands and displayed an unfamiliar number. “Uh, who is this?” he asked.
A familiar chirp was identification enough. “I will provide supper shortly.” Vera hung up immediately, as her suction cup’s grip on the phone handset would last only a few seconds more. She thanked the restaurant owner in his native tongue and offered personalized readings to diners who mocked their fortune cookies’ prophetic value while awaiting her order.
Vincent entered the bathroom. “Tio, Vera’s got the food covered. You can let Hungry Hungry Hal out.” Although he spoke only forcefully enough to carry across the motel room, every syllable pounded its way through Fiona’s head. She whined softly and shifted her body around, slipping down from the headboard. Mindful of her claws, she manipulated the pillow a little. Despite being in one piece, she honestly preferred her tattered bundle of remnants.
Returning from the back halls, Carl shoved his way to the head of the line. “I’m a three-time semifinalist, I have a match in two hours, do something!”
Coumarin Pokecenter’s desk nurse held no compassion for anyone disturbing her queue, and in a vent of her frustration carelessly slammed a pokeball against her counter as she returned it to its owner. “Go to the market and buy antidotes if you want to keep trying. Whatever species of pokemon poisoned it—”
“I told you, typhlosion!”
“—if none of our machines can clear its toxic, you’ll have to check your pokemon in for treatment or have him walk it off.”
Carl pocketed Seymour’s ball and stormed away, resolving himself to buy a pallet-load of antidote if necessary to restore his frog to fighting form. What puzzled him was how it became so badly poisoned that center rejuvenation machines failed to filter out the toxins. Carl felt tempted to call Vincent and ask, but unwilling to humble himself, that question joined another left to stand unresolved: how Vincent outmaneuvered Carl at Indan Falls’ game room exchange.
Soon, a case of antidotes proved largely ineffective.
Coumarin Gym filled with audience members from everywhere news of Iwamoto’s visit reached. Officially retired, the old master only accepted challenges a couple of times per season, and only toward the end as a surprise substitute for a scheduled leader.
A green bird tucked her beak between her boys’ heads and embraced them as they approached the gym. “Just let him rant. He can’t do anything as long as you don’t. He won’t risk getting tossed out and missing his chance at this badge.”
Six steps inside, Carl grabbed Vincent and tried to push him against a wall, although he lacked necessary leverage. Theodore halted their altercation, fully prepared to put Carl through the wall instead if he so much as twitched aggressively, but the semifinalist merely scowled and spat his rage, blind to Vera walking behind and beyond them. She ignored their confrontation completely and maneuvered toward an alcove beyond the lobby seating.
Carl made an effort to stare down Vincent. “I don’t know what you two did to my fighter but whatever it was, it wasn’t legal and I’m going to get both of you kicked out of the league for it.” He twisted a little to glare at Theodore. “Let go of me, Gorilla, before I have you put down for violent tendencies amongst mankind.”
Theodore released Carl with a shove and a shrug, briefly venting a rank of flame.
A scruffy, late middle-aged man with a noticeable mole on his chin loaded up on junk food at a vending machine. Vera watched him struggle with a cash slot that rejected his currency in a cliche way. History’s repeating itself made her smile, as she remembered a boy who suffered the very same curse when he visited the ruins.
“If you purchased your sustenance at a real store, you would get more for your money,” she advised.
The hiker, more concerned with not pressing two buttons at once with his fat and stubby fingers, did not bother to turn and face his conversation partner. Something in her voice’s undertones, however, seemed strangely familiar and soothing. He replied as though to a familiar friend. “I didn’t reckon I’d get hungry until I got here, and I don’t want to leave and let other folk get all the good seats. This place’s filling up fast.”
Vera leaned against a tall rubbish bin. “Are you expecting a good show?”
The hiker’s chocolate bar jammed. Consequentially, the vending machine became a foe to combat using strategically-placed blows.
“I don’t know. Some of the guys at work said that an old famous guy was the featured gym trainer for tonight, so I fig—got ya!” The hiker tucked his candy inside a small pocket in his ninetales’ vest and turned about. “Figured I’d come down and see what all the fuss—” The hiker immediately recognized the xatu before him as the one he met in a small and rather hostile village, and lost his voice.
Vera tilted her head. “Should we close our eyes and pretend I’m not here so you can continue?”
After a gentle nudge from his companion, the hiker’s tongue sprang to life. “Uh, no, just, what are you doing here?”
She straightened up and stepped once from the bin. “Ostensibly competing. The battle is not going to go too well for me, but I am not the reason why I’m here right now.”
A little small talk exchanged between them before they were interrupted by one of the sensei’s aides. “Crying-Tree, I’ve been looking all over for you, I—” The aide bowed in apology when he realized his mistake. “Excuse me, madame xatu, the one I seek is another of your kind.”
Vera closed her eyes for a moment, seemingly in acknowledgment of the aide’s words. “I sense him on the rooftop. He’s watching the sunset. He will meet with you in four minutes.”
The aide thanked her for the information and took leave.
Vera’s prediction of her team’s performance seemed almost a lie as Vincent won early rounds rather easily. However, the penultimate match-up presented a Rock-heavy strategy. Replacing Zap with Fiona exacerbated an already problematic weakness to that element. Phil held out for as long as he could, bringing down two before facing a cradily that could withstand a couple hits. Vera stalled by instilling confusion, but caught a rock-slide that brought her down. Hal earned one knock-out before being forced to tap and Theodore rushed in recklessly for maximum damage against a tyranitar before being clobbered. That left Fiona with two more foes to face even if she could finish off the dime-store dinosaur. She could not, and Vincent’s chance at the gym badge became forfeit.
The hiker felt strangely mesmerized while watching a weavile named Fiona in the ring, deftly dodging that tyranitar’s attacks as though she had seen them all before. Hearing her cry out in pain when she finally went down, he realized that the little shit had years of experience.
Vincent gathered his things and left ringside. He planned to abandon the show to instead restore his pokemon’s health at a center when one of the sensei’s aides approached and offered to take care of his pokemon, as though Vincent were to compete in the next round. He accepted the generosity and found a seat in the gallery. Carl rained-out Madeline’s rock party. Even Seymour had an easy time of it, despite his motions’ unsteady executions. With that, Carl earned a shot at an uncommon badge.
An announcer informed the audience of a fifty-minute intermission. Vincent received his team and released them all. Theodore stood in his usual position, and scanned for Carl. Phil indicated that he wanted to rest and Vincent recalled him again. Hal accepted some money and wandered off, looking for something to nosh. Fiona was unsure why they remained at the gym after losing, and asked.
“The gym leader said earlier that he wanted to talk with me, and when I tried to leave, one of his helpers took all of you back for rejuvenation and asked me to stay, so I guess we’re waiting to meet him after the final.”
Vera leaned down and prepared Fiona. “He is not going to be able to hurt you tonight, I promise.”
Fiona scrunched her brow, thinking she was talking about the gym leader. Then, a flourish of wing feathers beckoned a distant hiker to come over and visit. The weavile panicked. “Vinny. V—Vinny! That’s him! Put me back in the ball before he sees me!” Her motions were sporadic, trying to hide behind Vincent, get her ball to use on herself, run away, and defend herself at the same time. In sum, she did not achieve much but spin and twist ineffectually.
Vincent intended to grant her request, but Vera interceded and admitted, “I think this might be a good meeting.”
He rested his hands on Fiona’s shoulders to reassure her. Looking across the gallery, he recognized the hiker, and that this was the second time she arranged a meeting with him. “ ‘Think,’ ‘might be,’ Vera? I don’t like it when you use uncertain words.”
Shade needed permission to act, but felt ready to tear Fiona apart; her evolution only making her a larger target. He estimated that the odds of receiving that command were roughly even.
Vera opened their conversation. “We have not been properly introduced, although you’ve heard our names announced during the contest. I am Vera, and these are three of my friends: Vincent, Theodore, and Fiona.”
The hiker quoted the aide, “Madame Xatu,” and took up Vera’s wing, kissing what would be the top of her hand if she had one. His respectful human gesture drew a blush beneath her feathers, which stood up and out a little. He then shook Vincent’s hand with a crushing grip and said, “my friends call me ‘Mac.’ ” He offered his hand to the typhlosion, and the typhlosion returned his squeeze with both paws, four times the strength, and a warning glare. Finally, Mac slowly looked down his nose at the weavile. She stared up at him for a few seconds and he felt slightly intimidated. Those red eyes of hers still burned, and more brightly now than ever before. They were a lot nearer to his face than he was accustomed to, too. With a swift motion, she swung her arm and clawed hand upwards, palm facing down. Mac, startled, retreated a half step. Shade almost took her gesture as justification to attack, but her claws were retracted.
Fiona wiggled her fingers a little. “Well, aren’t you going to shake my hand, too?” She drew her widest grin, showing that her left-side teeth had grown back. “I promise I won’t bite.”
Mac timidly shook her hand. Both he and Fiona expected to feel a soulless coldness when touching the flesh of the enemy, yet each other’s hands were warm. Shade’s stance slackened, completely disappointed that his interests had lost the coin flip.
Their extended party returned to the gallery early to secure good seats. Hal plodded through the gym’s front doors not long afterward and trod over with a huge load of fast food. Turning the gallery into a cafeteria breached policy, but few—be they staff, League official, or otherwise—would willingly approach an obviously hungry dragon to argue about such matters. Despite his capability to be a glutton, Hal happily shared his haul with his teammates and their new friends.
When the dragonite settled in beside Shade, the ninetales leaned against his trainer’s legs; a defensive behavior that Shade had not exhibited often since absorbing power from a fire stone. Shade saw Hal at work inside the ring and knew that one waterfall punch from the orange titan could put him out of commission. He worried despite knowing that Hal lacked any motivation to attack, and in fact seemed rather interested in making a friend of the fox, offering a bite of a plain hamburger.
The audience fell silent of its own volition as a nonagenarian emerged from the back rooms, his aides carrying his cushion, six ornate hand-carved apricorn pokeballs in a wooden tray with gold inlays, and two cups of instant noodles. Carl approached and bowed respectfully before the sensei, who returned Carl’s bow with a slight nod. Iwamoto took his seat and assaulted his first cup of noodles while the announcer declared the format and rattled off the standard combat rules.
Obliged to select his lead pokemon, Carl choose to ante low and released Seymour knowing that, still intoxicated, his contribution might be rather limited. Iwamoto donned his glasses, verified that the creature was indeed still poisoned, removed them, and covered his eyes with his right arm. He selected a ball with his left without ceremony and released its occupant, a pichu.
Carl chuckled, “pichu? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Jackie, standing at the rear of the audience shouted, “don’t be a jerk, Caz!”
Iwamoto’s yellow mouse stood still as Seymour approached to attack. It staggered back, enduring his blow and exploiting the contact to paralyze Seymour with a static discharge. Two consecutive charge-beams put the toad down.
Carl felt insulted and wanted to see the mouse suffer. With swift motions, Carl exchanged Seymour for Jean.
Iwamoto clapped his hands twice. His pichu ran back to enjoy a small hug and a couple noodles before the sensei released his next fighter. Iwamoto’s delay irritated Carl, and Iwamoto knew this by watching Jean’s expression. Finally he opened Crying-Tree’s ball. Maintaining the stalling effort, Crying-Tree merely cast wish upon himself to keep his stamina up while letting Jean’s ineffective Fighting-type techniques knock away feathers that were due to be plucked during preening anyway. Carl’s frustration grew and brought Jean to stumble. At that opening, Crying-Tree pecked him senseless and, following a desperate double-team from Jean, finished him off with an aerial-ace, just to be showy.
Mac twisted his head around; his spine crackled loudly. The noise drew a nervous shifting in her seat from Fiona, but he did not say what she was used to him saying after straightening his neck. “That kid ain’t having too easy of a time of it, is he?”
Vincent did not reply, his attentions engrossed in watching Carl suppressing his brewing tantrum.
Vera leaned forward from an awkwardly crouched position in the row behind Vincent and Mac. “He is accustomed to battling against novices and elevated gym leaders called ‘elite’ for lack of a better term. He will never earn a badge from a true master like Iwamoto-sama.”
A definite statement from Vera always caught Vincent’s attention. “Never? That’s a long-term prediction. Can’t he make a choice somewhere along the line to change that? You told me that having choices makes people impossible to predict perf—”
“Never.” Vera’s interjection was almost a croak, as her emotion interfered with her effort to modulate her voice into a word. She stood and left the gallery seating.
When Lucas fell against one energy-ball too many, the audience shouted, “¡ole!” Pablo shook his maracas, and Carl lost his temper.
“I did not just lose to a ludicolo… you cheating old fart, you picked your team after you saw my guys winning all night long just so you could embarrass me with silly counters!”
Crying-Tree felt he was doing well-enough a job of that on his own.
Iwamoto gave his second cup’s final noodle to Cookie the pichu before responding. “Sou da. You failed to overcome my challenge. You will not be receiving a badge from me, tonight.” The master rose slowly and exited with Crying-Tree walking beside him and Cookie on his shoulder while his aides gathered the cushion, pokeballs, and empty noodle cups. Most of the audience fell into low discussion as they filtered out through the front doors with their consensus being that Carl should lose a badge for his immature display.
Mac groaned as he stood, spine popping once again. “Ouch. These chairs do me nothing but bad. I gotta get into my lazy-ass recliner and hear something soft before bed. Got work to do tomorrow. Vincent, I’ll catch up with you later.” His eyes narrowed as he looked toward Fiona. “No doubt about that.” The hiker squeezed around Hal as the dragonite sucked dry the last of his meal’s gratis ketchup packets, and departed with Shade following closely behind.
Crying-Tree soon approached Vincent with a note written in a very fine hand, reading, “Iwamoto-sama expects your presence.” The xatu halted Theodore, and thus the other pokemon also following along, and took Vincent alone into the rear chambers.
Within a claustrophobic room he found a fine rug, a futon, an elderly man sitting on a cushion beside a lit incense burner, a dozing pichu, a folder containing six sheets of paper, and another opened cup of instant noodles. Crying-Tree shut the door behind Vincent, who quickly sat at the near end of the rug and waited in silence.
Iwamoto withdrew his spectacles from a case tucked inside his obi and placed them upon his nose. “Did you enjoy the games, tonight?” Cookie looked up and squeaked, receiving a nod from her master. She quickly picked up a pair of hashi almost as long as she was tall and tried to finish off the remaining noodles.
Vincent nodded, “yes, Sir, although I was disappointed that I did not earn a badge this time. I hoped to make eight, or at least come close, before going to college. But, I’ve ignored my team’s weakness to Rock-type because I don’t want to upset them, or myself, by sending one away to make room for someone new just because so-and-so doesn’t mind getting gravel in his shoes. Those goals conflict on nights like this.”
Iwamoto almost interrupted, but opted instead to investigate. “You registered only five pokemon tonight. You would not need to send anyone away and would be completing your team by inviting a sixth.”
Vincent spoke freely. “Tio was always ‘enough’ companionship for me. I started adding when I tried, and enjoyed, the traveling part of pokemon. Still, I always told myself I would never have too many pokemon. I wanted to make sure I could pay attention to all of them. So, I don’t have many but the way they act makes me feel neglectful. Five might be just barely too many.”
“Neglectful?”
“Phil, my vaporeon, is a bit of an outsider because he doesn’t talk like the others. I offered to buy the T.M. for him but he refused it. I guess he’s happy this way, but I feel like I never truly connected with him outside of battling or playing at a pond. Since he evolved, Hal, my dragonite, seems to only want to be out of his ball so he can eat. Tio used to get jealous because he would ride on my shoulders as a chubby dratini, but that ended when he evolved to dragonair. He started asking to stay in his ball; he got clumsier as well as longer and stronger. When he evolved again, he wanted to be out at first, but after a while he was back to being in more than out.”
Iwamoto’s silence pressured Vincent to continue.
“I used to have an ampharos, but he left me. I think Tio was right; that he felt betrayed because I wasn’t dedicating my life to the league. I don’t think I should be adding another pokemon just to be able to fill out a sixth entry card when I already have three, well, two pokemon who aren’t very happy.”
Sensei leaned forward slightly. “Young man, do you feel that you neglected your ampharos friend?” Cookie climbed up into his lap and curled up beneath her master’s weathered hand.
Vincent reflected for a moment. “No, I didn’t neglect him, but I think I neglected his dreams. He wanted to be a champion while the rest of us saw Pokemon League as a hobby.” Cookie stretched, squirmed, and settled in comfortably while the young man spoke. “I did everything I could for him, though. He loves music, and I bought him every album he ever asked me for. I got him into singing contests whenever I could, and he did very well. I was hoping that he would be satisfied by being a winner using his real talents, because I didn’t need my psychic to tell me that being a successful fighter wasn’t in his future. He just wasn’t willing to change his course.”
Iwamoto stroked his pichu’s fur gently. “I hope that you have a chance in the future to restore your friendship or to come to terms with its end. I sense that you would choose to keep your sixth slot open for him despite the suggestions of better judgment.” With his free hand, Iwamoto flipped through the sheets, sorting three to one side and three to another. After briefly reviewing one trio, he sat two of those three with the others. “I decided to meet with you tonight because today I saw something that I have never seen before, and at my age that is quite an accomplishment. You’ve trained your typhlosion to use the poison-fang technique, and with completely astonishing efficacy. May I ask how, and why?”
Vincent shifted uneasily. “You may, Sir, but I don’t have a very good answer. Tio seemed to learn it for himself. I had to barter for the T.M. to teach him toxic because he wanted to use poison in competition and I knew that we’d be disqualified if the judges saw him using poison-fang.”
Moving carefully to ensure that he did not disturb Cookie, Iwamoto took up the remaining sheet of paper. Speaking through it, “you would be disqualified, but the judges would be wrong. Pokemon can know many unusual moves, including ones they cannot be made to learn. Usually this happens through cross-breeding, but not always. A natural move is always legitimate in competition, even if it is rare or unique.” He gestured with the paper. “This is the summary produced by my personal rejuvenation machine when my aide restored your team. Do you notice anything unusual about this information?”
Sensei passed the page to Vincent, who perused it immediately. Aside from being a far nicer and more-complete report than the pokecenter public received, nothing seemed unusual until he checked the diagnostic information that followed a familiar warning about an abnormality that always appeared on Theodore’s reports. Beneath that, this report added that the pokemon seemed to be recovering or had recently recovered from an infection with properties similar to, but distinct from, pokerus. It also admitted a hypothetical explanation, despite it being an implausibility: Theodore was a Fire/Poison-typed typhlosion. Elemental resistance data backed up that hypothesis, showing unusual susceptibility to Psychic-type forces, resistance to Fighting-type moves, and almost impervious defense against Bug- and Grass-type effects.
Iwamoto waited for Vincent to return the page to him before continuing. “Whatever the cause of his unique talents, you have created a skilled fighter. And, judging by what I have seen of his behavior and what Crying-Tree tells me, a wholly dedicated friendship. One with a strength that I have seen before, but only a few times. Cherish it.”
Vincent held his breath for a moment and remembered all the time he and Tio spent together. “I do, Sensei.”
Iwamoto looked up toward the door. Before realizing that the old man was listening to a telepathic message from Crying-Tree, still standing vigil outside, Vincent considered the gesture as an order to leave. Pressing a hidden trigger, Iwamoto unlocked a small drawer inside his incense burner and from within, withdrew an unfamiliar badge and presented it to Vincent. “I believe that you have earned this, and will continue to live up to its standard, for the betterment of the two we did not discuss. Please, wear it now. Your girlfriend will be happy to see it. In time, you also may find it carries a few other benefits.”
Vincent started to say many things at once, but Iwamoto raised a palm as Crying-Tree opened the door. “It is late in the evening. Please, humor an old man and let him digest his noodles with his pets bird and mouse in tranquility.”
Crying-Tree returned Vincent to Coumarin Gym’s lobby, where his team, plus another person, waited for him. Vera and Jackie were exchanging girl-talk while Hal loafed on a bench and both Tio and Fio seemed to be sharing ultimate boredom.
“Alright, guys,” he announced to capture their attention, “I’m ready to crash and I bet you all are, too.”
“Listen, Buster, I—” Jackie was prepared to lay into him for apparently ignoring her visit, but her topic changed instantly when she noticed his new badge. “Oh—my—God! He actually gave that to you; you didn’t just beat up an old man and steal it, did you?” Vincent did not have a chance to deny the assault charge before Jackie leapt at him and gave him a hug. “I’m so proud of you! And this is great because when Caz sees it he’s going to explode. I mean it, bloody chunks all over the place!”
As Theodore prepared to take his usual position walking beside Vincent while they exited the facility, Jacqueline stole his space and proceeded to explain that Iwamoto’s secret badge was something that he only gave out once every few years, and that it would carry a lot of respect amongst those knowledgeable enough to recognize it.