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A Winkle in Reality: Chapter 18.
🕑 Added 2025-07-14 15:00:14 +0000 UTCAnd we're in Pewter. For all the shit I talk about the pacing of this story, we've been making good time since leaving Pallet. Though to be
And we're in Pewter. For all the shit I talk about the pacing of this story, we've been making good time since leaving Pallet. Though to be
And we're in Pewter. For all the shit I talk about the pacing of this story, we've been making good time since leaving Pallet. Though to be
And we're in Pewter. For all the shit I talk about the pacing of this story, we've been making good time since leaving Pallet. Though to be fair, outside the Samurai, there's not a lot in Viridian Forest that's particularly interesting. Oh, and Joey, of course. Can't forget the top percent Rattata.
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“Hello and welcome to Pewter City PokéCenter, how can we help you today?”
“Hi. I have three Pokémon I'd like you to look over. Oh, and can I get a room?” The PokéCenter hadn't been hard to find, the red-roofed, two story building the size of a minor apartment complex with a big neon sign on the front. Getting to the reception area was a bigger challenge.
Dozens of Trainers littered the foyer, near screaming to be heard over top of each other. Kids the same age as me, if not a little younger, were excitedly chatting to anyone willing to listen, boasting about their imminent Gym victory. They stood in stark contrast to the youngsters that slumped through the automatic double doors, shoulders down and feet dragging across the floor as they headed for the desk with their Pokéballs clutched in white knuckled fingers. Older people were dotted around the area as well, from well-groomed teens to middle-aged men that appeared to have spent the last 10 years in the wild, looming figures poking out of the crowd as they surveyed the chaos with calm eyes, some bored and impatiently tapping their feet while others gazed around with nostalgic expressions.
It was annoying to deal with, but also kind of cool. It was the most Trainers I'd ever seen in one place and the energy was infectious.
Though I could do without the two hour wait time.
“I'm afraid we are out of rooms at the moment. We get a lot of people this early in the circuit, Pewter being the traditional starting Gym. But please place your Pokémon here, and we'll give them a look-over!”
Placing my three balls in the tray the Nurse Joy held out, I concealed my disappointment. I'd been afraid of that when I saw the amount of people crowding the building. While the League provided free basic healing for registered Trainers and lodgings at the PokéCenter in exchange for a percentage of wagered money and being able to call on Trainers in times of crisis, there were only so many rooms to go around and it very much functioned on a ‘first come, first serve’ principle.
Seemed like another night of camping for me. Which wasn't the worst thing in the world, but I'd really looked forward to a bed. Three years with a high-end foam mattress and Altaria feather pillows at Oak’s had spoiled me and my back arched after a week on the ground.
Plus, if my Pokémon had to spend the night with the nurse, it would really suck. There were designated campgrounds away from the wildlife, so it wouldn't be dangerous, yet I'd gotten used to their presence.
Nothing for it though.
“I understand. Thank you.”
“Of course. If you'll give me your Trainer ID… Oh! A PokéDex! You must be sponsored by Professor Oak! Congratulations! Are there any special concerns regarding any of your Pokémon that we need to be aware of?”
“Uh, yeah, one thing.” I glanced left and right to see if anyone was listening in. Which was futile as the ever growing line behind me were all staring, waiting for me to move my ass. Instead, I scrolled to Betty’s profile on my PokéDex and held it up for Nurse Joy to see. Her eyes widened in surprise, yet quickly concealed her reaction and gave me a serious nod.
“I understand. Based on a cursory scan, all three should be ready for pick-up in the morning. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, that's all. Thanks.”
“All right, thank you for your patronage, please come again!”
With that still confusing goodbye, I pushed my way out through the mass of people and took a deep breath of fresh air as the doors slid closed behind me.
Not that it was noticeably calmer in the east part of Pewter that the PokéCenter was located in. People were rushing back and forth in between towering skyscrapers of glass and metal, humans and Pokémon going about their business in the shade of the last disappearing rays of light peeking through the tall buildings. They shoved and pushed through each other, jostling me around in their hurry, many of them blabbering into handheld devices that I vaguely recognised as PokéNav's. I'd been told that Pewter was a very old city, yet it was hard to guess with the modern architecture and the hustle and bustle of the equally smartly dressed people. Big signs flickered on with the coming of night, advertising everything under the sun and for being the place of the Rock-Type Gym, most of what I saw were Normal-Types and Grass-Types. And even then, few of them looked like they were used to battling.
Which was fair. They likely stayed in the city most of the time, and why wouldn't they. Unlike Gateon, Pewter was safe, clean, and didn't fucking suck.
Or at least, not any more than big cities usually did, I noted when some dickhead almost knocked me over as I followed the various road signs towards the western part of the city and the Gym.
Crowds weren't my favorite thing even before waking in the Pokémon world and despite my brief time there, Orre had left its marks. My PokéDex was shoved deep into my pocket and I kept my hand on it as I walked.
The further I went, the thinner the crowd became and the older the buildings as well. The modern structures shrunk, huge monstrosities turning into three-stories, two-stories, and soon regular houses dominated the streets. The careful grid-like layout became more organic, five houses right next to each other in a clump with 20 feet of distance to the next one that stood alone. The glass and metal became rock and stone, opulent designs giving way for practical efficiency. Hell, some of the houses had wooden shutters instead of windows.
The people changed too. Gone were the newly pressed suits and dresses, replaced with tough, simple fabrics in neutral colors. Browns and grays dominated, thick shirts and pants that had seen better days, littered with small tears and dirt. Small stalls took the place of the glowing advertisements, a single individual peddling their wares to anyone that passed by and making small-talk. The paved roads became dirt tracks and the smell of mingling perfumes, food, and the underlying whiff of trash disappeared as the air cleared, the scent of soil and dirt taking its place. Small groups hung out as they gossiped, children playing with Rattatas and each other in fields.
A crowd had gathered around an alley as two Pokémon had some kind of race. The round, rocky, brownish-gray bodies crouched low to the ground as their trapezoidal eyes narrowed under heavy eyebrow-like protrusions. Five fingers dug deep into the ground before two muscular arms launched the Geodudes forward over some markings on the ground. The boulder-esk Pokémon tugged in their arms as they flew, spinning to gain extra distance. The crowd cheered and groaned as one of the Rock-Types made it a little further than the other, bills changing hands.
It was incredible the difference 20 minutes of walking could make. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a completely different city.
The only thing that remained the same was the unfriendly people.
Oh, sure, they seemed friendly to each other, waving and greeting basically everyone that crossed their path. Yet as soon as their eyes landed on me, they would narrow. Noses got stuck in the air and everyone walked in a very deliberate way around me. It wasn't the same selfish indifference that the western part of Pewter had. No, it seemed personal, somehow.
They could go fuck themselves. I didn't know what crawled up their asses and died, but as long as they stuck to looking, they could do whatever the fuck they wanted.
Wasn't my problem.
What was my problem, as I finally arrived at the Gym, was the long-ass line that stretched out the doors. The Gym was huge, dwarfing even the PokéCenter in both width and height. The building appeared to have been carved out of solid rock, like a miniature mountain that had been hollowed out and plopped down in the middle of a large open plain. Uneven surfaces of sediment made up the entire thing other than the doors, not even a window to be seen as it rose high above me, lamps angled strategically to highlight the massive hunk of rock like a shadow against the night sky. The only truly visible thing was the giant, multiple-faceted grey octagon carved above the entrance.
The Boulder Badge.
Peeking at the front as I got in line, I groaned. There were at least 20 people in front of me, never mind how many were inside. It was basically night-time. I'd half expected the Gym to be closed, never mind filled to the brim.
It was going to take for-fucking-ever. I'd really hoped it was like the games and you could just walk in, but I didn't know why I kept hoping. The world I found myself in was clearly a little more realistic than canon.
And if there was one thing that was realistic, it was bureaucracy.
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“You're in luck, actually. We just had a cancellation for Thursday at 5 PM. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah, that's good.”
“Alright.” the black haired receptionist typed away at her keyboard for a moment, fingers flying so fast they nearly blurred. The light of her computer screens reflected off the lenses of her glasses and I tried my best to not stare at the plunging neckline of her button-up shirt. Not very successfully, based on the smile she sent me.
Suppose it made sense to employ a young, attractive woman as the face of your battle competition for teens. Might keep some of the dumber morons from being too upset.
“In that case, I have you booked for a first Badge battle at the agreed-upon time in three days. I need you to sign here, here, aaaand here. By signing, you agree to Pewter Gym being allowed to use the footage of your battle and your likeness as related to your battle, as well as paying the agreed upon amount for the attempt. You also agree that Pewter Gym, and Pewter City, is not legally responsible for any permanent damage inflicted on your Pokémon during your Gym challenge, and that should you bring an overly strong Pokémon for the challenged level, you will be disqualified and pay the stated fine.”
I paused and looked up from where I'd been pouring over the sheets of paper she'd placed on the large, u-shaped granite counter. To no one's surprise, all the furniture in the greeting area of the Gym was made of the substance, carved straight from the floor and walls. The low slung couches that surrounded some small tables off to the sides had some courtesy cushions placed to try and save the asses of the poor schmucks that had to sit on them, but it was a token gesture at best. A couple of doors covered the walls on either side of the front desk, with another on the left wall. I'd seen trembling people being called in to the one on the right side of the desk and never returning, while the left appeared to be only for staff.
Other than that, there wasn't really much to notice about the Gym interior. There were a couple of large PC's, the kind I remembered Ash used to call Oak in the anime, but otherwise the Gym followed the simplicity of the surrounding part of town.
Besides the fuck-off humongous carpet showing off a huge Boulder Badge design that covered 70% off the floor.
Gotta represent, I guess.
“Is that something that happens a lot?” I asked in reference to the implied crippling or deaths. I'd gotten the impression that my own experience with the more brutal side of Pokémon fights was somewhat unique. No way litteral kids would be given provisional Licenses otherwise.
“Oh no no, don't worry!” The receptionist quickly assured me, giving a big, practiced smile. “Last circuit we only had two serious injuries and they were at the seventh Badge and eighth Badge levels respectively! Everyone survived as well! There is really no risk of anything like that happening in a first Badge level, it's just boilerplate legal stuff.”
“And the overly strong Pokémon thing?”
“Occasionally we will see somebody that thinks they are sneaky and try to bring highly trained Pokémon to first or second Badge challenges. Usually Trainers that got their Pokémon early or those that have a family Pokémon. In those cases, it is required that you inform the Gym beforehand so that appropriate measures can be taken.”
“In that case, I should probably say that I’ve had my starter for a bit and she's probably somewhat stronger than most first Badge Pokémon.” It kind of hurt to show my cards so early, but it was better than getting kicked out. Plus, the fine had way too many fucking zeros for me to fuck around with.
“Would you say your Pokémon is above or around the level of a Professional Trainer?”
“No no, nothing that serious.” I was pretty sure, at least. Siren hadn't encountered any problems in Viridian Forest, but from everything I'd seen on the TV or PokéNet, Professional, or fourth badge and above, was were the kiddy shit stopped and things got real.
“Then it shouldn't be a problem. We don't mean to discourage training before challenging the Gyms. It's just to prevent any undue harm to the Gym's Pokémon from unfair match-ups. Trainers that have competed in previous circuits can still acquire their first Badge in this circuit, for example.”
“Right.“ I nodded and signed the papers. Accidents were bound to happen, but I don't recall Oak's school telling us that. I wasn't a great student, but I feel like that would be something that stuck out. I was probably wrong, though. That would be a huge oversight.
Handing the waivers back to her, she thanked me with a smile and I headed back out, letting the few people behind me through. Walking out the doors, I looked around me to try and get my bearings. Night had fully fallen at that point, the sky dark and lacking stars with all the light pollution a big city could produce.
I needed to find a place to sleep. There were hotels and people renting out rooms, but I'd spent most of my money on potions and shit, which I'd then spent on the wild Pokémon. The Bug Catchers in Viridian had yielded some cash, but I was loath to spend it. I'd thought to simply set up my tent in one of the provided fields, yet I wasn't really sure where the nearest one was. The signs that had shown me the way to the Gym had petered out the further west I'd gone. After stumbling around aimlessly for a bit, I decided to bite the bullet and just ask someone.
Choosing a large man, in every sense of the word with his height, girth, long hair and enormous beard that rested on his protruding belly, I stepped in front of him and drew in my shoulders. It had been a while since I'd pulled the defenseless child routine and I'd grown quite a bit since then, but I imagined it would still work.
“Uhm, excuse me, Mister? Could you tell me-hello? Hello? Excuse me!?”
The man stopped for a second, yet as soon as he saw who was talking to him, a shadow fell over his features and he hurried around me and walked off at speed. I glanced down at myself confused. I was somewhat dirty as I'd been trying to stretch my clean clothing as long as possible and had been wearing my current set for a couple of days, but no more than the guy had been himself.
Whatever. Some people were just fucking dickheads.
Spotting an older woman, I gave it another go.
“Excuse me, Miss? Could you-”
“No!” She sniffed, turning her nose up at me before speeding off.
What the fuck was going on?
“Hi, could you-”
“Go away brat.”
“Excuse me-
“Fuck off.”
“Do you have a moment-”
“Eat shit dragon fucker.”
Trying again and again, every response I got was in the same vein. Stoic dismissal, haughty denial, or even straight up insults in the case of a younger man. My only clue had been the ‘dragon fucker’ comment, yet that didn't make any fucking sense either. How the fuck would they know about Betty? Did Nurse Joy snitch?
Was it like Sevii? Was the fucking Rockets pulling the strings in Pewter as well?
The amount of people outside dwindled at the same pace as my temper rose and soon I was fucking fuming. I'd been generous with Pewter when I got there, thinking about how much better it was than Gateon, and then they pulled that kind of shit.
Fuck them. Fuck them all.
Spotting some old fart glaring at me from a bench, I couldn't hold it in anymore and decided to get some fucking answers.
“You got a fucking problem Grandpa!?”
The old man spit to the side as his dark brown eyes narrowed at me under thick eyebrows, long, yet well-groomed silver beard swaying with the motion. He had much the same build as most men I'd seen around, tall and broad, with a thick jacket equipped with a plethora of pockets stretching over his stomach. Thick hiking boots clad his large feet, with a pair of dark cargo pants tucked into the top.
The old-timer rubbed a hand over his bald head as he responded.
“Aye, I've got a fuckin’ problem alright.”
“Oh yeah?” I stepped up closer to him. Dr. Enthal would be disappointed, but there had to be limits to what I had to put up with. “And what's that?”
“I've got a problem with dragon fucker’s like ya walkin’ ‘round me city like ya own the fuckin’ place. Ya ain't welcome here, Blackthorn, and we'd all ‘priciate it if ya’d fuck off back to yar frozen hellhole.”
What? Blackthorn, like the city in Johto?
“What the fuck are you talking about? Have you gone senile? I'm not from any frozen hellhole, nor am I from Blackthorn.”
“Ya can't fool me.” The old man stood up, looming over me as he scowled down, spitting to the side again. “Ya think I don't recognize that ‘air and those peepers? Huh? I fought in the rebellion. I've seen eyes like that more times than I can count. I've closed ‘em too.”
“Listen, I don't know what your think you're seeing, but I'm telling you, I'm not from Blackthorn.” Okay. Maybe I'd made a mistake confronting the guy. I didn't expect him to start having Vietnam flashbacks and threaten to kill me.
“Oh yea? Then where ya from, baby dragon?”
“Orre. I'm from Orre, though I've spent the last couple years in Pallet. My name is Peri. Its short for Periwinkle”
He stared at me for a long time, each second stretching to an eternity. I suddenly became painfully aware that the few remaining people had stopped and formed a loose circle around us as we argued.
Mew fucking dammit. I'd gotten way too comfortable. I should’ve known better than to start shit with the locals in the middle of the street. Birds of a feather always flock together or whatever.
Unexpectedly, something gave in his eyes and he stopped looming. A small wave of his hand had the crowd dispersing.
“Orre, eh? Heard that's a ‘ough place.”
“Y-yeah, it sucks. Had to hustle to make it.” I didn't understand what was going on. First he was gonna kill me and then he wanted to small talk?
The fuck?
“Me name is Grant. Grant Pebble, of the Pebble clan. Sorry ‘bout that whole business, ya look like the spitting image of ‘em fuckers. Bad history an’ all that.”
“I get it. Basically wearing rival gang colors and walking into your territory. It's all good.” It really wasn't, but I needed the interaction to end.
“Somethin’ like that, yea. Suppose ya'd know, being from Orre. Lots of gangs over there, or so I'm told. Never got stationed there, but some friends of mine bitched ‘bout it.”
“Yeah, real shit hole. Anyway, nice meeting you, Grant, but I've gotta go, so-”
“Hold on, lad. No need to act like I’mma bite ya head off. Saw ya asking people for somethin’. Least I could do for the misunderstanding.”
“Oh. Uh, yeah, I was looking for the nearest camping field? The PokéCenter is full.”
“Oh yar a Trainer!?” His dark eyes lit up at the news. “Here to challenge young Brock? Good lad he is, much better than that coward of a father of ‘is. Camping fields, hmmm…” He scratched his beard, looking off into the distance in thought, before taking me in again. Coming to some sort of decision, he nodded to himself. “Tell ya what, ya can stay at me house. No, no,” he waved off my attempted protests. “I insist. The Pebble Clan offended ya and I'll not have it be said that we don't ‘poligize for our fuck-ups. House ‘as been empty since me grandkid left anyway. Come on.”
Following some bipolar, PTSD-ridden old guy into the back alleys of a city I'd never been to after he vaguely hinted at killing me didn't seem like a great idea, but I wasn't sure what the alternative was. I could run and I'd give myself good odds of being faster, yet despite having dispersed, there were still people hanging around.
Fuck it. I had my survival knife, and a sword in my backpack. I could take some old fuck if it came to that.
The trip wasn't a long one, Grant leading me back down the street I'd come from and closer to the Gym. It didn't take more than 10 minutes before we stopped in front of one of the larger houses in the area, one of the only ones that had a second story. Though that was also one of the only things that set it apart, being made of solid grey rock like most of the western part of Pewter.
Speaking of, I might be able to get some answers about that.
“You mind if I ask you a question, old man?”
“Fire away, lad, fire away.” He said over his shoulder while shoving open the apparently unlocked front door and leading the way in. Somewhat cautiously, I followed and took a look around.
It was essentially what I'd imagined from the outside. Simple wooden furniture, hand made if I was any kind of judge, formed a small dining area to the left while the right was dominated by two ancient armchairs with faded, hole-riddled leather upholstery and a pair of indents from decades of ass cheeks pushing down on them. The chairs stood facing a small table and a dresser, with a giant box-like TV placed on top of it. While the tech level of the Pokémon world varied wildly from holograms and physics-defying matter digitization, to jukeboxes and human sized PC's, the outdated screen was still some of the oldest I'd seen. Like an ancient TV from the 1960's of my old world.
Beyond the two seating areas and a variety of knick knacks and pictures hung on the walls or the randomly placed closests, there was a staircase that led up to the next floor behind the dinner table and a single closed door on the back wall.
And in the middle of it all, a raised fire pit happily flickered away, sparks and smoke drifting lazily upwards into a long tube that extended from the ceiling and acted like a chimney. A large cast iron pot hung suspended from chains above it, filling the space with a low bubbling sound as the scent of some kind of stew mixed with the fire wood.
It was actually quite nice. VERY basic, compared to what I'd gotten used to at the Lab, yet it had everything one would need and felt homey.
“I dropped off my Pokémon at the Center in the east part of the city and it's really different from here. Is it just newer or?”
“Newer, ha! Suppose it is.” Snorting to himself, Grant kicked open a beaten fridge I hadn't noticed and pulled out a pair of bottles. Placing them on the coffee table by the armchairs, he then rummaged around in a cupboard for a moment before emerging with a pair of wooden bowls. “Ya've seen those ugly pieces of shit they call buildings? Pah! All cold metal and glass. No artistry. Ya see this ‘ere?” He patted the wall of the fire pit, uncaring that I could literally see the rock glowing red with heat. “Built by me grandpappy and ‘is Rhydon, grumpy old beast. Damn thing nearly took me ‘ead off more times than I can count!” Slopping whatever was in the pot into the bowls, the old man continued his rant. “Youngsters don't understand that feeling these days, with their fancy Pokéballs and breeding. Back in me day, ya wanted a Pokémon, ya went out with nothing but yar ‘ands and either ya came back with the beasty or ya didn't come back at all. Even the ol’ Clans couldn't mass produce acorn balls. Bah! Whole world gone soft, is what it ‘as. Sit!”
Taking a seat in the other chair he'd kicked, I accepted the bowl and spoon he held out. Staring down at the thick, brown liquid dubiously, bits and pieces floating around in the broth, I dug my utensil into it. It didn't make me feel better when the ‘stew’ resisted my attempts to pull back out. Biting the bullet, I shoved the somewhat gelatinous substance into my mouth.
Huh. It was actually pretty good. Way better than basic Trainer rations anyway.
“Hah! Old Grant ain't half bad as a cook, is ‘e? I still remember a thing or two from me time in the field. Never underestimate ‘ow much a warm meal will do for morale. Real Tauros too, none of that fake shit.”
The half of the bowl I'd wolfed down threatened to come back up at that. I'd made it several years without having to eat a Pokémon and it didn't feel great knowing that my streak had been broken. Luckily Grant didn't seem to notice that I constrained myself to poking at the food from then on.
“Nay, no respect these days. One of the oldest cities in Kanto, Pewter is. For over a thousand years, the Pebble Clan ‘as cared for these lands. It was us that tamed the mountains and made travel safe. It was us that shaped the Wall of Viridian, the Indigo Plateau, and a ‘undred more! Us and Viridian are the only Gyms that never changed our Typin’, never bowed to pressure. And when those scale cunts came over the mountains, it was us and our that tore ‘em from the sky! But what our thanks for that? Fuckers move into our city, push us out, and for what? Progress, they say. Hah! Bigger, aye. More expensive, sure. But I ain't seen any of this ‘progress'! Shit, world going backwards if anything. Everythin’ all digital these days. Ya wanna know what yar Pokémon eat, use a computer. Ya wanna know what moves they learn? Use a computer. Ya wanna know where ya can find ‘em? Use a Giratina dammed computer. Lost the personal touch we ‘ave. Used to be ya'd have to spend time with yar Pokémon and elders to learn this stuff. ‘Ad to bond with them. Now? Pah! Now ya just take a test and rare Pokémon just gets ‘anded to ya! Insanity is what it is.”
Humming noncommittally, I'd be honest, I started tuning the guy out half way through his old man rant about the good old days. The story didn't seem that complex. The western part was the old Pewter, where this Pebble Clan hung out, and the eastern part was the more modern one that had sprung up over the years and slowly turned into the new center of town as the old part resisted change. Common shit.
Though the last comment was kind of a dig at me as well and I fell compelled to respond.
“It's a little more than just a test. There's a lot of studying and shit, and only the best get a sponsorship.”
“Right, ya did say ya'd been staying in Pallet, didn't ya?” A fraction of that darkness Grant had looked at me with during our first interaction reappeared. “Suppose yar sponsored by that traitor Oak then? Pah!” Turning his head to the side, Grant sent out a loogie, uncaring that we were inside his house.
“Traitor?” I frowned. As far as I knew, Professor Oak was a very well-respected man. Shit, I thought he was one of the most highly regarded people in the region. Thousands petitioned him every year and a lot of people would kill for even a scrap of his attention.
So would Gary, but that was a mean thought. Fuck that piece of shit, though. A week after his stunt and the fucker still hadn't called or sent a text to apologize.
“Oh ‘e oesn't talk ‘bout that, does ‘e? ‘As at least that much shame left I guess, fuckin’ coward.” Grabbing the bottles with one hand, he pulled at his belt with the other, a long flexible string of some sort extending with a bottle opener attached at the end. Opening both with a flick of his wrist, the tool snapped back with a clunk! as he handed one to me and gulped back half of his own in one go. Eyeing the near black liquid suspiciously after the revelation regarding the meal, I took a small sip and nearly choked as it burned its way down my throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
Holy fucking shit, that was strong. It tasted vaguely like I remembered beer tasting, yet kicked like liquor. Did the guy not realize that I was fucking 13 years old?
Well, 14 in a month's time, but still!
“Fucking Oak. We ‘ad ‘em. We fuckin’ ‘ad ‘em. The old Drake was dead, Pryce on the run, the Clans scattered. A couple more pushes, a few more months and we'd ‘ave won, completely and utterly. And then, and fuckin’ then, that little shit signs that fuckin’ truce. A truce! Can ya believe it!? After everythin’ those Johto fuckers ‘ad done, ‘e just, what!? Doesn't wanna fight any more!? Just fuckin’ forgives ‘em!? Fuck ‘im! I lost good friends, family, to those fuckers, we all did! Just because they couldn't handle not being top Growlithe! Now look where we are.”
The old guy collapsed back from where he'd been creeping closer and closer to me during his rant, which I was thankful for. It allowed me to wipe the spit droplets off my face.
Grant was interesting and I didn't know all that about the Johto rebellion. All I'd learnt was that around 40 years back, Kanto had been in charge of Johto under the umbrella of Indigo, and there’d been a rebellion that ended with a mutual truce and equality between the two regions, with Johto being allowed to reinstate the Silver Cup. I hadn't even known Oak was involved, never mind being the one that ended the shit. Why did he keep that hidden?
But yeah, for all the info he gave, the guy needed to calm the fuck down. I wasn't sure how much more of his crazy shit I could take.
“A fuckin’ scaly, dragon fuckin’ brat sits on Indigo’s throne, lordin’ over all of us like they didn't lose the war. At least ol’ Martha knew better than ta get too big for ‘er britches, but Lance? Nay. The Kanto Clans ‘ave been more and more marginalized, trade agreements that benefit Johto and fucks us over, immigrants everywhere, and I could go on. All thanks ta Oak not ‘avin’ any fuckin’ balls. Drink yar beer, I'll get ya another.”
I smiled politely as he went back to the fridge and braced myself. I only coughed it back up twice as I downed the bottle, squeezing my eyes shut as the bitter liquid melted my esophagus.
My head felt a little woozy as I accepted the next, already opened bottle, glancing around the room some more. My eyes landed on the pictures and I took in the people in them for the first time. A lot of them were of a young couple, the brown haired man sharing a strong resemblance to Grant, posing with a toddler. The rest were mostly pictures of the same kid, who I presumed was the grandkid Grant had mentioned, in various stages of life, doing normal kid shit. There was one of the brown haired, dark eyed child riding a bike, wearing a striped paper hat at what looked like a birthday party, training with a small grey, bipedal pokemon with three ridges on its head, posing as they executed a punch at the same time. As the pictures went on, the kid got older and older, soon a teen and then an adult. A huge adult, it looked like, as I examined a picture where he was shirtless, bulging muscles glistening with sweat. Black armbands covered his wrists as he struggled to hold on to a giant fucking rock snake, like a series of boulders had been attached to each other and come alive. The man held on tightly to the stone horn that protruded from the Onix’s head, a big smile on his face as he gave reality the middle finger and rode the Pokémon.
I blinked and did a double take.
Holy shit.
“Your grandson’s fucking BRUNO!?”
“HA! Where'd ya think ‘e got ‘is good looks from!?” Grant gave a big smile, showcasing his mouth that had more holes than yellowed teeth.
“But I thought Pewter was all about Rock-Types and shit?”
“And what better to ‘andle such tough beasties than Fighting-Types? The Pebble Clan ‘as been training the Machop line almost as long as Onix! We ‘ad to carve this city ourselves, and the locals didn't go easy! Bruno learned most of what he know ‘ere.”
All of a sudden, the old man became a lot more than just mildly interesting.
“You must know a lot about training then?”
“Oh, after the ol’ Pebble secrets, are ya? Ol’ Grant not as crazy as people say!? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The rotund senior let out a belly laugh that went on for a little too long, slapping his stomach as he did so. “When's ya match with lil’ Brock?”
“Thursday, so three days.”
“I'll make ya a deal, ya tell me ‘bout yar time in Orre and I might show ya a thing or two, how ‘bout that?”
“Yeah, that sounds awesome!” I happily accepted the new bottle he held out and chugged down a swig. The fortified ale, or whatever the fuck it was, tasted almost sweet the second time. “There was this asshole, Kurt, right. I met him at Outskirts Stand, which is this place in the Orre desert. Oh, suppose I should start at the beginning.”
I somehow doubted Grant would hold any of my actions against me. Fuck, if anything, both Kurt and the Sevii Rocket base would probably earn me bonus points. I’d have to be sparse on the details, leaving out both the location and the Rockets as I didn't know the guy that well, but I'd work it out.
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“Thought ya said ya ain't a Blackthorn!?”
“I'm not!”
“Then what the fuck is that!?”
Sol's ear twitched at the loud voices, yet they were easily recognized as belonging to the Caretaker and the Old-Dirt that had been there when his Trainer let him out of his sleep-ball, so he simply stretched and made himself comfortable in the grass. The Sun hung high in the sky, free from any pesky clouds, and blessed him with a lovely warmth that he didn't feel like giving up. The rays sunk into his fur and beyond, fueling his inner-fire and spreading through his body.
The Caretaker had said that he knew the move Morning Sun, or at least could learn it, but Sol didn't know anything about that. All he knew was that the sunlight felt good and energized him.
There was nothing better than a sunlit nap.
“That's Betty.”
“That's a fuckin’ overgrown Bagon if I've ever seen one! Don't think ya can pull the Dubwool over these peepers just cause I'm ol’!”
“I'm not, you crazy old bastard! Yes, she's a Bagon, and no, I'm not a fucking Blackthorn! She's the egg I told you about yesterday!”
“Ya never said anything ‘bout… no, that's right. Ya did tell me that. But ya never said she was a Titan!”
“That's sensitive fucking info, don't you think!?”
“Don't lie to ya elders!”
“I haven't lied, you senile fuck!”
Well, maybe a sunlit nap without the interruptions. He liked his new pack, he really did, but they needed to learn to calm down and enjoy life.
He grumbled as the Scaly-Sister tried to burrow deeper into his back from where she was hiding from the Caretaker. Sol didn't understand why. The Caretaker had rewarded her with a lot of time off after the fight with The Swarm, while Sol only got a single Sun-cycle before the Caretaker made him get back to training. Yet, for some reason, Scaly-Sister had gotten angry about it.
Who got angry about NOT working? Such a silly creature. Though Sol had known that since he hatched. Scaly-Sister was always in a hurry to do things and wanted to fight all the time, dragging Sol along with her. It was his job after all, to look after his Pack.
That was the responsibility of the biggest and strongest, and Sol was the biggest around. What need did he have for training when time and natural talent was gonna do all the work for him?
“Still, I ‘ave to say. ya got the beginnin’ of one scary fuckin’ team ‘ere. A Titan and a Alpha. Feebas sticks out a lil’ bit, but good crap otherwise.”
“Don't talk shit about my Princess. I'm serious, I'll fucking fight you right here and now.”
“Don't mean to be insultin’, just sayin’. Not many people that'll raise Feebas’. ‘Uppose yar'll be using it to fight lil’ Brock?”
“I mean, yeah. Might be a little easy to use a Water-Type, but the Professor keeps harping on about being careful showing people Betty and Sol.”
“Humph! ‘Ate to agree with that traitor ‘bout anythin’, but ‘e got the right idea there. Plenty of people willin’ ta kill and even worse for just one of ‘em. Best ta keep ‘em under wraps until yar stronger. Anyway, get ‘em up and going. Ol’ Punchy will teach ‘em a thing or two.”
“Right. Up, Sol. Time to train. Come on you lazy bastard, up!”
Sol grumbled again as hands started trying to pull him up, but allowed the Caretaker to heave him to his feet.
Only to immediately tip sideways towards the boy, dragging his Trainer down with him as he landed on the youth. Sol's tongue wagged from his mouth as the Caretaker cursed and spit, trying to push him off while Old-Dirt laughed loudly.
He was much too serious, his Trainer, Sol decided as he reclined across the human. Always in such a hurry, lecturing and commanding. He'd be much happier if he spent some more time as Sol's pillow. The boy was warm under him despite his wriggling, their energies leaking between them and mixing as Sol took in a deep sniff of his Trainer. The Caretaker's scent was unlike any other human Sol had ever gotten a whiff of, not that he'd sniffed many. Old-Food who'd raised his mother smelt like dryness and regret, while the other pups that followed the Caretaker around were more blank slates. The Caretaker, however, smelt like shadows and anger, of blood and fire, regret and resolve. Honestly, if Sol didn't know any better, he'd say that the boy felt and smelt more like a Pokémon than a human.
Old-Dirt was the first that was similar, his Aura like a mountain condensed into a fist. Sol didn't know what that meant, nor did he really care. If Old-Dirt proved to be a threat, he'd take care of it.
Finally surrendering to the complaints of his Trainer, Sol slowly rose up on his paws and yawned, looking around blearily as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. They were still in the field he'd been released into, with no one else around, so that was good. Fish-Sister was off to the side, already busy with shooting her wet energy out in bursts towards some trees and working on the new idea the Caretaker had.
Sol liked Fish-Sister most of the time. She didn't complain as much as Scaly-Sister and was a lot calmer in general, however, when she started training, Sol tried to keep his distance. Not only did her wet energy make him wet, which was terrible, but she also got really serious about it.
One of the main reasons he let the Caretaker up so quickly was the multiple times Fish-Sister had blasted him with water when he'd taken too long to get going. Totally unfair.
“Betty, come on.”
“Braaawr!”
“We are literally training right now!”
“Baeeeeee!”
“Fine, you can just watch while Sol learns all the cool moves!”
Couldn't they trade around? It was prime sunning time and it'd be a shame to waste it.
Unfortunately, Scaly-Sister quickly ran to catch up to Caretaker and latched onto his side, screeching softly while gazing up at him with wide eyes. Sol scoffed as the Caretaker started spoiling her. Why didn't it work when he tried to do the same to get out of training?
Favouritism, that's what it was.
“Alright, youngsters, front and center! Ain't much I can teach yar fish, but these two should be capable of a simple Brick Break.” Old-Dirt started pacing around in front of the three of them, hands behind his back. Sol could feel his eyes threatening to drop already. That type of behavior usually meant effort.
“This ‘ere is Punchy! ‘E'll be whipping ya youngsters into shape or kill yar trying! Yar will follow every command to the letter, or ya'll be scrubbing the latrines and going to bed ‘ungry!”
“Erh, Grant? Are you having another episo-”
“SILENCE RECRUIT! YAR COMMANDER IS TALKIN’! Now, Punchy, demonstrate!”
Sol's eyes lazily traced the Pokémon as it stepped forward. He'd seen Old-Dirt open its sleep-ball as soon as Scaly-Sister was released and dismissed it when it stayed at its Trainer's side. The growlithe recognized the type as the same as the one the Caretaker trained with against Mother-Brother, the fast one with the big hands. Hitmonchan, the Caretaker had called it. Unlike the one where he'd been born, however, the new one carried clear signs of age and battle. Scars littered its thin arms, crisscrossing back and forth more than Sol's own stripes. A particularly large one covered its chest, a huge patch of raised pink skin wrapping halfway across its body. Its left eye was closed, claw marks maring that side of the Old-Warrior's face, parting its lip and letting a flash of teeth show, though Sol didn't believe it to be a sign of aggression. The look in its remaining orb spoke of experience and confidence, its scent thick with blood and age.
Despite himself, Sol felt himself straighten a bit. As much as he might want to, Wounded-Warrior didn't seem the type to tolerate a half-assed effort and even Sol's ego couldn't hide the fact that the Hitmonchan was stronger than him. A lot stronger.
For now anyway. Given a couple of years, Sol was sure he'd surpass even the veteran before him.
Wounded-Warrior grunted and held up a hand before its chest. A hazy white swiftly gathered around the limb before solidifying into a shiny coating so thick the hand was completely hidden beneath the almost liquid energy. His nose twitched as he felt the life-force condense and compress, crushed into compliance with ruthless skill and practice.
“Fightin’ energy ain't shit in theory. It's just compressed and focused Normal energy and damn near all Pokémon can learn that, which is why it's called Normal, ha! As such, damn near all Pokémon can learn some kinda Fightin’ move. Save for ‘em shitty Ghost’s, but that's a ‘ifferent matter. Never like Ghost’s meself. Sneaky fuckers, the whole lot of ‘em. Ain't ever a straight fight and ya can't even punch the bastards. Why, I ‘member this one time, back before the rebellion. Some youngin’ wanna-be Ghost Trainer thought to take up a bit of banditry ‘round Pewter and Viridian, hiding in the forest after he'd rob some poor sod-”
“Grant, you're drifting off again. Come back to us.”
“Huh? Oh right! As I was sayin’, Fightin moves ain't shit if yar know what yar doin’, and today, we'll get ya started on that path.”
Sol's ears lowered at all the effort he was about to go through, but steeled himself as the Wounded-Warrior started leading them through the exercises, Old-Dirt narrating all the while. At least the Caretaker was there alongside Scaly-Sister and himself, even if he had nothing to show for his efforts.
It was a truly terrible fate to be stuck with such an energetic and ambitious Pack, but the food and belly scratches might be worth it.
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Some Pewter lore, more information about the rebellion and Oak's role in it, and a Sol POV. I Hope you guys like the world building I'm doing, beacuse there's gonna be a fair amount of it.
Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed.
Comments
wretched Cat
Oh, a war veteran? A very crotchety war veteran at that. Sol, is not what expected, but his thoughts make a hilarious amount of sense.
