When the Mighty Fall...

He never expected to see that trainer, again. For a brief period in Mewtwo’s life, when he was still too young and scared to try speaking with humans, he had lived secluded in a cave in Kanto where he had been certain he would be far from trainers clamoring to enslave him. There was no way any human would ever find him, he had always thought, there was no way he could be anything but safe. And then one boy, one single boy, had descended into his cave’s depths, and the grandest battle Mewtwo could ever recall having had ensued. He had left free, but not unscathed, and he had done his damnedest to make sure the boy left the same.

Now, here he was. The boy with the hat, but with a different hat. Mewtwo could tell it was him from a mile off, though; an opponent that great, how could he not? And he was curious. Surprised to find this boy in the Rocket HQ, Mewtwo could only wonder why. He remembered hearing news reports on his small, crackling radio about the boy with the hat, the savior of Kanto who defeated Team Rocket for good. Why was he here, of all places? That question repeated over and over again in the psychic-types mind until he found himself absolutely compelled to find out, and so he followed him, for a  few days. Learned where he slept and where he spent his time. There were no answers. It was a matter of time before Mewtwo decided to expedite matters. One day, when the boy was out doing his other things, Mewtwo broke into his room and left a hastily scribbled note on his bed: forest, clearing, waterfall. Noon.

But he could swear that for the past couple days, someone had been watching him.  It was a weird feeling, and one he didn’t like -- and liked less for the fact that he could never place it.  It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but every time he tried to figure out what was looking at him, he couldn’t.  He was either alone, or no one else was paying any attention to him at all.  Which might be just what he wanted in most cases -- except now, someone was paying attention.  And he couldn’t figure out who. 

So when he came back to his room and found a note on his bed, he was understandably nervous.  It was all the proof he needed to realize that someone had been watching him -- and now they were apparently done watching. 

Forest, clearing, waterfall.  Noon.  He knew the place well enough. 

So come noon, Red was leaning against the mossy cliff face by the waterfall, waiting for the cool spray to soothe his nerves.  It wasn’t working. 

<Are you sure this is a good idea?> the shiny Gardevoir leaning next to him asked.  

<Best idea I’ve got,> Red replied.  <Unless you’ve got a better one.>

Fire made it a point to keep his team safely in their Pokéballs and locked in a small padded briefcase behind his chipped nightstand whenever he was going to start drinking, which was almost an everyday occurrence by this point. Today, however, he’d actually left them out on his bed, getting distracted by the job of bringing the note to Red. His Pokémon were usually pretty well-behaved, but Christmas was a whole other jack-in-the-box and not being able to keep a close check on him worried the trainer.

Christmas balances precariously on Fire’s shoulder, quickly walking across and waiting for Fire to remain completely still before firmly planting his hind legs on either side of Fire’s neck and pressing his forepaws on top of Fire’s head. The trainer in question makes a ‘tch’ noise. “Yeah. Pain in the ass is what he is most of the time,” he says, but his mouth quirks up a bit anyway. “He’s sweet, though, that’s for sure.” Christmas, meanwhile, is beside himself with joy at making a new friend.

Fifteen years later, he can't imagine a life without a Pokemon by his side.  While he and Pikachu are as good as inseparable, Chevalier's presence is becoming more and more commonplace, to the point that he questions where the Pokemon is should he ever retire to his pokeball.  Luckily, the Gardevoir is not given to wandering off. 

But for all Fire's griping, Red can see the affection in that mostly hidden smile, and just smiles at Christmas as the puppy makes his stand.  <He seems like quite a handful,> the former champion agrees.  <But sometimes that's just the kind of Pokemon you need, even if you don't think so.>  That was how he'd felt about Snorlax for a long time: the gluttonous Pokemon threatened to eat everything in sight when he came out of his pokeball (which was the real reason why Red only seldom let him out), but even still, he was a tried and true companion. 

If he hadn't been excited before, he was starting to get downright enthusiastic now. 

Keeping easy pace with the young woman, Red happily let her take the lead through the winding halls of the base.  The problem with these identical halls was that everything looked familiar: even when he thought he knew where he was, he was really lost.  It was nice having someone with a better idea of where they were and how to get places lead the way.  Left to his own devices, he'd probably wander for another few hours before finding an exit. 

"If you’re ever looking for a place to lose your mind, Red, you know who to visit. I might even give you a family-and-friends discount, you know, if I’m feeling generous." Fire’s prices for drugs were steep. He’s actually a bit amazed that he’s gotten away with his prices so far (charging everything just a little above what he might have bought it for), but he supposed, that’s what being a druglord is all about. He nearly single-handedly runs the trade in the headquarters.

Fire’s about to open his mouth when he hears an unmistakable yipping from down the hall. He makes a little sighing noise, turning to the still-open door of Red’s dorm. Sure enough, a Poochyena with one floppy ear bursts in, only a blurred figure until it stops in front of Fire, wagging its tail. “Pooch, y’got out again?” Fire says softly.

But he does not frown at Fire, or show any sign of disgust or even distaste (though the shiny Gardevoir beside him is another matter entirely, and makes no effort to mask his disdain).  Red only nods, slowly, as though he's beginning to understand just what happened to the Fire he'd known growing up in Pallet Town. 

<I'm not much for losing my mind,> he signs.   <So you won't have to worry about discounting anything.>  Whatever else he might have been about to sign is interrupted by the yipping outside and the sudden entrance of a small dark-type Pokemon with unmistakably large fangs.  <That's a cute Poochyena,> he signs, a smile returning to his face.  It's not what he expected his cousin to have by any means, but it seems like a friendly thing.  Friendlier than Fire, that's for sure.  

Dizzy’s Pokeball rocked back and forth on the dresser table, rolling just enough to the side to plop to the floor. The Bellossom appeared without a sound and looked up at the height from which she had fallen. Dizzy was much too small and much too poorly coordinated to get where she needed to go, but she was also too upset to give up. She waddled away from the dresser, hoping that someone helpful might be awake elsewhere.

The Skitty no one agreed on was snoozing by Ariana’s pillow, and the usual cat Pokemon were curled at the foot of the bed. All were silent and asleep, and the only sounds in the air were those of Baby dropping small things (earrings, coins, Giovanni’s keys) down the spiral stairwell. Dizzy sought the Murkrow out, and was glad her friend’s Insomnia had kept her up this night.

Once Dizzy had reminded Baby of the issue they faced, the Murkrow took wing, picking Dizzy up and transporting her like a small, buzzing helicopter. The tiny hovercraft came down from the Sakaki wing and down to the Grunt dorms, all on Dizzy’s expert directions. In time, they reached the room Bellossom recognized as belonging to Chevalier.

Landing, DIzzy approached the door and hopped up to the handle, trying her hardest to make an impactful knock. Baby shook her head from below, clicking her tongue with pedantic impatience. Gesturing Dizzy out of the way with a wing she fluttered up, balanced on one foot, and executed a perfect, resonating knock.

But perhaps that was for the best, this night.  As he lay in the darkness of Red's dorm, a sharp, clear knock sounded at the door, followed by a distinctly familiar voice saying a completely nonsensical phrase.  Either Dizzy's trainer was out of her wits, or something else was going on. 

Whatever the case might be, the Gardevoir seemed to be the only one awake to hear the call, which meant he was the only one able to answer it.  With a soft sigh, he slipped from the bunk, floating easily to the ground, and moved soundlessly to open the door...

Can’t hear you, he thinks to himself in a mocking tone, which is immediately followed up by guilt. The one thing he could never escape from with alcohol was that he’d been taught decency; it’s drilled into his very core. Just one more part of dearest mother that Fire could never forget. He mentally apologizes to Red, physically flicking his own temple while doing so. That was a dick move, even if it was only in his mind. The mockery goes, the guilt remains; Fire’s solution is always to drench those feelings in alcohol and light them in his own name.

"This," he goes on, a lilt in his voice, "started my profession, and therefore, started me."

Too bad Chevalier can.  The sense of irritation, smugness, and guilt coming from the brunet, and they only serve to solidify that certainty that he wants nothing to do with that boy's mind.  Strange, how two men from the same family can seem so different.  But when has he spent enough time around humans to say anything with certainty?

Still, Red frowns at his cousin's flippant reply.  He still has no idea what this is, and it seems very likely that Fire is avoiding that part of the question intentionally.  But Red can't do anything, be it help or just listen, without knowing exactly what the root of all this is. 

So he presses, for once.  Maybe it's his curiosity that makes him pursue this.  Maybe it's some misplaced sense of family loyalty.  But he can't seem to let this go.  <You still haven't told me what this is.  So what did start your profession?  What did start you?> 

He offers the shortsword to Chevalier, and the Pokemon exchanges it for the rapier.  He frowns as he hefts the new blade; the weight is more difficult for him to manage, with his light build and subtle musculature, and it is clearly harder for the Pokemon to move it unaided. 

Red frowns, then gestures to the Gardevoir to catch his attention, holding the rapier so that the blade runs parallel to his arm.  The Pokemon catches on quickly, holding the shortsword in a similar fashion and using his movements to swing the blade up in a stance fit more for blocking attacks than striking. 

Instead he hands the blade to the Gardevoir, who takes it and tests its weight in one hand before making a few light, mincing practice strikes at empty air.  He likes the balance and the heft, and it is a fittingly elegant weapon for a Pokemon like him.