#documonty

(I’m proud of how this one turned out~ option 16 on @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober prompts, of course it got Monty’s attention) 

"You mustn't forget they're wild, now." Mumsie would always remind her that, rain or shine. It was her answer to everything that Pokemon did, why some chased or ran, why some sang or roared, why some robbed her garden or helped her plant it. 

She had her points, Monty knew. "Don't forget, they are wild," Mumsie had warned that once-and-last time the cousins brought Monty along with them out and training. Cousins laughed, of course, said it's fine, don't worry. 

Laughed some more and said "Well heal him, fret-child," when Monty fussed for letting their poor Stoutland get so down-and-tired fighting Obstagoon. 

Laughed still when Monty fell down, silent-crying, never had been one to scream. Cousins couldn't see the red between her fingers, red above her ear--Stoutland took the berry she gave, took a good chomp too. Maybe mad for almost losing, maybe just plain mean. Still why Monty never dyed her curls red, after. 

Cousins said they never saw the teeth or blood. 

But Obstagoon did. 

Not much remembered--Obstagoon's snarl and strong fur arms, Stoutland's bark, Cousins shouting. Feet and running, smell of flowers, someone screaming. Sterile smell and sterile lights--not much after that, brief gentle hands then hurting and hurting. Mumsie sometimes, sometimes Pop, even Dad twice from his city sick-ward, stovepipe Weezing in tow. Plenty words and Monty tired, and somehow Argyle gone from fleur to elder. (Pop said "because he's angry and scared he couldn't help you," which Monty thought was sweet and told Argyle so until his new soft-puff shook with relief and love). 

And Mumsie sighed and reminded her, "They are wild, love. They do what they want..." 

So Monty stayed quiet for a while, once they took the bandages off and her curls grew back to hide the scars. Stayed shy of dogs too ("And who can blame her," Pop said). 

Because Monty was thinking about what Mum said. 

Of course even small Monty understood that to every them is an us, to be what they aren't. We aren't wild, love. We don't do as we want. 

That was the unspoken truth on why Leon and Sonia got their Pokemon and Ramona did not. 

But also why Ramona became Monty. 

And why Monty surprised them, Pop and Mumsie, with a form on her desk, new uniform clean and tidy, new job at the Pokemon Center bright and sharp. 

"They're still wild," Mum tried. "It could happen again. Aren't you scared?" 

She faltered a little at Monty's small sure smile. 

Pop knew. "You sure?" He asked, and that was all. 

"I am," Monty replied. 

Because what Mum forgot: why Ramona became Monty and climbed those trees and dreamed of mountains all those years despite (or because of) "Get down, you're not a child." 

Because of the someone who admitted "Well aren't ye the wild child now," and that was her triumph. 

Because the wild could do what they wanted--that was worth losing us for them. 

(from @oc-growth-and-development‘s OCtober prompt list)

Monty tried to keep her needle steady as she jabbed it into the soft yellow wool. She loved-hated the careful parts. So hard to make that hondew berry perfect, so satisfying when she finally got it right. No yellow color-bleed on her pretty, pretty green, not this time. She tucked the last few fibers almost tender-like and held her creation up to the light. Just right. 

That giddy-nervous grin caught her lips again as she tucked her new creation into the pile. So many felt berries, all done. Down to the post tomorrow, toss Corviknight some cents and snacks and off they go. Then time to check the budget again and start one more batch. Maybe--the hope caught her so hard as it rose through her chest--maybe one last batch. 

She didn’t check her account again, knew what was in there already. It wasn’t much when she took for food and lodging, medicine for her and medicine for the pokemon she didn’t have yet. But she couldn’t bear it if--well, no.

“No melodrama, Monty,” she reminded herself, patting her cheeks to snap the thought. She could stand it. She just didn’t want to. It’s all Hop could talk about these days, how he was finally old enough for his own pokemon. How he could finally be just like Leon. 

“Dear old Leon,” Monty sighed, and without bitterness at last. After all, it wasn’t his fault, really, him or Sonia. They’d been kids, just kids, they didn’t see, not their fault poor frail Monty got left behind. Oh how she’d wished she could cry. But Monty is mountain, mountain is stone. Stone doesn’t feel, stone doesn’t cry. She’d picked it herself, way back then. Poor frail Monty with no pokemon of her own. 

“But not now,” she whispered, and tucked the felt away. “Not now. Well, now, but not soon.” There’s that giddy-grin again, the rustly laugh she had to tuck away before it set her coughing and Mumsie worrying. No laugh, but she could smile. She saw the news, heard from Hop (so hyper-happy, bless that child), old professor back in town soon. 

Maybe. Oh so much maybe. Maybe professor’s not so nice as they say, maybe Monty’s just too old to take her chance. So, so much maybe. 

Most hospital rooms were all cold and sterile and left Monty wondering How can I get well without a drop of color in the walls? Dad's room wasn't like that, because he'd been there long enough to dress it up and make it his to stay. The soft purple carpet was a great touch, and Monty dug her toes into it as she stretched up to hug him. 

"Hey now, champ. Nice to see you too," Dad said, ruffling her hair. "But if you don't leave my ribs in one piece, Nurse Lizanne will nail our ears to the door." 

Monty giggled. "Yours too?" she asked. Her accent always got soft with him. They both thought it was funny. 

Dad grinned. "For enabling you. Come here." He picked her up and plopped her down on the bed. "So Aideen says you're going adventuring at last." 

Monty's grin brightened with something too deep and heavy for it to be a grin anymore. "Yeah. See?" She pulled her Trainer card out of her pocket to show him. 

Dad took it and studied the portrait. "Not bad! Got your good side, princess?" 

Monty snorted. "They're all my good side." 

He laughed and returned it. "Well said, and darn right. You take after your mom, and more luck to you." 

Monty patted his hand. "Hey now, you're not too hard on the eyes." 

Dad put a hand over his heart, a classic I've been hit!  "What? Not too hard? You're supposed to say I'm handsome!" 

Monty scoffed and tugged one of his greying curls. "Right, right, ye silver fox, you." 

She felt a light ruffle in her hair and saw Dad smile. Hello, Mom. 

"See? I'm right." Dad couldn't see her like Monty could, but he could still tell. His grin was downright cheeky. It softened a little bit as he ran his fingers through Monty's curls again. "Glad you came by for me to see you off. I have something for you."

"Eh?" Monty leaned forward. "What's up?" 

"Wait and see." Dad walked past old Stovepipe dozing in her corner (good Weezing, Monty loved her dearly) and opened his trunk. He picked something up, but held it so Monty couldn't see it as he walked back over. 

"Whatchye got there? Come on, what is it?" 

Dad plopped it down on her head. It smelled like cedar. "Look in the mirror. It's my old cap. Your granddad gave it to me when I started off. It brought me a lot of luck, it did. I won my first badge in that cap… and met your mom in it too." 

Monty reached up to feel the old green felt. Still soft. 

Dad nodded a bit, thinking over the words. "My dad made me promise to pass it along to my son when he started off." He rocked on his heels a little, just like Monty did when she was anxious. "Well, no matter to me… You can be my boy, my gal, but always my Monty." 

"Always yer Monty," Monty echoed with that shy little smile that happened when trying to hold back happy heartache tears. 

Dad smiled. "That's right. So, it's yours now. Hope it brings you luck too." 

Monty swallowed hard, then threw her arms around him. "Gonna make ye proud, Dad." 

Dad patted her back. "You don't have to. I already am." 

That hit right in the tear ducts and took her voice away. Monty just nodded and let her tears leak into his hair. Served him right, it did. Getting her soggy like this… "I'm gonna miss you," she whispered. 

Dad let her have her cry, then leaned back to look her in the eyes. "It really does suit you," he said, and grinned a little as she glared at him for threatening the waterworks again. "Go on, then, Monty. The world's waiting. Don't worry about me. You can always visit, anyway. Got it? You just go make you proud." 

(from @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober again. For clarification: Monty is resident NB and formally identifies as bean and/or Liechi Berry, is comfortable with any pronouns and usually specifies which one for me to use when I start a piece)

Monty always stayed close to Pop now when they looked for mushrooms. As much as he loved the gleaming glow, much as they both knew that the best ones were deepest in, much as that little chill beckoned deeper, off the path, he knew to stay close to Pop now. Once was enough. 

Once taking a step too far, once ducking behind a log to reach some shiny stone, once straightening up and Pop was gone. Or Monty was. They never got that part straight, after. But they agreed on the cold, cold fear, on calling names softly, louder, loudest, on the forest swallowing it up with no echo. 

And Monty remembered the cold soft moss that sprang right back up after his feet left it, but not which direction he turned to look for where Pop had gone. Maybe he passed that tree before. Maybe it was a tree he’d never seen. Maybe it had been one minute. Maybe it had been days. The light never changed, just dark thick trees and soft green glow. The trees changed too much, except the same old stump again and again. 

Fear won. Monty ran. Soft thump of feet on moss, so like soft thump of pulse in ears, so strange, so soothing, so distant. He couldn’t find Pop. He couldn’t see Mom. He could always see Mom. Something was wrong. Something deeply wrong. 

And he shouldn’t have run. Too soon, that sharp, sharp pain of no air, no strength, the heavy thud of falling on the moss and no strength to move. The quiet hitch of sobs with eyes too dry to cry. 

Lost. 

Alone. 

Monty curled tighter. His sweater smelled of sweat and fear. But little, just a little, smoke and home. Mum’s sweet fruit cakes, his was still in Pop’s bag. Argyle’s leaves, the tea they all loved. Monty wished he had some tea. So dry, mouth so dry, so cracked. How were the trees so big, so green, with little Monty dry-parched-done? 

Maybe he’d stay here. Noreen, down the way… Liam said she had a sister, two into the forest, one came back. Long time ago, but Liam said… 

Monty couldn’t remember what he’d said, the sound of his voice. Something said to scare the young ones, sure… Didn’t seem to matter now. The moss was nice. And the stump again. Old friend, it felt now. Could curl up a while. Rest, sleep. Stay. 

A hand? Too tired to flinch, but Monty still stared dumbly as it waved in front of his eyes. Not a hand, maybe. Just a tree branch. But no, it waved again. 

Too tired, go away. 

It left. 

Monty sighed. Didn’t mean that, really. Nice to not be alone. But that was fine. Didn’t feel too bad now. 

Cold. Wet? Water. 

Monty sat up. Big, bulky, dark. Something blocked the mushroom light. It shuffled back, then held out the leaf again, leaf with water, like a bowl. Monty took the bowl and drank, and blinked again, and stared. A tree, a tree that moved? ...a tree with one red eye. Two bark hands. 

Monty was just too tired to be scared. 

News caught the rest, though only half, old woman bringing lost child home, tearful family so grateful, a feel-good story for the front page. Old woman who’d lost a sister in the woods so long ago, so glad she could make sure this one got home just fine. It missed the part Monty remembered-half-dreamed: tree-carried home and old Noreen. Old Noreen’s strong arms around the tree, around Monty, the whispered thanks, Roisin. The funny feeling that these two, tree and woman, weren’t so distant at all. 

“Keep up, Monty,” Pop called, back to the now, and Monty hurried after. “We don’t want you getting lost again.” 

Monty grinned. It was an old thing by now, no hurt, no fear. He knew the forest wouldn’t keep him. “Just watching the trees, Pop.” 

“I know.” Pop ruffled Monty’s hair affectionately. “Just don’t stray too far, your dad won’t forgive me if I misplace you again. Ah, here we are.” 

Monty flinched and stumbled, the earth rolled under their feet as the huge rock crashed down. Paenula stood firm-seeming under it, beautiful strong Coalossal, but even she wouldn't hold another one. The wishing star itched and burned at Monty's wrist, Paenula looked back, felt the pulse and rise, but they put their hand over the band and snuffed the surge. No. No Dynamax. Like Piers. Prove we can fight still without it, have a fierce win without it. 

Sands hissed hard as Monty called out "Rock Slide!" 

Saw Leon grit his teeth, Paenula roar, Charizard flinch and shudder and groan under the pounding stone. 

And still it stood. 

Leon's grin- almost sad, Paenula can't outspeed that Charizard, last leg though it was. Done next turn, nothing else to withstand its might. 

"You almost had me, Monty," he called. "If you had Dynamaxed, you might have won it!" 

Monty bit their lip, slid their glasses down. But not in defeat. In readying. 

And the sands kicked up, the sands he kicked up. Sands that would not rise without that big rock to shake them. 

Saw his shock, Raihan's wild grin--his tactics, his, if not his hand--Piers's small smile. 

And Charizard roar and fall, fall, fall-- 

Downed by his own sandstorm, his own move.

Felt Pae's own roar, Monty's shout and triumph and Leon's proud joy. And best, most-loved Mako's pride, for the tactics, for the knowing. For the trust. Because it was not--never--about the biggest, strongest, best. It was about what you can with what you've got. 

A haunting cry wavered under the rain. Monty shivered and pulled his coat tighter. With his second badge in hand, he’d hoped to cross the bridge near Motostoke and make a new friend or two, but this awful weather promised to stall him hard. “No sense gettin’ chills, Monty,” he murmured to himself. Good thing Dad’s cap was so darn warm. 

There it was again. Spooky… Monty was no stranger to ghosts, even liked them a little. But he thought of that big old Golurk he’d seen stomping around yesterday and shivered harder. No promise for ghost to like him, none at all, and he didn’t like his odds just from eyeing that thing. 

Argyle snuggled close in on his shoulder. Monty reached up to pat him. “No fear, old Gramps,” he told the old Eldegoss. “We’ll find a quiet spot, we will. Some place to pitch camp, wait it out.” 

Under the bridge ahead looked right enough. Less rain down there. Maybe less big pokemon too. Fun to watch, but not fun to run from, not soaked to the bone. Monty hurried forward, then skidded in the muck and crouched fast. Argyle chittered sharply, indignant and spooked and quite nearly upended. 

“Shh, Gramps, look.” 

A little Toxel cowered against the stones. Didn’t look too good at first glance, and Monty didn’t think that was just mud there. Quiet as Monty’d tried to be, it looked up at them and tried to bristle, but didn’t have much luck at all. Definitely not just mud. 

“Poor tyke,” Monty murmured. Reminded him a bit too well of some of the first-time-trainer’s bringings on hard afternoons, cracked and battered because some young ‘uns didn’t know how to play soft with others. But this was a wild thing, not an unlucky Nickit. ...and poison type. No signal on his phone out here with the big old bridge to block, no way to call Mako for advice. Monty checked his pocket, subtle as he could with the Toxel still watching, to make sure he had his medicine on hand. Dangerous, dangerous. 

Argyle trilled again, nervous, as Monty pulled his tent out of his bag. 

“It’s fine, Gramps,” Monty hushed him. “I know what I’m doing.” I really don’t, he admitted to himself. But it’s not like I can leave the little thing. 

The Toxel didn’t move much as Monty pitched the tent and hauled the cooking pot to a relatively dry patch under the bridge, tucking rocks tidily around it. Maybe hurting, maybe tired, maybe just a really chill little creature, wasn’t too easy to tell from here. Monty let his pokemon out one by one, whispering to each to leave the Toxel alone. No sense scaring it. 

Asper listened and nodded and curled beside the tent. Argyle stayed firmly on Monty’s shoulder. Scaevola huffed a little, already solid-sure that poison types made Monty sick as any grass type got after that one unlucky run-in with a Stunky. But he’d learned soundly too that Monty meant mountain, and Monty was as stubborn as one when his mind was made up. For his part, Opilio was too new to know any of Monty’s quirks, but didn’t care enough to be bothered. The Sizzlepede just got as close as he could to a shrug with so many legs and a carapace, then wrapped himself around the cooking pot to start it warming. 

“Got so many apples, might be right as rain,” Monty muttered, rummaging through his ingredients, then laughed at the accidental pun as a raindrop dripped down his nose. “Fair-fair. So it’ll be. And we’ve got a right mixey crowd tonight… So plain-berry too, I think.” Good thing indeed for dropping those oran and persim on his noggin earlier, it seemed. 

Toxel watched quietly as Monty prodded Opilio to the right heat and stirred away at the pot. Didn’t seem too bothered at the excitement when monty served the fresh curry up, either. Now, when Monty approached with a spare plateful, now that was a surprise. 

“I won’t hurt ye,” Monty told the little pokemon, freezing in his tracks as it started to scoot away. It held still again and he crouched down to be a little more on its level. “Just want ye to have a snack, is all. Bit cold and damp for goin’ hungry, don’t ye think?”

Toxel did think, and took the plate slowly. Monty had to support it a bit still. Toxel didn’t seem to mind that part. It just ate and ate and licked the plate polished-clean. Didn’t beg for more, though. Just curled right up, huffed at Monty, and watched through half-closed eyes as he packed the cookware away. 

“That better, luv?” Monty chuckled as his own accent thickened warmly. “Ha, haven’t had that slip out in a bit. Ye sleep tight then. C’mon, you lot, stop ricocheting around and cozy up. It’s right cold indeed.” 

Toxel was still there when Monty and the team woke up to a misty dawn after the rain. 

“Looking better this morning,” Monty told it politely. Toxel blinked. Monty took that as a maybe. “Mind if I come over again?” 

Toxel didn’t seem to mind much of anything, really. Just seemed to focus hard on the sound of Monty’s voice. 

Monty swallowed a bit of his medicine, just in case, like he’d have to on days when something doused in Poison-Powder got brought in, then crept over to Toxel again. Still surely not just mud there, if cleaner than before. Toxel had made at least a little try in cleaning itself up overnight. Monty stifled the urge to whistle--that might startle it too much--and settled for a quiet humming. 

“Somethin’ messed ye up right good, lil’ critter. Even the nicest curry won’t set this quite right,” he said softly. 

Toxel’s expression got quite deadpan. Of course it had already realized that. 

Monty chuckled softly. “Right, right. So, to the point… I’m no good for fixin’ this. Can’t safely touch ye, see. Sorry about that.” He sighed. “Could bring help, but that’s no good, long ways to the town and back again. Might get more trouble-like while I’m gone, hm?”

Toxel looked fairly resigned now. It had realized that too. It was a sad, lost little resigned, though. The kind that only happened after finding a little hope. Monty felt his heart break just a little. He knew that look a little too well. 

“If ye got any better ideas, I’ll help,” he whispered. 

Toxel looked up at him, then at Argyle still on his shoulder. Then at the other pokemon out helping clear camp. 

Monty did whistle. “Now really? I’m not against, but… ye true and sure? I mean, I’ll let ye go after if ye don’t like me enough, but that’s a lot to trust some stranger’s word.” 

Toxel made a tiny clicking chirp in the back of its throat, the first sound Monty’d heard from him since the sad ghostly sounds before. It might’ve been laughter. 

(A story blip set during the climax of the game, so naturally this contains spoilers. It’s under the spoiler tag since I know lots of folks got the game for Christmas)