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Pokemon: the Game - Chapter 21

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The Trainer-stay room in the back of the Pokecenter is quiet. Clay rests in his bed, still wearing the neck brace and propped up on several pillows. His gaze lingers on the room's one window, watching the clear blue sky. Cotton is curled up at his side, tiny waves of electricity running back through its fluffy fur as the Mareep sleeps. Clay's hat rests on Cotton's head.

Seated on the edge of another bunk-bed, the pimple-faced Trainer pulls on fingerless gloves and nods, “Gonna snap me a Staryu today.” He slaps his cheeks and growls.

Clay coughs, “Yeah? Sounds exciting I reckon.”

The other Trainer shrugs, “Some people say it's the most difficult. The Staryu only appears on screen for two and half seconds.”

Clay's eyebrows raise, “On screen?” He sighs. “Oh. Yer talking about that arcade game.”

The pimple-faced Trainer nods, “Yeah. Now for my Pokedollars, the Articuno is the best snap in the game. I got a really good one the other day, when the wings are spread and there's like this ring around it that looks like ice or something. I saved that to my Poketool. And the Gyarados is pretty tough to snap, I'm not ashamed that I had to ask around for how to get that one. I could have spent days playing that level and never figured it out. It's a good level too, neat music, super-detailed landscape.”

Clay's eyes glaze over as the Trainer talks about dancing Gravelers and flying Pikachu and singing Jigglypuff. Then the pimple-faced Trainer walks over to ask, “Wanna see my high scores?”

Clay snorts, “No thanks. So is there a Mareep in the game?”

The other Trainer shakes his head.

Clay lays a hand on Cotton's back, “I don't reckon it's my kind a thing. But good luck snapping that one guy ya wanted. I'll be here rooting for ya.”

When the pimple-faced Trainer has left, Clay pulls out his Poketool. He checks the time – a little past noon – and the signal strength – four Elekid head-prongs out of six – and opens the phone app. His contacts list is long enough that he needs to scroll to reach the bottom: Rider, Ranger HQ, Ma, Pa, Stormy, Stone, Mica, Zack, Lana, Rae's brother Rome. Clay taps on the last one and waits. A Meowth dances across the screen as the other end rings.

The whole screen turns black, except for a few words in the middle, 'No Visual Available.' The voice that comes through is deep and gruff, “Yeah? Who is this?”

Clay's eyebrow raises. “Rae asked me to call, she said yer her brother?” He grunts before asking, “Or do I have a wrong number?”

The voice on the other end chuckles, and the black screen is replaced by a video feed of a young man in his early twenties. A mark on his forehead, tear shaped and the color of blood, stares at Clay like a third eye. The video tilts and swings to show the sky for a moment as the young man sits down against a tree. “Sorry about that.” His voice is no longer deep and gruff, but a dry monotone. “Security precaution for unknown numbers. Completely necessary, I assure you.”

“Ah.” Clay's head wiggles as he tries to nod in the neck brace. “I reckon it must be. So the girl, yer sister, asked me ta call. She said ya needed someone ta keep track a her?”

“That's correct. I can't exactly give Regola a Poketool device, so I need the number of someone she's with. In the future I may need to contact her on short notice. In other words, I need a go-between for emergencies or when I need to find her.”

Clay runs a hand through his hair, “Huh, and Rae is Regola?”

The Trainer looks away, “Uh, yeah. Regola is … what I call her. Rae is what she prefers to call herself.”

“Huh?” Clay squints, “Well which is her name?”

“The one her parents gave her you mean?” The older Trainer sighs and looks back at Clay, “It'll get complicated very quickly if I try to explain in depth. Short version is, I don't know her parents or what they named her. My father worked out a deal with them and I got a sister.” The corner of his mouth turns up for a moment, but he soon gains control of it. “So she and I aren't related by blood, but it's my job to look after her. Or something like that, but sometimes it's the other way around.” The Trainer lets out a sigh. “Is that simple enough?”

“Yeah, I reckon.” Clay shrugs, “I have a younger sister myself. Real talkative, and gets herself in trouble with it on occasion. It ain't ma job ta look out for her, but I do. That's the way it is with siblings.”

The older Trainer nods, “Sure, okay. So you know what I mean. Normally I would keep Regola close, but she wanted to go west with those two guys and I was going north-east for the upper-caliber tournaments. I don't mind letting her to hang out with someone besides her brother.”

Clay interrupts him, “And ya let her go? Those two boys are decent sorts, but I reckon I wouldn't leave ma little sister with strangers.”

“When Regola says she's going somewhere, I let her.” The Trainer shrugs, then he stares at Clay through the screen. “And she can more than take care of herself. I hope she wasn't the one who put you in that neck brace.”

“No, that was the other girl.” Clay sighs. “An a bad fall 'gainst a chair. Doc says I'll be up in no time.”

“Good, good. So what has Regola been up to? I don't know when you joined their group,” the Trainer stops and blinks. “Or your name. Could I get that?”

“Name's Clay.” He looks up at the ceiling, “Let's see … When I met them I was going in the same direction so we all walked west together. In the city a rocks we all split up, for good I thought. I don't know what she got up ta there. The boys weren't with her when they found me later, at a Gym where we met,” Clay grunts and stops. He squints and reaches up to wipe at his eyes.

“And then there was that mess,” he continues with a shrug. “The boys said yer girl was off chasing the other girl, an we didn't see either of 'em until we arrived in this town. That was yesterday, when I got injured from the girls roughhousing a bit, but they were just playing. I think. And today everyone's out trying their hands at rock climbing.”

The older Trainer nods, “Regola is getting along with the others in your group?”

Clay takes his time answering, “Hmm. No problems there, far as I can tell. She an the other girl seem ta have some odd understanding now, and I doubt anyone else would have unkind words for her. She's a good kid I reckon. Yer parents raised her well.”

The Trainer shakes his head, “My father had nothing to do with the way she turned out – well, not that I'm trying to take credit. Regola would be a good if she were raised by a wild Mightyena.”

“Now I don't know about that.” Clay runs a hand through Cotton's fur, allowing the electricity to spark along his arm. “My Pa made me the man I am, I have no doubt about that.”

“Wait, how old are you? You look sixteen,” the Trainer tips his head to the side, “if that.”

Clay's eyes narrow as he frowns, “Fifteen. You don't think that's old enough ta be a man?”

The older Trainer replies with a cold stare, “No. There's a reason we call that being a teenager. I would define adulthood as - .”

“I reckon you'll define adulthood as whatever makes ya an adult and not me,” Clay snaps back. “I have a grown man's strength. I can care for ma self an others. I know ma strengths and ma weaknesses. All I ask is people acknowledge that.”

“Uh huh?” The Trainer keeps his face neutral. “Okay. Name the first artificial Pokemon deliberately made by humans.”

“What?” Clay blinks and takes a breath. “That'd be the pink and blue guy … uh, Porygon.”

“What color is Forretress's shell?”

“Purple, an some a them are gold.”

“What is five times sixty-four?”

“Why on Arceus's blue world are you asking a math question? Why are you asking questions at all?”

The Trainer smirks, “Answer and find out.”

Clay closes his eyes and mumbles, “Five is, divide by half, multiply by ten.” He opens his eyes to glare at the Trainer, “Three-hundred and twenty. I ain't a dunce.”

“Good. And now that I have the attention of your upper brain, I will explain.” The older Trainer points to his head, “A human's brain flushes with various chemicals during puberty. Some humans learn to manage the resulting wild emotions and train them toward more productive uses; this is what I call maturity. Over time the flow of chemicals tends to slow down; this is what I call adulthood.”

He nods to Clay, “You've shown only partial control of your emotions, even if you present yourself as a mature adult. And at fifteen your brain is only a year or two in to that chemical deluge I mentioned. You've started the process of becoming an adult, but you've got a long ways to go; the sooner you recognize that, the sooner you can start being mature. As for being an adult, there's no making that happen sooner.” He sighs and looks up. “And honestly you don't want it to.”

Clay stares at the Trainer, unblinking and eyes wide, his face held rigid by the neck brace. His mouth opens and closes several times before speaking, “Yeah, but … Like I said, yer definition of adulthood is made ta make ya an adult an not me.”

“Not at all,” the Trainer comments, looking back to the screen and Clay. “I have several more years of youth in me. Then it's all downhill from there once I hit true adulthood, or that's what Dave tells me anyway. The chemicals can be annoying, but having them slowly decrease feels worse.”

“Yeah, well ... yer definition is all wrong. I reckon adulthood is something decided by people, not brain chemicals.”

The Trainer smirks, “Okay. People in which part of the world? Which section of society? Which culture? Humans are all the same wherever you go, but people are different everywhere. You might be called an adult in some places, but not in others; in that case, you're just saying one subgroup is truer than another.” He points at Clay, “You're the one picking the definition you like best. I'm describing human biological reality.”

“Yeah, well,” Clay grimaces and pokes the Poketool screen with his finger.

The image freezes for a moment, and then zooms in on the Trainer's mouth. Clay grunts and starts tapping the screen, but the image only goes back and forth between zoomed and normal.

The older Trainer sighs, “What are you doing?”

“I'm trying ta hang up on ya.” Clay slides his finger around on the screen, causing the zoomed image to slide from side to side across the Trainer's face. “But this newfangled device won't let me. How do I hang up on ya?”

“That's easy.” The Trainer twirls his finger around, “Just spin around in a circle, on one leg, while holding the Poketool up in the air. That will remove any curses on the device too, which is pretty handy.”

Clay squints at the Trainer, “I reckon you're lying ta me.”

The Trainer sighs and rolls his eyes, “Oh no, what could ever make you think I'm lying.” He points up and to Clay's right, “Hold your finger a little above the screen. That's called hovering, and most of the time it opens a menu. Hover over the top right corner and you should see an option to end the call.”

Clay's face turns red. He brings his finger close to the screen, almost touching but not quite, and a semi-transparent menu appears: 'Zoom/Unzoom' 'Snap Image' 'Rotate Image' 'Voice Chat Only' 'Video And Graphics Options.'

“There are plenty of people who hate me. You can join the club for all I care.” The Trainer shrugs with half a scowl, and turns his gaze away. The red mark on his forehead seems to glow in the reflected sunlight. “I don't care what other people think. I do what needs to be done and say what needs to be said.” With a glance at Clay he adds, “But I need a way to contact Regola. If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will.”

Clay snorts, “I'll do it, ya have ma word. I told the girl I would, and so I will. But keep them things ya think need ta be said ta yerself, where they belong. Everyone can get along just fine without 'em.”

The older Trainer smirks. “Okay. So I'll call you if I need to speak to Regola, and you can call me if she needs anything. And for your trouble, I could pay a small wage if you want it. Think of it as a day care fee.”

Clay attempts to shake his head, but can't in the neck brace. “No thanks, I'm gainfully employed. I'll do it because the girl needs me ta.” He hovers his finger over the top right corner of the screen, where a smaller menu appears: 'Minimize Call' 'Open Contacts' 'End Call.'

The Trainer shrugs, “I'll owe you a favor then.”

Tapping his finger against the third menu option, Clay watches as the screen goes dull. He turns the Poketool off with a switch on the side and stores the device under his bed, next to his clothes and traveling gear. Then he takes his hat from Cotton's head and places it over his face.

What? It's a recap phone conversation chapter? Lame~ To give the scene a fun ending I went with that old chestnut, “Rome isn't nice and everyone eventually hates him” … because as you may or may not know, Rome is based on me. And I got to do some references (anybody know who Dave is?) and show how Poketools work! Not my favorite chapter, but next chapter should be rock climbing! And after that, a Pokemon Tower!


This is part of my Risen Saga, a Pokémon story with blood and violence and occasionally even death. There may at some point be nudity, sexual themes, strong language and material that is almost certainly ideologically sensitive ... but I rarely put up the mature content filter because I don't want to restrict anyone from reading this story. If you feel strongly that I should for a specific piece, please say so, I would appreciate that! Oh, and if you go here fav.me/d7a7p8w you can check out a map I made of the Leogre Region, complete with routes and location information. Pokémon belongs to the Pokémon people and not to me; thank goodness, I'd probably do this to it.


First: fav.me/d6m7c8o


Next: fav.me/d8j1ch8

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