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Pokemon: the Risen - E1 - HTML

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Chapter 0


This time around, things are going to be different. The usual narrator is away and I'll be filling in. Don't worry, I follow his rules, mostly; just a brief introduction and then let the story tell itself. But I should warn you, I don't see this world the way he does. Things will be different, definitely so; I like to think a little realism will go a long way toward making things more interesting. Reality bites, but is all the more wondrous for it.

We begin our adventure listening only to night's dry heat. It's too hot for the Kricketots to be still playing and even the Zubats and Hoothoots have gone to roost early. The only creatures still stirring now would be those unlucky individuals unable to sleep in one of Leogre's worst heatwaves in recorded history. Ah! Here comes one now.

The hotel's Wailord-shaped pool, not-to-size of course, does look tempting on a night like this. The young man is wearing a pair of Krabby swim shorts and a nondescript t-shirt, with a dark pair of goggles on and a white hotel towel over his shoulder. The shirt and towel are thrown to a recliner and the water welcomes him. He swims a brisk crawlstroke, then an easygoing backstroke, back and forth, churning up the clear blue water every few laps with a sudden burst of energetic motion. He seems intent on swimming the night away. A thrashing butterfree stroke, followed by some calm breaststroke to … to … well, it seems we have a new challenger. She looks familiar if you ask me, yet, somehow changed. Her orange hair only escapes her swim-cap in fits and she's older than I remember, but yes, it's Misty alright. She looks down her nose at the swimmer already in the pool, then heads to the side farthest from him. Her towel, Starmie patterned, is tossed angrily on the ground from its previous location wrapped around her. She dives in like a pro, easily matching the other swimmer and then passing him, her apparent fury speeding her forward. It's also soon apparent that she's a better swimmer than him; over and over again she passes him by, lapping him until one might think she has swum farther even with his head start.

He does not react, merely continuing at the same pace as before, brisk then slower then energetic then calm and repeat. Several times throughout the next hour they start from one end at roughly the same moment and it seems like he will try to keep up with her, but he soon falls behind and resumes the same pace. Once even, they start together when he is doing the energetic butterfree stroke of his routine and they reach the other end still together, but he switches to the next stroke and she passes him by once again.

Yet what he lacks in skill is made up for in endurance. She exits the pool before him, picks up her towel and tiredly wraps it around herself once more. He is still swimming and she watches him, too tired for her original haughty expression. Back and forth, that same pace, unending. Now looking annoyed she takes the swim-cap off and her hair spills out; it's longer now, down to her knees, and just between you and me it's a good look for her. With a damp hairband off her wrist she ties it up to one side then heads for the exit. After a few resolute steps she sags, her legs weary from their recent furious kicking. Again she stares angrily at the swimmer, then heads instead for the nearby Wailmer hot-tub.

Not ten minutes later he comes to a stop. Unhurriedly he pulls himself out and grabs his towel, using it to dry his hair a little. Acting for all the world as if he is the only one present he walks towards the hot-tub and slowly inches his way into the water, heated to a nearly-uncomfortable degree even at this time of night. His only concession to the obviously uncomfortable mood is to stay on the opposite end of the small tub. Her first words of the night are laced with poison.

"Well, like what you see?" He looks down at her, having been staring up at the night sky, and only now removes his goggles.

"Sorry? I'm just done with my set, that's all." His voice is calm, that quiet and flat tone usually reserved for funerals. When she only glowers at him, he adds, "Which is not to say that you aren't … ogle-worthy? But yeah, it'd be kind of rude of me wouldn't it?"

She turns her head with a snort and gives a short, derisive, "Men!" in reply. He cracks a slim smile and raises a shaking fist in the air.

"Yeah, men! Those jerks."

"Oh? All except you of course?"

"Me especially. Why, here I am in a hot-tub and I didn't even ask the person already here if I might join them. What a jerk move. They should lock me up."

She is silent momentarily, then, in a merely defiant tone, "Well, there are men out there who should be locked up. No matter what the world thinks of them."

"Wouldn't it be nice if that could be done? … Everyone with a rational mind – and there would be some kind of test to determine if you had a rational mind – everyone gets to pick one person they know to be irredeemable and that person gets sent away. I hope I pass the test, it would be great to have my father sent away."

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you who should be caught first. Caught and put down, like those mad Tauros that pop up on the news every now and then."

"Really? No mercy, huh? Does he, and I'm assuming it's a he, get a trial? Locking people up is one thing, but death … that's on a whole other scale."

"No jury would convict him, sadly enough … I'm Misty, by the way. Sorry for … being me."

"Rome, and now I must say I'm intrigued. Would I have heard of this person?"

"Rome? As in the ancient city? Is that why you hate your old man?"

"My father … well, that's a story in itself. But yes, Rome as in the ancient city Rome. Or as he likes to say, `Rome as in the strongest nation ever Rome.`"

"Sounds to me like he cares for you, he wants you to be great."

"No, he wants me to be strong, that's all. He was strong and then he retired, and he wants me to be strong exactly like he was. Or … at least he used to want that." He looks up at her, she is paying rapt attention to his words.

"Go on."

"Why do you care? He's my father, nobody important to you."

"Let's just say I never had much of a father, okay? I want to hear more about what it's like to have one."

"What it's like? I highly doubt my father was anything close to, `what it's like` to have a father. He was more a personal trainer, facts and strategy ever since I can remember." She is still listing attentively, so he continues. "Fine. His story starts about … twenty or thirty years ago, back when he was still something. He had won exactly seven League championships in various places around the world, the perfect number he always says, so he decided to settle down. If you believe the town gossip he simply walked into town, had a mansion built on a nearby hill within a month, and by the time it was finished he had wooed the young woman who he then married on the same day that he moved in. His first wife was a local girl, a few years younger but not strangely so, and they were supposedly quite happy together."

"That sounds so romantic!"

"Several years later, she died instantly when a tree limb fell on her."

"Oh! … I'm sorry. Was … was she your mother?"

"No … let's see, his second wife, whom he met at the first one's funeral and married exactly a month later, ran off with half his money a few weeks after the ceremony. It's still a local mystery what happened to her after that. I like to think she's still out there, living off one rich man after another … And then we come to his third wife, my mother. Again, he waited exactly one month. His second wife had taught him several dances which he used to great effect at the local town events. He can be quite charming when he wants to be and within a year had found another young woman drawn by his attention. That one lasted …"

"`Lasted!?` How could you say that about your own mother?!"

"She died in child-birth, my child-birth. It happens. And as much as I have tried, I cannot love her memory. In fact I can't feel anything at all for her. I don't know who she was, what her voice sounded like, how she would have raised me … it wasn't until I was seven that my father bothered to mention that his fifth wife wasn't actually my mother. Do you know what it's like to have your father tell you, as some sort of sick birthday present, that your mother didn't give birth to you?" His voice is still the same dead-pan as before and his eyes almost seem to be mocking Misty's shocked expression. "Do you know he named me right after she died? I'm all he was thinking about, his strong heir. Isn't that sweet?"

Rome is silent for a moment, then continues, "But back to his forth wife, right? Let's see … she was my nursemaid, another local, at first just someone he hired. One month after my birth, being his usual mourning period of course, he turned on the charm and had married the poor woman within half a year. Do you see, now, what kind of person he is? But that time … a year later he killed her, once she was no longer needed for breast-feeding."

"He … he killed her?!"

"That's my theory, anyway. There is very good evidence that some wanderer broke in, and there was a knife in the poor woman's back that he, my father, had never purchased, and he had a very well-rehearsed alibi. His finest candlesticks were missing, and a few other items he didn't actually care about, and besides he was still quite rich and could have bought the best defense around if anyone had taken him to trial."

Quietly, "But you suspect him?"

"He spent three months mourning for her. No matter who, my father always spends exactly one month in mourning, no more and no less. That he spent three simply means he wanted to seem especially grief-stricken, to put off suspicion."

"That's a really horrible thing to say about your father."

"Perhaps … Next was the woman I think of as my mother. Her name was Sue Mary Joy, and the only person my father could find for miles who didn't think he was cursed. She was one of the few Joys ever to not become a nurse, she was in the Ranger service actually, and … crazy beautiful. She and my father were always either fighting or in love, she could yell just as loud as him, and she taught me all the important things: how to cook, how to read, how to swim and fight and juggle and," Rome's voice catches, but soon, "and everything. And when I was eight she told me she couldn't stand my father any more but that she was proud of me, of who I was, and then she left him. She's a Ranger again, always having adventures and saving people, always just … amazing."

Rome takes a deep breath then turns his attention to Misty again, "Do you want to hear about the rest of his wives?" When she says nothing, "His sixth wife was a mail-order bride, some woman who didn't even speak his language but needed citizenship to live here. Not much to say about her, she left him soon after they were married, she had only wanted the citizenship in the end. He moved on, I doubt he cared about her in the first place, she was simply too convenient. I remember how worried he was that he would have to sell his nice home and move somewhere else so he could escape his curse. He started traveling a lot, returning to his old stomping grounds from younger days; he left me at home with his weakest Pokemon. Then one day he brought her home, Bethany Lars. They were married quickly and pretty soon she was expecting. By now my father wanted absolutely nothing from me, I wasn't showing promise as a Trainer like he had hoped so he ignored me and put all his hopes on little Caesar. And when I was nine I ran away to become a Ranger, and he didn't even try to get me to return home. Bethany survived birthing and the three of them are living happily together to this day, Caesar's becoming strong and Beth is just so proud. And that's the story of my father."

"So why are you so certain he's bad? It sounds like he's lived a tragic life, not an evil one."

"That person, the one you want to see killed, are you sure about him being bad? Are you positive that he deserves what you think he does?"

"But he really is evil, I spent years traveling with him, I …"

"So that's how you know, you traveled together? You lived together, saw how he acted in private, saw his innermost self? Because that's how I know. He was, is, my father and I know him better than most, simply because I've seen his true self, the one we all have but keep hidden. He's a demon, in human form." His short monotone rant over Rome turns and picks up his goggles, getting ready to leave. A question from Misty turns him back around.

"What do you mean, a demon?"

"An eternally hungry and eternally unsatisfied being, powerful and unconstrained. My father doesn't care about anyone except for when they can give him something he wants: wealth, respect or power. And he's very good at making people think he cares about them, and not those other things."

"So … so hypothetically, what would you do if he came looking for you? Followed you around, wanting you to rejoin your old family, and he just … he didn't give up, didn't stop hounding you, no matter what."

"Well first, that's highly unlikely. Maybe … maybe if something happened to Caesar, or maybe if he thought bringing me home would make himself look better. So, secondly … I don't know. I couldn't fight him, that would just make him want me to come home more… He'd just keep following me, he wouldn't give up on whatever reason made him find me in the first place, he's got the money to just chase me around forever … so … that would be quite the predicament. Why do you ask?"

"For a few years now my past has been chasing me from region to region. Every time I think I've lost him, he shows up with that grin and those followers and he asks me to come back. And I just … run away. It doesn't matter if I've been living somewhere for a year or only a day, if I have friends or an apartment or anything, I run. I'm always running."

"Well the obvious solution would be just turn him down."

"Of course, the first eight times he tried it. It was on the third time that I decided the eighth would be the last time I even say anything; he distracted me while his girls got around behind me and tried to grab hold of me. That's when I realized it might just be better to run. He's a demon, as you put it … and today, he found me again. By now he'll have found this hotel; he'll stand outside my door, banging on it. That's what happened the last few times. And now it's too late to find another, especially with the tournament going on this week." Despite the water, she shivers. Rome steps out of the pool and after hanging the hotel towel from his shoulders reaches for his discarded shirt. With a moment to consider, he turns and speaks.

"It seems like you've had a tough time of it too, so … here's an idea. You need somewhere else to stay, where he can't find you? Spend the night in my room."

Misty looks up at him, then gets out of the tub too and quickly covers herself with her towel. "Wow, and here I almost thought … Thanks for the `kind offer` but I'll decline. If you'll excuse …" Rome is holding a key in his hand, with a small plastic tag attached.

"This is the key to the room I rented a week ago, it's due back tomorrow morning. I don't have another copy and the manager won't mind if you turn it in. I wasn't planning on sleeping there tonight so all my belongings are already out of it, but I kept the key so I could get into this pool one last time. The room's listed under my name and it's down on the first floor. It's all yours now, if you want." She looks at him, then at the key; before he can change his mind she snatches it. She won't look at him and speaks sadly.

"I'm sorry for … being me, again."

"What do you mean? You're cautious, spirited, a little pessimistic … those are all good qualities to have, don't apologize for them."

"What makes you say they're good qualities?"

"You're still alive and kicking, aren't you?" The water behind them froths quietly, slowly swirling; Rome turns to leave, then turns back. "Say, were you, uh …. were you competing, in the tournament?"

Faintly, "Yes, still am, Water types division."

"Really, a finalist? That's great, I, uh … I was going to come watch a few of the finalist bouts, will I see you there? I, I mean, yeah, you'll be there and I can watch you fight?" Misty smiles, mostly kindly, at his nervousness.

"Is that something else Ms. Joy taught you, asking girls if you can watch them fight?"

"No, she told me to ask for the fight myself. But I'm … patient."
This time it's in HTML, so you don't have to download anything to see it! Fanfare and trumpets!

This is the big project I'm currently working on, and my first public work. Yes, it is a Poke-fic. I'm sorry. But my Writing Profs did say, "Write badly so you can learn to write well." I start with the cliche only so that there is nowhere to go but up. Oh, is the described violence too disturbing? Tell me, and I'll turn the filter back on.

I do not own Pokemon or its characters although I do own my own, and I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to make money from this so I won't try.

For Episode 2, go here: [link]

Much thanks to Beagleboy4ever ([link]) for spotting a error that I fixed, thanks!
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ilikadachocolate's avatar
This is a great start to this story. It's very well written and flows really well. You have me guessing about Roman's father, and Misty was in character which I can find difficult.

At times I was confused about who was talking, but I worked it out. And in some places it seems you have missed words out, for example "When she says nothing," I'm not sure if you intended it to be this way, or you were planning on saying "When she says nothing, he continues."

Overall a great read. I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of this story. :clap: