Chapter 25
The great Nathaniel Morgan clutches a cheap cup of coffee like it’s the only thing keeping him halfway upright, eyes barely open as he perches on top of Graveler. “Real great job, Freak,” he croaks. “All that fuss over some fucking crazy ghost, and then she can’t even be assed to show up for training. You sure can pick ’em.”
“She will show up,” you snap, even though you wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. Team Rocket, after all. How could you ever have thought she’d keep her word?
“Next battle’s four on four, but after that it’s all sixes,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says grimly. “So if this fucking sableye don’t work out we’re gonna hafta take some time off to go catch–holy shit!”
He twists around to swat at his back, then desperately fumbles his dropped coffee back upright when it starts dumping scalding liquid in his lap.
“Good morning, Lazurite-eyes,” Eskar says, hands on his shoulders and hind claws digging into his back. The great Nathaniel Morgan wrestles the top back onto his coffee and flicks liquid from his fingers, then turns his head to try and get a better look at the ghost. You hold your breath, inwardly cursing Eskar and her stupid pranks. He’s got to recognize her now, he must remember, you can’t believe she’d risk that.
But all he does is shake his head and turn away again, fiddling with the coffee. Eskar drums her claws lightly on his shoulder and murmurs, “Not yet, Lazurite-eyes, not yet.”
“Could you maybe not keep trying to give me a fucking heart attack?” The great Nathaniel Morgan grumbles.
Eskar tips her head sideways. “You wanted me to come here this morning, yes? And here I am, Lazurite-eyes!”
“Well, yeah,” the great Nathaniel Morgan grunts after you translate. “But it would be nice if you just walked over like a normal fucking pokémon instead of popping out of fucking nowhere and jumping on me.”
Eskar makes a clicking noise that must be some kind of dismissal, then climbs over the great Nathaniel Morgan’s shoulder and down his front, apparently oblivious to how he has to juggle it so she doesn’t knock it out of his hands again, and takes a seat at the edge of Graveler’s domed head. Her feet hang nearly in Graveler’s eyes. Eskar scratches at Graveler’s brow and examines the marks she leaves with interest. The great Nathaniel Morgan scowls and starts to say something, but Eskar talks right over him. “Hello, Obsidian-eyes! I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. It’s a lovely fabric you have here. Are these olivine inclusions, really?”
Graveler rumbles uncertainly. She never slows, but her eyes roll up as far as they can go, and she tips back, presumably to try and see Eskar. The great Nathaniel Morgan grabs for a hold and yelps, “Hey!”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Eskar purrs. “Do you mind?” She snaps off one of Graveler’s scales and pops it into her mouth, chewing with a series of horribly loud popping, crunching noises. “Amazing! Is that pyroxene I taste? With traces of ilmenite, hmm, and in that bright silicate background I have to say–garnet, yes?”
“Yes.” Graveler sounds dazed. A couple heavy footsteps more, and she says, “It’s sericite.”
“Ah, yes, of course! Of course, Obsidian-eyes, how silly of me. Sericite, yes, that would be the texture. But that’s the mountains, isn’t it, the eastern range? I’ve been to Lavender often enough myself, you know, what ghost in Kanto hasn’t? Lovely place, absolutely gorgeous strata.”
“Yes,” Graveler says again. “It’s an exciting place. Always changing. One of the greater chambers above the river collapsed. About three hundred years ago.” Her sentences come out slow, with the same steady, plodding rhythm as her footsteps.
“Oh! How thrilling. I find it difficult to keep on top of all the most recent news. But what do you think of the sandstone here? Awfully soft, isn’t it? I’ve heard the local geodude consider it quite refined, but–”
Graveler cuts her off with a contemptuous snort.
“The fuck’re they talking about?” The great Nathaniel Morgan asks, watching in bald confusion as Graveler gets drawn into a discussion about the relative merits of the geology of different parts of Kanto.
“Rocks.”
Mightyena’s dropped back to pace beside Graveler, watching Eskar intently. You wonder what she makes of the ghost; she can’t have heard anything good. She looks over at you when you speak up, then puts her ears back, lips drawing up in a snarl.
“What?” you ask sourly. Is she mad that you’re even speaking to her trainer now? He was the one who asked you a question!
She’s not looking at you, though, and when you turn you find Absol keeping pace alongside you. “Absol!” You start to ask her how long she’s been there but manage to change it mid-sentence. “How l–what are you doing here?”
Absol gazes at you with her inscrutable red eyes. “This is dangerous.”
“What?” Your fur bristles as a chilly tingle spreads across your skin. There’s something about Absol’s voice, that quiet, altogether too calm tone, that gives you the shivers even when all she’s got for you is a vague warning like that. “What’s dangerous?”
“That sableye.” Absol’s gaze shifts to Eskar. “She is not trustworthy.”
You slow down and wait until Graveler and the others pull ahead. “I know that, Absol,” you hiss. “But I need another person to battle with us in the tournament, especially because someone won’t help. And she’s not going to do anything to me. She likes me. And she likes my plan. And it’s working, by the way, no thanks to you. You haven’t gotten Mewtwo back all by yourself, have you?”
“No. But this is dangerous.”
“I know!” You can’t help yelling, and it doesn’t matter anyway. You could scream straight in Absol’s face and she wouldn’t even blink. “I know, and I’m tired of you telling me that! If you actually care about it being dangerous, then help me. Don’t just show up and act like I’m stupid because I don’t always do everything you want without an explanation. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“The sableye is wrong. She is not your friend.”
“Well, what do you want me to do, then? Get rid of her? She won’t go away, and I can’t be fighting her all the time. If she actually battles, she’ll have helped out way more than you. And at least she doesn’t make fun of me all the time.”
“Do you think I’m making fun?”
You don’t think she even knows what making fun is. You’re sure she doesn’t understand why you’re mad at her. But that doesn’t make it better. “You aren’t helping, and you don’t want to help. You just want to be right. So just go do whatever you’re doing. It’s not working, but my plan is. And if you’re so worried about danger, maybe you should try actually stopping it for once instead of just warning me about it.”
She actually shows her teeth at that. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Of course! Of course I know that! So what good are your stupid warnings anyway?”
“That’s for you to choose. I can only tell you what I know. It is your responsibility to decide what to do with it.”
“You obviously think you know what to do better than me. But I made up my mind. You can agree with it or not, I don’t care. But I don’t want to listen to you go on about danger and Fate and all that stuff anymore. If you want to help me, you can battle with me in the tournament.”
You speed up, and Absol matches you, but she doesn’t say anything. She just watches you the whole time. She’s way too good at that. She knows you’re not going to be able to leave it alone, that you really want to ask, you really want to, you can’t keep it–“Please, Absol,” you say at last. “Please, it’s only three more battles and a little training, too. It won’t take long, you can go off by yourself the rest of the time. I really need your help. Please?”
Still nothing. You try to talk around the heat rising in your throat, the flames boiling up within you. “At least I’m trying to do something! Maybe it’s stupid and it won’t work, but it’s the best thing I can think of and I’m trying. So if you aren’t going to help then just go away already. I don’t want to see you again until after the tournament.”
Absol walks, and walks, and you tell yourself you’re not going to say another word to her, no matter what, no matter that there are tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and fire tickling the back of your throat. You’ll just keep walking and when you look up again she’ll be gone.
“Very well,” Absol says at last.
Now you really do have to say something and end up choking on your fire, coughing up a scattering of embers. “You mean–you’ll do it? You’ll join the battles?”
“Yes.”
You don’t even know what to say. You must have heard wrong. You stare into Absol’s face, looking for some hint of what she’s feeling, but of course she looks the same as ever.
Absol’s waiting, she’s expecting some kind of response, and it can’t be a joke, Absol doesn’t joke, so she really, she really will…
“Thank you,” you gurgle, then hack again and spew out a gritty cloud of smoke. And as shock fades, more words come bubbling out. “Then–then we should catch up! And we’re supposed to train this morning, so you should… You should come! Because there’s a battle tomorrow, and the great Nathaniel Morgan doesn’t know you at all, and he’ll want to see what you can do!”
Somehow Graveler’s patient steps have taken her out of sight, and you race to catch up, not really worried that she’ll leave you behind but too eager to go slow. You remember almost immediately, though, and stop with such abruptness that you stumble forward and have to put your hands out so you don’t land on your face. But a desperate glance over your shoulder finds Absol trotting up behind you, unhurried. She gives you a blank look like she has no idea why you stopped, and you grin back, not even caring if she thinks you’re an idiot.
“So that one actually showed up, did she?” the great Nathaniel Morgan asks when you come up beside him again.
“That is right. Just like I said she would. So we have six pokémon and we can do all the rest of the battles and we do not have to worry about it anymore!”
The great Nathaniel Morgan’s eyes narrow. “You sound pretty damn relieved there, Freak. Funny, ’cause you were going on like it was a done deal fucking ages ago.”
“Well, it was,” you say. “You just didn’t believe me. But now everybody is here, so you cannot act like I did not do my job anymore.”
The great Nathaniel Morgan rolls his eyes and gives Absol a critical look. She stares back as levelly as ever, until he has to turn away. You smile and skip a little as you go along. No way a human could win a staring contest with Absol.
It doesn’t take long to reach your usual usual training spot. Fissures, scorch marks, scattered rubble, and distended, overgrown vegetation mark places where trainers have let their pokémon go wild, but your particular battleground is the only one with its own dark-glinting swathe of black glass.
“Okay, we’re gonna split up, then,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. “You two with me. I want to see what you got.”
“Oh, yes, Lazurite-eyes. Of course,” Eskar chitters. She sounds like she thinks it’s funny for some reason.
The great Nathaniel Morgan raises his eyebrows at her but goes on. “The rest of you, I thought we’d try something a little different today. Freak, since you’re the motherfucking god of battle or whatever the fuck, why don’t you show these clowns a thing or two? Teach them an attack.”
“You want me to teach them?”
“I thought we’d try with substitute first,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says blandly. “That’s a useful one, and everbody can learn it.”
Mightyena looks up at the great Nathaniel Morgan and makes a squeaky, uncertain sort of growl. He rests his hand on her neck. “Just give it a try for me?”
The dark-type grumbles and shakes out from under his hand, but she stalks over to you anyway. Raticate glances between her and the great Nathaniel Morgan, then slowly follows after. Their trainer shifts himself to a seat on an inanimate boulder, leaving Graveler free to join in.
“This is a stupid idea,” you say, giving your pupils a skeptical look. “They cannot possibly get good at that attack in just a day. They will not have time to practice.”
“Anything’s better than nothing, Freak. It don’t gotta be perfect. Call it an experiment, okay? And I promise you you’ll get the chance to have your ass kicked by them afterwards. This ain’t all we’re doing today. I just gotta pay some attention to your new recruits, that’s all.”
“Look, it’s not that hard,” Mightyena says. “Raticate managed, and he’s not exactly the brightest.”
“Hey!”
“Raticate?” You give him a skeptical look.
“Right. I learned super fang from him. And I’m the one who taught him his swagger.”
“Please. You can’t teach talent like this.”
“So that’s where you learned all those weird attacks from,” you say. “Like yawn and iron tail and stuff.”
“I always knew yawn. But iron tail, sure. I got that from Steelix. Raticate and I both did.”
“Yeah, Nate has us do stuff like this all the time. So quit whining about it and get started already. Then we can get it over with and all do something else.”
You stare at Raticate for long seconds, just to make it clear you don’t take orders from him, then put your hands on the ground and concentrate.
There’s nothing to it, honestly. It’s just like softboiled, but the opposite: instead of making a vessel that can barely contain its energy, that will burst at the slightest touch, you want something sturdy, something that keeps its energy hidden deep inside.
Energy gathers, then flows out of you, leaving your arms trembling and achy as it drains away. There’s another infernape in front of you, standing slack, flames teased by plateau winds.
You spread your hands. “There you go. See? That’s how you do it. Does that make sense?”
Mightyena walks up and sniffs the substitute, then nudges it with her head. Raticate wanders up next to her and prods it in the side. The substitute doesn’t react, doesn’t move beyond what’s necessary to stay upright.
“Okay, but if I do this…” Mightyena jumps at you, jaws open to attack. You step back instinctively, but the substitute comes to life in an instant and throws itself into Mightyena’s path. The two of them go over in the dirt, a tangle of limbs and flame.
“Fancy,” Raticate says as the substitute picks itself up. It returns to its resting posture, eyes distant and unfocused. “Never seen one in real life. Should be handy.”
“Yes. Do you know how to do it now?”
“Uh, no,” Raticate says. “It’s some kind of energy. But you gotta bind it to something to make it stick around like that. Sort of like pay day, right?”
“Yes!” The full force of your delight surprises you. “Yes, it’s almost exactly like that. So you know how to do it?”
“Nope. Don’t know pay day neither. Mightyena?”
She’s circling the substitute, seeing how close she can get to you before it moves to block her. “No idea. How does it work?”
You shrug. “You take some normal energy, and then you combine it with some life energy, but not too much. And then you put it outside you and make it the right shape, and then you’re done.”
Mightyena and Raticate exchange a look. “Uh-huh,” Raticate says, his tone alone is enough to set your flames dancing with irritation.
“It’s simple,” you snap. “You take your energy and you make the substitute. That’s it. Now go on and do it so we can be done with this.”
Raticate sighs. “This is gonna take a while.”
The tumorous lump twitches whenever Raticate gets close, irregular ripples spreading across its oily black surface. “Maybe you oughta just stop here. That’s definitely too creepy for me to want to fight,” Raticate says. He jabs a claw at the substitute, watching it ooze away as though repelled by a magnet.
“Better than yours,” Mightyena says.
“Mine was perfect.”
“For about half a second.”
“And then it became a perfectly good bomb,” Raticate says with great dignity. There’s a scorched place where his last substitute attempt once stood.
You rise from a defensive crouch adopted out of instinct even though your substitute stepped in to shield you from Raticate’s incendiary adventure. The construct’s standing at attention again, oblivious to the holes carved out of its chest, which drip rusty plateau dust instead of blood.
“They aren’t supposed to blow up. I told you, you shouldn’t treat this like a damaging attack. Do it again.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Raticate blows out his whiskers and turns to Graveler. The rock-type’s substitute is perfectly formed, a miniature version of herself done in red plateau stone with eyes like winking diamonds. It’s also completely inert, waiting patiently to be ground to dust instead of moving to defend itself or its creator. “What’s your secret over there, huh? How do you get it to stay together like that?”
“I know how to work with rock,” Graveler says.
“Great. Real helpful, Graveler.”
“Do it again,” you insist. “All of you. You are not trying hard enough.”
“Uuuugh,” Raticate says. “Seriously? How long are we going to spend on this, anyway?”
He turns an imploring look towards the great Nathaniel Morgan, who’s decided he’s more interested in watching your group fail to learn anything than Absol and Eskar’s sparring. The two of them are still going at it in the background, filling the air with the hiss and crackle of dark energy and the occasional roar of thunder. “What? What’s that look supposed to mean?” the great Nathaniel Morgan asks Raticate. “Go on, make another one. I want to see it blow up.”
“Oh, that’s it, you–” Raticate jumps on his trainer, who falls backwards off his rock with a hoot of surprise.
“Raticate! Fuck! Get off! No seriously, that hurts, oh God, cut it out!” Raticate plants himself on his trainer’s stomach, perhaps in deference to the human’s injured ribs, and casually smooths his fur while the great Nathaniel Morgan glares up at him from his new posistion spread-eagled on the ground.
“Okay, I get it, you’re done with this shit,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. “Whatever. Good work, guys. Let’s call it a break and pick this up again later.”
“It was not good work. They have no idea how to use substitute. It was pointless trying to teach them.”
“Wasn’t expecting them to, dumbass. This shit takes time. I just wanted to see how it was gonna go. Now move it, lardass.” He pokes Raticate in the side, and the normal-type swipes at him. They carry on like that, the great Nathaniel Morgan trying to get a jab in without Raticate catching him, until Mightyena bowls Raticate over in her eagerness to get her share of the attention.
“All right, all right, you assholes,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says, pushing the two of them away and gingerly getting to his feet. “Now, lessee, let’s get you guys some water, and then we can move on to other stuff. Oi, you two! Come on, break time.”
“Do I get to fight the infernape thing now? Because I am so ready for that,” Raticate says. The great Nathaniel Morgan attempts to get the water out of his bag while Mightyena tries to shove her snout inside, apparently convinced it holds something interesting and possibly even edible.
“So I know you don’t like the Freak and it don’t like you,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. He’s trying to open a water bottle with both arms wrapped around Mightyena’s neck, ostensibly holding her back, but you’re sure she could break free with hardly any effort. She seems content to stay where she is for now, though, wagging her tail and looking pleased with herself. “But remember, it knows a lot of shit. If there’s an attack you’ve been wanting to learn, it can probably teach you. So think about it, right? Might as well take advantage while you can. Stop that.” He shoves Mightyena away when she steals a quick lick on his cheek, and she bounces around in front of him, begging him to play.
“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass on more lessons from that asshole,” Raticate says.
Eskar wanders over, trailing wisps of purplish ectoplasm from the dark rents covering her body. The source of all her injuries stands several feet away, watching. You wave to her, but Absol stays where she is.
“And what have the rest of you been doing?” Eskar asks. “I was having a boring battle and getting told I’m sloppy about how I use dark energy. Very wrong, but amusing, you see? Humans, they think they know so much.” She’s recovering while she talks, ghostly flesh knitting back together in fast-time.
“We were wasting our time on that one’s nonsense,” Mightyena growls.
“Oh? But Cordierite-eyes is so strong, yes? It is a privilege to train with one so powerful!”
“Strong, maybe, but it sucks at teaching,” Raticate says.
“Does it?” Eskar taps a claw on her chin. “Or are you simply too stupid to learn?”
You laugh, and Eskar flashes you a glittering smile. Mightyena puts her ears back, and Raticate starts to say something, but Eskar turns away from him and says to you, “Cordierite-eyes, it would be an honor to learn from you. Would you teach me?”
“What, you want to learn substitute?”
“Yes, Cordierite-eyes! Very much, yes!”
“Of course,” you say right into the glowering faces of the great Nathaniel Morgan’s pokémon. “I would be happy to. I bet you will get it really fast.”
“I hope so, Cordierite-eyes,” Eskar says humbly. “But perhaps not now. I believe we are about to be asked to do more pointless exercises. Real training later, yes? I think for now we should try to keep the clueless human happy.”
Mightyena’s mane bristles up, and she looms huge and spiky over Eskar. The ghost grins straight into her snarling face, like she hasn’t the faintest clue why Mightyena’s angry. “Mightyena, whoah,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. “What’s up?”
“She is just mad because Sableye knows how to recognize a good trainer, that is all,” you say, and the great Nathaniel Morgan never gets the chance to work out what that means since he decides he needs to break you and Mightyena up right away, even though you weren’t even going to hurt her that bad, probably.
After lunch you all retire to the apartment, the great Nathaniel Morgan sprawling on the couch with Mightyena on the floor next to him. Raticate claims the chair, where he sits and worries at his fur, putting every lock in order. You come through the door stewing over a wasted morning soon to be followed by an afternoon of lazing around, but once you settle in on the arm of the couch you start to feel like starting an argument would be too much effort. You lean back agains the couch and relax muscles still buzzing with residual energy. Towards the end of training the great Nathaniel Morgan distracted you with questions about how strong you could make your hyper beam, and you couldn’t help showing off a bit.
The great Nathaniel Morgan sighs and stretches hugely, then rests his hands on his chest and turns towards his pokémon. “So, what do you guys want to do this afternoon?” he asks. “There’s a ton of shit going on out there. They got stuff from the team doubles tourney today, that oughta be pretty good.”
“Sure, Nate, after fighting all week what I really want to do to unwind is go watch more fighting,” Raticate says.
The great Nathaniel Morgan prods you with his foot and gestures at Raticate. You consider ignoring him, but it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do. Absol stayed all the way through lunch, but of course she had some mysterious business to attend to after that, and Eskar took off, too, so you don’t have anybody else to talk to. The great Nathaniel Morgan’s face after hearing what Raticate had to say is worth it anyhow. “That was all single battles, though. This is doubles, it’s completely different,” he says, sounding a bit hurt.
“What about a contest? They usually have contests alongside the League tournament, don’t they?” Mightyena asks.
“Contests? Yeah, sure, they got some kind of festival thing going on.” The great Nathaniel Morgan drags out his pokédex and pokes at it a bit. “It looks like it’s a kind of beginner thing? Like the actual tournament, I guess. Lots of kids.”
“Trying to vicariously live your dream of dressing up in bows and crap and prancing around on stage?” Raticate asks.
“More like checking out all the cute guys,” Mightyena says. “You know, that contest career would have had some serious perks.”
“Or they got, like, I dunno,” the great Nathaniel Morgan goes on. “There’s like a science museum, Graveler, and they must have rocks and shit. Plus they’re showing some movie about volcanoes.” The rock-type makes an uninterested rumble and stumps off towards the bedroom. “Okay. So, uh, you want to stay here, or…?”
“It’s kind of sweet of you to offer to take her to see rock porn, but she thinks it’s weird that humans are so interested in that stuff,” Mightyena says once Graveler’s out of sight.
“What? No.” The great Nathaniel Morgan peers at Mightyena. “You’re fucking with me. It ain’t no rock porn. It’s like some bullshit educational movie.”
“I never said it wasn’t educational. Where did you think baby rocks came from?” she says. “I mean, think about it. All those grinding faults… heaving plates… spurting lava…”
“You’re full of shit, they hatch from eggs like everything else,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. He looks up at the ceiling. “Steelix, you–”
“Yeah, that’s right, can’t go running to Know-it-All for help,” Raticate says as the great Nathaniel Morgan stares dumbstruck into empty air.
“Oh man, can you imagine if Steelix actually was here?” Mightyena says to Raticate. “The big guy might about die of embarrassment.”
“Are you kidding? More like Nate’d better strap in for a two-hour lecture on how mating actually–no, shhh, you weren’t supposed to say that part!”
“Well, how am I supposed to know you don’t want me to translate something?” you ask.
“Ha! I fucking knew it!” the great Nathaniel Morgan says, jabbing a finger at Mightyena. “Huh. Rock porn. You two are full of it, you know that?” He cheerfully goes back to fiddling with his pokédex while the pokémon shoot you dirty looks. “Or we could go to an actual movie. Anything you guys want to see? There’s, like, some dumb comedy thing about a bunch of bank robbers, and, oh, there’s the latest Action Jack flick, ain’t there? That just came out.”
“We should go see the Trainer Max movie! It is supposed to be awesome!”
“Sure, you do that,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says without looking up. “Or, hey, there’s that sci-fi kinda movie, Interstellar Virus or whatever. What about that?”
“That might be good, but Trainer Max is better. We should go see that one.”
“‘We’ ain’t gonna see nothing, Freak. Go watch it yourself if you’re so goddamned keen.”
“What? I thought we were trying to decide what to do this afternoon.”
“We are. But we don’t include you, get me? You ain’t invited, dumbass. Now,” he turns to the other pokémon, who are making no effort to conceal their amusement, “seriously, guys. Pick something.”
They’re going to just waltz off and leave you by yourself? They should be grateful you’d even consider hanging out with them. “Fine. I never wanted to do whatever stupid thing with you idiots anyway,” you snarl, your flames hissing and crackling your irritation.
“Uh-huh. So, Raticate, what… movie? Okay, that’s one vote for movie. Mightyena? What? No, she fucked off, she doesn’t get a vote. Now what would you–?”
He’s interrupted by a rap at the door and turns to stare, words draining away into a mutter. The knock comes again, louder this time, and the great Nathaniel Morgan hauls himself off the couch and approaches the door cautiously, like he’s afraid it might open suddenly to let whatever’s on the other side drag him through. The pokémon creep up after him, and you along with them.
The great Nathaniel Morgan peers through the peephole, then jerks back like whatever he saw burned him. He mutters something to himself, then yanks the door open and sticks his head out. “The fuck do you want?”
Standing in the hall is a woman in official League uniform, a deep blue with gold accents and the pokéball-P on the breast. A nidoqueen looms behind her, a sash in the same colors stretching across her chest. The poison-type’s watching with the most intimidating sort of quiet interest.
“Are you the great Nathaniel Morgan?” the woman asks.
“Who the fuck is asking?”
“We’re with the League. We’re here to inform you that your license is on temporary probation due to a suspected violation of the League’s code of conduct. This is a summons–”
“What the fuck?” The great Nathaniel Morgan’s face reddens, his fingers curling into claws around the edge of the door. “I didn’t do shit! What the hell–”
“This is a summons,” the woman goes on in a studiously calm voice, “to appear at a disciplinary hearing tomorrow at 10 AM.” She holds out a piece of paper covered in tiny type. It looks very legal.
“But I didn’t do nothing! You can’t just–”
“You are suspected of using false credentials to participate in League activities,” the woman says.
“False what? What the fuck are you talking about? You and your–” He opens the door a bit wider, like he intends to step out into the hallway. The nidoqueen makes a coughing sound, still standing at all-too-relaxed attention, and he freezes.
“You will have the opportunity to plead your case at the hearing. Failure to appear will result in the revocation of your license and a lifelong ban from League activities.”
You’re leaning forward on your toes, ready to rush over and drag the great Nathaniel Morgan back inside if he decides he doesn’t care about the nidoqueen. But all he does is snatch the paper out of the woman’s hand. “Oh, I’ll be there, and I’ll tear your fucking League a new asshole for fucking with me over some stupid shit.”
“Have a nice day,” the woman answers, ignoring the great Nathaniel Morgan’s response of “go fuck yourself with your nice day” as she turns to take her leave.
The great Nathaniel Morgan slams the door and stares helplessly at the sheet of paper for a few seconds, then tosses it at the couch as he goes past. You snatch it out of the air and scan it over, struggling to make sense of the legalese. “They say your pokédex is stolen?”
“I don’t fucking know!” The great Nathaniel Morgan paces around the kitchen, his pokémon watching in tense silence, eyes following him back and forth, back and forth. “I dunno, I ain’t, what the fuck.”
“Well, it is not, is it? You can just tell them that at the hearing. It must be a mistake.”
“Of course it’s stolen, you fucking moron. You got any idea how much one of those bastards costs? The point is they shouldn’t be able to tell.”
“What? You entered the tournament with a stolen license? You are going to ruin everything!”
“Fuck you, it was your fucking idea. And they shouldn’t be able to tell, ain’t like it caused trouble at any of the gyms, did it? I mean, fuck, I don’t know, it should have been fine, what the fuck.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do now?”
“I don’t know, why the fuck are you asking me?”
“Because it is your fault! We have to do something, you cannot get disqualified now!” But he’s right, of course. He would probably only make things worse if he tried to fix them. You put your chin in your palm, tail lashing fitfully at your side. You don’t know, you don’t know, and if you asked Absol–she would just tell you you’re doing something dangerous again. You snort and thump your tail particularly hard.
The great Nathaniel Morgan grabs a chair and leans on it, wheezing. Mightyena slinks over and grumbles up at him. The great Nathaniel Morgan shakes his head. “Fuck it,” he gasps. “Ain’t nothing we can do about it right now anyway.”
“What? What do you mean, cannot do anything? You cannot just give up!”
“I don’t got the first fucking clue what’s going on here, and I ain’t gonna try nothing until I do. Whatever’s up, it can wait until tomorrow when we find out exactly how much shit we’re in.” He looks down at Mightyena, and she tries a tiny, hopeful wag.
“Well, what happens after that?” you ask while he bends down to pet her. “What are you going to do if they disqualify you right there? What if they find out about me? What if they figure out you’re from Team Rocket? What if they drag you off to jail?!”
“Then I lock you in the room with the fuckers and pray for no survivors,” the great Nathaniel Morgan says. “Come on, guys, let’s get out of here.”
“But wait! That would never work, we need to think of a real plan!” You would have made it to the door first, but Raticate gets under your feet and then squirts away again while you’re picking yourself up.
“Try not to flip out and set anything on fire while we’re gone, would you, Freak?” the great Nathaniel Morgan says while he and the pokémon crowd out the door. “I know the place is half fucking destroyed already, but I like the couch the way it is, you know?” He has to rush a bit to get all the words out before you make it across the room to strangle him, but ultimately the door bangs shut a second before you reach it. You screech and pound on it but don’t bother opening it, don’t bother chasing after them. What would you even do if you caught them?
You hammer on the door a couple more times for good measure, breath coming ragged and smoke streaming between your teeth. He’s right, you probably shouldn’t burn anything, but something has to go, there’s flames, and heat, it’s burning you up inside and it has to go somewhere. It’s not right, they can’t do this. You were winning! You were winning, and the great Nathaniel Morgan managed to screw it up without even losing a single battle!
You grab the letter again and try to make sense of the funny big words and the weird sentences, but they’re darkening before your eyes, flame-rimmed holes spreading across the paper until it all falls to flaky black. You drop it on the carpet, seething and clenching flame-wreathed fists and not satisfied yet, no, not at all.
Then you shriek when the fire alarm starts blaring and shoot a fireball at it without thinking, so it bursts and melts and stops its hideous wailing and leaves you finally in peace. You sit down, panting, and wait for the cool air you’re taking in to overcome the heat of your fire. Stupid humans and their laws and fancy words and everything. You wish you could fight the League the way you would any pokémon that got in your way. That’s how people ought to settle things. And you’re strong, so if you got to fight you would win.
You run a hand through the hot, ashy remnants of the summons, grinding it to gray powder between your fingers. You’ll still win. You’re not going to let a bunch of clueless humans screw this up for you. Like the great Nathaniel Morgan said, you can learn more tomorrow, see what it is they’re really up to. And if he’s not going to do something about it, then you will.