The Ranger Academy drills many things into the heads of prospective rangers. And much, much more once you’re selected to continue on the ranger track. One of those many things sounds simple enough in theory: Pokemon aren’t merely animals.
Simple, many might even say obvious. The way most people act says otherwise.
A week into selection, Principal Lamont brought several different animals from the Pueltown Conservatory, along with some local pokemon, into the study hall. A serpent, a fox, a raptor, a very fluffy canine, a charmander, a tailow, and a pikachu. He then asked us to tell him what differences we could see.
Only a few of us noted the leashes, or the glove Principal Lamont was wearing. And That was just the start of them drilling one simple, obvious fact into our heads until we understood not just the difference, but why we’d thought that way.
Some might learn at different speeds, some might seem dim-witted or dull, and some might never have the chance to understand certain things, but pokemon are smart. Yet, to put it simply, we can’t understand them well enough to easily notice, and we’re not all that prone to questioning that, as a species.
The myth that pokemon can’t understand us is also unfortunately still common around the world. Not to say there aren’t some clear exceptions, but those are always the people who spend more time with pokemon than they do other humans. Such as rangers or trainers.
And then some pokemon make it obvious by being terrifyingly capable and intelligent. Such as, to give a completely random example, most samurott.
The former occupants of this boat clearly didn’t understand any of that. Sure, many acclimated pokemon will be happy enough to follow you around if you simply offer them food and shelter, others might even do so just because of a good friendship or out of loyalty. But…
They tried to make a samurott, one they undoubtedly didn't care for, follow orders.
My oma’s lectures about her team are coming back a bit clearer now. Samurott are proud, and not the arrogant pride of dragons, but a quiet sort of pride. They know what they are and what they can do, what they want, and what they're worth.
You don’t make a samurott do anything. If they like or respect you, you can ask—or even order them to do something and they’ll likely do it. If they don’t respect you and you still try, they’ll ignore you, and if they don’t like you they’ll likely make a point of dismissing you. But if they hate you, or if you treat them like animals?
You end up feeding the residents of a tidal zone.
I can see the ball they kept Samurott in, too, a customized one that I can’t see criminals investing the kind of money it would take to buy. It’s sea-blue with an ocean pattern, dotted with tactile shell engravings, and sporting a magnetic belt holder. It’s also been bisected, likely at the exact moment Samurott escaped, which was almost certainly as soon as whoever was on the boat unlocked it.
That’s another thing about samurott, they’re deceptively fast, moving in waves of explosive violence and dead calm. Fergal was like that, the few times I saw him battle. I wonder where the members of Oma’s team went?
I shake my head. I can ask her later, I need to figure this mess out first. Looking back to the beach, Samurott is watching me, seemingly having had her fill of the wailmer. “How long have you been here?” I ask as I fully turn to face her.
She continues staring, cocking her head in consideration. “Saa.” She says, drawing three lines in the sand. There’s no possible way that’s anything but days.
I should have known from the moment I saw those crates of pokeballs that things were going to get complicated. “How many were there?” I ask, turning back to keep investigating the boat.
It’s not large, big enough for six if they all squeezed together, the type you’d use to ferry between a larger vessel and the shore. The outboard motor is pulled up, with a rope tying the boat to a rock. So whoever had been on it was ready to or already disembarking.
“Rott.” Comes a bark from behind me. I turn back to see the pokemon gesturing to two more lines in the sand.
Two teams of two. I wonder, “And you were the only pokemon they had with them?” A slow blink, then an incline of the head. Hmm, was this the pick-up or the drop-off team, then? Probably pick-up, given that Samurott said there were only two.
Time to report everything. “Katie,” I glance at the sky, “Or Barry, whoever’s listening right now, I found what’s left of more smugglers.”
I hear the line engage before, “What?!” Hey, it’s still Katie.
“I told you there was a samurott, I’ll give you one guess how it got here.”
“Right, give me a sec," Katie says, before I hear static.
Then, “Ranger Holt, responding to a routing request for Ranger Onaga. Confirm?”
“Confirmed,” I say. “I have a situation at Nabiki Beach, it seems to be related to the smugglers found yesterday in Vientown. Culprits likely deceased with a samurott present and calm.”
There’s a few seconds of silence, “Acknowledged. ETA seven minutes, standby.”
“Acknowledged. Confirm?”
“Confirmed.”
I sigh. Might as well plan my new route for surveying while I wait. Finding a spot against the low cliffs along the beach, I sit, watching Samurott dig an indent in the sand to lie down for a post-meal nap.
Weaver trots up next to me, leaning her shoulder against me in a sign of closeness that’s always meant something to me. “This is going to become a huge mess soon, isn’t it?” I ask her.
“Vile,” She nods, slumping down next to me.
Samurott chuffs, opening one eye to look at me again before going back to her nap.
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The orbs don’t fucking do anything, that’s the only thing I can take away from all this. Against the ground? Nothing. Against a log? Nothing. Against Leaf when he came to see what all the flashing lights were about? Nothing.
Well, Leaf said it tingled, so it didn’t do much.
“I stand by my previous statements. You’re weird,” Leaf says, as I charge the implosion-explosion thing again.
No matter how much I pour into it or try to maintain it until it bursts, it never increases in size or power, only volume. I’ve managed to take it from a ‘thup’ to a ‘crack.’
Also, it doesn't hurt me if I'm already in the middle of it, but it stings if I’m not?
I’m starting to think I have no idea what I’m doing, Ha! Ah… I have no idea what I’m doing.
This is literally the most basic use of power I can think of, and it’s all I can manage. Everything I can do feels like that. I mean, yeah I can control psychic-stuff with a thought, but that doesn’t mean I know how I need to think to use it properly. And ghost-stuff is just… It’s like painting or drawing? But without brushes. And if I stop applying the ‘paint’ it vanishes, so the only two things I've been able to do so far are to keep pouring or to pour just enough.
But then, my voice is extremely simple in comparison, literally only taking focus to, well, focus it, or even slightly direct it. It’s frustrating-
Ah, today’s going to be like that is it? Well, fuck you world! I’m just going to deal with it, how do you like that?
What was I- right, psychic-stuff, ghost-stuff, voice-stuff, and not knowing how to actually use them.
The whole thing with pokemon trainers is starting to make more sense now, especially after what Weaver said about Moves just being names for common powers. And if that’s the case, what’s the deal with things sticking themselves into my memory?
The first one that did was how to call up psychic power, so I thought that was a Move. And the second was how to put power into my voice, which just supported the assumption. But then, the third was just how I changed the focus of my voice, and it's a bit different than the other two.
Wait, the other two ? My- My ghost stuff didn’t do the same thing. Although I did start getting a feel for it after I discovered how to ‘stick’ things myself. So, Maybe I should do that?
Well, it’s there now, but I need to figure out why I can do that. Part of me wants to put it down to an adaption for some reason, but then again, ghost. So anything goes, I guess.
“…And you’re not listening again.” Leaf grumbles, smacking me with his tail.
There’s a ‘pop’ as I lose focus on maintaining the power. I sigh, pushing some of my anger down. “Sorry. I’m trying, but I’m also trying to focus on a few other things, too.”
“Why? No one’s going to even try attacking you. You’re a bit creepy sometimes, yeah, but you mostly just stay here and keep to yourself. And you’ve made it pretty clear you won’t start anything.” Leaf says, looking confused. He’s not, he’s happy. And slightly anxious, but I think he’s just that kind of person.
I almost tell him it's because I'm bored out of my goddamned mind. Almost. It’s true, but it also misses the point. “I need something to do. Not talking or eating or- whatever. Something to work towards," I admit.
I think today marks two weeks of me being maybe-dead, now? I’m really starting to miss my phone.
“Okay? I guess I can understand that.” Leaf nods, looking at the chewed earth. “So you’re trying to get stronger?”
"I don't know," I tell him. "But It’s something to do, at least. I want to fix my home up, except I don’t know where to even start on getting what I need.”
“The city?” Leaf hedges. “From what everybody who’s been there has told me, you can find all kinds of-” He stops talking as both his ears go all the way up. It looks adorable and ridiculous at the same time.
I’m about to ask what’s up before I start hearing something too, like rumbling wind and whipping cloth. Leaf and I both look up as something whips by a bit to the south, skimming just above the trees. A black blur with something red on top, trailing a bright, hazard-yellow line.
“What do you think that was?” Leaf asks after a moment.
I nearly tell him I don’t know, but I have an idea. While my memory isn’t what I’d call ‘photographic’ now, it might as well be for anything I genuinely pay attention to. So it only takes a few seconds and a little effort to review it.
“A ranger on a staraptor," I inform him. “I wonder where they’re going?”
Leaf makes a few lines in the dirt before frowning, “The coast? I know humans like heading out there, but the rangers usually don’t go that fast if they can help it.” He says, pawing at the dirt a bit more.
She was going fast, I mostly saw a red, black, and yellow smear in real-time. "Is there anything special over there?” I ask the ambulatory fern. Who is now pawing harder at the soil.
“Hmm?” He says, looking back up at me. “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t been there myself.” Then he looks back at the ground, “Are you doing something to the earth around here?”
I look at him, then the dirt, and then back to him, “No? Aside from all the ‘mixing’ I’ve done while practicing. Why?”
“Well, it’s perfectly fertile,” He says, like it explains everything. He also must see the look of confusion I'm giving him, because he continues, "Nothing's growing in it."
That- Wait, he’s right, it was all dirt even before I tore it up. “Yeah, that’s… odd. But it’s not something I’ve done, since it was like that when I woke up here.” Granted, the place has that ‘definitely haunted’ feeling about it-
Oh my fucking god.
“Leaf?” I ask, getting the attention of the plant in question, “Marshal said she’s seen several ghosts before, do you know if they were all around here?”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“No…” He answers, now looking around more anxiously. “You’d have to ask her.” Then he blinks, “I can’t believe I just said that. I mean, she really does just let you ask her-” He stops, ears twitching and eyes turning to face east.
Well, that can’t be good. Following his gaze, I can’t see anything through the trees, but those stopped mattering a while ago. I shift places and everything becomes much more colorful and a lot clearer in at least two ways.
Great, it just had to be when I know my temper is going to be short. Fucking perfect. Let’s hope they don’t try anything.
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I’m glad I didn’t need to be so worried about Samurott, but it’s always better to be careful when anyone, human or pokemon, looks like she does. And I think we’re both hoping her next shedding heals most of the surface-level damage.
The sound of beating wings draws my, Weaver’s, and Samurott’s eyes from where I’m inspecting the large pokemon’s wounds on the beach. That's Holt and Blake alright. It took them nine minutes to get here, which is still a great time, overall.
They don't land close, opting to do so as far as possible from where the three of us are either standing or lying near the water. As Holt dismounts and takes her goggles off, she inspects Samurott herself.
“Do you mind if I get closer?” She asks the frayed-looking pokemon. Who glances at me, then shrugs her shoulders as she stands.
“Rotter.” She barks, moving to square herself up with Holt, before stumbling and huffing. She then nods, downcast.
“Mind filling me in?” Holt asks me as she approaches, still eyeing off the wounded warrior.
“She's a trained battler," I explain. "It took a bit to go through the standard yes-or-nos, but what I managed to get was, in short, her pokeball was stolen from her trainer while he was in Kanto, she evolved as soon as she was let out by the smugglers here, and she wants to get back as soon as possible.” I then glance at Samurott before continuing, “She’s fought off a lot of challengers in the last three days and has so many wounds that I’m- well, not surprised, I've seen samurott before, but she's definitely a good example of the species.”
“Did you find the pokeball?” Holt asks. “As wrong as it feels to say, using it to let us get her back to town so we can get her to a clinic and start looking for her trainer would be very helpful.”
Holt notices the pseudo-dragon slump her shoulders a bit before I answer, “I did, but it won’t help us. She destroyed it the first chance she got, from what I can tell. Which,” I say, turning to reassure Samurott, “Was probably the best move you could have made at the time.”
“And the criminals? Have you seen any sign of them?” Holt asks, turning her attention from where we’re standing to sweep the beach.
“Dead, Samurott confirmed that she killed them before tossing them into the high tide.”
Holt nods at that, unfazed, as she starts moving to where the dinghy is still tied up. "A shame, would have been nice to throw them in with the other two, maybe get them to start talking. At least we have confirmation that whoever this group is, they are operating in Kanto as well.”
Holt pauses as she reaches the boat, inspecting the scene before whistling, “Her trainer must be doing pretty well to afford something like that. I think that's a typed matrix. And the resonator is still intact too, so they should just be able to do a swap instead of waiting months for it to wear off.”
I blink, as do Weaver and Samurott. “I take it you’ve studied pokeballs?” I half ask.
“I’m from Sinnoh, my parents still make their living making extremely high-end custom balls.” She then frowns and pulls out some gloves to snap on before picking up the two halves of the sphere. “You know, I think this might be one of theirs.” And then after inspecting it, “Wow, would you look at that. Small world.” She says, walking back over to point at a line on the inside rim.
It says, ‘Holt Custom Arts – V – Water – James Vance’.
“Huh," I say, agreeing with the sentiment. “How could you tell?” And then after a bit more thought, “ And Is that the trainer’s name?”
“The resonator’s offset and unshielded.” The woman says, pointing at a bundle of looped wire and glass around a small, glossy ring set into one half of the matrix. "It means adding more counterweights, but most trainers like the custom ones to be heavier anyway. And it's easier to hand-build them that way in any case, since-” She cuts herself off, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Sorry, I’m getting off track. And the name is indeed the trainer's, or at least the buyer's,” Holt says, tapping at the line and nodding. “So we should be able to get them back together much faster with this. I might even be able to just call my parents and get some half-decent contact information.”
I open my mouth to question if that's entirely legal, then just shrug off the thought. Looking at Samurott, she's obviously been following everything we've been saying and is in higher spirits now. That’s not the reaction of someone dreading an unpleasant reunion, at least.
I frown. That makes me a bit more worried about Espeon since I'm assuming something similar happened to him, but I haven't wanted to push him about it. His reaction to my asking if he wanted to go back wasn't bad necessarily, but needing to think about it doesn’t paint the best picture.
I shake the thoughts away, I’ve got other things to do and to worry about right now. “Am I part of a new mission right now, or can I get back to the survey I was doing?” I ask the Union ranger.
She thinks about that for a bit, eyes roaming over the whole scene a few times. “You’re free to get back to your survey. I’m going to get Samurott back to town after I take a better look around here.” She dismisses me.
As I start heading back to the trail, I bring my radio up again, “Katie, I’m off standby. Anything new?”
“Well,” Comes a thoroughly fed-up voice, “There’s a massive swarm of beedrill in the central forest, the train going from Vientown to Pueltown was delayed because a salamance decided to sleep on the tracks, there have been reports of joltik sightings, and the misdreavus is seemingly very angry right now."
Oh yeah, it’s one of those weeks, how could I forget?
I know which one of those is closest, though. “How angry?” I ask.
“Um, I think she said, ‘I’m just glad no one tried getting closer.’”
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Leaf bolted right before the group came into sight. Not that I blame him, he clearly has anxiety and the way people act is a complete crap-shoot.
However, I had been enjoying not being alone with my thoughts.
At least they all left quickly after the first few ghost-orb-things, only taking a few pictures. And none of them tried to push their luck, either. I’m glad I have something that looks like an attack, even if it does nothing. It made me feel better about throwing so many at them.
I still feel like I’m missing something with the orbs. They feel empty, but I have no idea what to do with that. Because I know I can do something more with it, but I have no fucking idea how!
Calm down, don’t start screaming again, and I should maybe try practicing what Marshal told me about. I told her I would, after all. And it’s not putting things off so much as centering myself, right?
The trees and tall bushes rustle, the thin clouds rolling along slowly in the wind. The vague, floral scent of grass-types is stronger today than yesterday, now slightly overpowering the fresh, earthy smell of the forest. My home, a dilapidated structure in the middle of a magical forest, doesn’t seem so out of place right now, it’s just there, along an old path through the woods. And now a few roserade and cherrim have started dancing on the north edge of the clearing again, soaking up the sunlight.
…
It’s peaceful, and Marshal was right, this does help put things in perspective. I’m not on a clock or in a rush or anything like that, I have time. Maybe I’ll figure it out tomorrow, maybe in a week or a month, I just need to keep trying and remember to stay grounded.
“You don't look all that angry," Weaver says from beside my house. I’d seen her vault the cliff, being so focused on everything around me.
“Why did you think I would be?” I ask, as I had been riding out an anger flash earlier.
“Ryu sent me ahead because one of the trail guides said you were mad. And I mean truly angry.” She informs me, bouncing merrily closer. “But instead you looked the happiest I’ve ever seen you. You okay?”
I do need to think about that for a moment. “Yeah,” I finally reply. “I told you my emotions have been all over the place, and I was working myself from anger to rage a bit ago, but I’m not anymore.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” Weaver says, leaning around to very conspicuously inspect me. “You seem… less twitchy. How did you manage that?” She asks the question teasingly.
“Marshal told me about something she does, ‘taking the time to be' as she put it," I inform my friend. "I told her I'd do it every day, but only just got around to it when I realized how angry I was getting."
“So, I can go back to Ryuko and let her know everything’s fine, right?” Weaver asks me, stepping back from how close she’d gotten.
I shrug, “Sure. Though I need to ask, Why’d you climb the cliff? Isn’t the city that way?” I ask, gesturing vaguely eastwards.
“Yeah, but we were out by the shore when she got the update,” Weaver says, flicking her ears a few times. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it later-” She snaps her claws, then grins wide as she looks at the hand she did it with, “Right, Ryu pulled the reading tapes out of storage this morning, so I can help you with that now.” Her ears flick a few more times, “Yeah, okay, I can hear Ryuko jogging up the lower trail, so I’m going to go join back up.” She waves, making her way to the cliff, “See you, Smokey.” And with that, she jumps.
Huh. I guess a twenty-foot drop isn’t much to any pokemon is it, when you think about it.
I still don’t want to be alone at the moment, and Leaf is long gone into the trees by now. But… I do know someone who said she wouldn’t mind if I visit whenever. Even if I’m pretty sure she’ll start teaching me to fight again.
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Even with this week being one of those weeks, the rest of my day has been entirely fine. After Weaver dropped down from the ghost’s cabin and let me know that they weren’t about to start hunting tourists down, I managed to finish most of the southern forest's pop-survey in relative peace.
There's an alarming lack of apex insectivores, the flying-type populations being a bit smaller than last year—and I only saw a single ariados, though plenty of spinarak, yet I also haven’t seen a large increase in bug-type numbers overall. Well, Katie said Maya had to order the whole central forest off-limits, and Prime and her hives have obviously grown, but there's no lack of grass-types for them to sustain themselves on.
Combee and vespiquen are good at restraining their own populations, to the point some hives will have up to five queens in a state of semi-stasis during periods of famine, and the vespiquen themselves are good at rationing. Plus, they’re nectarivorous and fungivorous, and tend to have a very symbiotic relationship with grass-types, so it shouldn’t become a problem.
Beedrill, on the other hand, will spread until a lack of food causes a major die-off. Interestingly, beedrill are themselves apex insectivores, as well as carnivorous scavengers and palynivores. The population increase we’re seeing likely means the true increase happened two years ago, and we’re noticing it now because all the kakuna are evolving. It is spring, after all.
I don’t want to think of it this way, but most of the new beedrill probably won’t make it to the end of the year, and that’s not a bad thing.
My thoughts on food webs, the issues of predation rates, and if there is even a solution come to an end as I reach the doors of the pokemon clinic where I'd dropped Espeon off earlier.
Approaching the desk, I wait for one of the bored-looking receptionists to notice me, and then for them to finish taking in the fact that, yes, I am in uniform. “Ah, can I help you ranger-” One of them, a man, says, glancing down a moment, “-Onaga? I hope there isn’t a problem.”
I wave his concerns off, “I’m here to pick up an espeon I dropped off this morning.” I inform him, ignoring Weaver’s snickering at the man’s obvious relief.
“Right, yes. Let me just check our current patient-” He’s cut off when the sound of scrabbling claws gives way to a swinging door being flung open with the telltale light of telekinesis.
Ex*aus*ion. G*atitude. Harmony,–I feel, as Espeon practically buries himself in my leg.
“Um, right. Let me finish checking and I’ll get the doctor’s notes for you.” The receptionist stands, moving back through a different door than the one Espeon burst through.
I nod after the man, but my attention is more focused on Espeon. He looks tired, more so than earlier today. “Did you get any sun today?” I ask him.
Af*irmatio*,–He nods.
Weaver steps up next to us as well, inspecting Espeon. She says nothing, but her expression tells me that she’s becoming concerned about him. Which is good, in a way, but it’s also clear that Espeon isn’t healthy.
It takes a bare few minutes for the receptionist to return, and I step up to the desk as he sits behind it again. "Right then, please sign here and I'll have everything Doctor Bernard noted down for you." He says, handing me a single piece of paper on a clipboard.
After I sign and he hands me a stack of papers, I hoist Espeon onto my shoulder and step out, making my way back to base as I read what condition Espeon is in.
As far as Doctor Bernard was concerned? Underweight, under-muscled, and tired, but nothing else. No broken bones, no infections, no odd lumps, and bloodwork will take a few more days, but the doctor noted he didn't expect anything. Espeon was apparently alert the whole time and, obviously for a psychic-type, completed the cognitive tests with near boredom.
The doctor recommends only light physical activity until he reaches a better weight, and a diet rich in proteins, fats, and a series of low-dose vitamin supplements, alongside as much sunlight as possible. So, almost exactly what I was going to do, although given this morning, I’ll have to come up with an easy way for him to exercise on his own.
Maybe I am just reading too far into things, Espeon is very underweight, so it might just be as simple as him needing food and rest for a while.
“You've got a lot of recovery ahead of you," I tell my passenger, handing the papers off to Weaver's grabby claws. "I hope you understand what that means."
Con*usion,–I feel. Then a moment later,–U**erstandi*g. Re*uctance.
"You'll still be able to roam around the base, and outside it," I say, fairly certain he took a peek at my thoughts. "But you're not ready to join me in the field. And you won't be for at least a few months." I start scratching him between the ears, “I need you to accept that, okay?”
He huffs, “Eeon,”–Acce*tance.
“Good," I say, picking up the pace. “For now, I’m going to introduce you to Emil’s cooking.”
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Of all the things I thought Marshal might do, giving me homework wasn’t one of them.
Well, 'homework', In so far as a bunch of new power exercises can be called that. Marshal said I don’t need to worry about how strong I am, but more about how controlled I am. And my ability to take a hit, but I didn’t feel like being ‘disabled’ again, not today.
I also hadn't realized that she has a… Boyfriend? Mate? Casual suitor? In any case, she never really said anything about him, but he's supposedly Buizel's father, and he's a luxray. That is, to put it another way, a really, really goddamned big cat. And somehow Marshal is still bigger, Jesus.
I'd floated over at around the time Luxray was leaving, and when I asked Marshal what was going on she said he'd been seeing his son and had been wondering if she wanted to make more. Sometimes it does just smack me in the face that, yeah, these intelligent, talking beings don't think about things the same way I do. Or did? I don’t know anymore. It was just a little weird to me how casual she was about it.
But we quickly moved on to other things, like how I was feeling since some humans came through and she wanted to know if I had anything to do with how frightened some of them looked. We had a good chuckle about it before I moved on to my issues with my powers.
She even said I've been doing what I should be, feeling my power and trying to move it in different ways. Which… I don't know how to feel about that, personally. I mean, it makes sense, sort of. If you want better control, practice by controlling.
She gave me a long look when I admitted it felt like I was doing the simplest possible things I could, and then told me, ‘If it feels like you can do more, then you can.’
I wish her saying that hadn’t made me feel so much better about it. Or, well, not really, I guess it just proves I’m still a normal person. Sure, I was already pretty certain I could do it, but hearing someone else say it makes it feel more real. Still doesn’t help me figure out how, though. But that’s why I intend to keep trying and experimenting.
Not tonight, however. Tonight I just want to sit on the roof and watch the world go by for a while. Maybe fidget with psychic-stuff a bit. Who knows, maybe I’ll even have a breakthrough?