The sea air bit through their jackets and wafted salty spray that tickled at their ears. The two children hardly noticed, however, being focused at both the task at hand and their conversation. It had been three weeks since Aggie had gotten ambushed. After being carried home, made to drink practically her weight in Oran Juice, grounded for two weeks for fighting, and forced to sit at the back of the school for the remainder of semester, Aggie was finally free.
Her first order of business had been to hunt Sammy down and drag him to the beach to go clamming. Roger Oak was more than happy to get the boy out of his hair for the day and practically shoved the boy out the door despite his objections to remain by the fire in the family room. Shovels and a sack were thrust into Sammy’s hands and Aggie had been happily talking the boy’s ear off as they walked down the main road of town to the beach. Sammy had listened carefully to Aggie’s retelling of the events that had transpired, only interjecting occasionally for clarification. By the time they had actually made it to the beach, Aggie had finally wrapped up her story. She wasn’t known for her brevity when she was excited.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait a minute.” Sammy's voice was incredulous. “You're telling me that Grant, Grant Cheery, apologized to you. To your face.”
“That's what I said, Sam.”
“But that doesn't make sense, Grant never apologizes!”
“I know. It is weird. Both him and his dad came over the other night and actually bowed when they apologized! I mean, mom told me a little bit about stuff the night I got beat up. Ya know… about being a miko family and whatever.” Aggie waved the hand holding a small shovel in dismissal. “But I guess I still don't really get it. I mean, I thought that everyone just thought she was crazy, not scary.”
A hole in the sand spat up a stream of water, prompting the children to surround it. Sammy set down the large sack he had been carrying and leaned upon his shovel as Aggie began to dig with hers. Aggie continued to talk, peppering her words with the occasional grunt.
“Mom -ugh- ever really told me what she does all day. -oof- I didn't even know that the shrine we live at was a big -huff- deal, ya know?”
“It is?”
“Ex-hup!-actly! Guess it's, like, a thing to have a shrine. Mom said that -get ready, Sam!- I'm gonna have to start training in whatever she does soon… NOW SAM!”
The unearthed mollusk was a deep purple with a flat, pink tongue that didn't seem to fit in its shell. Frustrated at being exposed to the air, the mollusk attempted to open, but a swift clang of Sammy's shovel kept the bivalve closed. Now dazed for a moment, Aggie quickly snapped a thick rubber band around it lengthwise.
“Nice!” She crowed. “I don't think it's too big, so let's get it into the bag!”
Sammy yanked the sack open and between the two they managed to wrangle the bivalve Pokemon into it.
“Wait, why are you looking like you just had to smell a dirty sock? We just need to find a few more of these!”
Sammy continued to frown as he hoisted the repurposed flour sack on his shoulder. “I… I dunno Aggie. I just… ever since Crescent came around I've started to wonder about eating Pokemon.”
“Huh? It's not like we're gonna eat him!”
“No,” Sammy shook his head as they resumed their trek down the beach. “I get that, but what if… I mean, Crescent understands what's going on. He's smart! I can…” The boy fell silent for a moment.
Aggie was practically vibrating in anticipation, but kept her mouth screwed violently shut. Her lips pursed with the exertion as she fought to keep her patience. Thankfully, Sammy spoke up before she burst.
“I can kinda hear what he's saying. He's like… he's like a human, but just a Nidoran.”
Tilting her head to one side, Aggie burst out laughing. “You’re not trying to tell me that you can talk to him, are you? Because I'd have to call you a liar, Sam Himada.”
“I ain't lieing! I mean, it's not like I can hear him saying words, but I just, I just understand what he's trying to say!”
The laughing continued unabated.
“I'm serious, Aggie!”
“Yeah, suuuuuuure you are.” A tear ran down Aggie's cheek and she swiped it away with a gloved hand as she drew out the word.
Sammy halted, turning and stomping a foot into the sand. “I'm not lieing, Aggie!”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“I think you've just been getting a head start on our winter break homework! I mean, come on, Sam! We're writing reports on ‘The Story of Dr. DoLittle’! We all wish we could talk to Pokemon, but everyone knows that ain't a thing!”
A small dimple appeared in the sand.
“Dean could talk to Gram!”
The dimple grew larger.
“Yeah, because Kadabra are smarter than people!”
The dimple became a donut.
“Well, why can't Crescent be as smart as us then?”
The donut grew a bit more.
“Because he's a rabbit and don't know moose code!”
Both children noticed the impression in the sand.
“Morse!”
“You're a morse liar than morse-t!”
“That doesn't even work!”
“Well, I ain't ever heard of a Shellder talking, so this time you dig, I bonk.”
“Fine.”
“Fine!”
Sammy didn't end up needing to dig at all as the rudely awoken Shellder broke through the wet sand and reared back to spray him with water. He dove to the side and saw the fountain shoot far past him into the surf and the lolling tongue readying another before Aggie's shovel came to a jangling slam atop the shell.
“Hah! We got another one! If you don't wanna eat it, I know I will. My mom makes the best Shellder Chowder.”
Sammy grumbled as he pulled the band to keep the shell closed around the Pokemon. “Miss Summers makes the best chowder.”
“Nuh-uh!
“Yuh-huh!”
“Nuh-uh!
“Yuh-huh!”
The nonsensical repeating argument carried on well after they moved on to find another Shellder. Neither noticed the shimmering patch of air well above them, nor heard the scratch of pen on paper.
Observational log 12a in study delving into the nuanced perspectives surrounding the purported ability of Subject A to communicate with Pokemon.
Contrary to expected claims, Subject A does not assert the capability for open verbal communication with Pokemon. Subject A rather characterizes it as an "understanding." Notably, a female peer of Subject A expresses skepticism regarding the veracity of these claims, introducing an element of doubt to the perceived communication ability. Intriguingly, Subject A exhibits hesitancy towards consuming Pokemon for sustenance, attributing it to concerns about the potential sentience of these creatures. Subject A cites the author's communication skills as evidence supporting the notion of sentience in Pokemon, extending a personal hypothesis that all Pokemon are capable of demonstrating such high-level of self-awareness and understanding.
It is crucial to note that the author maintains an understanding that not all Pokemon species exhibit signs of true sentience (Dorwin 1886). The observation of interspecies communication is a complex matter, and individual experiences with different Pokemon species may vary. As of the time of this observational exercise, the author is not aware of sentience being ascribed to most “Bug” (Calvin et. al 1922) or many “Water” types of Pokemon (Thyme et. al 1918).
For the purposes of this research, Dr. Charlene Dorwin’s definition as described in her 1886 publication “On the Origin of Pokemon” will be utilized.
“The phenomenon under contemplation herein is that of sentience of the observed ‘Pokemon’ order, denoting the inherent faculty within an organism to partake in subjective experiences, sensations, or the grand tapestry of consciousness itself. Sentient entities exhibit an aptitude for perceiving and reciprocating to the nuances of their surroundings, engaging in the tumultuous realm of emotions, and harboring a subjective cognizance of their very existence.
It is customary to tether the essence of sentience to the tether of self-awareness, wherein lies the ability to savour the sweet nectar of pleasure or endure the bitter dregs of pain. Furthermore, it is within the realm of sentience that we discern a cognitive awareness that transcends the simplicity of mere stimulus-response reactions, elevating the entity beyond the mechanical throes of instinctual comportment.
In the corridors of philosophical and ethical discourse, the concept of sentience emerges as a lodestar, guiding deliberations to discriminate beings endowed with the capacity for subjective experience from those confined to the mechanical ballet of instinct or, perhaps, bereft of the luminosity that is conscious awareness."
Only “fully evolved” members of aforementioned “Bug” type Pokemon have exhibited all of the listed attributes (Calvin et. al 1922). While some popularized observations in other non-peer reviewed publications suggest that even the lowest Caterpie or Weedle has exhibited signs of “the ability to savour [sic] the sweet nectar of pleasure…beyond the mechanical throes of instinctual comportment.” the author has rejected them until such time that measurable data is available.
This recognition of potential variability in Pokemon sentience adds an extra layer of complexity to Subject A's claims and prompts further inquiry into the nuances of communication across diverse Pokemon species.
Gram shut the notebook and watched Subject A and his female peer hoist a fourth Shellder into the sack. It was amusing observing their struggles to maneuver the now bulky and heavy thing without effective means of transportation. Perhaps during their next attempt a wheelbarrow would be acquired and utilized. Gram huffed and shook his head in wry amusement.
Of course Shellder were not sentient. Despite their relatively prodigious size, they lacked a true brain. Instead the creatures had a diffuse nervous system that mimicked higher functions that was highly taxed to act upon much more than base stimuli. Even the best of the “Water” type Trainers took months with near constant conditioning and vibration signaling to teach a Shellder to attack on command. Only when exposed to excess Water Type Energy would a Shellder obtain a centralized nervous system capable of true thoughts.
Although…
Now that Subject A was well on his way into town, Gram drifted down to the beach. With a flick of his favored tool two Shellder were ripped free of the sand.
They were quite tasty. And of course both children were incorrect in their final argument.
His mistress made the best Shellder chowder, and that had indeed been peer reviewed. The fact that his peers were his immediate adopted family notwithstanding.