Onale's Pokemon

- Ember (Combusken)

Sabine's Pokemon

- Lucky (Electabuzz)

- Zippy (Ninjask)

- Unnamed (Eevee)

- Nibbles (Axew)

Interlude 4.8.5: Onale Gates & Sabine Soto

Onale Gates

Slateport City

I made my way towards the Slateport contest hall with a confident stride. Mama always said confidence was the secret to success. People will only believe in you if you believe in yourself.

I'd always found that harder than it sounded. Believe in myself? Why? There wasn't anything impressive about me. I was just some farm girl with a strange instrument that hardly anyone played anymore. Take away grandma's hurdy gurdy and I was… just plain Onale.

"Combus," Ember crooned beside me. He marched in lockstep with me and noticed when I lagged behind.

"Thanks, Em," I said with a smile. I straightened my spine and continued forward. Maybe I could believe in my team instead? Mama said they'd be like family and what kinda gal would I be if I didn't believe in family?

I walked inside to register for the normal-rank contest. I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wore the same outfit I had in Oldale, a village girl's frock painstakingly stitched from faded red cloth, a milky white apron, and mama's shawl she'd embroidered with little flames and music notes just for Ember and I.

I was sorely underdressed. I saw people in cocktail dresses and evening gowns, bespoke suits and faux-military blazers. Heck, there was even one man in a pirate outfit with a chatot on his shoulder, eyepatch included.

Slateport wasn't Oldale. They may both be normal-rank contests, but Slateport was the big city, with lights and sound systems and a big stage and more than a hundred times the population. This contest wouldn't be held in a barn, but in the very same building as the Grand Festival. This was nothing like the one in my hometown.

'That you lost,' an accusatory voice echoed.

I winced at the thought. Yeah, I'd lost a hometown contest, one where most everyone knew me. But so what? Ember evolved for me. For us. He evolved so today would be different. We were better. My song was more polished. Ember's dance was smoother. We'd win here because we lost in Oldale.

With that determined mindset, I found myself a seat in the waiting hall. Ember leaned against the wall next to me, eyes closed and seemingly asleep. I knew better; he was always alert and ready for a scrap, especially now that he was a fighting type.

Having him by my side was a huge relief. If I felt underdressed and outclassed by the trainers in the room, he must have made the other pokemon feel the same way. I saw lillipup, marill, snubbull, and a roselia. Its trainer was a green-haired boy in a violet jacket and teal trousers, stylish I supposed, if in a very "high fashion" sort of way. He caught me looking and approached. He had nice hair, forest green like his roselia.

He looked at Ember, then at me. "Sapling?"

"Busken!" Ember answered for me, the orange feathers of his crown igniting with his cheerful cry.

I let the warmth stoke my confidence. "Yup. Onale Gates, what's your name?"

"Drew Greenwald," he replied with a confident smile. He flipped his hair back with a toss of his neck like a shampoo model; I didn't know anyone did that in real life. Though to be fair, he did look like he could be a male model. "Roselia and I will be taking the ribbon."

"Will you? This isn't my first contest."

"Yeah? How many ribbons do you have?"

"None, but so what? Our show is better than ever. How many ribbons do you have?"

"T-That's not your business," he said hastily. "Roselia and I will wow the judges; that's all that matters."

I may be a country girl, but I could read between the lines. "You don't have a ribbon either, do you? So stop acting like you're all that."

"All that? Girl, we are 'all that.' Roselia and I almost won our contest in Verdanturf. The only reason we lost was because some girl who's been around for three years in Indigo and Sinnoh decided to come do her contest tour here. She's probably already up in super-ranks already so there's no one to stop us from winning anymore."

I frowned. Those weren't common, but they weren't unheard of either. Coordinators didn't tend to hop around regions like battlers, but there were always a few that sought a new stage. "Well I guess I'll just have to tell her you said hi at the Grand Festival. The Oldale Contest wasn't easy pickings either."

"Oldale?" Drew scoffed. He looked me up and down and muttered, "No wonder."

I felt a growl at the back of my throat. Oldale was out of the way, but damn it, it was my hometown! "And what does that mean?"

"You look like an inelegant country bumpkin and your instrument belongs in a museum. Really, when's the last time anyone's played one of those? The Fragmentation Era?"

"Yeah? What the hell do you know? You're a prissy fop who probably spends more time on his hair than actually training his pokemon. I bet your hair will go up in flames from all that mousse if you come any closer, jerk."

"Oh, please. Sweetheart, this is Slateport, not some back-country hick town like Oldale. You're not going to impress the judges with a cute song and a twirl. A real coordinator needs pizzazz! Style! You know, you could stand to learn from me," he said with a smarmy smile.

"Like hell. What would I learn from you, Mr. Ribbonless?" I snorted. I wanted to punch that smug smirk off his face. If I didn't leave, Ember looked like he'd do it for me and I couldn't get disqualified. "Come on, Ember. Let's go find some clean air, without enough mousse to start a gas fire."

I stormed off, already having made a spectacle of myself. Tears stung at my eyes but I forced them down. I knew I'd meet people like that. Hell, my friends and neighbors told me so too. Oldale wasn't a big city. I didn't come from money or a legacy. But becoming Grand Coordinator was my dream, one I shared with Ember.

I didn't have any sparkly dresses or the haute couture brands that people obsessed over. I wore a medieval frock because I wanted to represent my town and the people who supported me. So what if I didn't win the hometown contest? I'd be more insulted if they forced Aaron to lose!

"Combus…" Ember crooned by my side, his clawed, feathered hand warm in mine.

"None of that matters," I told him. "Whatever that fop says doesn't matter. We just have to go up there and show these cityfolk what good music and dance looks like."

"Combusken."

The two of us watched as each coordinator went up to perform. Each appeals round helped me relax a bit. Fifteen points. Ten. Sixteen. Twelve. A few that broke the twenty point mark that I kept an eye on.

I mentally compared them to ours, then to the wonderful light show from Aaron and Jeanne, and found them wanting. They weren't bad, just… unpolished. The chatot was off-key. The lillipup had no substance behind its Growl. I didn't know what that fop was talking about; coordinators in Slateport weren't any better than what I'd seen back home. They weren't better than me.

"Normal-rank is normal-rank no matter where we go," I realized. "We can do this, Ember."

"Bus."

I waited with Ember's ball in hand. It was a habit of mine; I always had to be doing something with my fingers, whether that was plucking at the keys or rolling a collapsed pokeball around. Until finally, my number was called.

"Contestant number twenty-three, contestant number twenty-three, please join us backstage," came the voice of one of the assistants.

I still felt nervous. The appeals weren't anything to write home about, but that's what I thought. What if the judges thought that way about me? What if I misplayed? What if I let Ember down?

I took a deep breath and stood. I still felt out of my depth, but I couldn't think like that. I was a coordinator. I deserved to be here. And I'd prove it in the only way I knew how.

"Let's go, Ember."

X

The spotlight was blinding, as if I was staring straight into the sun. I could feel the eyes of the people on me. There had to be a thousand of them! Okay, maybe a few hundred, even a big city like Slateport didn't have many who were interested in a normal-rank contest. Still, in that moment, those few hundred might as well have been everyone in the world. I felt like an unfortunate rattata staring down a seviper.

My knees shook with nerves and I thanked mama for my ankle-length frock that hid the trembling. It was like their stares had real, physical weight. Was someone using Gravity? Pushing me down with Psychic? They may as well have because I was rooted to the spot, standing like an idiot just barely visible at the side of the stage.

"Miss Gates? Miss Gates, please begin your appeal," I heard one of the judges say.

That snapped me out of it. I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down. The lights were too bright and the crowd was still overwhelming, but this was just one of the side stages in Slateport's contest hall, not even the main one used for the Grand Festival. I couldn't freeze up here; I couldn't afford to.

With a deep exhale, I took a step forward. My right hand swung with the step, brushing against grandma's hurdy gurdy.

My fingers ran along its smooth edges, polished to a gleaming shine with a special finish made from the resin of the Petalburg lacquer tree. It was one of Oldale's first exports when the town was first established. This particular finish had been done by a family friend of grandma's, her own godfather who'd been a master carpenter.

The stings weren't made traditionally from sheep intestine, synthetic substitutes had been available even in grandma's day, but they too were a gift. As was the highest quality spruce rosin our neighbor could make. Everything about this instrument was special, from the keys made of smooth pebbles shaped by my granduncle's golem to the oil given to me by Papa to care for it even in the rain. It was my precious treasure, the proof of everyone's support.

I kept walking until we stood center stage. My own footsteps echoed in my ears; or was that just my blood pumping? I couldn't tell anymore.

I had to perform. This was what I'd wanted for so long. This was what Ember and I worked towards. Who cared if I didn't have a designer dress? So what if I was a country girl? None of them studied their asses off for a sponsorship from the regional professor. None of them received a Hoenn starter.

No, they didn't hold a candle to me and I'd prove it now.

I reached for Ember's pokeball, returned so that no one could boost their pokemon before a match, and steeled my resolve. His pokeball was warm. Was that my imagination? Or was Ember as thrilled as I was?

I took encouragement from my partner and hurled his ball high. "Ember! Let's light it up!"

His ball reached the apex of its arc and erupted with a silvery-white light. Ember took the stage in a small whirlwind of his namesake. We'd practice this entry. A cloud of feather-shaped sparks, our unique blend of Ember and Feather Dance, swirled around him as he crashed down in a controlled ax kick.

"Combusken!" he shouted to the world. It was a jubilant challenge. Some might call it the reckless bravado of a recently evolved fighting type, but I saw a brilliant, blazing confidence I envied. Nothing could dampen his spirits.

He pivoted smoothly as he landed into a crouch and turned the downward momentum into a textbook-perfect leg sweep. Or, I thought he did. It looked great to me; I didn't know the first thing about martial arts. Thankfully, the blaziken line had an instinctive understanding of kicking techniques, almost as refined as hitmonlee. Ember needed very little guidance from me on the physical front.

I was so captivated by Ember's entrance that I almost missed my cue. Quickly, I began to turn the crank and tap at the keys. The hurdy gurdy's wheel rubbed against the drone strings, letting out a pleasant buzz that silenced any in the crowd who were still talking.

Then the melody kicked in. It was my favorite folk song, one grandma used to sing to me before bed when I was a wee lass. She told me it was a ballad that described the Dragon's Lament and the founding of the League. There was a play that was set to this track, narration that broke up the full song, but as much as I loved listening to history myself, I wasn't much of a storyteller.

The song started slow, a sorrowful melody that tried to capture some of the despair the old Draconid elders must have felt. It was almost sluggish in execution, but that slow pace in itself had a way of drawing the listener in.

Ember matched me. This was one of the sections Ember and I had practiced for months but had never managed to get quite right while he was a torchic. Slow melodies were best accompanied by long, languid, sweeping motions, waves of gentle feathers and swaying flames. As a torchic, he simply lacked the long limbs to perform the dance required.

Now that he was a combusken though? He was perfect.

It wasn't just his physiology that changed. With the fighting type came a greater awareness of his own body. More control, more finesse, more intentionality. He moved with the grace of a professional dancer, transitioning from kick to flowing leap with an ease that stupefied the crowd.

Then, as he pirouetted in the air, I subtly shifted my own stance. It was our signal.

The original song was a lengthy, continuous melody meant to be played in the background of a play, a full two hours long production. Not unlike a movie soundtrack from PokeStar Studios in Unova, it had its moments of high intensity action and joyful celebration as well as sections full of tragedy and regret. It was a traditional song that was almost ritualistic in importance, often played at festivals and on important occasions by masterful theater troupes.

And I didn't know how to play all of it. How could I? I was thirteen, not a master with decades of practice. I wasn't grandma.

But I had my favorite sections, tunes that resonated with me: the introduction and sorrow, the Dragon's Lament, the final surrender atop Ever Grande Falls, and the uplifting finale that dared hope for a better future. I'd spliced them all into pieces I could play throughout my contest run. I'd even given my amateurish hand at composing transitions I thought would blend them well.

Rather than speak and disturb the moment, this was what I settled on. By shifting my position, I could signal to Ember that a new transition was coming. Other trainers memorized moves and attack sequences. Ember and I? We memorized transitions and dance patterns.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I shifted and stepped, stomping just a little, subtle enough that virtually everyone else missed it. I began a four-count in my head before streaking my fingers in a complex pattern over the keys, making the melody strings stutter and falter.

The transition wasn't perfect, I wasn't nearly as good at composing as I was at playing, but it did the job. The faster pace of the Dragon's Lament allowed Ember to really kick things up a notch.

Embers shaped like feathers filled the stage as we rapidly reached our crescendo. He couldn't use Blaze Kick to augment his performance yet, but by having him kick through clusters of purposely made feathers, we could sort of replicate the aesthetic.

Then, just as the music reached its zenith, he let out a loud cry and clad himself in a tornado of flame. A Flame Charge-enhanced jump allowed him to crest the whole thing, making the crowd crane their necks to look up at him. Stylized wings of fire reminiscent of a moltres marked our finale.

It'd look even better once he was a blaziken and could learn Brave Bird, but for now, a Quick Attack would have to do. A final streak of white aura sliced through the blazing tornado, dispersing it as Ember hit the ground. My music trailed off into silence.

He rose slowly, a gentleness emphasized by the previous, frantic dance. When we dipped into a flourishing bow, it was to a standing ovation.

I felt a wide smile stretch across my face. I'd done it. I'd played like never before. If this didn't impress the judges, I didn't know what would. With a fat, shit-eating grin on my face, I turned to the judges' table to receive my score.

Nine. Eight. Ten. A total of twenty-seven. I was beaming. It was the highest anyone had received so far. Still, I suppressed my squeal and listened.

"A combusken is normally not seen in the contest circuit," began a nurse. She'd been the one to reward me a ten. Judging by the streak of pink in her hair, she might have been a cousin of the Joy clan. "Not because they are not beautiful or skilled, but because they often prefer to battle. And yet, you and your partner have proven the exception to the rule, Miss Gates. That was splendid, especially for a new evolution."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said with a respectful nod. Mama didn't raise no twerp.

The next to speak was a coordinator who'd retired from the circuit last year and was now working as a judge. He'd been the most critical of me. "To start, excellent job. I think it's safe to say that more than a few people recognized the soundtrack. Striking that balance between familiar and boring can be hard but I think you nailed it with that curious instrument of yours.

"But. You shouldn't have started with the introduction. Enough people recognize the climax so you're not losing anything by skipping the slower bits. If you had a pokemon more suited for that flowy type of dance, then sure. But you don't. You're using a combusken. Coombusken excel at swift, sharp kicks and slashes. The intro was too smooth and a bit slower than it should be.

"Ember was fighting himself not to move too fast. A faster tune with more intentional breaks in the melody for Ember to emphasize his strikes would be better than a slow, mournful one focused on grace and poise. You did a decent job building up to the climax, but I think the beginning could have been shortened a great deal."

"Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind."

The last to speak gave me a nine. I had no idea who he was. The emcee introduced him, but I'd already forgotten, so caught up in my nerves as I was. "I agree with the previous remarks. Truly remarkable performance, easily the best we've seen today. My only bit of advice is that you should consider minimizing the use of Fire Spin. Your combusken is the star. Moves that obscure him should be avoided. There are ways to add them for climactic finish, but I don't think you've quite managed that seamlessly. Otherwise, the moltres figure at the end needs more work."

Those were two things, but I didn't bother to correct him. Why would I?

I passed!

X

Compared to the excitement of the appeals round, the rest was downright easy. I realized now, standing center stage, that the struggle was all in my head. I'd let the awe and glamor of the big city get to me, let some green-haired fop tell me I wasn't good enough.

Well, I was good enough, and the ribbon that graced Ember's plume proved it.

The battle rounds were anticlimactic. Honestly? Ember looked a little bored up there, kicking around a lillipup and overgrown bouquets. We lost a few points because he was too direct and reliant on his power, but that was just something we'd have to work on.

For such a big city, there didn't seem to be anyone even remotely good enough to give Ember a challenge, at least at the normal-rank. The closest was that Drew guy with his roselia, but Ember literally set her on fire. Was it her fault for having that huge jerk for a trainer? Not really. Did we enjoy ourselves anyway? Yes.

I wasn't sorry.

I looked at the ribbon again and thought of the one that got away. It was funny, but true. Only on my second contest and I already had one of those.

I wondered what Aaron was up to now, him and that ridiculous flaaffy of his. Now they were rivals. I"d been impressed with their light show, just like he'd been impressed with Ember's Feather Dance. Aaron didn't have anything special to add to Jeanne's performance, not like my music, but I was forced to admit he far outstripped me when it came to battle tactics.

And apparently, his kirlia was even stronger.

I wanted to beat him, I realized. This ribbon was nice. It felt great, amazing even. It was the physical validation of everything Ember and I'd worked for, proof that the support I'd received hadn't been wasted.

But… But it just didn't feel complete. Ember was stronger now, but I didn't doubt Jeanne would be too. Hell, it wouldn't surprise me if Aaron spiced things up himself a bit.

I looked out over the crowd, just a small sampling of what I'd see come the Grand Festival. I looked out and felt none of the butterflies I'd felt before. I knew I'd be returning to Slateport at the end of the season. And so would Aaron, no question.

"I'll see you here, rival," I whispered.

X

Sabine "Sparky" Soto

Route 109

I leaned back in my poolside lounge chair, relaxing with most of my pokemon. I wore a pair of sunglasses to blunt the harsh rays of the midday sun. Other than that and sunscreen, all I had on was a yellow, lightning-patterned bikini and a translucent shawl draped over my shoulders.

In my hand was a virgin bloody mary, something the ship's bartender said was popular but really just tasted like celery, clams, and tomato juice to me. The rim of the fancy glass had been coated with lime juice, ground peppers, and some kind of sweet and salty mixture. Why did adults drink this stuff?

The best thing about the drink was the cute umbrella.

I took a sip and made a face but I was determined to finish the drink. I didn't like wasting food, even if it tasted like a clam pooped inside watery tomato sauce. I'd have to go grab a soda pop next time.

Still, gross "big girl drink" aside, the past week had been wonderful. I hadn't realized I'd been rushing my journey until I was forced to relax on the boat ride to Slateport. At the start, when Lucky and I met Artoria and Aaron in my old trainer school tournament, I thought we were behind. How could he already be in Mauville from Mossdeep?

Then more and more trainers flooded into the city for the Dynamo Badge and I pushed Lucky hard so we could grab our badge and move on. I wanted to start from Rustboro, take the traditional route, skipping Mauville obviously. After training for a week and getting ourselves the Dynamo Badge from Leader Wattson, I booked us a commercial teleporter to Rustboro, where Lucky and I battled all comers, both at their famous trainer school managed by Leader Roxanne and in nearby Petalburg Woods.

It was just as well, because had I tried to walk the Rustboro Tunnel from Oldale, I would have gotten caught up in the hydreigon fiasco. Lucky and I were awesome, but we weren't that good.

Yet.

I smiled as I watched Lucky engage in a makeshift sumo contest against someone's poliwrath in the pool. They occupied one of the circular, floating platforms and were gathering some attention. The poliwrath was a new evolution according to his trainer, but its bulging, barrel-chested muscles gave it a clear edge in a strictly physical contest.

That didn't discourage my Lucky though. He was an electabuzz now, a font of boundless energy like myself. He heaved and roared and strained and shoved against the poliwrath, doing his darn best to toss the bigger, stronger pokemon into the water.

He failed. The poliwrath, called Skipper apparently, grabbed Lucky by the armpits and suplexed him headfirst into the drink. Lucky emerged a few moments later, spitting water and looking a whole lot less cuddly with his fur matted to his body.

"You were great, Lucky!" I cheered for him anyway.

"Jask! Ninjask!" Zippy agreed happily. He had a lovely flange to his voice that I liked listening to, like a reverb that was just shy of a song.

He was my second pokemon, a nincada found mid-molt near Rustboro when I took on a job for some quick cash. One of the locals found the little guy and hired a trainer to clear him out of his basement because he was afraid of bugs.

"Eevee! Vee-vee!" Eevee cheered. The wonderful bundle of fluff was nestled between my thighs. Her fur was a little warm and I could already feel myself getting all sweaty there, but she was so luxuriously soft that I couldn't bring myself to chase her off.

I ran my fingers through her fur and scritched just behind the ears in that exact place I knew she liked. With a mewling sigh, she practically turned into a puddle beneath my ministrations.

She and Zippy came as a pair. I cleared out the nincada by catching him, but the eevee, the daughter of the client's uncle's vaporeon apparently, saw Lucky kick butt and chose to come along. It was a near-miraculous stroke of good fortune that she'd been feeling restless as a mere house-pokemon and I just happened to come along with an elekid that could impress her.

I was ridiculously… lucky. Heh.

The second badge had been a struggle. Plenty of Roxanne's pokemon had ground type coverage for Lucky. Zippy just didn't like rock types in general. Eevee, unnamed because she didn't want one until she figured out what she wanted to evolve into, wasn't really great for damaging Roxanne's defensive pokemon either. It really bummed me out when we lost our first attempt, but that just motivated us to try even harder.

"Ax! Axew!" Nibbles cried out. He was probably upset that I wasn't giving him the attention he felt he deserved. He was a dragon after all, an infant perhaps, but a dragon.

I laughed and turned my gaze to him. He occupied another floating platform and faced off against a sailor's starmie. The sailor, on his break shift, assured me that his starmie was especially gentle with younger pokemon, having tutored a few of them over his journey.

As I watched, Nibbles lunged forward with Scratch, only for the starmie to spin? cartwheel? out of the way The starfish pokemon moved far slower than I knew it could. When Nibbles turned the missed Scratch into a sideways swipe of his tusks, the starmie's gem glowed a crimson hue to indicate a hit.

Nibbles' sharp tusk left a tearing wound on the starmie's arm, but it healed over almost immediately as its natural regeneration kicked in. That was one of the main reasons I'd asked for the starmie; so long as the core wasn't damaged, those guys could heal from darn near anything, making them ideal practice partners for an aggressive young dragon.

A retaliatory Water Gun punted Nibbles off the platform, sending him sailing through the air in a beautiful arc and over the heads of several playing pokemon and people. He landed with a splash and surfaced with a dizzy wobble.

"You're doing great, Nibbles!"I called. "Get back up there! Don't be dragon your feet now!"

"Axew!" he cried. It probably sounded like a mighty roar in his head, but half the people on deck cooed at the cuteness overload.

This was play meant to tire out my two most energetic pokemon, but also doubled as excellent training. Not only were they learning to swim, they were learning some valuable lessons. Lucky needed physical challenges if he wanted to become an electivire. Eventually, he'd learn to augment his strength and agility with electricity and the better the baseline he was working from, the stronger he'd be after Motor Drive.

As for Nibbles, I'd read that it was critically important for dragon type pokemon to lose when they were young. Curbing some of their natural arrogance was important for their development if they were to listen to a human trainer. This was doubly true of axew, a species known for wrestling and biting one another during play. By battling a large number of different pokemon, he was learning just how much force was appropriate to use.

Realy, Dewford had been amazing for us in that regard. Not only did I win a raffle for a weeklong cruise to Slateport, Lucky and Zippy evolved and I found Nibbles during my dive into Granite Cave. Compared to all that, my third gym wasn't as interesting. Sure it was a milestone, but it wasn't as nice as multiple evolutions and a dragon to add to my team.

I was lucky. My starter was Lucky. Together, we were double-lucky! Mwahahahaha!

Speaking of my team, Nibbles' opponent shot a weak Ice Beam that chipped his tusk. I put Eevee down and bolted out of my lounge chair.

"Stop!" I called. "Nibbles, starmie, pause!"

I shrugged off my shawl and dove into the water. The chlorine stung my eyes but I could see the tip of Nibbles' tusk sinking to the floor. I reached out and plucked it from the water, being careful so I didn't cut myself on the razor edge. There was a reason people used to use shed tusks as kitchen knives.

I swam back up and broke the surface of the water, flinging my head back to keep my hair from matting around my eyes. "Alright, you guys can go back to slugging it out. Try not to break your tusks anymore, Nibbles, we don't want anyone stepping on the pieces and getting hurt later."

"Axew-ax!" he replied in the affirmative before going right back to wrestling with the starmie.

"What? No! What's wrong with you? Stop them!" someone yelled. She was an older lady, maybe in her thirties. Her face was set in a heavy scowl as she glared at me.

"No? They're having fun, what's wrong with that?"

"Your pokemon just chipped a tooth and you're not even going to check on it?"

"He. Nibbles is male," I corrected absently. "More importantly, he's fine. The axew line is notorious for chipping their teeth. In the wild, they even go out of their way to break their own tusks because their tusks always grow back stronger than before. It's fine."

"You don't know that. Are you a dentist?"

"No, but I am his trainer. It's my job to research the species. So yes, I do in fact know that. Why would a human dentist know anything about axew anyway?"

"It's still not safe," she said, getting heated now. "Just because it happens in the wild doesn't mean it should happen with a trainer!"

She was starting to annoy me. "Hello? What part of 'they grow back stronger,' didn't you understand? Leave Nibbles alone, he's not some pampered skitty that wants to lie around all day."

She huffed and stormed off. I leaned back into my lounge chair and watched my pokemon have fun in their own ways.

Sadly, I didn't get to relax too much before someone commented next to me. "You know a fair bit about axew, little missy."

I suppressed a groan. Was it too much to let a gal relax and drink her clammy tomato-water? Turning, I found that the lounge chair next to me was now occupied by a shirtless old man.

He was extremely well-built, with muscles like granite and a large, snow-white mustache that curled around his face into thick mutton chops. In his hand was an entire bottle of a rich, amber-colored rum, not that I knew what one of those tasted like. At his side was a sailor's cap nestled atop a blue and black coat. Laid out next to them were a set of six pokeballs, each worn and scratched from decades of use.

This, this was a veteran. Now that I looked closer, his body wasn't free of scars. A line of gouged flesh marked his weather-beaten cheek. There was a clean line that wrapped around his bicep, as if something supernaturally sharp had sliced his arm clean through like tofu.

He caught me looking at his arm. "Scyther," he said with a twitch of his mustache. "Ornery fucker. Ripped my arm clean off with one swipe. I had to pick it up and go get it reattached. Would've died of blood loss if there wasn't a medic so close by. Still took a few months before I could use the arm again."

I gulped. It wasn't often I saw just how dangerous my profession could be. The routes were largely safe so stories like that didn't crop up often. It reinforced just how ancient this old-timer really was.

"O-Oh…"

"My salamence ate it alive for that though, so I guess fair's fair."

"Oh… Umm… I guess you're not too bugged by that then," I said weakly. I wasn't sure what to say to that. What did scyther taste like anyway? Crunchy? Maybe like crab? Did ancient tribes boil them? Or evolve them to scizor so they could have claws instead? Was that more or less meat?

I shook my head to dispel my ramblings. I hated how weird my brain could get sometimes.

"Heh. You're right about axew, lass," he continued, heedless of my internal tangent. "If you listened to the old biddy and stopped your axew, the little fella would've lost some respect for you. And that's a dangerous thing for a trainer to be, disrespected by a dragon."

"Y-Yeah, that's what I read. You said you had a salamence, mister?"

"Aye."

"How do you go about teaching Dragon Dance?" I asked. I figured I may as well take advantage of the obvious veteran.

Dragon Dance was the bread and butter of powerful dragon pokemon, one of the best supporting moves a pokemon could know. It took the already impressive power and speed of a dragon and knocked them out of the park, turning an apex predator into an overwhelming engine of destruction.

According to the few PLO forums I managed to find, it was also something of an informal badge of honor, proof that the dragon trainer was able to fully control their dragon.

Moves like Outrage and Dragon Claw would come with time and maturity, simple instinct would teach Nibbles as well as any TM. But Dragon Dance? It required finesse, careful control of draconic energy within the body. It required patience and discipline. Sitting around while the enemy was right in front of them just didn't come naturally for dragons.

"Nope," he said, shaking his head. "Your little hatchling isn't ready. In fact, you shouldn't be shooting for dragon type energy at all."

"What do you mean, mister?"

"Oh, he's cute now, but that little fella is going to grow up to be a monster. All dragons do in their own way. Power will come in time. You gotta teach him control. Discipline."

"Isn't that what Dragon Dance does?"

"Aye, but think slower. You're not ready for that yet. You can work on it when he's a fraxure."

"Oh, then what should Nibbles be working on?"

"A more intimidating name than 'Nibbles' for starters," he grunted.

I pouted at him and he snorted dismissively. Jerk. "Nibbles is a fine name. You watch. Nibbles the haxorus is going to dominate the Ever Grande Conference."

"Is he now?"

"Yeah!"

"Well you'll want to start with False Swipe. A haxorus is a giant ax with legs. An ax ought to cut only when its master demands, kid."

"How do I do that?"

He grumbled in irritation for a minute. Then he stood and made to head back inside. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a business card and tossed it over his shoulder. "Send me your information, kid. I'll see about giving you a few pointers if I can figure out how them newfangled computers work."

I fumbled the card and it almost flew into the pool. By the time I looked back, he was gone. He was a grouchy geezer, but I'd take good advice no matter where it came from. I turned the card over and gasped.

It lacked a job title or place of work, or really any identifying features beyond an email and his name: Drake Genji.

Drake. Genji.

"Holy crap… Lucky…"

Author's Note

This commission idea was presented to me over a month ago, but I wanted to hold off on it until after Norman. I finished putting the final touches on it so you can have this.

One of my commissioners wanted me to catch up with some of the side characters we've met so far. There's Drew, Chaz, and of course Lisia, but they'll show up in time. Maybe one of the other ten trainers who received psychic types from Sharon. Hell, I might introduce Wally at some point. It's not like his starter's a secret or anything.

Remember in the beginning of the story when Aaron was given the chance to pick a Hoenn starter? And he refused? Guess who got his torchic?

Onale has some self-esteem issues that can develop into a hefty dose of imposter syndrome. She's a farm girl who was picked out as one of the professor's saplings, the best in the region, only to find out that actually, she was number four, sorry.

Sabine is showing off that protagonist mojo. Best student in Mauville? Check. Wattson's favorite elekid for a starter? Check. Coincidental eevee? Check. A dragon type before her fourth badge? Check. Random encounter with a relevant master? Also check. Aaron isn't the only one who's seemingly blessed with supernaturally good fortune.

No shade on bloody marys. Those things are amazing when made right. Virgin cocktails though? They can all burn. But hey, at least Sabine's not developing a habit.

Now, here's a random fact about my current place of residence. DC residents drink more wine per capita than any other US state.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.