Categories > Anime/Manga > Pokemon > The Only Way Out
Anything You Want
0 reviewsAfter being taken at gunpoint by a shadowy figure, Mitchell is forced to submit to their will in exchange for his life. Unfortunately, the shadowy figure will let him walk away only if he gives up...
0Unrated
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokémon. Pokémon is the property of Game Freak and Nintendo and all of those awesome people who invented it.
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"If I were you, I wouldn't move and I'd listen to everything that I'm about to say," the shrouded figure said, with a voice dark and foreboding. Mitchell could tell that it was a girl. Normally, he would have eased himself upon that revelation, knowing that males were typically stronger than females and that he was stronger than a lot of males that he knew. However, with the gun waving around in his face, Mitchell stood unmoving, knowing that strength was suddenly not an issue. Though she was wearing a black ski mask, Mitchell could see blonde locks hanging down in front of her eyes, as if she had been in a hurry to put the mask on. Her eyes were gray and hard as steel, and the tired look she had opened like a window to her past. She had been through a lot. Mitchell knew those eyes; he gazed into ones just like them every morning when he looked into a mirror. Her tall frame was thin, yet had the hint of a top-heavy hourglass figure. In a way, looking at her made Mitchell think immediately of Joanna; whether this was because she looked like her or because he was suddenly inches and a trigger pull from death, he did not know. She waved her gun at him, as if signaling for him to carry on the next step in the process. He put his hands up in the air and let her goad him further into the alleyway. With slight reluctance, she told him to put his hands on the wall of Oak's lab.
"Look, I'm all for role-playing," Mitchell started, but the girl interrupted him.
"Smartass comments aren't gonna help you," she said. He shrugged lightly.
"I didn't know. This is my first armed robbery, to be honest,"
She ignored his statement.
"Wallet and Pokémon," she requested, just about as nicely as an armed robber could ask, while motioning for him to turn around and face him. She had planned to frisk him while he was on the wall, but he looked like he could easily take advantage of that single moment, while the gun was pointed away from him, to turn the tables back on her. She wasn't used to robbing people as young as Mitchell.
Mitchell wanted to turn around and slap her for even suggesting that he would give up Charmander. Sure, he had only known the Pokémon for a little while and had only owned him for a couple of minutes, but it was his. He couldn't just say no, either, unless he wanted to die. Not only that, but she would still get Charmander. His money wasn't as important, since he could get more with his new career. He could probably borrow some from Joanna, or sell something. But what did he have to sell? An empty Pokéball?
He blinked with the realization that he still had the ball that Joanna had given him. Slowly, the plan was forming in his head. The robber fidgeted out of impatience and opened her mouth to threaten him, but he began to slowly turn before any sound could get out. She kept the gun held up and motioned with her eyes for him to use his right hand.
"Okay," Mitchell said in compliance, his right hand lowering. She waved the gun and his hand shot back up.
"My right," she said. Mitchell gave her a look that she didn't like, even though the thought behind it was completely neutral. He reached for the Pokéballs that were clipped to the back of his sweats, hidden beneath his backpack. One of them felt warm, which Mitchell knew was Charmander. Was he sleeping, or had he become alerted to what was happening outside of his little paradise? The lizard had seemed shocked when it saw Kenneth, soaked in blood, yet he surely would have heard the gunshot if he could perceive anything outside. The heat spread over the ball in waves, like light snoring. Charmander was as relaxed as could be, with not a care in the world. It would be a horrible surprise to wake up and see some cold-hearted robber than Mitchell's bruised but familiar face.
He unclipped the ball that felt empty, his fingers grazing the metal of the nine-millimeter tucked into the small of his back. He brought the ball to the front of his body and stroked it lightly with his thumb, looking down sadly. He had to sell this act for just a few more seconds, get her attention on something else while he finished his own plan.
"It's a Charmander," he told her as he extended his open hand, the empty ball rolling around in his palm, "Wallet's in my back pocket,"
She eyed him suspiciously as she took the ball from his hand. He was just now starting as a Pokémon trainer, so this should be the only ball that he had. Just for good measure, she wanted to check. She had been duped before, but it was by someone much older and wiser than this boy seemed, and she wasn't keen on letting it happen again. As he reached for his wallet, she let the ball drop to the ground, watching it as it fell.
Mitchell saw his opportunity. He reached behind his back with his left hand - his gun hand - and wrapped it tightly around the grip of the pistol, yanking it from the makeshift holster and quickly taking aim at the robber just as the ball cracked open, revealing that it was empty.
For a second, it seemed that the world stood still. A sly smile crossed Mitchell's lips. The robber looked up at him, her face showing that she was clearly pissed. Their guns were nearly barrel-to-barrel, and each could see the eye of the other through their sights. The robber took a step back, breaking the silence as she let out a fighting cry. She kicked her leg up, an impressive display of her own flexibility and physical ability, and felt one of her toes pop as her foot connected with the bottom of Mitchell's gun. It flew up high into the air as Mitchell retracted his outstretched hand, shockwaves of pain flowing from his trigger finger and throughout his hand. The gun was lost in the darkness, but both could hear it hit the wall of Oak's lab and clatter to the ground nearby. The robber seemed to collect herself before giving Mitchell her next command.
"On your knees," she said. He cradled his injured finger with his right hand.
"This usually happens the other way around," Mitchell joked, trying to focus his attention on her and not on his hand. She looked at him, mocking offense and not letting him know that as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she thought the exact same thing.
"Hands in the air. Point to your wallet," she said. He raised both hands in the air, but stopped there.
"Point," she reiterated.
"How can I do both at the same time?" he asked, his first serious question for the robber. She looked at him sadistically.
"Do it or I'll shoot. And do it with the hurt hand," she said. She watched his expression change as he attempted to point, his fingers refusing to bend if it would force his index finger to move. She took pleasure in these moments of the boy's vulnerability. Though his face had an unsightly bruise that spanned from cheekbone to his nose, she could tell that he was an attractive boy. As her anger began to switch to lust, she started to tighten her finger on the trigger.
"Don't do it, girl," he spat out, "You don't want three murder hanging over your head when the law comes knocking,"
"What three?" she asked, her finger relaxing. He looked up at her, unafraid of the gun.
"Mine, Edward Direnetti, and Kenneth Adler. You heard the news," Mitchell lied. He knew that it was unlikely that either of the two would actually die from their injuries, but if the girl was out here committing robberies, then she probably had not seen the report. He had gotten that much right. All she knew was that something big happened on the other side of Pallet that had the majority of the police force away from the east. It was the perfect night for a couple of jobs, and Mitchell happened to be lucky enough to be the first.
"Two people got killed?" she asked, and he nodded.
"That doesn't have anything to do with you dying," she told him.
"I'm Edward Direnetti's son," he told her, though it stung to admit it, "If I get killed, they'll investigate, they'll find you, and they'll assume you committed all three murders; the son, the father, and the best friend,"
So she couldn't shoot him. She never intended to do it either way. It would be a bigger crime to put a hole in that beautiful face of his. Of course, he didn't know that.
"We can avoid that if you'll just stop the games and give me your stuff,"
She couldn't stay angry. Since the "on your knees" comment, she couldn't stop picturing this boy's weight on top of her, his lightly tanned body pressing against her in a violent embrace, their lips mashed together and tongues brushing. She imagined the scent of his breath - cinnamon - and could see him moving down her neck, biting her lightly as his head lowered to her chest -
"Let's make a deal," she heard Mitchell say, snapping her out of her fantasies for a moment. He continued speaking.
"You have a Pokéball on your belt. You're a trainer?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Okay. I just became one. Let's get rid of the guns and have a straight up battle. Winner take all," he offered. She smiled beneath her mask, already knowing what her terms would be, but feigning ignorance.
"What do you mean by winner take all?" she asked.
"I win, and you leave and we pretend this never happened," he said. She stood in wait of his list of things she would receive for winning, but he said nothing. Giving in to impatience, she asked him.
"And if I win?"
He smiled.
"You won't," he said. She saw him smile and was angry that he doubted her abilities as a trainer, but he looked so delicious when he smiled. Her thoughts fell to the gutter again.
"Arrogant," she hissed. He dropped his smile.
"Okay, fine. If you win, you can have anything you want,"
She smiled again, the black fabric of the mask hiding her white teeth from Mitchell's eyes. Her thoughts went into full force and she nearly separated from reality as they became kinkier. She could have anything she wanted from him. She knew exactly what she was going to take. A battle with him sounded perfect. But she needed a quick fix first, a glimpse into what she would get if she won. Just a taste.
"Stand up," she told him, "hands behind your head," He obeyed her, wondering if she was thinking about his offer at all. The gun was still pointed at him, though her finger had fallen away from the trigger. He put his hands on the back of his head and watched as she walked up behind him, not daring to turn his head to follow her.
"Gotta make sure you aren't trying to trick me," she lied, knowing that he probably wouldn't pull another gun on her, "Don't move,"
His backpack was in the way. She holstered her pistol quickly and put her hands on his shoulders, sliding her slender gloved fingers up underneath the straps. She used her forearms to press his arms back down, which he resisted at first, until he realized that she wanted the pack off. He rested his arms but kept them away from his body so that she didn't think he was reaching for anything. The pack was light, and she tossed it to the side. Her hands found their way back to his shoulders and she rubbed them gently, letting her hands do what they would. His arms were back up in the air, and had no place to hide a weapon anyway. She ran her hands slowly down his shoulder blades and pressed on the firm muscle that covered them, then moved to his sides. Mitchell didn't move.
As she started to move down his legs, she kneeled, her hands stopped on his hard glutes for a little bit longer than necessary. She moved on, hoping that he wouldn't notice. He was too wrapped up in thought to be paying any attention at all. She looked up and wanted him to just turn around, wanted her face to be on the other side of his body. The gloves were too much of a hindrance. They fell to the ground near the backpack as she began to frisk him again, this time from the front. His eyes were closed, but he was starting to notice that her hands were moving to other places. She traced the outer edges of his chest and moved down his defined abdominals, stopping with her hands touching the tied knot of his sweatpants. He didn't move his head, but his eyes followed her as she began to crouch down, her fingers sliding down the front of his sweatpants and pressing up against the material of his boxer-briefs. She stopped the slow movement and cupped his testicles, squeezing hard and inciting a brief yelp from Mitchell.
She let go and backed away, satisfied with her taste of things to come.
"Anything I want? You've got yourself a deal,"
~
Joanna walked down the stairs, Bulbasaur following closely. It was late, but she was incredibly hungry for some reason. She had some leftover spaghetti in a box from her favorite restaurant, sitting in the refrigerator. She had a towel wrapped around her head, her short auburn hair still damp from her shower earlier. The room was dark, the only light visible being the one coming from the television. Her stomach grumbled with the promise of pasta and she pressed one hand against it, as if to try and calm it down. When she walked past the entryway to the living room, she stopped and looked in. Standing between her and the screen was a tall silhouette of a man. He was dialing something into his phone.
"Dad? Who are you calling?"
"The police," he answered. She was confused.
"Why?"
The television was tuned to the news, which was still covering the shooting at Mitchell's house. She saw a picture of the boy being displayed on the screen, in the top right corner. The anchor was talking about him.
"If you have any information on the whereabouts of Mitchell Direnetti, please contact Pallet Police Department," the man droned, and Joanna's dad looked at her, acknowledging the answer that came from the TV.
"We don't know where he is, why would you call the police?" she asked. Her father looked at her doubtfully.
"I don't know where he is," he said, emphasizing the "I". Joanna gave him a frustrated look.
"So what are you going to tell them, Daddy? 'My daughter saw him, naturally she knows exactly where he is?'" Joanna asked angrily. Bulbasaur nodded in agreement. After a few seconds of staring exchanged between the two of them, her dad set the phone down.
"Thank you," she said. She proceeded to the kitchen, but heard him pick the phone back up. She wasn't even going to bother this time. If the police wanted to come and question her, fine. She would tell them the truth, and they would be no further along in finding him than they would be if Daddy had never called. Bulbasaur pulled the refrigerator door open with his vines before she could, and she grabbed the small white box and pulled it out.
"Bulbasaur," the Pokémon said. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew from looking at the contents of the box that she could not eat it all. It seemed that her dad had poured his leftovers in with hers. He only did that when he knew he wasn't going to ever finish it.
"Want some?" she asked Bulbasaur, who stood up on his hind legs and nodded. She got two plates from the open cabinet behind her and set them on the counter, shoveling forkfuls of noodles and sauce onto them. She heated them in the microwave for 45 seconds and set them down on the table.
"Honey?" she heard from the living room as she took her first bite. Bulbasaur climbed into a chair and onto the table to feast on his meal.
"Yes?"
"The police are going to come here after they clean up at the Direnetti's. I told them you could tell them where Mitchell is going,"
"What?" the girl asked angrily, a noodle hanging from her mouth. She sucked it back into her mouth and stood up, stomping over to her father.
"I do not know where Mitchell is, I do not know where he is going, and...ooh, Daddy, you annoy the hell out of me sometimes! You know the police are going to fine you for false information? Why can't you just listen when I tell you I don't know? What kind of father are you?"
"A good one!" he shouted back. Bulbasaur stopped eating and listened to the conversation. Joanna was not happy. But her father was the one who paid for everything. He couldn't rush to her defense knowing that.
"I'm not going to the police station, Daddy!" she screamed. She left him in the living room, his mouth wide open with awe. She had never snapped at him like this. As he watched her climb the stairs, he saw Bulbasaur walk by, balancing two plates of spaghetti on his vines. He climbed the stairs and walked into Joanna's room before she slammed the door.
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Author Notes: I'll end this chapter here. So, we've met the rival, but we do not know her name. As you can see, they met under slightly different circumstances than in the games, but this is a mature novelization for a reason! And hey, I warned you about sexual content, did I not? I think I did well with that part, considering it was my first time ever writing something like that. Let me know what you think, please review if you read!
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"If I were you, I wouldn't move and I'd listen to everything that I'm about to say," the shrouded figure said, with a voice dark and foreboding. Mitchell could tell that it was a girl. Normally, he would have eased himself upon that revelation, knowing that males were typically stronger than females and that he was stronger than a lot of males that he knew. However, with the gun waving around in his face, Mitchell stood unmoving, knowing that strength was suddenly not an issue. Though she was wearing a black ski mask, Mitchell could see blonde locks hanging down in front of her eyes, as if she had been in a hurry to put the mask on. Her eyes were gray and hard as steel, and the tired look she had opened like a window to her past. She had been through a lot. Mitchell knew those eyes; he gazed into ones just like them every morning when he looked into a mirror. Her tall frame was thin, yet had the hint of a top-heavy hourglass figure. In a way, looking at her made Mitchell think immediately of Joanna; whether this was because she looked like her or because he was suddenly inches and a trigger pull from death, he did not know. She waved her gun at him, as if signaling for him to carry on the next step in the process. He put his hands up in the air and let her goad him further into the alleyway. With slight reluctance, she told him to put his hands on the wall of Oak's lab.
"Look, I'm all for role-playing," Mitchell started, but the girl interrupted him.
"Smartass comments aren't gonna help you," she said. He shrugged lightly.
"I didn't know. This is my first armed robbery, to be honest,"
She ignored his statement.
"Wallet and Pokémon," she requested, just about as nicely as an armed robber could ask, while motioning for him to turn around and face him. She had planned to frisk him while he was on the wall, but he looked like he could easily take advantage of that single moment, while the gun was pointed away from him, to turn the tables back on her. She wasn't used to robbing people as young as Mitchell.
Mitchell wanted to turn around and slap her for even suggesting that he would give up Charmander. Sure, he had only known the Pokémon for a little while and had only owned him for a couple of minutes, but it was his. He couldn't just say no, either, unless he wanted to die. Not only that, but she would still get Charmander. His money wasn't as important, since he could get more with his new career. He could probably borrow some from Joanna, or sell something. But what did he have to sell? An empty Pokéball?
He blinked with the realization that he still had the ball that Joanna had given him. Slowly, the plan was forming in his head. The robber fidgeted out of impatience and opened her mouth to threaten him, but he began to slowly turn before any sound could get out. She kept the gun held up and motioned with her eyes for him to use his right hand.
"Okay," Mitchell said in compliance, his right hand lowering. She waved the gun and his hand shot back up.
"My right," she said. Mitchell gave her a look that she didn't like, even though the thought behind it was completely neutral. He reached for the Pokéballs that were clipped to the back of his sweats, hidden beneath his backpack. One of them felt warm, which Mitchell knew was Charmander. Was he sleeping, or had he become alerted to what was happening outside of his little paradise? The lizard had seemed shocked when it saw Kenneth, soaked in blood, yet he surely would have heard the gunshot if he could perceive anything outside. The heat spread over the ball in waves, like light snoring. Charmander was as relaxed as could be, with not a care in the world. It would be a horrible surprise to wake up and see some cold-hearted robber than Mitchell's bruised but familiar face.
He unclipped the ball that felt empty, his fingers grazing the metal of the nine-millimeter tucked into the small of his back. He brought the ball to the front of his body and stroked it lightly with his thumb, looking down sadly. He had to sell this act for just a few more seconds, get her attention on something else while he finished his own plan.
"It's a Charmander," he told her as he extended his open hand, the empty ball rolling around in his palm, "Wallet's in my back pocket,"
She eyed him suspiciously as she took the ball from his hand. He was just now starting as a Pokémon trainer, so this should be the only ball that he had. Just for good measure, she wanted to check. She had been duped before, but it was by someone much older and wiser than this boy seemed, and she wasn't keen on letting it happen again. As he reached for his wallet, she let the ball drop to the ground, watching it as it fell.
Mitchell saw his opportunity. He reached behind his back with his left hand - his gun hand - and wrapped it tightly around the grip of the pistol, yanking it from the makeshift holster and quickly taking aim at the robber just as the ball cracked open, revealing that it was empty.
For a second, it seemed that the world stood still. A sly smile crossed Mitchell's lips. The robber looked up at him, her face showing that she was clearly pissed. Their guns were nearly barrel-to-barrel, and each could see the eye of the other through their sights. The robber took a step back, breaking the silence as she let out a fighting cry. She kicked her leg up, an impressive display of her own flexibility and physical ability, and felt one of her toes pop as her foot connected with the bottom of Mitchell's gun. It flew up high into the air as Mitchell retracted his outstretched hand, shockwaves of pain flowing from his trigger finger and throughout his hand. The gun was lost in the darkness, but both could hear it hit the wall of Oak's lab and clatter to the ground nearby. The robber seemed to collect herself before giving Mitchell her next command.
"On your knees," she said. He cradled his injured finger with his right hand.
"This usually happens the other way around," Mitchell joked, trying to focus his attention on her and not on his hand. She looked at him, mocking offense and not letting him know that as soon as the words came out of her mouth, she thought the exact same thing.
"Hands in the air. Point to your wallet," she said. He raised both hands in the air, but stopped there.
"Point," she reiterated.
"How can I do both at the same time?" he asked, his first serious question for the robber. She looked at him sadistically.
"Do it or I'll shoot. And do it with the hurt hand," she said. She watched his expression change as he attempted to point, his fingers refusing to bend if it would force his index finger to move. She took pleasure in these moments of the boy's vulnerability. Though his face had an unsightly bruise that spanned from cheekbone to his nose, she could tell that he was an attractive boy. As her anger began to switch to lust, she started to tighten her finger on the trigger.
"Don't do it, girl," he spat out, "You don't want three murder hanging over your head when the law comes knocking,"
"What three?" she asked, her finger relaxing. He looked up at her, unafraid of the gun.
"Mine, Edward Direnetti, and Kenneth Adler. You heard the news," Mitchell lied. He knew that it was unlikely that either of the two would actually die from their injuries, but if the girl was out here committing robberies, then she probably had not seen the report. He had gotten that much right. All she knew was that something big happened on the other side of Pallet that had the majority of the police force away from the east. It was the perfect night for a couple of jobs, and Mitchell happened to be lucky enough to be the first.
"Two people got killed?" she asked, and he nodded.
"That doesn't have anything to do with you dying," she told him.
"I'm Edward Direnetti's son," he told her, though it stung to admit it, "If I get killed, they'll investigate, they'll find you, and they'll assume you committed all three murders; the son, the father, and the best friend,"
So she couldn't shoot him. She never intended to do it either way. It would be a bigger crime to put a hole in that beautiful face of his. Of course, he didn't know that.
"We can avoid that if you'll just stop the games and give me your stuff,"
She couldn't stay angry. Since the "on your knees" comment, she couldn't stop picturing this boy's weight on top of her, his lightly tanned body pressing against her in a violent embrace, their lips mashed together and tongues brushing. She imagined the scent of his breath - cinnamon - and could see him moving down her neck, biting her lightly as his head lowered to her chest -
"Let's make a deal," she heard Mitchell say, snapping her out of her fantasies for a moment. He continued speaking.
"You have a Pokéball on your belt. You're a trainer?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Okay. I just became one. Let's get rid of the guns and have a straight up battle. Winner take all," he offered. She smiled beneath her mask, already knowing what her terms would be, but feigning ignorance.
"What do you mean by winner take all?" she asked.
"I win, and you leave and we pretend this never happened," he said. She stood in wait of his list of things she would receive for winning, but he said nothing. Giving in to impatience, she asked him.
"And if I win?"
He smiled.
"You won't," he said. She saw him smile and was angry that he doubted her abilities as a trainer, but he looked so delicious when he smiled. Her thoughts fell to the gutter again.
"Arrogant," she hissed. He dropped his smile.
"Okay, fine. If you win, you can have anything you want,"
She smiled again, the black fabric of the mask hiding her white teeth from Mitchell's eyes. Her thoughts went into full force and she nearly separated from reality as they became kinkier. She could have anything she wanted from him. She knew exactly what she was going to take. A battle with him sounded perfect. But she needed a quick fix first, a glimpse into what she would get if she won. Just a taste.
"Stand up," she told him, "hands behind your head," He obeyed her, wondering if she was thinking about his offer at all. The gun was still pointed at him, though her finger had fallen away from the trigger. He put his hands on the back of his head and watched as she walked up behind him, not daring to turn his head to follow her.
"Gotta make sure you aren't trying to trick me," she lied, knowing that he probably wouldn't pull another gun on her, "Don't move,"
His backpack was in the way. She holstered her pistol quickly and put her hands on his shoulders, sliding her slender gloved fingers up underneath the straps. She used her forearms to press his arms back down, which he resisted at first, until he realized that she wanted the pack off. He rested his arms but kept them away from his body so that she didn't think he was reaching for anything. The pack was light, and she tossed it to the side. Her hands found their way back to his shoulders and she rubbed them gently, letting her hands do what they would. His arms were back up in the air, and had no place to hide a weapon anyway. She ran her hands slowly down his shoulder blades and pressed on the firm muscle that covered them, then moved to his sides. Mitchell didn't move.
As she started to move down his legs, she kneeled, her hands stopped on his hard glutes for a little bit longer than necessary. She moved on, hoping that he wouldn't notice. He was too wrapped up in thought to be paying any attention at all. She looked up and wanted him to just turn around, wanted her face to be on the other side of his body. The gloves were too much of a hindrance. They fell to the ground near the backpack as she began to frisk him again, this time from the front. His eyes were closed, but he was starting to notice that her hands were moving to other places. She traced the outer edges of his chest and moved down his defined abdominals, stopping with her hands touching the tied knot of his sweatpants. He didn't move his head, but his eyes followed her as she began to crouch down, her fingers sliding down the front of his sweatpants and pressing up against the material of his boxer-briefs. She stopped the slow movement and cupped his testicles, squeezing hard and inciting a brief yelp from Mitchell.
She let go and backed away, satisfied with her taste of things to come.
"Anything I want? You've got yourself a deal,"
~
Joanna walked down the stairs, Bulbasaur following closely. It was late, but she was incredibly hungry for some reason. She had some leftover spaghetti in a box from her favorite restaurant, sitting in the refrigerator. She had a towel wrapped around her head, her short auburn hair still damp from her shower earlier. The room was dark, the only light visible being the one coming from the television. Her stomach grumbled with the promise of pasta and she pressed one hand against it, as if to try and calm it down. When she walked past the entryway to the living room, she stopped and looked in. Standing between her and the screen was a tall silhouette of a man. He was dialing something into his phone.
"Dad? Who are you calling?"
"The police," he answered. She was confused.
"Why?"
The television was tuned to the news, which was still covering the shooting at Mitchell's house. She saw a picture of the boy being displayed on the screen, in the top right corner. The anchor was talking about him.
"If you have any information on the whereabouts of Mitchell Direnetti, please contact Pallet Police Department," the man droned, and Joanna's dad looked at her, acknowledging the answer that came from the TV.
"We don't know where he is, why would you call the police?" she asked. Her father looked at her doubtfully.
"I don't know where he is," he said, emphasizing the "I". Joanna gave him a frustrated look.
"So what are you going to tell them, Daddy? 'My daughter saw him, naturally she knows exactly where he is?'" Joanna asked angrily. Bulbasaur nodded in agreement. After a few seconds of staring exchanged between the two of them, her dad set the phone down.
"Thank you," she said. She proceeded to the kitchen, but heard him pick the phone back up. She wasn't even going to bother this time. If the police wanted to come and question her, fine. She would tell them the truth, and they would be no further along in finding him than they would be if Daddy had never called. Bulbasaur pulled the refrigerator door open with his vines before she could, and she grabbed the small white box and pulled it out.
"Bulbasaur," the Pokémon said. She didn't know what it meant, but she knew from looking at the contents of the box that she could not eat it all. It seemed that her dad had poured his leftovers in with hers. He only did that when he knew he wasn't going to ever finish it.
"Want some?" she asked Bulbasaur, who stood up on his hind legs and nodded. She got two plates from the open cabinet behind her and set them on the counter, shoveling forkfuls of noodles and sauce onto them. She heated them in the microwave for 45 seconds and set them down on the table.
"Honey?" she heard from the living room as she took her first bite. Bulbasaur climbed into a chair and onto the table to feast on his meal.
"Yes?"
"The police are going to come here after they clean up at the Direnetti's. I told them you could tell them where Mitchell is going,"
"What?" the girl asked angrily, a noodle hanging from her mouth. She sucked it back into her mouth and stood up, stomping over to her father.
"I do not know where Mitchell is, I do not know where he is going, and...ooh, Daddy, you annoy the hell out of me sometimes! You know the police are going to fine you for false information? Why can't you just listen when I tell you I don't know? What kind of father are you?"
"A good one!" he shouted back. Bulbasaur stopped eating and listened to the conversation. Joanna was not happy. But her father was the one who paid for everything. He couldn't rush to her defense knowing that.
"I'm not going to the police station, Daddy!" she screamed. She left him in the living room, his mouth wide open with awe. She had never snapped at him like this. As he watched her climb the stairs, he saw Bulbasaur walk by, balancing two plates of spaghetti on his vines. He climbed the stairs and walked into Joanna's room before she slammed the door.
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Author Notes: I'll end this chapter here. So, we've met the rival, but we do not know her name. As you can see, they met under slightly different circumstances than in the games, but this is a mature novelization for a reason! And hey, I warned you about sexual content, did I not? I think I did well with that part, considering it was my first time ever writing something like that. Let me know what you think, please review if you read!
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