FicWad

The Pokemon Center was completely normal, so much so that Elliot could barely believe he was actually in another town. An identical Joy took two of his three pokeballs, and Elliot returned to his seat. He looked over the pokeball once more - the booklet he'd gotten had called it a Premierball, whatever that meant - and then hit the button in the center to summon the pokemon.

"Ina!" barked the black, rattata-sized pokemon.

Elliot flipped through the small booklet until he found a picture. "Poochyena?" he said.

The dog barked more, jumping from side to side excitedly.

"Hm..." Elliot said, thinking. The poochyena continued to yap incessantly. "Your nickname will be Din," he said. He held out his hand, which the dark type first sniffed, then bit experimentally. "Ow!"

Michael returned, carrying their pokeballs. "What happened?"

"It bit me!"

The older trainer looked decidedly unimpressed. He looked at Din. "Don't bite. Human skin isn't thick enough. What are you, anyway?"

"Pooch Yena!" the poochyena barked.

"Why're you talking to it?" Elliot asked.

Michael looked at him with the kind of condescending expression people adopt when someone has just made a fool of themselves and remains completely unaware of it. "It won't learn not to bite if you don't tell it," he said. "It was probably just trying to play with you."

"It doesn't understand that," Elliot said with certainty. Everyone knew pokemon weren't as smart as people, so why talk to them as if they were?

"I bet it doesn't understand you when you order an attack either," Michael said dryly.

"That's different!"

Michael shrugged, not interested in arguing it. "Here are your pokemon," he said, handing two pokeballs over. Elliot took them.

"Do your pokemon really understand what you say?" he asked after a moment.

Michael nodded. "More or less. They understand the words you say for the most part. Probably a lot of it they don't actually get, but why would a scyther know about money? If you talk about something they have no experience with, they won't know what you mean. But they can hear us."

Elliot thought. "Din," he tried. "Can you jump up here onto the chair?"

Din barked, scruffy tail wagging. It made a short jump, not enough to make it on cleanly, but managed to climb up after a bit of struggle. It barked again once it was there, looking at Elliot proudly.

"We've got to get going," Michael said.

"What? We just got here."

"And there's no reason to stay. We've got to get to Saffron by tomorrow."

"Yeah, Iguess," Elliot said. He'd been hoping they could stay at the Pokemon Center that night instead of camping out. "Return, Din."

-

-

"But we're right here," said Elliot, unaware of the slight whine that had snuck into his voice. "Why shouldn't I fight Sabrina?"

"Trust me," Michael said. "You don't want to fight here."

"Why?"

"You just don't. She doesn't play like the others. You'll lose."

"But Ijust beat-"

"I know, I know, you've got a badge. But Sabrina is...she's much stronger than that."

"Shouldn't I at least try?"

The older boy looked hesitant, then shook his head. "It's hard to say what can set them off," he said vaguely. "It'd probably be best if you don't lose at agym for a long as you can."

"What?What are you talking about? Set what off?"

"Trust me," Michael repeated. "When the tournament here is over, go to Fuchsia and Cinnabar and fight there."

"Okay," said Elliot. "But what if I lose at the tournament?"

"That works differently. There's no if, either, you will. Just try hard, look enthusiastic, and expect to win. Especially the last part."

With that decided, they headed to the Pokemon Center to register for the tournament and heal their pokemon.

"What do we do now?" Elliot asked when they were done.

"I'm going to the Pokemart to buy supplies. You can get something to eat or just look around at the sights if you want. We can meet up at the tournament in afew hours when it starts."

"Okay." Elliot headed out of the Center. Despite his lack of a map, it took only minutes before he came to a small restaurant. Inside, he ordered acheeseburger, fries, and a large soda. He passed the time waiting for it to be brought fiddling with his pokedex. It didn't have data on poochyenas in it, but it had a full list of Johto pokemon. He checked to see where murkrows lived.

Murkrow are found mainly around Johto cities. Unlike most bird pokemon, they are do not form large flocks, nor are they solitary. Instead, they generally form into groups of three to ten. Exact numbers on them are hard to get, in part because of these small groups. Murkrow are usually spotted flying above the city they live in or less commonly, stealing food from garbage. Currently, murkrow are listed as 'common, area-specific' pokemon officially. This means that although the pokemon do not live in a wide variety of areas, they are common in their own areas and are so not under any form of protection.

Why did being in small groups make it hard to figure out numbers? Elliot wondered. He questioned the pokedex.

Pokemon who live in large groups tend to be the only group in the area. In order to find out how many there are, scientists need only to find the group once.

Pokemon broken into multiple groups cannot be tallied the same way. Because pokemon are so similar, it is nearly impossible to tell if a second sighting is another group or the same group showing up nearby. Small-group pokemon are also more likely to be active without all the members, so that a group of five might temporarily break into a group of two and three. Watchers could accidentally record this as three groups, one made of two, one of three, and one of five. Pokemon organized like this tend to have their actual numbers overestimated by researchers.

Elliot's food arrived, so he closed his pokedex and began eating. He had never been a fast eater, so it took a while before he was done. Not caring much about sightseeing(what kind of sights were there at Saffron anyway?) he decided to head right over to where the tournament would be held.

Getting there took perhaps a half hour. The tournament wouldn't be starting for another hour. Looking around, he saw that some other trainers had done the same thing, and were now loitering around, either alone or in groups of three or four, talking to each other.

Elliot took out his pokedex again, to read more about murkrow.

Murkrow are generally considered pests, due to their noise, tendency not to be frightened off by humans, the fact they often steal objects and their habits of raiding garbage. They are also said to be mischievous and cunning. Murkow are hard to trap, preventing their removal using normal methods of extermination.

Elliot balked at the last word. Extermination? He closed the pokedex again.

"I didn't expect to see so many demis here," a boy nearby was saying. He looked about thirteen. "Almost half the fighters are over twelve. And arcs too."

"Tournaments like this are too rare. They pay you just for fighting, so so what if it's an unrestricted? There are almost no restricted tournaments. Demis can't get much money 'cept by single battles. Of course they're going to show up," said another boy. "We know the arcs will be here, we know they're watching, but we come anyway."

"Were there this many last year?" asked the first boy. "I wouldn't have noticed. You guys?"

The other boy shrugged. He looked like he was about fifteen. "It'll always look like there are more of them. Maybe there are and maybe there aren't. I don't think anyone lasts long enough to really tell. By the time you can pick 'em out always, times up, thanks for playing."

"You sure? I thought I saw a guy who was a full-"

A girl laughed. "Like you could tell the difference. There aren't any demons, that's just a myth."

There's quiet for a bit. One of the boys turned and noticed Elliot. "Hey," he said."Who are you?"

"My name's Elliot," he said. "What's yours?"

"I'm Luke." He pointed to the pokeballs on Elliot's belt. "I've never seen that kind of pokeball," he said. "What is it?"

"I think it's called a Premierball. I got it in Chenge from Hoenn Alliance."

The girl, who'd had a cheerful, carefree expression up to that point, suddenly stared at him, seeming almost calculating, like she was sizing up an enemy. Elliot felt nervous.

"There's a Hoenn Alliance building in Chenge? I didn't know that." The boy looked to the other two. "We should go there next."

"Doesn't Chenge have a big trade thing going on about now?" said the girl."Did you trade anything?"

Elliot wondered why she cared. "Um, yeah. My meowth."

"Oh, that's good. Meowth aren't good pokemon."

Elliot felt slightly insulted for his pokemon. "Why not?"

"They can be vicious," the girl said casually. "Sometimes they go nuts in afight and actually draw blood. Some people train them, but they usually use bought ones, not wild. And they're not usually that strong either. It's a good thing you traded it."

"Oh," said Elliot uncertainly. Draw blood? It was a pokemon fight. What was the difference between scratching the opponent and electrocuting them? And what did she mean, not strong? "My meowth seemed like it was a good fighter," he said.

The younger boy smiled, as if this was something funny to say. "Poster boy for acheri," he said.

The girl hit him lightly on the head. "Cheri don't get called cheri!" Turning back to Elliot, she said, "Ignore him. Please."

"What's acheri?" Elliot asked.

"It's a-"

"A new trainer," the girl said, interrupting the older boy and shooting him aglance. "It's another word for a new trainer."

If that was all it was, why wasn't it okay to say it to him? And Elliot still had no idea what they'd been talking about earlier.

"My name's Luci," said the girl, as if she'd just remembered. "We were planning to head to Violet next. You?"

"I'm going to Fuchsia," Elliot said.

"Koga?Aren't you ambitious. Why not Erika?" The girl sounded almost suspicious.

"I-I wanted to go to the Safari Zone," Elliot said. He didn't know why he'd said that. There was just something about the girl.

"Oh, yes, you need more pokemon, don't you?" The girl's voice had relaxed.

"Attention all trainers," boomed the loudspeaker. "The trainer listings have just been posted. Report into the arena to learn the order of battles."

Elliot headed inside. He found his name over near the left side of the display. Looking around, he saw Michael standing in the crowd. "Hey," he said."Where're you?"

"Here," Michael said, pointing to the far right side. "I'm one of the last ones."

The battles started.

-

-

"Ember!" Elliot shouted. He'd made it up to the second round. The battles, as was the usual in most tournaments, had been three-on-three, so that he had enough pokemon. But because he only had that many, they had to fight in each battle and he didn't have any replacements for fainted pokemon. Both Din and Caw had already been knocked out, and Howler was getting tired.

"Bubblebeam!"

Howler tried to attack, but was stunned by exploding bubbles and finally collapsed.

Elliot, disappointed despite Michael's earlier warning he wouldn't win, recalled him and walked off the field.

-

-

The girl - a lass, in common slang - was proving to be a decent opponent. She was about fifteen, probably one of the trainers who started late, around eleven, and trained haphazardly after that, easily distracted. She might never have even gotten around to fighting a gym leader, probably staying near her town and not venturing far.

Her pokemon so far had been a nidorina and a raticate. She wasn't a bad trainer. Others of her ilk would have abandoned the raticate and perhaps the nidorina when they evolved. She was not skilled either. She'd never started with the intent of becoming amaster, just out to catch cute pokemon, have fun in battles, and perhaps explore nearby forests and fields.

Michael was in an entirely different league, the difference between the amateur hobbyist and the preparing professional. He didn't think poorly of his opponent's lack of drive. She'd done what she wanted. A serious trainer with this level of skill might be looked down upon, but she'd never pretended to be one. Pokemon trainers were coached to think of battles as friendly competition, so friendly it often stopped being a competition entirely and turned into a game. They were taught not to think much about relative levels of skill, but only the battle at hand.

He was probably going to win this fight. Both of the trainers would think this if either of them were thinking about it. But since she always fought like it was a game, and since Michael didn't expect to win and so wasn't particularly determined, they were both thinking only about the fight itself, not the outcome.

Michael's pokemon were getting tired. He'd already fought several skilled trainers, and they had weakened his pokemon. Of the two he'd used so far, both injured, she'd managed to faint both. His third pokemon had been fresh and knocked out her raticate without much effort.

One to one. The match was already decided. Her pokemon were weak, and although her opponents had been easier, new trainers, his pokemon were just so much stronger than anything she would have trained. Had this been an even match, he'd have been able to beat her with a single pokemon.

Michael's ninetales paced on the field, watching as the girl chose a new pokemon. His tails flicked.

"Go!" she yelled, throwing the pokemon into the air. It spun and broke open, releasing jagged white light.

A psyduck. The ninetales watched it warily. Psyduck were technically water types, but they relied on psychic moves. He didn't worry about losing, as he could tell the other pokemon was at a much lower level, but he did want to avoid any possible water attacks, regardless of if they would cause much damage.

The psyduck seemed unaware of its surroundings or opponent. It looked as if it was imitating an abra. It sat on the ground, stubby webbed feet in front of it, with its eyes closed, apparently asleep.

The ninetales took his eyes off his opponent for a moment, glancing at the girl. Was this amistake? His trainer did the same.

She looked unworried, so they could only assume it was not. The ninetales resumed his watch of the psyduck, waiting for an attack.

Michael was confused by this turn of events. He'd thought psyduck couldn't fight while asleep. That was abra, and even abra were mainly limited to defensive moves. But based on the girl's behavior, he must have been wrong, or else the psyduck was only pretending to be asleep. Either way, he didn't want to order at attack. He had no idea how the psyduck would behave. Better to give it the first move. His ninetales was quite agile, and could dodge if prepared.

"Watch it, ninetales!" he ordered. The ninetales nodded, circling the psyduck, who still slept or appeared to sleep. It was 'carrying' an odd item, a metal bowl over its head. Michael had never seen that before. It was possible the helmet was a new item, but even so, why would a psyduck of all things have one?A head attack on most psychic pokemon was debilitating, as they would have trouble concentrating and might be unable to attack. Even if they managed apsychic move, it would be weak from their lack of focus. But psyduck were supposed to have a stronger attack the worse their headache became. Why try to protect it from a hit there?

Nothing happened. Michael decided to attack. It was never good to underestimate your opponent, but overestimating them wasn't helpful either. Since the girl had ordered no attack, it was possible she had got the pokemon recently and wasn't familiar with it. Perhaps she thought it would attack while asleep when it really couldn't.

"Quick attack!" he ordered. "But be careful!"

"Nine!" the fire type cried, leaping toward the psyduck.

This was what the girl had been waiting for. Her psyduck had always had trouble aiming its attacks ever since she'd first caught it, so she'd developed the strategy of waiting for the other pokemon to lunge before giving the order, knowing they'd be unable to get out of the way. "Psychic attack!" she yelled, hazel eyes flashing.

The psyduck did not move. Its eyes did not even open. But the ninetales was flung backward like a ragdoll, all the way into and through the walls underneath the stands. It was hard to tell which trainer was more shocked.

The ninetales was not dead. Michael recalled it quickly to preserve this.