So, a few months back, I got it in my head to write a Pokemon fanfiction. I wrote one chapter, and posted it, and it was TERRIBLE. I mean, just absolutely awful. So, I picked up a reviewer (Many thanks to you, Zekurom), and I rewrote it. Now...well, it's not too awful I'm about six chapters in right now, and I'm in a place where I'm comfortable enough to post the first couple of chapters.
Without further ado, here's my fic. A fair warning, I fully intend to mix the mythos of the anime, the game, and the manga, so if you get frustrated at any point, just bare with me. I'm even going to give you guys the first two chapters at once, because I'm just that nice, and I feel like they're some of the shorter chapters, along with Chapter 3, and I don't want there to not be enough substance to start off.
INDEX
Chapter 1: This Post
Chapter 2: This Post
Chapter 3: Post 5
Chapter 4: Post 9
Chapter 5: Post 13
Chapter 6: Post 15
Chapter 7: Post 17
Chapter 1:
My name is Jordan Cooper, and I am a Pokemon trainer.
See, I figured I should start out simple, or the rest of you would never be able to follow along. Keeping up? Good. Then it’s time to drop another bomb on you.
I didn’t want to be one. At least, not at first. See, unlike the rest of the children in Kanto, who dream at night about going off to live in the woods, crawl around in the mud and play with wild animals, I was only to content to continue my lifestyle. My parents were shipping magnates, rich as anything, who spent most of their time hopping around the world, keeping their business affairs in order. This left me all the time in the world to do what I wanted, which was mainly to play around in the mansion my parent had built in the hills above Viridian City. In between private tutoring sessions, which were my parent’s desperate attempt to groom me to take over the family business, I played video games, went swimming in our basement pool, read books and generally goofed off all day.
Good times never last, do they? I still have nightmares about the night that everything changed. My parents had gone down to Viridian City, leaving me in the care of one of our various nannies, but even in Viridian we were getting the rain and the wind. A hurricane had come into the south of Kanto, and it was tearing up the docks. I can still feel the fear grip me inside, and the tears rolling down my face. My nanny tried to comfort me, but I mean, really, could she expect to do anything?
We got the news the next morning. Turns out, mommy and daddy didn’t bother leaving me any actual money, just a trust fund that I couldn’t claim until I was eighteen. I was six. Thanks, guys. Wonderful job with the post-mortem parenting. So, at the age of six, I was carted off to the Oak Ridge Orphanage, in the town of Oak Ridge, just a little ways out of Viridian City.
Right off the bat, none of the kids liked me. Maybe it was the antique car I was dropped off in, maybe it was the fact that I didn’t want to play with any of them, or maybe it was the fact that I was always silent. It could have been that I just hated them, but whatever. The only person I liked at the orphanage was the owner/operator, Mr. Nicholson. He was a good man, upstanding and kind, and he ran the library in town, so I got all the books I could read. Having no friends to play with, I read a lot.
One day, two years and change after I had come to the orphanage, while lost on the couch in a boring book, I had fallen asleep. I was roused, very rudely, from my sleep from the weight of a small child sitting on my chest. Pushing him off, I saw that during my doze, the room had filled up. There was no way of leaving now; I just had to sit it out.
Chapter 2:
That day changed my life. Mr. Nicholson dimmed the lights, some of the children passed around popcorn, and I sat there wondering what the big deal was. Suddenly, the old big screen crackled to life, and it was hard to tell what was louder, the cheering in the room or the cheering from the speakers. The camera panned over a large stadium, the crowd was on their feet.
“Welcome,” boomed the announcer, “To the 96th Annual Indigo Cup Championships!” Some of the younger ones in front stood up to cheer, but the older boys behind them quickly pulled them back down into place. I recalled reading somewhere that the previous champion had forfeited his place, so this must be the championship round.
I don’t even recall who the other challenger was. It was just him. From his black hair, almost blue in the light to his golden eyes, I couldn’t pin what it was about him that exuded this unbelievable charisma. The way his Pokemon danced across the field, it was almost magical. He didn’t just own the crowd, he commanded them. I was mesmerized.
It wasn’t anything close to a competition. Bryce only lost two of his Pokemon, while his opponent had lost all of their six. The announcer’s voice boomed around the stadium. It was slightly crackly through the speakers, but that didn’t matter. Watching him win was all I needed. I had to do what he did, command the audience like that, and most of all, I had to beat him.
My next month’s trust fund allowance went toward a state-of-the-art laptop. I spent my days at the library, my laptop to one side, a stack of reference books to the other. By the end of the month, I knew everything there was to know about Bryce Cobalt, and had a solid basis of knowledge in Pokemon training. It was just a matter of passing the test when my time came and actually doing it.
That chance, of course, became secondary. Mr. Nicholson informed me that Bryce Cobalt was doing a victory tour of Kanto, and that growing up, he had made friends at school with some of the kids at our orphanage, and he would be meeting them here! It was an outrageous coincidence, but I just had to plan it out perfectly. I couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t fanboy out. It wouldn’t be proper.
The fated day came, and, true to form, while the other kids crowded around, scrabbling for an autograph, I sat under the big pine tree with my laptop. I scrolled through my collection of Bryce videos, choosing which one to look at today. I watched a few, all ones I’d seen before, and was settling into a groove for one of his early matches from this year’s Indigo Cup. He was struggling in this three-on-three match, but would eventually pull out a miraculous come-from-behind win.
I was absorbed in the action, and didn’t hear the footfalls on pine needles until it was too late. I didn’t even bother turning my head to acknowledge the stupid kid next to me as he sat down in the needles, crunching under the sudden weight. A shadow was cast over the screen as he peeked over my shoulder.
“Man, you couldn’t pick a battle I did better in?”
That voice…it…oh, god. I couldn’t start hyperventilating, but my knuckles were turning white. Stay calm, I thought to myself, stay calm. I turned my head to look him in the eye, my dark brown latching onto his gold.
“Now, why ever would I do that?”
“Well, Mr. Nicholson tells me you’re my biggest fan. I just thought that you’d be more interested in my good victories.” I scoffed, turning my head back to the screen.
“This is a good victory. The strategy and tactics you used were top-notch, and you got into the rhythm that you had for the rest of the tournament here. Plus,” I added, almost as an afterthought, “If I watch a video where you struggle, it’ll be all the easier to figure out how to beat you.” At this he smiled, and I growled under my breath. Was he laughing at me? How dare he! I turned the screen to face him, opening up various spreadsheets, all full of data about him and him alone.
“These are your battle records,” I stated as I scrolled through the spreadsheets with a flick of my wrist, “All the different Pokemon you’ve used in battle, their typing, stats, movesets, and personal records. Lists of every battle you had in the last championship tournament, and how you did compared to each different trainer,” I droned on and on until he reached over and ruffled my hair.
“Well,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “What about your Pokemon?” Noting my quizzical expression, he continued: “You need Pokemon, right?” I started to bring up another spreadsheet, this one filled with the perfect typing and movesets to demolish whatever team he could hope to assemble, but he shut my laptop screen before I had a chance to show him. “No, not spreadsheets. Pokemon. Partners. Friends. How do they feature into this?”
Partners? Friends? What did that have to do with anything? “Wha…I don’t understand…,” I stammered, trying desperately to make sense of what he was telling me. “The data’s good,” I finally managed to spit out, looking up at Bryce only to see him shake his head.
“Pokemon are your friends, or they’re supposed to be. Didn’t anyone ever teach you this?” When I shook my head, he reached to his belt and pulled off a pokeball, enlarging the red-and-white sphere to full size. He stared right at me, his golden eyes burning holes right through me.
“Well, I’d say it’s time for a lesson, isn’t it?”
Without further ado, here's my fic. A fair warning, I fully intend to mix the mythos of the anime, the game, and the manga, so if you get frustrated at any point, just bare with me. I'm even going to give you guys the first two chapters at once, because I'm just that nice, and I feel like they're some of the shorter chapters, along with Chapter 3, and I don't want there to not be enough substance to start off.
Always Looking Forward
INDEX
Chapter 1: This Post
Chapter 2: This Post
Chapter 3: Post 5
Chapter 4: Post 9
Chapter 5: Post 13
Chapter 6: Post 15
Chapter 7: Post 17
Chapter 1:
My name is Jordan Cooper, and I am a Pokemon trainer.
See, I figured I should start out simple, or the rest of you would never be able to follow along. Keeping up? Good. Then it’s time to drop another bomb on you.
I didn’t want to be one. At least, not at first. See, unlike the rest of the children in Kanto, who dream at night about going off to live in the woods, crawl around in the mud and play with wild animals, I was only to content to continue my lifestyle. My parents were shipping magnates, rich as anything, who spent most of their time hopping around the world, keeping their business affairs in order. This left me all the time in the world to do what I wanted, which was mainly to play around in the mansion my parent had built in the hills above Viridian City. In between private tutoring sessions, which were my parent’s desperate attempt to groom me to take over the family business, I played video games, went swimming in our basement pool, read books and generally goofed off all day.
Good times never last, do they? I still have nightmares about the night that everything changed. My parents had gone down to Viridian City, leaving me in the care of one of our various nannies, but even in Viridian we were getting the rain and the wind. A hurricane had come into the south of Kanto, and it was tearing up the docks. I can still feel the fear grip me inside, and the tears rolling down my face. My nanny tried to comfort me, but I mean, really, could she expect to do anything?
We got the news the next morning. Turns out, mommy and daddy didn’t bother leaving me any actual money, just a trust fund that I couldn’t claim until I was eighteen. I was six. Thanks, guys. Wonderful job with the post-mortem parenting. So, at the age of six, I was carted off to the Oak Ridge Orphanage, in the town of Oak Ridge, just a little ways out of Viridian City.
Right off the bat, none of the kids liked me. Maybe it was the antique car I was dropped off in, maybe it was the fact that I didn’t want to play with any of them, or maybe it was the fact that I was always silent. It could have been that I just hated them, but whatever. The only person I liked at the orphanage was the owner/operator, Mr. Nicholson. He was a good man, upstanding and kind, and he ran the library in town, so I got all the books I could read. Having no friends to play with, I read a lot.
One day, two years and change after I had come to the orphanage, while lost on the couch in a boring book, I had fallen asleep. I was roused, very rudely, from my sleep from the weight of a small child sitting on my chest. Pushing him off, I saw that during my doze, the room had filled up. There was no way of leaving now; I just had to sit it out.
Chapter 2:
That day changed my life. Mr. Nicholson dimmed the lights, some of the children passed around popcorn, and I sat there wondering what the big deal was. Suddenly, the old big screen crackled to life, and it was hard to tell what was louder, the cheering in the room or the cheering from the speakers. The camera panned over a large stadium, the crowd was on their feet.
“Welcome,” boomed the announcer, “To the 96th Annual Indigo Cup Championships!” Some of the younger ones in front stood up to cheer, but the older boys behind them quickly pulled them back down into place. I recalled reading somewhere that the previous champion had forfeited his place, so this must be the championship round.
I don’t even recall who the other challenger was. It was just him. From his black hair, almost blue in the light to his golden eyes, I couldn’t pin what it was about him that exuded this unbelievable charisma. The way his Pokemon danced across the field, it was almost magical. He didn’t just own the crowd, he commanded them. I was mesmerized.
It wasn’t anything close to a competition. Bryce only lost two of his Pokemon, while his opponent had lost all of their six. The announcer’s voice boomed around the stadium. It was slightly crackly through the speakers, but that didn’t matter. Watching him win was all I needed. I had to do what he did, command the audience like that, and most of all, I had to beat him.
My next month’s trust fund allowance went toward a state-of-the-art laptop. I spent my days at the library, my laptop to one side, a stack of reference books to the other. By the end of the month, I knew everything there was to know about Bryce Cobalt, and had a solid basis of knowledge in Pokemon training. It was just a matter of passing the test when my time came and actually doing it.
That chance, of course, became secondary. Mr. Nicholson informed me that Bryce Cobalt was doing a victory tour of Kanto, and that growing up, he had made friends at school with some of the kids at our orphanage, and he would be meeting them here! It was an outrageous coincidence, but I just had to plan it out perfectly. I couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t fanboy out. It wouldn’t be proper.
The fated day came, and, true to form, while the other kids crowded around, scrabbling for an autograph, I sat under the big pine tree with my laptop. I scrolled through my collection of Bryce videos, choosing which one to look at today. I watched a few, all ones I’d seen before, and was settling into a groove for one of his early matches from this year’s Indigo Cup. He was struggling in this three-on-three match, but would eventually pull out a miraculous come-from-behind win.
I was absorbed in the action, and didn’t hear the footfalls on pine needles until it was too late. I didn’t even bother turning my head to acknowledge the stupid kid next to me as he sat down in the needles, crunching under the sudden weight. A shadow was cast over the screen as he peeked over my shoulder.
“Man, you couldn’t pick a battle I did better in?”
That voice…it…oh, god. I couldn’t start hyperventilating, but my knuckles were turning white. Stay calm, I thought to myself, stay calm. I turned my head to look him in the eye, my dark brown latching onto his gold.
“Now, why ever would I do that?”
“Well, Mr. Nicholson tells me you’re my biggest fan. I just thought that you’d be more interested in my good victories.” I scoffed, turning my head back to the screen.
“This is a good victory. The strategy and tactics you used were top-notch, and you got into the rhythm that you had for the rest of the tournament here. Plus,” I added, almost as an afterthought, “If I watch a video where you struggle, it’ll be all the easier to figure out how to beat you.” At this he smiled, and I growled under my breath. Was he laughing at me? How dare he! I turned the screen to face him, opening up various spreadsheets, all full of data about him and him alone.
“These are your battle records,” I stated as I scrolled through the spreadsheets with a flick of my wrist, “All the different Pokemon you’ve used in battle, their typing, stats, movesets, and personal records. Lists of every battle you had in the last championship tournament, and how you did compared to each different trainer,” I droned on and on until he reached over and ruffled my hair.
“Well,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “What about your Pokemon?” Noting my quizzical expression, he continued: “You need Pokemon, right?” I started to bring up another spreadsheet, this one filled with the perfect typing and movesets to demolish whatever team he could hope to assemble, but he shut my laptop screen before I had a chance to show him. “No, not spreadsheets. Pokemon. Partners. Friends. How do they feature into this?”
Partners? Friends? What did that have to do with anything? “Wha…I don’t understand…,” I stammered, trying desperately to make sense of what he was telling me. “The data’s good,” I finally managed to spit out, looking up at Bryce only to see him shake his head.
“Pokemon are your friends, or they’re supposed to be. Didn’t anyone ever teach you this?” When I shook my head, he reached to his belt and pulled off a pokeball, enlarging the red-and-white sphere to full size. He stared right at me, his golden eyes burning holes right through me.
“Well, I’d say it’s time for a lesson, isn’t it?”
...
Questions? Comments? Criticisms? Concerns?
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