Well, here's the start of my newest story. In terms of timeline, it's set "some time after the end of the anime". Ash is sixteen years old, and most of the other characters are aged in regard to that (Misty at seventeen, Gary at sixteen, etc). May is two years older than she SHOULD be (ie, she started Hoenn at twelve rather than ten in this fic) ; this is because otherwise either she was too young for the plot, or Ash too old for me to feel comfortable writing about him.
This first chapter only really serves to reintroduce several characters and how their lives have changed (and not always the main character of each scene ; the point of the Brock scene is to reintroduce the characters who show up at the end much more than Brock himself)
Ambition's Debt
Chapter 1 : Moving on
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening comes, perhaps in the wake of a breaking defeat at the hand of a hated rival.
Once, in the town of Pallet, there had been such a boy. He had dreamt of pokémon, of training, of being a master, and had set out to see the world. Six years ago, that had been; and in those six years the child's dream had died. Other goals, less dreamy, more down to earth, had replaced the dream; goals that had brought him now to sit by a table in the silent library of the University of Kanto, in Viridian.
He had changed, with the end of his journeys. His hair, a pale brown, fell down to his shoulder in a lose ponytail. His eyes, piercing blue, hid behind reading glasses that he would never have been seen with, back then. He wore simple black clothes, a peace pendant at his neck the only memory of the trainer he had once been.
He was not alone at the table. Across from him, a girl, her dreams broken as surely as his. Her hair, a rare blue-green hue, was cut short of even her shoulders. Once she had sought the life of an artist, her pokémon turned into a traveling show; her dreams had been cut short, too.
They both had their eyes on books, browsing through.
"That legend seems promising, Gary," the girl whispered, pointing at a passage in the book before her. "I think it would make a good paper."
The boy glanced; the book had a picture of a gigantic serpentine creature, two arms protruding from the front half of its body. A name was written below it, Rayquaza.
"Sorry, Duplica. Won't do." Gary Oak shook his head. "First it's one of the better known ones. Second it's a dragon type, and dragons are vastly overrated anyway. Third…" he trailed of.
"Third?" Duplica insisted.
"Third, Ashy-boy has seen that one, too."
The girl rolled her eyes; a short laugh escaped her lips. She glanced guiltily toward the librarian. "If we're to believe your grandfather, Ashy-boy has seen all the legendary pokémon there are."
"He's been busy," Gary shrugged. "You know him," For a moment, he almost regretted the rugged campsites, the harsh roads. There had been a sense of freedom to his journey…
Duplica's hand passed over his, and he shook his head. Whatever good there had been in his journey, the rewards of his new life were simply better than it all. Their eyes met; they both smiled.
Gary's cell phone rang; before the librarian even had the time to remind him, he flicked it off, and turned back toward his girlfriend of the last three months.
_________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps in the form of a chance encounter, a twist of fate…
Once, in the city of Pewter, there had been such a boy. He had dreamt of being a breeder, of caring for his pokémon and those of others equally, and of presenting the best he could do to contest, to mark his talent. Six years ago, he had left to pursue that dream; Six years ago, and now the dream was dead.
The ceremonial hall of the Indigo convention center was full to the brim; visitors and dignitaries from across the world waiting for what they knew would soon happen. In one corner, a man past his fifties, in a white lab coat, hopelessly tried dialing a number on his cell phone again and again. Watching over his shoulder, a younger woman frowned; miles away, the boy they were calling was losing himself in his girlfriend's eyes.
Meanwhile, behind the scene, a boy waited, nervous. The massive swampert at his side seemed to sense his master's uneasy feelings; glanced about at the rest of the room. Its eyes narrowed, mimicking perhaps unconsciously the perpetual expression of its owner.
"And so, ladies and gentlemen," a young man spoke in front of the crowd, red hair clashing with his black cloak, "I am at once saddened to announce that Bruno Evans has retired from his position on the Elite Four, and honored to present his successor to you all tonight! Ladies and gentlemen…"
The boy swallowed, hard. He reached for his pokéball, recalled Swampert. The necktie he wore felt tight, too tight.
"…please join me in welcoming the newest member of the Elite Four, BROCK SLATE!"
The boy stepped onto the scene, felt for a moment as if the spectators had all exploded at once. It was, of course, nothing more than the flashes of too many cameras going off at once.
"While young, Brock has proven himself an able trainer time and time again, not to mention he achieved gym leader status years ago, though he has been on a prolonged leave of absence," Lance, the league champion explained. "He has battled Team Rocket several times in the past with great success, and has proven himself one of the most promising trainers for the future of Kanto! Brock, anything you'd like to say?"
The boy stared at the cameras. They stared right back at him.
"Hmmm…" he began, forcing his eyes upward. The last thing he wanted to see now was a pretty girl, and he was quite sure a few of them would be in the audience. "I…I must say I never expected to be called to this. It's…I am honored. And…" he froze, unsure of what else to say.
He was not left hanging long. Lance, moved back in. "If anyone has questions…"
In the first row, a man rose, smoothing his blue hair, his white suit glimmering under the heavy spotlights. The woman besides him, dressed in the same white, her hair a flaming red, frowned.
"Mister Slate, James Morgan of 'Jet Set' here. Can you tell us a few things about your career up to this point?"
Brock blinked. He could have sworn the one-time Rocket agent had just winked at him.
_______________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps when life forcibly part them from the people that have been part of the dream.
Once, in the land of Kanto, there had been such a girl. She had dreamt of violence, of guns and daggers, of the work of an assassin. Her dream, eight years ago, had lead her to Team Rocket, and the criminal organization had slowly given her the means to pursue it. But Team Rocket was disbanded now, and the dream, dead.
She barely spared a second glance at the television lying not far from her computer desk; her partner was on the couch, listening to the special edition Jet Set show about the new elite four member.
She snorted.
"I know they're hacks," her partner observed. "Doesn't change a thing that they run the best show on Brock's promotion to the elite four," he shrugged. "Even if you hate them, you have to admit, they run the damn best celebrities shows in town."
She laughed. "That just means there are no good celebrities show in town," she laughed off, sitting down in front of the computer. There was a text file open; she put the last finishing touches to its note.
A smile crossed her lips. Let Jessie and James – the pathetic fools – run what information they wanted. They had no idea what true reporting was about; where they sought glamour and fame, she knew what information meant; she knew what it was to have the survival of a politician or corporation in your hand – and to squeeze. Nineteen, she was already a celebrity.
"Did you scan the pictures in?" she asked out loud, tossing her blond hair. The boy, younger than she by two years, took a moment to answer. When he did, it was a simple nod. "Did that yesterday, while you were off holding your interview. Report going up tonight?"
She smiled at him, one of her few truly grateful smiles. Without him, her news site would have been nothing; without the vivid pictures of suffering he managed to snap. To be told of the pain of a woman whose children had died was one thing, to see her crying before the wrecked car was another. "Thanks, Todd," she added.
With the last few touches on her text done, it was a matter of minutes to attach the proper picture, to upload it, that of seconds. Soon, truelies.knt had a new article up, the credits to it pointing to the pseudonym that had been hers since the days of Team Rocket – Domino.
It took barely three minute for the first shocked email to reach her inbox.
__________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps with a tragedy they feel responsible for, a tragedy that forces them in a new path.
Once, in the city of Petalburg, there had been such a girl. She had dreamt of seeing the world, had forged her path into being a coordinator, and had dreamt of winning the greatest of all contests. Her dream had led, three years ago, to her brother and she both leaving their home. Three years ago, and now the dream was gone
The stadium was filled to the brim, the final battle about to begin. They had come to see it from all over Hoenn, gym leaders and members of the elite four alike. In the front rows, a boy sat in a wheelchair, his eyes hidden behind glasses, a triumphant smile on his face. He finished typing a last email on his laptop; closed the browser window he had been working in. Besides him, his parents looked down at one of the finalist, smiling proudly.
The girl was ready. Battling for the league tournament had never been a dream, but even so, she had learned many things from the best of trainers. Across the field from her, a boy, perhaps sixteen. For the fleetest of moment she had taken him for another, a friend who had guided her first steps, but no. Whatever similarities there were – right down to the pikachu they both seemed to value so highly – it was not he.
She spared one glance at her family, a smile at her brother. A simple twinge of guilt, no more, came with the sight of his wheelchair.
"Attention all! Welcome to the grand final of the Hoenn Evergrande tournament! Many trainers entered, now only two are left! In the red box, trainer Richie Leonhart of Viridian City!"
The round of applauses did not last long. He was a stranger in Hoenn; trying to take a prize he had no right to claim.
"In the green box, trainer May Whyte, of Petalburg!"
The applauses grew from faint to deafening. The girl was more than a popular trainer; she was their champion, against the foreigner.
She closed her first about her first pokéball. Her opponent did the same.
"Trainers, ready…" the announcer called out.
Their eyes met.
"…go!"
"Sparky! I chose you!" the boy yelled.
"Blaziken! Go!" she replied.
The battle was on. Across the stadium, a thousand video cameras focused on it.
________________________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. But sometime, a child is born who will not let go of the dreams, whatever the cost. For these children, the awakening never comes, or if it does, it is always too late.
Once, in the city of Pallet town, such a child had been born. Six years ago, he had set out to become a pokémon master, traveling through countless leagues, winning and losing endless tournaments, in search of his elusive goal. He had not found it yet; perhaps he never would. But the dream was still there, and alive.
His journey would stop now, if only for a week. The weather, rainstorms and hurricane winds, was not fit for traveling. Friends had offered him safe places to stay, but there was one above them all he had chosen.
She was before him now, her red hair no longer bound in the ponytail that had once been her trademark, the figure of the young girl he recalled clearly now that of a woman. Then again, he was no longer the ten years old he had once been. Behind her, in the house, the television she had been listening to harped on, pictures of a league battle in a far away land flashing across the screen.
A little yellow pokémon, perched on the boy's shoulder, yelled out a happy "Pika!" at the sight of the girl. It jumped into her arms; she smiled.
"Thanks for putting up with me," was the first thing he thought of saying. What else could he say? How did you renew links with a friend not seen in years?
"It just gives us a chance to catch up," she smiled back. Her face was radiant, beautiful in ways he could not ever remember remarking, even at Maiden's Peak all of six years ago. "You've changed, Ash," she quietly remarked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
He blushed. What answer was there? Of course he had changed. "So have you." He finally decided.
She smiled nervously, moved away to let him enter.
Outside the Cerulean City gym, the rain continued to fall.
This first chapter only really serves to reintroduce several characters and how their lives have changed (and not always the main character of each scene ; the point of the Brock scene is to reintroduce the characters who show up at the end much more than Brock himself)
Ambition's Debt
Chapter 1 : Moving on
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening comes, perhaps in the wake of a breaking defeat at the hand of a hated rival.
Once, in the town of Pallet, there had been such a boy. He had dreamt of pokémon, of training, of being a master, and had set out to see the world. Six years ago, that had been; and in those six years the child's dream had died. Other goals, less dreamy, more down to earth, had replaced the dream; goals that had brought him now to sit by a table in the silent library of the University of Kanto, in Viridian.
He had changed, with the end of his journeys. His hair, a pale brown, fell down to his shoulder in a lose ponytail. His eyes, piercing blue, hid behind reading glasses that he would never have been seen with, back then. He wore simple black clothes, a peace pendant at his neck the only memory of the trainer he had once been.
He was not alone at the table. Across from him, a girl, her dreams broken as surely as his. Her hair, a rare blue-green hue, was cut short of even her shoulders. Once she had sought the life of an artist, her pokémon turned into a traveling show; her dreams had been cut short, too.
They both had their eyes on books, browsing through.
"That legend seems promising, Gary," the girl whispered, pointing at a passage in the book before her. "I think it would make a good paper."
The boy glanced; the book had a picture of a gigantic serpentine creature, two arms protruding from the front half of its body. A name was written below it, Rayquaza.
"Sorry, Duplica. Won't do." Gary Oak shook his head. "First it's one of the better known ones. Second it's a dragon type, and dragons are vastly overrated anyway. Third…" he trailed of.
"Third?" Duplica insisted.
"Third, Ashy-boy has seen that one, too."
The girl rolled her eyes; a short laugh escaped her lips. She glanced guiltily toward the librarian. "If we're to believe your grandfather, Ashy-boy has seen all the legendary pokémon there are."
"He's been busy," Gary shrugged. "You know him," For a moment, he almost regretted the rugged campsites, the harsh roads. There had been a sense of freedom to his journey…
Duplica's hand passed over his, and he shook his head. Whatever good there had been in his journey, the rewards of his new life were simply better than it all. Their eyes met; they both smiled.
Gary's cell phone rang; before the librarian even had the time to remind him, he flicked it off, and turned back toward his girlfriend of the last three months.
_________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps in the form of a chance encounter, a twist of fate…
Once, in the city of Pewter, there had been such a boy. He had dreamt of being a breeder, of caring for his pokémon and those of others equally, and of presenting the best he could do to contest, to mark his talent. Six years ago, he had left to pursue that dream; Six years ago, and now the dream was dead.
The ceremonial hall of the Indigo convention center was full to the brim; visitors and dignitaries from across the world waiting for what they knew would soon happen. In one corner, a man past his fifties, in a white lab coat, hopelessly tried dialing a number on his cell phone again and again. Watching over his shoulder, a younger woman frowned; miles away, the boy they were calling was losing himself in his girlfriend's eyes.
Meanwhile, behind the scene, a boy waited, nervous. The massive swampert at his side seemed to sense his master's uneasy feelings; glanced about at the rest of the room. Its eyes narrowed, mimicking perhaps unconsciously the perpetual expression of its owner.
"And so, ladies and gentlemen," a young man spoke in front of the crowd, red hair clashing with his black cloak, "I am at once saddened to announce that Bruno Evans has retired from his position on the Elite Four, and honored to present his successor to you all tonight! Ladies and gentlemen…"
The boy swallowed, hard. He reached for his pokéball, recalled Swampert. The necktie he wore felt tight, too tight.
"…please join me in welcoming the newest member of the Elite Four, BROCK SLATE!"
The boy stepped onto the scene, felt for a moment as if the spectators had all exploded at once. It was, of course, nothing more than the flashes of too many cameras going off at once.
"While young, Brock has proven himself an able trainer time and time again, not to mention he achieved gym leader status years ago, though he has been on a prolonged leave of absence," Lance, the league champion explained. "He has battled Team Rocket several times in the past with great success, and has proven himself one of the most promising trainers for the future of Kanto! Brock, anything you'd like to say?"
The boy stared at the cameras. They stared right back at him.
"Hmmm…" he began, forcing his eyes upward. The last thing he wanted to see now was a pretty girl, and he was quite sure a few of them would be in the audience. "I…I must say I never expected to be called to this. It's…I am honored. And…" he froze, unsure of what else to say.
He was not left hanging long. Lance, moved back in. "If anyone has questions…"
In the first row, a man rose, smoothing his blue hair, his white suit glimmering under the heavy spotlights. The woman besides him, dressed in the same white, her hair a flaming red, frowned.
"Mister Slate, James Morgan of 'Jet Set' here. Can you tell us a few things about your career up to this point?"
Brock blinked. He could have sworn the one-time Rocket agent had just winked at him.
_______________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps when life forcibly part them from the people that have been part of the dream.
Once, in the land of Kanto, there had been such a girl. She had dreamt of violence, of guns and daggers, of the work of an assassin. Her dream, eight years ago, had lead her to Team Rocket, and the criminal organization had slowly given her the means to pursue it. But Team Rocket was disbanded now, and the dream, dead.
She barely spared a second glance at the television lying not far from her computer desk; her partner was on the couch, listening to the special edition Jet Set show about the new elite four member.
She snorted.
"I know they're hacks," her partner observed. "Doesn't change a thing that they run the best show on Brock's promotion to the elite four," he shrugged. "Even if you hate them, you have to admit, they run the damn best celebrities shows in town."
She laughed. "That just means there are no good celebrities show in town," she laughed off, sitting down in front of the computer. There was a text file open; she put the last finishing touches to its note.
A smile crossed her lips. Let Jessie and James – the pathetic fools – run what information they wanted. They had no idea what true reporting was about; where they sought glamour and fame, she knew what information meant; she knew what it was to have the survival of a politician or corporation in your hand – and to squeeze. Nineteen, she was already a celebrity.
"Did you scan the pictures in?" she asked out loud, tossing her blond hair. The boy, younger than she by two years, took a moment to answer. When he did, it was a simple nod. "Did that yesterday, while you were off holding your interview. Report going up tonight?"
She smiled at him, one of her few truly grateful smiles. Without him, her news site would have been nothing; without the vivid pictures of suffering he managed to snap. To be told of the pain of a woman whose children had died was one thing, to see her crying before the wrecked car was another. "Thanks, Todd," she added.
With the last few touches on her text done, it was a matter of minutes to attach the proper picture, to upload it, that of seconds. Soon, truelies.knt had a new article up, the credits to it pointing to the pseudonym that had been hers since the days of Team Rocket – Domino.
It took barely three minute for the first shocked email to reach her inbox.
__________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. An awakening come, perhaps with a tragedy they feel responsible for, a tragedy that forces them in a new path.
Once, in the city of Petalburg, there had been such a girl. She had dreamt of seeing the world, had forged her path into being a coordinator, and had dreamt of winning the greatest of all contests. Her dream had led, three years ago, to her brother and she both leaving their home. Three years ago, and now the dream was gone
The stadium was filled to the brim, the final battle about to begin. They had come to see it from all over Hoenn, gym leaders and members of the elite four alike. In the front rows, a boy sat in a wheelchair, his eyes hidden behind glasses, a triumphant smile on his face. He finished typing a last email on his laptop; closed the browser window he had been working in. Besides him, his parents looked down at one of the finalist, smiling proudly.
The girl was ready. Battling for the league tournament had never been a dream, but even so, she had learned many things from the best of trainers. Across the field from her, a boy, perhaps sixteen. For the fleetest of moment she had taken him for another, a friend who had guided her first steps, but no. Whatever similarities there were – right down to the pikachu they both seemed to value so highly – it was not he.
She spared one glance at her family, a smile at her brother. A simple twinge of guilt, no more, came with the sight of his wheelchair.
"Attention all! Welcome to the grand final of the Hoenn Evergrande tournament! Many trainers entered, now only two are left! In the red box, trainer Richie Leonhart of Viridian City!"
The round of applauses did not last long. He was a stranger in Hoenn; trying to take a prize he had no right to claim.
"In the green box, trainer May Whyte, of Petalburg!"
The applauses grew from faint to deafening. The girl was more than a popular trainer; she was their champion, against the foreigner.
She closed her first about her first pokéball. Her opponent did the same.
"Trainers, ready…" the announcer called out.
Their eyes met.
"…go!"
"Sparky! I chose you!" the boy yelled.
"Blaziken! Go!" she replied.
The battle was on. Across the stadium, a thousand video cameras focused on it.
________________________________
Children dream. It is in their nature to create an ideal vision of a future self, of what they would desire to be. Some dreams of the pokémon they will own, others of the wealth they will possess. Few, if any, of these dreams come to fruition. But sometime, a child is born who will not let go of the dreams, whatever the cost. For these children, the awakening never comes, or if it does, it is always too late.
Once, in the city of Pallet town, such a child had been born. Six years ago, he had set out to become a pokémon master, traveling through countless leagues, winning and losing endless tournaments, in search of his elusive goal. He had not found it yet; perhaps he never would. But the dream was still there, and alive.
His journey would stop now, if only for a week. The weather, rainstorms and hurricane winds, was not fit for traveling. Friends had offered him safe places to stay, but there was one above them all he had chosen.
She was before him now, her red hair no longer bound in the ponytail that had once been her trademark, the figure of the young girl he recalled clearly now that of a woman. Then again, he was no longer the ten years old he had once been. Behind her, in the house, the television she had been listening to harped on, pictures of a league battle in a far away land flashing across the screen.
A little yellow pokémon, perched on the boy's shoulder, yelled out a happy "Pika!" at the sight of the girl. It jumped into her arms; she smiled.
"Thanks for putting up with me," was the first thing he thought of saying. What else could he say? How did you renew links with a friend not seen in years?
"It just gives us a chance to catch up," she smiled back. Her face was radiant, beautiful in ways he could not ever remember remarking, even at Maiden's Peak all of six years ago. "You've changed, Ash," she quietly remarked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
He blushed. What answer was there? Of course he had changed. "So have you." He finally decided.
She smiled nervously, moved away to let him enter.
Outside the Cerulean City gym, the rain continued to fall.
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