Charmides
This is the short story of one David, a Mewtwo, returning from abroad to the academy for Pokémon he heads and finding his three favourite things: green tea, stroopwafels, and Socratic discourse with friends.
This is part of a larger set of stories based on Plato’s dialogues, in this case Charmides, whose structure I have more or less copied whilst changing the topic of discussion.

At the persistent pecking of kenket, I’m uploading this earlier than I planned as a sort of test and impetus to actually publish things I’ve written. Since June 2013, I’ve spent about 2100 hours writing 1.4 million words of (mostly) fanfiction, as practice before attempting my first real novel—here’s hoping it helped at all. In the next weeks I should begin posting chapters of a novel-length story with original characters in the Pokémon universe, including two in this story. My thanks to anyone who reads, and I appreciate feedback of any sort!

Preview art by the ever-pestering but otherwise lovely sibling kenket!

__________________________________________________________

Glurak, a perfect shiny Charizard (as Critias)
Glumanda, a perfect shiny Charmander (as Charmides)
Apollo, a perfect Charizard (as Chaerephon)
David, a Mewtwo (as Socrates)

I love to visit Goldenrod, but every time I return to our own Academy, I find myself beginning to relax again. The longer I’m gone, you see, the more likely I’ll find some interesting conversation waiting, and this time I happened to know from my staff that some friends had arrived in my absence. No sooner had I seen the fire-dojo door when Apollo, who came to see another fellow but stayed on longer to catch me, was already rushing out into the lobby. I’m not as small as when we first met, but that doesn’t stop him from hoisting me up as though I were his prize dish at the Games.

He took my bag and said, “We weren’t expecting you till this evening, you rub! How’d you get here so early?”

“I didn’t fancy waiting at the airport,” I said, “so I used my own resources.”

“Ah!” he said. “You must be famished! Come put your legs up over here and we’ll get you something. You can tell us all about your time in Goldenrod.”

“Well, some tea and wafels wouldn’t hurt. But who else is here to talk?”

“A great friend of mine, whom you’ve got to meet. I think he’s one you’ve been expecting!”

“Then, as I’m famished, I’ll follow your lead.”

The fire dojo was just now near the end of a demonstration, and as the last groups finished their sets, already coming out into the lobby was the instructor, Glurak, the black Charizard of Kalos. This was his first time at the Academy, though I’d met him before at Apollo’s Games. Remember it’s an honour we can’t refuse when such a decorated veteran comes to teach: when his trainer retired just before the Games were founded, he became the first mon in Kalos to lead a team, and he was the first recipient of Apollo’s dish. When he saw me he came over, and we shared the usual sort of formalities as we waited for the tea and wafels.

When they were satisfied about the happenings in Goldenrod, I asked what I’d missed in Castelia, especially whether any new mon had appeared who seemed exceptional in mind or skill. At this Glurak turned and said, “It’s bad of me to say, I know, but there’s one I think you’ll be taken with. You’ll forget all about the rest and need a jug of sake to clear your mind of him.”

“Now you’ve interested me,” I said, “but who is he? Not a trainer I assume.”

Glurak laughed and said, “Not human, no. Let’s say he looks like I did once, but with double the fire on his tail and three times in his stomach.”

“They might have warned me earlier,” I said, “if you’ve brought none other than Glumanda here. Isn’t he your own offspring? I heard he sends every checker’s head spinning.”

“This is why it’s bad to say,” he said, “even if it is true.” And as the last of the dojo filed out, Glumanda the Charmander emerged.

Now a person without practice in this sort of thing, seeing a young mon like that, would notice he was a different colour than usual but otherwise perhaps not think much about him, hanging at the back as though he followed. Any champion could have told you, however, it was nothing like that; it seemed to me he was directing them, as if in Glurak’s absence he took over the reins and lingered to check they were orderly. So felt the older ones as well, I thought, who made space for Glumanda, so that even the young ones knew to look after him.

Apollo leaned toward me and said, “Isn’t he fine? They say he’s a perfect six.”

“I believe it,” I said.

“One day he’ll be a famous champion,” he said, “and break all the records, and we won’t be good enough to stand near.” And I was inclined to believe it, being the opinion of both him and Glurak, two of the top Charizard in the world—certainly, I thought, this little Charmander was to front the next generation.

I leaned toward Glurak and said, “He may very well be the finest here. But you know, there are things statistics miss which still affect one’s quality. Or is his mind as fit in that as the other?”

“Let me save you the worry,” he said: “he’s the sharpest little mon I know.”

“Well,” I said, “this is very fortunate, then. Still, why don’t we examine him? The humans may have missed something, and it won’t do not to help him if it’s possible.”

“Klar,” he said. “And I think you’ll find he’s not only a champion in heart already, but has a battling genius that will leave me known as nothing but his forebear.”

“That is rare,” I said, “and that’s not, if I may say, the sort of thing breeding passes on, though the name genius isn’t a stranger to your own in articles. But why don’t you call him over, and let this more common mind take a look at something of the sort it lacks, this genius?”

“You insult yourself,” he said, laughing, “and before long you’ll find he only wants your company, and that’s your plan, isn’t it?” Then he waved to Glumanda, who had been watching, and the little Charmander started toward us. “And you should know, David,” Glurak said, for it seemed already we were good friends and he was confiding in me, “Apollo’s said so much about your qualities, that I’m eager now to see one of your famous discussions.” I suppose this talk of Apollo’s must have been going on for days, as all the newcomers I didn’t recognise were gathering about us, now the word had spread that I was back from Goldenrod—Apollo stood beaming at my side as if to say he fetched me.

Glumanda had to stop more than once for others to let him through, so I had a moment to imagine what I’d say; but when he took his spot in front of me and Glurak said the head of the Academy was here to inspect his quality, and he looked right up into my eyes, suddenly I found myself at a loss for words. Here was a very young mon, summoned before the head of the whole Academy—a great and powerful psychic, they must have told him, with a habit of exposing minds in conversation—yet with such confidence as he looked up at me that I really felt it was he who judged, and rather I the novice. I remembered the day that Mewtwo came and impressed on me the importance of improving my mind, and felt quite insignificant, like every weakness returned. And so in part to cover this, for I’m not used to meeting such people, and in part because Apollo was holding my arm rather tightly, I shifted and leaned as though I was judging him, and eventually settled back as if I’d reached my conclusion.

“Is it what they say?” Glumanda said.

And I said it was, that he really appeared to be a perfect six, as the checkers would say, and he seemed to hear it without surprise, as though this sort of report was only common and he wasn’t sure, in fact, whether I flattered him or not—then I knew how to proceed.

“But I’d close the Academy at once,” I said, “if I couldn’t do more than tell a rare mon like you the sort of thing he’s heard before.”

And he said, “What more? Do it, please.”

“Now, Glumanda,” I said, “should you do anything first unless you know it may help?”

“I guess not,” he said. “But I’m sure you will help.”

“Then I’m blessed to have your trust already,” I said, “or do I only look soft and trustworthy?”

“You look like a legendary,” he said, and Glurak laughed, and everyone was pleased that two mon they respected had met and become friends, and they looked left and right and felt warmer toward their neighbours. “It’s like they say,” Glumanda went on. “Everyone here’s talked about you and they say you’re the best one to help, and that all your writing on raising mon is the best. I’ll do anything you say.”

“Well,” I said, “I’ll endeavour to honour the image you’ve imagined and keep on writing rightly. Now when they say you’re a perfect six, do you know what they’re referring to? All mon have certain individual qualities, and humans have a method of judging them. In a Charmander, firstly they look at the tail, to check its fire, then the texture of the skin to check his health, then the points of the claws, and so on. They’ll turn him over and come up with a list of numbers, and say that because of this and because of that, some Charmander is relatively superior to others, with a great vitality and fire, or another is decent all round. Some of the more elaborate ways of judging quality involve advanced technology, connecting a mon to a machine and using calculators to check him as he eats rare candies, and then quickly wiping out the effect with an anti-pill. But the thing to remember, Glumanda, is that these only measure the six physical qualities, the battling energies as they call them, and everything else goes unexamined. When they say, for instance, that the most important thing to success in battling is the bond between members of a team, they’re right—and that’s not a thing they can easily measure. For it would be strange, I think, if things like that could be graded at once on so little information, as if your whole nature could be put in a word like they do on the information papers. Two timid mon, say, or two adamant ones hardly behave identically: it’s these hidden qualities that make the difference, and one important enough to decide between a mon who never battles versus one who becomes a champion. Or doesn’t it seem that way to you?”

“No, you’re right,” he said.

“You agree, then,” I said, “that even perfect-six Pokémon must have other qualities that vary?”

“They must,” he said, “but what?”

...

[Continued in the PDF]