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Shadow
The story of a timid Dratini, caught as a Game Corner prize, who finds the perfect human trainer and, to his great distress, falls in love with her.
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Thumbnail art by kenket, used with permission
My apologies for the large delay—a lot of unexpected real-life events have interposed themselves between my time and this. Possibly the next will be just as delayed or more, but I hope I'll find the chance.
Kanto, as he saw it, was no different from Johto; but Saffron City was nothing like Goldenrod. Where Johto’s capital was young and sprawling, prosperous, seemed rather fresher, being on the sea, Saffron felt more like Ecruteak—if it were magnified in every respect many times. Here, he felt, civilisation centred; here it founded. Every city had a character that marked it from others: Ecruteak had its history, the towers, the legendary Pokémon who once lived there, the sense that, passing through it, one shared in a real way the sight of humans and Pokémon who passed many centuries ago; Olivine had the ocean and its warm unbounded air—a port of relaxation—like the boundary between active life and stillness; and Cianwood was that stillness, where moving things came to rest a while. And Saffron? It was Kanto: Kanto, he imagined, was that place containing Saffron.
Saffron, Runa said, was sister city to Goldenrod; and to Runa’s Goldenrod, he thought, Saffron was certainly fitted to Manda. Every roof was trimmed in red and gold; every tree was a distinguished age; it was all grander still than Goldenrod, yet almost out of place, he thought, as the Magnet Train’s terminus, much of the city predating the industrial era. Titles and names figured prominently on the store fronts and the grand towers; imparted a sense of heredity, he felt, that not even the natural life-cycle affected things here. And though perhaps no human drew the connection, there was no escaping a sense of the wilds, of being incidental; for whereas in Cianwood or some other small city, where every street may concentrate a hundred lives or more yet still the average Cianwooder could know the whole city, have a notion of every shop and corner and shared something in common with everyone, here in Saffron it was simply impossible. Here whole lives expended never knowing more than a small part of the metropolis, a neighbourhood, a corner, just as a wilder from Route 32 may have intimate knowledge of a certain field or river, may have lived her whole live in Johto, but moving just a short way out of sight had nothing left in common at all, became as much a stranger as a Kantonite.
Goldenrod was an enormous city, of course, too large to really know; but in Saffron, the span, the sprawl was incredible, so that at first he thought they arrived early but it was only the suburbs, stretching out miles ahead of the station. Most human cities adhered to their environment, yet Saffron was so large, so full of its own gravity, that environment rather was Saffron itself—nature seeming to have ceded this part of the world entirely, as if never a hill nor a tree stood there: so the setting sun framed the city, fit the clouds about it, as the grey of the towers stood through them.
As they went on Runa grew stiffer. She kept her hand in her bag, looked to each of them so that they gathered around her when the station was still some minutes off. This call to see her parents, he thought, had to be about them—that was the only explanation—her family was testing her, checking she was any good. If she passed (and she would, she was certain, wouldn’t allow it otherwise), all was well; but suppose they judged her unfairly? Suppose they took one look at him and thought, As she clearly doesn’t keep her Pokémon in good condition …
The Pondelores were strong in Kanto, Rita had said. They had many properties—most humans here lacked even one—and nowhere more than Saffron, where the returns were always greatest: property bred wealth, Rita said. Was it chance they had so much of it? he thought. Might it have been any family? But the Pondelores had a great act behind them, setting up the first Pokémon Centres. It must have taken a champion, some great architect with a vision, like Runa, to start the thing; after that, it was just a quiet growth for centuries, no more great feats necessary.
The train slowed; in a minute they would be on the platform, mobbed with flashes, perhaps, people on their phones talking or taking pictures like the ones who thought they got away with hiding it in the carriage. Saffron was an old city; everyone had seen everything once presumably, only glanced at Gaia and that was it; but Runa Pondelore in their car, they thought, heiress to however many blocks of the city, sister of the Indigo League Champion—!
“I wish there was time to explore,” Runa said, standing. “We’ll do something before we leave. But you shouldn’t wander—please. You’ll be happy at the hotel.”
Principled though it was, he thought, why did she feel a need to hesitate, to temper what seemed too close to a command, rather than simply say, You must——, or, You mustn’t——, when it was necessary? The others made light of all Runa’s conditional phrases, always making clear she only suggested plans for them to ratify—they didn’t appreciate. But sometimes Runa did take her rule too far, thought too much of Pokémon. Sometimes she commanded without realising, only assuming that he wouldn’t want to follow her to Celadon. Without seeming to notice, Runa leant and, just for a moment, put her arm around his middle—and then again she never shooed him once in all the time. Would she even say if he came too close?
But none of that, he thought. For all the psychics in Saffron, he thought, here he was: a black-rotten Dragonair, disgorging from the Magnet Train to spoil their city.
The frame of the door chimed and slid open (Dyna pressing the button to feel better, he thought), and they followed Runa onto the stone platform, all the warm air rolling over them, Gaia the other side of her. At once the platform crowded, people stepping off and joining others, embracing one who waited (part of their proximate Saffron, he thought) or only disappearing into the rest, everywhere but this, the Pokémon carriage, where the few trainers with business stepped off, no one waiting at this part of the station—no one, he saw, apart from two stepping away from the wall, an Arcanine and a girl the colour of Runa.
And how did he think he would react? It wasn’t that, of course, that made him flush. On second look she was very different from Runa. She had a similarly shaped face, slightly lighter skin (more time inside, he supposed); she was several inches taller, twenty-one years old to Runa’s fifteen. Her hair was shorter, not straight as such but not falling into layers like Runa’s, not weathered by training on the road. But she held herself differently; stood as if she spent a great amount of time doing it, straighter than Runa ever was. And the Arcanine looked very serious—a fair match, he seemed, for Manda. Was it possible a human had the same effect of intimidation? Certainly he felt it; perhaps, he thought, that was how she always won. But what was it Runa had said, describing her?
—She used to have a hundred pictures of Red up in her room. He’s her idol—he’s why she became a trainer.
And now having a gift of ability, granted, but also all the advantage money could buy, all the best-bred Pokémon, she became Indigo League Champion the same as Red—all the people on the platform stared. And that was very well, of course; but once, Runa said, she was just a little girl, looking up at her wall with a dream.
“Hello, Runa,” Manda said.
Runa smiled, he saw, and accepted her embrace, but not for long. She never said much of what was between them: different philosophies, was all. Was it such a great thing she kept at odds with her sister, even now they both had what they wanted? It must have been some sort of injustice—what seemed small to them (the rich having different values) so that they expected Runa would forgive them, only acquiesce and accept; but Runa, understanding the matter better, did not forgive but stuck to justice.
Runa congratulated her becoming champion. Had they not spoken since then?
They walked on out of the station, the Arcanine leading ahead. The hotel was a few blocks away, Runa said. This was central Saffron; the sprawl was mostly flat, but the towers here were quite as tall as Goldenrod, only had more space between them. But all that he hardly saw now: as he was blind to nature and landscape, so none of this red city mattered next to Runa, and Runa, he saw, felt tied; didn’t touch any of them; thought Manda would judge her as too lenient, too warm, spoiling them with affection.
Her sister looked back more than once. Gaia returned it; he hadn’t the nerve.
Manda said, “It’s good to see your Pokémon.”
Perhaps, he thought, as they crossed the road where all the traffic stopped and, he was sure, half the drivers would miss their signal, leaning to look—perhaps Manda said something very personal; attacked Runa’s philosophy, her view of Pokémon; said they were good for battling and that was it. That would explain the things she said about her family. What sort of life did a champion’s Pokémon have? They always seemed so grave on the screens, the Charizard and Golduck and Raichu behind her, not to mention this Arcanine who never looked once back at them, never smiled—they had no pleasure at all. This was the style of training, Runa said, that ruined Pokémon! This was the method she wanted to end. And yet they followed, he felt, out on a great limb; for wasn’t the point of coming out of Johto to this strange city that they meant to persuade Runa to change, to harden her battlers, whereas for him …
“We’re picking up your psychic at Silph Headquarters, aren’t we?” Manda said.
Runa said, “Yes, he’s coming through Bill. We can go there next.”
“Good,” Manda said. “Mother and Father arrived in Celadon a few hours ago.”
Oh! It was a confirmation, he felt, that everything was falling to pieces: Torus was to protect her, to report, perhaps, and to whom? but had a part in it somehow. How forced was it all? He would be apart from Runa for the first time. Did they threaten to cut her funding, her inheritance if she didn’t meet them? But Runa called it an opportunity, something good to come of meeting; just a day, she said, in Saffron City; they would make new friends and have a time.
“It’s lucky we happened to be near Goldenrod,” Runa said, looking back; Don’t worry, she seemed to say. “You know we don’t have a set plan.”
Manda said, “They don’t expect one. They just want to see you. It’s been over a year.”
Runa waited a moment and said, “I didn’t notice.”
Dyna gave some sort of snort; but that wasn’t right, he thought, when Runa was being rude! For wasn’t it rude to say about family? It must have been very unjust, what they did, simply horrible to Runa—all because she turned away from the family’s traditions, for what else could it be? She took wild Pokémon; refused to command them; spoiled them rotten, in Manda’s view. Perhaps—and this was something he could not believe, but seeing now, with Manda—perhaps Runa had other Pokémon, a whole team in Hoenn; and as her family saw she meant to raise them differently, out of the style, they took them away. To think of stealing Runa’s Pokémon! he thought. Was that why she wanted them to stay behind? Was there a chance that, going with her, they may be taken as well? or was that in fact the condition, to stay under guard for judgement? (He moved closer and brushed her accidentally; Runa looked but didn’t give her hand.) They couldn’t possibly: they belonged to Runa by the law. But they would be apart for one day … and the Pondelores were very strong in Kanto. (But he was absurd—it wasn’t true.)
Manda said, “Your Pokémon are well evolved. You must be spending a lot of time in training. Are you entering the Silver Conference?”
Runa said, “I … They’re fine. Everyone’s training at their own pace. We haven’t decided if we’ll enter the tournament.” The Arcanine looked aside at her.
This was the hotel, he thought, just past the corner. It was forty floors high at least, a great wooden front extending out over red paths—in rain, people would step out of long vehicles right into shelter, he supposed. But from the dramas in the Corner, if he recalled correctly, even for Saffron this must be extravagant; the other two hotels they passed were stone and glass, tall but flush against the street, not with its own kept garden, here in the most expensive part of the city. (Still, there was a Meowth in the bushes, near the ramp to the underground garage.)
“One moment, Nero,” Manda said, and the Arcanine stopped at the entrance. “Runa—”
And this was to issue her attack, he thought, as she held back all the time: this was where she said it was amusing to see her untempered Pokémon, but now she must be serious, for Mother, for Father, ought to quit now and reform. And they would make it easy (such rots, all of them): she needn’t see their plaintive look, only agree in private and leave it all to them, releasing them into the wilds. Did they think they would get away with it? Didn’t they know how Runa felt? For she touched Gaia and looked back to the street where a passing couple stopped to recognise what anyone would think a pair of perfect trainers—one who loved her Pokémon more than anything, and whose Pokémon loved her, and one the Indigo Champion.
Manda said, “I’m impressed is all.”
(And didn’t Runa tell them, he thought, following Gaia through the door, not to worry?)
[scene continues in next part]
The story of a timid Dratini, caught as a Game Corner prize, who finds the perfect human trainer and, to his great distress, falls in love with her.
<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>
Thumbnail art by kenket, used with permission
My apologies for the large delay—a lot of unexpected real-life events have interposed themselves between my time and this. Possibly the next will be just as delayed or more, but I hope I'll find the chance.
—Level 35 [continued]Kanto, as he saw it, was no different from Johto; but Saffron City was nothing like Goldenrod. Where Johto’s capital was young and sprawling, prosperous, seemed rather fresher, being on the sea, Saffron felt more like Ecruteak—if it were magnified in every respect many times. Here, he felt, civilisation centred; here it founded. Every city had a character that marked it from others: Ecruteak had its history, the towers, the legendary Pokémon who once lived there, the sense that, passing through it, one shared in a real way the sight of humans and Pokémon who passed many centuries ago; Olivine had the ocean and its warm unbounded air—a port of relaxation—like the boundary between active life and stillness; and Cianwood was that stillness, where moving things came to rest a while. And Saffron? It was Kanto: Kanto, he imagined, was that place containing Saffron.
Saffron, Runa said, was sister city to Goldenrod; and to Runa’s Goldenrod, he thought, Saffron was certainly fitted to Manda. Every roof was trimmed in red and gold; every tree was a distinguished age; it was all grander still than Goldenrod, yet almost out of place, he thought, as the Magnet Train’s terminus, much of the city predating the industrial era. Titles and names figured prominently on the store fronts and the grand towers; imparted a sense of heredity, he felt, that not even the natural life-cycle affected things here. And though perhaps no human drew the connection, there was no escaping a sense of the wilds, of being incidental; for whereas in Cianwood or some other small city, where every street may concentrate a hundred lives or more yet still the average Cianwooder could know the whole city, have a notion of every shop and corner and shared something in common with everyone, here in Saffron it was simply impossible. Here whole lives expended never knowing more than a small part of the metropolis, a neighbourhood, a corner, just as a wilder from Route 32 may have intimate knowledge of a certain field or river, may have lived her whole live in Johto, but moving just a short way out of sight had nothing left in common at all, became as much a stranger as a Kantonite.
Goldenrod was an enormous city, of course, too large to really know; but in Saffron, the span, the sprawl was incredible, so that at first he thought they arrived early but it was only the suburbs, stretching out miles ahead of the station. Most human cities adhered to their environment, yet Saffron was so large, so full of its own gravity, that environment rather was Saffron itself—nature seeming to have ceded this part of the world entirely, as if never a hill nor a tree stood there: so the setting sun framed the city, fit the clouds about it, as the grey of the towers stood through them.
As they went on Runa grew stiffer. She kept her hand in her bag, looked to each of them so that they gathered around her when the station was still some minutes off. This call to see her parents, he thought, had to be about them—that was the only explanation—her family was testing her, checking she was any good. If she passed (and she would, she was certain, wouldn’t allow it otherwise), all was well; but suppose they judged her unfairly? Suppose they took one look at him and thought, As she clearly doesn’t keep her Pokémon in good condition …
The Pondelores were strong in Kanto, Rita had said. They had many properties—most humans here lacked even one—and nowhere more than Saffron, where the returns were always greatest: property bred wealth, Rita said. Was it chance they had so much of it? he thought. Might it have been any family? But the Pondelores had a great act behind them, setting up the first Pokémon Centres. It must have taken a champion, some great architect with a vision, like Runa, to start the thing; after that, it was just a quiet growth for centuries, no more great feats necessary.
The train slowed; in a minute they would be on the platform, mobbed with flashes, perhaps, people on their phones talking or taking pictures like the ones who thought they got away with hiding it in the carriage. Saffron was an old city; everyone had seen everything once presumably, only glanced at Gaia and that was it; but Runa Pondelore in their car, they thought, heiress to however many blocks of the city, sister of the Indigo League Champion—!
“I wish there was time to explore,” Runa said, standing. “We’ll do something before we leave. But you shouldn’t wander—please. You’ll be happy at the hotel.”
Principled though it was, he thought, why did she feel a need to hesitate, to temper what seemed too close to a command, rather than simply say, You must——, or, You mustn’t——, when it was necessary? The others made light of all Runa’s conditional phrases, always making clear she only suggested plans for them to ratify—they didn’t appreciate. But sometimes Runa did take her rule too far, thought too much of Pokémon. Sometimes she commanded without realising, only assuming that he wouldn’t want to follow her to Celadon. Without seeming to notice, Runa leant and, just for a moment, put her arm around his middle—and then again she never shooed him once in all the time. Would she even say if he came too close?
But none of that, he thought. For all the psychics in Saffron, he thought, here he was: a black-rotten Dragonair, disgorging from the Magnet Train to spoil their city.
The frame of the door chimed and slid open (Dyna pressing the button to feel better, he thought), and they followed Runa onto the stone platform, all the warm air rolling over them, Gaia the other side of her. At once the platform crowded, people stepping off and joining others, embracing one who waited (part of their proximate Saffron, he thought) or only disappearing into the rest, everywhere but this, the Pokémon carriage, where the few trainers with business stepped off, no one waiting at this part of the station—no one, he saw, apart from two stepping away from the wall, an Arcanine and a girl the colour of Runa.
And how did he think he would react? It wasn’t that, of course, that made him flush. On second look she was very different from Runa. She had a similarly shaped face, slightly lighter skin (more time inside, he supposed); she was several inches taller, twenty-one years old to Runa’s fifteen. Her hair was shorter, not straight as such but not falling into layers like Runa’s, not weathered by training on the road. But she held herself differently; stood as if she spent a great amount of time doing it, straighter than Runa ever was. And the Arcanine looked very serious—a fair match, he seemed, for Manda. Was it possible a human had the same effect of intimidation? Certainly he felt it; perhaps, he thought, that was how she always won. But what was it Runa had said, describing her?
—She used to have a hundred pictures of Red up in her room. He’s her idol—he’s why she became a trainer.
And now having a gift of ability, granted, but also all the advantage money could buy, all the best-bred Pokémon, she became Indigo League Champion the same as Red—all the people on the platform stared. And that was very well, of course; but once, Runa said, she was just a little girl, looking up at her wall with a dream.
“Hello, Runa,” Manda said.
Runa smiled, he saw, and accepted her embrace, but not for long. She never said much of what was between them: different philosophies, was all. Was it such a great thing she kept at odds with her sister, even now they both had what they wanted? It must have been some sort of injustice—what seemed small to them (the rich having different values) so that they expected Runa would forgive them, only acquiesce and accept; but Runa, understanding the matter better, did not forgive but stuck to justice.
Runa congratulated her becoming champion. Had they not spoken since then?
They walked on out of the station, the Arcanine leading ahead. The hotel was a few blocks away, Runa said. This was central Saffron; the sprawl was mostly flat, but the towers here were quite as tall as Goldenrod, only had more space between them. But all that he hardly saw now: as he was blind to nature and landscape, so none of this red city mattered next to Runa, and Runa, he saw, felt tied; didn’t touch any of them; thought Manda would judge her as too lenient, too warm, spoiling them with affection.
Her sister looked back more than once. Gaia returned it; he hadn’t the nerve.
Manda said, “It’s good to see your Pokémon.”
Perhaps, he thought, as they crossed the road where all the traffic stopped and, he was sure, half the drivers would miss their signal, leaning to look—perhaps Manda said something very personal; attacked Runa’s philosophy, her view of Pokémon; said they were good for battling and that was it. That would explain the things she said about her family. What sort of life did a champion’s Pokémon have? They always seemed so grave on the screens, the Charizard and Golduck and Raichu behind her, not to mention this Arcanine who never looked once back at them, never smiled—they had no pleasure at all. This was the style of training, Runa said, that ruined Pokémon! This was the method she wanted to end. And yet they followed, he felt, out on a great limb; for wasn’t the point of coming out of Johto to this strange city that they meant to persuade Runa to change, to harden her battlers, whereas for him …
“We’re picking up your psychic at Silph Headquarters, aren’t we?” Manda said.
Runa said, “Yes, he’s coming through Bill. We can go there next.”
“Good,” Manda said. “Mother and Father arrived in Celadon a few hours ago.”
Oh! It was a confirmation, he felt, that everything was falling to pieces: Torus was to protect her, to report, perhaps, and to whom? but had a part in it somehow. How forced was it all? He would be apart from Runa for the first time. Did they threaten to cut her funding, her inheritance if she didn’t meet them? But Runa called it an opportunity, something good to come of meeting; just a day, she said, in Saffron City; they would make new friends and have a time.
“It’s lucky we happened to be near Goldenrod,” Runa said, looking back; Don’t worry, she seemed to say. “You know we don’t have a set plan.”
Manda said, “They don’t expect one. They just want to see you. It’s been over a year.”
Runa waited a moment and said, “I didn’t notice.”
Dyna gave some sort of snort; but that wasn’t right, he thought, when Runa was being rude! For wasn’t it rude to say about family? It must have been very unjust, what they did, simply horrible to Runa—all because she turned away from the family’s traditions, for what else could it be? She took wild Pokémon; refused to command them; spoiled them rotten, in Manda’s view. Perhaps—and this was something he could not believe, but seeing now, with Manda—perhaps Runa had other Pokémon, a whole team in Hoenn; and as her family saw she meant to raise them differently, out of the style, they took them away. To think of stealing Runa’s Pokémon! he thought. Was that why she wanted them to stay behind? Was there a chance that, going with her, they may be taken as well? or was that in fact the condition, to stay under guard for judgement? (He moved closer and brushed her accidentally; Runa looked but didn’t give her hand.) They couldn’t possibly: they belonged to Runa by the law. But they would be apart for one day … and the Pondelores were very strong in Kanto. (But he was absurd—it wasn’t true.)
Manda said, “Your Pokémon are well evolved. You must be spending a lot of time in training. Are you entering the Silver Conference?”
Runa said, “I … They’re fine. Everyone’s training at their own pace. We haven’t decided if we’ll enter the tournament.” The Arcanine looked aside at her.
This was the hotel, he thought, just past the corner. It was forty floors high at least, a great wooden front extending out over red paths—in rain, people would step out of long vehicles right into shelter, he supposed. But from the dramas in the Corner, if he recalled correctly, even for Saffron this must be extravagant; the other two hotels they passed were stone and glass, tall but flush against the street, not with its own kept garden, here in the most expensive part of the city. (Still, there was a Meowth in the bushes, near the ramp to the underground garage.)
“One moment, Nero,” Manda said, and the Arcanine stopped at the entrance. “Runa—”
And this was to issue her attack, he thought, as she held back all the time: this was where she said it was amusing to see her untempered Pokémon, but now she must be serious, for Mother, for Father, ought to quit now and reform. And they would make it easy (such rots, all of them): she needn’t see their plaintive look, only agree in private and leave it all to them, releasing them into the wilds. Did they think they would get away with it? Didn’t they know how Runa felt? For she touched Gaia and looked back to the street where a passing couple stopped to recognise what anyone would think a pair of perfect trainers—one who loved her Pokémon more than anything, and whose Pokémon loved her, and one the Indigo Champion.
Manda said, “I’m impressed is all.”
(And didn’t Runa tell them, he thought, following Gaia through the door, not to worry?)
[scene continues in next part]
Category Music / Pokemon
Species Pokemon
Size 94 x 120px
File Size 8.02 MB
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