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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.
<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>
Thumbnail art by kenket, used with permission
Thanks for reading!
But this was the difference, he thought, looking over the lobby, between old and new cities! Surely this sort of natural opulence, it seemed—Saffron being not a void of nature, but its nature rather being this—was unusual by any standard: only stepping off a late-autumn street to find tropical Hoenn plants in a lobby, all red wood and gold fittings, glass and white squares, like what they saw of Saffron itself: the roofs, the haze about the station, the smell of clean rubber, and of running water somewhere nearby (so he felt it), all rejoined in a space where passing over the glass covering of the stream (a stream inside a building!) the floor was so sprawling, so open—how did it all hold up with just a few pillars?—they might fit a camp in the middle and hardly bother anyone, might spot wilders (hoteliers?) living in the foliage who never needed to leave. This was grand human work, he thought; this Rita understood, the only other one who did, taking a real notice of things for the first time since her evolution, while Dyna only zeroed in on an Aguav bush in the nearest brush, and Tanwen folded her arms as if she didn’t think anything. Manda looked and the attendant at the desk bowed, began to make a call—only had to walk in, he thought, and things moved for the Pondelores, or was that for being champion? But no wonder Runa preferred camping! A Pokémon could spoil quickly in this.
Now Runa looked, and beamed at them as if she saw something she hadn’t realised she expected. She rushed ahead; at the side, through a wood lattice covered in ivy, he saw a flame … And there was Manda’s Charizard, waiting to meet them.
But his arms were folded; he looked severely at Runa. Oh, he thought—weren’t they old friends? Was he different from what she remembered? Too much time had passed between them; did being champion make one hard, above the need for old friends?
Runa spread her arms and said, “Well, you’re shorter than I remember, Polo.”
And now the Charizard broke his façade, rather couldn’t keep from grinning; lifted Runa under the arms and spun her round, held for far too long a moment and leaned down—six feet tall at least—to press the top of his head against her. And they knew she had a history with other Pokémon, grew up with Manda’s team, who knew her as they never could, so many years their senior in friendship—so why, he thought, why should he suddenly feel like shards of ice were sticking in his throat? It was right that other Pokémon were fond of her; it was only fair judgement, purer really than his; it didn’t change that he wanted to tip a jug over this Charizard’s tail, if he had to watch Runa hanging on his arm and smiling, laughing—kissing his jaw!
“[I don’t like him,]” he said, moving behind Gaia.
“[You’re a nut,]” she said. “[Why not? She’s known him forever.]”
True enough he hatched just a year after Runa, since before she had any memory, and so was always there. As Manda trained the rest of her team, Runa and Apollo the Charmander, the Charmeleon, the Charizard played and bonded. Then perhaps that was the thing between them, he thought: that he, seeing Runa for all her true qualities and lacking any compulsion to order, became a greater friend to her than to his own trainer. Then could a timid Dragonair who, with Runa for only eight months, even pretend to understand her when the great bulk of her life was a mystery, and there were old friends in her memory like this—the number-two Charizard in the world, after Red’s—to make such latter-day companions as him seem ridiculous?
Manda didn’t look at her; she turned to them and said, “Everyone—this is Apollo. He’ll be your chaperon till tomorrow evening. In fact, they’ve come a long way, and they set off early this morning. Why don’t you show them up, and Runa and I will be off?”
“[Stop worrying so much,]” Gaia said. “[Look, this bed is big enough for a Snorlax. Why don’t you lie out and so will I?]”
How they could sleep when Runa was gone, in a whole other city, he didn’t know. Tanwen took the lounge bed, Dyna the couch, Rita the armchair, and now Gaia pulled him to the bedroom and told him not to fret, that she would smother him in pillows if he didn’t calm. (He blurted out his worry that perhaps Runa had a team before, and she said he was silly; but, she said, if it worried him they’d get the truth from Manda’s Pokémon.) So he lay, she the other side, in Runa’s empty bed.
Didn’t they care for her? he thought; or was this only what others felt, those who lacked his sickness, that Runa may be miles away and it didn’t affect them? It was nearly black out. The days set later in the west, said the programme; there was probably still a little light in Celadon. Suppose he fell asleep before Runa?
Gaia turned under the blanket, let her feathers flip out, and laid her head on the pillow. “[Sleep,]” she said, “[do.]”
There was no point in getting under if he would only break into a sick sweat. This was larger than any room they ever had, here at the top of the tower. Did Runa know? She treated them, of course, but she didn’t want them to spoil. The bed’s mattress was that special sort of foam that moulded to fit a shape pressing into it; which, he thought, didn’t work with Dragonair, being made of light or whatever lighter substance that made them weigh so little. Even Dragonite were too light for their size: that was how they could fly with such little wings. Really they ought to be over twice as heavy—a Steelix too. Plenty of Pokémon were like that, he thought, turning over: lighter than they ought. And there were humans as tall as a Charizard who weighed more, even though they looked smaller, and yet a Charizard could lift and spin a human easily even with those little arms.
Evolution hadn’t helped a bit. It was ten times worse now, ten times harder to bear. All those Pokémon, he saw, who could fondly touch a human’s face, cry out some simple exclamation unaffected! What did a Dratini know about warmth? Back then he only wanted to please her, to make proud, to be held and wanted. If she looked it was only a little flush. Now these waves of craving fantasy came any time and without the least notice. Just to be in a room with her was intolerable. She only had to flip her hair and then, so he imagined, all the rest vanished. Won’t you come? she’d say. She would be perfectly willing; she would place both hands on his face; she would wrap his spike in cloth. She would kiss his cheek, his nose, until all sensation boiled away, and wrapping her arms around him … But the pillows were a poor representation. He pushed them away, laid the last over his head.
The refrigerator had noodles, rice balls, some packets he took to be vegetable wraps, sauces, and several juices, none of them aprijuice.
The fruit basket had apples, bananas, lemons, oranges, pitayas, a bag of miniature limes, and a cultured watmel.
The berry basket had lums, leppas, pechas, razzes, aguavs, liechis, and a lansat in a tied mesh bag.
Runa said that wines and spirits were never good for a Pokémon.
It was to defile her, he thought, to even think such things: that could not be love, to imagine Runa overwritten, all her character turned into something dependent, wanting nothing but to be his and all the rest forgotten. That scene on the train—terrible! Torus would have thrashed him, tied him up with telekinesis. How did he tolerate it? He was quite aware one moment, quite controlled; and then he was out of a daze, out from staring into space, Dyna calling him disgusting—drooling over some fantasy of cake, she said.
“[Euh? What? Shadow?]”
“[I said, Do you think Runa misses us?]”
“[What kind of … ? Go to bed, you gump.]”
“[But what if they don’t want her to come back? What if they try and stop her? What if they give her better Pokémon?]”
“[D’you hit your head and get confused? Runa loves us, you know? She’s back tomorrow. Go sleep with Gaia.]”
“[But, but what if—]”
“[Get faint. Ask Tan if you need help.]”
He ought to be locked up again, thrown away in a ball. More than once he nearly did something, moved to nuzzle or rub her, something outrageous she could not possibly mistake, and at a mere look—a look and a smile! What ought to matter least, a glance, a stroke, seemed to overwhelm him, her character becoming secondary. Yet what was anyone if not their character? To crave only skin was base and wanting. Runa acted to help others get their wants: that was putting others ahead. If he really loved her he would do the same. She deserved so much better than him … Her family was right to want him away.
Gaia said he would be too tired to catch breakfast if he didn’t sleep, and she pulled him under to stop his turning, laid her head on his body to keep him still, fell right asleep. If anyone deserved Runa, he thought, it was Gaia, always so relaxed and controlled and focused. He laid his head on the pillow. Perhaps as a Dragonite he would get a control, a focus. That was their ability, they said: an inner focus. He wouldn’t flinch from protecting Runa, then, from keeping guard. He only had to last so long. The sky was starting to turn blue.
But I feel a warmth for you, Runa said: she kissed his neck and flew away. Fire was her favourite type: she had Tan and Reet and Polo. Unless he was the world’s number-two Dragonite she couldn’t properly love him. He followed after her tail; wherever he turned it blinded him. So she felt warmly for him; but if she ever touched before he learned to control himself his waters would snuff it. Won’t you stop? she said. But he could not: a wind was behind him and he couldn’t stop creating waves, seemed to press faster forward on them as if on a surf, as if through him the water propelled itself faster, and it began to swallow him, and he was losing his grip, and now it was about to touch her tail.
This is why I surf with Gaia, she said.
[chapter 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
Thanks for reading!
—Level 35 [continued]But this was the difference, he thought, looking over the lobby, between old and new cities! Surely this sort of natural opulence, it seemed—Saffron being not a void of nature, but its nature rather being this—was unusual by any standard: only stepping off a late-autumn street to find tropical Hoenn plants in a lobby, all red wood and gold fittings, glass and white squares, like what they saw of Saffron itself: the roofs, the haze about the station, the smell of clean rubber, and of running water somewhere nearby (so he felt it), all rejoined in a space where passing over the glass covering of the stream (a stream inside a building!) the floor was so sprawling, so open—how did it all hold up with just a few pillars?—they might fit a camp in the middle and hardly bother anyone, might spot wilders (hoteliers?) living in the foliage who never needed to leave. This was grand human work, he thought; this Rita understood, the only other one who did, taking a real notice of things for the first time since her evolution, while Dyna only zeroed in on an Aguav bush in the nearest brush, and Tanwen folded her arms as if she didn’t think anything. Manda looked and the attendant at the desk bowed, began to make a call—only had to walk in, he thought, and things moved for the Pondelores, or was that for being champion? But no wonder Runa preferred camping! A Pokémon could spoil quickly in this.
Now Runa looked, and beamed at them as if she saw something she hadn’t realised she expected. She rushed ahead; at the side, through a wood lattice covered in ivy, he saw a flame … And there was Manda’s Charizard, waiting to meet them.
But his arms were folded; he looked severely at Runa. Oh, he thought—weren’t they old friends? Was he different from what she remembered? Too much time had passed between them; did being champion make one hard, above the need for old friends?
Runa spread her arms and said, “Well, you’re shorter than I remember, Polo.”
And now the Charizard broke his façade, rather couldn’t keep from grinning; lifted Runa under the arms and spun her round, held for far too long a moment and leaned down—six feet tall at least—to press the top of his head against her. And they knew she had a history with other Pokémon, grew up with Manda’s team, who knew her as they never could, so many years their senior in friendship—so why, he thought, why should he suddenly feel like shards of ice were sticking in his throat? It was right that other Pokémon were fond of her; it was only fair judgement, purer really than his; it didn’t change that he wanted to tip a jug over this Charizard’s tail, if he had to watch Runa hanging on his arm and smiling, laughing—kissing his jaw!
“[I don’t like him,]” he said, moving behind Gaia.
“[You’re a nut,]” she said. “[Why not? She’s known him forever.]”
True enough he hatched just a year after Runa, since before she had any memory, and so was always there. As Manda trained the rest of her team, Runa and Apollo the Charmander, the Charmeleon, the Charizard played and bonded. Then perhaps that was the thing between them, he thought: that he, seeing Runa for all her true qualities and lacking any compulsion to order, became a greater friend to her than to his own trainer. Then could a timid Dragonair who, with Runa for only eight months, even pretend to understand her when the great bulk of her life was a mystery, and there were old friends in her memory like this—the number-two Charizard in the world, after Red’s—to make such latter-day companions as him seem ridiculous?
Manda didn’t look at her; she turned to them and said, “Everyone—this is Apollo. He’ll be your chaperon till tomorrow evening. In fact, they’ve come a long way, and they set off early this morning. Why don’t you show them up, and Runa and I will be off?”
—“[Stop worrying so much,]” Gaia said. “[Look, this bed is big enough for a Snorlax. Why don’t you lie out and so will I?]”
How they could sleep when Runa was gone, in a whole other city, he didn’t know. Tanwen took the lounge bed, Dyna the couch, Rita the armchair, and now Gaia pulled him to the bedroom and told him not to fret, that she would smother him in pillows if he didn’t calm. (He blurted out his worry that perhaps Runa had a team before, and she said he was silly; but, she said, if it worried him they’d get the truth from Manda’s Pokémon.) So he lay, she the other side, in Runa’s empty bed.
Didn’t they care for her? he thought; or was this only what others felt, those who lacked his sickness, that Runa may be miles away and it didn’t affect them? It was nearly black out. The days set later in the west, said the programme; there was probably still a little light in Celadon. Suppose he fell asleep before Runa?
Gaia turned under the blanket, let her feathers flip out, and laid her head on the pillow. “[Sleep,]” she said, “[do.]”
There was no point in getting under if he would only break into a sick sweat. This was larger than any room they ever had, here at the top of the tower. Did Runa know? She treated them, of course, but she didn’t want them to spoil. The bed’s mattress was that special sort of foam that moulded to fit a shape pressing into it; which, he thought, didn’t work with Dragonair, being made of light or whatever lighter substance that made them weigh so little. Even Dragonite were too light for their size: that was how they could fly with such little wings. Really they ought to be over twice as heavy—a Steelix too. Plenty of Pokémon were like that, he thought, turning over: lighter than they ought. And there were humans as tall as a Charizard who weighed more, even though they looked smaller, and yet a Charizard could lift and spin a human easily even with those little arms.
—Evolution hadn’t helped a bit. It was ten times worse now, ten times harder to bear. All those Pokémon, he saw, who could fondly touch a human’s face, cry out some simple exclamation unaffected! What did a Dratini know about warmth? Back then he only wanted to please her, to make proud, to be held and wanted. If she looked it was only a little flush. Now these waves of craving fantasy came any time and without the least notice. Just to be in a room with her was intolerable. She only had to flip her hair and then, so he imagined, all the rest vanished. Won’t you come? she’d say. She would be perfectly willing; she would place both hands on his face; she would wrap his spike in cloth. She would kiss his cheek, his nose, until all sensation boiled away, and wrapping her arms around him … But the pillows were a poor representation. He pushed them away, laid the last over his head.
—The refrigerator had noodles, rice balls, some packets he took to be vegetable wraps, sauces, and several juices, none of them aprijuice.
The fruit basket had apples, bananas, lemons, oranges, pitayas, a bag of miniature limes, and a cultured watmel.
The berry basket had lums, leppas, pechas, razzes, aguavs, liechis, and a lansat in a tied mesh bag.
Runa said that wines and spirits were never good for a Pokémon.
—It was to defile her, he thought, to even think such things: that could not be love, to imagine Runa overwritten, all her character turned into something dependent, wanting nothing but to be his and all the rest forgotten. That scene on the train—terrible! Torus would have thrashed him, tied him up with telekinesis. How did he tolerate it? He was quite aware one moment, quite controlled; and then he was out of a daze, out from staring into space, Dyna calling him disgusting—drooling over some fantasy of cake, she said.
—“[Euh? What? Shadow?]”
“[I said, Do you think Runa misses us?]”
“[What kind of … ? Go to bed, you gump.]”
“[But what if they don’t want her to come back? What if they try and stop her? What if they give her better Pokémon?]”
“[D’you hit your head and get confused? Runa loves us, you know? She’s back tomorrow. Go sleep with Gaia.]”
“[But, but what if—]”
“[Get faint. Ask Tan if you need help.]”
—He ought to be locked up again, thrown away in a ball. More than once he nearly did something, moved to nuzzle or rub her, something outrageous she could not possibly mistake, and at a mere look—a look and a smile! What ought to matter least, a glance, a stroke, seemed to overwhelm him, her character becoming secondary. Yet what was anyone if not their character? To crave only skin was base and wanting. Runa acted to help others get their wants: that was putting others ahead. If he really loved her he would do the same. She deserved so much better than him … Her family was right to want him away.
Gaia said he would be too tired to catch breakfast if he didn’t sleep, and she pulled him under to stop his turning, laid her head on his body to keep him still, fell right asleep. If anyone deserved Runa, he thought, it was Gaia, always so relaxed and controlled and focused. He laid his head on the pillow. Perhaps as a Dragonite he would get a control, a focus. That was their ability, they said: an inner focus. He wouldn’t flinch from protecting Runa, then, from keeping guard. He only had to last so long. The sky was starting to turn blue.
—But I feel a warmth for you, Runa said: she kissed his neck and flew away. Fire was her favourite type: she had Tan and Reet and Polo. Unless he was the world’s number-two Dragonite she couldn’t properly love him. He followed after her tail; wherever he turned it blinded him. So she felt warmly for him; but if she ever touched before he learned to control himself his waters would snuff it. Won’t you stop? she said. But he could not: a wind was behind him and he couldn’t stop creating waves, seemed to press faster forward on them as if on a surf, as if through him the water propelled itself faster, and it began to swallow him, and he was losing his grip, and now it was about to touch her tail.
This is why I surf with Gaia, she said.
[chapter continues in next part]
Category Music / Pokemon
Species Pokemon
Size 94 x 120px
File Size 6.13 MB
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