How Mr Met the Fallen God

"It t'was a beaut-fill morn' in Route 121 of Hoenn, the Daisies pretty, the water Pretty, even the word pretty was exceptionally Pretty!" The Mr droned on, and as his memory warmed up, the images of that day were recalled. It was the break of dawn, the perfect time to go Duskull hunting, so net in hand, Mr lurked in the shadows of the various ledges that found their home in the route, watching human and pokemon pass by in a silent, predatory mood. At the aforementioned state of time, Mr had never gotten the chance to be a pokemon trainer, and thus he waited without the aid bright white and red balls brought, not that he was bothered by that fact. He was so at ease that upon the moment a Duskull made itself present, Mr hatefully whacked the poor ghoul with his net(uncaring for the repercussions of irking a ghost type). Surprised, the poor creature almost instantly phased out of the nets grasp, before scampering away, wise enough to know that pokemon trainers were far too dangerous to mess with….not that Mr was a trainer at the time. None-the-less, the Duskskull started a repetitious cycle of failed attempts which soon led to the summoning of Officer Jenny(whom had been alerted of the events by a concerned trainer.)


It didn’t take the attractive officer long to find Mr enacting his machinations, practically catching him red-handed. The swift blow of her whistle scared away the Duskull which would’ve suffered a blow from the net, catching Mr off-guard with his net raised, and spooking the Linoone who would’ve pounced Mr out of irritation if not for Jenny. The obscured face of Mr slowly turned to look at the Officer, his arms still raised, ready to swing down. “Vat do you want? I don’t take pictures.” He didn’t snap at the woman, but his tone wasn’t that of a pleased individual. Taking a drag of her cigarette, Officer Jenny glanced over the scene cautiously, tossing the remaining bud off to her side and stomping it out once she had gotten to the bottom of things.


“Sir, I’m going to have to ask if you have a Trainers license and your ID, and even then, Im going to have to ask you stop abusing these pokemon.” She watched him expectantly, already certain that he possessed no license, and some form of medical illness on his ID in question. Unwavered by this act, Mr took out the papers in question; showing them to the soon-to-be flabbergasted Jenny. Not only was his identification picture perfect, but he had somehow managed to nab himself a Trainer’s License….without any pokemon none-the-less, but still, a license. “Will this taste your hunger? You power thirsting mongrel.” Mr spat out contempt drenched words, eyeing the Officer, brows flurried from behind the aviators.  “Yes….it will……however, I can’t allow you to continue abusing Pokemon like this, you’re going to have to stop….this…..if you want, you can continue your hunt at the Safari Zone! Heck, some people have found Duskull there as well, you never know!”


Mr considered Jenny’s words carefully; lowering his net till the rope kissed the knee-high grass, and nodding slowly, the Mr came to an internal consensus. “Very well, I shall continue my hunt in this “Zone” of yours, may you lead the way?” He kicked up the net to his shoulder, its shaft bumping up against the aforementioned joint, halting to a rest. The Officer shuddered, despite his apparent innocence, Mr certainly was a strange individual, and those folk never brought her a good day, exceptional care was going to have to be given to the Zone in half an hour or so, she could feel it. “Yeah, sure! Follow me sir, I’m Officer Jenny by the way! What should I call you?”


“I’m Ash Mustard.” The Mr replied, short yet succulent. Thinking this to be him messing with her(after all, she had seen his ID), The Officer continued on her way, Mr playing the role of her shadow. The duo soon found their way over to Jenny’s Jeep, and it wasn’t long before she had dropped him off at the gates of the Zone. Giving Mr the obligatory smile and wave as he entered the reception, net at her side(as she had somehow managed to pull the thing from his possession without much of a hassle). Waiting until he was completely out of sight, Officer drove off to restock on cigarettes, never one to run out.


After the general lowdown of the safari’s facilities, Mr soon found himself roaming about the premise, toolbox in hand, and balls clipped to belt. Adventure was in the air!(along with the pervasive scent of shit) Marching off into the bramble, Mr began his search for the illusive Duskull, more than ready to go over the allotted time if need be, and over he went. The next hour was pack full of exciting variants of pokemon that filled every color of the rainbow, exotic species of plant-life one would rarely find elsewhere, fight-hungry Pokemon trainers(whom were disappointed by Mr’s lack of any Pokemon), and the occasional encounter with the Officer herself(who was pleased to see Mr sticking to the rules). Despite all of this, Mr was incapable of finding his prized Duskull, and that wonderful hour suddenly lost almost all value in the eyes of Mr . In his desperate attempt to find the evidently rarer pokemon,  Mr strayed off the beaten path and soon found himself deep within the Safari Zone. With his supplies drawing low, and the Pokemon growing ballsy,  Mr’s classic “luck” began to draw thin; that is, until the sound of a Jeep cut through the din.


Hidden within the bush, Mr listened as the sound rustled by, following the source of the distant and alien sound with his mind. Deciding it best not to leave mind and body disembodied, he followed his curiosity, and 13 minutes later Mr found an actual dirt road, with actual dirt tracks to boot. Flipping a coin to decide where the fresh tracks came from, and where they went, the tail end soon decided that the wisest course of action lay in the Right path, and right went Mr.

Evidently, right was the right path, as Mr soon found  an abandoned jet black Jeep, parked at the roadside. A small trail of crushed shrubbery indicated that two people were the passenger and driver of this vehicle, and whilst this jeep might have simply indicated an innocent Pee-break, the enormous pile of Pokeballs(Red and white within an open chest strapped to the back of the trunk) indicated otherwise. Poking the treasure trove of look curiously, Mr turned to look back at the path that lay ahead, making sure that no-one was there. Once he was certain, he returned to the balls, proceeding to check the contents of each via releasing the pokemon, sealing them back in, and repeating. Going at it for quite some time, Mr found a much wider variety among the chest pokemon that he found within then he did during his time at the safari, a Honhedge being the most noticeable of them all. Despite this, there was no Duskull.


Mr was beginning to grow bored of the procedure by the time he had returned the 3rd Torchic to its ball, and its ball to the chest. Sniffing at the putrid aroma that still hung about like a wet sock, his serenity was quickly interrupted by the sound of boot against brush. Mr’s mind jolted to the boots, and as his body attempted to catch up, he found himself facing a stun gun, a stun gun aimed directly at his chest,  and on the Chest of the aimer, a giant, red, “R”.


The shock was painful.

The voltage was exceptionally high, not enough to kill, but certainly enough to knock someone out, and that is what it did to Mr. He was barely conscious upon awakening, the sounds of high suspension wheel bouncing against unkempt road attempting to lull him back to sleep, the rhythm strangely harmonic. Deciding against tumbling back to the realm of dreams, Mr forced himself to open up to the light, the pain of puncture wound aiding him in this task. Wrists and ankles bound together in cloth so that both were behind his back. Scrunched up in a human ball, Mr soon realized that his back was to very chest he was browsing moments prior, as his hands could feel the familiar texture.


Looking up to the driver’s seat, he saw two uniformed individuals, completely shrouded by black; Mr could only assume that they were affiliated with some mischievous gang of sorts. Gleeful at the prospect that the two would not hear him(no thanks to the bumpy ride, providing a loud and constant din, along with a prerequisite of complete concentration on the road ahead, granted, Mr couldn’t predict the passenger’s actions, but he could only hope the fellow did not look back). Invigorated by this glee, Mr felt out the ridges of the chest, and soon found a nail that jutted out an exceptional distance. Using this nail to slowly cut down the cloth bindings on his wrist, they were soon reduced down to shreds, the bindings on his ankles befalling the same fate.  Making it a policy to stick to the ground, Mr scanned the flooring of the trunk, looking for a tool of his escape. He found this tool in the form of a Stray Pokeball, red and white just like the others.


Reaching over to the ball as covertly as he could, he snatched it from its solitary perch, looking back up to the two cautiously; they didn’t notice a thing, good. Looking back to the chest, he unbuckled it from its restraints ever so slowly, and when it was perfectly free, he pushed the chest over the edge of the Trunk, and out the chest went. The loud thud of lock and lid breaking only beaten by the pervasive screech of breaks to tire, followed by the opening of multiple pokeballs, and the crys of cheerful and free pokemon(also the “karp” ‘s of some magikarp). “WHAT TH-HE’S GOT OUT!” The jeep skidded to a stop, and the two individuals turned about to look at the disturbance. Revealing themselves to be surprised, and Rocket Grunts, the newfound grunts sneered at Mr, whom they suspected of being the cause of this madness.


The Stun gun grunt reached over to his stun gun, but Mr wouldn’t have any of that, pressing the release button on his ball, he promptly threw aforementioned trinket the moment its red beam had finished leaving, aiming directly at the face of Stun-gun Grunt. The ball rang true, and with a deft crack, stun-gun rocket was blasting off into the dreamland himself. The remaining grunt moved to grab at his own gun, and wouldn’t notice what else Mr had up his sleeve. The red beam of light died out to reveal a red-eyed Aron, and as Aron accommodated itself its awakening, Mr thought on his toes. Grabbing at the little thing, Mr aimed the now thrashing Aron at Grunt #2, and his throw let loose.


The enraged Aron, happy to take out its rage (whether or not the target deserved it) on an unsuspecting target. Mr’s perfect aim guiding it directly to the Grunts face, where it latched onto the man, whom desperately tried to yank it off, and sure, he did, but not before it spat out a ball of poisonous gunk. The man, now crying out in pain, flopped about the seat, before promptly getting sat on by Mr. “Kids these days……always eating junk food….” He mused to himself, waiting until the grunt fell unconscious, before wiping the rest of the murk off with the Grunts own hand.


The red eyed Aron snorted at the two unconscious Rocket grunts before turning its snout Mr’s way. Ready to leap at the Duskull hunter and give him the very same treatment it had given to #2, its body tensed up. Making note of this, Mr grabbed at the Red-eyed Aron, lifting it in the air and turning it about as so it couldn’t spit directly in his face. Not liking this one bit, Red eyed Aron returned to its prior state of thrashing, screeching profanity after profanity in whatever language Pokemon spoke. Unaware of the meaning behind the words, Mr swayed his hand to and froth, watching the Aron to see if it could calm down. He was wrong in assuming so, and the critter’s rage only grew exponentially. So much so that it broke free of Mr’s grip, landing almost directly on top of the ball it came on, breaking it.


Just as surprised at the turn of events as Mr, the red eyed Aron took advantage of its newfound freedom, leaping onto the passenger seat, and then the dirt path, turning about to give Mr an angry glare, its pride tarnished. Hopping out of the Jeep himself, Mr followed the Aron, whom scrambled its way past the crowd of freed Pokemon, and up a tree, nestling on a branch. From there, the Red eyed Aron watched the scene below, and the congregation of freed pokemon milled about. Some of the good Samaritans of the water types going out of their way to provide water for the gills any Magikarp caught out of their element, taking turns at the task. A majority of the pokemon at the scene chattered amongst their own, save for the few observers in their Ranks, a Honhedge and Riolu being those observers.


Walking up to the tree, Mr looked up at the Aron, the 2 grunts already far away from the center of his mind, this Aron provided a much more interesting center of focus. “And what have you to hide from?”  The red eyed Aron spat at Mr, a purple glob not much unlike that which was once clinging to #2 face. Mr sidestepped this blast, sighing. “Your stubbornness it admirable, really, but I had intended on letting you live free-range until you treated me so disrespectably…….alas……now I must make you mine. Turning heel as so he could walk towards the party of pokemon, Mr filled through their ranks briefly, before finding what he wanted, the Honhedge. Picking up the blade pokemon, he was met with little to no resistance, the Pokemon in question curious to see what would happen next. Thankful for this, Mr patted the blade. “Thank you Hungry sword…..thank you…..” He approached the Tree, positioning himself so that the Aron had to hop off the tree in order to spit at him. Curious, the Aron let out an indignant [b] “RON” [/b]. This “Ron” was shortly followed by the swing of a blade, and the chop of a tree.

Listening to the creature rant [b] “RON” [/b] after [b] “RON” [/b] in feverous anger, the Mr did not utter a word, nor did the Honhedge, who was enjoying the chance to be swung. A few minutes later, and a tree was falling, Aron in response climbed up another tree, and Mr cut that one down. Hours passed, and the cycle repeated on and on, the now free pokemon either branching away to do their own thing, or watch the madness that was this deforestation. Eventually Aron found itself surrounded by fallen trees, standing on the last one perking upright for a decent amount of space. Thus, Mr caught his pokemon, The Fallen god.

“YES, That is the story of how I caught the Fallen god!~ “ Mr nodded enthusiastically towards the Knitter, whom was unsure whether or not she should believe this story or not. Looking down to the drunken Aron, “Smear?” the slight raise of her brow. “Ro*hic*on.” The Fallen god confirmed, before continuing his rolling. The Knitter returned to the upper portions of the table, looking to her new owner. “Now, how about you tell us abit about yo-OOO~ FOOD!” Mr cut himself off, as the waitress had finally came with the orders, and just like that, The Story of the Fallen god was banished from the Knitters mind, for there was food  eat.