Junk Ch. 1

As ordained and commanded by Arceus, the sun would rise for another day upon the Pokemon world. Sunflora opened their faces to greet the sun and its nourishing rays, whilst Hoothoot hid within trees to await for the painful, shining glares to go away. Such behaviors continued for many, many generations, and were intended to last forever.
It is thus unknown if Arceus intended for Humans to become the dominant race upon the planet, but they did. The forests were felled, and massive metal dwellings erected in their stead. The Pokemon found themselves either forced to adapt to Humans, or go extinct. Many did, others prospered, and still others clung on barely.
The Pokemon World of today is a Human world, yet it is not entirely of Human interests. It is, more often than not, the Humans who bridge the gap between Pokemon. Some utilize Pokemon to help with daily life, and others help them to breed and replenish their species numbers. Some simply enjoy their company, and others train them up to be stronger and battle others in competitive sport. Of this last path taken, shall be the primary focus of the story forthcoming.

The diverse Baranga Region is moderately known, but spoken of only in hushed whispers. It is a land of Pokemon utopia, virtually undisturbed by the ravages of the modern world, a hermit kingdom of reclusive individuals who live amongst nature rather than try to control it. Few had stepped foot upon the continent, fewer still had exited the port open to visitors.
For the people of Baranga, the world has lost sight of what it once was, and so it has closed itself off from that world forever.  At least up until three months ago, when an announcement was made. The Baranga region proclaimed a challenge to Pokemon trainers the world over, to see the true merits of the so called ‘bond’ between trainer and Pokemon.
The Baranga Run as it was called, was much like any other circuit in other regions, with the added bonus of being in a region completely new to the outside world. The rules were simple to follow. You may only bring one Pokemon with you, and it may not be evolved. There will be numerous checkpoints along the way, and those who are unable to reach these checkpoints fast enough are disqualified. Lastly, the health of one and one’s team is above all. Those deemed too injured to continue must withdraw, lest they tempt fate to turn a bad hand in their direction.

It is within the nature of the Pokemon Trainer to answer the call to a challenge, be it impossible or not, and thus thousands came. Each came for different reasons, be it glory, the experience, or simple fun. For the life of a Pokemon Trainer is that of invitations to aspirations, to ignore it would be tantamount to impossible. By boat, plane, and Pokemon they came.
Droves upon droves of trainers arrived in the old port of Ombazza Town, and socialized in their standard way. The locals scoffed at them, and remained only mildly helpful yet critical of those trainers ‘not in touch’ as they so put in, a statement which happened to refer to most of them.
Thus they congregated, grew, and awaited the challenge. As the weeks dragged on into months, some notable ones appeared. Not notable for skill, but for a gift which they possess. Each one of these trainers could understand the language of Pokemon. It is a rare skill indeed, for Humans are typically deaf to the Pokemon language. Yet, every so often, a Human is born with this talent to hear the voices of those often not heard. Inevitably, some were drawn to Baranga, each to go through their own trial, turmoil, and traversing of the expansive adventure ahead of them.

This is that story.
Chapter 1: Arrival

68 Days before the Baranga Run

Toby looked down at the simple map which had been given to him, and then looked up again at Ombazza Town. The pamphlet shown to him depicted stacked, marble buildings, with shining rays of sunlight dancing down on a town filled to the brim with Humans and Pokemon living in harmony.
As of current, the marble town displayed was faded, and worn, yet still displayed a fair portion of majesty to an optimist. Instead of sunshine, a dark grey morass of clouds had begun to billow up above the village. His Growlithe stared wearily at the storm above. It disagreed with the rain, as it made the production of inner fire rather difficult. Toby stepped, antsy, and looked around once more. Very few people were outside right now, and none of them looked like a trainer. The lack of action got to him quite quickly.

“Agh! Boring! I thought we’d be surrounded by enemies by this point.” Impatient, Toby was a young person of only 12, on the cusp of puberty. His 13th birthday happened to fall just on the day the tournament started. Being the best trainer back in the small town of Beech Village in Johto, Toby had practiced with his Growlithe for the past two years upon the local fauna of Hoothoot and Rattata, becoming the self-appointed “protector” of the village.
“I think we’re early” added Growlithe. A sensible Pokemon for its species, it served as the logos to Toby’s pathos, the chocolate to his peanut butter. He was also nervous. Toby had never dueled against another trainer before, and it took more than fending off wild vermin to match one for an unknown difficulty and potentially quite dangerous circuit. To say that Toby was in for a difficult time would be an understatement, the entire journey would not only be uphill, but perhaps vertically so.

“You are the first to arrive, as a matter of fact” a far older and softer voice replied. As both boy and Pokemon turned, a craned over old man approached. His hair was a soft black, having darkened over the years, and his face was a collection of sagging skin and tired eyelids. “Give it a month, and this town will be completely overrun with trainers such as yourself.” He gave Toby another look. “Perhaps a fair bit older.”
This made Toby cross, his age was a sensitive subject for him.
“Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I’m weak, gramps! I’ll make you eat those words” Toby boasted, as he held a Pokeball as threatening as one could make it look.

The old man raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he stated rather too smugly for Toby’s likeness. Growlithe looked at Toby, who had that familiar look in his eyes. He desired combat. Growlithe sighed, the boat ride had been eleven hours long and he just wasn’t ready for any form of athletic immersion.
“Hey, come on, let’s find a place to cozy up instead. I’m tired…” he complained. Toby stood flabbergasted. “We’re really gonna walk away from our first trainer battle? Don’t be lazy” he said, scolding his Pokemon.
The old man’s eyebrows nudged upwards in interest. “So, you hear the voices of Pokemon do you?”
“Uh…” stammered Toby.

Shoot. He had forgotten all about it. His gift was very strange indeed. Since he’d been little, he could hear them speak clear as rain, whereas others could not. It was unexplainable, and regardless took lots of explanation to make others understand beyond sheer acceptance and moving on.
Yet the old man smiled and held up a hand. “Fret not, that gift is a trait all of the people of Baranga share.” Then, he turned around, and raised a hand to motion for Toby to follow. “All of them?” Growlithe asked, dumbfounded.
“Every last one.”

As far as the two were aware, their gift was unique to them, and perhaps the rare one in a million others. The trainer and partner looked at each other cautiously, and a singular thought expressed itself in both of their minds. What have we gotten ourselves into?
“Got a Pokemon Center, gramps?”
“A what now?”
___________________________________________________________
61 Days before the Baranga Run

Approximately two months before the competition began, the first boat of trainers arrived, around a hundred total. Dozens and dozens more would arrive in the days to come, but notable amongst this group was another trainer. Her skin was a chocolate moca, tanned in the suns of Alola. Despite her rather short stature, one could see from a glance her personality was larger than life. Her name was Nova, and upon her back was an equally as bouncy Azurill, of whom was currently springing to and fro upon the shoulders of Nova, its tail acting as a stake whilst lassoed around her backpack. Nova inhaled deeply, stretched out her arms, and let out a burst of exhilaration and cheer. “Smell that air? The fresh scent of dew, the tantalizing rays of the sun. Yep, makes you glad to be alive, don’t it?”
The Azurill stopped bouncing long enough to nod in agreement before resuming bouncing.
Nova continued to hold her pose until she stated, “Now what?”

Now that they were here early, with a full two months to explore, prepare, and train, Nova and Azurill had absolutely no idea as to what exactly one should do.

“…Ice Cream?” Azurill suggested.
“Smoothie?” Nova replied.
Both gasped and their mouths went wide with glee, a delightful idea forming in their heads. “Ice Cream and Smoothies!”
So off they went.
“I wonder if they have malasada here?” Nova mumbled to herself.

Life was great.
___________________________________________________________
59 Days before the Baranga Run

“Hundred and one, hundred and two! C’mon, stretch those limbs!” shouted Copper, as she and her Elekid practiced their exercise routine. An individual with energy reserves as Copper may simply explode if forced to sit still for any lengthy period of time. “Shake those glutes like you can’t compute!”
“Energy!”
“Power!”
“Vigor!”
The two were virtually identical, the only difference essentially being species. A life spent in the overwhelming stimulus of Goldenrod City tends to do this to a person. Never slowing down, never stopping, an electric personality to the very core of the definition.
Appearance wise, she was tall, and skinny, with short blond hair, and a wild look in her eyes that told she would never be bored with what the world could offer her.
“Um, ma’m?”
Copper and her Elekid briefly stopped, the Elekid letting out an audible hiss at being interrupted from its workout, and a single spark discharged though its plug shaped horns. “You’ve been here for the past twenty hours.”
“My sleep schedule is out of whack, so I need to tire myself out so I can get to bed. Haven’t slept in… How long is it?” asked Copper, turning to Elekid.
“Two days” said Elekid.

“I ah… Heard that exercise before bed was bad for sleep” said the employee. Copper stood up, stretched, and stopped. “Never heard that one before.”
“Regardless, I am here to inform you that you must leave.” Copper pouted in response to this.
“I think he’s messing with us” growled the Elekid. It hated being told what to do. Much of its battles ended with Copper telling it to “go wild”. It had worked out pretty well so far.
“Well, the reason I came to tell you, is because we close in 5 minutes. Its 11:55.”
“Oh” said the Elekid, her frustration evaporating.

Immediately afterward, Copper fell face first onto the floor, and began to snore.
___________________________________________________________
55 Days before the Baranga Run

“Coo” said Pidgey.
It was not that Jon did not also possess the gift, but rather that his Pidgey had very little to say on the matter beyond ‘Coo’. Perhaps it was a verbal tic, or perhaps it was just a mannerism of expressing thoughts similar to ‘Hmm’.

Jon was, unfortunately, a man of little defining features. If he were to commit a crime he could instantly blend into a crowd, so bog-standard his features were.

He held his map out to Pidgey, and asked him “When was it supposed to start again?”
“Coo”

Jon shrugged and continued his wandering, content to be a minor player in the world. He was aware of how little he stood out, and thus came his plan. By standing out so little he would be ignored, thus achieving victory, as nobody expects the underdog. He’d have to really commit to it though, it wouldn’t work if he was noticed too much or did anything exceptional. His first Pokemon was dull, his name was dull, he was from a dull part of Kanto, and he looked dull too, so he was off to a good start with this in mind.

Now to wait for everyone else to arrive, he had quite a lot of time to kill.
___________________________________________________________
53 Days before the Baranga Run

The Santa Filiana was a fine ship, if terribly old, from the glory days of the Kalos aristocracy. Those days were long since past, but the echoes of time allowed fragments of it to stay for just a while longer. Bernice was but one of those echoes. The family of Bernice could trace its origins back nearly a full nine centuries, to the founding of the Kalos region long ago. Whilst the rest of the world moved forward, Bernice’s line stayed put, like a dam against the tides of change. She was not exactly a beautiful creature. Her face was a tad small and looked as if it had shrunk in the wash. Her forehead likewise seemed too large, and her jaw jutted out with a mild under bite. Small scars, only an inch long or less, were scattered across her face. Yet her eyes shone with purpose, said purpose being to uphold the honor of her family name.
“You are tense” said another voice. Bernice looked down at her sword. It happened to be a Honedge, an exceptionally familiar one. Her family line was well versed with Honedge and its evolutions. The named knight of the family, the one sworn to uphold the vow of the family name, was sworn to become a Honedge when they passed on. Then, they would advise the next knight, and become their blade.
The one she carried was her predecessor. His name had been forsaken, he now only went by Honedge, and was determinant of this fact. “Calm your mind, we have much time before it begins. We can talk strategy as much as you like” he spoke to her, softly. Bernice was a tense person, who rarely showed emotion beyond sternness, and always stuck to her code of chivalry. Inside however Honedge knew she was a storm of conflicting thoughts. Born too ugly to ever attract noble interest, it was her unique gift never before seen in the house that destined her to be the next house knight. She would thus follow this path, determined to accomplish one thing right with her life before she died.

She had nothing to say to this however, and the Honedge sighed to itself. Bernice failed to realize just how proud others were of her, it was her inferiority complex the size of a Wailord. She’d never show it however, and remained impassive, silent as-
“I have been thinking…”
Perhaps not.
“Yes m’lord?” said Honedge expectantly. It was customary to say m’lord, even if they were a lady.
“It is said the people of Baranga have a low opinion of the outside world. Yet they invite thousands of Trainers to said region in a massive tournament. Why do you think that is?”
“Showing off m’lord. They want to show others how good their region is compared to others. Nothing but pride and arrogance” said Honedge.
Bernice however had doubts about this answer.
“Stay aware, but not alert. There is more to this than it seems.”
___________________________________________________________
50 Days before the Baranga Run

“Mom… Mom I’m hungry…”

Camilla looked down at the pitiful, whining voice of the tiny Ekans curled around her arm. It was only a juvenile, and still needed much growing before it was an adult. Only a fool or an optimist would take it along as their first Pokemon. Camilla was a fool, but she was a kind fool. Had the world been full of them, it would be a very nice world indeed.

Ekans looked up at Camilla, referred to as ‘Mom’ on the basis of her being his hatcher, feeder, and caretaker. There was a part of his mind, in the very back, that knew she was not his biological mother, yet still he remained loyal and trusting of her. She was in the middle of middle aged, perhaps somewhere between thirty and forty. Gentle eyes looked down at Ekans, the kind which made him lock up and freeze every time they did. They were too kind, the most terrifying kind of eyes. Angry eyes could inspire fear, bravery, defiance. What could one even do against such kind eyes?

“Sweet one” she cooed, reaching a finger into her purse and withdrawing an egg. Ekans took it gently from her, and collapsed his mouth around it as he swallowed it whole, sending it on a slow descent into his stomach. Camilla looked up at the sky and smiled. It had been raining constantly since they had gotten here. Apparently, it was the monsoon season, which meant this weather would continue for some time. Ekans disliked the rain. It made it hard to get up due to his cold-blooded nature. His venom and fangs hadn’t quite come in yet, and he was still in the midst of growing pains, of which the humidity did not help.

He did not understand why Camilla wanted him to go out and battle. He was much more comfortable at home, reading books with her and listening to the radio while eating Spearow eggs. However, if it was to please Camilla, he’d do anything.
Even as he thought this, he could feel the shell of the egg begin to crack under his digestive acids. Slowly but surely it would be melted down into goo, such is the way of life. He craved more though.
His stomach let out a loud groan, and he blushed in embarrassment. Camilla chuckled. “Ah yes, little ones need their food to grow.”
“What do you say we go into town and get you a nice, plump mouse to nibble on?”
Ekans smiled, he’d like that very much.
___________________________________________________________
49 Days before the Baranga Run

“This damned bumpkin town…” growled Nico.
His Totodile shared his sentiment, and angrily gnashed her teeth for being forced to wait in line. Nico was an arrogant man, among the worst kinds of man. It was a personality derived from a life of accomplishments and awards, expectations for things to be prioritized to him. He had been a finalist in the Hoenn league just last year, and before that, had been a semifinalist. Thus, he was also quite wealthy, his exorbitant and expensive clothes showing it. He was among the best rookie trainers in the region, so naturally, he was drawn to Baranga. Having purchased a rare and exotic Totodile from a breeder, the Totodile had adopted much of his personality traits along the way, unfortunately.

Currently, the duo was standing in the middle of a very long checkout line. Totodile required only the finest and most expensive of all Pokemon Food, fitting all the major food groups to maximize statistical growth amongst the body. However, the lack of technology was… off-putting to say the least, and frustrating at most. The wooden store was barely the size of a garage. The line was as long as the front yard of his mansion. You took your stuff, then you waited in line for the man at front to decide on a price. The short-sighted Magikarp brained moron couldn’t even put a price tag on his items.
“Can we please hurry it along?” Nico barked. Several people turned towards him, most with a blank expression, but some a fair bit more annoyed. The attendant at the front of the line did not respond, and was debating over the price of bread and coffee with a child fetching it for their grandmother.
“I said can we please hurry up?!” Nico said, shouting this time. His Totodile repeated what he said, with a nod and a snarl. The attendant looked up at him, and hurried the child along, before saying “You can wait your turn like everyone else, or you can step out of line.”

Nico was shocked. Few dared to talk to him in such a manner (excepting his parents). Then, his shock turned to anger. How dare a simple bumpkin talk to a champion like that? He stormed forwards toward the counter, cutting past many others in line. “Listen here. My Totodile is champion material! I have been to league nationals in Hoenn! If my Totodile is not fed in the exact increments every day at a set time she will fall behind in her growth, and I may lose the Run because some bumpkin prevented me from making my purchase in time. Now, service me before I get angry.”

The attendant stared, a dark look on his face.
“Ginny, would you come here for a second?”
Nico rolled his eyes. “Listen, you’re just- “
He felt something breathe on him, and saw as Totodile suddenly scrambled down the front of his shirt. Nico paused, and considered whether he really wanted to turn around.
“Get back in line kid” he heard a voice growl from behind him.
Nico looked down at the shadow. “Judging by height, width, and breathe, you are a… Kangaskhan?”
He received only a snort in reply.
Without looking, Nico quietly did just that.
___________________________________________________________
47 Days before the Baranga Run

Upon a simple garden, overlooking Ombazza town, the clouds, the sea, and the rain, there stood a trainer. He wore little but rags and tatters, with a large water filled gourd and an old rice hat abound his form. Next to him was a Meditite, his in fact. It had no Pokeball, it had come to the Human of its own volition, to train its body and mind. His name was Milo, a guru from Sinnoh, though he did not claim it. The Meditite understood this to be modesty, for a teacher never claims anything. Those who know don’t say, those who say don’t know.
“Meditite, tell me, what do you see from this view?” He took a drink from his gourd. It was always important to stay hydrated. The Meditite began to think heavily over what his master meant. It could be literal, as in what he actually saw. It could also be metaphorical, or perhaps a trick question.
The only sound was the pitter-patter of the rain, and Meditite’s breathing. Milo could be quite quiet when he wanted to.
“Master, I see many things. Is there something in particular you would like me to see?”
Milo nodded, and smiled. “Yes. Think of it as a test.”
A test, Meditite concentrated. What does the master want him to see?

He looked at the docks, with the ships pouring in and trainers pouring out. Close to five hundred must be on the island by this point, and that number would only go up in the days to come. Then he looked at the clouds, dark and muddled. He looked around for other Pokemon and saw none. Clenching his teeth, he began to sweat.
Then Milo pointed at the sky. “See that cloud?”
“Yes master” said the Meditite, waiting for the incoming wisdom to become one with him and enlighten him further.
“It looks like a man with a big nose” Milo chuckled. Meditite slowly looked up at the sky, and failed to find anything near said description. It went back to meditating, deep in thought over what had transpired.
Truly enlightening.
___________________________________________________________
44 Days before the Baranga Run

“Margaret wins… Again!” Margaret proclaimed, as the four-hundred-pound weight dropped from her hands. The only cheers came from her Crabrawler, a young creature who adored her as a god, whilst the other people around her walked off dejectedly. It was a strength competition, a noble pastime to test the brawn of others and their Pokemon. Then Margaret had come along. The seven and a half foot tall, six hundred pounds of muscle bore a striking resemblance to a feminized Andre the Giant. She posed triumphantly, as everyone else left. “Hey now… where’s everyone going?”
“You’re just a bunch of sore losers” her Crabrawler taunted as they walked off.
Margaret shrugged. It was true she had a perfect win streak, but that was for everything. People simply didn’t train as much as her, only fair that she kept on winning. Plus, she had an admirer. She was quite young, and she’d only had the little gal for a few weeks, but given time she’d be a conference champion, just like her. Not quite a league champion, but a champion nonetheless.
If she could conquer an entire league, this one wouldn’t be any problem for her at all.

“How’s the routine lookin?” Margaret asked Crabrawler, walking over to take a quick rest. Crabrawler picked up a clipboard from the ground and went over it with Margaret. “Let’s see. We did the 100 squats, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, you won the daily weight-lifting contest for the 6th time in a row…”
“Which leaves the 10km run” said Margaret, standing up. “C’mon little guy, try and keep up this time.” She hoisted herself up, and off she went. Her Crabrawler scuttled as fast as it could after her, desperate to keep up as best it could. If only I had two legs, it would be so much easier, she thought as Margaret disappeared from view down the route.

Hopefully she’d be done before dark this time
___________________________________________________________
40 Days before the Baranga Run

He came in on a simple fishing boat, during one of the worst storms so far. The rain had not abetted at all since it had manifested nearly a month ago. The young man calmly tied his boat to an old wooden bollard with hempen rope, then looked up at the sky. His skin was rough with calluses, from hard work. It was inevitable, for he was quite poor, and working on the land for the majority of one’s life tends to leave its mark after a while. A potato sack was slung over his back, and a Seedot popped out from underneath the pot he wore on his head as a hat.
Acorn, so named after the sturdy yet reliable seed, stuck a hand out and pinched the water as it flowed down onto him. He sniffled, rubbed his nose, and asked his companion their thoughts upon the water quality.
The Seedot, who had been absorbing rain the whole journey, replied that the water seemed quite clean, more so than in Hoenn, which mildly surprised Acorn. Such appraisals were rare coming from Seedot, who was a picky eater for its species. Seedot looked around at the town, and quipped “Lots of people already here.”
The spot of the docks they had chosen to park was old and unoccupied, but even a casual glance would reveal just how densely populated the town was at the moment. That was just fine for Acorn, all this noise wasn’t appropriate for a town like this, small and old. Towns such as these had history. History in the old stonework stained from water, history in the people and their Pokemon. Had Acorn been in charge of the town, he’d never have opened it up.
Seemed like the trainers were doing their best to make an absolute mess of the town.

“Let’s find a camping site. One to ourselves. Preferably with a nice oak. Maybe some maple perhaps…”
As Seedot mused, Acorn adjusted his sack and tromped off through the mud to find someplace quiet.
___________________________________________________________
39 Days before the Baranga Run

“I told you it was over-packed. But no, you never listen? Poochyena’s always right! I’m not gonna listen to the master who knows better!”
Poochyena had his eyes half closed, a deep and bitter sigh escaping his chest. He’d heard this many times before. Erin was indeed a good trainer, she had quite a prolific record. At the same time though, her one weakness was her attitude. The inability to take blame, the commands and demands, the grouchy demeanor, it got a bit tiring after a while.
Right now, the issue had been their luggage. It had far too much in it, and now, it was at the bottom of the port along with their other six suitcases.
“Damnit” Erin grumbled. “That’s gonna be a bitch and a half to replace…” she moaned, covering her face as she let out a groan of utter apathy at the entirety of existence.
“Now we’re broke AND hungry!”
“We can just scavenge for bugs, like we did in Ilex” mumbled Poochyena.
“What are you kidding?” Erin snorted, in a mocking tone. “Like hell we’re living off berries again, you need protein dammit!” She stood up, and dried off her shirt. Poochyena sighed.
She may be a grump, but she was grumpy because she cared about him, and that was the worst part. It made it easy to feel guilty for disliking her attitude problem.

“And how do you suggest we go about doing that?”
“Tried and true method, my friend.” Erin stopped by a trash can. “Smell that and tell me what you get.”
“…You’re joking right?” Poochyena grumbled. Erin stomped her foot and pointed demandingly to the tin device. “Do you want to eat or not? Hell, I’m letting you get first pickings while I sit here and starve.”
Whatever. The thing about trash cans though was that it was like a magic eye picture to a nose. Humans throw too many things away, it’s overwhelming. He wasn’t a Zigzagoon (the dang magpies that they were) and he had standards to-
Sniff sniff~
…Is that a cheeseburger with only one bite out of it?
Sniiiiiiff~
With mustard too?
___________________________________________________________
38 Days before the Baranga Run

The rules had been clear. You may only bring one Pokemon, and it must be unevolved. This was fair, it set everyone on a roughly equal starting ground.
Then there were people such as Tyler, who brought their Onix to Baranga. Tyler was the individual with the incessant need to passively aggressively assert his dominance over others, and then defend his behavior with overwhelmingly defensive attitude justifying his disposition.
It was, to quote another, “annoying as shit.”
The rain had finally abated, which meant Onix could be brought out, for a short while at least. As D-bags flock to other D-bags, they were currently in the midst of a great celebration involving alcohol and stupidity.
“Brooooo!” were among the many calls and shouts from the trainer’s present. Copious was the level of intoxication, and damnable was the level of disregard for surroundings. Thus, it inevitably led to this confrontation.

“Hold up guys, cop” Tyler said. At once, the hubbub died down to a din. The familiar face of Officer Jennie appeared, though a fair bit more old-fashioned. Her truncheon was displayed openly, being used in favor of a firearm.
“Howdy. Got quite a high number of noise complaints here” she said. It was a stern tone of voice, one denoting authority.
“I got this, guys” said Tyler as he advanced proudly. “Me and the buds are just having a…”
His mind played darts and threw them at the first two words to pop up in his head.
“Religious discussion” Tyler finished. “Pretty loud discussion going on at two in the morning” commented Jennie. She clearly wasn’t buying it. “Now there’s two ways we can settle this. The legal way…”
She withdrew a Pokeball from underneath her sizable hat to the loud cheers of surprise from the rest of the frat boy trainers
“Or the traditional way…”
Tyler laughed and pointed to his Onix. “See this? Your little Growlithe isn’t gonna cut it here bro.”
As Tyler laughed, his stone-faced Onix just stared. It had no opinion on the matter, nor to the antics of its trainer. A strong silent type, one might say.
“Who said anything about a Growlithe?”
Tyler would spend the night in prison after learning the wonders of Rain Dance and Poliwrath. He was lucky he let off with a stern warning and not chucked off the island before the competition started, in retrospect.
___________________________________________________________
37 Days before the Baranga Run
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Of all the trainers who came to Baranga, perhaps only Sam didn’t want to be there. Sam was a very odd individual in the Pokemon world. He valued simpler things, such as reading, and the internet, and being alone. The prospect of a lifetime out in the wilderness having adventures with talking creatures simply did not appeal to him. One might ask as to why he was even here at all. That reason was peer pressure. His mom and dad had been champions in Unova, many years ago. Sam, the son of a champion, had been rather passively-aggressively encouraged to take up the Baranga Run challenge. After all, the kid was pasty, and could do with the experience.
Lacking any sort of training whatsoever, his parents had gifted him their final Pokemon. All their others had since died or been released, save for a small yet venerable Roggenrola.
“Relax. We have more than a month to prepare” she said reassuringly. Sam however continued his wandering, his thoughts to the future, and a worried pace accompanying his steps. They were slow and unfocused, causing him to nearly bump into many things. “So, I can’t just go home?” he asked.
“You can, but you’d miss out on an experience.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t get enjoyment out of this.” He found a park bench and sat down. As the first few drops of rain began to patter on the ground, he opened his backpack for his Roggenrola to hide in. “You lack confidence. Your dad was- “Well I’m not my Dad, now am I?!” Sam snapped. Roggenrola visibly recoiled. She had forgotten just how stressed Sam was. Drawing comparisons had been a mistake, he’d always felt an inferiority complex despite his parent’s efforts to stymie it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- “
“No, I didn’t mean to yell. Sorry.”
The two sat in silence for a short while, as the rain picked up. Raining was all it seemed to ever do in Ombazza Town. “We’ll need a bigger team” Sam mumbled, as he put a hand to his chin in thought. “Need to uh… cover a lot of niches.” Roggenrola nodded as best as a creature that was, to all extents and purposes a walking head, could in fact do. “That’s smart. It helps to have a team with varying stats and abilities. Of course, some trainers specialize in single types of Pokemon.”
Sam looked at Roggenrola and shrugged. Being a Rock-type Trainer would mean a hefty amount of physical training, something which he didn’t think he was suited for. Sam’s dream team would cover a wide range of typing, and also be exceptionally combat effective.
Roggenrola was good defensively, and not too shabby offensively either, for a 1st stage Pokemon. Based on that minus his lack of experience, he hoped to make it to at least a quarter of the way through the run. Then of course he needed to ration his money with food, supplies, medicine, Poke Balls…
Sam pinched his nose. “How the heck do you remember all of this?”
Roggenrola shrugged. “Comes with practice. You’ll get used to it Sam.”
This was true, eventually he would get used to it. The question was, did he want to?
Only time would tell.
___________________________________________________________
36 Days before the Baranga Run

The hotel room that Isa currently occupied was small, quiet, but quite dry. This was good, as a wet laptop was not something she wished to deal with at the moment. Upon the bed, her Abra slept. The journey had disrupted the creature’s sleep cycle, and it was now exceptionally exhausted due to not meeting its 18-hour sleep criteria. Isa was quite fond of Abra as a species because it possessed two qualities she was exceptionally positive of. The first was that they were quiet, very quiet. Abra wasn’t a vocal Pokemon, and was general self-sufficient. This one had been calculated to evolve during the course of the run, so Isa no longer needed to aid it with much of anything. Quiet was good because it allowed Isa to focus.

The second was that it was smart, and when it was fully evolved it would be far smarter than her or any Human ever could be. Alakazam was well known for its intelligence being within levels thought impossible for other Humans to reach. Abra in its current state already mentally outpaced and even lapped several other people that Isa knew.

Calculations needed to be correct. Supplies must be rationed, all random variables must be accounted and planned for. Failure to do so would jeopardize her chances of ever winning the run. Isa was not the person to leap into action, she would analyze it, and then solve it before ever having to lift a toe to do so. It had been during these calculations she had noticed a seeming error.

Assuming an average of between two to four thousand trainers, that still left only eight gym leaders in the circuit. One leader could not handle several thousand trainers in a time limit. A dozen trainers per day was an exhausting number for any gym leader to handle. Something wasn’t adding up, she was left with only theories.

Isa was not fond of theories, only facts. Whilst she scowled, her Abra dreamt.
___________________________________________________________
35 Days before the Baranga Run

Oliver was an excellent trainer, except for the fact that he was a coward.

Well, not really a coward, more such an over-thinker. An anxiety-ridden train wreck whose worries kept him from becoming a true master. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to say that Oliver was among the best trainers here, but all prodigal beings have an athlete’s foot. Oliver’s was fear.
He worried he may make a mistake in battle that led to a Pokemon’s early trip to the graveyard, or worse, their trainer. He worried about not being able to care for his Pokemon out in the wilderness. He worried about himself, and not being self-sufficient enough. In short, he worried, and worried, and worried. His Munna kept itself bloated and full of Oliver’s consistent supply of stress-ridden nightmares, and thus quite enjoyed the company of Oliver. With its constant feeding and napping, one would not assume it to be a competent Pokemon.

Yet it was under the heat of battle with which Oliver switched off his nervous composure and became a true master of battling. At the moment, his current fretting related to housing.

“I know I packed it. I packed it right?” Oliver stressed, searching through his backpack for a small piece of paper confirming his reservation in a hotel. “Yea” his Munna replied haphazardly. It had learned to tone out these moments of nervousness and instead focus on eating and digesting the near endless supply of Oliver’s dreams. In short, a very easy life for a Munna. “Did you see me pack it or are you saying that to make me feel better?” said Oliver. He stared into his Munna’s eyes, currently closed. It opened them and in one word responded with “Chill”, and closed them once again. This response only made Oliver begin to shake. “I don’t even know why I ask you. You never take things seriously. We could be homeless for the rest of the- “

The slip emerged from a hidden pocket that he had carefully stuffed it into, and almost immediately forgot about it. “Ah…” he smiled, all tensions erasing. His Munna just smiled.

It would not be the first, nor last time, that Oliver felt unneeded worry.
___________________________________________________________
33 Days before the Baranga Run

It was early at dawn when a curious sight came into town at the docks. The ocean was exceptionally calm today. The clouds were only grey, no rain had fallen quite yet upon Ombazza. A Dratini, rather large for its kind, slithered gracefully from the waves and onto a sandy beach, away from the city. Atop its back was a child. His clothing was white, made of ivory and pearls. His robes were ceremonial, depicting ancient designs of cultures long lost to the world, and draping grey hair covered his eyes.
The Dratini gently allowed him to step onto the beach, and he almost tumbled. The child, Mike, was quite frail, but of exceptional importance, for he was blessed. It was rare that a blessed child had a simple name such as Mike. Normally they had at least three extra syllables, and a bit of foreign-ness to their name.
Mike was special indeed, despite the common name, for he was gifted. Wherever the boy cried, his tears either rotted the ground or gave life, dependent on the origin. Likewise, his gentle touch caused wounds to heal. His laughter made crops grow, his eyes could pierce into the gaze of a rampant Hydreigon and stop it dead in its tracks with innocent blue eyes. Whatever he thought, happened, and the true extent of his powers was yet known to either Dratini or Mike. Pokemon flocked to Mike, for he had a natural affinity for them. They loved him, and he loved them.

Dratini felt his soft touch upon his skin. It brought a soothing energy over Dratini, one which made the whole of the earth seem as simple as a glass of water. Yet it lasted a moment, as Mike turned to the sky and asked, “Why have we come here?” Dratini responded quickly with “This is a holy land of Pokemon and Human unity. Such unions do not exist in the modernizing Human world, only on the forgotten lands of Baranga.” Mike understood a bit of that, though a few of those big words got past his young mind. “You have come here because it is your destiny?”
“What is my destiny?” Mike asked.

Dratini paused. “That is what we are here to find out.”
___________________________________________________________
33 Days before the Baranga Run

The peace of the day was ruined by the obnoxiously loud blaring of an airhorn, followed by the even louder megaphone.
“Excuse me? Is this thing on?” yelled Franky. A tall teen with spiky hair, Franky looked like he belonged in a comic book rather than real life. “Alright! Got a little announcement for you!” Having now attracted the attention of everyone within the plaza square, a small Wooper shot up onto Franky’s shoulder and smiled, as Franky began to preach his words. “I am now officially handing out autographs! That’s right! Franky Palaster, expert trainer from Johto and- “
A mocking shout of “Who?” was heard in the audience. A vein on his forehead swelled, the beast was unleashed.

“Alright, who said that? I wanna know who’s the bigmouth who thinks he’s better than me!”
“I do” said a far more burlesque trainer than Franky thought. He was much older, and seemed much more experienced. “Jonah. Semi-finalist from last year’s Unova league.” Crowds went ooh, some even recognized him. Wooper smiled even harder. “Am I detecting a challenge? Gotta warn ya kid, I’m not some run of the mill hotshot. These autographs are gonna be worth a fortune when I win this competition.”
Jonah chuckled. “A lot of trainers say that. Let’s see how you compete with these accusations.” A Pokeball was thrown, out came a rock. From the rock a malevolent looking gaseous entity emerged, a Spiritomb. Crowds hushed in awe, Spiritomb was a rare Pokemon not easily caught, and even less easily trained.
Likewise, his dopey looking Wooper got laughs, but Franky remained confident.

“Alright, you wanna learn the hard way? Let’s do this.”
___________________________________________________________
32 Days before the Baranga Run

The following day brought back the rain. This brought no discomfort to Patricia, princess of Kalos, for she had brought with her a fine umbrella. Her Petilil likewise appreciated the rain, and soaked in small amounts at a time. To a casual observer, Patricia does not appear to be a trainer. Frilly pink clothing combined with the obvious physical appearance of one who is fairly affluent tends to make one think that she would be little more than a foolish fuddy duddy.
Patricia was the latest in a line of nobles expected to uphold a grand legacy dating back to the very beginning of the Kalos region. She was nervous, as she had a legacy to uphold, and was not completely confident in her ability to do just that. Fingers fussed with the leaves atop her Petilil’s head, and its delicate eyes looked up back at her. The two got along exceptionally well, like mother and daughter, despite Patricia’s young age and lack of experience with other Pokemon. Those with the gift tended to have such a relationship, as it is wonder what simply understanding another being’s language can do.

“A month. A whole month to wait” Patricia wondered aloud. She had never been alone before for this long. Her butler had packed her suitcase well, and given her very specific instructions upon how to ration and conserve her supplies. At the part where she left, she stood at the back of her personal yacht and tearfully waved goodbye as her parents wished her the best of luck.
The Baranga Run was to turn her from a child into an adult, or at least that was the intention her parents had in mind for it. “Plenty of time to relax” said her Petilil. It was a bit lazy, and a bit plump caused by excessive pruning of its leaves for tea. It enjoyed a pampered life, and had never battled before.
Ever.
Patricia intended to change that.

It protested quite heavily as Patricia marched slightly off into the woods. Looking around, her eyes spotted her target, a tired looking Weedle.
“Um… excuse me” she inquired, nervously. The Weedle opened its eyes and slurred out a “Hmmm?”
“I-I was wondering if I could battle with you. I promise not to catch you…” she stated. Petilil protested. “Ech! No bugs! First you want me to battle and now you want me to go up against a bug?! Mercy mistress!”
“Stop fussing you. You’ll never evolve into a proper lady if you always act like this” Patricia scolded.
“But I don’t want to grow up! I want to live in your backpack forever, where it’s nice and soft… and warm… Mmmm…” Petilil yawned. “M-Maybe after a nap…”
“No! Don’t fall asleep! Please? Oh…”

Whilst they fussed, the Weedle squelched away. What a bunch of weirdos.
___________________________________________________________
31 Days before the Baranga Run

“Sorry, but I just got off myself, and I’m afraid I haven’t seen what you’re looking for. Try a dock worker, they might know” said Alexa kindly to a very nervous trainer. Her Mudkip smiled and nodded its head, whilst the trained sighed and sulked.
“He is… very important to me. Perhaps if you could help me look for- “
“No” Alexa finished, still smiling. The trainer, just for a second, felt a tinge of fear. It was enough to make him nod and walk away. After he was gone, Alexa chuckled and spoke to her Mudkip. “Really now, you’re getting more devious every day I fear.” Mudkip smiled, before emitting a harsh gurgling sound. A plethora of Pokeballs, perhaps half a dozen in all, emerged from Mudkip’s mouth and onto Alexa’s waiting palms.

“Mercy perhaps, my pet?”
“One of them was a Wurmple. I’ll have it for lunch later.”
Alexa let out another snicker, and dropped the other five off the docks and into the water, with their captives still inside. They never suspected a thing.

“Do you think they’ll make it?”
Mudkip shook his head. “None of them were swimmers. The pressure will kill them eventually.” Mudkip smiled and added “And with that, we’ve knocked six people out already.”
Just a few thousand more to go. Shouldn’t be too hard. Alexa smiled. She was going to have lots of fun over the next several months.
30 Days before the Baranga Run

“It’s a calamity! No wi-fi! How do these people even survive without the quintessential form of Human communication?” bemoaned Xavier. “Amazing how people can be so afraid of technology” Porygon quipped, also disappointed. Their plan for an all-night marathon of Game of Chairs had been ruined, and they would not get to experience the thrilling conclusion of Jon Snover and his Lycanroc in the camps of the dreaded Wild Thngs. A depressed sigh emitted from both. Then they stared at the wall for a few minutes. Without electronic stimulus, the two were lost. It was then Xavier had an idea.
“Hey, do you have those PDF’s that I…”
“Yeah. Got an idea Xavvy?”
Xavier smiled. “Since we’re here, we could brush up on…”
“Dungeons and Dragonites?” Porygon finished. Xavier smiled excitedly. The vast amount of knowledge in his head meant he’d never be truly bored so long as he had a means to dip into it. Of course, this also meant finding likeminded nerds on Baranga, which may or may not prove quite tricky.

They whittled the hours going over the splatbooks, modules, sourcebooks, and other sources of entertainment. For them, life was a series of games to be enjoyed. No need to focus on the harsh reality of life when one can immerse themselves in a thousand different worlds. Who truly needs reality, after all?

The Baranga Run was just a minor distraction.
___________________________________________________________
29 Days before the Baranga Run

The water of Baranga were bountiful, home to practically all marine life. A Corsola lazily bobbed through the shallower waters. It felt the raindrops on its hard back, washing at the barnacles and other parasites that had begun to accumulate on its body. Truly this was the life. Corsola adored the stares and affection it got from children and passerby, and it always gave it something to look up to. Waves pushed it towards some rocks, quiet and alone, where it could-

These thoughts were interrupted as it felt itself leave the water. Initially it assumed a bird had tried to eat it again, in which case it would be getting put back down after a chipped beak in the attempt.

Any second now.

It noticed the pink tentacles constricting around it, and its stony little heart ran cold as it fashioned a look. Six pink tentacles, a strange purple body, and a black hole with two yellow eyes inside it. A Lileep, a predator. Corsola heard it go “Down the hatch. Ahhh~” as it lifted Corsola up over its mouth. Naturally, the unfortunate Corsola panicked.
“Oh shit! Oh s - “
Whatever the Corsola had to say, it was drowned out as the Lileep’s gaping maw descended over the poor creature, consuming it utterly. She let out a “Phew” of relief after a tense gulp, trapping the poor struggling piece of coral in a vicious sac of acid. It would cease eventually, be it in an hour or a minute, as all meals did. Then she looked towards her trainer, Master Kajiro, of Kanto.

Kajiro was an honorable and wizened man. He wore old armor, still exceptionally effective, from the olden days of Kanto. Kajiro’s clan still dwelt within Fuchsia City, a place holding onto old ideals like a miser holds onto money. Stubbornly refusing to move along with the future, the inhabitants of Fuchsia would get along great with those of Ombazza. He sat on his knees, the rain making minute slaps in his armor whilst he did. His eyes were closed in concentration. Lileep knew what was going to happen next, and she watched in awe.

His hand slowly arched back, yet his eyes remained shut. Both fish and Pokemon swam in these waters. Lileep was restricted to whatever wasn’t paying attention enough to come near her, her bright purple skin contrasting heavily with the grey rocks. Kajiro however was so still it was like he wasn’t even alive. They didn’t even notice his hand as he prepared his strike. Next, he would grab a fish out of water, and with the other hand slice its head off with his sword. Skill and precision alone for such a maneuver to be executed required concentration of the highest-

Kajiro’s Lileep then promptly let out the mother of all belches, causing every nearby fish to scatter. She froze, her face began to turn a curious shade of red as Kajiro lowered his hand. Her head sunk down in embarrassment. “S-Sorry” she said, shamed to the point of fainting. Kajiro exhaled and stated, “It was not meant to be.”
No fish would be caught this hour.
___________________________________________________________
27 Days before the Baranga Run

Stanley, like many in Ombazza town, was a fisherman. Specifically, he was a Bivalve salesman. Oysters, Clams, Cockles, Scallops, the whole lot of them. Sometimes even Shellder or Clamperl if he could get his hands on them, though they had brains and thus were not so easy targets. The fisherman (bivalveman?) wheeled his cart about, calling out the delicacies of his many exotic wares, when he happened to bump into somebody.
“Begging your pardon miss, I didn’t see you there.”
The woman who he had bumped into was… disconcerting. Everything about her seemed wrong. Her body seemed too skinny to support her head, which bent over and exposed large buck teeth and a persistent smile. A hunchbacked posture, messy hair, and unblinking eyes only added to the creepy factor. Taking a hand, she grabbed the scruff of her neck and twisted it to allow her face to be level with that of the fisherman, who was now regretting his poor luck. “Oysters you say?” she said, all too cheerily and far too slowly. A Popplio next to her shared similar qualities of unnerving. Pupils too small, grin too wide. “Beans, may we get an oyster or two? We have not eaten yet I fear.”
The trainer apparently named Beans chuckled and said to the salesman “Do you consider yourself a lucky man?” she asked the fisherman. Knowing a bad sign when he saw it, he shook his head no. “If I were lucky, I wouldn’t be selling oysters for a living” he chuckled.

Beans smiled, withdrew a six-sided dice, and threw it in the air. Popplio leapt up, over the fisherman’s head, and caught it in his teeth. Landing behind the fisherman, he set it down. “Six” said Popplio, almost disappointed. Beans let out an even bigger smile, and said “I’d like to buy… a bucket.”
The fisherman almost gagged. “A bucket?” he choked out. True to her word, Beans produced the cash, and earned the fisherman’s next three days of sale in one purchase. She smiled, and gave them to Popplio, who offered her one. “No thank you my friend, I do not like Oysters.”
The Fisherman was about to leave but he had a question, one he wasn’t smart enough not to ask. “About the dice… If it had come up one… What would you have done?”
Beans turned upwards, and very casually spoke out “Robbed you of everything you had and thrown you into the sea to drown.”
The fisherman stared coldly, and frightened, at Beans who kept her usual appearance. Then she chuckled. “It’s a joke. Goodbye friend.” Then she left.
The fisherman however had a bad feeling it was not a joke, and immediately went home to be with his wife.
___________________________________________________________
26 Days before the Baranga Run

He arrived not by boat but by sky, and not by Pokemon either. Looking up into the foggy, dark grey clouds, one might see a small dirigible being pedaled to its destination by two figures. The first was a very tired looking Treecko. The second was a man seemingly too ridiculous to exist. Top hat, monocle, curly mustache, black cape. Such an attire was far too ridiculous to exist on a normal human being. “Nye he he he! Soon enough denizens of Baranga, you shall fall before the might of Basil the Brilliant, greatest Pokemon trainer to have ever lived!” he cackled loudly. From how far up he was, not a single soul heard him, save for a Wingull who made an active attempt to get away from the obviously insane man. “Gaze down Treecko, look at all the weak, pathetic fools who think themselves greater than I.”
“Yeah, weak and pathetic” Treecko responded, rather half-heartedly. By this point, Treecko had learned that it was best to go along with whatever Basil said in the hopes that these silly delusions would eventually go away. They never did. Basil was a strange person, and Treecko wasn’t sure why he acted the way he did. Perhaps it was some trauma? Regardless of what the reason was, there was one word that Treecko would use to describe all of these silly theatrics.
Harmless.

Basil was a joke, completely and utterly. He always ranted and raved about how he’d make the world bend a knee, but he seemed to be completely unable to even harm a small fly even if he wanted to. All his schemes seemed to fail, and even the point of said schemes seemed to be vague at best. A bootleg Team Rocket came to mind, perhaps Team Rusty Tin Can?
Treecko looked up at the sky, with a worried look on his face. “Should we be flying so close to a storm?” Basil cackled and responded with “Do not fret! I have shock-proofed the entire device with my latest invention! I call it Magnemite Grease!”
“Magnemite Grease” deadpanned Treecko. “And where exactly did you get this from?”
“The grease of Magnemites of course” said Basil, a little less confidently.
“Magnemites don’t have- “

Lightning then struck the dirigible. On the bright side, at least they hit the water.
___________________________________________________________
25 Days before the Baranga Run

Percy was good at not standing out. She looked younger than she actually was, a fact which she used to her advantage, and she was quite small too. Seeming just like a simple child off on an errand, nobody suspected that, so nobody suspected her of doing anything really. Her Illumise followed behind her loyally, a pleasant little bug of such ordinary appearance that nobody suspected a thing. Percy then walked around the bend behind several buildings wherein she opened up her backpack. Inside of it dwelt…
“Air! I need air! I’ve been in there for days!” a Volbeat said, much too loudly for Percy to be comfortable with. “Ssssshhh!” Percy said, placing a finger over Volbeat’s mouth. “You’re going to get us caught! Rules say you can only bring one Pokemon!”
“Well it wasn’t my idea to stuff someone into an airtight backpack that smells like mold. Honestly Percy, have you ever washed this thing?”

“It’s just until the Run, you’ll have to endure until then” Percy said. “But that’s a month away” Volbeat protested. Illumise, sick of the Pokemon’s whining said “Look, I’ll take his place. Give him some air. But you owe me for this” she said. Volbeat nodded happily, that worked out well for him. They tagged out, as Illumise struggled to squat down inside the cramped confines of the bag. “Do you think the whole ‘genuine gold’ shtick will work on them? They seem kinda crafty here” inquired Percy, as she set off back down the road. “Well the way I see it- “ Volbeat began, as the trio disappeared into the crowd, leaving no trace they had ever been there.

The art of not being seen is a rare one indeed.
___________________________________________________________
24 Days before the Baranga Run

“Oh, would you look at that? I won again, shock of the century folks!” Argyle cheered. His Magby moonwalked in place, smiling smugly, as his defeated foe of a Carbink lay dazed and beaten upon the ground. In the two days he’d been here, Argyle had been doling out defeats to anybody who came near him seeking a challenge, and had been getting quite the reputation at the same time as well. His Magby was shockingly dangerous. Most pictured a Magby as a timid creature. Not this one, this one was exceptionally strong for one of its age, and gifted with great power. It let out a great jet of embers in celebration of yet another victory, confident in its utter invincibility. “Is there no one alive who can challenge me?” he shouted in a conceited tone. Predatory eyes scanned the area, looking for challengers. It didn’t take long for him to spot one.

“Hey girl, come over here!” he yelled out. The woman he was speaking to was named Sybil. Her build was professional and healthy looking, her clothes fancy, and her face as stern and stoic as the tides. She began her walk towards Argyle, who was still taunting her. A Carnivine, coiled around her waist, narrowed its eyes and gnashed his jaws in the direction of Argyle. “Are you challenging me?” Sybil asked, without emotion. Not taken aback in the slightest, she cracked her knuckles. “I have a proposition, let us make this an official battle.”
Argyle chortled. “So what?” he responded. “Per Baranga Run rules, you would forfeit half of your current earnings to me.”
Argyle paused. He needed that money to last him. If he lost, he wouldn’t have enough to buy supplies. Briefly faltering, he recovered then responded with “Agreed.” Flashing a cocky grin. His Magby stamped its foot. Likewise, the Carnivine uncoiled from Sybil.
“You are sure?” it said to her. She nodded. Despite the type advantage, she was not afraid. Carnivine was not either, he trusted his life to her, for he was absolutely devoted to Sybil.
To Carnivine, Sybil was precious, she was all he had.

Argyle meanwhile began to sweat. Carnivine had a type weakness to Magby yet she still sent it out. Something was wrong here…
A few minutes later, he learnt that it had been the skill gap.
___________________________________________________________
23 Days before the Baranga Run

The man felt his skull brace up against the blow Vinny dealt to it, as he advanced menacingly on the street rat. “Wassa’matta w’yas? Pickin’ on my little buddy ‘ere, havin’ a chuckle eh?” Vinny slurred through a jaw misaligned from years of excessive chewing and fists. His Pancham did its best to imitate his stance and manner of speaking. “Eh, he's wanna dose finkin he’s tough until ya smack em around a bit? Heh heh…” Pancham added. Vinny cracked his knuckles, as the man backed up into a wall. He looked to the side, his Houndour was sporting an enlarged lip and two black eyes. Perhaps a concussion as well, dependent on how hard he had been hit. The fact it was the trainer, not the Pokemon who did the beating, all but confirmed to the poor robber that this was indeed a poor target. He saw small panda, he assumed weakling. This had been a grave miscalculation.
“Wait. Hold on. I’m sorry. Here… Here’s everything I’ve taken, I won’t do it again!” he begged, as he emptied his pockets onto the ground. Money and other mugged merchandise littered the stones upon the ground.

Vinny grabbed the poor man by the scruff of his shirt. “It ain’t about apologizin’, it’s ‘bout what you did that makes me mad as heck!” He delivered another blow, breaking the individual’s nose as he shouted out. He called for help, and that made the beatings go worse. Within a dozen seconds it had devolved into a senseless assault, resulting in multiple broken bones and one unconscious person. As a final insult, Pancham urinated on his shirt. Then, when Vinny wasn’t looking, Pancham pocketed the money the mugger had relinquished.

“There’s a lotta rude dudes in dis here town, yous and me gotta be stickin’ together like glue eh?”
“Damn straight boss.”
Pancham received a pinch to the neck. “Oy now. Don’t say swears. Bad karma. Now let’s find the rest o’the gang. Place’s no good fer little Pokemon like yerself.”
___________________________________________________________
22 Days before the Baranga Run

“I swear that’s the truth. They just up and beat the hell out of me, and took all my money too!” the man sobbed, then yelped. “Sorry” Happiny winced, then frowned. “If I get my hands on whoever did this, they’ll regret ever being born” she growled. Bullies were lower than bacteria, they only existed to keep her constantly working. Such a pain. Her master Jacques entered the room. He was a kind soul, wearing white robes bedecked with old religious symbols of healing. A praying man, he did not allow beliefs to interfere with his treatment of the injured.
Happiny thought this good that a Human be more in contact with their gods, considering they exist and all. Seems pretty rude not to.

“You’ll need to stay in bed for about a month, then we’ll see how those bones have improved” Jacques said. He spoke heavily accented, one from the southern end of the island. Like the man, Jacques was also a native of Baranga.
“Jerk was probably one of those trainers” he mumbled. Jacques listened. “Is that so?” he responded, and stared out the window, narrowing his eyes. Happiny smiled, the chance to get back at those who caused others grief was overwhelming.
“I’ll tell you what. How about I teach him some manners, the Baranga style?”
The man smiled, he always appreciated karma coming back when it was earned. Had Jacques known what the true story behind this man was, he likely would’ve thrown him through a wall.
He moved to stand up, but pain forced him back down. Jacques leaned over and scolded him with a “Tsk.” You’ll have to stay still at least a week. Don’t worry friend, the healers of Baranga never charge for service.”

Sometimes, nice things come to those who don’t deserve them.
___________________________________________________________
22 Days before the Baranga Run

One week. One whole week of indigestion, screaming, cursing, enduring intestinal fumes, and many other horrible things. His coral spikes had fallen off and melted, and his luscious pink color had bleached before the Lileep had finally given up and spat him back out into the sea. Corsola wasn’t surprised, him being a Rock-type and all, but damn was the Lileep stubborn, and now he looked like a freakshow. It would take weeks before he’d be able to get back to normal.
Still, better to be spat out, then have another thing that rhymes with spat force you out an alternative route.

It straddled down the beach path, slowly and weakly. Its skin still burned and twanged pain with every step. Another week and he suspected that Lileep may have succeeded at digesting him. Crawling in between a rock by the shade, it weakly prodded at the soil as it began to dig away at the turf.
“Wow, ya look like hell. What happened to you bud?” an annoying Wingull piped in, having just landed.
“Yea, you look like you got hit by a boat” a second Wingull piped in.
Corsola turned upwards and shot a glare to the two birds. “Buzz off.”
“What was it? I’m betting car” the second one said. “Poison berries?” added the first.

“Lileep” Corsola grumbled. The two Wingull cackled, finding his plight humorous. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Just remember, it could happen to- “
They were too busy laughing to listen, Corsola sighed and got back to work digging his den. A bunch of obnoxious chuckleheads, just like the rest of their kind. Finally, they had shut up. Corsola looked back. Even better, they had left.
“Oh. My. GOSH. IS THAT A CORSOLA?!?!?!” a rather high-pitched voice squealed. “Oh no” he mumbled to himself.

Apparently, he had not hidden himself well enough, because a rather dumb looking blonde bombshell had found his hiding spot. Or, more likely, accidentally wandered onto it.
“Like, I’ve always wanted a Corsola? Can I, like, catch it or some junk?” the blonde, known as Diana, said to another man who was coming up down the beach. He-
Corsola’s eyes widened, that was the Lileep’s trainer. Perched on his back was the exact same Lileep. It looked at him, quite surprised. He looked at it with an expression of someone completely caught offguard, like seeing a middle school bully twenty years later.

“Yes. You will need one Pokemon to enter the Baranga Run” Kajiro said to Diana.
“And I’ve got like… one?”
“You have none. Lileep is mine” Kajiro reminded Diana.
With a moment of understanding, she withdrew her Pokeball. Goddammit, he was too weak. He wouldn’t be able to get away.
“NOOOOOOoooooooooo~~~~” it cried as it was dragged into the Pokeball, forced into an adventure it had no desire to be a part of. Diana hugged the Pokeball and squealed with glee. Her very first Pokemon (that she remembered and hadn’t died within a few weeks) all to herself. She didn’t think of much else.
Kajiro simply stared at his disciple. It would be a long and uphill road to becoming an expert, but he had never let a student down yet. Diana’s family was wealthy and affluent, and their daughter possessed not an inch of talent. However, Kajiro knew Diana’s father, he is a good man and an old friend. Kajiro would never break a promise, so he took her on, regardless of the outcome, for better or worse.
Lastly, Lileep pondered as to whether or not she would still be able to eat Corsola now that it belonged to Diana. No, most likely not. If she turned him loose, perhaps. It occurred to her that she’d most likely have to befriend him. A strange thought, the predator befriending the prey. It pondered this for a little while, and then went back to resting upon Kajiro’s shoulder in a half-awake slump.
___________________________________________________________
21 Days before the Baranga Run

High above the skies of Baranga, a small helicopter flew. It was a singular black color, with a dark red capitalized “R” plastered upon the side of it. To those of Kanto, it meant nothing but trouble, perhaps even double in some certain cases. Baranga lacked any villainous teams. So far in their history, nobody had seen a reason to join or form one.

A woman got up from the controls and stretched, having sat upon said seat for the past several hours on the flight to Baranga. “Altitude is in the green. I’m setting the chopper to autopilot, so it’ll make its way back on its own.” Her name was Julia, and she was one of the last two members of Team Rocket left in existence. Her partner was a silent man named Lars, whose brain resembled a bowl of mash after a life of substance abuse and head injuries. Respectively they each had a Pokemon, both currently contained in their Pokeball. Buneary was a rotten spirit, a violent sociopath of whom nobody wanted anything to do with. Sandile was a jovial child mostly oblivious to his actions, and did most of the speaking for Lars. Lars said very little these days.

“You good meathead?” Julia said brusquely. Lars gave a thumbs up, the universal symbol of recognition. Parachutes were added onto the body, and doors were opened.
“We will take their Pokemon… and make Baranga ours! Team Rocket shall blast off again!”
___________________________________________________________
18 Days before the Baranga Run

While surveying the sea, a local looked outwards with his binoculars and spotted something that he could not believe. A wooden pirate ship just like from centuries ago. Rubbing his eyes, he checked again and confirmed it was indeed still there. His wife looked out and then told the man it was not only there but getting closer. Their pet Swirlix did absolutely nothing and continued to sleep on the couch as it was want to do.

“Shiver me timbers, these be rough waters!” bellowed a Squirtle. The large pirate ship was home to a large menagerie of pirates and Pokemon alike. Each battled against the storm by throwing out buckets of water and clinging to the sails and deck of the ship like overly excited animals. Their captain, Jackson, stood atop the prow bravely, not afraid of a little rough water, and flashed a grin. “See that lads? That there be Baranga, and where there be land, there be loot!”
“Loot!” Squirtle repeated, though none but Jackson understood its words.
“But cap’n, I thought we were here for that contest thingy?”
“Oh yeah, that too! Think of that as a little detour, we’re here to pick up the shiny bits on the way!”
Squirtle plodded his way past a Tentacool currently beating its owner in a game of blackjack. “Captain, gots a question for ya!”
“Ask away, VIP cabin boy” replied Jackson. He had a soft spot for the little lad, yet could sense the Squirtle’s hesitance. “Begging pardon but… why are we here again? You and me both know that there isn’t any- “
“Keep thoughts like that to yourself, cabin boy” Jackson said, far more sternly that usual. Squirtle got the hint, and did not ask again, but the sense of weariness remained. Something was up with the captain, and the only way to find out was the hard way.

The crew gave a cry of “Yo ho!” as the SS Mudplugger sailed its way towards the ports of Ombazza.
___________________________________________________________
17 Days before the Baranga Run

When Officer Jenny arrived at the park, she had expected a return from the frat boys. Instead, she found someone else. It can be said that of the religious fanatics of the world, Baranga was thankfully lacking. Those who practiced, while numerous, were humble and quiet. This man before her, known as Ivan based on what some of the people were murmuring about, was not. He was skinny, skinnier than any man had the right to be. His hair was shaved bald, tattoos of legendary Pokemon were emblazoned upon his chest, and piercings galore adorned his shirtless body. A small Snivy struggled to hold up a massive leather book, and Ivan turned yet another page as he preached on. “Thus, Arceus commanded the Neanderthals to die, and die they did. For they were rotten and full of sin. Then he spoke his word, no Pokemon shall dominate another, for if they do let the wrath of Arceus be upon them. Do you not understand foul people? These Pokeballs enslave Pokemon! We command them to partake in foul sport! This vile- “
A can was thrown at him, projected from an angry man with fire in his eyes. He shrugged off the hit and smiled. “Ah… The ignorance of the masses.” He took the book from Snivy. “Remember Team Plasma, for they were the closest we have ever come to redemption!”
Another soda can struck him in the nose, eliciting a nosebleed and a smile from him.
“Team Plasma are terrorists! Shut your damned mouth!”

“Alright that’s enough!” Jenny said, restraining the man. “Ah, officer, good of you to show up. I’ve been having some difficulty with this crowd, and as you know I am simply projecting my rights to free speech.”
“All I’m hearing is a plea to not book me on attempting to incite a riot. It would be wise if you shut up and walked off.”
Ivan’s smile dropped. His Snivy hissed, its forked tongue rolling through the air. “Vilespawn. Speak not to the blessed man who leads you to salvation? What right do you have?” it snarled.
“The right as an officer of the law!” she barked back. It retreated behind Ivan who smiled.
“You heard her, Snivy. We cannot break the law. Lawbreakers are punished by Arceus.” It was the forced smile of a man who desired for his voice to be heard, and was trapped in a land of opinions who hated him. She watched him go, sighed, and turned to the man who had thrown the can. His face was red.
The man said nothing more. Some stories didn’t need to be told.
___________________________________________________________
15 Days before the Baranga Run

It was upon the shores of Unova that Abraham stood, ready to set sail upon his personal pleasure yacht to the land of Baranga, to take up the challenge that many before him were now flocking to. If the rumors were true, nearly five thousand total were expected to arrive. His fans adored him, his Flabebe was showered with lovely, fanciful flowers. A picky creature, it continued to switch from beautiful flower to other beautiful flower, trying to judge which one was best in its indecision. Other Flabebe would likely call this one foolish for being so capricious about flowers and not sticking to one, but this one didn’t care what they thought. Only the most beautiful of flowers would do. Abraham meanwhile was doting in the spotlight of the many who adored him. “Alas, my beauties, my time here grows short” he announced.

The squalor of tears and voices of denial at his leaving drowned out even the ocean’s mighty roar.

“Do not fret, for I will think of you! When I look upon the sky, I will remember your blue eyes. When I look upon the sand, I will remember the warm complexions of your skin. When I look upon the green grass I- “
He paused. The crowd paused. “Forget that last one” he added. Then, with another wave, Abraham set off.

Finally, out of sight, he let out a sigh. “You keep putting up this act, why?” Flabebe asked. “The gifts and adoration mainly. Good in short bursts. You use what you can to get what you want” Abraham replied. Flabebe nodded, without Abraham’s thinking she wouldn’t have all these nice flowers.
“Wise words woo. Remember that one. Wise words woo.”
___________________________________________________________
14 Days before the Baranga Run

Few people paid attention to the moody emo and her Cubone walking down the alley. It was a massive cliché, and people tended to ignore clichés for the good of their own health.

Gabi liked it that way and so did her Cubone. Her business for being here was hers and hers alone.

Nothing more needed to be said really.
___________________________________________________________
13 Days before the Baranga Run

“Larry! Hey Larry! When’s the boss getting back huh?” Murkrow blared. The minion known as Larry, a quiet and tall looking “professional”, shook his head as he continued to play the accordion. The other members of the gang continued their dinner of finely cooked lamb and mashed potatoes, topped with a side dish of ravioli. It made Murkrow’s mouth water. “Ah man… I’m stahvin!” it called out pitifully. Hopping over to the table, Gino looked at it with a vague stare. “C’mon Gino my friendino, gimme some of that rav!”
“Back off bird, wait till your master gets off the phone” Gino warned, waving a spoon threateningly in Murkrow’s direction. Murkrow sighed. No respect, not even when the boss was around. Sometimes he felt like a mascot and nothing more. He never considered the fact that only Nickel could hear him, and all his talk sounded like incessant squawking.
A full ten further minutes passed as the group discussed legitimate business, whilst Murkrow continued to sulk over a lack of food. Eventually the door to the room would open, and Murkrow would cry out “Boss!” in elation, and flutter over to his shoulder where he sat proudly and comfortably.

“Nickel, your bird’s bein a bother” mumbled Louie to Nickel, the boss. Nickel was a rather imposing tanned individual. His hair was slick and greased, and his left eye was covered with an eyepatch. When Murkrow had inquired about as to how he had lost his eye, he mumbled something about a freak shrubbery accident. Windows were closed upon instruction, no wayward ears needed to hear this conversation. All eyes turned upon the boss, who adjusted his coat.

“Alright boys, here’s the plan…”

“Nickel!” a voice shouted, bursting in with her near infantile Snover by her side. Nickel groaned audibly, the rest of his crew said nothing, as he turned towards his sister. “Tina. What an unexpected surprise. I’m sure you have a good explanation as to why you have interrupted a meeting with my fellow… conosseurs.”
“You’re scheming again” she chastised, whilst holding her Snover in two arms. The thing was a runt, not even a year old. Could barely even speak. “Scheming is such a harsh word. Can’t men simply have a discussion in peace?” Murkrow complained. “So, what is it this time? Extortion? Bribing? Can’t we just do something nice for a change?” Tina said, before holding Snover up to Nickel’s face. “Look at him Nickel. Do you want him to grow up in a family who’s just a bunch of mobsters?”
Nickel got a cold look on his face. That word, “mobster”, and anything similar to it, always struck a nerve. Were it not his sister, said individual would have a few less teeth. “World’s not nice, Tina. We gotta do what we do so we can have what we need to get by.”
“Do we really have to?” she replied. Nickel scowled. “Listen. If we make it big here, we won’t ever have to do anything like this ever again.”
Tina’s eyebrows furrowed. “Really?” she said. She’d heard this excuse before. “Yes. Because if we pull this off, we’re gonna be richer than any man alive. All we have to do is… win.”

“Win” Tina said. “Win what?” she asked. Nickel looked to his Murkrow, who let out a big grin.
___________________________________________________________
12 Days before the Baranga Run

On a dark and stormy night, across a lonely scarecrow bedecked field, a woman named Reese and her Mareep stood at the forefront of the lightning storm. Most would say it is foolish to stand under a lightning storm right next to an electric Pokemon. These people are normal and rational, and therefore the opposite of Reese.
She stood there in her strange, barbed corset, which cut inward and made her bleed. Tubes and wires collected the blood and deposited it into many jars and urns taped to her body, like a makeshift dialysis machine. The Mareep looked like a zombie. Its tail was skeletonized save for the ball, its fur was patchy and rough, and the tip of its skull had layers of staples across it from many surgeries.
It inhaled the air and smiled. “Ahhh, electricity. Nectar of the gods” he spoke fondly, then turned his one good eye to Reese. Reese wasn’t very emotive, but she held a palm up to the sky, and rubbed her fingers together.

She began to set up. A rivet here, a bolt there, and soon a crude makeshift table of iron was built. She always carried those materials around, despite seemingly never having room for them. Laying down on it, she held out her tongue and waited. It would come, it just needed time. “What’s today’s experiment?” Mareep asked curiously.
“To see how much lightning it takes to kill someone” she said bluntly.
Mareep nodded and smiled. “Very wise. The world will be thankful for this sacrifice.”
Then they waited.
___________________________________________________________
10 Days before the Baranga Run

It took quite some time for Leslie to get off the boat. She was old, and walked with a cane. Her Oranguru plodded next to her at a slow pace, carrying a large leaf fan over its head, doing its very best to guard against the rain.
“Oh dear, it seems we’re a bit early” Leslie said, smiling. Oranguru replied “Rarely a bad thing to be early. Why I remember one time, there was this orange tree…”
The Oranguru began a soft-spoken tale which Leslie tuned out. He, like her, was old, and had lived a long and fruitful life. Leslie had cared for both people and Pokemon all her life in her hometown in Alola. So great was her reputation that even the fiercest and proudest of Pokemon would come to her for assistance. Not even Team Skull would bother her.

Her joining this competition was more for fun, to see how well she could do in her old age. Long gone by was her rookie years of being a Trial Captain, now she was kind old Leslie the talkative grandmother. She didn’t expect to win; she was just in it for the experience.
“Weather seems a bit choppy, wouldn’t you say?” she asked Oranguru. Oranguru stuck a palm out and felt the drops attack his fingertips, then commented “I think it is rather humid” and fanned himself with his free hand.
This was going to be quite an enjoyable romp, all things considered.
___________________________________________________________
9 Days before the Baranga Run

“It is my inspiration; do you not see? Do you fail to realize my plight?” Yorick pleaded, upon deaf ears. Her Smeargle was bouncing angrily in place, spouting loud obscenities and creative phrases that simply should not be heard by normal ears. The mural was ruined. It had been a multi-hour process and, while not exceptionally long for works of art, was still a devotion of time and soul to a project.
The mural, a map of the town of Ombazza painted upon a brick wall by her Smeargle and given directions by Yorick, had just been hosed off.
“The rain would have come back and taken it anyway” the sanitation worker mumbled, as he and his Poliwhirl walked off. Smeargle fumed. “The fool has potentially destroyed a masterpiece…”
Yorick sniffled, held it in, and then smiled. “No fear. There will be more opportunities. Inspiration is found in all things, even what we do not consider.”
This of course gave Yorick an idea. Yorick had many ideas. However, Yorick was cursed in her own mind. Her fingers shook all day long due to birth complications. She couldn’t even sign her own name. But a mind such as Yorick is filled with ideas, ideas impossible to fulfill. That is where Smeargle comes in. A talentless Pokemon ostracized by his group, this Smeargle has not an inch of creativity in his brain. All talent, no aspirations.
The two combined together can do what they always wanted to, paint masterpieces. Often these masterpieces came at random and unexpected. A bit of a fence, a coin on the ground. Then Yorick and her Smeargle would create, and the world would gawk.

At home in Johto, getting a Yorick, as it was called, was a sign of good luck. Here, the reception didn’t seem to be quite as positive as she hoped.
Yet there was always next time. For example, that swing-set over there could do with a bit of inspiration…
___________________________________________________________
7 Days before the Baranga Run

Some people like to pass unnoticed, such as Summer. Summer stood out only slightly more than Jon. Standard height, black hair, nervous expression, her Machop stood at attention behind her at all times. Her job was to be her voice, one she rarely let out more than a whimper.
“You got this. You are an absolute legend back in Hoenn. What’s a bit of foreign experience gonna do to you? Nothing. That’s right, nothing!”
Shy Summer, as she was nicknamed, was an extremely renowned trainer, for she had won the Hoenn Conference six years ago, and the Unova Conference last year. Perhaps of all the gifted present on the island, she was the most to her name. Yet she did not enjoy the fame. Summer liked to be to herself, and so let Machop be her public relations when she did not have the gall to do so.
As it walked beside her, she curled her face back into her hood, and let out a muffled whimper. Mawile ignored it, just another protest for no discernible reasons.
They continued their stroll, as Summer looked for a place to stay, the last thing she wanted to do was-
“Watch where you’re going, jerk!”
Ah, she had almost stepped on a Machop. She moved to the side and attempted to go around it, missed the warning of Machop, and bumped into someone significantly larger.

The Machop’s trainer was large, in both girth and height, and had a nasty look in their eyes.
“Who do you think you are, picking on my Pokemon like that?” she growled.
Before Summer could apologize and walk off, Mawile spoke for her. “This here’s Summer, Hoenn champ. She could kick your butt any day of the week!” Of course, the woman lacking the gift, she did not understand the Machop’s speech.

She cackled, and said “Challenge accepted.”
Summer sighed, and straightened herself out. She supposed, after all, she would need some practice.
___________________________________________________________
6 Days before the Baranga Run

Tropius is one of the rarer Pokemon of this world. A holdover from the time of the Dinosaurs, it is hard to train and domesticate owing to its large size, appetite, and sense of freedom.
Thus, to see a raggedy individual like Uina ride in on one flying through the skies. Skinny, clad in clothes that look like they belong in a dumpster, she was a relic from the flower child movement. Her Tropius looked to have a mindset of half past the solar system, possessive of a vacant smile as it landed clumsily amidst a grove in the woods near town.

“Woah. Rain’s coming down hard, man” Uina mumbled. Her Tropius nodded, and nibbled at the grass. Its half-closed eyes betrayed little emotion, and even less thought. Uina also was a simple individual when it came to thoughts.
“Those clouds are kinda grey, yo” she commented, catching on several hours later than she should have.
“Cause’ they’re rain clouds, or something” Tropius added. Uina, having forgotten what she had said but moments ago nodded sleepily. “Nature’s beautiful, man.”

They both sat there for some time, admiring the creation of Arceus and all its wonders. Several other smaller Pokemon came near them overtime, and an Aipom was even brave enough to approach the Tropius, reaching for a banana. The gentle dinosaur allowed this, and the Aipom scurried off in success with its treat. “We’ve got time” Uina mumbled, as she began to drift off to sleep.
___________________________________________________________
5 Days before the Baranga Run

It was midnight when the next boat docked in the station. The trainers who got off were absolutely exhausted. The woman who stepped off tried so hard to look inconspicuous she did the exact opposite. Tall and built, she tried to hide her body in a thick trench coat and fedora, and failed miserably. Thick leather gloves clutched a magnifying glass in one hand, and a stack of papers in the other. Several people stopped and stared at her.
“Quit staring ya jackoffs!” her Chatot shouted. One didn’t need to have the gift to know when a Chatot was yelling at them. Clever creatures they were, they could mimic Humans quite easily, and had the capacity to understand what was being said.
Chatot was grumpy, because he didn’t like being cooped up on a boat all the time. You try and go out for a brisk flight above the boat and before you know it, you’ve lost the boat and you were fish food. No choice but to sit and wait.

“Log One, August 29th. I arrive off the boat with my Chatot. Suspicious looks all around. Suspect on boat? Unlikely.”
Oh boy, there she goes again. She mumbled a lot to herself, went on these tirades so to speak. She never was a stable one, not after the encounter with…
Chatot scowled.
…Her.
She had left Chatot’s master damaged, shattered, and amalgamated. She walked in a strange gaunt fashion, mumbling indiscriminately to herself. These little talks with this make belief journal always made Chatot sad, because they made him think of how things used to be.

Would they ever get back to the way it used to be? Perhaps if they caught her, it might. She was here. The two had spent months piecing it together and now that they were here, they were going to get her.
Run be damned, this was justice.
___________________________________________________________
4 Days before the Baranga Run

The storm today was particularly bad. It always was near the end of the rainy season. Ships had to be diverted from the port because of the bad weather, leaving many annoyed trainers stranded out in the ocean for the time being. The dock workers were struggling to keep what was anchored from being thrashed into pieces or drifting out to the water to be sunk.
A massive crack of lightning not too far off in the distance reaffirmed their beliefs that to be outside right now was a poor life choice. Yet as the workers turned to run for cover, a strange cry echoed throughout the skies which grabbed their attentions.
They stopped, and stared at the sky. The cry was responded by another strange cry. A Pokemon most likely.

Then, off in the distance, one slowly came into view, followed by two more. The workers stood there amidst the rain and wind, and stared.

A minute later, a Zapdos, followed by an Articuno and a Moltres touched down upon the dock. Riding the back of the Zapdos was Sheila, a well known three-time champion from Kanto, and her two sisters, also champions. She looked down at the workers, and scowled. “Well? When are you going to unpack our bags?”
“M-M’am you have a Zapdos…”
Her Zapdos screeched in regard to this, lifting its wings up and bringing lightning down on the waters nearby. The workers began to hurriedly unpack, in awe and fear of the Legendary Birds before them.

This was going to be quite easy, Sheila thought, and smiled.
___________________________________________________________
3 Days before the Baranga Run

“When are you Slowpokes going to finish unpacking? I’ve been waiting for at least half an hour!” snapped Hailey. Her Pichu, a fat and spoiled specimen, struggled to find room in its triple-extra-large luxury backpack which doubled as a small house for a Pokemon, whilst three dockworkers and a Machoke struggled to lift it. Her ship was larger than any other within the harbor, and she had faced considerable difficulty simply getting it into the dock, the bloated behemoth that it was.
“Primitives…” she mumbled. Snapping her fingers, the Pichu awoke from its torpor and slowly bounced out with zero grace, before prancing over to Hailey in an ungainly fashion. The creature must be at least three times its healthy weight, and probably couldn’t attack to save its life. A person like Hailey and her Pokemon did not belong here.

At the docks waited Kajiro and a rather dumb looking woman, waving like a tube man in the wind. A Lileep hung off the back of Kajiro’s shoulder.  She stuck her chin up and strolled forward with a projected aura of great importance. Kajiro bowed, as he should. He knew his place, Hailey thought. Something about him and her dad being old friends, and him owing her dad a favor. He looked like a fossil, she thought. What does he know that I don’t? I don’t even know why people think training Pokemon is difficult.

Kajiro looked at her, and then her Pichu. His Lileep turned towards him and whispered, “It’s rather fat don’t you think...?”
“I heard that!” barked the Pichu. The Lileep yelped. “You think your tough cause you’re all the way up there? Ech… Give me a minute and I’ll show you what for!”
“Eh…”
Lileep had expected a thunderbolt. She’d instead received a very poor attempt at climbing a suit of armor. Hailey whistled, and with a command of “Come!” it begrudgingly waddled back to her.
“We’ve just met and your Pokemon already had the audacity to make such… horrid accusations to mine!” she scoffed, and stroked her Pichu. Kajiro bowed his head and said “I apologize. My Lileep has spoken out of turn. It will not happen again. Allow us to carry your bags for you.”

“Good” Hailey smiled, then thrust an arm backwards to the dozen bags having been unloaded, and the dozen more being taken off. “Make sure you get them all. If the rain comes and they get wet I will make you pay for a replacement.”
Kajiro did as he was told. Lileep shot a look to the Pichu, which stuck its tongue out at her.
Diana, meanwhile, stared out vacantly and said, “I like your shirt.” Hailey ignored her.
2 Days before the Baranga Run

Whereas Santos was an obscene girth of a specimen, his Meowth was also exceptionally skinny to the point one wondered if perhaps Santos was stealing its food. It had in its hands an abacus, and frequently fidgeted with its paws as if counting something. Being an older man, Santos dribbled his fingers together and smiled cheerily. “Lovely little place isn’t it?” he said to his Pokemon.
“No” said Meowth, rather coldly.
“Oh, and why is that my friend?”
“Costs. Costs of travel, of food, shelter, survival, etc. Santos, we’re looking at perhaps THOUSANDS of dollars in cost. Do you understand that?”
Santos nodded calmly. “We have plenty more. Not to worry. We will swiftly earn that back through battling.
Meowth grimaced. “Must I dirty my hands again?” it asked. “Yes” replied Santos, a bit firmer this time.

Intelligence would trump all given the right circumstances. The trick was getting said circumstances to occur.
“Everything has already been accounted for. Trust me old friend, this will be quite easy.” Santos chuckled, while his Meowth sighed. “I certainly hope so. I would HATE to exit this debacle completely bankrupt as a result.”
___________________________________________________________
12 Hours before the Baranga Run

The clock struck midnight, and let out a Noctowl’s cry to indicate the coming of a new day. Shawn sighed, and looked out from the boat he was travelling on. His Mareanie next to him was loudly and rudely indulging in Corsola Bits, graciously given to it from the generous patronage of Shawn’s wallet. “Hey. Got any more?” Mareanie grumbled, casually chucking the bag to the floor of the ship. Let the janitor deal with it, not his problem.
Shawn was busy sulking. Mareanie grumbled and prodded him. “Hey. I’m hungry. Go buy me some more.”
Shawn slowly turned to the Mareanie, who winced. The deadened look in his eyes, the sloping shoulders of defeat. Dammit, he was being moody again. Without responding, Shawn began to shuffle off towards the kitchen. Mareanie sighed, just his luck he’d get a moody trainer.
Dammit, things used to be so simple! Seems like puberty did a drive-by on him, now he was a mopey mess. This whole experience was supposed to cheer him up, but so far, it seems like it wasn’t having much effect.

Mareanie shrugged, at least it had its Corsola Bits. Delicious, crunchy, Corsola Bits. “Hey, quit being such a sadsack? It’s not the end of the world you know.”
“Might as well be” Shawn complained after returning, to the sound of Mareanie chewing on more Corsola bits. “What’s the point of anything? All I’m doing is feeding this stupid world’s mindset we live in. Fight this, go there, why can’t I just do what I want to do?”
“Like what?” asked Mareanie.
“I dunno!” Shawn said, throwing up his hands. “Quit interrogating me, okay? Sheesh…” Swiping his head to the side, he sighed sadly.
Shawn was a sad little child, who found that the world was out to get him. His parents had forced him on this, and bought him his very own Pokemon, and pushed him out the door. Mareanie, being that Pokemon, suspected they simply wanted to get rid of him. As to what Shawn’s problem was, Mareanie neither knew nor cared. He intended to ditch the kid as soon as he got a chance.
“Aw dammit! I forgot my DS! Ugh… this is gonna suck…”
Mareanie groaned, this was going to be a long journey.
___________________________________________________________
8 Hours before the Baranga Run
The fog was quite impressive, but typical for a seaside town so early in the morning. Stepping off of his personal yacht, the old explorer Bill grasped a candlestick holder in one hand. Within it, was perched a Litwick, sleepy and giving off a luminescent glow. Bill coughed, and fastened his backpack. “I say” he mumbled through his overgrown gray mustache. “It’s a bit drafty, wouldn’t you agree?”
Litwick snored.
Bill wasn’t terribly interested in the Baranga Run, it was the ancient ruins of Baranga which captured his interests. Such an isolated country undoubtedly held many secrets within its borders. The challenge was simply a means to an end, with no true intention of actually winning. Fame and Fortune were not his forte, but rather experiencing and documenting the mysteries of life. Life was quaint.
As he was about to leave, he called out and said “Come along Mr. Shine, we’ve got to unpack and get as much rest as we can before the trainers arrive.”
Mr. Shine was a meat tower of a man, standing seven and a half feet tall. A scarred and brutish looking Scyther flanked him.
Mr. Shine made no noise, and moved to flank Bill, who smiled. A little protection never hurt.
“I’m gettin’ paid fer this right?”
“Yes yes, you’ll get paid at the end. But come now, there’s work to do!” With a skip in his step, quite impressive for one of his age, Bill pranced away.
His Scyther groaned audibly. “Bodyguard protection for an old man. Have we really fallen so low?”
Mr. Shine didn’t even want to think about it.
___________________________________________________________
4 Hours before the Baranga Run
Baranga was now absolutely swarmed with trainers, absolutely eager to show off their prowess to the world. Perhaps ten thousand had come in all, for the invitation had not been one to be so easily missed. They infested every aspect of the port town, and not a single citizen was able to avoid their intrepid questions and exploring. Many found it annoying, for not all were in their best behavior. The trainers tended to be obnoxiously curious, fascinated by the land filled with the people who could talk to Pokemon, and poked their nose into absolutely everything that could be poked into.
Boris however was not among these rude individuals. He was tall, and of an older build. His mustache was greying, and his hat and coat were thick and warm. A soft yet somewhat oblivious smile was located upon his face. In his two hands he clutched a Slowpoke, the dopiest of dopey Pokemon.
“Is it not wonderful?” he asked his Slowpoke. Slowpoke blinked, and after a considerable delay, replied with a guttural “Ummm…… Yes.”
“You are very much of the insightfulness my friend” said Boris happily. “We have much time to be killing, and little to do while we wait. So, tell me friend? What do you want to do?”

Slowpoke took some time to take in that rather long sentence, and then it began to think very hard? What did it want to do? Why, such a big decision such as that would obviously require lots of time to ponder.
Slowpoke continued to think, an unchanging expression on his face. As the world excitedly buzzed around him, Boris waited patiently. He had time, in fact he had it in abundance. There was no reason to rush, for the world’s fruits were plentiful and would not rot till long after they were gone.
Boris was not here to win. Boris was here to explore and to enjoy. Should he happen to progress a bit further than others along the way, well then, that was acceptable too wasn’t it?
“Frisbee” was the first word to pop from Slowpoke’s mouth. Boris smiled. “Good idea, let us find this while we wait eh friend?”
“Huh?” Slowpoke said obliviously, unaware of what it had been thinking prior.
“Frisbee’s”
“Huh?”
Boris smiled softly.
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35 Minutes before the Baranga Run
“C’mon, move it!” an impatient trainer shouted. They pushed and shoved past each other in a great teeming horde of people of all ages. The more mature ones strode forward confidently, whilst the younger and more nervous ones were anxiously racing towards their upcoming trial.
Then there was Kass.
Her hair was cut short, and her skin labeled with piercings. On her shirt was a large stylized skull, and tattoos in excess of the dozens. An Eevee with a similar hairstyle followed by her side, unfazed at the world around it. She exuded an aura of hostility, but those who were familiar with her gave her an even wider berth.
Kass was, four years ago, the League winner of Johto. Labeled as a candidate to the Elite Four, she turned it down for being “boring”. Since then she had travelled the world. Three years ago, she was a semi-finalist in Kanto. Two, a runner-up in Kalos. Last year, she had won Sinnoh. Yet that was not their main concern. What their concern was, was her legendary temper.
Such as what was about to be inflicted upon an unfortunate yet clumsy older trainer. He had been on his phone, and had bumped right into her.
“Aye, sorry about- “
He never got the chance to finish, for Kass had knocked him out cold in a single blow. Cracking her knuckles, she spat upon him, and motioned for Eevee to follow her without a word. “Wanker” she grumbled, as she purposefully stepped on his stomach with her sharp iron cleets. Losers and weaklings may as well piss off, or get out of her way. She had this one in the bag.
Others, having seen this clear display of brutality, avoided her. As she walked, she noticed this and almost smiled. It felt good to get the respect she deserved. Better to be feared than loved, a quote from some schmoe she didn’t know. The Eevee that followed her had adopted to her mindset perfectly. That was why she preferred the species, for it followed her lifestyle like a mime.
It made for much more interesting conversation than any of the other morons that surrounded her constantly.

“So, tell me, how do we go about this?” Eevee asked. Though it had undergone long training for this specific challenge, it was still a rookie when it came to an actual professional league. Kass was a clever strategist, and not one to be easily beaten. Still, there was always the question of just, exactly, what was said strategy.
Kass grinned, and reached into a backpack. “Rules say we have to start with one unevolved Pokemon.” Therein, she pulled out…
“An Ice Stone…” the Eevee said in awe.
“We go five minutes in, and I give this to you.”
“Isn’t that… cheating?” Eevee dared to say. Kass furrowed her brow and scowled nastily, causing Eevee to shrink under her gaze. “Hey now…” she said annoyed. “I go through all this trouble for you and you’re arguing whether what I’m doing is fair? You gotta bend the rules to your advantage to win, that’s how winners do it kiddo!”
Eevee nodded hastily. Of course, Kass was always right. How silly of her. She followed behind earnestly, as Kass ventured forward and disappeared into the crowd. They all trudged onwards, up a massive hill, to await the unknown future.