Excerpt of Junk

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?”

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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 has 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 stuck to her code of chivalry at all times. Inside however Honedge knew she was a storm of conflicting emotions. Born too ugly to ever be 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.