Bulbanon's One-Shots

A place for Bulbanon's stories too short to need their own paste.

Note: All Bulbanon one-shots are open source and free for anyone to use.

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Good Deed Rewarded:

><Wake up, anon.>
>There was a thought in my head that didn’t belong to me.
>Groggily, I turned to my bedside clock. It was 9AM. Usually my cat wakes me up hours before this.
><I have some important news to share with you, anon.>
>I was now awake enough to be startled by this voice in my head. I sat upright to be face to face with an alakazam.
><I wanted to thank you for taking caring of me these past few years. I am eternally grateful for you rescuing me from starvation in that alleyway.>
>”Leo?” I asked. Since people and animals started turning into pokemon I had imagined all sorts of possibilities but I never thought my cat would be speaking to me telepathically.
><Indeed. However, it is time for us to part ways. I am no longer a cat and must move on with my life. I will never forget you, anon.>
>Before I could even say goodbye he had completely disappeared with a bright teleport.
>I looked around my apartment wondering if Leo was truly gone. I found my bookshelf had been emptied with the books neatly piled on a nearby table. My desktop computer was on. No program was open but my browser history had thousands of new entries during the time I had slept. With subjects ranging from language, math, and even physics.
>Leo’s food and water dishes were neatly placed in the sink. His litterbox was emptied, cleaned, and set next to a box filled with his toys. All except for one feathery mouse toy he loved to play with more than any other.
>Hours passed before I accepted that he was really gone.
>Every year on that date I receive a postcard from a company called Zam Technology Corporation. It has a logo suspiciously shaped like a mouse with a feathery tail. Attached to the postcard is always a check that covers all my yearly expenses and then some.
>The postcard is always signed, “To my most cherished human.”

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The Neighbourhood Watch:

>”Thanks for helping me on my route while Sarah is recovering.”
>”No problem. How’s she doing by the way?”
>”They got all her fingers reattached but she might not get full feeling back.”
>”Dang. What happened to the kid that turned into the voltorb? Is he alright?”
>“Dunno. The bomb squad came and they still haven’t released any details.”
>Today I was helping my friend’s community volunteer group. They do a daily morning wellness check on people who live alone or otherwise sign up for the service. These groups started popping up everywhere after a highly publicized tragic story about a lone woman who turned into a finneon and was unable to get help in time. Some people even started keeping buckets of water near their bedside. You can’t prepare for everything in a world where you can wake up as one of a thousand different species so that’s where we come in.
>The service distributes door hanger signs (like the “do not disturb” signs used by hotels). We just have to check if they are signed with today’s date and then move on with our list. For everyone else, we knock. Usually it’s someone who was sleeping in late. Most people in this situation don’t get too annoyed by the wake up call since they voluntarily signed up for this service.
>When nobody answers within 5 minutes of knocking we consult our list. We check what instructions the resident has given us and follow that. This can range from calling the homeowner to using a spare key to enter the home and investigate. Nobody likes doing the latter. It leads to a lot of awkward situations. Most of the time we only have permission to call the police and ask for a wellness check. We usually advise against this since the police have been strained to their absolute limit these days and there’s no guarantee when they will get to you.

>In the rare event we do enter the home and encounter a turnee we have a list of procedures to follow. First, we determine if it’s an immediate life or death situation and act accordingly. If there is no immediate danger we try to gather as much information as possible on what the turnee turned into and what their home environment is like. We then call this information in to the wellness center and they send a professional over with appropriate equipment and information to help the turnee with their new life. Usually this involves contact with a psychologist to go over potential PIPS symptoms.
>”So far, so good. Last one on our list is the Baker family. They’re a lovely old couple but they will chat your ears off for hours if you let them.”
>Turning cases were still pretty rare in our town despite the constant news stories. Until the voltorb disaster happened yesterday there hadn’t been a case for almost three weeks.
>”Hello, hello!” a sweet tiny old lady greeted us. Her glasses were as wide as dinner plates and thick as a door.
>”Good morning, Carol. Is George up?”
>”Oh the poor man is under the weather. Pale as a ghost and burning with a fever. Wont be able to get in to the doctor’s until tomorrow!”
>”Hmm,” my friend grunted, “Do you mind if we check on him?”
>”Of course, of course,” she smiled, “He’s just down this way but please do be quiet. He’s still resting.”
>Our services do include non-pokemon related matters from time to time. Many of our elderly clients sign up in case their life alert bracelets fail them. Carol led us down the hall and stopped before the bedroom door. The sound of a frantically creaking mattress could be heard.
>”Oh dear, it sounds like the fever is getting to him,” Carol said as she opened the door.
>Inside we found a raboot hopping up and down on the bed. He looked like he was having the time of his life.

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Noseanon Noses North:

>Wake up as nosepass
>Finally overcome instinct to not move after many days
>Decide to check my computer
>Magnetic body destroys the hard drive before I even hop onto chair
>Guess I have to touch grass
>Make my way to living room
>Loads of mail shoved through front door
>Use magnetic forces to attach forks to my stubby rock arms to use as makeshift hands and open mail
>Pink slip for missing too many days of work
>Bills due
>Help wanted for luau party supply store
>Walk ins welcome
>When life gives you lemons
>Try to get on bus
>Doors are stuck and the driver can’t get them to move
>Guess I’m walking
>Or waddling
>The store is north of here
>This pleases me for some reason
>Electronics store on other side of street has tvs displaying a news channel
>Footage of an aggron eating railroad tracks sends shivers down my spine
>I waddle a little faster

>The party store is in view
>There’s a big sale on grass skirts and tiki torches today
>As I draw near people start to notice me
>I’m drawing a crowd
>They run up to me smiling and pulling out their phones
>They look at their phones and frown
>The store manager comes up to me in the commotion.
>”Hey there, little guy! How would you like a job? You’d be the perfect mascot for our store!”
>I nod my big honking nose enthusiastically
>”Great! We can get the paperwork done after your first shift. We could really use your help with our sale today!”
>”All you have to do is stand at the entrance and greet the customers! Easy, right?”
>I waddle to the entrance and stare inside
>“Um, other way, Mr. Pokemon.”
>Turn around slowly
>”There! Perfect!”
>IhatethisjobIhatethisjobIhatethisjob
>I have no mouth and I must inform my boss that I’d greatly prefer to greet people on the other side of the store
>Sudden idea
>Aloha can mean hello and goodbye
>Decide to be a fareweller instead
>Turn around
>Ah… Much better
>”No. I don’t think this is going to work out. Sorry, bud.”
>Morons shouldn’t have built a store facing south
>Don’t want to go home
>It’s south of here
>Guess I’ll have to move on with my life
>Just as long as that movement is north

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