A Smell of Petroleum Pervades Throughout
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February 16th, 2013 (2:13 PM). Edited February 16th, 2013 by Cutlerine.
Gone. May or may not return.
The Misspelled Cyrpt
> Check pokedex to find out the weaknesses of the thing. They have those in there, right?
Prepare the television for battle.
> Anyway, cartoon logic states that the only food that can properly blind someone is the cake, so throw that then attempt to catch it.
> If the cake fails throw the Hambone, and after the pokeball is thrown and it is trying to escape hold it together in your hands to prevent the Formerly-Unseen-But-Now-All-Too-Visible Thing from breaking out.
As the beast bursts through the wreckage of the chair, you duck down behind the kitchen counter and flip open the Pokédex, praying that you stay hidden long enough to find out some way of stopping it. You scroll from Chikorita all the way down to Dragonite, but to your consternation, you see nothing new: despite the beeping, the Pokédex doesn't appear to have updated at all. Christ, why did the Narrator have to draw attention to that? It isn't fair, he's made you waste time while the monster gets closer, and now it's probably going to eat you—
You have an idea.
Slowly, stealthily, you rise to your feet, peering up over the counter, trying to see where the beast is. It hasn't moved from the door; its head swings from side to side, perhaps trying to scent you, but the rest of its body is entirely, unnaturally still.
You shiver. This thing creeps the hell out of you.
You really, really hope this next part works.
Reaching quietly into your Bag, you draw out the Birthday Cake and heft it one-handed. It's a weighty affair in pink marchpane, cursive script spelling out an unknown name across its face and delicate curls of cream rounding out the edges. It seems almost a shame to throw it, but you need a diversion if you're going to get anywhere near to catching this thing.
You take a moment to think up your one-liner, then straighten up.
“Happy birthday,” you say coldly, and hurl the cake.
You're no stranger to throwing – all those Poké Balls do wonders for the aim – and it flies straight and true, smacking the fishy abomination right in the face. It roars, ear-splitting in the confined space, and for a moment you almost chicken out, close to ducking back into cover and whimpering like a baby—
But you're a Trainer, you're the guy who screws around with dragons just because, and you vault the counter, sprinting to the TV, and kick the side of it as hard as you can. Blinded by fury and sweet, sweet cake, the monster lunges, jagged jaws lancing through the air towards the noise of cracking plastic—
—and plunges its face through the TV screen.
There is a terrible unearthly shriek.
There is a terrible unearthly silence.
And there is a
smell of burnt fish.
When you finally emerge from the foetal position – which you totally assumed to protect yourself from potential flying debris, and not because you were scared out of your pathetic little mind – the monster is lying, cake-bespattered and smoking gently, next to the sparking wreckage of the TV.
. You are, you realise, possibly the most awesome person in the history of the world.
In fact, you're halfway through composing an epic ballad in celebration of your worth when you notice the monster's claws have started twitching again, and decide you'd really probably better chuck a Ball at it now. It vanishes in a burst of light, and, deciding that you really don't want to risk this thing breaking out again, you hold the two halves of the Ball together while it shakes. Given that it's currently somewhat fried, the monster doesn't make much of an attempt to resist, and moments later you're holding in your hands what is surely the most kick-ass monster you've ever captured.
Gotcha! The wild Totodile was caught!
Give a nickname to the captured Totodile?
Wait just a damn minute.
The Thinking Man's Guide to Destroying the World
The Rocket Case
The Rocket Revival
Neither Here Nor There
Coriolanus Rowland's Guide to Pokémon Husbandry
Robin Goodfellow's Christmas Carol
Stranger Than Fiction
My Trip to the End of Time, by Pearl Gideon
A Smell of Petroleum Pervades Throughout
For information about A Grand Day Out, a bizarre short story in video game form, click
Joined Mar 2010
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