[PKMN FULL] RéBURST ~RéBOOT~ [M] [IC]

Goodness me, this is a character we have not shipped already! What is this madness, and furthermore, how can we force help Seth join the official RéBURST ship?

Shipping thoughts aside, Seth has come to find an admirable opponent of smooth fur. A Cubchoo, and not just any Cubchoo, but the son of Brycen's Beartic himself! ... Or daughter, rather. Yeah, it's a girl, and not just any girl, but Meloeira de Bagette herself! It just so happens that the dear Cubchoo was walking back home after destroying that pink Rattata's prissy buttock while off-screen, because we're evil like that. And now, here she is, shaking her bootay around a metallic capsule as we gaze in awe, awaiting the decision on whether this Pokemon will be caught or not...

Have I mentioned we're evil?

This is Clauncher. Clauncher says hi. Recently, a mass outbreak of wild Pokemon -particularly those inhabiting within the Kalos region- have been seen at multiple spots within the region. And Clauncher just so happens to be the most common sighting around Mauville. Chances are you'll be seeing loads of these busting the shores and being carried around by fashionable lads who want you to know they have one and you don't. The less common sight and also a rival of Clauncher: Skrelp, has been spotted as well, but with a less predominant frequency. Have fun catching one or twenty.

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Imoen mutters gently to herself as she walks alongside the other group of random people she just happened to stumble across while, by chance, being flung across the sky to a particular moment of a specific island that involved a peculiar and secular series of events that happened and lead to where she is now. All too much of a coincidence, really. Her steps are taken at a regular pace and she occasionally makes a comment or an observation about where their steps lead them, but all she really wants is to arrive to a city with everything she could ever possibly want and for everything there to be perfect forever. A fair dream for most people, which made it decidedly average enough for this young woman.

Mauville is definitely not such a place. It's a place with a lot of things with confusing names and introductions and it doesn't even have the benefit of oddly-talking Rangers to serve as a guide to the madness. Like a child-friendly R'lyeh. Not to mention the fact that there's a strange fat man with a mustache who just happens to have a job that involves lots of time spent standing around children; it's a good thing he doesn't have a Vanillite, or else things would start getting awkward for the be-sweater'd gym leader. To put it shortly, she didn't like it, as anyone with telepathy could tell from Imoen's completely blank face as it stared big and blue over the many buildings and people that probably should call themselves something neat. Like Mauvillians. Mauvers. Supercalifrajulisticexpialimaucious.

Ni probably didn't like it, and the PokeDex definitely didn't like the fact that there were precisely zero attractive people to take pictures of. It much preferred the idea of that one other electric trainer, with the buzzing headphones and the clothes that looked like conductive tape that could barely hold itself together. That was a trainer who could push her buttons, refresh her batteries, turn her on, recalibrate her memory banks, and various other things one might do to an electric device. Knowing that it couldn't possibly be needed in a city filled with faux-Santas. At least, not until they got to the place with all the Hoes. Until then, it shut itself off, screen going blank as it was tucked away in its pocket and emitted a low buzzing noise.

Oh, the people she's with! Imoen smiles gently to herself and decides to say the first thing that comes to her head. "Who wants to get ice cream?" She says, loudly enough for anyone in the group to hear.
​

Screw everything for ten seconds. We need to ship Seth with someone. You will now be returned to your regularly scheduled butt-kicking.


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Well, look at that, a post involving Nami yet not including Mia? What is this madness and how can BROtad almighty permit it?! Geez, the world be crazy nowadays, yo... Anyhoot, as we can all see, we're in the presence of a very special Clauncher. Yes, Clauncher is a guy (girl?) of simple likes, such as surfing all around the world, devouring Barboach, y'know, the simple, charming things life's got to offer a fit blue crab... Or orange, rather. Huh? Didn't I mention that Clauncher is orange and shiny because it's certainly a lot cooler that way? No? Well, now I did. And since there aren't any decent shiny Clauncher sprites out there, serve this picture for a reference as to how they're meant to look when shiny. Yup, they are sparkly and all that jazz, they truly are something!


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See, in this honkin' big world of ours, there's joy and happiness, but there is also sadness, despair and loneliness. And these buddies down there know exactly what it means to be alone. These are the Stray Pokémon, originally introduced in this one post of the original RéBURST. As their name indicates, they used to be a Trainer's Pokémon, but were separated by facts only worth opt being called tragedies: they were abandoned, they got lost, their Trainer passed away, you name it, they've endured it. And all cities within Hoenn have their own rooster of Stray Pokémon.

You may encounter these guys at any point in your traveling Mauville, and they might allow themselves to be captured. HOWEVER, trying to acquire a stray Pokémon requires a few simple musts:

They are always showing signs of mistreatment and/or dirtiness.
They can be very docile, utterly scared, or incredibly savage, and they have reasons to be that way.
They require superb posts of excellent quality, otherwise your capture either will fail or you'll be requested to release your Pokémon.
And finally, the GMs come up with the backstory of your Pokémon, period.

There are times in which acquiring a Stray Pokémon is quite simple, but other times, a Perfect Paralyzing Pachydermous Pikachu Pack appears and kills everything that exists. Your call to try and get these guys. These are the Strays of Mauville:

Finding nobody willing to fetch ice cream with her, it was with a turn of her heel that Imoen decided to fetch some on her lonesome. Unaware, was she, of the prankster that had tied her shoelaces together while she stared blankly into a crowd she wasn't even sure was present. Her spin took a turn of its own, as she tugged her leg forward, only to find her momentum quite lacking in the necessary force with which to undo the double-jiffy-whacknutter-morphosis-knot that would serve as her most unsteadying foe in the hours to come. Naught could have prepared her for the fall, the greater weight of her torso tumbled forwards through the air in the slowest of ways, in order to heighten her humiliation for the few onlookers that remained. Desperate clutches at the air found no friction with which to impede Imoen's descent, nor did the mousy squeal that emerged from her throat, shortly before her skull collided with the ground with a resounding crack.


A groan was Imoen's only company in the dank caves she found herself laying in, her cheek dotted with tiny stones and her limbs grazed from a fall she couldn't quite remember. With a few steadying breaths, the young woman collected her senses and pushes her scarcely-gloved hands against the ground and managed to pull herself into a sitting position. Itchy cotton scraped against her back as she leaned against the naturally-worn wall, and reminded the young woman of all she needed to know about waking up in the dank place she found herself in. Discomfort was nothing compared to the dangers she could have faced soon, at least, if she was to believe the stories told by those scared of the dark and unknown.

First, she grasped her left wrist and pushed the clunky button that would light the otherwise pitch-black cave. With a satisfying whir, the room was illuminated with a pale white glow, and revealed that it was just as uneventful as her first few steps into it had been. Not a long time ago, she hoped, or else the dull aching at the back of her head would be a larger problem than she thought. And the sharp-ledged rock that caused her fall would be her downfall, as opposed to something glorious, or at least dignified. For whatever value luck had, she wasn't bleeding, and that was good enough. All she needed to do was stand back up and keep trundling through the cave whose windy whispers made chills run down the young woman's spine.

With one hand on the wall to guide her steps, Imoen fiddled with the dials attached to her wrist with some hope of entertainment to accompany her. Instead, there was nothing; no comforting radio that accompanied her through all of her life, nor even a disk that she could play herself. They claimed that it would weight her down too much, as though she didn't have only the clothes on her back and a leather satchel around her waist. Never one to be defeated by bitterness, Imoen made certain to mentally note the good things she'd been graced with. The cap on her head, purely a gift, would shield her from some of the piercing light that was sure to await her, and, as always, she hung a hefty club from her hip.

It was that very club that Imoen wrapped her slender fingers around, quite the contrast considering the weight of the weapon, as she approached the end of her journey through the cave. It hadn't lasted as long as she might have hoped, although she wasn't sure how long she had hoped it would be, but the tug at her stomach as the cave narrowed down to a single passage was enough to let her know that this was it. And that was why she needed her club; its presence was comforting, its weight an anchor to keep her grounded in the uncertain times to come. Plus, as she got closer and closer to the looming tomb-door that awaited her, she realized that it would be good to have something heavy, in case it had gotten a little rusty in time.

It was a door. Just one simple, metal door, just like Imoen had used through all of her life. Except this one was somehow more daunting; perhaps it was the complete lack of sound from the other side, or the hefty steel backing that had kept it closed through so many years. It should have been something simple, but, to her, it was a looming titan that both beckoned and warned with the promises its presence provided. For a while, Imoen just stood beside it, poking at the gears and stroking the hinges to make sure it wouldn't collapse on her with only slight provocation. Eventually, even she had to realize that she was postponing the inevitable.

Grasping the thick metal bars that would unlock the myriad of locks holding the door tight, Imoen wheezed and grunted with the effort needed to turn the unused gears. With heaves and sighs, and bracing herself against the wall with a foot, the door steadily allowed itself to be opened. Each clunk of a freed bar made her heart pump faster, her muscles strain harder, until, at last, the wheel could turn no more, and all it would take was a simple push to finally open it. Imoen gripped the club at her side with one hand and, with one shove, pushed the steel barrier. It didn't move. She let out another groan, this time of exasperation, and pushed her shoulder against the door, attempting to use all of her weight to push it open. Slowly, and with just enough creaks to drive a woman insane, the door opened by an inch and began to get easier.

Until, at least, Imoen decided that one quick, clean shove would be more than enough, rather than wasting more of her energy on gradually convincing it to open. She took a few steps away from the door, stretching out her jumpsuit-shrouded muscles and preparing herself mentally for what she was about to do. Then, with a great push, she sprinted towards the door, as fast as her lanky legs could carry her, and, just a foot or two away from it, leaped into the air with her shoulder pointed at the door. She collided with it at full force.

Suffice to say, Imoen had overshot her goal. The steel titan easily opened thanks to the leap, swinging wide open into a world that Imoen had never laid eyes upon before; and she wouldn't get to, just yet. The heavens shone into her eyelids and forced them closed, red spots covering her vision and searing into her brain as she tumbled across ground similar to that inside the caves, but covered with dust and gathered rocks that tore at her clothes and bruised her already-tender bones. She game tumbling down some form of hill, struggling to get back to her feet, or get some sense of balance. There was nothing to do but clutch her club tight and hope that she landed somewhere that wouldn't be fatal.

For whatever mistakes the sheltered girl had made that day, she was alive. Her cuts stung and her bones pulsed with the low thrum of pain, her shoulder felt like gelatin and her hat was no longer on her head, but all manner of new sensations graced her. The gentle feel of wind brushing against the skin bared from her fall, the scent of a place untamed by relentless hygiene, and, best of all, the kisses of light that came to her as she slowly allowed her eyelids to flutter open. It was disconcerting, at first, but the first thing she saw of the outside world was something comforting. Resting just before her head, as it rested on what felt like sand, was her club. Steadfast as ever, with even the little engraving of "Ni" in the bottom surviving whatever wear and tear it had faced. The sight made a smile tug at the corners of her lips.

Fortunately, Imoen had went through more than enough tumbles in that day alone to know how she would recover. First, she pushed the button on her wrist and heard the familiar whirl slow down. Then, she dragged herself back up to a sitting position, against the nearest pile of rocks she could, and laid Ni out across her lap. She took a few moments, with her eyes closed, to take in the scents of the area, so she could picture it in her mind before seeing what actually waited. Not for long, because some part of her still worried about the dangers she would face, but for long enough to enjoy it, and the hope that everything would soon turn out to be alright.

The scents weren't what she could have expected, but they were pleasant. The fresh wind was pleasant, and refreshing, compared to the sterile air she was used to. On it, she could taste the faint scent of cooking, but also of nearby herbs. If she focused on it, she was certain that she'd be able to find her way to some fresh fruit; some that hadn't been preserved for a few years. Most of the other citizens had managed to be born when such things were still commonly available, but she had to be unlucky enough to be born at just the right moment to not remember any of it. The sounds had little to be said for them, besides being calming. There was a faint rustling, the cool air rushing along rocks, and the low buzz of static from her wrist to let her know that somewhere, there was a radio she could tune into.

Eventually, the young woman resisted the temptation of daydreaming to open her squinting eyes that were yet unused to the daylight and see the sights around her. Which were, unfortunately, far yes beautiful than she had imagined. She was perched against a mountainside, with a desert all around her and the odd patches of devastation sitting around it, along with the stumps of what she assumed were the remains of trees, most of which had been stolen away. Who by and for what purpose, the young woman could only assume was shelter. Still, as she steadied herself against her rocky seat and got to her feet, Imoen noticed a few patches of green amongst the dead woodland. Things were already growing again, and that made her grin wider than she had all week.

The rustling. Imoen had noticed it, but only just remembered that it might mean things were lurking nearby. It was only as she heard a nearby yell that she span around to face the source of the noise, and came face to face with two particularly stern looking women, wearing mere imitations of the uniforms that the guardsmen of Imoen's home would wear. Jackets were strewn across their shoulders, tightly held together at the waist by what looked like an empty bandoleer, save for what seemed to be a few pieces of weaponry that Imoen had already hoped she'd never encounter. But there they were, grenades, being used by a pair of women wearing dirty and torn clothing with no semblance of order or fashion save for fitting them. And they did not look pleased with Imoen, as their odd boots clambered across the fallen trees.

"Stop right there!" One of the pair yelled, one hand resting on her bandoleer, while the other tossed aside branches to ease her path towards Imoen. And it was as the woman yanked aside some fallen tree-parts that Imoen laid her eyes upon the first mutated creature she had ever seen for true, and she wished she hadn't. It seemed as though it was composed of tens of thick, sinuous ropes that slid across each other's fleshy surfaces like a rolling ball of rotten green flesh. She would have thought it was some grotesque toy were it not for the piercing yellow eyes that peeked out from the writhing mass of tentacles, letting the young woman know that it was very much alive. And all the more horrifying for it.

Imoen screamed, because it was all she could think to do, as terror gripped her heart and her hands tightened around Ni. There were only two options for how she could react, and Imoen would not have been chosen for this most vital of tasks were she the kind to flee from danger when her people needed her defense, and her life depended on it even more. Still screaming, the young woman charged forward and ignored the boisterous commands of her assaulters as nothing more than attempts to distract her from her goal of survival. It seemed they hadn't expected her to attack, much less so viciously, and that meant, for the moment, she had the advantage over the mutant and its controllers.

With a mighty wallop, Imoen slammed Ni into the mutant in an upwards swing, which sent it stumbling backwards across the branches while her momentum only continued, headed straight towards one of the raiders that would have sought to capture her for whatever nefarious purposes they had in mind. But her naivety was her downfall, as she underestimated the power and determination of the mutant in defense of its masters. From out of the branches came a great swinging tentacle, slashing its length across Imoen's spine and causing a great searing pain to shoot through her. Her charge turned into a mere stumble forwards, as she knew that continuing her sprint would only lead to falling flat on her face for the third time that day.

Luckily, Imoen had traveled far enough to be within arm's reach of one such raider. While the mutated creature crawled out of the branches properly, she dashed into the raider, who was on unsteady footing, and knocked her clean off of her feet with a bash of Imoen's shoulder. Curses came from the mouth of the fallen raider, and the young woman was more vulnerable to being overwhelmed in close range, but at least it meant she couldn't be targeted by the explosive weights that hung from the bandoleers of the mutant-handlers. Unfortunately, her victory was short-lived, as the raider that went unmolested by violence called out a command to the emerging mutant, which swiftly made sure that Imoen would regret daring to fight back.

Four of the creature's tentacles shot out from where it stood, surrounding Imoen before she could get a chance to bat them away, and wrapping around her midriff slowly. They knotted together and ran over one another to tighten their bonds and prevent the young woman's escape, while she was squeezed like a tube of toothpaste with only a tiny amount left. It exacerbated the wounds she'd already suffered, causing blood to burst the scabs that had slowly formed across the cuts she suffered from her fall, and squeezing hard enough on her stomach to make her want to spew her breakfast back out to the world. For all her kicking and flailing of her head, she couldn't free herself from the surprisingly strong creature that was attempting to crush and restrain her. But, the creature's grasp was not yet complete.

Imoen's arms were still freed, and it seemed as though the monster only acted efficiently while being given commands. So, with a swing of her shoulder and a flick of her wrist, Imoen flung Ni with all of her might at the still-standing raider. She had barely the time to utter a curse word before the flattest end of Ni smashed into her forehead and sent her stumbling backwards, tripping over her own feet while her senses were robbed of her and she had no time to issue any further commands. With a grin of triumph, Imoen watched as one of her enemies was dispatched, only to let out another cry of pain as the tentacles wrapped more tightly around her, while the mutant was enraged at the sight of its mistress being taken down by its prey.

Consciousness begged to slip away from Imoen, but she would not have any of it, not while she still had some small chance of defeating her foe. So, her hand shot out despite the shaking it had thanks to the crushing constriction of the creature and grabbed one of its tentacles as tightly as it could, before twisting it sharply so she would be tilted towards the ground. And so she was, her arms next wrapping around the shattered stump of a tree and tugging tightly on it, with enough strength to tug her legs back towards the ground, despite the strength of the creature doing all it could to pull her back With grunts and wheezes, Imoen dragged herself towards the sight of her resting Ni, which seemed to be rolling towards her of its own volition.

It took only a few more steps, and a battle of strength with the creature, before Imoen could once again wrap her hands around the girth of Ni. And then let go of whatever tethered her to the ground. The poor little tentacle monster couldn't have expected that its own strength would be used against it, as the sudden loss of friction meant that its tugs were only for the purpose of causing Imoen to fly towards it, with Ni tightly gripped in her hands and brought backwards to prepare to strike it in the face. It was all the creature could do to let out some small whimper of worry before Ni was swung at its face, causing it to go tumbling and turning into a tree stump, knocked out cold.

With barely a breath left in her lungs, Imoen hugged Ni to her chest and did a little victory dance before she crumpled to the ground, exhausted, beaten, and bloodied...


"What the **** just happened?!" The first Officer Jenny cried out as she pulled herself out of one particular pile of fallen boxes, only to see her partner and her Pokemon knocked out, and the insane young woman who'd stolen a man's hat and broken into a box factory laying bruised on the ground, hugging a Magikarp to her chest.
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Leave your cast alone for a while they said. They are perfectly capable of taking care for themselves they told me. And look at what happened. Jeff managed to accidentally everything... AGAIN. By golly, if I only had a coin for every time that kid accidentally everythings. Yes, everything is now a verb, and Jeff is certainly very adept at everythinging.

And so, here they are, everythinging at their very best, unconscious armies of Growlithe lying around in the neatly defined crater that Romanov's Explosion created. And amongst the ruckus and puppy-like soldiers, Rodrigo el Juarez has managed to imprison his greatest rival within the steel-clad confines of a metallic device of captures. Question is, will he succeed in getting rid of Captain Beauregard Lefleur?


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Fawkes Cortéz is a man of simple likes and simple means. He was born to an adequate, middle class family. He certainly didn't get to rent any limousines for prom, but he learned from a very early age that working hard comes with rewards. Son of Gerardo Cortez and Evangeline Swanson, and an only child. Just like his parents, Fawkes was blessed by the RNG of genes, as proven by his piercing, round blue eyes, peachy skin and dirty blond hair. His face was round but not because of weight, and his complexion has always been averagely slim - not too skinny, yet not very build, if at all-.

Fawkes has enjoyed dressing in simple attires consisting of a simple white shirt with short sleeves, dark gray skinny jeans, white sneakers and a simple black cap that goes along nicely with the mildly-dense beard that spreads majestically across his face. It was at age 19 that his parents grants him with a very special gift - a Flabébé - when he began traveling the mysterious island of Hoenn. And now, at age 37, he's still seen around, carrying a thick bag with all sorts of items and rarities, and his first Pokémon - now a Floétte - has made her home at his shoulders.

If there is anything that can serve to identify Fawkes and his Floétte, it most likely is the fact that they sell very rare goods for an dequate amount of money. All of these are treasures that they've found in their eighteen years of traveling the islands that compose Hoenn. His current stop is that of Mauville City, and as such, you might as well spot him around with Floétte floating by. As for the rarities he sells - which he'll make sure to let you know he has the moment this impulsive male spots you -, serve this convenient list for a reference.

Herbs, Medicine, Revives and the like - 2,000 Poké each.
Evolution Stones - 2,500 Poké each.

Additionally, within his many rarities and goods, you'll notice three gems. One is gray, the other two are blue and purple, respectively. They are shaped like hexagons, and are the size of a Pokéball *cough, cough, Burst Heart, cough*. Upon closer analyzing, you'll see the gray one has nothing else to it, but the blue one and purple one seem to contain a smaller version of a Zubat and a Goomy, respectively. - 1,000 for the gray one, 10,000 for the other two.

Lastly, within his bag, you'll see a Pokéball and, when deployed, a Magikarp will pop up. It is no ordinary fish Pokémon, however. Legends have told that this very same Magikarp was bred by the best breeders of the entire world, and raised by Champion Cynthia herself. You can get a piece of its epic awesomeness for a modest 500 Poké.

Finally, you can also challenge him to a battle, in which case I will provide you with details on his team. Be careful, tho, you might die and explode if you do challenge him... On second thought, go ahead, exploding characters sound like fun.​

"I'm telling you; she needs a doctor, or a psychotherapist, not an interrogation." Nurse-Officer Jenny sighed, her nimble fingers working to wrap a fresh bandage around the shoulder of a slumped over young woman, whose frayed red hair created a pretty pattern as it rested on the plain white desk, in a plain grey room, with a plain black ceiling and a plain creamy-kinda-color trio of chairs. She looked first over the bruised captive's form, noting dat fiiiine booteh before giving every wrapping and plaster a once-over to make sure none would come unfurled, then shooting a forlorn glance at her now-empty medical kit. "Or a fishmonger..." She mumbled beneath a stray lock of hair, glancing at the mirror, behind which sat the injured girl's possessions.

"Your objections are noted, Jenny." Jenny repeated with a furrowed brow, while her fingers tapped incessantly on the edge of the desk, just yearning to reach out for the pink box of powdered donuts that rested nearby. Her lip twitched at the thought of them, but her belly reminded her that she needed to keep her stress in-check without devouring half the Sheriff's fridge. "But I can't let her go yet. I need to find out what makes a girl, a young woman, even, decide to go on a crime spree like hers. Did somebody set her up to it? Decided to cause chaos? Corporate sabotage? You know how cardboard box factories can get, and we're going to have them riding our butts like bouncy castles if we don't make even a token attempt at investigati-" She shook her head, placing her officer's cap on the table and shaking off her jackets to rest on the back of her chair. "Just give her the injection."

Nurse Jenny opened her mouth to speak again, but resigned herself to pulling the experimental needle out of her pack and briefly turning over the young woman's arms to search for her most prominent vein. It was as she did this that the young woman mumbled to herself, eyes slowly blinking open as a low groan escaped her lips. She felt the prick against her arm, but could protest only too late, as lightning shot through her veins and the myriad of bruises that bleached her pale hide swiftly began to heal. "Thank Joy for experimental healing stimulators..." The Nurse-Officer muttered, as a brief glance of the interrogation room was stolen from their prisoner in exchange for a slightly different perception.


The low thrum of whiskey's kiss pounded through Imoen's skull like a hail of cannonballs through the finest of ships, accompanied by the brief rush of exhilaration she would feel before finding the nearest container to hurl her stomach's contents into. Despite the situation declaring silk sheets of the finest quality, she found her rump parked firmly in a seat of hard wood with nary a cushion for her most graceful of posteriors to bless with its presence. Before opening her eyes, which were sure to find only the gaudiest of extravagant displays, she gave a few twitches and sniffs of her nose and found the familiar stench of pilfered perfumes carried past the docks in the most dishonorable of ways; legally.

Already, the suspicions had began to grow about where Imoen was, but she had to be sure, before they found out that she knew that they knew what she did and where she was. Reluctantly, she let her eyes flicker open by only a sliver, and found them resting against a myriad of clues. There was an open case of dyed silk, in which rested the exotic powder and brushes that were often used by the slimiest of rich-folk, along with the elegantly decorated window that stretched from-wall to wall, although the sun shone too brightly through it for her to get a proper evaluation of the situation outside. And, finally, she spotted that she was accompanied by two other women; one dressed in the garb of a torturer, with a dreaded bag of tools resting behind her feet, and the other, an officer of the law, whose gaze was quite stern indeed. "C'est la vie..." She muttered, brushing away hair from her eyes with cuffed hands as she sat up properly.

"Sleeping beauty awakens." The Officer stated, gesturing for her torturer to step aside and sit on the far comfier chair at the side of the desk, while she folded her hands together and firmly met the eyes of their captured Imoen. For a few moments, she just let the words hang in the air, waiting for some word to emerge from the prisoner's lips before she cleared her throat. "Well, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself, or do you want me to rid a list of your charges first?" She asked, dragging a length of paper from one end of the oak desk to sit in front of her, its quill idly rolling off. "Destruction of private property, pilfering, assault, breaking and entering, and improper use of fish. Do those ring any bells..." She ran her finger over the top of the sheet. "Imoen Gesenbow?"

"Captain... Captain Imoen Gesenbow." Imoen corrected, leaning over the table slightly to tilt her head at the finely-inked sheet and receiving a glare in response for it, as the Officer tugged the sheet away to stop her peeking at it. She flashed a smile back as she slipped properly back into her seat, discreetly snatching the quill and hiding it across her palm, its tip held between two fingers. Beside her, the torturer tilted her head curiously, and Imoen flashed a wink in return, slightly sliding her seat out from beneath the table to rise gently to her feet. "And I'm afraid that I don't really remember a thing. You see, when one finds oneself in need of a drowned-sorrow, one often finds them at the bottom of a bottle of rum." She dipped her finger in the cool glass of water resting on the table, then sucked on her finger as she walked to stand behind the torturer. "Savvy?"

"I...what?" The Officer replied with a look of bemusement scrawled across her poncy face, as she leaned backwards in her chair and shared a silent sentence with the torturer that Imoen didn't quite have it in herself to trust, although she did notice that the Officer had stolen her cap and gorgeous jacket, and left her dressed in only her skivvies. "What is wrong with you, and how can you not remember? You very deliberately went on a wreak of havoc through the city under my jurisdiction. Not only did you harass members of our public, you damaged the entrance to a factory, along with much of its property, and you assaulted both myself and my partner."

"Ah, sorry about that, love." Imoen said, holding up her finger as though to test the air and punctuate her point. "But now you have me at your mercy, locked in your cage and firmly bound." She held up her cuffed wrists and shook them gently, as she slid the torturer's bag of tools across the floor with her foot, to rest just besides the leg of the table. "And what is it that you're going to do, when it's not a pirate's life for me?" She asked, walking back over to her chair and pointing at the box of powders, as she shifted the legs of her chair so its back pushed against the bottom of the table, tilting ever so slightly. "May I powder my nose? I must look dreadful after being tied up for...a few hours? Days?"

"Go ahead." The Officer sighed, reaching for her quill and finding it missing before she threw her hands into the air in exasperation. Instead, for the moment, she leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through it in an attempt to restrain herself from sharing in the powder with their prisoner. And this gave Imoen just enough time to flip the box of powder towards the Officer, who let out a noise of surprise and spluttering as clumps of powder collided with her face and most went down her throat or up her nose, sending her into a massive coughing fit while she tried to reach out, grabbing whatever she could in an attempt to steady herself.

The Torturer watched with wide eyes as Imoen shot her a wink, snatching up the cap with a flick of her wrist and planting it firmly on her head, before tugging the coat off of the back of the Officer's chair and wrapping it around her shoulder. The Torturer grasped for her bag behind her, but found it missing as she sough to take action. Instead, she was greeted with a great whoosh, as Imoen's foot slammed into the seat of her own propped-up chair and sent the fine oak table flipping over against one of the elegantly decorated walls, thus providing the young woman with a ramp while gathered papers and props hurtled across and obscured the window on the opposite wall.

Imoen grinned to herself and sprinted up the makeshift ramp, leaping at the wall once she reached its top, and planting her foot firmly on a far-too-expensive portrait of a naval Commander, she kicked off of it with a great grunt and shove of her legs, reaching upwards and letting her cuffs catch the hanging light, which sent her hurtling towards the window ar a great speed. The light snapped out of its socket in the ceiling, as both of her feet collided with the window at great speed. On the other side, similary surprised by the sudden series of events, her boots collided with the chest of another Officer who had been watching the ongoing interrogation and its current chaotic state.

Back inside the room, the Officer had wiped the powder out of her eyes and was barely grasping the fact that Imoen had leaped through the window, and was now wearing her regained outfit, while the Torturer had finally found her bag of tools and had grabbed, what seemed to be to Imoen, some form of pistol. The young woman's eyes flashed wide open as she clambered off of the prone form of the second Officer she collided with, making certain to avoid the shattered glass, and ducking beneath the window to avoid any immediate shots. Still, crawling along the floor, she glanced swiftly about for the rest of the possessions that her captors had gladly confiscated, while using her stolen quill to pick the lock on her cuffs.

"Sound the alarm!" The Officer yelled, reaching besides the door and tugging on a thick rope that sent a series of small bells ringing through the halls, while the Torturer attempted to clamber her way through the shattered window and follow Imoen's retreat. Unfortunately for her, Imoen had just laid eyes on her sword; resting comfortably on a velvet pillow, just as it would have deserved, alongside her pistol. She flicked her hands onto the desk and stole away both items, sucking the latter into its sheath before wrapping the belt around herself and giving the entering Torturer a cheeky apologetic look, before dashing for the hallway as fast as her slender legs could carry her.

Imoen made to sprint down one end of the hallway corner, only to find the hurrying of stomping feet and yells coming from down its length, and twisted on her heel to make for the other end, as the window was far too high for her to jump through without a little bit of creativity first. As she came to the next corner, she spotted what seemed to be the main collection of the Officer's, as they cooled their heels and shared conversation about whatever not-so-nefarious deeds their Empire had gotten up to without a good shaking up first. And all of them were getting to their feet, drawing their blades and preparing to advance on the young woman who had just escaped from one of their holding places.

"Ah, now, you see..." Imoen began, holding up her finger, only for one swift swipe of a sword to cut off her speech and make her duck beneath the thrusting shoulder that followed. With so many Officers advancing on her, it was all she could do to sweep the Officer's feet from out beneath her and keep scrambling, ducking beneath swings and tumbling beneath tables, while making the occassional parry with her own blade and throwing the odd shiny apple at the heads of the Officer's. She was making her way towards the exist, where a grand set of doors just waited for her arrival. But, like many times, luck had seen to forbid her escape once more, as the doors were flung open by yet another group of the posh-private-pricking-privates.

With a smirk, Imoen drew her pistol and gave its trigger a squeeze. With a deafening bang, the bullet sprang from its muzzle and collided with the tapestry that hung over the door, loosening its strands just enough to let it collapse, heavy and concealing, across the soldiers gathering beneath the door. As she slammed the hilt of her blade into another Officer's jaw, Imoen spotted something that would lead to her hopeful escape, and all it would take was a little civilian injury. Weaving her way through the crowd of enraged officers, she leaped onto a chair, followed by a table, and kicked food at her pusuers with every long-step she took, until, she reached the end of the great table and made a leap.

This sent her careening over the head of the poor maid who had been caught in the hustle of the ringing alarm bells, while her feet landed firmly on the cart of food that the servant had been pushing. It immediately began to roll across the floor with her momentum, shoving into Officers and chairs alike on its path towards one of the walls. Using her foot to push off of tables, and give her cart more speed, Imoen wobbled and waved her blade in the air in an attempt to keep her balance until, finally, it collided with a particularly sturdy table and its back end flipped upwards, thus sending the pirate soaring into the air, apparently about to collide with the wall and do the Officers' job for them.

Imoen's free hand firmly grasped the ladder that stretched all the way up to the ceiling, wincing as her wrist was wrenched by the impact, but grinning as she heard the frustrated yells from the myriad of Officers beneath her. Many had already began to climb the ladder she found herself attached to, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to outrun all of them; not in that way, at least. With a firm kick against he wall, she sent the ladder careening back off into the crowd, with her at its very tip and the Officers that had been climbing trapped beneath it. Yet, at the very peak of its push, Imoen could just reach up and grab the chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

For a few moments, the panic amongst the Officers only heightened, as they scuttled around in search of their fleeing captive, but soon their eyes looked to the ceiling, and the chandelier upon which Imoen stood. She was balancing on its edge, with three frayed ropes hanging from its decorative edge and the final being sawed at with her sword. Many of them couldn't comprehend her action, while many others tried to get the ladder back up in order to follow the young woman, and others had drawn their pistols and were taking inaccurate shots at her. The chandelier was held up by eight ropes, four connecting it to each side of the room, and the last one held up only by a thread.

"M'ladies..." Imoen called out to the gathered Officers beneath her. "You will always remember this as the day you almost captured Captain Imoen Gesenbow!" With that, she swung her sword at the final strand and the chandelier began its swing. It hurtled through the air at a great speed, with Imoen clutching its framework, and its weight could be felt forcing through the air before it finally collided with the massive window. The chandelier's final four ropes snapped and it slammed into the ground outside, skidding across it with a series of sparks and, luckily, finding itself sliding through the courtyard of the Officer's den, where no civilians would lurk.

Captain Imoen Gesenbow, however, was sent careening quite a bit further than the chandelier at the apex of its swing. She flew through the air and collided quite heavily with a passing cart of melons, splattering over her while sirens began to ring in the distance...


Wattson blinked to himself as he stood outside of his Gym, and spotted as a young woman wearing an Officer Jenny cap and jacket landed in a passing cart of groceries, as the singing of Police Cars called sharply in the distance. With a furrow of his furry brow, he took pity on the poor and likely injured young woman, approaching the cart with the idea of helping out a Trainer in need.

Imoen's eyes flicked open.
​

The first thing Imoen saw upon opening her weary eyes was her target. The man whom she had hunted down for so long, who had betrayed her so many years ago, was standing within her grasp, and all it would take was a few simple movements to approach the bastard and get revenge. Her blood boiled and roiled within her veins, sparking hot as she tumbled out of the cart and onto her knees. She wasn't thinking of any elaborate plan, machinations, or even a complicated fighting style to take down the chubby mustachioed freak that dared to dress in yellow cargo pants, stuffing his fat mouth with donuts and fast food while laughing. Not even apathetically, not the kind of man who ignored the suffering of others. No, he was something far worse than those who stood by the weak, the tortured, and did nothing. He was a sadist, and everything from his mohawk to his little jacket announced it to the world.

"WATTSON!" Imoen roared, flinging back her hair so it cascaded behind her as she leaped to her feet, yanking free the Magikarp attached to her waist and hoisting it over her shoulder. As she screamed bloody vengeance, the creature shot forth a massive blast of water that sent the fat freak tumbling up the steps to his domain, where all of his lackeys would surely be waiting. And she would let them come, for they all would suffer a defeat similar to that of their master. And with every body that hit the floor, Wattson would know that it was by her hand that his empire was falling. But he couldn't blame it on her. His hand had forced hers, and she was nothing but the karmic retribution that the world had seen fit to bring upon his head. She wasn't a soldier, or a child, or even a human any more. She was a force of nature.

As the fat man rolled around, the coppas who had already been arriving on the scene with swift feet redoubled their pace upon seeing their leader attacked, and that was all it took for Imoen to know that they were corrupt; paid off or their families threatened unless they followed the whims of the Horror in Yellow Pants. It stung her a bit to know that she might have been hurting innocent people, sufferers just as much as her, but she had not came so far just to fall victim to a few blue-hairs. She shot a glance at her plucky comic relief sidekick, Jeff, and yanked the ice cream out of his hands. Taking careful aim, and hefting her fish over her other shoulder, she tossed the ice cream towards the feet of one approaching Officer, who promptly slipped and came tumbling forwards to an end that would surely result in scuffed knees.

Yet more came. Atop the stairs of the gym, Wattson was getting to his feet and chuckling with every moment of Imoen's attempts to hold back the tide of corrupt officers arriving on the scene. Pushing past the debris and their fellows, they had soon tackled Imoen to the ground and dragged her to her feet, although their attempts at dragging her away where stymied by the Magikarp that she swung wildly at their heads whenever her arms would be bound. "NO!" The young woman screeched, kicking an Officer in the gut and pushing backwards to shove both herself and the gaggle of Jennies into the cart she'd arrived in, sending them into a fall. "I WILL NOT FAIL WHILE MY PEOPLE CONTINUE TO BE PERSECUTED, WATTSON! SO LONG AS I DRAW BREATH, YOU WILL FEEL THE BLADE OF IMOEN BLOODHUNT RESTING ABOVE YOUR HEAD!" She could not help but screech, yanking herself free of the nearest Officer's grasp in order to stand on her own two feet and glare at Wattson. Their eyes locked across the battlefield.

"Your people?" The Officer who had been kicked in the stomach asked weakly. "...gingers?"

"SHUT YO' MOUTH, FOO'!" Imoen brashly announce, slapping the Officer cleana cross the cheek and spitting on her cheek. "ONLY A GINGER CAN CALL ANOTHER GINGER GINGER!"

"Officers, Officers..." Wattson bellowed from before his gym, his voice ripe with mirth. "Ahahaha, a ha, hooo hoo, oh hooo, aheh, hihihihihi, ah ho, oh ho ho, AHAHAHAHA! Hehe, huh huh huh huh, ah hoo hoo, ha, pfhahahaHA! Ah...hihihi, ho ho ho, haha...ha...ho...ho ho ho, hahahahaha!" He pointed a chubby finger down at Imoen, re-meeting her gaze and giving her the broadest smile anybody could possibly manage without plastic surgery or an unfortunate incident with a knife. "You amuse me, my child! So, let's make a deal, shall we? If you can manage to get through two," He held up two fingers as though anyone present would need that guidance in learning how to count. "Of my trainers, then you will be able to challenge me for your gym badge! And the clearance of all charges against you by the city. I will pay for all costs myself." He chuckled, stuffing his hand down his jacket and tossing a few coins into the air as a demonstration of his affluence. "What say you, Imoen? Hahahahaha..."

"YOU GONNA GO DOWN, SUCKA!" Imoen yelled, as she had been since she first came to consciousness from her cart, as she sheathed Ni and instead drew what would be her blade. From her hip came Flunschlick, the blade of a few hours ago, whose skin shimmered with a slick layer of mud and whose blankness of gaze could almost match that of its wielder. "JUST LIKE YO MOMMA!" She twisting her stolen police officer's cap backwards and began to sprint towards both Wattson and his gym. Wisely, and chuckling as he went, the big-bellied villain ran into his domain and out of her sight, so she could face her opponents properly without going for him first. She would need to work for her victory, and all it would take was destroying some criminal followers. She'd beaten trash like it so many times before that it almost felt too easy.

At last, Imoen disappeared from the sight of those in the street, and the recovering squad of Officers, in order to get her well-deserved vengeance. She stepped across the threshold with a tangible tingling in her teeth to warn her of what vicious mobsters and internet pirates Wattson had managed to recruit this time, and what dirty tricks they might pull in order to try their damnedest to defeat her. She would let them try, then beat them down just like all of the forebears before them! The first room she encountered, which had a door that she kicked open, contained within it many artificial flowers, all lit by little bulbs inlaid within their metals, with stalks made from some kind of fibrous wire to disguise their nature as constructions of Wattson's Pokemon Labor Camp, but Imoen knew only too well his tricks. Amongst the flowers and perfumes, there stood a boy dressed in girl's clothing.

"Oh, oh my, hello..." The boy-girl greeted in a voice softer than most males, but quite obviously faked and hardly falling anyone. "M-My name is Chris Merrytush, and I'm a girl..." He introduced himself, his skinny fingers picking out a small Pokeball from his miniskirt as he ran his other hand through his long hair. "But I am still going to beat you, I think...I don't want to hurt you too much." He gasped, as a tiny little Emolga emerged from the device in a flash of red light. "Oh, the pains of being such a delicate flower of a girl, so waif-like and thin, but also very pretty! And the shame, oh the bullies, picking on me for liking pretty things and wearing girls' clothes! I am so sad, but so flattered, because so many boys want my affections, but do not know my shameful secret of having a weiner sausage instead of what they expect!" He cooed, his gestures small, but melodramatic.

"...WHAT?!" Imoen questioned as flatly as was possible in her current accent, as she tucked Flun's tail beneath one of her arms and held its form with both of her hands, ignoring the stickiness as she charged forward in time with the flying creature. The little flying mouse was swift as it bore down upon the wielder of the groundfish, bopping down beneath her arm before dashing upwards in a loop, its claws dragging across her freckled cheek in a painful motion that caused six thick lines of blood to start seeping down her left cheek. The young woman cried out in pain, but continued her charge, for she would not be defeated so easily by the creature while it attempted to defeat her in the field of battle, where she was born! She had been shaped by it, created by it, and it was her life; no creature or its oddly acting trainer could defeat her while she was so focused. Much less when her lifelong rival rested just beyond, waiting for his crushing defeat!

"'Tis me, Chris, the boy who is prettier than most girls, somehow, or at least perceived like that! Because feminine facial features are found in not just women, and are in fact fare more potent when on a male biology, which is just why they're feminine! Because they're so common on males!" The flowery young...person continued. "Or the fact that my colorful panties contain a wiener is what makes me so beautiful, despite inferior looks to actual girls! I know not what cruel ways this world works in, but I am pretty! So pretty! Probably because of some kind of fetish! Pretty!" Unfortunately for the Emolga, it hadn't planned its path of flight quite well enough, as it returned to the spot it had been in before the raging Imoen had began her charge. The stone-headed Flun collided with its fral torso, sending it scattering backwards and subject to slamming into the wall just behind it. Only by flapping its wings did it manage to negate some of the damage from the assault of human and fish combined.

"...WHAT?!" Imoen could not help but repeat in sheer confusion about the messed up kind of people that Wattson was recruiting for his organization of evil, and could see only the depravity of Chris' master in the way he moved and acted. Perhaps the electrical equipment had been used to torture him into the madness, but there was no time to ponder while battle was afoot and blood continued to pour from her wound in thin droplets that marred her top. Perhaps luckily for her, the rodent did not see fit to slice up her tender flesh again. It flew high out of her reach before darting back down towards her, spinning around at the last moment, all too quickly to dodge, and slammed its steel of steel against her forehead. The momentum sent it tumbling to the ground after her, but she had been staggered for the moment, Flun slipping from her grasp and falling onto the floor as she tried to rub her forehead and remove the ringing sensation that busted through her eardrums.

"But aren't my clothes so pretty and pure and feminine, but I cannot wear low tops! Because I have no cleavage to speak of, for I am a flat chested and very pretty boy!" Chris yet continued, ignorant as Imoen stumbled backwards and grabbed the Emolga out of the air in her strong hand. "If only more could see my woe, and sympathize with me! If only a big strong man could come along to save me fro the potent barbs of others, and the girls with cleavage that I cannot possess, and the embarrassment for enjoying lady clothes so much! I could be carried in his arms like a princess, wearing the prettiest of clothes and being far more beautiful than all of the other girls, somehow, but they would be jealous and all of their boyfriends would come to me, the most prettiest of all things ever, by virtue of my having a weiner or not, but I can't be sure! Where is my knight to come save my delicate hine-" The trainer was muffled as his Emolga was shoved into his mouth, the sparks knocking him into unconsciousness.

"STOP TALKING!" Imoen ordered the unconscious fellow. Once she was comfortable with the amount of words coming out of his mouth, she walked back to the center of the room and knelt down to pick up Flun. Yet, as she did, a curious tone emerged from the device attached to her waist; much like the noise of the dreaded Paralyfisk, the most horrific Stunfisk of all! Flun could not help but leap up in horror, its tail smacking Imoen in the face, whose bleeding she had since stopped by wiping it on her shirt. Once again, the young woman was forced backwards in a daze. But, this time, there was a curious giggling coming from her PokeDex, which had remained surprisingly quiet for quite some time. She fumbled around briefly, eyes flicking to and fro as she regained her Pokemon and advanced towards the next room. Her eyes glowed gently yellow for a moment before a suave smirk came to her lips and she crossed into the next room, decorated with a few posters, a couch, and a few entertainment goodies.

Inside the room rested a young woman, fairly attractive by most standards, with black hair tucked behind her ears and fashionable clothing adorning her body. As she noticed Imoen enter the room, she held up her finger and finished reading the page of her comic book before putting it down and putting a pair of glasses over her eyes. She pocked one of the nearby Pokeballs and smiled a warm smile about the newly emerging challenger, although she looked with some concern over the injuries that the trainer had apparently taken to her head and face. "Hello! My name is Leona, and it's a pleasure to meet you. What say you to getting this battle started as quickly as possible, hmm?" She tossed her Pokeball in the air and caught it in her palm again. "I bet you can show me a few neat tricks, and, if we do this right, I can show you a few of mine too. So let's go." She pushed her Pokeball forward, a shapeless mass of red light appearing before her in the small arena that made up most of the room.

"I'm Pokede...Imoen." Imoen greeted in response, giving Leona a low bow and smiling charmingly in her direction as she readied Flun in her hands, gripping it tightly. "But you can call me 'Oh God~'." She winked, almost ignoring the presence of the Pokemon that had formed opposite her. It seemed to be a particularly bulky pink Flaaffy, whose white wool had a few strikes through it to indicate its achievements and whose flesh practically rippled with muscles that were prepared to take down anyone who would dare oppose it. Yet, despite its intimidating stature, its eyes were soft and gentle, and a little smile adorned its adorable face. "So, Leona, tell me...when did you decide to stop being a model and become a trainer?" She asked, stepping into the arena proper, but keeping her gaze settled on the trainer instead of the potent combatant that she faced. She had been given plenty of time to prepare, but it wasn't enough, as her reactions didn't quite have time to react as an arc of electricity shot at her.

"I...never was a model." Leona replied, tilting her head at the fish clutched in Imoen's hands and drawing up her Pokedex in order to examine it. "Ah..." She began reading, as Imoen easily flicked away the electricity through the lightning rod that was Flun, striding across the arena with a confident swagger and practically slapping the Flaaffy across its face. The mark left was a small, but sore, and only seemed to serve to anger the wool Pokemon. "Sorry, I wasn't familiar with your Pokemon! I don't get out that much, really...but it's a ground-type, so you're mostly immune to the things that this gym will throw at you. Good planning!" She encouraged her opponent, positively grinning as she tucked away her little device and brought her fist up in the air. "But I won't make that mistake again! You're going to go down, Imoen, I promise you!" With that enthusiastic declaration of predetermined victory, she stomped her foot on the ground and glanced at her Flaaffy. "Stone Cold, take 'er down!"

"Oh, believe me, I wi-" Imoen's attempt at a sleazy remark was cut very short by the charging ball of muscle and pink that was Stone Cold, whose skull collided with her stomach and caused her to double over, practically pinned against the Pokemon's shoulder by momentum and groaning before the attack had even finished. It only ended when her back slammed into one of the walls, knocking a metal plating loose as she slowly slid down to the ground. With a hazy vision, she watched Stone Cold return to the center of the arena and slam its muscular front hood down on the ground in preparation for another take down. "Oh, so you li-" She coughed and spluttered. "Like playing rough, huh?" It was the only taunt she managed to get off as she struggled back to her feet, using the wall as support and squeezing Flun hard. A burst of mud emerged from the fish, leaving a trail of splattered blood in its wake as it collided with Stone Cold's face and covered it with dirt. It didn't like that.

It growled loudly to announce its soon-to-be destruction of the pale trainer. Then, it sprinted towards her on rapid hooves and with a scowling skull, bowed down and intending to punch a bruise in Imoen's stomach bigger than the woman herself. With wide eyes, she looked on, her legs to weak to leap out of the way. It was all she could do to clutch Flun to her stomach and hope that it would protect her from some of the blow's brute force. It did, to an extent. Stone Cold slammed its fluffy head into Flun and Imoen, winding her, but it wasn't finished quite yet. It noticed the metal plate that had slipped loose from the wall and had made certain that its charge would hit it just so, with Imoen's point of impact being near its top. This made the metal plate flip out of the wall, bottom-first, and send Imoen flying a few feet through the air in a tumble to land behind Stone Cold, slightly more injured for her trouble. At least she still had her hat on.

Another shot of mud across the creature's back. It was more effective than trying to hit it, as Imoen could tell by its flinching when the mud splattered across it and dampened the electricity that infused the creature. But she couldn't keep taking hits the way she had so far, or she'd be defeated, and that would not have been very impressive for her new lover to see at all. The answer was simple, then; she would have to use her surroundings and the people around to her advantage. With her smirk returning, she crawled a little as Stone Cold turned around and predictably slammed into her. The young woman was sent tumbling across the arena, in the direction of Leona and landing right in front of the girl's feet. Gasping to refill her lungs with air, Imoen rushed back to her feet; woozy, bruised, and beaten, but not yet defeated. Now was simply the time to enact her plan.

Imoen dropped Flun and grabbed Leona's hips, pulling her close and sliding one hand up to her hair, before bending her over much like an elegant dancer and supporting her by the small of her back. "Let us kiss with tongues!" She whispered in some mockery of seductiveness, leaning down to close her lips with Leona's and doing exactly that for a few moments, while a deep blush covered the cheeks of the latter young woman. Romantic music played from Imoen's Pokedex as the kiss commenced, while Stone Cold stood by without any orders to take and looked on awkwardly, wondering whether it should intervene. Unfortunately for the battle-hardened Flaaffy, Imoen's deep breath had served a purpose; she kept kissing Leona until the gym trainer got woozy from lack of breath and then placed her on the nearby couch. "Call me." Imoen winked, as Leona was too weak to respond or give orders to her Pokemon.

It was a different kind of victory, but one that Imoen could accept nevertheless. It was simply a matter of how she would face Wattson, who was definitely not a sexy lady, in the next room while she was so weakened from the two battles. Then, she laid eyes upon the hole in the walls where a metal plate had been knocked loose, and the wires that rested in it. Then, she got an idea! Ground types were resistant to electricity, which would be bad, which meant that negating the bad parts of electricity by using Flun as a conduit would mean that she only got the good electricity. Which would then heal her wounds! She knew her stuff, for she had spent most of her existence as a Pokedex, and electricity had only ever done good things to keep her energized and in good condition. Imoen shambled over to the wires, Flun held firmly in her hands and yanked a handful of them out, leaving sparks in the wake of her destruction. Then, she jammed Flun into the wires...

...and the electricity worked its way across both Flun and Imoen, healing her wounds, Flun's, and even Ni's. That was handy. Unfortunately, it made the Pokedex's control over Imoen's body misalign for just long enough for Imoen to regain control of herself. Unfortunately for her, even herself wasn't herself at that moment, and wouldn't be until she got a good long rest. Instead, she cleared her throat and made sure to tuck her top into her jeans. After brushing down her hair slightly to make sure everything was in prim and proper condition, as well as cleaning her face in a nearby sink, she approached the door to the next room, which was clearly marked as Wattson's, and held Flun straight in her hands, its head pointing down at the floor and her posture perfect as she elegantly opened the door and stepped inside the grand room that would serve as an arena. "Tally ho!" She announced, loudly, but not yelling, because that was rude in polite company. As she entered the next room, the door slammed behind her and many gears twisted to take Leona away to the recuperation area of the gym. The next person through would have to face a different of Wattson's trainers.

Imoen was greeted with a loud chuckle from Wattson, who sat in his chair with a Manectric sitting by his side. "Ho ho ho! Welcome, ahaha, Imoen! I suppose you will want to get right to it, well I say, let's!" He grinned widely as he pointed a finger at Imoen and got to his feet. "Fire Fang, Poppins!" He commanded his electro-dog, which reluctantly got up from its pleasant nap and began to sprint at the intruder of its master's domain. It danced across the electric tiles that took up much of the room, ignoring the sparks that leaped through its fur and feeling practically empowered by them, helping to fuel its charge. Its prey was curious, for this battle, at least, for she made no attempt at dodging or even seeming to prepare for an attack at it. Nevertheless, Poppins continued its sprint with fire burning around its lips. It leaped at Imoen with a low growl, a small burst of fire leaping out of its mouth before it sunk its teeth into Imoen's shoulder, biting deep and burning the flesh.

"I say." Imoen winced slightly, trying not to let the pain influence her calm demeanor. "What a ruffian we have in our midst, wouldn't you agree, Ser Flunschlick? What say you to giving this boisterous lout a good one-two?" She asked her good companion, which didn't give a response, as ever, which made a well-humored laugh escape Imoen's lips to push away the pain of the Manectric still clinging to her shoulder. "Too right! Now, then..." Adjusting Flun so that its mouth was just below Manectric, she gave its hide a little flick and allowed a small burst of mud to emerge from Flun's lips, which splattered across the Manectic's maw and made it splutter and whine, quickly releasing Imoen's shoulder in favor of shuffling away in order to regain its senses for another attack. It locked eyes with its foe once again, as she returned her weapon to its duelist's stance and waited patiently for when the discharge pokemon would strike. Poppins circled her for a few moments, prodding at her defenses, before an order came.

"Tackle, Poppins! Ahahahaha, hee hee!" Wattson commanded, and Poppins did just so. With its lightning speed, it shot across the ground and seemingly pierced Imoen's defenses, as it reached past her extended Flunschlick and was about to collide into her with its pointed head. Unfortunately for Poppins, this had all been a part of the gentlelady's plan, as she sidestepped its collision and made it go sailing past her, unable to account for the gained momentum and stumbling across the ground. This is the moment that Imoen chose to strike, turning classily on her heel and bringing Flunschlick down upon Poppins' head in one, clean strike, which knocked the Pokemon out cold with naught but a whimper. She returned to her stance and turned around to meet Wattson's eyes again, confident, but not overtly so. She didn't want to seem a braggart, after all. "Oh ho ho ho! A wonderful and exotic fighting style there, Imoen! Let us see how you fare against a classic, holohiholohiholohi!"

Imoen raised an eyebrow, just the right amount to express curiosity as a yellow rodent appeared from out of Wattson's next Pokeball. "Oh, a rodent! How unsavory!" She declared, trailing Flun's tail through the air in an attempt to goad the Pikachu into attacking her. Suffice to say, the energetic and angry little Pokemon took the opportunity to utterly destroy the person who had dared to insult it! There was no possible way she couldn't have known just who it was, given it appeared on everything ever, so it could only have been an insult intended to harm his pride and his status! She was to pay for it dearly, or so the Pikachu thought, as it hopped into the air without yet being given an order by its master. Electricity crackled around its cheeks and its tail, practically fizzling the air around it with potent electricity before it let out a cry of its name. A brillaint white bolt of lightning shot across the trapped arena!

The bolt simply ran through Flun's body harmlessly, being used as a conduit for Imoen, who promptly squeezed her weapon and shot a neat ball of mud at the Pikachu, painting its face with dirt and leaving it looking rather silly for having used all of its energy for a grand attack, only for it to be completely no-sell'd. That wasn't going to be good for his reputation at all. Feeling slightly silly for his outburst, and shooting an apologetic look at his master, he was given a silent nod as encouragement to continue the fight by its own decisions. And he knew exactly what it would do to the noblewoman who had so easily taunted and taken advantage of his pride. He darted across the field of traps, much like the Manectric had, and went for a similar strike; this time, aimed for the already weakened shoulder of his opponent.

The attack was too quick for Imoen to counter or dodge out of the way of, as the Pikachu scratched all across her shoulder and bounced off of the joint just as quickly, hurrying back to its field of electricity traps. Rushing with the urge to take down her foe before it got away and repeated the attack, Imoen held Flun firmly in her left arm alone and loosely aimed it at the evasive Pikachu. This time, the ball of mud was somewhat larger and not as refined, but its increased girth meant it slammed into the back of the mouse with full force. It sent Pikachu off balance, stumbling forwards as the ground knocked it into unconsciousness and sent it rolling to a pause at Wattson's feet. Clapping, Wattson got to his feet and fingered the Pokeballs wrapped around his belt, pondering just which one he could use to help challenge his opponent, especially while her arm was weakened by his previous Pokemon.

"You seem to be a fan of pugilism, hahahaha!" Wattson pointed out, squeezing the Pokeball and letting a very large version of it emerge from the flash of crimson light. This Pokeball had a very angry look on its face, but it patiently waited for any orders before it would attack the foe whose eyes is settled on hatefully, as though filled with hateful hate of the hating hater! "Let's see how you can handle Punchy Ball, oh ho ho ho ho ho! Mega Punch!" Wattson ordered, and the Voltorb needed no further instructions. It shot across the trapped floor, bypassing it entirely while Imoen looked on in horror at just what was happening to the creature. A lump began to form at its side, emerging first as a solid block before lengthening into a practical pole, which then bent halfway and near the tip, which then split into five and formed a very thin arm and hand. Then, it clenched into a fist and it all of a sudden became much larger; the pulled fist of a bodybuilder and it was aiming right for Imoen's injured shoulder.

The fist slammed into Imoen and Flunschlick. The fish went flying out of Imoen's hands as the knuckle of the fist slammed into her temple. She let out a pained cry, falling down to her knees and staring at the floor with tearful eyes. She looked first at her shoulder, injured, beaten, and unusable. She looked at the wall that Flunschlick had collided with, and now laid beaten and motionless on the floor. She looked up, at the Voltorb whose fist had receded back into its body, but its after effects still lingered all too well. They burned in Imoen's mind. The pain in her nerves, the vision of her friend abused by the creature before her. She felt something she hadn't truly felt for a little while, not as herself. But there it was. The focus in her eyes. The determination to defeat her enemy. The anger to fuel her strength. And the adrenaline to think nothing of the consequences. This battle was going to be won by Imoen Patricia Gesenbow.

Imoen got back to her feet and locked eyes with the Voltorb. It drew its fist again and slammed it into her cheek. Nothing. It did it again. Nothing. It did it one more time. Imoen grabbed the fist out of the air and slammed it back into Voltorb's body, forcing its mass back inside. She slammed her hands on each side of the Voltorb, one on red, one on white. She twisted it in her arms, turning the Voltorb on its side, and pushed its halves together. Then, she started twisting. The voltorb let out a garbled screech as each of its halves were twisted, but it was suddenly cut off as red and white was separated. Imoen tore the Voltorb in two with a cry of anger, then tossed them to each side of her. Panting and glaring at the air in front of her, she stood above the unconscious bodies of her enemies. And was victorious.

Imoen slowly recovered her senses and Wattson gave her a brief round of applause, as her Pokeball recalled Flunschlick automatically. "Well done, my girl! Haha, never a more passionate fighter have I seen! You will do well in this business, I assure you! Yo ho ho!" He smiled widely and offered her the gym badge. "Now, run along! I must get Poppins and Pikachu and Punchy Ball healed before my next challenges, hahahaha! And with your victory, the Officers know that your charges are cleared and you are free to go. So farewell!"

"Uhh..." Imoen looked around blankly. "Thanks." She tucked away her badge and walked away from the gym.
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Strength increased by 3
Speed increased by 4
Endurance increased by 4


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