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Old March 21st, 2013 (4:01 AM). Edited March 21st, 2013 by bobandbill.
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Choose Your Own Adventure*

Welcome to the Choose Your Own Adventure story! *name pending.

This is a group project that anyone on the forums can contribute to. Each part of the story will end in a choice, and the following part is written by a different member. They leave a choice, and so on and so forth!

Interested in contributing? Then please check out the Signup thread! All questions and sign ups belong in that thread.

Reviews once the beginning is up are perfectly fine to make here.
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Old March 21st, 2013 (9:14 AM).
Cutlerine Cutlerine is offline
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    How frightfully inconvenient.

    It's never particularly pleasant to wake up in a muddy ditch, and this time is no exception. It's bad enough when it happens in the natural course of things – when you're making your way through the wilderness in your capacity as a Trainer – but when it happens after a mostly unremembered but undoubtedly wildly hedonistic Saturday night, it's even worse.

    At least, you reflect as you lie there and stare up at the sky, it's sunny. And you don't have a hangover.

    Wait. If you don't have a hangover, why do you feel like you're recovering from the effects of getting uproariously drunk?

    You sit up in the ditch, and feel a little woozy. Something is most definitely up with your head, but you're not at all certain what it is. It feels a little light – a little fluffy – a little bit like it's made of crème de menthe.

    OK, now you're really confused. That's not drunkenness. Nor is it a hangover. You have no idea what that feeling is, actually. It's something new, and you immediately decide that you hate it.

    Perhaps your surroundings will afford more clues. You have a look around, but all you manage to ascertain is that you're somewhere on the outskirts of Saffron, where you've been staying for the last few days while you challenge Sabrina's Gym (not that you've got around to that yet; you've been a bit busy with your carousing). Right. So that's one mystery solved. Although, really, it just poses more questions: why on earth are you out here, rather than back in the city where you came from?

    You get slowly to your feet, rubbing your head to make sure it's still solid, and pat yourself down. Nothing broken – nothing stolen – no immediately obvious wounds. All right, you haven't been mugged, then. Just to be sure, you double-check your wallet, phone and Poké Balls – all present and correct – and then, marginally more satisfied, stagger off through the suburbs in search of a bus stop. It's a calm and quiet Sunday morning, the sort that's perfect for sleeping in or enjoying a third cup of tea in bed; though you're not a great tea drinker, you'd definitely prefer either of those to walking around at dawn with what feels like ten gallons of muddy water soaking through your clothes.

    At this point, you stop thinking about it, because thinking is making your head feel even lighter and fluffier, and you'd much rather it stayed as solid and dense as it was before you did whatever you did last night, thank you very much.

    A moment later, you stumble across a bus stop, and catch what looks like the first of the morning buses back to the city centre; even here, in the heart of the sleepless Kantan capital, it looks like most people are at home right now. There are few cars on the streets, and fewer pedestrians afoot; the shops are shut, the office windows are dark and the guards outside the Deep Embassy are snoozing on their feet.

    Such happy restfulness makes you, in your current state of mind, extremely jealous and consequently rather angry; you refrain from punching the seat in front of you only because Saffron bus drivers are rather fearsome, and this one will probably throw you under the wheels of his own vehicle if you start having a tantrum. You clench your fists and mutter crossly instead, which doesn't relieve as much stress but which does come without risk of personal violence.

    You get off the bus two streets from the Pokémon Centre where you've been staying, wander inside and up to your room, divest yourself of your clothing and sleep. This is not exactly heroic, but it is, in fact, what sane human beings do in this situation. And for now, at least, you are still sane.

    Well. As sane as anyone who feels like their head is made of crème de menthe can be, at any rate.

    Three hours later, refreshed, you emerge from slumber, shower, and set off to uncover precisely what happened last night. Your head no longer feels quite as liquid – it's more nata de coco than crème de menthe now – but it's still by no means right, and you demand an explanation for its bizarre behaviour.

    The first thing to do is ascertain where you were last night. This is easier said than done; you don't have a permanent web of contacts in the city – you're not a native – and there's no one you can reliably ask about your location. However, you figure you might as well ask Nurse Joy. You might have mentioned something in passing.

    “Sorry,” she says apologetically, smiling. “I don't know. You were probably going over to Streatwick, though.”

    Well, you could have told her that, you think darkly. If anyone's going to go out for a night in Saffron, they're going to go to Streatwick. That's where all the bars and nightclubs are, after all.


    Perhaps someone will have seen you there. You were about to dismiss the idea, but upon consideration it seems like it might be worthwhile. Some of these places are open from dusk til dawn; not all the staff would have left yet, even at this time. You might find someone who could shed some light on the situation.

    Onwards, then! Another bus ride, this time to the northern quarter, where Streatwick and Bellford meet; here, on Honey Street, the finest clubs and pubs in Saffron – and probably Kanto, you think, recalling a few choice memories – are to be found. Honey Street at night is a glowing strip of neon and music that burns the night around it into simulated midday, but now, in the morning, it looks rather sad. You see how old and shabby many of the buildings really are; you see the broken bottles in the street, and the bent lamppost from where some drunk Trainer and his Machoke had a punching-hard-stuff contest the night before. You see spills and stains, and puddles of vomit; you see a man's hat and a woman's shoe, lying unheeded on the pavement.

    It's all a bit sad, really, and you resolve never to look at a nightclub in daylight again. You almost feel like turning back – but you have detective work to do, damn it, and for a detective a melancholy location is a bonus, not a deterrent. (You class yourself, by the by, as the 1950s hard-boiled private eye sort of detective. Hence your preference for the noir location.)

    You have a wander up and down the street, looking at the various clubs until one seems more familiar than most; here, you stop and squint at the sign. Flesh, says the unlit neon sign. Were you here last night? If so, why? It doesn't look like a friendly sort of place. Not that any of these places look friendly, really – not in the light of day, anyway. They all look like the sort of place that the rats would turn their noses up at.

    Still, a vague recollection is a vague recollection, and you knock on the door, hoping someone from last night is in there. You wait a while, and finally a suspicious-looking face appears in the doorway. Aha! You recognise her – a barmaid from last night! You were here, after all.

    You outline your predicament in a few concise words. You were here – something happened – you lost something – you awoke in a ditch. Strange things are afoot. You're doing a little detectivery.

    “Detectivery ain't a word,” the barmaid notes.

    You are forced to concede the point. But, you argue, it ought to be. That isn't the real issue, however. The real issue is whether she saw anything happen to you last night.

    “Maybe I did,” she says. “What's it worth?”

    Is she after money? You shake your head and sigh sorrowfully. You had hoped you could resolve this without resorting to such base lucre.

    “You ain't being witty and charming, you know,” the barmaid tells you bluntly. “You're being pretentious.”

    Ouch. That one hurt – right in the pride. You wince, and ask her what her price is.

    “Twenty dollars,” she says.

    That won't leave you enough for the bus ride back home, you protest. This isn't true, but you don't want to pay her twenty dollars and it seems as good an excuse as any.

    Unfortunately, she has a heart of stone, and is entirely unmoved.

    “Tough,” she said. “Twenty, or nothing.”

    You sigh and pay her. In doing so, you inadvertently reveal that you have in fact more than twenty dollars in your wallet. The barmaid's sneer – already fairly firmly entrenched on her lips – deepens.

    “You were drinking with a devil,” she tells you. “Tall, thin guy. Orange eyes. Little horns.”

    A devil, eh? Simultaneously Kanto's most charming and most rapacious denizens. They probably wouldn't be tolerated if it wasn't for the strong military position that diplomatic relations with Hell lend to the nation. And they are excellent conversationalists. Fantastic guests at parties. They have this little trick they can do with a lighter flame that goes down a storm, and they never run out of jokes.

    It's a pity about the way they prey on humankind and all, but it seems like a small price to pay for such winning company.

    Did she catch the devil's name, at all? You're not really hoping she did – it's unlikely that the devil even gave you his name; they tend, for reasons known only to themselves, to make themselves known solely by title – but it's worth a shot.

    “I think he called himself the Lizard,” she says thoughtfully.

    The Lizard? Well, that's... interesting, to say the least. You suppose there must come a point where all the regular titles – Duke, Earl, Countess – have been taken up and the devils have to resort to more unusual ones, but you didn't really know that they got quite so... odd.

    Does the barmaid have any idea what you were talking about? No, she replies, she doesn't. But he did get up and leave abruptly halfway through the evening.

    And shortly afterwards you danced out the door screaming about pigmen. Which is why she happens to remember you.

    There is a pause.

    Ah, you say. Is there anything else?

    “No,” she replies. “Now, I've been on my feet for fifteen hours and I've still got work to do, so sod off.”

    With that, she shuts the door in your face, and, dispirited, you trudge off and sit on a nearby bench to think.

    Why would you have been talking to a devil? That's easily explained; they're excellent company. But why would you have suddenly lost your mind afterwards?

    That, too, is easily explained. Only you're not too keen to admit the real reason to yourself.

    There is a little velvet bag in your pocket containing fifteen sovereigns of warm Hadean gold. Sovereigns worth, in total, fully six hundred and twelve Kantan dollars.

    You must have sold something to him.

    Not your soul – good grief, no! – you'd have to have been really drunk to be talked into parting with that, and in any case your continuing ability to feel emotions would seem to confirm you still have it. But you must have sold him something... Something whose removal would account for the empty space in your head, and for your brief period of lunacy the night before.

    What on earth could it have been?

    Choose wisely:

    You sold your imagination to the devil. But that means you can no longer write angsty poetry about Cubone and misty graveyards and the rainy miasma of your soul! You must retrieve it at once!

    You sold your love for Pokémon Training to the devil. How will you ever defeat Sabrina if you don't care about the fight? You must find a way to get it back!

    You sold your ability to get drunk to the devil. A teetotal life? Unthinkable! There must be a way to recover it!

    You sold your childhood memories to the devil. You cannot remember your mother's face... You will not rest until you can recall it!

    For information about A Grand Day Out, a bizarre short story in video game form, click here.
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    Old March 21st, 2013 (3:52 PM).
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    Daydream Daydream is offline
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    Chapter Title #2

    Struggling to think of what it is you actually sold to the devil, you attempt to summon up a creative curse to launch into the air at his name and find… You can’t. You, who once cursed so creatively that it caused Daisy Oak to faint!

    Your face pales. You know what you sold to the Lizard: your imagination . You start to panic; the world will be without your poetry! What of your unfinished masterpiece, Ode to a Small Green Apricorn I Found in My Underwear One Fall Evening? What were you thinking? You sit down on a nearby bench, and hold your head in your hands, attempting to think. You’re going to have to use your logic. Your flawless logic. The thinking takes a while.

    Without imagination, your thought processes are taking longer – no sudden strikes of inspiration. You eventually reason that someone else in Saffron must have some information on your devil, and resolve to ask around. Luckily, you recall a pub at the end of the street that’s open in the daylight hours. You get up, and walk hurriedly there whilst trying to avoid resting your gaze on some of the suspiciously-coloured pools that dot the street here and there, from the night before.

    The pub, Lance’s Landing (you sincerely doubt Lance ever lands here), isn’t one of the worst in Saffron. That’s not to say it’s exactly nice. The ancient floral-patterned carpet is stained all over, the tables are scratched and the whole place smells vaguely of urine. At least the glasses look clean. There are exactly two patrons here right now: a rotund demon with light orange skin and small, stubby horns is demolishing a large pub meal in one corner and an old man, who appears to be sleeping, is slouched in a chair near the back of the pub. Eyeing you from the bar is an elderly woman who is wearing an apron, and has her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. You approach her.

    “Drink?” she asks abruptly, in a coarse voice.

    You tell her that you’re actually after information, and before you can tell her who it is you’re looking for, she interrupts.

    “No drink, no information!”

    You sigh, pulling out your wallet once more. You ask for an orange juice; as much as you’d like something stronger, you decide it’s probably not best.

    “A dollar,” she croaks. She’s beginning to remind you of a crow, what with her manner and beaky nose. She hands you the drink. “What you need to know?”

    You explain who you’re looking for and she looks up, scratching her chin as she thinks.

    “Demon of that description was getting pretty pally with a trainer from the gym in here the other week. Maybe wanna try that. Name like… Frankie or Franklin.”

    You thank her for your information and, taking your drink, you sit across from the demon. He doesn’t notice you at first, he’s that absorbed in his meal. You wager that he’s probably a lesser demon, of the Hunger class by the looks of it.

    When he does notice you, he smiles and waves jovially. “Sorry! The food here is just really good, you know?” You disagree from the looks of what’s on his plate, but nod politely anyway.

    You ask him questions about the Lizard and he scratches his head thoughtfully whilst chewing. “Nope,” he says with a mouth full of food. You attempt not to recoil visibly at his yellow, serrated teeth that are flecked with various things. “Don’t know him. Could try the Deep Embassy though, they have pretty good tabs on creatures of Hell in the region. Not that they’ll do anything for nothing, of course.” He finishes with a flail of his fork.

    You thank him, and make to leave, but almost fall backwards as you come face to face with the old man who was sleeping at the back earlier.

    “I KNOW YOUR DEVIL!” he shouts in your face, spraying flecks of spittle all over you. His eyes are wide, and one of them rotates wildly of its own accord. If he’s going for the crazy old man stereotype, he definitely lives up to it. “I exchanged my youth for a shiny Charizard!” he wheezes, making a flapping gesture to illustrate. The Hunger demon has stopped eating long enough to be watching with vague interest, now. “Of course, they took it away when I tried to burn down Oak’s lab. Damn Oak… So smug, so smart…” he trails off, staring at the floor. Suddenly he snaps up, pointing at you. You jump backwards, alarmed. The old man now sways slightly as he speaks. “In Darkvane Manor where the devils revel, you’ll have your chance to make things level!”

    The old man begins cackling wildly. You’re seriously scared of him. The old barmaid drags him away, and he immediately falls asleep again. The Hunger demon chuckles and you exit, promptly. You enjoy breathing in the somewhat fresher air outside, now.

    It looks like you have another choice to make. What will you do?

    Go to Sabrina’s Gym, try to find Frankie/Franklin and see if they can help you.

    Visit the Deep Embassy, embassy of the beings of Hell, and hope to find help there.

    Research and possibly visit this ‘Darkvane Manor’. If you trust clearly insane old men, which I really hope you don’t.

    Continue to gather information on the Lizard around town. Maybe there are more who’ve had run-ins with him?
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    Old March 24th, 2013 (8:54 PM).
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    icomeanon6 icomeanon6 is offline
    It's "I Come Anon"
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      Chapter 3

      You decide to try the Deep Embassy. On any other day this would probably fly in the face of your better judgment, but for now you simply can’t imagine what could go wrong. And besides, the Deep Embassy is by far the easiest place to access of your present leads. Checking for cars first, you walk into the middle of the street and promptly begin to spin in a circle while reciting the eleven foulest words imaginable in alphabetical order. After a falling sensation and a slight twinge of guilt, you find yourself in a sparsely furnished lobby.

      A squat gargoyle in a custom-tailored suit sits at the front desk. He looks up from his crossword and recites, “Welcome to the Deep Embassy in Saffron City: ‘Literally Hell on Earth.’ How may I help you today?”

      You explain that you are looking for the Lizard, and partway through your description the gargoyle interrupts you. “The private information of native citizens of Hell is classified. If you want any information of any kind about him, you’ll have to check with Bürohengst in the Demonnel Department in person.”

      You nod, and ask where it is.

      “It’s on the fifteenth floor, but I need to clarify first that while this lobby is protected, the rest of the embassy is officially Hell, and not all humans can stomach it. You are advised to consult with a physician before proceeding.”

      Desperate times call for desperate measures, so you thank the gargoyle for his help and head to the elevator. The door opens before you can press any buttons, and closes right behind you when you step in.

      As the elevator begins to climb, you realize that you are now (legally speaking) in Hell. And yet, nothing feels at all different. The temperature is normal, your emotional state is right where it was a minute ago, and there isn’t even any elevator music, though you could have sworn there would be. You push this to the back of your mind as the elevator comes to a halt and lets you out on the fifteenth floor.

      You walk over to a list of names and offices on the wall and look for Bürohengst. You find him right beneath

      Wild ZUBAT appeared!
      Go! RAICHU!
      Enemy ZUBAT used LEECH LIFE!
      Sucked health from RAICHU!
      It’s super effective!
      Enemy ZUBAT fainted!
      RAICHU gained 200 EXP. Points!

      As I was saying, now that the Wild Zubat is vanquished you find Bürohengst right beneath Bullscheißt in the Archival Department. Taking note of the number, you walk down the hallway to find the room.

      Along the way you overhear a heated conversation that some demon administrator is having over the phone. You stop to listen further, and are shocked to learn that

      Wild ZUBAT appeared!
      Go! RAICHU!
      Enemy ZUBAT used SUPERSONIC!
      RAICHU became confused!
      RAICHU is confused!
      It hurt itself in its confusion!
      Enemy ZUBAT used LEECH LIFE!
      Sucked health from RAICHU!
      RAICHU is confused!
      It hurt itself in its confusion!
      Enemy ZUBAT used LEECH LIFE!
      Sucked health from RAICHU!
      RAICHU is confused!
      It hurt itself in its confusion!
      Enemy ZUBAT used LEECH LIFE!
      Sucked health from RAICHU!
      RAICHU is confused!
      It’s super effective!
      Enemy ZUBAT fainted!
      RAICHU gained 200 EXP. Points!

      Anyway, you are shocked to learn that the Lizard is in a bit of trouble with the president of Hell. It appears that your imagination was of vital importance to a clandestine operation to overthrow the Pokémon League, but now the Lizard has disappeared with it! You gather that the party on the other end of the line is an undercover agent at the Indigo Plateau. The demon shouts his next words, so you hear them quite clearly:

      “I don’t care how you do it! Just get that low-life clapped in irons! Go to Darkvane Manor and perform a summoning ritual if you have to!

      “Oh wait, before you go there’s something really important you should know about the Lizard. He’s a

      Wild ZUBAT appeared!
      Go! RAICHU!
      RAICHU has had enough of this sh*t!

      As with Raichu, Hell is too much for you to handle. You sprint back to the elevator; fleeing from every Zubat you encounter (about twelve more in total). When the doors finally close behind you, you start to sob a bit, and then suck it up and think about what to do next.

      And what will you do next?

      Fly on one of your Pokémon to the Indigo Plateau, and try to sneak in and find this undercover agent.

      Visit Darkvane Manor, and try to summon the Lizard yourself.

      Try Sabrina’s Gym for Frankie/Franklin.

      Cry like a baby and despair.
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      Old March 28th, 2013 (3:58 PM).
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      bobandbill bobandbill is online now
      shake that booty
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      Not a Chapter Title

      You decide to travel to Indigo Plateau. You aren’t particularly keen on visiting Darkvane Manor, and the fresh air could help clear your head after that particularly nasty experience through Hell. Meanwhile if you could meet this agent that was being shouted at before he –or she - left Indigo Plateau then you could perhaps get help faster, and maybe even help them speed up their own plans. You were never much a fan of the league in the first place anyway and figure that if any malicious plans were to happen it should be over and done with as soon as possible.

      Once you get outside you summon your Dodrio and instruct it to fly you to Indigo Plateau. Many a trainer had told you that using the Fly HM on the Pokémon would never work, but you never let facts bother you and were not about to start now. The Dodrio sighs as you jump on its back and proceeds with the journey, and you duck so that its three rotating heads helicopter style do not decapitate you.

      A few hours later you arrive, feeling a bit too refreshed by the experience. You disembark and return your Pokémon to its Poké Ball, deciding that it deserves a treat for its hard work. You resolve not to purchase the cheapest kind of Poké Food next time you go to the Mart. Noticing that you landed right near the entrance of the building you decide to pop in and rest a while. It is usually warmer in the Pokémon Centre-cross- Poké Mart area after all.

      “Halt,” a man says to you as you approach. “In order to challenge the league, you must-” You ignore him and go right in instead.

      After locating the nearest lounge and plomping yourself onto it, you look around to take in the surroundings. It has been a while since you were last here, and you didn’t like to think about that time all too much. You lost way too much money on betting on that mysterious challenger to beat Lance to bear thinking about, and .

      There are not many other people in the common room; in fact there are only two currently there. One is a young man, quietly puffing away at his cigar as he looks over a newspaper. He is smartly dressed and would rank highly in the dapper scale. Perhaps he was your man – he looked like an agent of Hell would after all. Facial hair neatly trimmed, fancy hat, and so forth... he ticks the boxes.

      Or perhaps it was the other man, seated further away and muttering deeply over a pile of papers scattered on a table. He appears to be at least a few decades older than the other, and has a thick white beard. Perhaps there is a lot of paperwork involved in summoning devils. Or maybe he is just into Sudoko and not very good at it.

      But maybe an agent would want to be less obvious about their dealings? It could be that nurse standing behind the counter, smiling so much it looked like her face would fall off any second. Nobody would suspect a nurse to be an undercover spy.

      Your head hurts as you try to think up reasons as to why a devil would disguise themselves as a Pokémon Centre nurse. Your lack of imagination has basically left you unable to remain clear headed and you find yourself wondering if the couch itself is an undercover spy. But it is clear that you should try to find this agent now, because otherwise they’ll leave for Darkvane Manor and leave you here with a Dodrio upset with having flown all the way here for nothing. It’s time to try to confront one of them.

      Which person will you approach?

      The well dressed man continuing to puff on that pipe despite the triggering of the smoke alarm.

      The muttering middle-aged man who is currently circling parts of the Horoscope page in 'The Kanto Weekly'.

      The nurse who is currently out-smiling the Chansey behind her.
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      Old April 2nd, 2013 (10:34 AM).
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      StinkomanFan StinkomanFan is offline
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        You decide to approach the creepy smiling woman, thanking that your lack of imagination makes you unable to compare her to something you saw in a movie once.

        The pink nurses' outfit suits her well, and the stains on it are barely even visible by anyone with eye problems. The Pokemon next to her, a Chansey, is on a leash, apparently to keep from running away in terror.

        "Hello m'lady." You say, trying to sound sophisticated.
        "Hello! May I take your Pokemon so I can heal them?" She asked, the smile running into her make-up.
        "Er... no, I wish to talk to you."
        "Hello! May I take your Pokemon so I can heal them?"
        "Not about that."

        She looks like she'd beat you violently... but that's just the smile and possibly how "LOVE" and "HATE" are tattooed on her knuckles.

        Will You...
        Have her heal your Pokemon and try to make small talk?
        Ask about the Chansey?
        Ask about her?
        Try a secret code?
        Or just ask her if she's a spy?
        Please join my Pokemon RP: "So You Went To Prison"
        Please also see my interactive story, "The Undertaker"
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        Old April 4th, 2013 (10:55 AM).
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        Aura Vitae Aura Vitae is offline
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          Who needs Chapter Titles?

          Without your imagination there was no way that you could possibly come up with some clever plan to get the information out of the Joy so you decided to be blunt about your questioning. Clearing your throat to regain the the Nurse's attention for while you were off deciding what to do she had took to sorting out paperwork presumably for all the pokemon she had to tend to from League Battles. You could've sworn that cheerful smile had faltered for a second before returning to it's previous state. Without your imagination it was hard to tell if it was simply your eyes playing tricks on you but it didn't really matter all that much.

          "Are you a spy?" You inquired as blunt as possible unable to think of a more elaborate way to go about things.

          "Would you like to have your Pokemon healed?" The Joy inquired with her smile fading slightly.

          "Are you a spy?" You tried once more.

          This time you received no response from the Joy as she instead ducked behind the counter to do something you couldn't see from your point of view. By this point you were frowning with frustration but you weren't about to give up just because of one stubborn Nurse Joy. You were about to try and get some information out of that old man who looked suspicious when she reappeared looking different somehow. You couldn't really place your finger on what it could possibly be but she looked different somehow. Maybe it was the blank expression on her face but then again anything was better than that smile of hers.

          "Follow me," The Joy told you in a surprising Baritone unfitting of her appearance.

          You were legitimately surprised at the fact that the Nurse Joy was something other than she appeared but it was good news in your ears. If all went well then you wouldn't have to put up with an upset Dodrio so things were looking up for you. Leaving her obviously frightened Chansey behind, the Nurse Joy lead you to her patients wing for injured Pokemon which was probably sound proof. You highly doubted she wanted other people to overhear this conversation but without your imagination it was hard to think about what she could possibly want.

          "What do you want?" Joy asked in that strange Baritone before suddenly changing shape into the form of a black haired devil with a graying beard.

          "You're hunting down a devil by the name of Lizard right?" You state bluntly without any tact because you need imagination to be tactful, "He stole my imagination."

          "I'm assuming you won't leave me alone until I tell you how to get your imagination back correct?" The Joy Devil, for lack of a better term, replied in his monotone Baritone voice, "I hate my job sometimes..."

          With that said the Devil walked over to a computer with a large monitor. The sound of lazy keystrokes typing something you couldn't imagine or even wanted to imagine bounced against your ears like a... like a... Man without your imagination you couldn't even add a simile to your internal dialogue anymore. This whole "A Devil Named Lizard Stole My Imagination" thing was really starting to get annoying. Not to mention it was hurting your brain to even think about.

          "Why won't this day end already?" The devil muttered under his breath as he printed out something on a sheet of white printer paper, "Take these instructions and summon Lizard at Darkvane Manor if you want that imagination of yours back. Follow these instructions to a T."

          You assumed that the undercover agent just wanted you out of his hair but you were extremely willing to take whatever you could get. Before the agent could possibly change his mind on you and leave you clueless once more, you snatch the paper up and quickly head outside of the Pokemon League. You were still confused as to why an undercover agent was covering as a Pokemon Center nurse of all things but to honest you really didn't care. Now all that was left was to make a choice. Do you...?

          Take the agent's words at face value and fly to Darkvane manor...?

          Read those instructions before anything else...?

          Remember to buy your Dodrio some nice treats before anything else...?

          Don't trust the agent and do your own thing...?

          Pokemon X FC 3368-1319-2305
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          Old April 5th, 2013 (7:26 PM).
          silverexorcist's Avatar
          silverexorcist silverexorcist is offline
          Individualism in Normalcy!
            Join Date: Jul 2012
            Location: Evergrande, Hoenn
            Gender: Male
            Nature: Adamant
            Posts: 104
            [Insert Clever Title Here]

            Trust. That sort of thing got you your imagination stolen. Even without the power of creativity that makes this world go round, you knew to be wary. Especially if the one in question happened to have 'spy' in their job description. They were natural liars, just like the pictures of the food you order in fast food restaurants.

            Liars. The lot of them.

            So what choice is there but to do your own thing? Make the best of your situation and do what you can. It was far to dangerous to simply follow instructions that might be a trap. You didn't have the imagination to figure that much out. Of course, with that logic, doing your own thing isn't the best answer either. But logic was all you had to go by. You'd have to trust your...was the word? Hero? Zero? Near-O? ...Oreos? Well, you'd figure it out eventually, given time. You'd have to focus on figuring out what to do, first.

            Then it came to you. Why not set a trap? Traps solve all problems. If you catch this elusive demon, you could solve things once and for all at your leisure. All of the experts did it. Scooby-Doo...Sherlock...Every conventional fisherman in existence. And you already had the location, too. You could just set a trap there, summon this weird Lizard creature, then...wait. Wouldn't you have to read the instructions and do as they say?

            You stare at the paper for a long moment in frustration.

            Dear sweet mother of God. Not having any imagination was definitely going to come back and bite you right in the area where no sunlight reaches. And we all know how much being bitten between the toes is no picnic.

            Ah well. It looks like you had no choice but to read the instructions after all. That strange Nurse Joy who'd magically acquired a manly beard (should have asked for instructions on how to acquire one of those) would end up having her (?) uses. So the only thing to do now was--

            EGO! That's it! Yes! Problem solved, you can rest at ease now. Figured it out. Satisfaction achieved.

            *Ahem* So; now you just need to read these here instructions that tell you how to summon the demon you're chasing...

            Maybe on the back?


            Well, looks like the paper is...blank. Well, if you ignore the massive 'T' drawn on one side.


            Hunt down Nurse Joy and demand to know why the paper is blank!

            Figure out the secret behind the blank paper!

            Go ahead with 'Operation Fisherman!' anyways! (The plan to use a trap)

            Write a thesis on the similarities and differences between zero, hero, ego, and Oreos.
            An avid writer, willing to join any worthwhile creative writing effort. For the Gs: Google, Games, and Gallade!!!
            Because if we can't protect the earth, you can be damned well sure we'll avenge it. -Red, Pokemon Adventures
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            Old April 20th, 2013 (9:34 PM).
            Chocolate™'s Avatar
            Chocolate™ Chocolate™ is offline
            Awesome Dragon
            • Silver Tier
            Join Date: Jan 2012
            Location: PC.
            Gender: Male
            Nature: Adamant
            Posts: 668
            The return of chapter titles- Chapter 8

            You decide to go and press the paper on Nurse Joy’s face and ask what that enormous ‘T’ is doing here. You go inside but find a note on Nurse Joy’s counter. It reads ‘Nurse Joy will be back in another 4 hours.’ Well now you can’t find out anything. Then you suddenly realize that this will be a great time for ‘Operation Fisherman.’

            You send out your first pokemon – Urasring and whisper something in it’s ears. Urasring walks towards the man puffing his cigar and smashes his face. The other man does not notice and this gives Urasring the perfect chance to thump him on his back. With both the men blacked out you send out Scyther. Urasring lifts up the sofa on which the well dressed man is sitting and Scyther saws a hole in the carpet after which you proceed towards the seat where Nurse Joy sits. Scyther then saws another very deep hole under the seat and you then send out Kadabra.

            You place the piece of carpet that you had cut off and place it slowly to cover the hole below the chair. Then you instruct Kadabra to hold that carpet with his psychic powers for four hours and when Nurse Joy steps on that piece of carpet leave it. Kadabras have a lot of patience and that certainly helps you in this case. Now you marvel at your own handiwork. It certainly isn’t great but ‘Hey you’ve got no imagination.’ Now you wonder what you’ll do until Nurse Joy returns.

            Suddenly you remember that there’s an arcade outside. You return all the pokemon other than Kadabra into their pokeballs and rush outside to the arcade. For the next two hours you play Pac-Man and Mario, the two best games EVER! After two hours you stumble across a game titled ‘Pac Mario.’ In this game Mario replaces Pac Man and tries to collect all the mushrooms in the maze while running away from Bowser Jr., Bowser and Donkey Kong. You get frustrated with this ‘impure’ game and proceed to complain to the owner of the arcade.

            The owner is a sleepy looking old man sitting with a tired look on his face. You complain to him about the game, why it is such a piece of baloney and why he should remove it from the arcade. The manager listens grumpily. Then all of a sudden you hear a scream coming from outside.

            What will you do:

            Continue talking to the owner of the arcade until he is bored to death.

            Go and check whether Nurse Joy is stuck in your trap.

            Think before going to investigate.

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            Old April 21st, 2013 (4:57 AM).
            Cutlerine Cutlerine is offline
            Gone. May or may not return.
              Join Date: Mar 2010
              Location: The Misspelled Cyrpt
              Age: 24
              Nature: Impish
              Posts: 1,030
              “What the hell was that?” asks the manager, looking around in some alarm. Squeals of joy he is used to hearing; screams of agony and dismay, less so.

              You assure him that it is nothing. He has heard too much; he must be eliminated from the equation. Without your imagination, your conversation is duller than ditchwater; you should, you theorise, be able to bore him to death without much effort.

              “It didn't sound like nothing,” he points out, half-rising from his seat. “I think I'd better check it—”

              No no, you tell him. That won't be necessary. Because it was definitely not the sound of a nurse falling into a pitfall trap.

              “Well if it wasn't that, why did you say it?” he asks.

              You consider this. Considering, however, gets you nowhere, as you can't exactly come up with any ideas with the better part of your creative impulse missing.

              Because it wasn't, you reply – an answer that, if it is a lie, is far too poor a lie for anyone to have ever come up with. For this reason, the manager sits back down bewildered, if not exactly satisfied, and says:

              “Well, if you're sure, but... I don't know.” He shakes his head. “Look, would you stop bothering me about Pac Mario, kid? I don't choose the games here. I just maintain them and give change.”

              This is a terrible attitude to have, you inform him gravely. Seriously. The manager of a video game arcade and he barely has any knowledge of the games in his care?

              “I didn't say I knew nothing about them,” he begins, “I said I didn't choose—”

              But it's too late; you've already launched yourself into a long and detailed history of arcade games. You begin with the old coin-operated pinball machines of the 1930s, the grandchildren of the amusement park shooting galleries and ring toss games; you detail in loving care the switchover to solid-state electronic workings from mechanical ones that took place over the next forty years; you proceed to Periscope, Sega's 1966 submarine simulator, which took the world by storm and ushered in the modern era of arcade video gaming, establishing the machines as we know them today. It also, you add, with a little smile, established the price of a quarter a play, which subsequently became an industry standard. Sega then followed that up with the famous Duck Hunt in 1969, you say, and surely there isn't any need to go into that? Oh, well, you go on, blithely ignoring the manager's attempts to clamp your jaw shut with his fingers, if you insist, I'll tell you about the volume-controllable sound effects, and the fact that this game, unlike future games with electronic displays, printed out the player's score on a ticket...

              These electro-mechanical games were gradually supplanted by fully electronic ones, you continue –Pong started the trend in 1972, and Space Invaders dealt a powerful blow to the dying industry in 1978, ushering in what many consider to be the Golden Age of arcade video games, stretching throughout the 80s. Pac-Man appeared in 1980, and by 1981 the arcade video game industry was worth $8 billion. Ten years later, you say, that figure had fallen dramatically owing to the advancement of home gaming technology, and—

              Here you break off, noting that the manager has perished of boredom, his jaw slack with despairing apathy.

              Excellent. Witness down.

              You arrange him in his chair so he looks like he's just fallen asleep, then saunter off, whistling jauntily, to go inspect your pitfall trap. When you arrive, however, you discover that the screams must have been coming from your Kadabra, because there is currently no sign of him other than a single severed paw and a tuft of golden tail-fur.

              Ah. Only now do you realise that it might have been a bad idea to attempt to contain a devil in a simple pitfall trap.


              Definitely one to remember for future reference.

              You scratch your head. As you see it, you probably need to get out of here soon. You've killed a man, knocked out two more with such force that they probably have fractured skulls, seriously pissed off a devil and got your Kadabra eaten; you seriously doubt that you want anyone to realise that you were here. Like, ever.

              In other words, it's time to skedaddle.

              Choose wisely:

              Flee to Darkvane Manor and try to improvise the spell! How hard can it be, anyway?

              Flee to Saffron and scour the city for the Lizard! He's a devil; he's hardly likely to leave the capital, given the fine shopping and dining opportunities.

              Flee the country! You have committed crimes against Kanto and her people, and you seriously want to be somewhere you can't be extradited from.

              Stick around and wait for the police! You've acted like a lunatic so far today – why not keep on doing it?

              For information about A Grand Day Out, a bizarre short story in video game form, click here.
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