[PKMN OPEN] The Pokemon Trainer Academy [OOC] [T]

day 1 ♡ 12:40 pm ♡ 05:12:14

Kylie thought she had long internalized the "you-can-do-anything" mentality, so the shock must have derived from the sheer weightlessness of the manner. Success, to her, had always come out of focused effort, the adagial sweat and tears. Besides, triumph was usually limited to plausibility. Everyone had a skill ceiling — they could raise it as they wished through hard work, but in the end, even a genius peaked. Nothing mortal could do everything, especially without even trying.
—mused Kylie Kahale in her attempt to personally rationalize aceing her entry exam.
"They're bluffing."
She'd kept her acceptance letter, by proxy a review of her performance that evening at Slateport. Everything about the event stacked against her -- the fact she'd gone through with it was, in itself, an impromptu decision. Therefore, Kylie expected a lot of hasty maneuvers, an overall lack of form and composure on part of her Pokemon. Because of course she was going back through the footage herself. That review dished out more flattery than the latest Lumiose Models magazine (what with bralettes being vogue, she supposed) and if she read between the many, many, raving lines, Kylie suspected there was patronization sprinkled in as well. There was so many ways you could call strategy "individual," and referring to anything as "unique" on any occasion was, frankly, lazy critique. The video itself had been taped in order for it to reach the reviewing panel, and she must have counted under some law for a duplication to count as personal property based on her appearance within it. Otherwise, Kylie's threats to sue if unobliged may have seemed extreme. Nonetheless, she opened the .mov file on her device and flopped forward onto her bed.
Kylie flipped to a fresh page in the spiral-bound book she dedicated to her little hobby, scribbled a heading in gel — 5/12, Poke-Aca Entry Exam. "Damn, no, that's today's date," she said over the referee on camera, laying the ground rules for the match.
"Spoink-forbid I put a date down right in my lifetime—"
"—two-on-two, single, no items. The judge may terminate the match under any unarticulated conditions. Medical care will be provided to the challenger's—"
"—Did I just say 'Spoink-forbid?' That's so effing cheesy. That better not be a running gag, I swear."
But it was off to the races now. A sharp crunch as Probopass hit the field. The 240p birds'-eye obscured a lot of what made a creature named after its big nose intimidating, but Kylie remembered. Those beady eyes, and the sheer uncanniness of a massive head without a neck. But, apparently, the preliminaries of the exam came down to whether or not you threw it in at the sight of something bigger and odder than average. Kylie recalled the thud of her rising heartbeat, and became increasingly worried for the performance she was about to witness. But even a naive fighter knew she could topple a mountain if she concentrated. Why had she even doubted? The key was focusing on the highest point instead of allowing the very sight of a slate-gray behemoth to stun you. The best thing about a mountain, too, was that it was rarely subtle — it never even moved.
Junn knew this, entering from her seat on the bench immediately when beckoned, taking a low stance, her hands guarding her face, her expression wholly centered on the field; she exuded composure. It was what collected Kylie at the time. But Junn was not the Trainer, as invigorating as her drive for battle was, and Kylie needed to approach battles with the same absence of precariousness. The Kylie of-the-now scowled and took note.
A groan of effort from the red-hatted warder prompted Junn's calavance down the field, Kylie watching her knowingly as the ground about their target transformed into chunks of jagged stone. And as they rose, Junn fell into a moderate pace so that those that'd drifted near soared past aimlessly. Basic taisabaki. Basic premeditation. Kylie hummed in satisfaction. Yes, it was all about control — reflex — and then it came down to dedication: reeling up, your Trainer's soft approval ringing in hyper-attuned ears, then closing in on that jutting, red weak spot with a punch of deadly precision capable of downing any barrier.
You didn't have to go "Dodge!" and hope she got the point when there was nothing to dodge; it didn't matter whether that was a Rock Tomb or a Stone Edge or whatever else, because Probopass only groaned in agony and lost its focus, its projectiles raining down as debris. Premeditation, precision, dedication. That's how you started a match, and that's how you'd win it!
"Woooh, girl!" Post-Kylie was screaming. "Post" as in "post-written-exam," going from zero to kicking ass in under an hour— no, she'd used that full hour, and still didn't know whether you should send a Bug-type out against a Psychic-type. Going from zero to her element was almost maddening. She was jumping up and punching the air like a mad woman, anyway.
The lounging-in-her-dorm Kylie sniggered at the juxtaposition between her explosive fit and Junn looking bemused at Probopass' inaction after being hit.
"Why do you act like a better Trainer than me?" the girl asked her Meditite, the esper forming lotus position at the foot of her bed. Realistically, Junn would be too engrossed to respond, so Kylie's sentiment was more rhetorical.
A second passed since she spoke, then Kylie was blindsided by one of her discarded shoes. 'Oh, screw you!' she thought to exclaim facetiously, but found it easier to laugh it off. Junn tended to misinterpret nuance if it was expressed out loud.
The video rolled on. From its lasting discomfort after the Brick Break, it was reasonable to believe Probopass wasn't battle-trained. What with all that talk about downing mountains, defeating Probopass hadn't been the point, and Kylie hadn't expected otherwise; it was a presumption, though, a "no-way-they'd-do-it" moment. Not true premeditation. Thus, Junn sat in melee range just as her opponent was called off the field.
Kylie took note.
"Spearow," the judge indicated as he tossed out another capsule; considering Kylie's inability to tell it apart from all the other brown-grey common birds, she thought it helpful.
"Guess that's why you're taking classes, Kylie," the Trainer muttered under breath. "Can't tell completely different Pokemon apart, huh?" She wrote down "STUDY MORE" and underlined it twice.
She was a smart bird, this Spearow; the judge had intention to bait Junn by having his partner Roost immediately. Anticipating this would do no good, and rightly, the Spearow refuted the order. Instead, she much more dumbly catapulted across the battlefield, blowing up dust in an Aerial Ace so instantaneous and without technique, the build-up was ugly and blemishing; it was the slowest act of expeditiousness Kelly had ever witnessed, which was still fast to the untrained eye. But Jun's counter was inevitable, though there was disorientation about it. With a cry of Hyy-ahh!, a chop across the length of her body struck the earth, and from it, a wave of kinetic power — Psycho Cut — sliced down the field to smack the Spearow straight out of the sky.
"Pff. Nice stance." Kylie eyed Junn after writing the literal opposite down as a point of future improvement.
Junn dared open an eye, clearly not expecting a compliment.
Kylie rephrased: "I mean, you need to work on maintaining it. Your stance."
Her Meditite scoffed and returned to meditating.
Spearow regretted its earlier impertinence, bailing into a Roost.
"Close in!" Kylie's order rang clear, for once, and Junn rushed onto the bird, driving her leg into Spearow's side.
That was the intention, but a separate force thrust her backwards — non-damaging, but effective. A wide-eyed Junn was thrown off her footing.
Spearow squawked and took flight. The judge's announcement, moments before: "Mirror Move!"
Just like a parrot, Kylie found herself thinking. Her past self seemed far more baffled, however. No one had ever ordered "Mirror Move" in her experience before. She weighed adding another underline to the note about studying, but she could see herself evaluating the target's energy, and decided scholarly understanding was unneeded here.
The Kylie of that moment was thoroughly concentrating, now. Even from the camera's point-of-view, her new stance was apparent. She was crouched lower to the terrain, her arms positioned as Junn's were when she was first summoned. The intent to be on-guard went unsaid. The Meditite could feel the readjustment without looking; she could feel the need to return to previous form. Identical in body and mind, the two partners positioned themselves to overcome their second obstacle.
"Gust!" decried the judge.
Spearow beat its wings, forming a gale targeted in Junn's direction.
The Meditite stood resolute against the force, as discomforting as it became. The winds became sharp against her skin. She hissed.
Stay mindful, Junn.
Her partner's eyes fluttered shut. Her jaw softened. She gave a quiet hm.
As Spearow's Gust petered out with its tiring wings, Junn concluded her on-the-cuff Meditate and readied another offense. She struck the ground again, the Psycho Cut obviously; it hacked through a dim simulacrum of the once-airborne opponent, now rushing towards her in a blur of brown feathers with, as her Trainer vocalized, "Aerial Ace, again!"
Junn's own copy took the hit—
—"First time using that move," Kylie reflected—
—and Spearow wheeled around to hit the real thing.
"That didn't work," present-Kelly stated. She took another note.
Her past self reacted quickly. "Fall back! Maleko!"
Junn struggled to her feet before the ball hitting her from behind toppled her anyway, and she vanished in a red haze.
Her Mantyke burst onto the field, careening in the air, throwing ailerons just beneath the fluorescent lights. To him, it may as well have been the blissful, blue beyond. She whistled and he returned with a trill — the language of the water and the wind. He twisted, spiralled, towards her, snaking across the lengths of her arms. She would move and he would accentuate, an extension of the curvature of her arms above her head, and then again extended at her sides. Kylie posed and, finally, her partner soared past her.
It was an interaction without concrete meaning. Sometimes you just had to trust them, let them join with your energy and movement, understand what's important, then act. So, really, it was about trust. Trust, premeditation, precision, dedication…
At any rate, Miss Spearow was hit point blank with a Water Pulse that caught her off-guard. Clearly, she was offended about being switched out on, not as it were against any rules.
"Next time, close in when the opponent's distracted like that, okay?" Kylie tilted the screen so he could see and understand before realizing Maleko had long since sunk to the bottom of his holding tank beside her bed.
"Oi! Dedicate, c'mon!" Kylie fought, but it proved futile, and ultimately not worth getting up to correct. "Whatever. You'll learn."
Maleko sighed in his sleep.
The dogfight had begun with Spearow barreling forward with a Quick Attack that Maleko was quick to recover from. He threatened to spit back with bubbles like mortar spray — Kelly could feel it coming and called out, "Resist! Water Sport, let's go, Mally!"
The ray chirped in cheerful response, curving back and around with a briny surge arching in his wake. Puddles splotched the battlefield, a visually-intrigued judge and still-offended Spearow looking onward.
Kylie knew she'd anticipated a Mirror Move, a retort against a retort. Regardless if such was intended, her rival was unknowing — this was always preferable. The Spearow thus resorted to its voice, weaponized via Growl, gauging another predictable approach. But Maleko caught it entirely by surprise. With moisture laid on the field, he flew even faster than before, cutting through the air as if were an albescent wave, bursting through that wall of water as it came crashing onto the unsuspecting. His Acrobatics threw Spearow backwards. She cringed and fell.
Called Kylie, "Fall back! Junn!"
The Meditite reentered, dizzy and hurting, but determined, and as Spearow lay more beaten than she—
"Grab her wing!"
"Oh no," groaned Kylie. She remembered this part. Her past self orchestrating — one with her partner, the breath throw to close the match welling within them both.
Kylie gripped—
—heaved the opponent in an arch—
—and threw the referee onto the ground.
There was a pause for post-Kylie to register what had happened. That the judge had been beside her the entire time, for one. The professional managed salvaged her dignity enough to call the match in the challenger's favor, but Kylie was practically talking over her — "Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize you were in the way, I'm so-orry!" — and the Kylie of the present, at her limit, paused the footage.
"Yeah, no. That's all I need. We can burn this now."
At the reference to immolation, she made out a stifled giggle from Junn who had always seemed entertained by the thought of burning anything. Kylie didn't know what to make of that.
"Let's review."
She recited from her memos: "'Jun: maintain proper stance between attacks.' Otherwise, you were awesome. No surprise, I guess.'
"Maleko: dedicate to openings you create. Also, don't fall asleep when we're critiquing. You're still asleep, aren't you?"
He was.
She sighed, continuing down the page. "Kylie… 'Stay collected. Don't…' uh, can't read my own handwriting… 'Study more. And practice new moves before applying them.' Funny, I'd thought there'd be more. But I guess we didn't do so bad after all, huh?'"
Satisfied, she capped her pin.
Junn's solemn expression seemed to sour at the ultimatum.
"Don't look all nasty like that; you didn't do anything wrong, really. I just needed to train you better. That's all.
"It's always my responsibility. Just try your best," Kylie continued to reassure. She tapped her Great Ball against Junn's forehead, prompting a smirk from her partner, and recalled her.
After a moment, a spiral-bound notebook smacked against Maleko's tank.
"Yo, fishface! We've got school. Hope you didn't forget."
The Manktyke sputtered to life with a wail. He went belly-up, button eyes screwed shut again, little bubbles drifting from his mouth. His histrionics came packaged with a good-natured smile reminiscent of the one patterned on his back, and Maleko basked in those last few moments not spent within his own Pokeball.
"Such a drama queen!" Kylie exclaimed, the two capsules now fastened to her belt, then obscured by the oversized jacket draping her shoulders. Shoes on and probably late, the Trainer picked up her bag and made for the door. That little Entei emblem gleamed like sparks from a flame in the sunlight.