best laid plans
To say that the death of a family member can hit somebody hard is a bit of an understatement. I considered Ian my family; I had very few friends in the small town I called home, but he was definitely one of them.
And there's an odd feeling that comes with learning of murder: at least for me.
You want vengeance. And sometimes, you look back and find it ironic just how close you come to it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Chris and Joey walked into the Pokemon Center the next day, Chris with an arm slung around Joey's shoulder.
“Nice mom ya got, kiddo. Amazin' cook,” he said.
“I know, right?” Joey responded.
“Shame we're leavin' – SO staying with her on my way baaaack!”
Chris also had to admit, there was another reason he had enjoyed the stay at Joey's home here: his mother was one hell of a looker. He grinned secretly with this knowledge.
“So, anyways, I'd best go on and make my calls.”
Bosca was walking happily alongside the two, eyes wandering around the building with interest. Joey nodded, and the trio walked over to one of the computers offered by the center.
Chris flipped on the power switch and typed in the phone number to his mother, first. Having a tech-savvy mother had its advantages. The screen flashed into life, and Chris saw his home in the background.
“Chris!” his mother cried out. “You got to Cherrygrove already?”
“Yep. Time flies when you're havin' fun.” Chris grinned goofily, drawing Joey in close to him and pointing to him.
“Ah! I got'cha. Who's your friend?” she asked.
Joey pulled off his hat, nodding toward the woman on the screen. “Joey Collins, ma'am.”
“Elizabeth Avrich,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, ma'am,” Joey responded.
“So, mom – how're things back home?”
“Nice, as usual. Pretty quiet... though I told Miss Mumper about Bosca, and her daughter wants to see. I imagine you'll be hounded when you get home.”
“Oh, joy. Thanks, mom.”
“Speaking of which, how is she?”
Chris leaned over for a moment and picked up Bosca, hugging her close to his chest.
Bosca narrowed her eyes, glaring at the screen. “Mish.”
“Mish, Shroo, shroomish!” his mother said in response.
“Shroomish!” Bosca's eye twitched.
“Mish, mish!” Elizabeth Avrich continued
“Shroomish, shroo!” Bosca exclaimed.
“Mish, shroomish, shroomish, shroo!”
“Calm down, mom,” Chris said, grinning from ear to ear. “I think you just insulted Bosca's mother.”
“Mish, shroo!” Bosca cried, and slammed her face into the computer screen. She went limp in Chris's arms, and the screen was unaffected.
“Right. Sorry, Bosca!” she said. “I just wanted to speak in your language.”
“...Mmmmiiiishhhh...”
Chris gently stroked Bosca's head, ignoring the fact that Joey had broken down laughing beside them. “Anyways, mom, I've got to call Professor Elm. It was nice talkin' to ya! I'll call ya when I come back 'round here.”
His mother nodded, pressing her fingers against the computer screen. “I miss ya already, kiddo. I'd better see you soon...”
Chris kept one hand hugged around Bosca, while he gave a thumbs up with the other. “You bet'cha.”
And with a small string of key commands, the screen went blank.
“Odd mom you've got there,” Joey noted, his breathe still short.
“Thank ya.” Chris winked, and began to type in the number for the Elm Laboratory.
The call almost went to a voice message, Chris estimated, but a face popped up on the screen seconds before this could happen. It was an unfamiliar one, one of a gruff and stoic demeanor signaling an oddly jaded personality. He wore a blue policeman's cap perched upon his head, and what was visible of the uniform only confirmed Chris's suspicions.
The man regarded him with a rough glare. He was pressed up against the computer screen as if trying to hide what was showing behind him. Chris heard the sounds of people talking behind him.
“Hello,” the man said. “What is your business with this Laboratory?”
“...I'm lookin' for Professor Elm,” Chris responded after a moment of pause. “I'm runnin' an errand for him and promised I'd call 'im when I got 'ta Cherrygrove.”
“The end of that errand may just come soon. What's your name?”
“Christopher Lawrence Avrich,” Chris said. “Elm'll recognize it... where is he?”
The man turned around, now hiding the entire screen with his broad back. Chris, for a few moments, only saw a dark, royal blue and only heard the sound of whispered conversation.
Then Elm popped onto the screen.
He was a ghostly pale, as if he had just witnessed the end of the world. He wore a shaky smile, and stared at Chris silently.
Neither of them spoke for what felt like about three or four minutes.
“Ian's dead, Chris,” Elm said finally.
Chris felt a horror like nothing he had ever felt before wash over his being. Blood rushed toward his face, turning them a rosy pink. His muscles tensed, and his hands clenched into fists (Bosca had, by now, leaped down to the floor).
“...H-...” Chris tried to speak, but only got a sound out. He waited for a few seconds, smacked his lips, and tried again. “...H-...how...?”
“He was murdered, Chris. Evidence suggest that it was late last night, so far. His... his throat was cut.”
The fists grew tighter.
The officer pulled Elm away from the screen, and Chris heard the sound of a chastisement going on. Elm took it all with a head hung low, he imagined: it was what Elm would do.
Chris was glad, though. He was glad Elm had apparently defied orders to inform him.
“... Goodbye, Professor,” Chris murmured, and prepared to hit the computer's off-switch.
“Stop it right now, Mr. Avrich.”
It was the voice of the Police Officer. Chris stopped.
“I'm afraid because of what Elm told you, we're going to have to cut your errand short indeed, and have you come back to New Bark. We'll send Police Escorts.”
“...It's for the purpose of science!” Chris heard Elm interject. “Let him finish: do it with the escorts if he has to.”
The policeman turned around for a moment, and Chris saw his neck move. He turned back around to the screen.
“Fine. Wait where you are Mr. Avrich, we'll be sending two escorts to your location.”
Chris shut off the computer, turned around, and headed for the door.
“H-hey!” Joey intervened. He rushed forward, placing a hand on Chris's back.
Chris did not stop. He picked up the pace, in fact. The automatic doors of the Pokemon Center slid open for him. He started running. His feet felt like they were not touching the ground, but instead gliding, gliding so far and so fast that he could never halt to a stop...
Until he ran into the red-haired figure.
It was a massive, forceful collision. Chris felt his head connect with the other person's, and a jolt of pain rushed through his body. The person who he had run took the brunt of the fall, and Chris was thankful for that: but the sensation of a man's shoe driving into your bare thigh was not pleasant. He wished he hadn't worn these god damn shorts. Plus the light blue color of them and his windbreaker didn't help: they would be stained with dirt.
Chris rolled off the person, and examined him as he lay there, recovering from the shock of it all.
It was a boy. Around his age, definitely. The hair topping his head was a bright red, not quite the color of fresh blood but eerily close. He wore a jacket as well, but this one was buttoned up, and a jet black color with a red stripe running down the center. On the right breast was a small, barely noticeable “R” patched in. It looked inexperienced, installed by someone who was a newbie to sewing. His pants were a jet black as well, and his shoes were as red as his hair. On his belt were two Pokeballs.
Not the most original of dressers, to say the least.
Chris leaped to his feet, and so did the red-haired boy. The two of them stared each other down for a moment, before the boy spoke up.
“Watch where you're running, jackass,” he mumbled.
Chris felt a sudden compulsion. He grinned from ear to ear, his eyes flashing with excitement.
“You shouldn't have been in my way, ya bastard,” Chris retorted.
The boy glared at him. “Excuse me?”
Chris folded his arms over his chest, and nodded. It was rigid enough so that Chris expected it to squeak a bit, like an unoiled door squeaking on its hinges. “You heard me.”
The boy nodded in response. “So I did.”
“Mish!” Bosca approached Chris out of the crowd, and leaped up and down. Chris kneeled down for a moment, presenting a shoulder for the Shroomish to ride on; she accepted with a happy squeak, and Chris stood back up again.
“Fine. You want to be a jackass?” the boy said. “Fine. By now you've probably figured it out – we're both Pokemon Trainers, aren't we?”
Chris nodded. “Myself better than you,” he added, a sense of self-worth thrust into his voice last moment.
The boy scowled. “... -and- so we both know how to battle. I'm gonna wipe that smug grin off your face. Follow me.”
Chris nodded again. It wasn't the aggression outlet he had hoped for, but it would work. He would kick this red-haired jackass into the ground, then get out a good cry, maybe, and finally get the hell on with his life. It sounded so perfect.
The two of them traveled for almost fifteen minutes: Joey never showed up. Chris was a bit baffled at this, but otherwise didn't care.
The two of them came to a stop a little north of Cherrygrove's borders. It was an odd spot to choose, Chris mused, but it was isolated. That meant Chris could go all out without worrying on drawing attention (because, at the moment, he was disobeying a direct order from a homicide detective with perfect legal rights to detain him (Chris knew this from a murder-mystery he had watched once on TV) and it would be the last thing he wanted).
“So, guy,” the boy said. “I suppose you'd best know the -name- of the person who's going to stomp you, huh? Russo. Adrian Russo.”
He was grinning from ear to ear, one Pokeball in hand. It was extended in front of him, hand curled around it.
“Chris Avrich,” Chris responded, and nodded toward him once again.
Bosca leaped off his shoulder, and stood in front of him. She chirped her understanding.
The air in the area was tense: it was tangible, so much so that Chris could feel it compacting around him, falling in on him and making it hard to stand under the pressure.
“Adrian Russo, huh,” Chris said. “Italian?”
Adrian nodded.
“Muk.” Chris let the word slip out, masking it as a cocky denial of what he was really thinking. “The movies paint Italians as mobsters. Real tough guys, badasses. Glad to see they're wrong.”
Adrian scoffed. “We'll see about that! Go, Sneasel!”
In a bright flash of light, a weasel-like creature appeared, black fur hanging tightly onto his skin. He had normal-sized eyes, but the pupils were a beady black. He had no fingers, so to speak: instead, his fingers were razor-sharp claws. On his head was a single red feather, about two or three inches long.
Adrian let his hand fell back down to his side, hooking the Pokeball back onto its belt.
“Tagliate a dadi e il fungo,” Adrian said.
Chris looked at the boy like he was growing lobsters out of his ears.
Sneasel seemed to understand the odd language though, as he zipped forward. The only thing Chris could see was a black flash, before the Pokemon was in front of Bosca. He extended a single clawed hand, and swiped it across Bosca's face.
Skin broke, and an ugly purple blood began to ooze from the three raking wounds immediately.
“Bosca!” Chris cried.
Bosca took it all with a grimace. Chris nodded slowly: she was willing to take the pain, it seemed.
So he would take full advantage of that fact.
“Bosca! C'mon in with... well, what you can do!” Chris said. He would have to trust Bosca for this... he had no idea what she could do other than Absorb or Tackle, and he had the distinct feeling that neither would be that effective.
Adrian let an amused grin cross his lips at this, a light, breathy laugh escaping him.
Bosca fell flat on her face.
Chris scowled, until he noticed the faint shifting of Bosca's body. It was up and down, as if she were rubbing against the soil. He shut his eyes, anger pulsating throughout him.
“C'mon, gal, I said do -something-! Stop being all lovey-dovey to the ****in' ground!”
He hated himself for using such strong language on Bosca: he did it all the time by himself, but to use such words on a friend was almost blasphemy to his young mind.
Bosca continued to do this, as if ignoring him, taunting him.
Chris stomped the ground forcefully.
“C'MON, YA WORTHLESS MUSHROOM, DON'T BE LAZY!”
A strangled sound came out of Bosca: it wasn't anything Chris could understand, but it was muffled, like someone speaking with their mouth full.
Chris stomped the ground again, fuming.
Adrian looked at this scene as if it were the most amusing thing he had ever seen. “A better trainer than me, huh? You can't even get your own Pokemon to listen to you! This is priceless!”
Sneasel chirped in his agreement, nodding his head.
“Alright! Cerchiamo di congelare i funghi questa volta, amico. Eseguire un vento gelido!”
Sneasel opened up his mouth and blew outward: the breathe was visible in the suddenly frigid air. It floated toward Bosca slowly, but it seemed to literally freeze everything in its path, chunks of ice from the water in the air falling to the ground and snapping.
Bosca leaped up to her feet and opened her mouth, a barrage of purple and brown pellets firing from her mouth at amazing speed. They froze in the air as they traveled, but only slowed down- a few hit the ground and exploded into whiteish purple pieces, but the majority of them pelted Sneasel and exploded there.
Sneasel was now covered in cuts from ice shards, each one infected with a purple liquid.
Adrian gaped.
Chris threw a fist into the air, immediately feeling guilty for badmouthing Bosca, but finding the sudden redemption an almost euphoric sensation. He loved the look of awe on Adrian's face.
Sneasel stood there, shuddering. He had lost control of the energy sent into the wind, and it suddenly seemed to die out just before hitting Bosca.
But Bosca was shuddering as well. Chris could see traces of purple trickling from her mouth... she had swallowed her own blood. His eyes widened.
The two Pokemon were poisoned, but Adrian had the advantage of being able to switch out.
But he didn't. He returned Sneasel without so much as a word, but the scowl almost made Chris laugh. He looked exactly like your stereotypical movie villain, and Chris could imagine him twirling a mustache, or pounding a table in rage-
“MISSSHHH!”
Chris's heart stopped. His suspicions were right – Bosca had indeed been poisoned. Her blood seemed to have some sort of effect to it where it contained toxins to cause ailments if ingested. He remembered what Elm had said about Shroomish poisoning, and quickly ran over to Bosca, picking her up and hugging her close to his chest.
“Si perde? Inutile! Hahaha!”
He could feel her shuddering. He felt worthless at that moment. He forgot all about Adrian, he didn't even remember his anger and sadness on the subject of Ian's death: he turned around and began to fly.
He ignored the pain growing in his legs. He deserved it in his mind. He deserved it for making this poor little girl suffer, even if she had done it out of her own will: she had done the combination of techniques because he had wanted to win some battle. A battle that wasn't even supposed to happen.
His chest burned, and his lungs were about to explode. But he didn't care. He turned a corner, and narrowly dodged an oncoming person.
He slipped into the Cherrygrove Pokemon Center's doors, and pushed past a line at the desk. His eyes were wide, and he couldn't bring himself to speak, only pointing to the purple ooze from the corner of the by-now-writhing-Shroomish's mouth.
The nurse offered a kind smile. “...Poor Pokemon. Relax, child. We have antidotes – they heal poison in any Pokemon quickly.”
The man in the front of the line placed a hand on Chris's shoulder. “I understand. It's scary to have your first poisoning, isn't it?”
Chris heard the sounds of Joey's voice calling out to him from across the room, and the sound of more firm footsteps coming up – probably the Police Escorts promised – but he didn't care. He fell into the arms of the kind, older man and allowed himself to break down and cry.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Author's Notes: My Italian is not perfect. In fact, I know none. The Italian in this chapter is done through Google Translate. If you know Italian and can help me make these phrases more accurate (as I doubt Google Translate does it perfectly), please don't hesitate to speak up! I'd appreciate the help.
Also, at the end of any chapter in which foreign languages are spoken, translation will be provided at the end.
TRANSLATIONS
Adrian Russo's Lines:
“Tagliate a dadi e il fungo,” means, “Slice and dice the mushroom”.
“Cerchiamo di congelare i funghi questa volta, amico. Eseguire un vento gelido!” means, “Let us freeze the mushroom this time, friend. Perform an icy wind!”.
“Si perde? Inutile! Hahaha!” means, “You forfeit? Worthless! Hahaha!”
Also, response to reviews will be done later. Is it legal to double-post with something that isn't a chapter AFTER a chapter is posted? If so, I'll just edit the responses into this post as spoilers, and if not, I'll put 'em in a separate post.