Fan Fiction & Writing
The Chronicles of Ryou- Erratic (Rated between G and PG-13)
Started by Scarlet Weather October 24th, 2006 4:35 PM- 811 views
- 5 replies
Chapter One: The First Chapter
Twenty-four hours from now, the following letter will appear on the doorstep of Kyle Alexander, personal friend of Ryou Gryfen, the self proclaimed “Wandering Artist”, and owner of the new publishing house, “Pocchama Books”. The letter itself will be dated “October 25, 2006”, and there shall be no return address- in fact, the only words on the envelope will be “For the Eyes of Kyle Alexander Alone.”
When Kyle receives the letter, he will almost immediately rip open the envelope, remove it, and hold it up to the light. The letter will contain the following words:
Dear Friend,
How long has it been since we last made contact? At least three years, maybe more. In fact, I believe my letters stopped reaching you at about the time your publishing house opened. Do not be alarmed- I blame you in no way for not writing back. Frankly, I think that the postal carrier delivering those messages is to blame- you will have to tell me how many of my letters actually reached you when we next meet. I shall promptly write to the post office, in fact, and complain.
What I have to tell you now is of grave importance to both of us. I am aware that your publishing house has taken a fall recently, and you are in search of a new bestseller in order to restore the tarnished reputation of your business. You are desperate, and if you do not get a book approved and printed within three months, you are sunk. I have a similar problem myself: I have just completed my Opus Dei, my masterpiece, and I have no one willing to publish it.
Perhaps we could make arrangements, for the sake of old times (and new problems)?
Sincerely,
Ryou Gryfen
P.S. Sabine sends all her love. She wants to know when she can talk to Reiza again.
P.P.S. I left the finished manuscript under the porch, just like last time.
After reading these words, Kyle, who is exactly twenty years old, will have the closest thing to a heart attack that a man in his physical condition can experience. Receiving a letter from someone missing and presumed dead by the police will do that to you.
Kyle will find the box beneath the porch, and rush in with it, nearly making the fatal mistake of tripping over the single tail of Origin, his Onetails. (He finally decided to call her a onetails, having never heard of a one-tailed Ninetales in his life.) Unfortunately, he will make the equally horrible mistake of slamming directly into the chest of his Scyther, Reiza, who is leaning against the door of his room. He will immediately be beaten about the head with the blunt end of Reiza’s scythes, and will only be spared from death because of the explanation of his behavior he gives. The two will begin plans for a celebration. Origin will then wake up and torch both for disturbing her sleep. Kyle will apologize, then look for some burn heal. Meanwhile, Ryou, who has hidden within Kyle’s closet the entire time, will begin laughing his head off.
That is, until Origin catches him.
Ryou will go into a lengthy explanation as to why he faked his own death in order to shadow the three trainers his book tells the stories of.
Kyle will respond “You faked your own death so you could stalk some trainers?”
A fight will ensue. By the time it is finished, Kyle will have a black eye, Ryou will have a sprained ankle, and Reiza and Origin will have no injuries whatsoever, as they will pay no attention to the whole thing, and will immediately begin reading the manuscript.
Which is exactly what you will do.
Yo, yo, reader!
This is my first fanfiction attempt, and this is a bit of a prologue. In case you are wondering, this story will not contain any of the aime/manga characters, unless they appear in cameos.
Feel free to review the crap outta this piece.
Disclaimer- I do not own Pokemon. It's that simple. I forgot to say this last chapter, so please forgive me Nintendo!
Chapter Two: The one that is written almost entirely in verse.
Chapter Two: The one that is written almost entirely in verse.
The sun beat down on a desert road,
Hot enough to fry a toad,
The teen and his Venusaur hurried on,
Hoping to make it to the inn before daylight was gone.
On the Pokemon’s back sat the light hearted lad,
Wondering about this letter from the man whose face seemed rather sad.
For a letter received he from a man of great age,
Containing instructions that seemed rather strange:
“I know who you are and what you can do,
So will you come by and let me meet you?
I’ll be at the inn on route thirty-five,
And-rest assured- I am really alive.”
“Signed Ryou Gryfen”, was the note’s end,
The lad prayed that this might be the Godsend
That he had wished for (For his money was almost gone),
And hoping, nay, praying that this man wanted a Pokemon,
That he could capture in exchange for a fee,
Which was the way he usually made his money.
But while in thought the young boy mused,
His Pokemon stopped suddenly, and he fell and got bruised.
“Alack! O dunce, why drop me, you creep?
Are there rocks in your brains, or are you asleep?”
So cried the lad when his body was thrown,
His Pokemon, however, this claim disowned.
With vines thick as oak branches he pointed ahead,
For in the distance sat a quaint little homestead.
In the middle of desert, arid and dry,
A house in which there might be water (and bacon to fry).
The lad leaped up and gave thanks to his ‘Saur,
Who simply shrugged his vines, and said nothing more.
The two bounded through sand toward the building ahead,
But stopped quite suddenly, and were filled with dread.
For the house vanished then, and was gone from their eyes,
And in its place stood to their surprise,
Nothing but san and the sun and cacti,
It had been but a mirage, a trick of the eye.
“Curses!” screamed the boy as he hammered the ground,
When up from that humble sand-pit he did pound
Shot a twenty-foot Arbok (I do not lie)
Who had poisonous fangs and death in his eye.
The lad leaped back in shock, and fumbled about,
Then slapped his head- his fishing rod he was without.
The serpent slid forward, and hissed at the kid,
“Sssoon thisss placccee, of you will be rid.”
But the lad simply laughed and replied,
“If that be true, ‘tis only because you will have died!
And I will have moved on, so now let me say,
If it’s a battle you want, then I’ll join the fray!”
In anger, the serpent leapt forward to slay,
But thankfully, the lad thought quickly that day,
And removed from his belt a small Pokeball,
“Come forth, Cayenne!” he cried out to all,
And from the small orb, a Beedrill shot out,
And buzzed and made noises like an old man with gout.
The Arbok reared back, in obvious surprise,
And for but a moment, fear shone from his eyes.
But then he relaxed, and fixed on the bee his stare,
That paralyzing move we all know as “Glare”.
The lad found his tongue and yelled a command,
“Cayenne, hold on till I release the rest of the band!”
Then without warning from his knapsack burst forth
A swarm of Beedrill, their stingers facing north,
(If north be the direction of Arbok’s face),
And about it their stingers they did place,
And though he screamed for mercy, the bees did not care,
And left the serpent on the ground vanquished there.
Recalling the swarm with a word of good cheer,
The youth said, “Come Seymour let us leave here,
And search out the inn under friendlier skies,”
So to the beaten Arbok he said his goodbyes,
And resumed his travel with the plantlike Pokemon
And within three hours the two were gone.
From that part of the desert where no man roams,
Save idiot scientists, writing their tomes
Of books on cactus, sand, and the sun,
(But I digress- who needs to know this? The answer: no one.)
They reached the inn by evening’s break,
And stared, hoping that they had made a mistake.
For the inn was in the middle of the desert sand,
And in its building, a conductor must have had a hand.
For its very shape was that of a train,
Which completely bamboozled the trainer’s brain.
Why would someone build like that? But no matter it was,
It was time to see exactly what the cause
Of the invitation that the lad had been was.
And so into the building they prepared to enter,
And pushed the door upon its center.
As they entered, both stifled a gasp,
As two old friends stood and said, “What Jack, here at last?”
Jack finished penning the poem, then passed it to the cloaked figure at his side, who accepted it.
“You know, a lot of those lines seemed a little forced Jack- have your creative juices gone dry?” asked Tori, as she snuck a look at the poem.
“Hey, you try writing a story about yourself where every other line rhymes. Who do I look like, Chaucer?” asked Jack, as he drummed his fingers irritably on the table.
“She is right- there wasn’t even a real description of you. You need to revise it before we publish.” Ryou pointed out, returning the paper.
“Ah, go shove it. You want a description, write it in yourself- you’re the author of these so called ‘chronicles’” Jack retorted, shoving the paper back into the author’s hands.
“You have a point,” Ryou replied, accepting the paper, “but I still think that some of these chronicles should be written entirely in your own words. It adds to the story.”
“Fine,” Jack said, waving his hands around lazily, “then let Tori write you a description of how all of us met! She’s better at this kind of junk then I am. I’m strictly a musical theatre kind of guy.”
“Jack’s right- Tori would probably be the best one to tell that story. Jack and I were running around or unconscious for most of it.” Scott said, taking his eyes off of the chess game he was playing. Across the board from him sat a shifty-eyed Typhlosion, who was studying the game board intently.
“Fine, fine- I’ll write it out. Let’s get started.” Tori sighed as she smoothed out her Auburn hair, then stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of the sweater she was wearing. The temperature in the inn had gone down a considerable amount, even considering the air conditioning. Adjusting her glasses, she accepted the paper that Ryou held out, picked up a pen, and began to write as Jack walked over to Scott’s Typhlosion.
“So, had any luck so far?” Jack inquired, switching from standard human to Pokan, the lingua franca of human-Pokemon communication.
“Nope- just had my queen taken. This’ll be the fifth game I’ve lost in a row if I don’t shape up.” The Typhlosion responded using the same language, before moving his knight.
“Jack- we’re getting old waiting for you! Hurry up and take a look at this story!” yelled Seymour the Venusaur, as he and two of Jack’s Beedrill leaned over the chapter of Ryou’s chronicles that they had been begging their off-beat trainer to look at just minutes before.
“Fine, fine, I’m coming.” Jack said, before moving over and picking up the chapter Seymour had found. Slowly, he began to read...
Okay, two things I have to say. One: I claim the idea of Pokan, the pidgin language that is to Pokemon what creole is to people who don't speak english. Two: There are three possible chapters coming- one where I explain what actually happened when Jack, Tori, and Scott met Ryou in the Outskirt Stand, A first person POV involving Tori meeting Jack and Scott, or a "sugar high" chapter in which I intend to parody every fanifc on this site that I have read, just for fun. Any influence on which one I should do first would be welcome. *hint, hint*
~xD Just stunning! I had absolutely no idea you were such a talented writer! The poem was excellent - I really enjoyed it. In the first chapter, the style of your prolouge ... Inspiring! You really pulled it off nicely. No spelling/grammar mistakes that I noticed, so I'm happy. o3o Keep writing so I can keep reading. D:~
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N ♥ P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
Disclaimer In Haiku form
Pokemon belongs
To people from Nintendo
and not to yours truly.
Pokemon belongs
To people from Nintendo
and not to yours truly.
Jack stared at the story Seymour had found- it was Ryou's chronicling of the day he had nearly gotten killed by pretty much everyone who he had come across. Smiling, he picked it up and began to read...
Chapter Three: The One Where Jack is nearly murdered by various people.
Jack stepped forward onto the road, closely followed by his two companions. Ahead of him strode a small green Pokemon with an attitude- his Chikorita, Audrey. As the quartet of three humans and one insane plant moved forward, Scott, who was walking in the back, decided to pop the question that had been on his mind since morning. “Yo, Jack, where the heck are we supposed to be going anyway?”Jack stopped and removed a crumpled movie poster from his pocket, then smoothed out the wrinkles before beginning to read. “Horror! Romance! Laughter! Come and see the stars of Little Shop of Horrors, the remake! Join us for one day only before we begin the official filming of the classic story of a boy, a girl, and a deranged man-eating plant.” After finishing, Jack placed the poster in his pocket, before continuing, “I thought we could all just sort of take a break for a while and go down to meet the cast of this movie. Audrey and I are both big fans of the original- heck, Audrey loved the movie so much that she stole half of the lines from it to use as battle challenges, and she acts just like Audrey Two.”
“Wait, I don’t get it- she acts like the girl from the movie? Shouldn’t she be a little less evil, then?” Scott asked, confusedly.
“No- the girl is Audrey. Audrey Two is the name of the man eating plant.” Jack explained gently, before breaking into a run to catch up with his Pokemon.
“Oh.” Scott replied, before making a mental note to take Audrey seriously the next time she threatened to eat him, and leaping forward to catch up with Jack.
“And I’m always the one who follows behind the crazy people.” Tori muttered as she too broke into a run. “Hey, wait! Did the poster say where this was going to be?” she called out as the thought struck her that none of the group had any idea where the meet the cast party would take place.
“All I know is that it’s taking place somewhere in Maltove city- you know, that place where they shot ‘The Adventures of Ash’.” Jack called back over his shoulder.
“Oh- that show? I loved the first season, but then when he went to Johto they completely killed the whole thing with fillers.” Scott interjected, as he increased his speed.
“Yeah, I know- I mean, some of the Hoenn arc was good but-“ Jack began before a shrill female voice cut him off.
“Who gives a crap about that stupid Ash-Show anyway? I wanna make it to the cast party on time so I can meet my hero, the voice of the original Audrey Two! And if your arguing causes us to lose our direction, I swear that the next time I sing ‘Suppertime’ that I will really eat both of you.” Audrey intoned, her voice filled with venom. The effect was increased because of the guttural nature of the Pokan language she was speaking- venom filled grunts in a low tone of voice that can be understood as a very serious death threat tend to sound pretty frightening, I have found.
“Yes, ma’am!” yelled Jack, saluting, before he increased his running speed, launching ahead of Scott and Tori in a blur.
Both trainers stared at each other, rolling their eyes, as if to say “Here we go again”. This gesture would be often repeated by the two, and for good reason. However, before either trainer could make a complaint, Jack’s voice rang out. “Hey, we’re here! Welcome to Maltove, city of shimmering lights and the silver screen!”
Jack’s description of Maltove was not inaccurate in any respect. The city truly did seem to shimmer as the light reflected off of the windows of gigantic skyscrapers on the far end of the skyline. Toward the center of town, however, the buildings seemed to get progressively smaller- mostly small studios for shooting the low-budget movies often released in Maltove. Farther away on the eastern side of the city, a large harbor stood, and large ships moved to and fro on the shimmering ocean waters.
“It’s beautiful…” breathed Tori, as she sat down to take a rest. She took the opportunity to pull her long hair out of her face- it was getting a bit tangled- before zipping up the leather jacket she wore. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all to walk around in a city that was known for having no small amount of rocket-related incidents, no matter how beautiful it seemed at a distance, with any piece of clothing undone in any way. As her father had said, it gave people with perverted minds “bad ideas.”
Scott stared out across the sea as well. “Sure is,” he replied, before rubbing his own brown, spiky hair- an odd habit of his. “I wonder what the girls in that city are like,” he mused before uttering a resounding “Oomph!” as Tori’s left elbow came into contact with his midriff. “No pervertedness, ero-senin.” She reminded him as she tapped her elbow meaningfully, indicating the slight bulge in the jacket that was the only evidence of the small piece of metal she wore under her arm guards, which were also covered by her clothing.
“When the two of you stop flirting, is it Ok to continue?” asked Jack, tapping his yellow sneakers on the ground impatiently. His brown eyes seemed to laugh with delight as both friends turned to him, murder written on their faces. “After all, to quote from the ‘Adventures of Ash’, those who always fight are really in love…” he added, blowing a small kiss at the end of the sentence for effect.
Jack’s barb hit home. With a roar, both trainers sprang at him, chasing him downhill at high speed. He narrowly dodged a rock launched by Tori, and laughed as it sailed over his blond hair. “You know, you’ll have to do better then that to catch me!” he laughed as he continued downhill, evading various other missiles. In fact, he was quite cheery until he tripped over Audrey.
“You idiot! Look what you just did to me- I’m gonna mess you up so bad, yo mamma ain’t gonna be able to recognize you…” snarled the Chikorita, as she extended her most powerful (and only) weapon- a pair of vines. Unlike the standard vine whip, Audrey’s vines were covered with various thorns and leaves along their length, and were tipped with a pair of large unopened flowers that resembled pointed rose blossoms. Jack knew from experience that single punch from one of Audrey’s vines could result in a hospital visit, and that the Chikorita was an expert in their use. He backed away slowly, beginning “Now, Audrey…”
CRACK!
A vine shot directly over his head, breaking the lamp post behind him neatly in half. “Oh, crap.” He muttered before leaping back to avoid another blow, this one shattering the pavement beneath his feet. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to!” he shouted, dodging another blow, before looking up the hill. Tori and Scott were already down, and the vengeful looks on their faces hadn’t changed. “AAAGGH!!” he shouted, before leaping over Audrey’s head, and racing away down the sidewalk. Dodging multiple projectiles, vines, and various cars speeding across the city streets, Jack finally managed to duck into one of the buildings by the side of the street. He looked around- the building was an apparently empty warehouse, filled with crates. Jack sank down next to one, glad of his narrow escape. “Phew, that was a close one.” He muttered.
“No kidding.” Agreed the teenager in the baseball cap sitting beside him.
Jack stared at him.
The trainer stared back.
“AAAAGGHHH!!!!” they shouted in unison, leaping up as they did so.
“Hi, um, my name is Jack, and I’m pleased to meet you…” Jack said, after extending his hand.
“Um, I’m Vash. Pleased to meet you to.” The trainer in the cap replied as he accepted the proffered appendage, pumping it up and down.
“So what’s a random guy like you doing in here?” Jack wondered aloud.
“Hiding from my fans.” Vash replied, grinning. “I’m kind of famous.”
“Oh. You have groupies?” asked Jack, before yelling “What! Of course you would! Every dang trainer with a friggin’ baseball cap has groupies, but no, not the nautrally blonde ones with fishing vests and parachute pants! No one pays any attention to us! We’re the underdog in the performance community I tell you, the underdog!”
“Um… how about I introduce you to the rest of the gang, huh?” asked Vash nervously, trying to visually locate the nearest exit.
“Oh, sure, whatever.” Jack replied, placated slightly.
“Come on out Frock, Whinny, Gem, Annalise, and June! Come and meet our latest friend!” Vash called. Almost immediately, a group of five people jumped out from behind a stack of crates at the opposite end of the warehouse, four girls and one guy. Vash quickly introduced Jack, then stopped as his cell phone began beeping. He opened it, and read the text message inside. He then called to the rest of the group, who immediately began to huddle with him. Jack stared as they began whispering. When they finally stepped apart, Vash walked up to Jack and intoned “Jack, could you excuse for a moment? We all need to inexplicably do something really random for a moment.” Before Jack could even inquire about what the heck Vash meant, the six kids leaped behind the boxes. From behind the boxes, bursts of light began issuing forth, and random pop music sequences. Jack cringed- he hated pop music. As the songs finished, a group of six people, all of whom were wearing pop-star style outfits and carrying various instruments, burst out from behind the crates. “Pardon me but could you direct us to the nearest exit?” asked the leader of the band.
“You know where it is Vash- it’s right out that way.” Jack said, pointing and staring.
“Vash- no, no, that’s not my name! I am Miyamoto, and these are the Butterfrees!” said the band leader, again pointing to his partners.
“Oh, come on Vash. You just stepped behind those crates a minute ago. I know it was you.” Said Jack, staring at the dumbstruck band leader. “By the way, where did you get the weird checkered jacket from? I want one.” He commented.
Vash stared incredulously. “No way! When we transform, we’re supposed to be completely immune to detection, unless somebody sees us! You must be some kind of freaky mind reader!” he turned to the other band members, before shouting “Quick! Get rid of him before he divulges our secret identities to the tabloids!”
“Wait!” Jack shouted, panic appearing on his face. “Before killing me, would you mind explaining something?”
“No, what?” replied Vash.
“Why does it matter if anyone finds out that you are a secret member of a pop band?”
“Um…. I’ve never really thought about that… but oh well! It’s too late for me to even consider this logic! Butterfrees- ATTTAAACCCKKK!”
Jack dodged a few swipes from an electric guitar, a pair of drumsticks being hurled through the air at him, and removed the fishing pole from his back in order to block the bass guitar being heaved at his midriff. “Is this some kind of national ‘attempt to kill Jack’ holiday?” he shouted, dodging a harmonica, before leaping out of the door. As the Butterfrees charged, he quickly slammed the door shut, knocking them over. “That was an even closer one,” he breathed, before turning around, only to come face to face with the three people who had been chasing him to begin with. “Hi, Tori, Scott, Audrey…. Long time no see?” he asked innocently, praying for mercy.
Tori grimaced.
Scott’s green eyes narrowed.
Audrey’s vines extended.
“Oh, crap.”
Jack leaped directly over Audrey’s head once again, dodged a broken piece of sidewalk, and set off at a mad dash towards the nearest occupied building. He reached the door, and pulled it open, heaving a sigh of relief.
What was inside the building made him stop and stare in horror.
In front of him, a green haired youth was calmly staring at a young boy about Jack’s age, who had a sword protruding from his middle. The impaled boy seemed to be gasping out his last breath, and the kid with the veggie-colored top was just staring, as if he didn’t care. As the impaled kid reached for the handle of the sword, the other boy just pulled it calmly from his stomach and laughed. Before he could make another move however, Jack launched forward and slammed his fishing pole into the green-eyed monster’s chest. “What the heck were you doing!” he yelled, “He’s dying there and you just-“
“CUT! WHO THE HELL IS THAT KID!” the director screamed.
Jack stared. He was on a set. There were cameras pointed at him. The apparently impaled kid was simply standing up, as if nothing had happened, and glaring at him. “Dude, you just ruined the entire opening sequence for our movie!” he shouted.
“Oh poop.” Jack squeaked, as a group of very muscular men stepped toward him….
To Be Continued....
Well, it's me, with another chapter. I couldn't finish this one on time, but don't worry, it will be done by next week. By the way- the fanfictions I have parodied slightly in order to provide characters to attack Jack are as follows:
The Adventures Of Kochou and the Beautiflies by Emeraldsky
What is a Friend? by Deathspector
I will also be parodying the following next time:
The Legendarian Chronicles by Chibi_Pikachu
The Quest for the Legends by Dragonfree
The Chronicles of Ryou-Erratic by Art_Critic_Cubone
Wait, how the heck did that last one get in there? Oh well, I guess I'll just go now...
Hi. I'm back, with the rest of the chapter!
Oh, and here is my disclaimer: ATTENTION: ART_CRITIC_CUBONE HAS RENOUNCED ANY CLAIMS TO OWNING POKEMON, NOT THAT HE HAD ANY TO BEGIN WITH. THANK YOU.
Yeah, well anyway, here's the final part of the chapter.
Oh, and here is my disclaimer: ATTENTION: ART_CRITIC_CUBONE HAS RENOUNCED ANY CLAIMS TO OWNING POKEMON, NOT THAT HE HAD ANY TO BEGIN WITH. THANK YOU.
Yeah, well anyway, here's the final part of the chapter.
As the three men advanced toward Jack, a thought occurred to him. “Wait!” he shouted.
The three men stopped and stared. “Why should we wait? We have a schedule to meet. Come on, at least give us a reason.”
“Does it matter to you that I’m completely and utterly insane?”
“You are?”
“Who else would run around in parachute pants and a fishing vest?”
“You have a point. Still, since you have messed up the movie, we feel obligated to beat you up until the director tells us to stop.” As the leader finished his sentence, the other two cracked their knuckles. Jack turned a funny shade of green- actually, it was somewhere between puce and green, with a little beige in there somewhere.
“Well, will you guys at least tell me who you are before you dismember me?”
The three muscular men’s jaws simultaneously dropped. “You mean you actually don’t know who we are?” the leader asked, his eyes nearly bugging out from his skull.
“No, not really.”
“Well then, I feel obligated to tell you.”
With that, the three men began snapping their fingers, and the leader stepped back, threw up his head, and began to sing “We are the men in black...”
“Great, thanks. Now I recognize you. By the way, isn’t that Miyamoto from that one pop standing right behind you all?” Jack asked hurriedly, hoping to be spared another bad rendition of a movie related song.
“WHERE?” yelled the director, men in black, actors, and film crew as they turned to survey the building. Jack chose that moment to make a hasty exit. By the time the various people involved in the film realized he had ducked out, he was long gone.
After about twelve and a half hours of running (it was really only thirty minutes, but it seemed longer), Jack ducked into an alley, feeling he was safe. “Thank goodness- I think I got away.” He muttered, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. A few minutes passed, and finally Jack felt it was safe to exit the alleyway. Unfortunately for him; it wasn’t, and the minute he stepped out of the alleyway he was surrounded by what he would later describe as “a whole lot of people who wanted to kill me, eat me, then mount my butt above their fireplace.”
Leading the lynch mob was Miyamoto, who appeared to be flying on the back of a Pidgeotto about half his size. Behind him stood the Butterfrees, all of whom were armed to the teeth with various musical instruments. Even scarier then the killer pop band however was the men in black, who had dug up a couple of very large weapons from the prop room of their studio- most likely left over from “Attack of the Martian Girl From Planet V” based on their design. Backing them up was the film crew for the movie, led by the actor with the green hair Jack had belted in the chest. And last, but certainly not least, Audrey, Tori, and Scott appeared, then immediately slipped behind Jack, blocking off the safety of the alley and making retreat almost impossible. “Now, you pay.” Audrey snarled her eyes bright and flashing.
“He knows my secret identity!” yelled Miyamoto as the Butterfrees charged forward.
“He tricked us and messed up our movie!” yelled the green haired actor as he led the film crew into the attack.
“He didn’t let us finish our song!” yelled the leader of the men in black.
“He tripped over me!” Audrey screamed, extending her vines.
“He said I was in love with a pervert!” yelled Tori charging.
“He- wait a minute, what did Jack do to me?” asked Scott, pausing.
“What, are you really in love with me or something?” Tori asked, staring at Scott in shock.
“No, of course not! But saying I was in love with such a hot babe, I mean, is that really an in- OOMPH!” Scott gasped as Tori’s iron-clad elbow impacted his stomach.
Thankfully for Jack, Tori’s pause in order to deal with Scott caused the mob to enter a state of confusion. The film crew stared at each other long enough to sweat-drop, which confused the men in black, who tripped and fell onto the Butterfrees, who were knocked into the path of one of Audrey’s vines, and fell to the ground. The only remaining opponent, in fact, was Miyamoto, who was flying directly above the group on his Pidgeotto. “And now it is just you and me...” he hissed.
“Miyamoto, how the heck is that Pidgeotto carrying you? You’re like, twice its size.” Jack asked, with genuine wonder.
“Umm... that’s simple! I-I- oh crap.” Miyamoto finished as the hawk-like Pokemon’s body collapsed under his weight, causing him to fall to the ground, directly on the head of a very angry Audrey.
“You just made a big mistake, buster.” She hissed, launching her vines at him.
Jack took off as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn’t want to be held responsible for anything his Chikorita did to the poor guy at this point, and knowing Audrey, she was probably going to do something that would make the whole adventure unable to print.
About three hours later, Jack arrived directly in front of a large clearing off to the east of town. “I should be safe here,” he muttered as he sat down to catch his breath once again.
Almost immediately, a giant Mewto with its eyes completely closed appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, and shot directly in front of him. Jack instinctively removed a Pokeball from inside of his vest, when the Mewto opened its eyes, causing him to be completely vaporized.
About five minutes later, Jack found himself floating in a black void, filled with nothing but blackness, blackness, and more blackness. “And where is this again?” he wondered, staring around him.
“You’re dead. I killed you off. Now I want you to help me prevent this huge, cataclysmic war of legendary Pokemon and save the world at the cost of your dreams, your friends, and possibly your own life.” The Mewto with closed eyes replied, appearing beside him.
“You just killed me off and you expect me to help you?”
“Yes.”
“Ah- why?”
“Your name is Mark, right?”
“Nope, I’m Jack.”
“Oh crap! I just killed off the wrong character. Listen bub,” the Pokemon said, handing Jack a small Pokeball, “take this ultra ball some kid threw at me yesterday, and promise not to tell anybody I messed up, and I’ll bring you back to life and we can keep this between just the two of us.”
“O-kay.....” Jack said, drawing out the word. Almost instantly, he reappeared in the middle of the clearing. “Well, that was totally random.” He muttered, sitting down.
“Hey you! Kid! Hand over all your Pokemon!” yelled a man in a black suit. Jack almost expected to see a man in black, but to his surprise, the trainer was simply a rocket. A rookie too, based on the way he had just clumsily jumped up and shouted, without threatening him in any way. He sighed, and sat down, attempting to gather himself in case anything weirder happened.
The rocket was indeed a rookie, and he was slightly ticked off that the kid in front of him was paying absolutely no attention to his command. “Didn’t you hear me? I told you to hand over your Pokemon!” he yelled, frustrated.
Still no reaction from Jack.
Utterly flustered, the rocket removed a Pokeball from his belt. “We genetically engineered this Pokemon in order to increase its strength,” he threatened, trying to sound tough but mostly managing to sound like and angsty teenager who was really ticked off, which he was.
Jack arched an eyebrow, but other then that, he did absolutely nothing.
The rocket’s testosterone levels shot off the charts. He didn’t know why this crazy teenager wasn’t scared, but if he wasn’t going to react, then the consequences were on his own head. He hurled the Pokeball outward, screaming “Go! Ultra-Genetically modified Uber-Pokemon!” hoping that the long name would add to the terror effect (it didn’t. In fact, Jack was secretly shaking with laughter inside.)
The Pokeball burst open to reveal- a dark black Caterpie. The rocket had time to say one quick, “What the!?” before Jack released one of his multiple Beedrill, who immediately put the Caterpie out of its misery with a single well aimed twinneedle. Cursing, the rocket recalled his defeated bug to its Pokeball. “I hope you’re happy- I’ll send the other rockets after you, and they’ll kill you off, see if they don’t!” he yelled, racing away.
“I’m more frightened of my Chikorita!” Jack couldn’t help quipping as the rocket fled.
“And what was that you said, Jack?” said an all-too-familiar snarling voice.
Jack spun around. There, behind him, were Scott, still clutching his stomach, Audrey, whose vengeful expression hadn’t changed from before, and Tori, whose face seemed even angrier then the last time, if that was at all possible. He backed away, only to trip over his own fishing pole, which had dropped when the squinty-eyed Mewto had vaporized him. “Oh, crap.” He muttered, as the three advanced. Just as all seemed lost, however, a thought struck Jack. “WAIT!” he yelled in an anguished tone of voice.
“What?” asked his three friends-turned-murderers, staring at him.
“What were we fighting about in the first place?”
“Umm.. that’s easy! You said something- and we got mad- and then...” Tori’s voice trailed off. “You know, I actually don’t remember.” She said thoughtfully.
Jack breathed a sigh of relief as his friends helped him up. Now that he had a chance to breath, however, he found that one question was still unanswered. “Hey Audrey, what happened with the meet-the-cast party for the Little Shop of Horrors remake?” he asked, staring at his Pokemon.
Audrey stared back. “The what?”
“The meet the cast party. The whole reason we came to Maltove in the first place.”
“Oh.”
With that, Audrey took off running towards the city, screaming, “If I miss meeting my hero, I’m so gonna kill you Jack!”
“Here we go again...” muttered Jack as he and his friends began running back toward the city of Maltove...
Well, readers, here it is, in all its parody-filled glory: the end of chapter three, infinitely funnier then the first part. As to why I parodied the fanfictions I did, and what I parodied about them exactly, well, you can reads it here. If not, I suggest you skip this little author's notes section.
Kochou and the Beautiflies: I parodied the parts of this one that made the least sense to me- why Ash and co. need to keep their identities secret, how Ash and Kochou can enter and exit the same room within a few minutes of each other without arousing suspicion, and how a Pidgeotto was able to support Kochou's weight even though Pidgeotto are around half his size.
What is a Friend?: This one I just picked because I needed Jack to run in on some random scene which would turn out to be part of a movie, and Drew gutting Ash with a sword just seemed like a dramatic thing to walk in on.
The Quest for the Legends: This one is actually one of my favorite fics (Of course, I have nothing against the other two except for the short "logic breaks" in Kochou), but I couldn't get rid of one nagging thought: What if Chaletwo (the squinty-eyed Mewto) accidentally went to the wrong dimension and killed off the wrong character? Hey, his eyes are constantly closed, it would be an easy mistake to make!
The Legendarian Chronicles: Another favorite of mine, I just included this one because it was the one I read before I got the idea of Team Rocket creating really weak genetically altered Pokemon as well as strong ones. The idea of an incompetent rocket attempting to make a serious threat with a weakling Caterpie just because it's oddly colored or genetically altered just made me laugh, hence, I included it.
Well, until next time, excelsior!
Well, here we are again- at the beginning of a new journey. Ever since I screwed up my parody chapter, which wasn't nearly as funny as I intended, I've been procrastinating on writing this next part. In order to keep myself from giving up, I wrote a chapter written almost entirely in dialogue, which turned out better then expected, to give an idea about my main character, who is the most heavily based off of me. And yes, the whole "journey that would change his life" part at the end is cliche, I know, but I figured hey, if you go on any journey, you're going to be changed somehow, or it isn't a story, now is it?
Additionally, all "ouskirt stand" scenes will now be cut to avoid unnecessary writing and to avoid confusion.. plus, it's just easier. Unless they are imporant to the plot, that is.
Well, here's the story. Review if you read it or perish.
"And what did you say your name was again?”
“Jack. Jack Lestrade. That’s only what I’m gonna call myself on the road, though. My real last name is Martin. That doesn’t sound half as intimidating.”
“Why do you want to become a capture specialist, Jack? According to your permanent record, you’re really more of a performer then anything else- dancing, singing, acting, they’re your real talents. You could always become a Coordinator if you truly wanted to work with Pokemon. Why give all of that up to just run around capturing Pokemon that you don’t even get to keep yourself, usually?”
“Long story.”
“Well, I want to hear it.”
“Can I have your name first?”
“What difference does knowing my name make?”
“I don’t feel comfortable spilling my guts to someone I’ve barely even met, y’know?”
“I see. My name is Cherry. Professor Cherry to be precise. Well, let’s hear your life’s story. Out with it then.”
“Cherry? You’re an old man!”
“So?”
“Cherry is a girl’s name.”
“It is also my last name. Get on with your story.”
“Couldn’t you just go by your first name or something?”
“You, my boy, are in very serious danger of getting your head chopped off by my Scyther.”
“Sheesh, you’re a grump. Anyway, on with the story.... first, visualize yourself in a room.”
“Mm-hmm, got it.”
“Next, imagine that you’re about my age- that’s fourteen, in case it isn’t in your dossier.”
“It is. Keep going.”
“Here’s the hard part- now imagine that an entire army of human-Pokemon hybrids live outside your house.”
“WHAT?”
“Only kidding!”
“Young man, my Scyther is sitting right behind you, sharpening his blades.”
“Ah. Well then, at least I’ll die quickly.”
“Will you get on with the story?”
“Hang on, first you have to visualize everything again.”
“Everything?”
“Yep- except for the army of human-Pokemon hybrids.”
“Obviously. I’m not that dense, whippersnapper. Start talking.”
“Alright- imagine that your dream is to become the first person from the belt to sing the national anthem at the beginning of the Pokemon league tournament, and to become a famous broadway actor and possibly a Pokemon coordinator.”
“You have some pretty weird goals.”
“You said I was a performer.”
“True- carry on.”
“Now, imagine that there is a school, recently opened, for learning the performing arts.”
“I see. Do I have the ability to enter the school?”
“Yes, actually- for the first five days that you know about it, that is.”
“Mm-hmm. Why did I lose this ability, may I ask?”
“Your father, an eccentric inventor, makes money by playing the stock market, and he made a bum investment and lost most of the money. Now you don’t have enough money to enter the school without filing for bankruptcy.”
“Ah, I think I see the idea here. You want to become a capture specialist in order to earn enough money to enter the school.”
“Yes and no. I also want to become a specialist so that I can travel around with Pokemon, and get an idea of what being on the road a lot is like. But you still don’t know why I decided on becoming a capture specialist yet.”
“Tell me. I’m all ears.”
“What- no more ‘hurry up or I’ll have my big, mean Scyther decapitate you and send your remains to your parents in a shoebox?”
“I never said that!”
“You implied it.”
“Hurry up or I’ll have my Scyther chop your mouth out.”
“Ooh- I’m so scared. Anyway, a couple of days ago I saw something freaky outside my house. A small, green thing was laying in the grass, breathing heavily, and a Weedle was poking it. I moved closer, trying to get an idea of what it was, and what do you know, it was a Chikorita. One of the rarest Pokemon out there. Beat up all over, purple bruises, scratched up leaf, you get the idea.”
“Please tell me you didn’t rescue it and make friends with it, and now you want to capture more Pokemon.”
“Heavens no! I rescued the blasted thing, but the minute the Weedle was gone and she opened her eyes, she hit me in the gut with one doozy of a vine whip, then in the side of the face with another. By the time I had regained consciousness, she was gone like the wind.”
“Ah- I take it you want revenge?”
“You bet. As a capture specialist, I have a license to track down and capture rare Pokemon usually owned only by researchers. That little Chikorita is all mine.”
“Ah-ha. Well then, I suppose now that I know your reasons, I can make my decision as to whether or not I’ll issue you a license.”
“Please, take your time. I have absolutely nothing better to do then sit here watching you scratch your head.”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”
“But it is a heck of a lot of fun.”
The grey-haired professor sighed. The boy was thirteen- one year below the minimum age that he could normally issue a license at without reason. As far as he could tell, the boy was not only rude, but according to his file, he had no practical talents that would allow him to capture Pokemon effectively. He had a working knowledge of Pokan, but so did everyone else from the Belt, so it wasn’t really anything special. To his credit, the boy did know how to tell Pokemon apart based on their natures, but that was where his contact with the world of training stopped. He should probably just tell him to go away, and come back next year.
As he opened his mouth to speak, however, something stopped him. He adjusted his wire-rim glasses again and looked once more at the youth in front of him- blonde hair that seemed to crackle with energy, a pair of stunningly blue eyes, and a fishing vest and pair of disco pants that made him look like a complete idiot. The expression in the eyes, however, was what caught him. It was that determined look that every trainer began their journey with- a sort of determined look that seemed to say “I’m going to attain my goal, whether you help me or not, so why don’t you just hurry up and help so that I can get going already?” He had always been a sucker for that look.
“You pass.” He sighed, removing a trainer’s card and Pokedex from the shelf behind him. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Gee, thanks for the support. Catch you later, Mr. Senile!”
“Why you- get back here!” yelled the professor as the youth shot out the door. He slapped his forehead. What had he unleashed on the world? With a sigh, he closed the door. The kid would be back home in a few days anyway, beaten within an inch of his life most likely.
He was wrong.
Ten minutes later, Jack Martin, now known as Jack Lestrade, destined to become a famous crusader in the field of grass Pokemon research, had taken his first step on a journey that would change his life.
Well, I really have nothing to say here... other then that I love the grass-type. So cute! Well, that AND I want people to review me and yell nasty things at me, and tell me how horrible my fanfic is and what an amateur I am and what I need to do to avoid coming off like that. Unless, of course, I am some kind of Godly writer and I have risen above that...
Yeah, I have delusions of grandeur.
-Excelsior!
-excelsior!
Additionally, all "ouskirt stand" scenes will now be cut to avoid unnecessary writing and to avoid confusion.. plus, it's just easier. Unless they are imporant to the plot, that is.
Well, here's the story. Review if you read it or perish.
"And what did you say your name was again?”
“Jack. Jack Lestrade. That’s only what I’m gonna call myself on the road, though. My real last name is Martin. That doesn’t sound half as intimidating.”
“Why do you want to become a capture specialist, Jack? According to your permanent record, you’re really more of a performer then anything else- dancing, singing, acting, they’re your real talents. You could always become a Coordinator if you truly wanted to work with Pokemon. Why give all of that up to just run around capturing Pokemon that you don’t even get to keep yourself, usually?”
“Long story.”
“Well, I want to hear it.”
“Can I have your name first?”
“What difference does knowing my name make?”
“I don’t feel comfortable spilling my guts to someone I’ve barely even met, y’know?”
“I see. My name is Cherry. Professor Cherry to be precise. Well, let’s hear your life’s story. Out with it then.”
“Cherry? You’re an old man!”
“So?”
“Cherry is a girl’s name.”
“It is also my last name. Get on with your story.”
“Couldn’t you just go by your first name or something?”
“You, my boy, are in very serious danger of getting your head chopped off by my Scyther.”
“Sheesh, you’re a grump. Anyway, on with the story.... first, visualize yourself in a room.”
“Mm-hmm, got it.”
“Next, imagine that you’re about my age- that’s fourteen, in case it isn’t in your dossier.”
“It is. Keep going.”
“Here’s the hard part- now imagine that an entire army of human-Pokemon hybrids live outside your house.”
“WHAT?”
“Only kidding!”
“Young man, my Scyther is sitting right behind you, sharpening his blades.”
“Ah. Well then, at least I’ll die quickly.”
“Will you get on with the story?”
“Hang on, first you have to visualize everything again.”
“Everything?”
“Yep- except for the army of human-Pokemon hybrids.”
“Obviously. I’m not that dense, whippersnapper. Start talking.”
“Alright- imagine that your dream is to become the first person from the belt to sing the national anthem at the beginning of the Pokemon league tournament, and to become a famous broadway actor and possibly a Pokemon coordinator.”
“You have some pretty weird goals.”
“You said I was a performer.”
“True- carry on.”
“Now, imagine that there is a school, recently opened, for learning the performing arts.”
“I see. Do I have the ability to enter the school?”
“Yes, actually- for the first five days that you know about it, that is.”
“Mm-hmm. Why did I lose this ability, may I ask?”
“Your father, an eccentric inventor, makes money by playing the stock market, and he made a bum investment and lost most of the money. Now you don’t have enough money to enter the school without filing for bankruptcy.”
“Ah, I think I see the idea here. You want to become a capture specialist in order to earn enough money to enter the school.”
“Yes and no. I also want to become a specialist so that I can travel around with Pokemon, and get an idea of what being on the road a lot is like. But you still don’t know why I decided on becoming a capture specialist yet.”
“Tell me. I’m all ears.”
“What- no more ‘hurry up or I’ll have my big, mean Scyther decapitate you and send your remains to your parents in a shoebox?”
“I never said that!”
“You implied it.”
“Hurry up or I’ll have my Scyther chop your mouth out.”
“Ooh- I’m so scared. Anyway, a couple of days ago I saw something freaky outside my house. A small, green thing was laying in the grass, breathing heavily, and a Weedle was poking it. I moved closer, trying to get an idea of what it was, and what do you know, it was a Chikorita. One of the rarest Pokemon out there. Beat up all over, purple bruises, scratched up leaf, you get the idea.”
“Please tell me you didn’t rescue it and make friends with it, and now you want to capture more Pokemon.”
“Heavens no! I rescued the blasted thing, but the minute the Weedle was gone and she opened her eyes, she hit me in the gut with one doozy of a vine whip, then in the side of the face with another. By the time I had regained consciousness, she was gone like the wind.”
“Ah- I take it you want revenge?”
“You bet. As a capture specialist, I have a license to track down and capture rare Pokemon usually owned only by researchers. That little Chikorita is all mine.”
“Ah-ha. Well then, I suppose now that I know your reasons, I can make my decision as to whether or not I’ll issue you a license.”
“Please, take your time. I have absolutely nothing better to do then sit here watching you scratch your head.”
“Sarcasm will get you nowhere.”
“But it is a heck of a lot of fun.”
The grey-haired professor sighed. The boy was thirteen- one year below the minimum age that he could normally issue a license at without reason. As far as he could tell, the boy was not only rude, but according to his file, he had no practical talents that would allow him to capture Pokemon effectively. He had a working knowledge of Pokan, but so did everyone else from the Belt, so it wasn’t really anything special. To his credit, the boy did know how to tell Pokemon apart based on their natures, but that was where his contact with the world of training stopped. He should probably just tell him to go away, and come back next year.
As he opened his mouth to speak, however, something stopped him. He adjusted his wire-rim glasses again and looked once more at the youth in front of him- blonde hair that seemed to crackle with energy, a pair of stunningly blue eyes, and a fishing vest and pair of disco pants that made him look like a complete idiot. The expression in the eyes, however, was what caught him. It was that determined look that every trainer began their journey with- a sort of determined look that seemed to say “I’m going to attain my goal, whether you help me or not, so why don’t you just hurry up and help so that I can get going already?” He had always been a sucker for that look.
“You pass.” He sighed, removing a trainer’s card and Pokedex from the shelf behind him. “Now get out of here before I change my mind.”
“Gee, thanks for the support. Catch you later, Mr. Senile!”
“Why you- get back here!” yelled the professor as the youth shot out the door. He slapped his forehead. What had he unleashed on the world? With a sigh, he closed the door. The kid would be back home in a few days anyway, beaten within an inch of his life most likely.
He was wrong.
Ten minutes later, Jack Martin, now known as Jack Lestrade, destined to become a famous crusader in the field of grass Pokemon research, had taken his first step on a journey that would change his life.
Well, I really have nothing to say here... other then that I love the grass-type. So cute! Well, that AND I want people to review me and yell nasty things at me, and tell me how horrible my fanfic is and what an amateur I am and what I need to do to avoid coming off like that. Unless, of course, I am some kind of Godly writer and I have risen above that...
Yeah, I have delusions of grandeur.
-Excelsior!
-excelsior!
