Closet Geek
the nerd inside us all
- 33
- Posts
- 17
- Years
- New Jersey, USA
- Seen Jul 15, 2008
I started this as an RPG on a small forum called Blue Octane; I got actually a really great response with it. Over time it fizzled out, but I want to carry on the idea as a fanfic because I frankly just love the storyline and character I chose. I think it's a real refresher – so much about these pokemon fanfics (and especially RPG's) is just assumed, there's not much thought or depth put into the world(s) of pokemon past what we're given in the games or shows or movies. I kind of wanted to take it to the next level with this piece, and RP in the past. Hope it works.
Sam waited upstairs in his room, his body sprawled out between two cotton sheets. He had been that way for at least an hour, in a position that would allow him to simply close his eyes and look fast asleep should someone walk in. His brown eyes were fixated on his wooden door directly across the room, or rather the plumage of feather-edged papers that covered the tall brown board. To someone else these papers were strewn randomly on his desk, tacked willy-nilly on the wall, pulled from his study notebook which he called "The Dexter". They were mistaken though; for every paper was put into perfect place in his room, grouped by countless hours of observations. Sam's eyes stretched across the room, straining and finally touching the opposite wall, feeling into the grooves of the individual splinters of the bleached tree pulp. His eyeballs touched the cold carbon which made up the form of an elusive Tangela. The image brought Sam right back to that fateful day of study…
"Samuel Oak!" The vines of the grass pokemon leapt off the page, flying forward before the supposed sleeper even had time to close his eyes in false-sleep. The other papers shook with the momentum of it. Sam's mom stood behind the door, of which the bare side was now exposed, hiding his painstaking observations of the surroundings of Cinereal City.
"It's nearly noon, young man! Were you just going to sleep away your only 18th birthday?!" the kind-faced woman smiled. Of course her son knew that it was near noon, he normally got up no later than 6:00 am to make time for his studies before going off to the doldrums of school. He knew well the light patterns of the sun because of this. Today was different though, so drastically and unshakably different. Eighteen. Spelled out, it looked enormous. But it wasn't only the number, it was what the symbol of those two digits paired, in that precise order, represented.
"Hurry up now!" his father called from the other room. He was sitting on his favorite chair, smoking a cigar and watching their small, greyscale television. Sam knew this even without being able to see him. "You must get going on this journey of yours!"
That was it exactly. A journey. The traditional adulthood right-of-passage. A time to take off in your life and live off of the land (or with whoever would accommodate you for charity) and find yourself. Decide who you wanted to be. But that was just the problem – Sam knew! He knew it, but there was no place for a pokemon researcher. No one understood that, not his parents, not his few studious friends at school, and especially not the upcoming trainers in the news and on TV. Those who had just started to harness the fighting powers of pokemon for their own entertainment and control-complex-fulfillment – Sam would have none of it!! Using crudely made apricorns to capture what was rightfully no ones. It was an outrage to him. He had seen the negative effects of pokemon battles almost daily – coming across fainted Pidgey left in the fields, or witnessed brutal fights between aggressive Mankey which would leave both parties unable to move much less fight. Being a small island just off the coast of Route 17 in Kanto, Cinereal City was a seemingly dull, grey place usually left out of such issues like this, but Sam was passionate about where he stood in the pokemon battling issue. No one really understood this either, not because they disagreed with him, but mostly because no one in Cinereal really cared about the subject.
"C'mon down here son! We gotcha nice present!" The red-haired man called, beckoning his son out of bed. Sam's mom smiled patiently at the door with her hands on her hips. The young man in bed sighed.
"Just let me change out of these pajamas," was all the defiance submissive Sam could muster, as he swung his legs out to the side to touch the hardwood floor.
"Oh, I'll leave you alone then dear," his mom chimed again, then turned to leave, returning Tangela and the rest of the drawings back to their original positions where Sam liked them.
"No sense in dragging this out any further," Sam declared, sighing again as he made his way over to his closet to change into a pair of green pants and a white collared shirt in a timely manner. He walked out the door, down the 7-step stairwell and into the living/dining room. Sam's light feet barely made a sound; it took his father a moment to check back before realizing he was there.
"Oh!" he made a sort of grunting noise as he moved to flick off the television. On the table, stood a humbly wrapped shiny blue box. No ribbon, no tag, about the size of a lawnmower without its long handle.
Probably a bike…Sam thought to himself. Most kids got bikes when there parents had no idea what there were interested in, or if they were just so bland that they were genuinely interested in nothing. The box was just about big enough for a collapsible one, the decent $300 types. That was about the price range for a typical journey-gift. His ever-smiling mother nudged the box towards him.
"Go on, open it!" she chuckled. Sam couldn't help but smile as he knelt down by the short coffee table and reached out to grab it. He didn't bother shaking it, that was most economical. He was almost certain.
Sam tore back the blue paper neatly, then lifted the four lids of the cardboard box carefully. His two parents watched in awe, peering over him. White packing-peanuts were filled to the brim, some floated out with the out coming air. His wide hands corralled the air-puffs onto the sides, revealing the tops of three red spheres. Sam froze. His jaw dropped a bit. He didn't have to look any further to know what the box beheld – the instruments of enslavement and brutality which he so vehemently opposed were seated comfortably among the soft white peanuts, glaring at him like three fiery eyes.
Dawn of Trainers : The First Pokemon Journey
Sam waited upstairs in his room, his body sprawled out between two cotton sheets. He had been that way for at least an hour, in a position that would allow him to simply close his eyes and look fast asleep should someone walk in. His brown eyes were fixated on his wooden door directly across the room, or rather the plumage of feather-edged papers that covered the tall brown board. To someone else these papers were strewn randomly on his desk, tacked willy-nilly on the wall, pulled from his study notebook which he called "The Dexter". They were mistaken though; for every paper was put into perfect place in his room, grouped by countless hours of observations. Sam's eyes stretched across the room, straining and finally touching the opposite wall, feeling into the grooves of the individual splinters of the bleached tree pulp. His eyeballs touched the cold carbon which made up the form of an elusive Tangela. The image brought Sam right back to that fateful day of study…
"Samuel Oak!" The vines of the grass pokemon leapt off the page, flying forward before the supposed sleeper even had time to close his eyes in false-sleep. The other papers shook with the momentum of it. Sam's mom stood behind the door, of which the bare side was now exposed, hiding his painstaking observations of the surroundings of Cinereal City.
"It's nearly noon, young man! Were you just going to sleep away your only 18th birthday?!" the kind-faced woman smiled. Of course her son knew that it was near noon, he normally got up no later than 6:00 am to make time for his studies before going off to the doldrums of school. He knew well the light patterns of the sun because of this. Today was different though, so drastically and unshakably different. Eighteen. Spelled out, it looked enormous. But it wasn't only the number, it was what the symbol of those two digits paired, in that precise order, represented.
"Hurry up now!" his father called from the other room. He was sitting on his favorite chair, smoking a cigar and watching their small, greyscale television. Sam knew this even without being able to see him. "You must get going on this journey of yours!"
That was it exactly. A journey. The traditional adulthood right-of-passage. A time to take off in your life and live off of the land (or with whoever would accommodate you for charity) and find yourself. Decide who you wanted to be. But that was just the problem – Sam knew! He knew it, but there was no place for a pokemon researcher. No one understood that, not his parents, not his few studious friends at school, and especially not the upcoming trainers in the news and on TV. Those who had just started to harness the fighting powers of pokemon for their own entertainment and control-complex-fulfillment – Sam would have none of it!! Using crudely made apricorns to capture what was rightfully no ones. It was an outrage to him. He had seen the negative effects of pokemon battles almost daily – coming across fainted Pidgey left in the fields, or witnessed brutal fights between aggressive Mankey which would leave both parties unable to move much less fight. Being a small island just off the coast of Route 17 in Kanto, Cinereal City was a seemingly dull, grey place usually left out of such issues like this, but Sam was passionate about where he stood in the pokemon battling issue. No one really understood this either, not because they disagreed with him, but mostly because no one in Cinereal really cared about the subject.
"C'mon down here son! We gotcha nice present!" The red-haired man called, beckoning his son out of bed. Sam's mom smiled patiently at the door with her hands on her hips. The young man in bed sighed.
"Just let me change out of these pajamas," was all the defiance submissive Sam could muster, as he swung his legs out to the side to touch the hardwood floor.
"Oh, I'll leave you alone then dear," his mom chimed again, then turned to leave, returning Tangela and the rest of the drawings back to their original positions where Sam liked them.
"No sense in dragging this out any further," Sam declared, sighing again as he made his way over to his closet to change into a pair of green pants and a white collared shirt in a timely manner. He walked out the door, down the 7-step stairwell and into the living/dining room. Sam's light feet barely made a sound; it took his father a moment to check back before realizing he was there.
"Oh!" he made a sort of grunting noise as he moved to flick off the television. On the table, stood a humbly wrapped shiny blue box. No ribbon, no tag, about the size of a lawnmower without its long handle.
Probably a bike…Sam thought to himself. Most kids got bikes when there parents had no idea what there were interested in, or if they were just so bland that they were genuinely interested in nothing. The box was just about big enough for a collapsible one, the decent $300 types. That was about the price range for a typical journey-gift. His ever-smiling mother nudged the box towards him.
"Go on, open it!" she chuckled. Sam couldn't help but smile as he knelt down by the short coffee table and reached out to grab it. He didn't bother shaking it, that was most economical. He was almost certain.
Sam tore back the blue paper neatly, then lifted the four lids of the cardboard box carefully. His two parents watched in awe, peering over him. White packing-peanuts were filled to the brim, some floated out with the out coming air. His wide hands corralled the air-puffs onto the sides, revealing the tops of three red spheres. Sam froze. His jaw dropped a bit. He didn't have to look any further to know what the box beheld – the instruments of enslavement and brutality which he so vehemently opposed were seated comfortably among the soft white peanuts, glaring at him like three fiery eyes.