Something held her up, still, after two years of this mutualistic endeavor; a
joint training effort, as Junn had come to characterize it, but one like a fat Pidove skipping across campus, stalling from taking flight.
(Kylie goes, "Shoo, shoo," as the bird bumbles up, eyeing her sandwich. Kylie herself sees something ahead necessitating she be there. The Pidove risks getting run over as she hastens down the stairs and into the sandpit, the Trainer's own Pokémon in pursuit.)
Because Junn had time to reflect now, she could recognize her anxiety then.
The most arbitrary inhibitor of all, to be "nervous." But, in truth--
"
Don't be an ass. Unless you want it kicked for loitering."
--it makes Junn uncomfortable, hearing her Trainer take the offensive so quickly. Kylie's feelings always waft off unrepentantly. It is what makes her easy to understand, but in turn means the girl's displeasure projects, all nettling and unignorable.
In that moment: sprawled across the delineated top half of a battlefield, the Suicune offender replies, "
Fuck off, it's none of your business.
Your dorm mate's the one who broke the rules, so he's getting written up."
He has companions, as most intrepid humans do
(the irony of using your autonomous brethren as mere confidence boosters), all distinguished by the same jackets, the lissome icon of their beast gleaming gold even in the shade of a tree. Of similar brightness, their leader's swath of bleached-blonde bangs across his forehead; of sharp contrast, dark hair cut to lesser height. And relaxed prone upon the brick wall surrounding the training grounds, he stares up with dark eyes both inquisitive and uncaring.
His cronies are scattered in the grass transitioning into sand. Amongst them, too, is a familiar finned figure, mellowed out on his back, though Junn ignores Maleko's gurgling greeting as she stands by Kylie's side.
(That is to say, she's not a filthy betrayer, though a yogi knows no prejudice.)
"'teria food sucks, by the way. You're better off eating in town," says this human.
Junn predicted it-- Kylie taking an aggressive bite out of her sandwich.
And then she asks, between chews, trying and failing to "chill" --
that word was perpetual in her thoughts; if she thought she were an Ice-type, Junn was unsure -- "Yeah, I bet he 'broke the rules.' What, did he scuff your kicks or something?"
(Thus began the inevitable back-and-forth which punctuated petty human interactions.)
"I'm not a bitch. He
called out on us."
"Did he? With a Jigglypuff?"
(
"Ooooh," contributes the Suicune collective, and Maleko.)
"Fuck off. With a
Scyther. You know, with
scythes? So the psycho could disembowel me or somethin'. I'm filing this Desmond fucker for
'threatening behavior; promoting unrest on academic grounds.' It's my right."
"Oh, sure, 'cause I bet the Pokemon would just randomly kill you. 'Cause that's what Pokemon do. Kill people."
"Look,
they do if they're taught to. I have no idea what you Entei scum are teaching your 'mons. You're not here because you're analysts, or at least book-smart, like us. And you're not, like, prodigies with miscellaneous interests -- good at different things, like the Raikous are. All you're good for is the surface-level battling shit. So, essentially, that's all you'd be instilling in your Pokes, is how to fight."
(The Suicune collective, and Maleko, nod thoughtfully at that.)
"Not to mention
the kind of screw-ups that count as 'battle prodigies.' You know one of your dorm mates has
never been involved in genuine human society before, right?"
"Yeah, and you're probably right about Entei sucking, but how the hell does that reflect on anything but the school itself?
Entei Dorm may be screwed, but that's not a fundamental issue. Having a battle style already figured out is a huge part of being a Trainer, and y'all should be recognizing students who already know that shit.
"To be honest, the Raikou Dorm is the one that doesn't make sense to
me, because how does having 'miscellaneous interests' translate to Pokemon Training? What are
they instilling that's so important?"
"Raikou Dorm is the Safety Net Dorm, but Suicunes are literally good in
all areas, not just the battling part, so your whole thing about Enteis being more on top of that is irrelevant."
"No, I said Enteis already have a
style already, or they
should if they passed the exam. So they know what they're doing instead of just reading about it like Suicunes. At the end of the day, you should be blaming the people in-charge 'cause they're the ones overlooking candidates so we have to deal with bad eggs like Wild Child, and I guess Desmond 'Use-My-Pokemon-As-a-Weapon' Mc-Lame-Ass. Either way, that's only two people out of whatever many."
"Right. So your final argument is that the people who literally envisioned and created this academy also have no idea what they're doing."
"Couldn't expect anything intelligent from some meathead dyke anyway, I guess." This was spoken under his breath, but accompanies a choice shrug, a choice look, and the chorus of
gasps, "No ways"s from the Suicune collective (this time, Maleko not included, and he actually looks nervous.)
Kylie herself takes the blow well, as this has happened before.
But truly -- it might be cheating, considering Junn is telepathic -- but the result was always going to be a lazily-meta stalemate. This student, in fact, is as identity-less as the rest, and in his intellect, he has unfortunately internalized this. He understands from experience that maltreatment is spontaneous and targeted and does not have to be explained. And, like all human beings, he is arrogant. The simper the Suicune wears at his own remark is genuine, as a mask is physical, while behind likes a more emblematic desire of being undercut and overlooked,
please, just leave me alone.
So Kylie, in frigid silence, turns away, and the Suicune's wish is granted. But Junn knows her Trainer better than he would like to assume. There is something bubbling, bubbling up, like the prior exasperation at this field being claimed and by Maleko ditching that made them abandon the dorms for a snack break in the first place.
As this familiar feeling reaches a head, it begins to cool, to solidify into such resolution, it would be unfortunate -- albeit, ironic -- for Junn to not oblige.
(And, being honest to herself, she really wants to punch something.)
In the Suicune's distraction, the devastation is instant, and it can only be described as such; a clap of dust and loose terrain and contagious kinetic force like a powerful wind, ripping papers from hand and throwing hands over eyes as the ground of students strain to see past the great billow of debris.
The devastation, instant, and the reveal, deliberate, as in the center of the battlefield, air clearing around them: a Meditite shaking out her wrist after pulling her palm from a dark gash in the earth; a short-haired girl grinning madly in her baggy varsity jacket.
It was hardly bizarre how the challenge lay unspoken between these two Trainers, taking position with nary a word spoken. Concert could exist in spite of adversity. Just as with Junn, that inherent empathy made battle plausible, and necessary.
Understanding one's opponent was as crucial as interpreting the wavelength of your Trainer.
ROUND 1--START!
And thus, as the Suicune clicks his teeth and draws a camo-patterned capsule, the cavalry arrives: thick skin and whiskers and a whole lot of purple charging past Junn, her arms raised and guarding as she bounds off the balls of her feet -- always vigilant, always prepared.
Behind her, she feels Kylie throw an uppercut.
"Hyyah!" The motion connects, the opponent bellowing as it barrels over, supine in the sand at the Meditite's feet.
Junn recognizes a pricking sensation in her fist, as she noticies spines like follicles where she hadn't before.
(They would identify their challenger as "Nidoran" later via Pokenav, but in the meantime, Junn is concentrating on the match.)
Nidoran gets up. "Focus Energy!" calls its Trainer, and its haunches rise in response. Junn recognizes a deepened stance: claws pinning earth; a snaggletooth jutting precariously from its mouth; the horn on its head glinting in late-afternoon light -- all finished with the dark-red intensity swimming in her opponent's eyes. That's
focus, there, that Junn internalizes as well, as if responding to the same order different, meditatively. For, in this moment, she exists within her rival's wavelength, and they are not combatting, more so they are learning from one other -- learning of each other as beings so different and so alike -- and thus, Junn responds as any self-respecting yogi would to this image of fear.
With meditation, and then response, lazer-fast. Nidoran is blurred in motion as it responds to
"Peck!" with a forward thrust.
Dodge the horn! Kylie's intention rises in her consciousness. Then, Junn acts for herself: she grabs the features least imposing -- the elephantine ears of her opponent -- and prepares, as it squeals --
No, it reacts, twisting out and rolling over and stampeding forward, as Junn crosses her arms before her, Detecting the blow, absorbing it. And now her enemy's in range. The Suicune preempts:
"Spin back, Double Kick, let's go!" And as it does so, aiming a lash to the Meditite's chin, she undercuts it completely, taking Nidoran's legs out from beneath.
Her opponent plummets into the dirt with a wail.
"That's one!" Kylie cries.
The Suicune protests, "No way! He's tanking all your Fighting techniques!"
"And, what, you think he's gonna land a Peck?"
"As if I won't find a way, scumbag!"
"Y' sure like calling people 'scum,' huh?"
"I think it's ironic, considering I'm a Poison user. I bet you don't really know what is 'scum' is, though."
"I assumed
you didn't."
ROUND 2 -- START!
Junn rolls her shoulders and readjusts.
"Let's keep our distance!" the other student decides, changing his approach. His Nidoran looks reluctant as it slinks back in his direction.
"Go for a Thunderbolt!" the student says when his Pokemon is about half the field away from Junn. Instantaneously, too, the beast's horn begins to flash and hum with energy before Junn feels a terrific stinging in her chest and she goes flailing, recoiling back before she can recollect herself.
In response, a displeased Kylie mutters
"Didn't see that comin'" under her breath.
This was an unfortunate reaction to have, considering it accompanied little else but Kylie's own bemusement at Thunderbolt hitting so fast, so hard. Why wouldn't she do the same?
The Meditite calavants into a follow-up maneuver: the Peck Nidoran vied to land from the beginning, piercing her stomach --
No! She panicked! Why had she panicked? -- but she withstands it to drive an elbow into her rival's back.
Adrenaline is high, and she finds Kylie ready and refocused.
The aikodist plummets to the ground--
--Junn pinning her opponent between her arm and the earth--
--before throwing an arm in an arch above her head, bending at the hips to stand--
--as Nidoran rolls in fluid, effortless motion off the Meditite's back, sticking into the ground.
The Nidoran is crumpled, dazed, but still not defeated; its Trainer urges it to continue, and always will until its spitting up and seeing stars -- precisely what it wants, if those beady, red eyes spoke so lucidly its mind.
It's time to put it down, Junn decides -- Kylie decides. So, at last, the girl's voice rises loud and resonant across the clearing.
"Psycho Cut!"
A punch, a chopping motion, and then a fantastic turbulence as a great kinetic force slices down the field, leaving the same darkened brand, kicking up dirt and dust and debris, colliding with the Pokemon further down the field. Impact! And devastation, once more.
Though, soon, the cloud amassed is waved away in a whisking light; out of the dissipation, it manifests as a tail. Its owner, a slim-bodied reptilian whose skin is faded orange, whose studying eyes shine cold. It makes some
snrk, perhaps unimpressed, or vexed at being summoned. Meanwhile, the stagger in its stance speaks of the damage Junn is capable of. The Pokeball, whose arch had been sublime to position the Charmander at the brunt of the attack, rolls against its foot. Those claws shine frigid white, even as the sky begins to bathe the campus in a warm glow.
And despite all of this, the Suicune student submits. "
I forfeit," he says, and that's that.
Junn relaxes, even under the hawk-eye of this new non-challenger.
Her arms fall, dangling at her sides. There is a breath of relief, but its disingenuity rings clear; there is no appreciation offered Junn's way, as there always, always is.
Kylie is striding over to her contender's side of the battlefield.
He is repeating louder -- nervous -- "You
win. You
WIN."
There are other matters on her Trainer's mind. Why is she distracted? Why does she allow these thoughts to obscure her mentality?
Where is the clarity of the aikido partner she came to know?
The Meditite watches in horror as Kylie goes against everything they were taught, and slugs the boy in the stomach. It is merciless, it is uncalled for; it is cathartic, and it is gleeful, the way she watches with satisfaction as he sprawls.
And there is that final sigh, and that is when Junn knew they were done for. IT WAS
ALL FOR NOTHING! The Meditite is sick to her stomach.
Received a behavioral infraction for promoting violence!
Now there's setting a good example!
"C'mon, Junn," she urged, then, once the administrator had left. Kylie's tone was meek. "I'm sorry, okay? I just--"
But she threw it all away for a spur-of-the-moment decision, unconsenting violence! Augh, why were humans all the same?
Junn's brow was furrowed, her eyes slammed shut, and her back pressed against the wall in a tragic attempt to refocus in the hour or so after the calamity. As tumultuous as this meditation was, she would take it over Kylie's incessant begging and excuse-making. The girl's behavior was unforgivable. Neither of them would gain anything from this, at this rate.
Maybe Junn should just go back to the mountains. Maybe the isolation was good for her after all. Maybe loneliness was the cost to being the strongest she could.
Suddenly, the door opened, and another staff member entered, trailing behind a familiar face. Junn recognized, just in time, the recurring neutrality of the Suicune student's expression, but the rosiness of his face belied some minor embarrassment.
Kylie is expectant, sitting cross-legged in the chair, with a softness to her gaze contrasting the hesitance of the administrator. The man looks, in fact, ready to turn the Suicune away, before he shakes him off and opens his mouth.
"It was a good match. You held up."
Humans: anomalies. Contrary to what Junn told herself.
"
Can I get your number?"
