I'M BACK BABY

My greatest regret is that I was fairly good for a seventh grader when I started this fic. Now I don't know if I am as proportionately good a writer.

Anyway, I hope that you guys will enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Twelve: The Case of the Hoppip

Route 32—07:35, September 12: Friday

The day was early when Brendan, May, and Max set off for the next town. Having bid adieu to the most understanding staff at the Human Division (Max noticed with a complacent twist of his stomach that May's Blaziken had been out when she apologized for beating up the guards' Machoke), the wreckage that was the Violet City gym, and the memorable purple bed sheets from the city Pokémon Center lodging rooms, Max wondered vaguely what was in store for the trio.

Metropolitan edifices gave way to a rural landscape. The city skyline faded from view behind them as they continued southwards. Max had consulted the wise Johto Rougher magazine when deciding the route trip and settled on a more Trainer-geared "Gym Battler Route" that was provided in the front pages of the travel periodical. May would adapt, anyhow, Max reasoned; and the next Gym coincided in location with the next Contest Hall.

Though his mother would disapprove of such eye-harming activities, Max had his nose tucked comfortably in a book (one he had snatched from the Violet City Pokémon Center: To Kill a Noctowl) as he waddled along behind Brendan, May, and whichever fortunate Pokémon was allowed out of their Pokeballs at the time (the three humans had unanimously agreed upon only allowing one Pokémon of each team out for an hour, seeing in the Rattata Incident which had occurred not too long ago.) Ahead of Brendan and May, a mildly content Milotic and bouncy Eevee were leading the way.

"Eeeeee—!" The DNA Pokémon would exclaim in regular intervals, all the while lashing out her fat tail. Max found the cries disillusioning and found difficulty in his literary escapism whenever these "Eeeeee"s would sound out. The Water Pokémon, on the other hand, was doing a remarkable job of keeping quiet.

Brendan and May made small conversation; the former limped slightly all the while. Max, uninterested in whatever the two older humans were discussing, payed no attention to their words. Instead, he tuned into the charming words of Scout Pidgey's childhood. He found it difficult, however, to block out all the noise at times.

"—So then he said, 'Want to try a cookie?' And then I said, well, yah, that'd be nice. Then I took a cookie and I said, 'Well, it's not half-bad, sir!' And he just scampered off real fast."

"That was when you first met Harley?"

"Yep. He's never been quite as nice as when he was that first day on the ship. I'm not really sure what happened. Maybe he's got that tripod disease you were talking about before. . .?"

"You mean 'bipolar.'"

"Yeah. That's the one."

"It is a possibility, though one can never be sure what a wily guy like Harley is up to."

Nobody Knows

As a matter of fact, Harley Davidson was up to something.

"Ah! The many uses of cameras," He said as he extracted one from his coat pocket. He polished the lens and tucked it back inside.

"Poketeen Magazine will have to accept these babies," he assured himself, bouncing along the streets. His buoyant gait attracted the attention of many bewildered passerby. The twenty-four cameras lining the inside of his coat made plastic scraping sounds as they hit each other.

Yes, they would be absolute idiots to not! reasoned Harley. He rounded a corner and proceeded into a shady pawn shop. Approaching the cashier with his hood down, the man looked perfectly at home with the dingy surroundings.

"I'd like to develop these suckers," Harley said in a low voice, opening his coat and revealing his cameras. They glittered like beetles. The cashier grunted, unimpressed with the arsenal, and accepted the cameras from Harley.

Harley watched apprehensively as his precious darlings were handled by the rough worker. "So when will my little ones be developed?"

The cashier gargled twice to indicate two days, as was his custom. Harley understood. He reached into his pocket and offered the worker a biscuit. "Want to try a cookie?"

Route 32—12:35, September 12: Friday

Max put down his book and surveyed the lunch Brendan had prepared. It looked very good – it was almost comparable to Mom's cooking – but not quite.

Pokémon and human alike feasted on the grub. Max approved of the equality of the eating arrangements; it was a change from Brock's totalitarian concept of "humans eat human food; Pokémon eat Pokémon food; don't take 'food' away from the equation at any time." Max had always wondered about the ethics of cannibalism (1).

To Kill a Noctowl had just about climaxed – the scary Mr. Rory was about to spring onto an unsuspecting Scout. Max wanted to finish his lunch and wrap up the novel, although he had to admit that he was beginning to see white spots.

"So then I said to him, 'I don't know if I really want to do that,' but then he said 'Oh May darling, you know you want to make your Skitty use Assist – after all, what bad has come of it?' He was very tricky like that."

"Mmmm," said the usually eloquent Brendan, eating something.

"And I followed his advice, really I did, but it ended up backfiring on me. I think that he wanted it to turn out that way. Actually, now that I think about it, he probably did. But anyways, I managed to save it even though Skitty was getting really dizzy, because I made her use Ice Beam and everything was all pretty and somehow Skitty made a beautiful mountain of ice."

"Ahhhh."

"So that's how I got into the Grand Festival! Now, what I actually did—"

"Ohhhh," said Brendan very quietly.

May continued describing her Grand Festival experience for some day, taking a few breaks in between vignettes to refill her bowl with soup. Brendan continued listening with a dazed expression on his face.

Lunch was over when Rono upset the pot of stew in an eager reenactment of the recent Gym Battle. Brendan was startled out of his reverie by this mishap, and politely excused himself from May's presence in order to clean up the mess. May, unperturbed by Brendan's departure, turned to Eevee and continued to talk. The fox Pokémon was surprised to be at the receiving end of gabber.

As Brendan mopped up the spill, Max noticed that the pages of To Kill A Noctowl were flapping around wildly. This occurrence augured the approach of even heavier winds, which tore the book right out of Max's hands and sent it flying into the tall grass.

Max, embittered by his loss, turned his attention toward the source of the problem. He saw an approaching whirlwind of yellow dust and uprooted plants. Even as he watched, the tornado enlarged to a width of fifty meters and hastened to a speed too fast for human eyes.

But even more strangely, Max noticed a host of round pink figures trapped in the whirlwind. Upon closer examination, he saw that they were really Pokémon, the likes of which he hadn't seen before. Even as he whipped out his PokeNav (which was clearly the smartest thing to do at that moment), more of these ball-like Pokémon were being lifted out of the grass and swept up in the whirlwind. It was as if the invisible hand of a giant were judiciously plucking pimples off its face.

The rest of the crew also noticed the approach of the whirlwind. Brendan shrieked and dropped his rag. May stopped talking and joined Brendan in his shrieking. Eevee cried and wished that she were inside the Pokeball.

At this time, the PokeNav choked out its identification of the pink Pokémon: "Hoppip! The Cottonweed Pokémon! Its body is so light, it must grip the ground firmly with its feet to keep from being blown away!"

Max readjusted his glasses and saw that the whirlwind was headed straight for them. He guessed that it would hit them in half a minute – and it looked truly destructive – tearing up rows of vegetation and coercing more and more Hoppip out of the grass –

Frightened, Max turned to his sister and Brendan for guidance. With dread, he saw that they were both knocked out cold. Ostensibly, the pot was the culprit – and now it was escaping, tumbleweed-style.

The boy decided that he would have to take matters into his own hands. This was what being a real Pokémon trainer was all about, wasn't it? After all, hadn't he and Ash and Brock (and May) gotten into worse fixes? And Max had a whole host of experienced Pokémon under his command!

He turned to Brendan and May's Pokémon, trying to decide which one he should command. The Aggron? She looked completely lost, now that her trainer was unconscious. Eevee, Squirtle, and Skitty had forced themselves back into their Pokeballs. Milotic had gone to sleep a while ago, and she was still sleeping. Blaziken was looking angrily at Max, expecting the human to do something. The Gallade Ruru looked terrified of the moving air. Shiftry was hiding behind a boulder. Munchlax was licking the soup off the ground.

Paralyzed with fear and uncertainty, Max didn't know whom to choose. His brain knew all of the information – which Pokémon had what specialties, abilities, characteristics. But his hands would not move, and his mouth would not open!

While he was thinking, Zuzu and Dradra had found their own solution to the problem. The Swampert picked the Dragonite up and, muscles rippling, heaved the orange dragon in the direction of the imminent tornado. Dradra hit the column of moving air like a torpedo, and entered the eye of the storm.

Max couldn't see what she was doing, but a few meters away from their camp, the whirlwind came to an abrupt stop. Dirt and Hoppip rained. Dragonite was spinning around rapidly where the tornado was, and slowed to a stop. She landed gracefully and looked humble.

Though sincerely relieved that crisis had been averted, Max could not help but feel disgruntled at his own incompetence. He did not feel ready to be a real Trainer – yet he had been convinced that theoretically he should be the best. In reality, that was not the case. Dejectedly, Max sat down next to Brendan and his sister, waiting for them to wake up.

TO BE CONTINUED

Author's Notes:

(1) It was introduced to him in the book So What If We're "Civilized?" We're STILL Pokémon!

Yo, my old chapters were so long oh my goodness

NEVER AGAIN

Also, I hate how this fic is so documentarian. IT SHOULD BE AN ADVENTURE! NOT A REALITY SERIES! (Of course, no offense intended to documentarians; documentaries are a form of high art.)

The first part of this chapter was written last year or something, but I just couldn't delete it. Sorry. Savor its crappiness.

Also, I need a beta. Self-editting just won't cut it. My grammar can sucks. I don't know if my old betas are still alive. They were the best, though. If you are alive (and you know who you are) please PM me. But if they are not alive, do you, lovely reviewer, want to be a beta?

I plan on getting the next chapter up before Monday. Look at me being all efficient and stuff!

Please review! Critique, comment, query, whatever. It takes ten seconds of your time, and it will really cheer me up. Reviews seriously motivate me, you know; everyone likes being appreciated.