Drago
19th September 2012, 03:44 AM
Once again, I begin a story with no idea where I'm going with it. Funsies. Anyhow, as the title suggests, this fic has content inappropriate for children (or indeed, society).
Pokémike
Prologue: Sunshine night
The two were walking through the streets of Sunshine that chilly July evening. Their breath came out, looking like wispy puffs of smoke from the maw of a dragon. They were staggering about, giggling as they went. At one point, one of them fell over, landing in an overgrown patch of grass. Lots of overgrown grass in Sunshine.
His name was Mike, and he was stoned. He laid there on the ground for a minute, howling with laughter. Rarely was such fun had lying in the damp, itchy grass. But tonight, he was here with his best friend, JR. They were on their way to meet someone, but their progress had been slowed significantly when they decided to light up shortly after getting off the train.
JR helped Mike back up, doubling over with laughter himself, and they continued on their way. JR had just finished off a packet of chips, and discarded it on the sidewalk, sucking on his fingers afterwards with satisfaction. In retrospect, they should have gotten a bigger pack, but they only had a handful of loose change to spare, and neither of them could remember the pin code on their Eftpos cards.
“JR, chuck us the Mars bar.” Mike said.
“Electabuzz.” JR replied, reaching into the 7-11 bag and pulling out the chocolate.
As Mike sunk his teeth into the bar, he suddenly started wondering what the time was. They were supposed to meet at… what was his name… Jorrel? …Jorrel’s house at 8.30. They had gotten off the train at about quarter past, and it was about a twenty minute walk from the station. So they were already going to be late, even without their little side quest.
They hadn’t planned on this, exactly, though it was probably the stuff they had smoked before they left that was kicking in now. Who knows how much worse it would get when they started feeling the most recent batch. Would Jorrel still be there if they were late? They didn’t know him all that well, he was a friend of a friend. He might be pretty pissed off by now.
“I’m getting para, man.” Mike murmured, rubbing his eyes and trying to refocus on reality. The weed was definitely turning on him.
“Buzz, Buzz.” JR said casually, pointing down the end of the road. They weren’t far off. Mike grinned, blessing his lucky stars that JR still seemed to have his bearings. That Electabuzz could smoke like no other.
Regardless, Mike quickened his pace. He finished off the Mars bar, jettisoning the wrapper. JR quickly scooped it up, muttering to himself, and inspecting to see whether he had won a free bar. He squinted, trying to read from the dim light provided by the streetlight. …Success! A free bar. JR stuffed it in his pocket. He had no intention of telling Mike about it.
Taking a deep breath and trying to clear his head (which was foggy at the best of times), Mike walked up the driveway of Jorrel’s place and stood there. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to go over this in his mind. It’d be hard to fuck this up. Surely. He knocked on the door, and waited.
There were a few indecipherable shouts from inside, then the door opened. Mike took one look at the little figure standing in the doorway and frowned.
“Mr. Mime? The fuck?”
The Pokémon slapped him quickly in the face, and Jorrel lumbered out from behind.
“Watch your mouth,” he said sternly, pointing a finger, “This is Mrs. Mime. She’s a lady.” Mrs. Mime flipped Mike off, and then walked back down the hallway.
“G’day, Jorrel.” Mike said, rubbing his cheek. One look at Jorrel, and it was obvious that he was even more stoned than Mike and JR. His eyes were completely red, and his stare was completely vacant.
“Hey, Mick.” Jorrel said warmly, “Come on in. Hey, JR.” JR waved calmly as they entered Jorrel’s house. They walked down the hallway and into the living room, where Mrs. Mime was sitting on the couch, watching Bob the Builder.
“Bob,” Mike said, gesturing towards the TV, “Love that shit.”
“Yeah, it’s some good shit.” Jorrel replied, “Really well-written, too. Really deep.”
“So what have you got, Jorrel?” Mike asked quickly, wanting to get to business. For a moment, Jorrel looked disappointed that the discussion about Bob the Builder had not progressed further.
“Right, uhh…” Jorrel looked back and forth a few times, trying to remember where he was headed. Without her eyes leaving the TV, Mrs. Mime pointed to the chest of drawers in the corner.
“Ah yeah, there.” Jorrel muttered, ambling towards the drawers. He started sorting through the contents, calling them out as he found them. “We’ve got Red Raticates… Uhh… Green Golbats… Some… Pink Pichus… they’re actually pretty shit, forget about those ones… You got the White Wigglytuffs last time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, his eyes now back on the TV, “But they just made me sleepy and happy, I want something dancey.”
“Dancey?” Jorrel repeated, “Probably the Green Golbats, or the Dark Drowzees.”
“Fuck that, I’m not buying pills named after a Drowzee. Sounds like a roofie.” Mike spat, “Give us twenty of the Golbats.”
“Twenty Golbats, big night?” Jorrel chuckled, rifling through the contents of the drawer. Mike scarcely heard him, focusing entirely on Bob now. Actually, the more Mike thought about it, the more he recalled that he wasn’t really that fond of Bob the Builder. He kind of scared him as a kid. The way he moved about so oddly… He was like this generation’s Postman Pat.
“Sweet, thanks mate.” Jorrel said, and Mike looked back. Jorrel had six hundred dollars in his hand. Mike had his wallet in his own hand. He had just made the transaction without even noticing it.
He looked down to where JR had been standing, but he wasn’t there now. Mike was really beginning to freak out. What in the fuck was going on here? He’d been off his tree before, but usually he didn’t have blackouts like that. He looked back up at Jorrel. Mike and Jorrel had a mutual friend, and it was through him that Mike had gotten the weed he had been smoking, weed that Jorrel had been selling. Jorrel’s gaze had become glassy now. Odds were strong that he was on the same thing.
There was a flush nearby, and JR reentered the room. Mike breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he felt more at ease.
“Got any new stuff coming in?” Mike asked Jorrel, snapping him back into a relative state of consciousness.
“Uhh, like eccy’s? Pot?”
“Eccy’s.”
“Umm, some stuff coming in from some Vietnamese guy. Says they have the good shit over there. Some… rabbit shit or something. Got some coke, too.”
Vietnamese coke? No thanks.
“Ah, I’ll probably pass on that.” Mike muttered, shaking Jorrel’s hand and then turning towards the door, “Thanks, mate.”
“No worries, brother.” Jorrel said with a smile, “Let me know if you change your mind about the coke.”
“Sure thing.” Mike turned to walk out, and JR tapped the 7-11 bag quizzically. Mike stopped to look inside. It was empty.
“Oh, fuck.” Mike said, turning back, “Jorrel, you forgot to give me the pills.”
“Shit, really?” Jorrel chuckled, “Sorry, bro.”
As Jorrel went back into the drawer to grab the pills, JR shook his head. If it hadn’t been for him, this would have been a big waste of time and money. Mike shrugged. He would have preferred JR hadn’t nicked off to the loo while all this was going on.
Jorrel handed over a little plastic bag filled with twenty green pills. A tiny picture of a Golbat was embossed into them. They said their goodbyes again, and then, they were off.
As they made their way back to the station, the mood had changed from before. Gone was the frolicking and giggling, replaced with a sort of stoic urgency. Now that the second batch of weed was kicking in, it was like they were walking through snow. Mike would probably try to sell the rest tomorrow. He had used up all of the supply he had on him, but he had a drawer full of it in the apartment.
Somehow, they managed to get back to the train station, and luckily for them, a train was arriving on the platform at that very moment.
Now that they were on their way back into Melbourne, Mike and JR felt a little more at ease. There was something dire about Sunshine that night, beyond it just being a shithole. Now they were laughing again, with their feet up on the seat as they talked shit.
Of course, Mike could scarcely understand a lot of what JR was saying, what with the language barrier and all, but they had been friends since they were kids, so he had a better idea than most. Besides, he hardly cared. They were mates, and that was all that mattered.
A junkie was seated on the opposite end of the train carriage. He kept looking like he was about to stand up, probably to try and scab some cash or a cigarette, but he would then change his mind and sit back down, muttering to himself.
Mike eyed him for a second, but then noticed something else behind the junkie. Something that terrified him. In the next carriage, through the window, Mike could see police officers. One of them had a lead, probably with a sniffer dog.
He prodded JR harshly, and pointed. JR took one look, and mouthed out a word that probably translated to ‘shit’. The next stop, Footscray, was about two minutes off, and the police were rapidly making their way through the next carriage. Mike looked in the 7-11 bag, staring at the pills like they were a bomb. They might as well have been, if they got caught with that, they were fucked.
The door opened, and the police walked into the carriage. Almost immediately, the small Growlithe that was with them began to bark.
Pokémike
Prologue: Sunshine night
The two were walking through the streets of Sunshine that chilly July evening. Their breath came out, looking like wispy puffs of smoke from the maw of a dragon. They were staggering about, giggling as they went. At one point, one of them fell over, landing in an overgrown patch of grass. Lots of overgrown grass in Sunshine.
His name was Mike, and he was stoned. He laid there on the ground for a minute, howling with laughter. Rarely was such fun had lying in the damp, itchy grass. But tonight, he was here with his best friend, JR. They were on their way to meet someone, but their progress had been slowed significantly when they decided to light up shortly after getting off the train.
JR helped Mike back up, doubling over with laughter himself, and they continued on their way. JR had just finished off a packet of chips, and discarded it on the sidewalk, sucking on his fingers afterwards with satisfaction. In retrospect, they should have gotten a bigger pack, but they only had a handful of loose change to spare, and neither of them could remember the pin code on their Eftpos cards.
“JR, chuck us the Mars bar.” Mike said.
“Electabuzz.” JR replied, reaching into the 7-11 bag and pulling out the chocolate.
As Mike sunk his teeth into the bar, he suddenly started wondering what the time was. They were supposed to meet at… what was his name… Jorrel? …Jorrel’s house at 8.30. They had gotten off the train at about quarter past, and it was about a twenty minute walk from the station. So they were already going to be late, even without their little side quest.
They hadn’t planned on this, exactly, though it was probably the stuff they had smoked before they left that was kicking in now. Who knows how much worse it would get when they started feeling the most recent batch. Would Jorrel still be there if they were late? They didn’t know him all that well, he was a friend of a friend. He might be pretty pissed off by now.
“I’m getting para, man.” Mike murmured, rubbing his eyes and trying to refocus on reality. The weed was definitely turning on him.
“Buzz, Buzz.” JR said casually, pointing down the end of the road. They weren’t far off. Mike grinned, blessing his lucky stars that JR still seemed to have his bearings. That Electabuzz could smoke like no other.
Regardless, Mike quickened his pace. He finished off the Mars bar, jettisoning the wrapper. JR quickly scooped it up, muttering to himself, and inspecting to see whether he had won a free bar. He squinted, trying to read from the dim light provided by the streetlight. …Success! A free bar. JR stuffed it in his pocket. He had no intention of telling Mike about it.
Taking a deep breath and trying to clear his head (which was foggy at the best of times), Mike walked up the driveway of Jorrel’s place and stood there. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to go over this in his mind. It’d be hard to fuck this up. Surely. He knocked on the door, and waited.
There were a few indecipherable shouts from inside, then the door opened. Mike took one look at the little figure standing in the doorway and frowned.
“Mr. Mime? The fuck?”
The Pokémon slapped him quickly in the face, and Jorrel lumbered out from behind.
“Watch your mouth,” he said sternly, pointing a finger, “This is Mrs. Mime. She’s a lady.” Mrs. Mime flipped Mike off, and then walked back down the hallway.
“G’day, Jorrel.” Mike said, rubbing his cheek. One look at Jorrel, and it was obvious that he was even more stoned than Mike and JR. His eyes were completely red, and his stare was completely vacant.
“Hey, Mick.” Jorrel said warmly, “Come on in. Hey, JR.” JR waved calmly as they entered Jorrel’s house. They walked down the hallway and into the living room, where Mrs. Mime was sitting on the couch, watching Bob the Builder.
“Bob,” Mike said, gesturing towards the TV, “Love that shit.”
“Yeah, it’s some good shit.” Jorrel replied, “Really well-written, too. Really deep.”
“So what have you got, Jorrel?” Mike asked quickly, wanting to get to business. For a moment, Jorrel looked disappointed that the discussion about Bob the Builder had not progressed further.
“Right, uhh…” Jorrel looked back and forth a few times, trying to remember where he was headed. Without her eyes leaving the TV, Mrs. Mime pointed to the chest of drawers in the corner.
“Ah yeah, there.” Jorrel muttered, ambling towards the drawers. He started sorting through the contents, calling them out as he found them. “We’ve got Red Raticates… Uhh… Green Golbats… Some… Pink Pichus… they’re actually pretty shit, forget about those ones… You got the White Wigglytuffs last time, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mike said, his eyes now back on the TV, “But they just made me sleepy and happy, I want something dancey.”
“Dancey?” Jorrel repeated, “Probably the Green Golbats, or the Dark Drowzees.”
“Fuck that, I’m not buying pills named after a Drowzee. Sounds like a roofie.” Mike spat, “Give us twenty of the Golbats.”
“Twenty Golbats, big night?” Jorrel chuckled, rifling through the contents of the drawer. Mike scarcely heard him, focusing entirely on Bob now. Actually, the more Mike thought about it, the more he recalled that he wasn’t really that fond of Bob the Builder. He kind of scared him as a kid. The way he moved about so oddly… He was like this generation’s Postman Pat.
“Sweet, thanks mate.” Jorrel said, and Mike looked back. Jorrel had six hundred dollars in his hand. Mike had his wallet in his own hand. He had just made the transaction without even noticing it.
He looked down to where JR had been standing, but he wasn’t there now. Mike was really beginning to freak out. What in the fuck was going on here? He’d been off his tree before, but usually he didn’t have blackouts like that. He looked back up at Jorrel. Mike and Jorrel had a mutual friend, and it was through him that Mike had gotten the weed he had been smoking, weed that Jorrel had been selling. Jorrel’s gaze had become glassy now. Odds were strong that he was on the same thing.
There was a flush nearby, and JR reentered the room. Mike breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he felt more at ease.
“Got any new stuff coming in?” Mike asked Jorrel, snapping him back into a relative state of consciousness.
“Uhh, like eccy’s? Pot?”
“Eccy’s.”
“Umm, some stuff coming in from some Vietnamese guy. Says they have the good shit over there. Some… rabbit shit or something. Got some coke, too.”
Vietnamese coke? No thanks.
“Ah, I’ll probably pass on that.” Mike muttered, shaking Jorrel’s hand and then turning towards the door, “Thanks, mate.”
“No worries, brother.” Jorrel said with a smile, “Let me know if you change your mind about the coke.”
“Sure thing.” Mike turned to walk out, and JR tapped the 7-11 bag quizzically. Mike stopped to look inside. It was empty.
“Oh, fuck.” Mike said, turning back, “Jorrel, you forgot to give me the pills.”
“Shit, really?” Jorrel chuckled, “Sorry, bro.”
As Jorrel went back into the drawer to grab the pills, JR shook his head. If it hadn’t been for him, this would have been a big waste of time and money. Mike shrugged. He would have preferred JR hadn’t nicked off to the loo while all this was going on.
Jorrel handed over a little plastic bag filled with twenty green pills. A tiny picture of a Golbat was embossed into them. They said their goodbyes again, and then, they were off.
As they made their way back to the station, the mood had changed from before. Gone was the frolicking and giggling, replaced with a sort of stoic urgency. Now that the second batch of weed was kicking in, it was like they were walking through snow. Mike would probably try to sell the rest tomorrow. He had used up all of the supply he had on him, but he had a drawer full of it in the apartment.
Somehow, they managed to get back to the train station, and luckily for them, a train was arriving on the platform at that very moment.
Now that they were on their way back into Melbourne, Mike and JR felt a little more at ease. There was something dire about Sunshine that night, beyond it just being a shithole. Now they were laughing again, with their feet up on the seat as they talked shit.
Of course, Mike could scarcely understand a lot of what JR was saying, what with the language barrier and all, but they had been friends since they were kids, so he had a better idea than most. Besides, he hardly cared. They were mates, and that was all that mattered.
A junkie was seated on the opposite end of the train carriage. He kept looking like he was about to stand up, probably to try and scab some cash or a cigarette, but he would then change his mind and sit back down, muttering to himself.
Mike eyed him for a second, but then noticed something else behind the junkie. Something that terrified him. In the next carriage, through the window, Mike could see police officers. One of them had a lead, probably with a sniffer dog.
He prodded JR harshly, and pointed. JR took one look, and mouthed out a word that probably translated to ‘shit’. The next stop, Footscray, was about two minutes off, and the police were rapidly making their way through the next carriage. Mike looked in the 7-11 bag, staring at the pills like they were a bomb. They might as well have been, if they got caught with that, they were fucked.
The door opened, and the police walked into the carriage. Almost immediately, the small Growlithe that was with them began to bark.