Viridian City: A Place Worth Fighting For

[Darien Shields]

I'm back! Muahahhahah! Now, lemme see if I remember how this is done... ^_^; here is my new fic, Viridian City. The first chapter is a little short, and in fact, doesn't involve Virdian City... but trust me, that's what the fic's about. I'm just "easing you into it" ^_~. Tell me what you think. Hope I'm not too rusty...

Viridian City A Place Worth Fighting For.

Part 1: Bistre

Chapter 1

Bistre Wilder looked our over the western plains, a smile stretching from cheek to cheek just as the rich red mountain range stretched out for miles from the shore to the northern pass. All the ground gently sloped up north, allowing the cerulean rivers to trickle back to the ocean like seams of diamonds exposed to the brisk spring air. To the south lay Palette, its quiet and unassuming dwellings almost invisible against the gleaming sea. Between there and his secluded home were verdant plains, broken only by the occasional orchard, twisting pathway, or the sparkling rice-fields.

He took a deep breath, drinking in the site of the land- his land, his home. In the distance a dodrio cawed, heralding morning. Myriad voices answered the call, ranging from lazy roosters showing their agreement, to pidgey chirping in response, and even a few humans angrily shouting; “Shaddup ya stupid bird.” Closer, the sound of running water met Bistre's ears, and he could make out- thanks to his many years of experience in such things- the individual splashes of trout and magikarp as they hopped about in the water. Closer still, the tall grass swayed from side to side in the breeze, and patches thrashed about as wild beasts and pokemon battled and ran frantically underneath.

Bistre, now on the verge of turning sixteen, was a boy, or a “young man” as his father insisted on calling him, almost 'at one' with the nearby nature. He could easily tell you what animals and pokemon could be found on the nearby route, and with a quick whiff of the air, or a moment or two listening, he could tell you what every one of those creatures was doing for one hundred feet around you. He was lithe and agile, and relatively strong. He could walk for a dozen miles without complaint, easily scale trees, and he had no reason to fear being attacked by wild creatures, he knew from experience that he could fight them off. This all earned him a rather respectable figure, average height with hard muscles lining his chest and limbs, although not to the extent that it distended his figure at all. He would have been quite a hit with the girls (not that he knew any), if it weren't for the mop of oily black hair that hung in an untidy and poorly cut fashion, down to his shoulders.

This was all due to his father- Ochre Wilder, a retired pokemon trainer of fifty, who had elected to take up the life of a hermit, living in a remote cottage between Palette and Viridian, devoting his time to training his pokemon, living off the land, and “getting in tune with nature.” It was a decision that had ruined his marriage, and resulted in his rather caring wife abandoning him and her son, against her will, to return to society. Alone, Ochre had educated Bistre (the former had a rudimentary degree in education, and a small library stowed away in his cottage, which he used to teach the boy) and brought him up to hate the city life, machinery and computers and 'all that'. This included shampoo, which explained Bistre's hair condition.

Though most would call it a lonely childhood, Bistre would not. He found his friends in various places- books and his imagination were one good source of solid friendship, but he did prefer something more solid, and he found that sort of friend in his partner pokemon, Litho, a juvenile Larvitar. His father had obtained the egg almost a decade ago- at the point when he crafted his plan to 'escape to the wilderness' and kept it in a special storage unit for years until he gave it to Bistre for his birthday some four years ago. Several long months later the egg had hatched and out popped Litho.

The two were almost inseparable- they ran together, climbed together, ate together (Litho preferred a bowel of soft dirt to the vegetarian cuisine that his human companions dined on, but he still ate at Bistre's heel), and even slept in the same room. Bistre had learned to differentiate between the different tones in his pokemon's voice, as well as his facial expressions, to develop a rudimentary understanding of his partner.

As Bistre beamed over his native land Litho stood by his side, wearing its own smile, not quite the same happiness that Bistre felt. Litho, descended from the mountainous Tyranitar of Mount Silver, felt less patriotism for the verdant land than Bistre did, and he didn't find the wild sight so pleasing either, the setting he found appeasing would be the shaggy grey mountains he was bred for. His smile was a hungry smile- hungry for battle.

Litho craved competition, the adrenaline rush as he and a foe exchanged blows, the feel of sinew and bone buckling under his fists, the rush of air as an opponent's blow flew over his shoulders, and the inevitable warmth of victory, and the way his master adored him for achieving such victory. He saw the western plains as a land ripe for the picking, saturated with wimps and softies for him to pulverise.

“You feel like some training?” Bistre grinned at his pokemon.
“Rrrva!” Litho growled eagrely in response.

The pair nimbly descended the slight decline towards the flatlands. Bistre's home was situated atop a small ridge, giving it an improved vantage point and reducing the number of wild pokemon wandering by. The decline was covered in tall grass, much of it soaking with dew. In years gone by Bistre had slipped and slid countless times, but now he and Litho knew exactly where and how to plant their feet to make it down quickly and safely.

They beat their way slowly through the tall grass of the plain, heading towards the path that led from Palette to Viridian. If they encountered any wild pokemon they would gladly fight them, but the challenge was much weaker than that of a trainer, and the satisfaction somewhat reduced.

As they approached the path Bistre's nose caught the stench of modernity- nylons and shampoos and colognes polluting the air. As much as the stench turned his stomach, it did make him smile, because it indicated his “prey” was drawing close. Shortly the source of the smell came into sight.

The trainer paced slowly across the winding dirt path, his flat-souled shoes kicking up dust clouds as he went. One hand resided in the pocket of his baggy black trousers, made, like his shirt, of synthetic fibres. Light black plastic sunglasses sat lightly on his ears and protected his eyes from the sun's healthy light. His brown hair bristled out in spikes, intertwined with copious amounts of gel. His free hand tossed a solitary pokeball up and down as he walked. The wire of headphones dangled from his ears and fell into his pocket where some musical device was no doubt stored.

Bistre licked his lips.

City boys like this were his favourite foes. He wasn't a particularly rueful person, but he loved to see them- immediately branding him as a “hick” with no ability, and then being devastated when their precious technological training failed them when faced with Litho's mastery of their natural surroundings.

Promptly he scrambled his way up out of the bushes to stand before the trainer, grinning almost maniacally. The trainer gave him a slightly puzzled expression, and lifted his sunglasses briefly.

“Yes?” the trainer asked, obliviously.
“I challenge you to a one on one pokemon battle!” Bistre said, coolly, concealing his excitement so as not to unnecessarily 'freak out' his opponent.
The trainer sighed. He squinted at the Larvitar standing defiantly before him. He slowly, smoothly, removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his pocket. He had stopped tossing the pokeball up and down, and grasped it in his hand. “D'you know who I am?”
“A city boy.” Bistre shrugged, keeping the air of arrogance to a minimum.
The trained chuckled. He lifted something small- about the size of a coin- from his pocket and flipped it through the air. It sparkled and landed back in his hand. “You don't want one of these then?”
“All I want is a battle.” Bistre said, simply.
“Fair enough...” the trainer commented. “Go Pidgeot!” he called out in a dramatic voice, hurling his pokeball directly upwards into the sky.

In a swirl of light the pokeball snapped open and its red and white halves melted into the dazzling light now growing out and forming a creature. Eventually the light dimmed to reveal an immense bird, its wings stretched out to either side, with metre long plumes of bright colour trailing from its head, a gleaming beak like a shovel-head, and feet like grappling hooks. It flapped its mighty wings once, shoving itself even higher into the sky before it swooped down and landed before Litho, its talons scraping into the earth to bring it to a sharp halt. It cooed its name softly.

Bistre was undeterred by the impressive pokemon. In fact, he grinned even wider. 'Flying type...' he thought, 'Its attacks will bounce right off Litho'

“Litho!” he called, “Sandstorm attack!”

The pokemon nodded and bent sideways so that its claw and the lengthy stone horn that protruded from its head touched the ground. The pidgeot stood stalwartly, awaiting its master's command. Litho quickly swung himself up, throwing up a cloud of dust from the road towards the still pidgeot. However, he didn't stop, and went on spinning, his legs scratching the ground and enticing more dust into the air. He opened his mouth and belched out sand from his own belly, spraying clouds into the air until both pokemon were engulfed in a writhing cloud of sand and dust.

“Pidgeot, Whirlwind.” the trainer said, calmly.

From somewhere inside the maelstrom his pokemon chirped in agreement, and suddenly the whole storm was blasted backwards, so fast that Bistre barely had time to cover his eyes. The tall grass around the path flattened under the force of the wave, and Litho found itself clinging to the ground to stay put. Bistre glanced backwards, expecting to see the remnant of the dust cloud drifting away, but it was gone, like a feather blasted away by a jet engine. The pidgeot stood as it had before, one wing raised above its head. It slowly folded its wing back into its normal position.

Bistre gritted his teeth, contemplating, briefly, the possibility that his opponent was more than just the average city-boy. The enemy trainer simply stood emotionlessly, no trace of arrogance, fear, or excitement in him. He simply flipped the sparkling object in the air again.

“Screech!” Bistre ordered.

The smaller pokemon stood with as much courage as ever, and opened its tiny mouth, uttering a sonic cry that stung even its master's ears. Bistre winced as he tholed the pain. The pidgeot, though, was unmoved. Its trainer batted his cheek momentarily, but otherwise made no move.

“Bite!” Bistre went on, seeing that his opponent wasn't launching a counter-attack.

The larvitar charged, its jaws hanging ravenously open, ready to feast itself on the bird pokemon ahead of it. Litho hopped up towards his foe, and snapped his teeth shut around the firm meat of its breast... or so he thought. Moments later he touched down, his mouth full only of fluffy feathers, the Pidgeot a foot beyond him. He spat out the feathers and glared at his foe. He had not mis-judged the distance; he knew this because the marks the bird's claws left in the ground were still visible underneath his paws. The bird had moved, he just hadn't seen it.

“Wing Attack.” The trainer said, with a sigh.

Bistre almost didn't see the attack, it was that fast. One second the bird's wing was folded at its side. The next, it had stretched out above it, then flapped down like a blade slashing at is enemy. Litho's eyes widened in shock as the attack gripped his body. The tiny pokemon was lifted off the ground as it started flying backwards, its chest seemed to be crushing its insides, pushed back so much faster. Its head jerked forward, the rocky cartilage popping in its neck as it did so. Its limbs reeled in their sockets, and with an almighty crack the rock-horn that was dragging through the air like a sail snapped from his head. He landed at his master's feet, purple blood leaking from its crushed rock chest, and bubbling from its mouth.

He immediately fell to his knees, his jaw trying to drop further. His pupils shrank to dots, and his irises tried to follow suit. Suddenly his throat was dry, and he felt as if he could choke on air. His hands hovered in the air, outstretched in horror, as if they had just killed before him. They shook profusely.

The phantom trainer strode past him, his own pokemon apparently returned, seeking no bounty for his victory. His sunglasses were once more covering his face. “You'll need this.” he said, tossing back a compacted pokeball to his defeated challenger, “If you want to save him.”

The ball landed in Bistre's hand, and he clutched at it, almost strong enough to crush it between his fingers. Despite this, he seemed not to know it was there- he slipped his arms under his defeated partner, his other hand grasping the detached rock-horn, and lifted him. For a moment he just stood on the path, cradling the wounded pokemon and staring in disbelief, but before he knew it his legs were stretching out before him, racing over the green countryside back towards his home as fast as he could.

“Father! Father!” he wailed, once he neared the dwelling. Tears streamed down his face, though he didn't know when he'd started crying.

His father sat cross legged by the door to his house, his eyes closed in meditation. As soon as he heard his son's distress he launched himself upwards, his bare feet hammering against the ground to bring him closer to the boy. Even open, his eyes seemed little more than dark creases in his face, sealed tightly by early wrinkles on his cheeks. Bistre thought it made him look very wise. His brown hair trailed down over his back, in addition to the springy mop sitting atop his head. He had a thick, though trimmed, beard framing his face and stretching around his lips in a mustache, and thin stubble covered his cheeks.

“What is the matter, Bistre?” he questioned in his loud, balanced voice.
In answer Bistre simply held out the bundle of shattered rock and purple blood in his arms.
Shock briefly fluttered on his father's face, but he quickly composed himself. Spying the pokeball in Bistre's arms he snatched it up, expanded it, and dropped it on Litho.
“Father?” Bistre asked, slightly confused. His father opposed pokeballs normally.
“Desperate times, my son.” he stated, simply. He picked up the pokeball and held it out to Bistre. “This will preserve him for several hours, I expect, but he needs help. I fear it is beyond our capabilities, Bistre. You must go to Viridian.”
Bistre's jaw dropped. “But... but father!” was all he could manage.
“I am loath to admit it, but only cold hearted technology can save your pokemon now.” he sighed. “It is important to stand against that foul society sometimes, but not important enough for Litho to die.”
Bistre simply stood speachless.
“Go, son, now. You must. Run to Viridian and seek out the pokemon centre.”
“But... won't you come?” Bistre asked, stepping backwards in preparation to sprint off.
“No, Bistre. This is a journey for you and your partner.” he stated profoundly. “Besides...” he lifted his leg. “I have no shoes.”
“S... so be it then...” Bistre muttered, and with that, he turned and rocketed off, away from his home.

[mistysakura]

That was an interesting start. Bistre's dislike of technology will probably come quite a bit into this fic, I'm guessing. He sure underestimated that trainer; I suppose it's because people get their Pokemon from Pallet, and so the people he battles are generally quite weak. His prejudice against city boys is also ironic, seeing as he's biased against them because they're baised against him. Interesting thought there.
It's grea that you're back, and I hoipe we see another chapter. Is i Monster going to be continued? I really liked that fic. By the way, it's Pallet, not Palette (that's the painting tool.)