Exile

Part 2

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When next he awoke, Jason felt himself in a dry and relatively warm environment. A heavy blanket covered him and he was lying on a bed whose cushioning was somewhat lumpy, but far more comfortable than the sandbars and grassy knolls he’d been stretching out on for the last several days. He blinked his eyes open to the sight of a severely angled wooden ceiling, whose glossy finish glimmered by the light of a kitchenette.

Jason blinked again and looked around, trying to take stock of the place. It appeared to be a one-room house, with all the comforts of a home crammed into a relatively confined space. A small television and recliner chair occupied the corner to his right; the bed in which he lay took up the opposite side of that wall, and to his immediate right was a set of drawers. The kitchenette was straight ahead of him, and a small dining table with two chairs sat in solitary neglect in the far corner. Nothing was more than twenty feet away from anything else here. Jason was used to traversing more than one hall to get to his destination. How does the owner of this place get any exercise?

Standing in the kitchenette was the man Jason had encountered before, so he believed it was reasonable to assume he was also the owner of the house. He stole another glance at the trainer’s generous stomach. Well, I guess that answers that. But after only a few moments, it became evident what supported the man’s girth – the delicious aromas of stir-fry and grilled meat wafted under Jason’s nose and instantly made his mouth water.

Without turning around, the man called over his shoulder. “It isn’t ready yet, but I’ll let you know when.”

Jason’s eyebrows shot up, and he pushed the blanket down towards his knees; then he noticed that in addition to having been garbed in a loose white T-shirt, his pants had been changed. No longer did he wear a soaking wet pair of summer shorts ill-equipped to deal with seawater, but instead a pair of gray sweatpants that were at least one size too large for him... perhaps more. Eyes widening, he pulled away the elastic waistband and inspected beneath – then looked at his rescuer with a mixture of disgust and embarrassment. “Not to sound ungrateful, but I’m a little leery of random strangers getting a look.”

“Think I haven’t seen it all before?” The trainer let out a deep chuckle. “Honestly, I did wake you, but you were so out of it you wouldn’t stay awake long enough to get the task taken care of. You needed the warmth and you weren’t going to get that with those shorts. I’ve got them running a dry cycle right now–” And here he tapped the washing machine affectionately. “–and afterwards you can have ‘em back in the privacy of the bathroom.” He gestured to Jason’s left, where a single door hung open and inward into a bathroom unit of a size that Jason had never seen before. I’ve heard of small bathrooms before, but this is just...

“Small, I know,” the man shrugged. “But should give you what you need.”

“Well... I guess I’ve already got what I need,” Jason said. “Except your name.”

Another shrug from his rescuer. “Does it matter?”

Jason blinked in surprise. “Are you saying it doesn’t?”

“Not necessarily. But to you, I could be any random stranger who decided to take care of you when I saw you needed help. I just happened to be the one that was there at the time.”

“Well, it’s just... I’d kind of like to know who it was that saved my life.”

The elder man snorted. “That’s a bit melodramatic. You weren’t dying out there, son. But you sure do look like you’ve taken a beating. The sail from the islands wasn’t so smooth, I guess.”

Jason was befuddled. “Uh... say what? The islands?”

“The Orange Islands. You have that accent. It’s crisp but laid-back. You don’t find that so much in Hoenn. There’s something of a lazy drawl on the mainland. Out on this edge of the territory, though, people aren’t quite so ignorant with language.” The trainer scraped a spatula across the bottom of his stir-fry pan. “Food’s about ready, you can go grab yourself a plate and utensils in that cabinet. Cups are in the one next to it.”

“Wait, wait, hang on a second,” Jason interjected, holding up a hand for emphasis. “Did you just say we’re in Hoenn?”

“Mossdeep City, to be precise,” the other answered. “But from the sound of your tone, I gather that’s not what you were expecting.”

“No.” Jason shook his head. “No, it’s not. I had no idea. I thought we were moving north, not northwest. I’ve seen the sun rising on the right side for days.”

The trainer let out a guffaw. “Son, I’m sure you knew this already, but this world tilts this way and that. It’s why we have seasons. The sun’s been rising north-northeast for a couple months now.”

Jason flopped back on the bed, equally stunned and annoyed. I should have remembered that. He looked back at the bearded man after a long moment. And he still hasn’t told me who he is. Maybe he’s well-known and prefers his privacy? He scanned the small house once more. Maybe... although people tend to know you more when you’ve got a lot of money. These digs are comfy but I wouldn’t say he’s got a bunch. Wouldn’t he want something a bit bigger? Especially if he’s a trainer.

“Don’t let it get cold, now,” the man said, shaking his spatula at Jason for emphasis. He scooped the stir-fry out into a blue glass bowl and set it next to a large platter bearing thick beef patties.

Jason’s mouth watered even more upon sight of it, and he needed no further encouragement. He got out of the bed and went to the kitchenette, where he sought out the proper items for his imminent – and much-needed – meal. As he removed a large glass from the indicated cabinet, he looked to his host. “Uh, what kinds of drink are you offering?”

The elder trainer loosed another chuckle. “Whatever’s in the fridge. If that doesn’t suit you, there’s always water from the tap.”

Jason did his best to hide a grossed-out expression from crossing his features at that mention. Being descended from an affluent family had its advantages, and one of them had been that he could always count on distilled and purified water. He opened the refrigerator door and peered inside. There was lemonade and milk, along with bottles of spring water – so much for the tap, then – and apple and orange juice. He noted there was no soda.

As if having read his mind, the gentleman chimed up from the seat he’d just taken at the dining table. “I don’t usually have company and I keep my Pokémon on a regimen of healthy foods and beverages, so I don’t stock anything carbonated.”

Jason plucked the orange juice from the fridge and poured himself a glass of about three quarters. “Pokémon can’t drink soda?”

“They can if they want a gut like mine.” The man guffawed. “No, I’m afraid the extent of my ability to control food intake is solely for them. I’m mindlessly self-indulgent otherwise. Seems like a good way to live, to me.”

Jason sat down at the table. The other man had already served himself, and a rather healthy amount at that, so Jason didn’t hold back on his own serving... enough to virtually eliminate the possibility of leftovers. He shoveled the first few bites into his mouth with very little regard to the taste, as the smell alone had been driving him nuts. Once he felt his stomach begin to settle down from its protests of no proper nutrition, he sighed and sat back for a moment, his own way of telling himself to slow down.

His host noticed the sudden change, but didn’t behave surprised by it. “So. What brings you all the way from the Orange Islands? Did you make a wrong turn at the marina?”

Jason blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The Selto marina. Some trainers like to go there for the vacations and Pokémon tournaments. Me, I prefer it for the paraphernalia. Some cheap prices to be found there.” He planted his elbows on the table’s edge and folded his hands under his chin. “But from your reaction, I’m guessing that’s not what you had in mind.”

“Uh... not really, no,” Jason mumbled, and he stuck another forkful of beef in his mouth, suddenly self-conscious and not at all certain what to say.

“Actually, I’m going to go ahead and guess it wasn’t your idea to come all the way to Mossdeep in nothing but your shorts, on a Gyarados you don’t have a capture ball for. I noticed you also had no other Pokémon with you. You’re not a trainer, are you?”

Jason sighed around his bite and swallowed. “No... not really.”

“Well, then, what’re you doing here?”

The teen’s ears were burning now, and he felt his hunger slowly begin to draw away from him. “We got... a bit lost. Actually, I didn’t even know where it was we were going. Gyarados just picked a direction and stuck with it.” Then he blinked, and his eyes widened. “Gyarados. He’s...”

“He’s fine, he’s just hovering around on the shore shallows. Apparently he didn’t want to leave you but at the same time didn’t want to stick around long on land.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jason ate another bite and made an enthused noise. “Are you a gourmet or something? You could sell this.”

“Not really. But that was a good attempt at changing the subject.” Jason’s host likewise tucked another bite into his mouth, then spoke around it as he chewed. “You’re not a trainer, you’re riding a Gyarados with no ball, you’ve got no belongings, and you had no idea where you were when you found me. Are you running from something?”

“Well...” Jason tried to come up with something to say, but any story he might have tried to conjure felt only half-complete in his mind, and it was becoming apparent the trainer’s deductive capabilities would pick apart whatever he offered. Finally he gave the only response he could. “Yeah.”

“Mm.” The elder finished chewing and poked at another morsel on his plate. “Mind if I ask what from?”

But Jason wanted to draw the line there. “Sorta.”

“I see. Hot meal, dry clothes, and a warm bed not enough of a down-payment for a couple honest answers?”

Jason pursed his lips at the trainer. “I really do appreciate your hospitality, really. And you already know where I’m from and I’m not going back. What else matters?”

“Well, for one, where you’re planning to go. Can’t keep wandering around the seas looking for nice people like me to take you in and not ask questions.” The trainer poked the tines of his fork in Jason’s direction for emphasis. “You haven’t told me your name, and I haven’t asked. Fact is, neither of us needs a name to help each other scratch a few itches we can’t reach ourselves.”

“Is that why you brought me here? You’ve got itches you need me to scratch?”

“Well, at the moment, I’m just itching for some conversation. Can’t very well get that from my Pokémon, so I go looking for it from others. Only around here, everybody already knows everybody else. And they all know me. So it’s all been said. No need to talk, no news to share.” He scoffed as he leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his generous abdomen. “Downright impersonal, some days. I’d prefer to be back home, tell you that much.”

Jason frowned. “What, this isn’t your home?”

“More like a time-share. I’m thinking about just giving my cut back up to the owner entirely anyway, he’s always rearranging the place during his six months.” The man rolled his eyes. “And he’s got himself a baby son, nowadays. He’s been wanting to expand the place but I think he’s reluctant because he knows the kind of gasket I blow to see a sofa moved from here to there.”

Jason tried to think of a question he could pose that wouldn’t cause him any trouble if it were also asked of him. The first one he came up with was, “So where are you from originally?”

“Originally? Well, all over, really.” The man patted his belt. “Home’s where the heart is, or so I’ve heard the saying go. My heart’s with my Pokémon. I used to keep a house in Mauville City, but...” He shrugged. “Didn’t really need it anymore.”

“Why not?”

For an instant, Jason could see the glint in his host’s eye change and nearly fade away, momentarily overwhelmed by something else. And it was something that Jason recognized well, because over the past several days he had been laid bare to the same emotion – sadness. The trainer blinked twice rapidly, then smiled at the youngster to cover. “Because a house isn’t a home if your heart isn’t there.”

Uh... yikes. Okay, don’t go there. Jason chewed on his next bite more thoughtfully as the silence hung in the air from that statement, unsure of how to break it. Although his mind raced through a series of subjects to offer as tangents from the sudden unhappy turn in conversation, he couldn’t think of a proper way to introduce any of them. There were no more words exchanged until their plates were both finished.

The bearded man got up and carried his dishes to the kitchenette’s sink, where there was already hot soap water waiting. He kept his head downcast at his flatware while he cleaned it. “So. Got any thoughts on where to head from here?”

Jason took that as his cue to also rise from the table and bring his dishes. “Like I said, it’s Gyarados doing the navigating. I’m just the passenger.”

His host shook his head. “Hardly a way to handle your Pokémon. If you’re serious about being its trainer, you’ve got to own it.”

Jason tilted his head in confusion. “I... kind of do own him.”

“Not what I mean, son. I’m saying you have to take responsibility for the actions of your Pokémon by directing those actions yourself. It’s what they need trainers for. All that raw power, they just channel their aggression towards each other and never make anything of themselves. They get someone like you and me, someone willing to show them how to make the most of their abilities, and be responsible about it... that’s when they shine. Rather like this plate, I might add.” He held his now-cleaned platter up to the light. “Very nice handiwork, if I do say so myself.”

Jason ignored the trainer’s fawning over his own fastidiousness in favor of the more important subject. “It’s a little hard to own the actions of my Gyarados when I don’t even have a ball for him. And he’s at such a high level, I think he’d actually prefer to ignore me if I tried to act like his owner.”

“Well, then, how’d you get him? Some know-it-all trainer decided to give him to you?”

“I bought him.”

His host scoffed, and that alone was enough to raise Jason’s hackles. “You can’t just purchase a Pokémon and expect him to follow orders, son. Gotta have that relationship first.”

“We were working on that until...” Jason gestured widely at the house around them. “Until this happened.”

“And now you’re wandering around the ocean.” The man cast a pointed glance at Jason. “Looking for what, anyway? Were you hoping to just keep running until you felt like you didn’t need to anymore?”

“Something wrong with that?” Jason asked, feeling himself grow defensive.

The other man didn’t back down. “Yeah, you’re never gonna stop. Might make you feel better for all of five minutes, but sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal with whatever it is you’re afraid of, or you’ll just be running from it the rest of your life. Got some experience with that.”

“Look, I just had to get away from the Orange Islands, okay? Does it matter where I go from here?”

“I’d like to think so. Exactly what were you planning on doing with yourself to earn a living? Can’t keep going to people’s doors and expect ‘em to make food for you like some roving Eevee. Nobody likes a leech... even a charming one like yourself.” He arched an eyebrow at Jason, indicating the addendum had been more sarcastic than genuine.

Jason struggled for a response to the man’s prodding, but came up empty. After a protracted moment he asked, “Why do you care, anyway?”

“You’re a young man with nothing to your name except a Gyarados and a pair of shorts, and no hopes or dreams that I can see. Don’t tell me I just wasted my food on a lost cause. I’m accustomed to eating twice as much beef as that.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Give me a break. Things aren’t going that great for me right now.”

“Son, I’m not gonna tell you how to live. But I am gonna tell you this much: I hope you’re at rock-bottom right now, because then you’ve got nowhere to go but up. I don’t know what your potential is, but you’re riding a Gyarados around the seas... so I’ll bet you’re better than a bum.”

“And all this is your way of telling me I should be guiding my Gyarados back into my problems?”

The man shrugged. “Trust him to do better, if you want. You can keep running or you can take stock. Neither one’s all that fun but you get yourself a little better rest if you just stand still for a little while and think.”

“Well... maybe I’ll just do both at the same time.” Jason crossed his arms. “I don’t need to go back home to think about what’s happened. I can keep traveling.”

“‘Traveling’, that’s what you’re calling it now.” His host chuckled. “Truly amazing, the mind of a teenager.”

“I don’t have anything to go home to,” Jason protested. “Everything I knew is gone. There wasn’t any future there for me anyway.”

“Good thing you’re up here, then. How’s the horizon looking nowadays?”

Jason glanced down at the floor. “Not too good.”

“Thought not.” The man placed his hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Son, whatever it was that brought you out here, it didn’t rob you of everything. If it did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Just ‘cause you don’t have much is no excuse not to go after whatever it is you want. Don’t think about it in terms of what you don’t want, just think about what you do want. So you figure it out, then say it out loud, what it is you want.”

The words spilled from Jason’s mouth almost immediately. He barely even knew he was going to say them – they were just the first ones that popped into his head, without the usual consideration of censorship. “I want my name to be my own.”

The man’s bristly mustache flattened out as his mouth stretched into a smile. “That’s one I haven’t heard in a while. So what’s in your way of making that happen?”

Jason hesitated, then decided there would be no harm in plunging ahead. “Everyone knows my name, but it belongs more to my family than it does to me. They don’t see me for me, just as ‘that boy’s brother’, or ‘that woman’s son’, or ‘that man’s flesh-and-blood’. I want them to look at me and say, ‘Hey, I know him. And he’s an okay guy.’ I don’t think it’s too much to ask.”

“Flaw in your logic there.” Jason’s host tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got a fair memory but I don’t recognize you. So sure enough I’m not gonna recognize you as your mommy’s boy. All I know is just you. So maybe your notoriety is just part of where you came from. Which brings me back to the subject of where you’re going... a question you didn’t seem to have an answer for before. Think you’ve got one now?”

“Maybe.” Jason’s head tilted as he struck upon an idea. “If I keep going northeast from Mossdeep City, I’ll eventually find myself in the Kanto region, won’t I?”

“Eventually, yes. It’s still something of a distance from here.” The gentleman rested against the edge of his countertop. “What’s going through your head?”

“Well... if you don’t know who I am, then maybe I just need to go a little further to find a place where nobody else knows me, either. Then maybe I can start making my own name mean something other than someone from the...” He stopped himself just in time – the acronym CBC had been on the tip of his tongue.

“The what?” his host inquired.

Jason shrugged, trying to cover. “I guess, ‘the rich family that lives in that big house over there’.”

“And running away helps you accomplish that?” The gentleman crossed his arms atop his gut. “From a life of privilege, no less.”

Jason shook his head. “No privilege there that I can’t find somewhere else. Or even make for myself. And that’s what I want. I don’t need money to make my own decisions.”

“What do you need, then?”

“To know I can do it, I guess.”

“And how will you do it?”

“I... don’t know.” Jason huffed, then walked back to the table and leaned against the back of the nearest chair. “I didn’t really have any kind of game plan when I got on Gyarados’ back. I just wanted to get away. Wasn’t really thinking about the future all that much.”

“Well, you’ve got Kanto in mind as a destination. What’ll you do once you get there?”

Jason raised his head and looked at his host. “Hmm?”

The trainer pushed away from his countertop. “Can’t very well go there and just expect people to throw money at you.”

The teen scoffed. “Why not? It’s what trainers like doing.”

That earned an arched eyebrow from the mustachioed man. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, I mean...” Then Jason realized what he was saying and who was hearing it. He blanched. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t quite mean it like that.”

“Maybe you’ll indulge me on what you did mean?”

The question didn’t particularly sound like a request to the teen, so he fumbled for the right words. “Well... trainers have this wagering system, right? They put up so much money on the bet that they’ll win a battle against their opponents, and if they lose, then they have to pay up.”

“We prefer to think of it as an ‘escort fee’,” came the man’s dry response. “The defeated party needs to be brought back to a Pokémon Center in safety. Can’t very well let them be exposed to hostile Pokémon that want to take advantage of a trainer whose Pokémon are all KO’ed. And who better to take care of that task than the trainer who just beat them?”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s all basically ‘I beat you’ money. Same goes for gym leaders, too – I don’t know about the ones around here or north of here, but in the Orange Islands they’ll throw money at you like it’s going out of style, if you beat their challenges.”

“I’m aware.” A side of the trainer’s mouth quirked upward underneath his thick mustache. “I tried to take on the Orange League in my younger days. If I attempted it now and were somehow miraculously able to pass all of its physical challenges and battles, the money wouldn’t compensate the doctor’s bill for putting me back together. It may sound like a lot of cash but the trainers are made to earn every bit of it.”

“...Oh.” Jason looked at the seat whose back he was leaning on, now feeling distinctly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the other man’s gaze.

“So what’s the point you were making there, son?” the older man pressed. “You think you could do it just as well if you were a pro trainer? Maybe even better?”

“I don’t know!” Jason burst out. Then he mumbled under his breath. “Maybe.”

“Let you in on a secret here – those hotshots you see throwing money at each other, they started off their journeys with all the cash they saved up for themselves. You’d be at a fair disadvantage without a single credit to you.” The host snorted. “Unless you’d try and post your shorts as your wager.”

“What about my Gyarados? I paid a lot of money for him.”

Now both the trainer’s eyebrows shot up. “Pardon me, son, but that’s got to be bar-none one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever heard of.”

Jason spread his arms wide. “Why? I had Gyarados trained to battle. He’s not just a trophy Pokémon. How do you think I got all the way here from the Orange Islands in one piece?”

“Granted, but do you have any idea how devastating to your relationship that would be? You’re telling me you’re in the middle of trying to get him to trust you. He never will if he knows you’re wagering him like he’s just a piece of your property you can part ways with if things get tough.”

“I’d only lose him if I lose a match. And that won’t happen.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?”

Jason felt his mind recoiling at that question, because he actually wasn’t as sure as the front he was demonstrating to the trainer suggested. But he knew that the slightest hint of hesitation would lead to his host digging further with a lecture he didn’t want to hear. Okay, so it’s not that much of a plan, he silently conceded, but I can at least try to own it. So he forced a confident smile, and said what he hoped he wouldn’t later regret.

“You can battle me and find out.”

But the trainer held up both hands, his face contorting into an expression of near-disgust. “Oh, no. You’re not going to get me into a deal like that. I’m not about to let you wager your only Pokémon.”

Jason knew he had the advantage now. “Who said anything about wagering Gyarados now?” he asked, his voice measured and reasonable. “There don’t have to be any stakes here. All you’ve gotta do is show me I don’t have what it takes to win. Should be easy for you, you’ve got a Voltorb. Gyarados’ll be cooked, right?”

His counterpart narrowed his eyes at the teen. “Your Gyarados hasn’t even been to a PokéCenter. A match like the one you’re describing would hardly be fair. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“If it’s as easy as all that, then show me,” Jason challenged. “No PokéCenter, nothing. Let’s just go outside, find a good battleground, and have at it.”

“Beginning to think you swallowed a little too much seawater there, son.”

“Maybe so, but I just issued you a challenge. So are you gonna accept?”

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© Matt Morwell, 2011