Emberwilde Comes: The Cascade Badge part 2

"Wait" said Misty as Emberwilde turned his back to her, his flaming tail swinging, "I've got one more Pokemon." She pulled another pokeball from behind her back, this one colored blue and white, polished to a shine. "That is, if you want a real challenge."

Emberwilde turned back to the gym leader. Curious, I stood up to get a better view of the arena which was basically just a giant pool with several floating platforms, Emberwilde on the center-most one. Misty's other pokemon floated lifeless in the water, knocked out by Emberwilde in a five against one fight. Just fighting five Pokemon at the same time, even for a Lord of the Inferno Clan should still be tiring. I bet the average trainer didn't need to fight this many opponents to prove their strength. But what Pokemon was she holding back that could take on Emberwilde one on one when her other pokemon combined couldn't?

Before I could say anything in protest, the match started. Misty's defeated pokemon disappeared from the pool. Emberwilde readied himself, letting loose a roar that shook the building and sent a tremor through the water. "I choose you," said Misty as the pokeball flew from her hand, "Golduck!" Relieved, I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Another Water Pokemon. Sure, it might have a little psychic abilities but nothing Emberwilde couldn't handle with pure brute strength. No pokemon out here in Kanto should even come close to the psychic attacks the Tartarus Isles pokemon train to defend against.

The red light solidified and the Golduck emerged. My body stiffened as I gasped, fear petrifying my body. The Golduck was a head taller than most, its skin a slightly darker shade of blue. It was the upper half of its body and the left half of its face that startled me though. Black lines of ash tattooed the upper-half of its torso and the left-side of its face. A marking of the Inferno Clan. "Char!" I shouted in warning, but it was already too late. Emberwilde was squared up and ready to fight.

"Golduck, use Water Gun!" Misty said, pointing at the Charizard, as if her pokemon needed any direction on who to attack. Instead, the water pokemon unleashed a beam of psychic energy, the red jewel on its forehead lighting up bright. A bright beam connected the two pokemon and Emberwilde roared in pain. The sight sent a shiver of fear through my spine, not only the sight of Emberwilde injured, but to see a typically invisible psychic attack in the Kanto region was unnatural.

"What are you doing, Golduck? I said use Water Gun!" Misty repeated. The Golduck's psychic attack continued. The beam intensified and the residual psychic energy radiating from the attack pierced into my skull like an ice pick. I clenched my teeth to try to fight it. I tried my best to stay focused by analyzing the situation. For a pokemon to openly defy its trainer, especially if they are a gym leader, it had to mean that the pokemon itself was too high a level, too powerful for the trainer to control. Powerful pokemon too strong for a gym leader to control with black tattoos covering its body. Yeah, it was definitely one of ours.

Emberwilde took the assault full-force, dropping to a knee and folding his wings over instinctively as if it would protect him. It was useless though, as if any physical defense could protect him from a psychic attack, especially from a pokemon of his own clan. How it got to Kanto was still a mystery, but one that we needed to solve later. Right now, we needed to win the match. I looked to the Golduck to find a weakness. The Golduck itself focused only on Emberwilde, its eyes never blinking as it continued the attack. Eyesight, or more importantly, Line of Sight.

In English, I shouted to Emberwilde, "Emberwilde, the water! Torch the water!" Emberwilde didn't move, continuing to cower to the psychic attack. I shouted again, "Flamethrower, now! Hit the pool!" Still nothing. Emberwilde dropped to both knees. It might be over. "Get up you stupid lizard and do what I say!" I didn't realize I spoke those words until they'd left my mouth. Bordering on blasphemous, not only to insult a Lord of the Inferno Clan, but the Champion I was chosen to bear across this land. Back home, I'd heard rumors that you could be eaten for saying such things.

My brazen words must've reached Emberwilde's ears. Either emboldened by my own courage, or enraged by my insults, he unfurled his wings and let loose a roar that rattled the arena and startled the Golduck for a second. With just enough time to lift himself into the air, he burst upward toward the ceiling and let loose a torrent of fire into the pool. In an instant, all the water in the pool emptied, filling the air with a thick steam. Several loud Booms! echoed throughout the stadium as the floating platforms hit the bottom of the pool. I stumbled and spent a second or two regaining my balance as the floor shook. I had no idea the platforms were that heavy. I could barely see my hand in front of my face through the fog, but more importantly, it should be impossible for the Golduck to establish line of sight with Emberwilde. Part of me hoped that its legs might break upon dropping 15 feet into an empty pool, but I knew we wouldn't be that lucky. The Golduck would search with its psychic powers. Without line of sight, it couldn't use its direct psychic beams or risk giving away its position. It would need to search with low-level psychic waves, sending out invisible psychic pulses like radar into the arena, waves of psychic energy to find their target. Though weakened, I knew Emberwilde could still win this fight with brute force. He still needed to see his enemy and I feared that the Golduck might find him before the steam cleared.

Soon enough, I felt a wave of psychic energy pass over me. Assuming the Golduck was at the bottom of the pool and Emberwilde was in the air, it was only natural that the psychic waves should find me first. I guess what I did next would be considered cheating if anyone else really understood what I was doing. I began to chant in my head an old battle prayer no one used anymore except as a training tool to teach us humans the language of the Chars. As mentally loud as I could manage, I shouted the words, dangling them like a lure. It worked! As I chanted, I felt the slightest of touches brush against my brain, an invisible hand gently passing over my mind. The psychic sensation made a couple passes, each a gentle brush as it locked onto its target. Then the Golduck struck. As if someone shoved my head in a vice and clamped it down in less than a second. Pressure began to build, but I continued the chant, holding its attention as tears started filling my eyes and streaming down my face. After all, as far as it knew, the only thing in this arena that could think like a Charizard was a Charizard. Technically now I could call for a disqualification as pokemon aren't allowed to attack trainers, but then Emberwilde would waste his time fighting another fight over again. No, I would hold its attention until Emberwilde could strike.

The psychic attack squeezed, pressure building on all sides of my mind as I dropped to all fours. Then came the fire, a burning sensation that worked its way through the inside of my skull. I ground my own fists into the sides of my head, a useless attempt to drive out the psychic fire. Blood dripped from my nose onto the tile floor. Every second of burning pain felt like an eternity, every moment ticked by slower and slower as I waited for Emberwilde to attack. Finally, unable to resist, I let out a scream, a high-pitched small child cry, a very human sound.

Realizing its mistake, the Golduck immediately released its attack. However, as were were taught in class, nothing hits that hard without letting the receiver of the blow know which direction the attack came from. It's true with punches, elemental blasts, and even psychic attacks. And, when you know the direction your enemy hit you from, then you can hit them back. After all, how can you sink your fangs or claws into an enemy if you don't know where his throat is? The Inferno Clan after all doesn't emphasize a lot of defense. If you want that lesson, go talk to a Blastoise. So as the pain eased, I reached out toward the direction it retreated. No way, I thought, as I realized I pointed directly in front of me, right were Misty released it. My only guess was that without water to submerge itself, it didn't feel comfortable it could escape in case Emberwilde caught it at close-range. "Emberwilde," I shouted, "it's in the same spot. Burn it away!"

In the next instant, hurricane winds gusted through the arena, blowing away the fog revealing the Golduck exactly where I predicted and Emberwilde still in the air, wings flapping. Showoff, I thought to myself as Emberwilde paused for a second, a fanged smile forming on its face while the Golduck's face turned to one of dread. Then the Charizard let loose and bathed the entire platform in fire.

Satisfied the match was over, Emberwilde swooped down and landed next to the defeated Golduck. "Char!" he roared, eyes shifting between Misty and the defeated Golduck as fire formed in his mouth as he spoke, "Char charizard chari!" He looked over to me and I made my way to the other side of the arena. By the time I'd reached the other side of the ring, Misty moved slowly back to the wall, the Golduck's pokeball still in her hand.

"Sorry, we've got some questions first," I said as I snatched the pokeball from her hand.

Putting up a brave front, Misty stepped forward, hands shaking. "What the hell do you think you're doing? I'll make sure the Kanto Pokemon League hears about this!" she said.

"Shut up, or I'll have Emberwilde eat you," I said as I moved toward the unconscious pokemon, "We're not from Kanto. The rules are different in Tartarus and we want some answers." I nodded to Emberwilde and he picked up the Golduck and shook him, roaring for answers. The Golduck just flopped in Emberwilde's claws, unconscious.

I headed over to the other side of the arena and filled a bucket of water. "Maybe this will help," I said when I returned. Emberwilde nodded and put the Golduck down, hard. I dumped the entire bucket onto the pokemon. It didn't move. Emberwilde must've really knocked it out. In the water though, black tendrils of ink swirled off the Golduck's skin and into a pool on the floor. I bent down and touched the ink.

"It's fake," I said, showing Emberwilde my blackened fingers, "not one of ours." Satisfied, Emberwilde nodded and pushed passed me, scratching my face with a single claw. Before I could say anything in protest, I remembered the "stupid lizard" comment. Instead I just lowered my head in silence and Emberwilde returned himself back to his pokeball. He understood that it wasn't our clan that sent another pokemon after him and that was all that mattered. I, however, was curious as it meant someone was brave enough to break the rules to actively work against a Clan Champion and its Bearer. I looked over the Golduck. The tattoos covered part of its face, chest and arms. Looking at those spots, I picked out small pockmarks, scared over as if something was violently torn out.

I put the Golduck back into its pokeball. Turning to Misty, her back against the wall but still holding that look of defiance in her eyes. "You got this in a trade. Tell me who gave it to you."

She glared at me for a couple of seconds, I guess deciding just how much information to give me, especially with Emberwilde returned to his pokeball and no longer threatening her in her own gym. "Some kid, about your age," she said, "same tactic as you, challenging all of my pokemon at once with just that Golduck. Then she offered to trade it to me for a Goldeen, just any random Goldeen I happened to have. Of course I was going to make the trade, seeing how strong that Golduck was."

I nodded, positive she wasn't lying. The point of course, wasn't to trade for a Goldeen, but to put that Golduck in our path. However, no subject of the Tartarus Isles was supposed to leave the island without consent from the leader of its clan. "I'm going to take this pokemon with me, back home," I said.

Misty nodded. "Fine with me. Honestly, that one gave me the creeps. Like it knew more than a pokemon should. I swear, at times it felt like it was trying its psychic attacks on myself." She then pulled something from her pocket. "Catch," she said as she tossed a shimmering blue pin toward me. The Cascade Badge. In all the excitement, I'd almost forgotten about the badge. I pinned it to the inside of my jacket as I turned to leave.

"Also," she said when I got to the door, "could we also forget about this Golduck thing? As an unwritten rule, more of a matter of pride really, Gym Leaders are only supposed to battle with Pokemon we've caught and raised ourselves."

I just shrugged my shoulders and walked through the door. "I don't care," I called back, my voice echoing in the almost empty gym, "Your pokemon, someone else's pokemon. The results will be the same. Emberwilde wins." Then I left the gym.




Welcome back to the longest running thing I've got here (currently at 5 episodes? though some do need rewrites). So, first off, no, you didn't miss a part. I was working on the next part, the arrival into Kanto (Pallet Town in near the ocean, right?) but then I got bored so I just skipped ahead to this fun idea. Actually, I seem to have a problem working linearly especially on something like this where I have so much I want to do, so I'm actually working on a bunch of different ... chapters? yeah, let's call them chapters at once. I have bits and pieces of different chapters being written at the same time because, when I'm writing one section, I'll have an idea I want to use later on pop-up and then all of a sudden I'm writing that part. Meeting Prof. Oak, Viridian forest, Brock rewrite, Team Rocket battle, etc. On a side note, I've been thinking about putting in some sort of picture to use, just so when I post this it'll have a picture associated with it, just in case you couldn't tell what it was from "Emberwilde Comes" but mostly to feed my ever-growing narcissism . The main issue is I can't draw and don't have the motivation to learn to draw, so that option is out. Also, I missed the Charmander Community Day for a chance at the Black Charizard so use as a picture. I meant to consult one of those artists booths at Kawaii Kon for some commissioned work. And I guess I should've gone to the NEET convention the other week. Oh well, I think there's still Comic-con or something coming up later this year, so I guess I'll try then.

Funeral Suit's Goodbye (Eulogy part 2 of 3)

Last week, I said goodbye to Funeral Suit. Several months ago, I started the engine and a hazy cloud spewed from the A/C vents for a couple seconds. Later that day, I found out that the A/C was no longer as cold as before. In fact, it felt like it was blowing air hotter than it was outside, which I believed should have been scientifically impossible. Turns out the A/C had just died, a crack in something or other as the mechanic explained (I don't really remember, I started to tune him out after he said it would cost $2000 to fix). Plus, the car had been making a weird, unexplained grinding noise for ... probably over a year. I tried to have it diagnosed, but no one could figure out a cause, so I just accepted and ignored it. So, after a month of procrastinating, and tolerating my increasingly hotter car baked by the afternoon sun, I began looking for a replacement car. After another month or so of actually searching, I finally said goodbye to Funeral Suit, traded-in for another car for surprisingly more than I thought anyone would pay. And now that I've said goodbye, how about some stories:

First off, Funeral Suit? I did choose the name after the band Funeral Suits (I think I'd been listening to "Colour Fade" a lot at the time). Plus, it also fit the car well: it's black; it covers my body; and, at the rate I'd been drinking and driving at the time, I legitimately believed I would die in it (along with whatever unfortunate souls that happened to be on the road).

As my co-workers told me within the first couple days of me getting the car, black isn't a good color. Unlike the way I choose clothes, black doesn't hide dirt but instead makes it stand out even more. And unfortunately, I didn't have the time to wash my car as much as I wanted. Eventually and reluctantly, I gave up and began taking it to the car wash instead of washing it by hand. On a positive note, I got to relive my childhood wonder of the car wash: your locked car rolling, not under your own power, through a darkened tunnel as water and foam cover your car, blinding you to the outside world, kraken tentacles slapping at the hull of your ship, banging to let them in, searching for any weak spot to exploit, and just when you see the light at the end, hope and escape close enough to touch, hurricane winds threaten to push you right back into the fray. Then the shame of sitting comfortably while some guy goes around the outside, giving your car a once over. Sometimes I feel like I should be getting out to help, after all, that used to be my job for several years.

One time, when driving on my way to work in the morning, a guy in the lane next to mine put on his blinker to cut into my lane. It felt like it was too early to be a dick, so I took my foot off the gas pedal and let the car slow on it's own to let him into the lane. I also needed to give my brake pedal a slight tap to slow down enough. Apparently, this pissed-off the guy behind me and he honks his horn to let me know just how mad he is about this slowing-down slightly situation. At the same time, the other guy had not only finished cutting into the lane, but also heard the horn honk. I guess thinking that I honked at him, instead of a wave or shaka, the guy decides to flip me off instead.

Funeral Suit also helped me to haul rock to fix our backyard/under the house. Candy, in an attempt to avoid the rain, decided to start squeezing herself over this short wall to get underneath the house. To give herself more room under there though, she started digging up the dirt, which also started exposing the stilts holding the house off the ground. So, I headed to Home Depot and started loading up a flatbed cart with bags of gravel as well as those large, smooth river stones. Well, 10 bags through the checkout line later, I'm pushing the cart through the parking lot and the worry finally hits. I'm driving a sedan, can it handle this much of a load? Well, doing some quick math (5 people at 200lbs is 1000lbs which is greater than the weight of 10 bags of rocks) I figure I should be okay. But then again, that weight is meant to be spread throughout the car, not all stuffed into the trunk and, at the time, I'd yet to determine just how many adult bodies I could fit into the trunk. So I put the first bag in the trunk and the car dropped. Then another bag and it dropped further. Finally, with all the bags inside, it looked like the car was barely an inch above the wheels. Deciding to tempt it, I started up the car, moving slowly at first, no problems, then a little faster, no problems, I slowed as I thought I heard a scraping noise going over the speed bumps, then just started going and I managed to haul it all home without incident though driving slow enough that I watched everyone cut around me the whole drive.

Living up to it's name, I did have a couple of memorable, intoxicated drives home (though not as many as you would expect). And by that I mean that I don't remember really driving home, just getting into the car and then being at home, with a very brief section in the middle that I spent arguing with myself about driving home. It was kind of like those "Don't Drink and Drive" commercials you know, the one with the guy arguing with himself in the mirror... except in reverse. I was the one saying that I was fine to drive home, and my haggard-looking reflection in the rearview mirror was the one telling me to stop. "We're going to jail," I vaguely remember him saying before I started the engine. I probably just laughed and drove away. Then I got home and everything worked out, though I did remember to check the front of my car for blood. It's the responsible thing to do.

Goodbye to that one pair of shoes and that shirt (Eulogy part 1 of 3)

I was out at a bar with some friends about two weeks ago when someone asked me about my shoes, and whatever happened to the Onitsuka Tigers I used to wear (I write slow). As you can probably guess, I don't own a lot of clothes so to have something go missing from my normal rotation stands out. I'd actually gotten rid of them awhile back, but never got around to giving them the proper send-off they deserve. I wrote them a eulogy of sorts at the time, though never got around to typing it out, but better late than never I guess:

Onitsuka Tiger shoes

These shoes I got as a gift from Michelle for my 21st birthday. Actually, as she explained, it was a requirement for getting into Tsukiji's back when it used to not only be around, but also turned into a club on Saturday nights. This was especially true because, and I'm not joking, up until my 21st birthday, I bought ALL of my shoes from Sports Authority (except for the shoes I wore for school). And most of those were running shoes, all of which would eventually become farm shoes once they were beaten up enough to be replaced. However, after putting these shoes on for the first time that night, I knew that they would never meet the same fate. They were too light, too thin, too nice to use for anything but wearing. And, for several years, they served their purpose gallantly, accompanying me many, many nights out and about. They fit great, in a way that said "I work best when just standing in the moment, the one article of clothing that does it's job of making you appear as a reasonably passable male of adult age, but if shit goes down, I'm light-weight and athletic enough to get you the fuck out of here... and to keep my form when we stride into the next bar." (At least, I think that's what they would've said, I'm not good at writing dialogue). That night I first got them we wandered back and forth from Tsukijis and Mai Tais and the parking lot smoking area, they crushed several chain-smoked cigarettes, and half-walked, half-dragged (okay, mostly dragged) my useless body back to Michelle's couch. My most memorable event involving these shoes, though, is the night I threw up on them after karaoke at Blue Ribbon. It was one of those nights that I didn't drive, so at the end of the night we all piled into a friend's minivan. I forgot that I get carsick relatively easily, especially after drinking what apparently qualified as "too much", so when we stopped I just jumped out, not caring if it was my stop or not, and started puking up everything. Apparently, it wasn't my stop, nor was I completely off the road, but rather in the thin strip of road marked as a "bike lane." I remember hearing someone say, "Alan, there's a car coming," before I saw the headlights right on me. What happened next is still a mystery. Everyone confirms there was a sound as the car passed by, a "Thwok" if I had to figure out a word for it. Now I can't say if it was car mirror whacking my arm and I was too drunk to feel it, or (more likely) if it caught part of my too-large t-shirt, or something to do with the wind as the car sped passed. The only thing I do know is that I threw up all over my shoes, which I washed the next evening as I ended up getting dragged to the farm the next day and didn't get around to the shoes until later, just in time to scrub the caked vomit, dried from spending all day in the sun, off of them. Before letting them go, it was kind of like I was just walking on the cement barefoot, with maybe an inch of cardboard between my feet and the ground.


Also, while I'm doing this, I'd actually written one for that one polo shirt I wore everywhere:

I'm still not sure where or when I even got this shirt, it just feels like one of those things that I've always had. For all I know, I could've had it since high school (it's not as if I've bought a different size of clothing since I turned 16). I do know that I didn't buy it, I assume it was probably a Christmas gift from a relative who wanted me to start dressing nicer (which honestly, may not narrow it down too much). In the beginning I hated it, which was basically my attitude toward anything that wasn't a t-shirt. It was just something I kept around in case I needed it/because it still fit. I'm still not sure how it got into my suitcase to Japan. But that's where I found it's purpose: as the one thing that I owned nicer than a t-shirt, but more comfortable than the one button-down shirt I owned. Because when you're nervous about going to someplace you've never been before, it's best to have something comfortable to wear ... so it's easier to run away in case the need presents itself. And that night it got me through, completely sober, for my first-time in a nightclub (drunken Alan wouldn't awaken until a couple months later). Since I'm not good at taking pictures, I needed to skim through Facebook to find a picture of me in this shirt (also because I dumped it before I remembered to take a picture of it for this piece) and, in my search I also managed to find an image from that night

And that reminded me of this story: We were hanging out at a bar before heading to the club. I was wearing that shirt. Everyone left the bar to go... someplace (I don't really remember) and so I started talking with two of our dormmates that had come with us that I didn't really know. Then they started talking to each other in Korean and I was effectively out of the conversation. Bored, I started watching the bar TV. A drunk, Japanese guy started talking to me. Honestly, at first I really thought he wanted to talk about the soccer game on the TV (it was a sports bar, sort of). Then he started leaning closer, which I thought was because it was loud at the bar and he couldn't hear me talking about the game. His friend managed to pull him away before he got his hand going any further down my back. Besides the shirt's role as Alan's one slightly nicer shirt, it also made it's way into the rotation of polo-shirts I wear for work (I was told the dress code was long pants and a collared shirt, and I've followed it to the minimum for the past 6 years). With it's weekly use though, I'm certain that's how those two holes started forming in the back of the shirt. Worst part, since I dress in the dark and typically wear a jacket all day because the office is freezing, I didn't actually notice the holes until I was turning it inside-out when my finger got caught in one of the holes (not the bigger of the two). Then I realized it was time to retire the shirt. Since then, I've yet to find a shirt to replace it. Sure, I've got a bunch of other polo shirts, but none like that one. It was oddly soft and comfortable (all the other ones I've got are heavier in material), and it fit exactly how I wanted it to fit, which is probably not how a shirt should fit, but I still liked it. You will be are missed.