The Elephant Mutiny

It's been almost 6 months since the elephants rose up and I fear that humanity may already be doomed.

We should never have kept them caged. We didn't know it then, but we should have seen the signs right in front of our faces: testing the strength of our defenses by leaning their massive bulk upon the reinforced concrete of their pens, testing our might and power by sacrificing their own to our tranquilizers and bullets. They even went as far as testing our natural responses to their presence: performing for our children, eliciting applause when they balance their bulk upon a tiny platform and giggles when one steals a bag of peanuts with its mighty trunk, luring us all into a false sense of security. Always awake to perform for the crowd, always watching and learning. Personally, I'd been to the zoo at least once a year when I was a kid and I'd never even seen a lion or tiger awake; and only on the rarest of occasions would a bear lumber about, though usually just to find another spot to lie down. But the elephants were ALWAYS awake. We should've known that they were the only ones who wanted to be there.

Out in the wild we should have watched them so much closer than we did. We knew they were being poached from the carcasses we found and the ivory being sold. We spent so much time watching and tracking the elephants that we failed to keep watch on the poachers. A secretive and illegal job by nature, with no one to track your whereabouts, disappearances were just reported as missing after we failed to locate their bodies. What the elephants were doing with them only became clear when it was too late. The elephants showed us just enough severed tusks and rotting carcasses, and we jumped to their aid, starting campaigns to protect them, increasing their ranks even further.

Then the day came, the day they rose up against us. Maybe they'd had enough of the cages. Maybe they'd had enough of the poaching. Maybe they just finally had the numbers to stand against us. Whatever the reason, we never learned. The only thing the elephants were willing to teach us was their carnage and wrath. Wild elephants trampled everything from tour groups on safari to entire villages. Penned elephants scattered in zoos throughout the globe lifted people high into the air before smashing them to the ground. Even unprepared, it shouldn't have been too difficult to suppress an elephant mutiny. Giant lumbering creatures gripped firmly to the earth by their own mass and gravity, we thought we had so many advantages. Except when we tamed one group, the others adapted almost instantly. When we brought in vehicles to corral their numbers, they learned to barrel through them. When we used helicopters from above to subdue a rampaging group, the rest took cover to escape our eyes. When we switched to using lethal force, they changed themselves into something ... worse.

It was like watching something from a horror movie. The leathery skin wrapped around their bulk began to unfold into enormous wings, revealing a skinless, muscular frame beneath. Shedding the skin on their legs revealed a hardened exo-skeleton beneath, hard enough to smash through cars without taking a scratch. Finally, a dozen more curved tusks sprouted from their faces, white ivory quickly turning red from the blood of their victims. They moved like a swarm, waves of elephants taking to the air, descending to the streets, killing anything in their path. They took to the skies to bring down our aerial superiority. Their numbers quickly overwhelmed our ground troops. They smashed through skyscrapers hundreds of feet in the air. They came down upon mountains only to bring them low. The harder we fought, the more of us they killed. Eventually, we did the only thing we could do: we ran, like ants scurrying under the feet of giants.

The more we tried to learn about the true nature of elephants, the more we learned how outmatched we were. Penning them in zoos across the globe taught them how to survive in any climate. Killing or capturing one just brought down the anger of the swarm. A hive-mind that has been learning and evolving since their predecessors first walked upon a frozen Earth. We never stood a chance.




It's been a while since I've posted a new story, well posted ... anything actually. I've still been writing sporadically, not as much, mostly due to laziness. As always (or at least 90% of the time) I got the idea from Reddit Writing Prompts: "Elephants don't just have a perfect memory, they have a hive-mind memory." Given enough time, imagination, and paranoia, I could probably come up with a scenario for any animal to overthrow humanity (though I think those "Planet of the Apes" people have already beat me to it. I think my biggest disappointment with this story is the elephant description toward the end. In my head, they looked so much scarier, but I just couldn't get the description into words. Originally, in my imagination, I kind of thought of them as giant, skinless horses with huge, leathery wings but with an elephant head. The one thing I couldn't figure out was some of the logistics of the transformation, such as what to do with their legs if their bodies were to shrink in size? I imagined the wings to be huge, as if an elephants body was just the wings folded upon itself several times. This would make the actual body much, much thinner. I was fine with leaving them with giant heads with tusks protruding in all directions, but it was the legs that kept throwing me off. If all of the mass of their bodies was due to keeping their wings folded up, why are their legs so wide? What happens to the mass in their legs to match the change in their body structure? These are the thoughts that bother me. If I could draw, the transformation would be a pretty cool thing to put here, just to show you what I'm trying to describe as it is now bothering me. Instead, all I have is this:

It doesn't make any sense, right?

The Potions Master

I stood in front of the door with my kit in my hand, heart pounding. I wiped away a bead of sweat with the sleeve of my cloak and took a look at my opponent. Hendricks stood in front of a similar door with just a wand in his hand and a cocky sneer spread on his face.

"Okay, you both know the rules," said Auror Captain Johnson as he looked directly at me, "You are coming to us with a severe handicap, Mr. Rickson. Casting spells is central in our line of work. But an Auror's job is more than just spell-slinging and high-speed broom chases. We are officers of the law and you must be able to do everything an officer of the law must do. If you can prove yourself in these tests against one of our best Aurors, then we shall consider your application." He looked to both of us, Hendricks and I, and let loose a deafening Bang! from his wand. "Begin."

My ears still ringing, I opened the door casually and without thinking. Almost immediately, a blinding red light filled my vision. Instinctively, I dropped to the ground and the spell flew wide. I pulled myself back behind the wall as another Stunning spell flew out from the room. I snuck a peek at Hendricks who still hadn't opened the door, but instead was reading the assignment dossier.
"Dammit!" I swore to myself as I mentally kicked myself in the ass. Even if I needed to beat Hendricks' time, I still needed to complete the task first, not just charge blindly into the situation.

Unrolling the parchment, I committed the task to memory before putting it into my kit. "Your assignment is to break up an illegal gambling den and arrest everyone in the room. Then proceed to the office and take down the leader of the gambling den." So much for all that talk about an Auror needing to do more than spell-sling, I thought to myself, seeing as how this task was specifically meant for spell-slinging. Even though I'd made it through Hogwarts, I've never been able to cast a spell. However, it forced me to study even harder in all of the other classes. And, I was especially talented in Potions.

But first I needed to know how many suspects were in there. I reached into my pocket and tossed a tiny glass vial no bigger than my pinky finger high into the ceiling of the next room. The vial shattered, releasing the yellow powder stored within. I poked my head into the room just in time to see one of them take notice of the yellow dust and his eyes widen. MolCarp's Rave. Just a single speck as big as a grain of salt, when exposed to open air, had all the lights and sounds of a standard firework. And I'd just released over 100,000. I ducked back behind the wall while a sun exploded on the other side.

In the confusion, I peeked inside again to see just 5 men. One orb should be enough, I thought as I reached into my pocket and grabbed a glass orb filled with green smoke, Hypnos' Lullabye. I tossed the orb into the room and listened to it shatter. Even if the orb was no bigger than a baseball, it was enough gas to take out a dozen men. I waited two minutes for the gas to dissolve before going in.
The door behind me slammed shut as soon as I entered the room. I ran to the opposite end of the room to find the other door locked as well. "Okay, I need to find a way out, " I said to myself as I looked around the room. I counted five men: four in ordinary black cloaks, but one in bright purple one. On a hunch, I assumed he might not be a normal gambler which meant that he might have some answers. Placing my kit on the only table in the room, I pulled out a vial of Insta-solid and poured it over the arms and legs of the "suspect." The gray liquid oozed out and hardened, effectively pinning the man's arms and legs to the floor. "Just as good as Petrificus Totalus," I said to myself.

Another vial, this one filled with an oily-brown liquid, I poured down my suspect's mouth before I woke him up with a couple hard slaps. Before he could speak, I covered his mouth. "As you know, Veritaserum is very, very regulated by the Ministry. Personally, I would like to have it on hand for situations like this, but instead I have to make due with Pinocchio's Curse." I held the vial to his nose and let the remnants of varnish and donkey fur fill his nose so he knew I wasn't joking. "You know how this nasty stuff works, so choose your answers wisely." I removed my hand and asked, "Who are you?"

The Suspect took a deep breath. "I am Auror Stevens," he said.

I sighed. "I meant, who are you in this whole scenario? Are you a killer? Are you a gambler or do are you an associate of the gambling boss?"

"Just a gambler," he said. Immediately, his nose doubled in size. "What the hell, I said that I'm just a gambler." Again his nose size doubled.

"Okay, so you're obviously not just a gambler so how about you just tell me how to get through the door? Is there some sort of clue that I need to find?"

"No there's no way through the door," he said as his nose doubled for a third time.

"Okay, so obviously the clue is in this room," I said, as I grabbed a vial of sleeping potion and poured it down Steven's mouth, "and you're not going to help me."

I rummaged through my case until I found the components I needed to build Dragon's Snot. It was going to take time, but it was the fastest way I knew. I didn't have time to go searching for clues with Fanigan's Dust. I mashed together the roots and herbs until it formed into a red paste and smeared it onto the door. Then, I pulled out my lighter and set it on fire. The paste burned hotter and hotter until it burned completely through the door.

I counted to two and then peeked around the corner to see a Minotaur barreling toward me. "Oh, what the fuck!" I shouted as I ducked back around the corner. It didn't help as the minotaur smashed through the wall and barrelled into me, sending me sprawling across the floor. I reached into my pockets for a potion only to stab my hands on broken glass. "Shit!" I swore louder as I tore off my cloak and tossed it aside, the smashed contents reacting unstably with each other. I watched as my cloak melted, burned and grew tentacles almost all at once.

The minotaur charged again, a smile on his face. Luckily, there was one other trick I had. Concentrating on my form, I imagined a giant snake, the biggest snake there ever was. And then I was one, a Basilisk. After all, Animagus are made with potions, too. The minotaur covered its eyes to avoid my gaze. But with my disability in casting magic, I couldn't use the Basilisk's paralyzing gaze either. Instead, I used its error to wrap myself around it and squeeze until it was unconscious. Then, I turned back and walked out the door.

Hendricks was already waiting for me, as was the rest of the department, mouths agape. "I take it that Hendricks beat me?" I asked the captain.

He stood silent for another three seconds before replying, "Yeah, but, umm, just show up tomorrow anyways. We'll have the Directors take another look at your application."



So... more fan fiction. Truthfully, I've never written Harry Potter fan fiction before. Yeah, I've thought about it, but this surprisingly makes the first time I've committed it to page. Once again, I got the prompt from Reddit Writing Prompts: Graduating Hogwarts, you apply to become an Auror. Unfortunately in all your years, you could never manage a single wand spell. As a joke, they say beating their best Auror will earn you a place. What they don't know is just how good you are at making magical potions.... Also, if you didn't like this story but still need a Harry Potter fix, I'd like to recommend the other two stories submitted for this prompt, they're really good as well. My guess is that someone was watching the Harry Potter marathon Freeform. Before I begin with my usual critique of my own work, I'd like to say that I don't actually remember if becoming an Animagus required no magic spells. I thought it was just a potion, but it's been years since I've read Prisoner of Azkaban, and no, I'm not going to do research. And I know no one probably picked it up, but my favorite part of this whole thing was the flashbang MolCarp's Rave. A nod to my favorite Supernatural Detective and Urban Fantasy writer Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series: Dresden's apprentice Molly Carpenter's favorite spell basically creates a gigantic rave - flashing lights, blaring music, etc to confuse opponents. Okay, as for the story itself, I did have bigger ideas for it, but I was writing it around midnight and was already struggling to stay awake. For a guy whose read all of The Dresden Files books, all of the Greywalker books, all of the Nightside series books, watched many Supernatural episodes, all the Yuyu Hakusho episodes, and the short-lived Constantine TV show, I really should be a lot better at writing this kind of story and character. I really meant to have Rickson solve some sort of puzzle to get out of the room, but I just couldn't think of one. Once again, I'm gonna blame the time I was writing at. This idea of a Supernatural Detective without magical powers was a pretty interesting concept and I think I might continue it further, though outside the realm of Harry Potter. As for why this is probably going to be my only post this month, I've actually written a couple others (as well as trashed a couple other ones) but was just too lazy to give them their own post.

Emberwilde Comes: The Choosing Ceremony part 2

A quick recap: The Choosing Ceremony of the Inferno Clan is underway as all the pokeball offerings are in place and the candidates are lined up for selection. Emberwilde, the clan's chosen Champion, is tests the offerings with his fire, those deemed unworthy shattering under the heat. The Main Character watches anxiously with the other candidates. Only 2 pokeballs have currently survived the Charizard's fire...


I locked my gaze upon my pokeball sitting in the flames, willing it to stay intact against the onslaught of fire and knowing at the same time that nothing I did from the time I placed my pokeball on the alter would change what was happening at this moment. I couldn't tell if the sweat starting to run down my face was from the heat of the fire or the nervousness I was feeling as this competition was coming to a close. Judging from just the residual heat rippling off of the alter and spreading all around me, I knew that this contest would be over soon. It didn't matter what kind of special material either of us put into our offerings, there was nothing that mere children could afford that would stand up to anymore punishment, especially from a Charizard as strong as Emberwilde. So, I did the only thing I could - I clenched my teeth and willed my strength and resolve into my offering.

Bang! went the final pokeball, breaking under the pressure and heat of Emberwilde's flame. So focused was I upon my own offering that I didn't even notice until I heard the roar of the crowd all around me. The outcry broke my focus on my still intact pokebal. My still intact offering. I turned my head to see my final competitor leave the line and return to where the others were standing. I turned back to the alter, eyes wide and smile big as my pokeball still stood strong within the flames.

I stepped forward, pride in my chest, triumphant. My dream for as long as I could remember was finally realized - that I would be allowed to bear our champion into the Kanto Region, to battle the elite of trainers, and to return Emberwilde stronger than before to challenge the other 2 clans in the Isle's yearly games.

I moved toward the alter just as a wave of unbearable heat slammed into my face, forcing me to stagger backwards. Even though my pokeball was the only one left, Emberwilde still hadn't relented with the fire. In fact he'd made it stronger, the fire on his tail now almost as tall as he was and all that energy now focused upon the one object still left upon the alter. Attacking the sphere, flames unrelenting, as if it were his personal mission to see it destroyed.

It was then that I realized what was happening - Emberwilde wasn't testing the offerings to find a worthy bearer amongst the candidates, he was trying to break all of them. It hasn't happened for decades, but every so often a Champion decides that it doesn't need a Bearer to take it into Kanto. Usually these matters are decided by the Clan Leader beforehand to avoid embarrassing that year's potential candidates. Those years, from what I've heard, the GodKing would just announce the Champion to the rest of the clan and we would cheer as the chosen Pokemon departed on the journey. No big ceremony and no Choosing Ceremony. I'm not sure if Emberwilde didn't tell the GodKing his wishes, or if the GodKing had turned him down. What I did know was that Emberwilde was making a spectacle now. And spectacle was just another word for embarrassment - to the potential Bearers, to Emberwilde, to the GodKing, and ultimately to the Clan.

I looked around to see the other candidates staring warily at what they were seeing. The Pokemon and other humans in attendance, those with a better understanding of the situation than I, glared with anger in their eyes. I tried to spot if I could find anyone who smiled at this scene Emberwilde was making, at least to point out the spies in attendance. The Choosing Ceremony is supposed to be another way we show our unity as a Clan. To let show even one crack or chink in that facade would bring shame and give the others a weakness to exploit. There was really only one way to save us all.

Fighting passed the heat, I got to my feet and stepped forward. "I withdraw," I said, though too soft to be heard above the roar of the fire. It hurt to say but I needed to do it. I felt an ache in my chest as I took a deep breath, this time letting the scorching air burn my lungs as if, at the same time, it burned away my dreams. "I withdraw!" I shouted with tears already streaming down my face. All I ever wanted was to bear our clan's champion across foreign lands, spreading the pride and glory of our people. But of course, what were the hopes and dreams of a child when compared to the pride of an entire clan? When did the piece deem itself greater than the whole?

To my surprise, Emberwilde didn't stop. In fact, the flame grew even hotter, burning blue-white as it started to melt the stone alter. Even more surprising, my pokeball still sat strong against the blazing inferno that now engulfed it. "I said 'I withdraw!'" I shouted again but the flames continued. I looked over to the GodKing, sitting high above with a look of disappointment on his face. "Char!" I shouted, this time in the language of the Charizard, "Charizard Charizard Chaar, Char Char Chaaarizaaard!" Even in his tongue, Emberwilde ignored my pleas, pouring an even hotter flame upon my stubborn offering.

I looked to the crowd again to see many of their heads hung low, some had even turned fully around, unable to bear witness to the spectacle Emberwilde was putting on for what they saw as his own amusement. I needed to do something, so I did the only other thing I could think of to do.

I approached the alter slowly, hoping Emberwilde's gaze wouldn't turn from the pokeball to myself. I fought through the heat of the now almost pure white flames, my skin feeling as if it were drying out with every step closer. Eventually, I managed to get close enough that loose strings upon my clothing would randomly spark and burn for a second or two. I took a deep breath and then plunged my left hand into the fire. If there were no offering, I reasoned, he'd have no reason to continue this madness. Luckily, I was right-handed so at least I'd still have that one if my left arm couldn't be saved after my own act of madness. The flames scorched my skin as I reached for the pokeball. As hot as I knew the flames to be, it wasn't as painful as I thought it should be. I'd reached in just passed my elbow when I finally felt the pokeball at my fingertips. Only then did I brave a look into the fire. Through the flames, my arm was blackened completely, small embers dancing upon it. I let out a scream from a place within myself that I don't think I'll ever find again, a place of pure terror and horror it's actually amazing I didn't collapse.

It was at this point that Emberwilde finally noticed the small child with an arm in his fire. Abruptly, the fire stopped, though my arm continued to glow for several more seconds. There was a commotion in the crowd, the entire court whipped into a frenzy by my actions. I was immediately doused with water. Soaking wet, with my charred arm cradled in my good arm, while still clutching my intact pokeball, I looked up at the giant Charizard. "I withdraw," I said with what little voice I had left before collapsing to the ground.


So that took longer than expected. Not that I've been busy but I just never got around to typing it out. As I said in the previous post, this has been sitting in my notebook and, actually, I wrote this part out before the previous section... and I finished while on my trip to Seattle. So, basically, it's been sitting in my notebook for almost a month. I think I covered a lot about how I wrote this in the previous section. And yes, I stole your Goblet of Fire idea with "testing their worthiness by putting their hands in the Charizard's tail." Umm... I hate to say this (because I wish I couldn't say this next part) but there's more... I've actually already thought up 2 more scenarios for how this story could continue. As I've already mentioned, I don't have a great relationship with fan-fiction (it feels like I'm wasting my time building in a world that can never be mine) and so I don't like the fact that I've got 2 more story ideas already that are going to eventually need to be written or they'll just continue to annoy me. And, as I said, the burned arm means that I'm going to need to go back to the battle with Brock as well and redo that section as well. And as I said, I've already got something that interests me with the protagonist's now charred arm as well as introducing members of the other clans (the protagonist's rivals, I guess). I'm going to try to work on some new stuff for now but I'll definitely be getting back to this.

Emberwilde Comes: The Choosing Ceremony part 1

I placed my offering upon the stone alter next to the others, a black and gray pokeball I'd built over these past five months. It, along with just three others, stood in contrast to the standard red and white pokeballs also sitting upon table. A dozen offerings in total to go with the dozen candidates standing before the GodKing. A crowd of pokemon and humans surrounded us as The Choosing Ceremony got underway. In a tent off to the side, I could hear the sound of Emberwilde breathing heavily, restlessly, as his tail fire illuminated the tent, casting shadows on the walls for the crowd to see.

I glanced one last time at my custom pokeball before walking away. It took a couple weeks of hiking up the volcanoes to gather enough obsidian to protect it from the fire. I figured if it was created from lava, it should be able to stand up to whatever fire a Charizard could pour onto it. Plus, it gave it a cool, black shine to stand apart from the rest of my competition. It also cost me three months of allowance money for several apricorns from a Johto region trader. He claimed that if you could turn them into a pokeball, they were super effective at capturing fire-types. The gray fruit was almost rock-like on the outside and it took me a couple days just to break them all open. Also, I don't recommend eating the meat on the inside.

I made my way back to the line with the other candidates, my eyes never straying from the GodKing who presided over the ceremony. Back in line, I saw a couple of the other kids shaking from either nervousness or excitement. The 15-foot tall Charizard, intricate designs tattooed with blackened ash on his entire body marking him as the GodKing, let out a fierce roar and a torrent of fire to signal the start of The Choosing Ceremony. All around me, the Lords and Lordesses of the GodKing's court unleashed roars and screams of their own. Fire, Water, Grass, Lightning, Earth, the GodKing did not care about a Pokemon's type, only that it was strong. And the strongest were gathered all around us. Blasts of water, bolts of lightning, beams of sunlight, and other barrages of elemental displays filled the air in similar fashion to the GodKing, an array of colors in the sky.

I knew our clan members weren't the only ones in attendance. Surely the other 2 clans of the Tartarus Isles must have spies of their own observing intently. My own parents in fact had accompanied a group to spy on the Rainmaker Clan. With all of the festivities, it wouldn't be too hard to fly a Fearow over the ceremony; or have a Dugtrio tunnel beneath it; or even slip a human or a Ditto disguised as another pokemon or a person into the village. Any knowledge about the strength of the clan's champion or insight into the Bearer could only help to achieve every clans' goal of winning the year's tournament. And thus, the reason for all of the festivities in just choosing a Bearer: to show these spies that no matter what information they might collect for their leader and clan, it would still not help them against our might and power.

Then Emberwilde, the newest Lord of the GodKing's court and this year's Champion, exited his tent. Not quite as tall as the GodKing but still big for a Charizard, Emberwilde strode toward the alter to begin the Judgement. My heart raced and my stomach turned knowing what was going to happen next and dreading every minute until it did. A candidate is chosen for their knowledge of Pokemon as well as their survival skills. Getting the Champion across the entire Kanto region was the Bearer's first and most important responsibility. However, it was at the Choosing Ceremony that narrowed the candidates down to the one Bearer.

It was all I wanted since I was old enough to dream such things. To travel to foreign lands, bearing the pride and glory of our clan against the best the Kanto League had to offer until eventually returning home to challenge the other two clans' Champions in our yearly tournament. I'd spent the last six months since Emberwilde was announced as Champion designing my offering, putting together what I hoped would be the strongest of all my competitors. Sometimes the tests are difficult to prepare for. For example, if the Champion happens to be a Water-type there are numerous ways an offering can be tested: Would it face jets of water? Plunged into sub-zero temperatures? An endless stream of bubbles? But fire, fire was simple - Fire Burned.

Emberwilde moved to the alter and, without any more pomp and circumstance usually expected from the Champion, unleashed a wave of fire upon all the offerings. Bang! Bang! Bang! went three of the pokeballs almost immediately. I heard the gasps of several people in the crowd. I stood still, unimpressed as the fire on Emberwilde's tail hadn't even yet began to change. It's a relatively obscure fact that the size of the fire on a Charizard's tail is directly proportional to the energy it is exerting in its fire attacks.

As if reading my mind, Emberwilde's tail fire started to grow and with it the fire spewing from its mouth grew wider and hotter until it enveloped the entire alter. I heard the popping of several more pokeballs and the shuffling away of my ousted competition. In just another five minutes, it was down to just myself and another boy. The fire narrowed and grew hotter and hotter as I hoped the materials I used would be enough to stand up to the strengthening inferno. After all my testing with what limited materials I had, only one pokeball survived. I hollowed out the gray apricorn, attaching the necessary components to turn it into a functioning pokeball as the Johto trader had told me. It took even longer to piece together as much of the remaining obsidian to the outside but in the end, I could only cover half of the ball with the black glass. All I could do now was watch and hope my offering would be strong enough to continue to withstand the onslaught of fire poured onto it.




More Pokemon fan-fiction! Yeah, I didn't think I'd be returning to this but here we are. It was supposed to just be a one-shot thing and I hoped to be moving onto more original stories. But I'm a procrastinator and apparently my new method is to waste time on non-marketable projects while telling myself that it's okay because at least I'm still writing. Anyways, at the end of the last post I mentioned that I had a sort-of backstory thought up and a friend of mine mentioned that he thought it was an interesting idea and we started running some ideas back and forth - so here we are. It got a little long but I'll try to get part 2 up soon (I've got most of it written in a notebook, just need to type it all out). Since I know everyone is wondering, Yes, I actually did research for this story and it turns out something called Tungsten is a stronger metal with a melting point of nearly 3x obsidian (thanks Google). So, why did I keep with the Obsidian? Well, because it sounds cooler, I hoped no one was going to do the research, and I couldn't figure out how a 10 year old kid was going to get tungsten (as if climbing a volcano for obsidian is more believable). Also, still haven't figured out the gender of the Protagonist (which is why the Protagonist has never been described with He or She). I did that on purpose in the other story because the protagonist isn't supposed to have an identity outside of being the Bearer of Emberwilde. I've been thinking about getting more into who the protagonist is, but I haven't really worked on that yet. Umm, other things... No, there wasn't an apricorn that made catching fire pokemon easier. I also don't know if the whole fire tail and the fire attacks being related is real or if I just made that up. Yeah, I needed to bring up walkthrough guide for Pokemon just to get through writing all this with some sense of accuracy. Oh, "The Choosing Ceremony," lame name, I know. I really did plan to change it eventually, but #1) I suck at naming things and #2) I looked it up and the first episode of Pokemon is "I Choose You" and I kind of wanted it to be like that in some way. I guess that's it for now.

I'm Out of My League

So, if you're a regular reader (which no one should be wasting that much time), you may have noticed that before every trip I'll write a post to give myself a preview of what may or may not come (that's right, none of this is meant for you). It helps me plan out things to do, deal with some of the anxiety I have before getting on the plane, and it lets my mom know where I'll be when I don't show up for dinner. Just kidding, she doesn't read this, though I did forget to tell her until a couple days ago.

Writer's block

At the moment though, it's not working out the way I'd hoped. Next week, I'll be in Bellevue, Washington for a writing workshop. Before you get mistakenly awed and amazed, there's no screening process or else there's no way Alan - "Yeah, I kind of write, sort of, whenever a writing prompt on Reddit catches my attention or whenever I can put together a coherent set of paragraphs for a blog post" - would be allowed at any writing event. All I needed to do was put in some cash and they said, "Okay, you can come" in what I imagine was probably said in the most reluctant tone ever. And as excited as I was when I signed up just over a month ago, the whole trip kind of snuck up on me until about a week ago. I'd been focused on taking care of a toothache and then getting a crown fitted onto that bastard that I haven't really been doing much else. Basically, I'd forgotten to do all of the things I'd planned to do to prepare for the workshop:

1. Prep for the agent interview: For reasons beyond me, past-Alan decided to sign us up for a 10minute meeting with an agent. Typically it's recommended that you use this time to pitch your marketable story idea. Well, he didn't have one then, and I don't have one now. Besides, no one is going to buy just an idea. I'm 95% sure they'd like at least some hard evidence that you're actually working on whatever it is you're trying to sell to them before they give you the money. Recently I asked past-Alan about this and he reasoned that we can at least ask questions about the marketing side of publishing - a good idea except he didn't come up with any questions either! Ugh, why are you so dumb?! ("Meh" shrugging shoulders) Asshole.

2. Write a first page of a story: One of the classes during the workshop that caught my eye was a part of the day where some of the attending agents would provide critiques of submitted first-pages of participants' stories. It's been awhile since I've written anything I've considered marketable and even longer since I've had my worked looked over in detail (no one really does on Reddit... at least not on my work). So this one really caught my attention. However, without a story of course, I don't have a page one to present, and I definitely don't want to show off some half-assed page one and give the impression that this is my best work. When real desperation settles in, I may need to just polish off those turds of "The Sovereignty" or, even worse, "The Dealer." Oh, I really do hate myself for bringing those stories up (I swore I'd never go back).

3. Come up with a persona to use when networking: Obviously, one of the big pulls of going to conventions are to meet similar, like-minded people to build a network of others that share your interests. You go to car shows to meet other car enthusiasts, anime conventions to meet other cos-players, the bar down the street to meet other drunks. This workshop is no different and it's one day to make the best impression so they'll want to talk to me again, especially since they'll need to first deal with my worst quality - myself. So, as much fun as it is to be my usual, oblivious-to-the-world self, I thought I should be a bit more professional - more like "Yeah, I've got two novels written, one of them I'm thinking about turning into a possible trilogy, just looking for someone to help me market it." As fake as it sounds, it does sound better than "Yeah, I typically spend too much time on Reddit, usually leaving comments and critiques on other people's work rather than taking the time to write my own stories, as well as struggling to stay focused enough to blog as infrequently as I do." Actually, I take it back, that's the better one, at least they know that you can trust me to read work and probably won't be asking for a whole lot of critiques on my own work (since I don't have any). Besides who doesn't appreciate it when someone reads their work.

And now that I've dumped all of my worries on the screen, you're probably wondering, "why the hell are you even going to this thing so unprepared?" And if you're a regular reader of my stories (which, again, you really should find a different hobby) you're probably wondering why I'm going to a workshop in the first place when I should obviously be practicing a lot more. Well, a friend of mine from an English Writing class all those years ago let me know about it about two months ago. It took me awhile to decide whether or not to go since a lot of the presentations deal with publishing and marketing, you know, things that you should think about when you've got actual marketable stories, while I'm still barely in the process of liking the things that I write. What changed my mind? Well, I'd have to give the credit to Shia LaBeouf as Louis Stevens for convincing me that this was a good idea. Not sure how or why I even remembered it, but there was this episode of "Even Stevens" (yeah, I thought alcohol would've killed my long-term memory by now too) where Louis wanted to learn to play the drums but didn't want to study the boring exercise book. So, the family hires a guy to teach him and, at his performance for the family, Louis starts banging on the drums like a maniac, kicking over the stands, etc. Then the teacher explains, now that you've had your fun and seen what it's like to be a rock star, you gotta learn the basics to get to do that again and hands him the same boring exercise book. Basically, this is my "rock star moment", to see what kind of options are out there before once again returning to working on story after story in my quest to find something acceptable.

Also, all of that you just read is regarding a ONE DAY workshop. I'm still going to be there for 4 more days. I guess I could find something to do around Bellevue (though I looked it up just now and a lot of it looks like outdoor activities, so that's out). I guess I could also take the bus or taxi into Seattle and find something to do. There's gotta be plenty of things to do over there. Or I could always stay indoors to catch up on reading, or even get back into Monster Hunter (I've been trying to practice once a week again). Mostly I've just been trying to prepare to survive the cold by trying to wear my jacket in the office as little as I can, because that memory is still seared into my mind from the last time I was in Seattle.

so cold (Seattle 2010)

Other than that, the only other thing I've spent a lot of time thinking about is how different it's going to be to stay in my own hotel room. All of my other trips I've either slept on someone's couch or floor, or if I had a bed, it was a hostel bunk. So this will be a real change from any trip I've taken before. I'm not going to lie, the room was more than my plane ticket and the cost of admission to the workshop, combined. If it's as good looking as the pictures, it'll be worth it. And yes, I did splurge a little for the King bed (no idea what that's going to be like as I've slept on a twin all my life). And the last time I had a room all to myself was just about 8 years ago, so I can't guarantee that the moment I set foot into the room I'm not going to just start throwing all of my stuff all over the place. Okay, that's a lie, because the first thing I'm probably going to do is fall asleep since I'm going to be landing at almost 10pm (it was either that or landing at 6am, I'm hoping this was the better choice).

Besides that one day, maybe it'll just be 4 days in a warm hotel room trying to write stories. Honestly, probably not the greatest way to spend a vacation but not the worst way either (I mean, I spent a day doing it in a crowded New York library). At least I'm pretty sure the room has a desk which will be a huge improvement from sitting on my bed using an old, stuffed binder as a table, and a chair won't be as lumpy as my bed is. And there's supposed to be a coffee maker so that's an improvement too, I guess. And wifi. Maybe I won't even have to leave the room (it would make packing easier). Though I will need to find time to buy pens to bring back to my co-workers.

Just to end this on a funnier note: my sister asked if she could use my car while I'm gone. I'm not too worried if she just wants to practice going around the block (though she can't quite park off the road). However, I made sure to give her the same answer dad gave me when I was driving the Aerio without a license: "Go ahead. If the cops ask, I'll just tell them you stole it."

Call Center Stories: Part 1

I guess before I start, I should probably give you some background information as I've tried my best to not mention what I do online. Basically, the company I work for is contracted by the State of Hawaii to conduct evaluations on clients applying for either Physical or Psychiatric disability to qualify for financial disability benefits, or, in other words, welfare money. It's different from Unemployment benefits as these people are claiming that they can't work at all, not that they are temporarily out of work. And, as I've mentioned before, I recently moved positions from the Processing Team (aka data processing) to the Call Center. When you think about it, this means that someone thought, "yeah, we've gotten to know what kind of person Alan is in the 4+ years he's been here and we think he'd be a great person to interact with people who are struggling in life." Luckily, most of my daily interactions are with the State eligibility workers (slightly better) so it's not like my whole day is filled with people whose lives are begging to be accompanied by that one Sarah McLachlan song. But enough about them, you clicked the link to read some funny stories so let's move onto those:

One thing I do on a daily basis is play Pokemon GO at my desk (yes, even while I'm on the phone). A couple weeks ago, a Sudowoodo appeared - a strong one too and I'd yet to catch one. At the same time, a client called to ask about her upcoming appointment. Not a problem, I gave her the appointment day and time as I flung pokeballs, the pokemon breaking out of all of them. She then began to question why she needed to come back in for another evaluation so soon (it's been almost 6 months). As I'm explaining the reason she needs to be re-evaluated just like everyone else who receives Disability Money, I've switched to tossing Greatballs and Ultraballs because the Sudowoodo just won't stay captured. Then she starts asking if she can be rescheduled because of ... reasons I guess, I don't really know as I've also resorted to trying to reason with this stupid tree monster by giving it all my berries as well. Plus, only the State workers are able to reschedule clients (this was explained to me after I spent a month rescheduling clients when they asked if they could be moved just a day or two). So anyways, I'm still tossing ball after ball and the client is getting more and more frustrated and, at this point, had started crying as well, talking about her depression and that she's afraid her benefits will get cut-off and she really needs the money ... and I guess I feel her pain because I'm getting frustrated that this damn pokemon won't stay in the damn ball. Finally, the woman comes to the realization that I can't do any more for her and decides she'll try to contact her Case Worker or else do her best to make the appointment. Just as she hangs up the phone, I came to the realization that the reason I can't catch this pokemon is that the GPS must've glitched and it's probably no where near me and thus there's no way that I can catch this pokemon. Sure enough, I hit "Run" and I'm blocks away and the Sudowoodo is nowhere to be found. Looking back on it, I think we both found a similar, tormented soul on the other end of the phone; both of us finding answers, though maybe not the answers we wanted to hear but the ones we were going to get nonetheless; both of us learning a valuable lesson. Sure, I lost out on catching a pokemon for my game and she could potentially end up homeless, but I think we both felt the same crushing defeat in the problems we faced.

I guess I've also developed a phone voice, which seems to vary widely and changed over time. When I first started, I was mistaken a couple times for being a woman (my only guess is that nerves made me speak in a higher pitch than normal?). Once, when a kid was handing the phone to his dad, I heard him say, "Dad, some lady is on the phone for you." Another time, after leaving a message with a client I said, "Thank you" as I always do and the person on the other line replied, "Oh, you're a guy." I've also been asked, several times, how long I've lived in Hawaii and all of them surprised when I tell them I've lived here all my life. I think someone explained that I had a "mid-western accent" which I'm not sure about. Finally, I think I've received two of the most flattering compliments: First, when finishing up a phone call and the guy on the other end, just before hanging up, said "Oh, you sound so handsome."; Second, after rescheduling a client due to a scheduling error on our part, the Security Guard who was hanging out in the office, remarked "You know, I hear you talk to people and you've got a voice that I couldn't get mad at. I've yelled at some operators before but I don't think I would at you." Which all only goes to show that my best quality is when you can't see me. Side note: I told my brother what the security said and he responded with, "I've been getting mad at the sound of your voice for years."

Even with my apparently awesome phone voice, I do get some problem calls that I feel I'm entitled to some payback. Several times I've gotten State workers who decide to be real assholes: talking faster than I can type, running their words together and not speaking clearly, or just the tone of their voice annoys me. Obviously I can't just go hanging up on these people since my job is to take down the information, but it isn't my job to make it easy. So to get even, I just make them repeat everything they say. And yes, I do mean EVERYTHING: "How do you spell the client's last name again?"; "The last 4 digits of their phone number, what were they again?"; "Could you spell the street name?"; "Did you say the client did or didn't need an interpreter?"; "Sorry, was this a psych or physical appointment I'm scheduling?"; "One more time with the client's last name?" And yes, I realize it's probably just making them more annoyed, but I gotta make sure I got the information correct, right?

When I first started doing calls, the thing that annoyed me most were those voicemails that sound like the person is on the phone with you. You know, the ones that go, "Hey, this is Tom.....Hey how are you doing.....Yeah....Just kidding. Leave a message." I fucking hated those ones. Of course, I still needed to leave the message reminding the client of their appointment. So, instead, I just altered the way I spoke throughout the message - adjusting speed and volume and throwing in some pauses here and there - until my message basically became "[pause for 2-3 seconds] Hithismessageisjusttoremind [pause] JOOOHN SMITHHH [pause] abooout AN APPOINTMENT withDr.Joneson [pause] SaturdayMarchtwentytwo [pause] aaat EIGHTTHIRTYAM. Ifyouhave [pause] ANY QUESTIONS please call us back at (at this point, I would either leave the number really fast, or if I randomly felt like it, I might just hang up)." Is this childish and immature for an almost 30 year old? Maybe, but it makes me feel better so I don't think about it.

So, I kinda realized that I saved up way too many stories to put into one post. Though, honestly, I just don't want to type anymore stories out now so I'll just dump the rest into another post.

Emberwilde Comes: A Pokemon Fan-Fic Story

It took me several tries to defeat the lackey's training at the Pewter City Gym but I finally won a chance for Emberwilde to challenge Brock, the gym leader. Emberwilde could've faced him earlier except that he refused to waste his time with any of the gym's underlings. Instead I needed to use the Pokemon I'd just caught in the Viridian Forest for that task as Emberwilde also refused to travel with any other Pokemon from home, the Tartarus Isles. After the battles they offered me a chance to heal my Pokemon before challenging Brock, but Emberwilde wouldn't be needing a second to assist him in battle. Instead I sat in the trainer's box on one side of the arena waiting for Brock to step into the other.

Finally Brock came and stepped into the box. "My name is Brock and I'm the gym leader of the Pewter City Gym. What's your name, challenger?"

I stared at him blankly, not understanding what importance my name should have with the battle as Emberwilde would be the one fighting, not me. I looked over to the judge and got the impression that the battle wouldn't start without me answering Brock's question. "I am the Bearer of Emberwilde," I said, trying my best to convey a tone that also said I didn't want to to explain any further. I guess it worked as the judge just shrugged his shoulders and gestured his hands to the middle of the ring.

"Onyx, I choose you!" Brock shouted as he tossed the pokeball into the middle of the ring. A flash of light and his Onyx appeared, a giant snake made of gray boulders. It's roar was almost deafening as it weaved itself around boulders that littered the arena.

I walked to the center of the ring, paying no attention to the giant rock-snake. It was Brock's creature and thus wouldn't attack unless ordered. When I got to the center, I knelt down and placed Emberwilde's pokeball gently on the dirt floor. As calmly as I strode in, I made my way out of the ring, my back to the opposing monster. Once back in the trainer's box, I spoke. "Char char. Chaaar." I took a deep breath and, as loud as I could, shouted, "Charizard!" A flash of light and Emberwilde, a Lord of the Celestial Inferno Clan, appeared in the ring. A black scorch mark on his chest denoted his status as a lord of his clan, one of only seven others strong enough to survive the flame of GodKing Final Blaze, Master of the Celestial Inferno Clan.

Brock laughed. "I guess you don't know, but your fire-type won't be enough for you to defeat my rock-type pokemon. Consider this a learning experience."

Emberwilde let loose a roar that made the Onyx's roar sound like a whisper, it rattled the ceiling and the walls, shaking even the boulders on the arena floor. The Onyx backed away several feet, lowering it's head as it did so. Emberwilde snorted a puff of smoke and turned his back on his opponent. In a low, growling voice, the Charizard spoke. "Char. Charizard char char."

I took a step back and out of the box, shaking as I did so. "Charizard. Cha cha Chaaar. Chaaarizard char chaaar," I said.

At my words, Emberwilde turned back around to face the Onyx. I stepped back into the trainer's box and nodded to the judge.

"Wait!" shouted Brock, "What is going on? Do you speak Pokemon or something?"

I nodded. "Everyone from the Tartarus Isles speaks Pokemon. You see, all of the pokemon on there are at an exceptionally high level. Since the pokemon are so strong, we learn how to speak Pokemon as a safety precaution. Some of us even learn it before English."

"So what was your Charizard saying?" Brock asked.

Reluctantly, I responded. "Emberwilde was demanding a stronger opponent. Apparently, your Onyx appears weak to him. I asked that he fight your Onyx as everyone must start here at this gym, that he'll need to go through the weaker opponents before he gets to the ones at his level."

Brock shook off the look of shock and turned it into anger. "Oh yeah, let's see who is the weak one here. Onyx, use Tackle!" The monster surged forward, it's courage renewed after hearing the resolve in his master's voice.

Emberwilde, seeing the beast racing toward him, stood his ground. At the last second he spun, swinging his tail and smashing it into the side of the Onyx's face. The blow spun the creature to the side, skidding on the dirt floor. At the same time, Emberwilde lifted himself into the air with his powerful wings, just three flaps taking him to the ceiling. Then he dropped, fast, his two feet stomping hard onto the Onyx's dazed head and burying it into the ground. He let out a roar and a jet of fire, almost drowning out the judge's voice announcing him the victor. In a flash of light, he disappeared back into his pokeball that was still sitting in the middle of the arena.

"Onyx, return," Brock said, defeated and with tears in his eyes. He made his way to the center of the ring, Boulder Badge in hand.

I picked up Emberwilde's pokeball before accepting the badge. Pinning it to the inside of my jacket, I turned to leave. "Let the other gym leaders know," I said, walking out the door, "Let them know that Emberwilde comes."





Just to get this out of the way, as you guessed, like with most of my stories I got inspiration from Reddit Writing Prompts: "You are a pokemon trainer that grew up in an extremely dangerous area dominated by high level pokemon." Next, I do want to say that I had a whole backstory to this, but just couldn't find the right place to add it all into the story. I think if I had made it longer, I could've gone into it that at the Tartarus Isles there are 3 Pokemon Clans which dominate the islands - obviously the three would be lead by the 3 starter pokemon, I just couldn't figure out a name for each of the clans - and every year one member from each clan chooses a child to take it to the Kanto region for it to battle the gym leaders (or something like that). Also, as much as I wanted to have a picture for this story, unfortunately, I don't own a Charizard yet (I have no idea where to catch them). I thought it might be cool to have a picture of me as a gym leader as well, but almost all of the gyms around me are run by pokemon in the CP2000 or higher which I've yet to break. So, yeah, no picture this time (I should really learn to draw). And finally, yes, I hate me too. I'm sure I've said it before but I don't have the healthiest relationship with fan-fiction (which, after reading back, sounds like the strangest sentence I've ever written). I hate writing it and yet I do like reading it, sometimes. Maybe I just like it when I know it's done correctly. This was NOT done correctly. Obviously, I grew up watching Pokemon and I can tell you, for sure, that Brock did not talk like this. Also, Brock battled with an Onyx AND a Geodude (I played the Red Version several times) but, just for time and because I didn't want to do it, I didn't write about Emberwilde battling Brock's second pokemon. So yeah, inconsistencies which tend to occur when I write fan-fic which, in all honesty, shouldn't be a problem since it is fan-fic, but I guess I just like it to stay as true to the source material as possible. Plus, part of me thinks of it as lazy to take a world that someone else created and to start inserting your story to it. But still, if done correctly, good stories can come out of fan-fic as well. Like I said, it isn't a healthy relationship. Anyway, hopefully, the next post comes a little faster (it shouldn't take this long between posts) especially since I am starting to compile the stories for my Call Center post.