a couple of bw drabbles
Part of a 100 prompt table I did, but most of them are very short and too bad to post…
Grammar and etc mistakes ahoy!
007. when she was older, she finally understood
Stats:
Character(s): White, Alder, OC, N
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Friendship, acceptance, cute, good idea, <3
"Don't be ridiculous, Alder," White says firmly, hefting Bel more securely onto her hip. The squirming child giggles, fisting a tiny hand in White's shirt and burying her face in the curve of White's side. "I'm perfectly capable of facing him."
Alder hesitates. Time has been kind to him, graying his hair to a distinguished dark gray and giving him silvery stubble. Lines of age reveal laughter and kindness, and his eyes are more gentle than ever. Now, though, his brow is drawn with worried apprehension as well as compassion, looking at White with that seeking, grandfatherly concerned gaze. "White…"
"I'm happy with my life now, Alder," she says, her voice quieter and her eyes unwavering with conviction. "I'm not going to jump into his arms like some sort of teenager. N means a lot to me, but not-that."
Bel, oblivious to serious conversation, begins to giggle more maniacally as she squishes her tongue into the shirt. White gives her jolt and Bel screeches with joy. She yanks on White's shirt eagerly.
"Again! Again!"
White shushes her.
"Cheren is over at Mistralton," Alder says, reaching out for the child. "I'll give him a call for you."
"Don't you dare," White says, and though her words are harsh, her tone is poised. "I'll be the first to speak to him, thank you. And don't worry, I'll take Bel with me."
Now Alder frowns deeply, genuinely worried. "Are you sure that is a wise idea?"
"Yes," White says without hesitation. She once wouldn't have dared give the benevolent ex-Champion an order, but not anymore. "Go wait in the lobby, Alder. I'll talk to you when we're finished."
With a final uneasy glance, Alder bows his head and leaves the Champion's room. As soon as he is gone, White inhales sharply, sitting down in the middle of the battlefield and settling Bel in her lap. She fusses with Bel's black hair, to the girl's annoyance.
"Up!" the child ordered, lifting her arms imperiously. "Bel wanna go up!"
"Not now, sweetie," White soothes her. She glances to the side, where three of four bulbs have been lit. "Guess what?" White asks, lifting her hands to hide her face. She slowly moves them away, leaning closer to Bel. "You're gonna see a battle."
The girl brightens. "You and Daddy?"
"Nope! It's going to be more exciting than that," White answers with forced cheer, looking over. All four bulbs are lit. "Now, you have got to be careful; your dad's going to be pretty mad if I get you caught up in a fight again. No fighting," she reiterates, wagging a finger back and forth.
Bel giggles, imitating her. "No fi'ing!"
"Only between Pokémon."
"Pokémon!"
White's spine tingles, and the entire skin of her back ripples with a sudden sensation. She looks up, her hands falling onto Bel's shoulders; a figure has just stepped up, framed by two pillars. He keeps his distance, his face wary as he takes her in.
White returns the favor. His hair is as long as it was before, a springy green in a ponytail. He wears travel-worn clothing and a bag, but the menger sponge is conspicuously absent; instead his hand in knotted in the strap of his bag.
He doesn't say a word and neither does White.
Bel turns, squints at him. White hears her inhale before lifts a finger, pointing at him. "Fuzzy hair!"
N stares at the little girl, caught between disbelief and something White can't identify.
"Be nice, Bel," she scolds the girl. She looks up, seeing N still hovering at the edge of the steps, more uncertain than ever. "You can't back out of a League challenge, N," she reminds him. "Come here."
N obeys cautiously, eyeing the girl-who is desperately wriggling to try and run to greet him. She watches until his eyes wander from the child, meeting hers instead.
"It's been a long time, N," she says.
He looks nervous. "Yes," he agrees stiltedly, looking back down at Bel.
White beckons him closer, and closer again when he stops a good few meters away. "Bel, manners," she says firmly. Pouting, Bel settles down. "Bel, this is N. N, this is Bel."
"Your daughter," he says; it is less a question than a statement.
"Yes," she admits blandly. She lets Bel go, and Bel crawls over to N, tugging on his pants leg. "She wants you to pick her up."
N does so, with such caution and uncertainty that White has to bite back laughter. Bel immediately starts to pull on his hair, eliciting a reprimand from White.
"She has your eyes," N says eventually, struggling to keep ahold of the fidgeting child.
"Yes," White says with no small amount of pride. "Though Cheren also has blue eyes, Bianca says Bel's eyes are more my blue than his."
"Cheren…" N murmurs.
"Black hair, glasses," White supplies. "He was in Accumula with me when we met, and he was at your castle, there at the e-"
"I remember him," N interrupts.
"Daddy?" Bel says. "Is Daddy coming?"
"No, sweetie. Not yet," White answers. She gets to her feet, taking pity on N and lifting Bel from his awkward arms. With an expert movement, she flicks out a pokéball, revealing a stoutland with a baby seat fixed onto his back. "Scruffy's gonna take care of you during the battle, okay, Bel? Stay with Scruffy." She fastens Bel's seat belt and Scruffy takes off for the other side of the field, making Bel scream for more jumping.
White looks back at N, who is still watching her, a trace of uncertainty in his face.
"Before we start, N," she says, reaching for a pokéball. He does the same. "I just want to say… Thank you. Thank you, for leaving. We, we were both confused and everything was so chaotic and changing, and…it couldn't have been easy for you. Not as easy as you made it out to be. And it was the right thing to do, even if I didn't know it at the time."
N regards her for a moment. A tiny smile touches his lips. "Thank you, White," he says, and she is struck by the rich timbre of his voice and the wisdom held in his eyes. "You saved me in a place where no one could reach me, in a time where no one would… I owe everything that I am to you."
Tears touch White's eyes and some weight she had not even been aware of lifts from her. "Well, N," she says, smiling herself, "how about you show me the strength of the beliefs you have found?"
There is a pokéball in both their hands. There are twin flashes of light, and laughing, they take to the air.
Quick notes:
Wanted to do something where White acknowledges that N was right to leave. I imagine it was something that really pissed her off and upset her at the time, but with maturity, she would realize N had needed it and so had she.
Yeah, threw in some Checkmateshipping just help get rid of any romantic tones in this and go for powerful friendship. And Cheren and White named their daughter "Bel" because it's Bianca's middle name, if you're at all interested. And Bel calls Bianca "Auntie B"
And after their battle, N goes to White's house to have dinner with her, Cheren, and Bel.
009. she hates arguments
Stats:
Character(s): Elesa
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Angst, good idea, short
Elesa goes up the stairs (but it's not enough). She shuts the door, her back against it as she slides to the floor (but it's not enough). Her head sinks between her knees, arms folded over the back of her neck, her body curling forward so that her chin touches her sternum (but they're still yelling).
Her eyes are swollen now, puffy. She jumps from the floor and whips the heavy covers off her bed, tangling with her legs, and throws her shuddering body onto the bed. Cold blankets settle around her and she digs her palms into her ears.
(but she can still hear them)
Elesa wears headphones the next day.
Quick notes:
It is my personal headcanon that Elesa grew up in Nacrene City with a father/family who was not supportive of her dreams, just like Bianca's family.
Of course, not relating to this drabble (in fact, in direct conflict with it) is that I believe that Elesa's headphones are silent.
012. the ultimate disappointment
Stats:
Character(s): N, White
Time: Pre/During/Post-BW
"Tags": Character study, romance, sort of rambling and unclear, confusing tense
N loves easily and freely.
He loves the stones that build his castle, he loves the grass beneath his toes. He loves the cloudy sky and the clear sky, just as he loves snow. He loves the sound of people running in the hallway, he loves the burnt smell that means some fire Pokémon got into the kitchen, he loves sneaking out of bed at silent night.
N loves all Pokémon. He loves each woobat that stays in his castle's shelter, even if they are there for only a day, and he loves to see them evolve under his care. He loves each skittish Pokémon in the forest that flees from him in surprise, he loves the Pokémon that come to his bird feeders, even if they are not birds themselves, and he loves each fish Pokémon that has forgotten him by the next time they meet.
N there are some things that N doesn't love, of course. These are things like violence, bloodshed, conflict, cruelty, and the people who execute such things. N has never wanted nor ever will try to love trainers, or abusers, or anyone who has enslaved a single Pokémon.
Love comes easily to N, but loving White did not.
She was an irregularity. N has always had the ability to see the potential of people and Pokémon, to see what paths they might walk and which paths they may cross. Yet when N touched White, it was as if something heavy weighted his senses. It was like those before had only been strings inside of a jar while she encompassed a whole jar he couldn't quite see into.
Her Pokémon did not clarify matters, only confusing him further.
They met, again and again, and N grew more intrigued and more frustrated with her. White. She was a separate equation all on her own, but the more he studied her, the more complex she grew. She could not hear the voices of her Pokémon, yet she understood them all the same. There was a bond there, a stable, powerful bond. And there was a bond between he and her, a bond just as stable despite their differences of opinion.
So high up in the sky, trapped together in the Ferris wheel, he strained their bond to create potential energy. He could feel the tension, maximizing her potential, her Pokémon's potential, and his own potential.
It was there, building inside him. This potential…for something. The more he revealed himself to her, the more of his beliefs he shared with her, the more she looked at him, the more she smiled at him, the more she shared with him, the more they fought, he could feel the energy pounding in his veins. He could feel the overwrought bond pulling him towards her, making him see her more, urging him to convert potential into, into…
He awakened Zekrom. He couldn't make one end top heavy, she had to equal him, so he tells her of Reshiram.
When she came to him without Reshiram, the disappointment N felt was crushing. She could not match his energy with her own, and to know all her potential was going to burn up and fade away right here was a betrayal of all the energy he'd put into this bond.
But Reshiram blazed to life.
And N burnt up. He fell.
In their reaction, her energy won out.
N felt…empty. He remembered White's jar that he couldn't quite see into and wondered what it held; he wondered if his own jar held anything at all.
N needed to take himself out of context. He needed to be somewhere completely new, with nothing at all, to see into his own jar.
While he was out, N re-learned himself and the world.
He found that his jar is stuffed. His jar is filled with love again for the sky, the grass, the voices. There is second love for the Pokémon he meets and he finds a love for strangers who did so little as offer him a smile on his harsh journey. He fell in love again with chemistry, attending a summer school on it from a scholarship he earned by taking some test. He discovered that though he loves the subject, studying it with other people was distracting.
He realized there that all people have their own equations, not just White, and their equations are just as difficult.
He also realized that White is inside his jar. Not trapped, not captured-she is there, a little worn around the edges and regarding him with her blue eyes. He was surprised to realize White is in there because his feelings about her are so mixed up and jumbled, nothing like the pure and simple love he feels for the other things in his jar. She seemed out of place, as if she, the irregularity, couldn't be in the sequences the rest of the jar's objects fit into.
Then N understood that their bond was not broken.
And he understood that this fusion of memories and manifold emotions he holds for her is love. A different type of love than he feels for anything else.
So now, five years gone, he returned to Unova. Now that he knew why White is in his jar, he felt as if she radiated an aura within him. Now that he searched for her, he could feel energy seeping into him, Zekrom's power fueled by the beliefs N has found. Now that he stood in front of her little house in Accumula Town, he could feel White pounding on his jar.
N knocked.
He will always remember the moment the door opened.
The door was opened by a stranger. A man, with curly brown hair, his eyebrows shooting up until the bill of his cap hides them. "Holy shit," he said. "You must be N."
N gave a short, quick nod, feeling as though he has reached the top and now someone was stretching him sideways.
"White!" the man shouted. "White, you're gonna want to see this!"
N looked over the man's shoulder, into the cozy house. There was a low table on a rug on a wooden floor. Windows flooded the house with light. He glimpsed paintings on the walls.
White appeared, walking down the stairs. She froze when she caught sight of him, and then lurched forward, running up to stand beside the man.
"N," she said, stunned.
"Hello, White," N said. At the sight of her, the White in his jar doubled her pounding.
"You came back." She was shocked into simple sentences, shocked into an emotionless tone.
N gave her a tentative smile. "Yes."
"Well," she said, gathering her wits, "come on in! Oh, N. This is Black, my fiancé. Black, this is N, that guy who-"
Black said something, holding his hand out to N, and N took it numbly.
The jar, in his chest, had grown suddenly still.
And when N took Black's hand, he knew Black's path.
White took N on the Ferris wheel. They went around and around as N told her everything about his journey. He explained about the jars and told her that he loves her, without any hope or expectation of reciprocation. White took his hand, and he felt again the impenetrability of her future. He felt the ring on her finger.
She told him that she loves him too, as Reshiram loves Zekrom. The sort of love that bound you together.
N understood.
He went to their wedding.
White is still in his life. They still talk often over the Xtransceiver. They sometimes battle. Sometimes Zekrom comes back N, and N knows he's been with Reshiram.
White is still in his jar.
Quick notes:
Wasn't sure how to end it…Kinda like, loving White was so hard for him it was the "ultimate disappointment" when she wouldn't love him back, and continues to haunt him
014. answering a question with another question
Stats:
Character(s): Black, Cheren
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Romance, cute
"Hey man," Black greeted Cheren as he entered the room, and though he settled himself in a chair beside Cheren, tension remained in Black's frame. Cheren grunted, not looking up from the microscope. "How've you been?"
"Well," Cheren answered. "You?"
"Good." Black hesitated, glancing around. "…Hey, guess what."
There was a long pause; Black didn't continue. Cheren pulled back to give him an exasperated look before returning to the microscope. "What?"
Black laughed rather nervously. "Well, get this: White is convinced you're gay."
Cheren snorted scornfully. "Really."
"Yeah. But you know what's even more crazy?"
"What's even more crazy," Cheren said.
Black scoffed, "She thinks that you like me."
"Is that so."
"Yeah. She even grabbed a rolled up newspaper and started whacking me around the head for being 'oblivious.'" Black laughed again. "Get a twin sister and she thinks she knows a man better than he knows himself, right?"
"Quite so."
There was silence as Black watched Cheren adjust his microscope. Cheren's hair was mussed from clearly an all-nighter, and his blue jacket discarded, along with his glasses. There were gouges beneath his eyes from exhaustion and pressing his eye to the microscope. Several empty coffee cups were piled together on the next table next to an encyclopedia.
"Do you like me?" Black asked impulsively.
Cheren's pale hands hesitated on the knobs of the microscope. "Do you like me?"
Time was agonizing. Answers churned on Black's face but Cheren wasn't looking. "No," he said.
"There's your answer," Cheren responded. "I don't like you either."
"Right," Black said, forcing a grin. "Of course not, man. I knew White was delusional." He pounded Cheren on the back, causing Cheren to hiss when it moved his microscope. "Whoops, sorry."
"Not your fault," Cheren said quietly.
And they sat in a silence filled by secrets.
Quick notes:
I saw the prompt and immediately thought of the confession scenario, and I was like "what would make confessing someone even harder?" and was like "well, if you didn't whether they were gay."
And voilà, this.
I actually kinda like how it came out.
039. once, she managed to glimpse his shadow
Stats:
Character(s): Hilda (White), Cheren
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Friendship, tragedy, regret, lame ending, but good idea
"Huh," Hilda said, musing. "The Battle Subway? It sounds familiar…"
Cheren nodded, walking alongside her. "We weren't in town for it, but Team Plasma tried to forcibly shut it down."
"They did?" Hilda said, surprised, then: "Oh yeah! I remember hearing about that. Elesa was pissed. She missed a bunch of photo shoots because she was chasing down Team Plasma, and I remember some people were pretty upset with her…" Hilda trailed off, her mouth twisting. Some people had cared more about Elesa missing her photo shoots than they had about the attack itself.
The two friends jogged down the steps that led to the underground subway system. The steps opened into a gigantic chamber, filled with people hurrying onto different subway lines and staggering off others. But in the center of the room was a statue of a pokéball, cracked open as if a Pokémon was about to leap from it.
"That's new," Cheren said in surprise, reaching up to adjust his glasses, like he was making sure the giant thing was really there. Before Hilda could even open her mouth to comment, Cheren was striding through the crowd to reach the statue. There was a plaque in front of it, with golden words embossed onto the black plate.
Hilda's step faltered as she saw Cheren go suddenly still. Cheren was a fidgety type, unsurprisingly; he had little patience. To see him freeze, his chest jerking as if his breath snagged… Hilda sped up, reaching the plaque. There was a photograph on there, and beside it the text read:
HILBERT BLACK
He who dedicated himself fully
and faced the end with bravery and determination,
and the strength to forgive his adversaries.
d. December 21, 2011
"I met him," Cheren said blankly. "It…it was only for a day. The two of us went on the Multi-Line together as a tag team-we beat all seven contestants."
Hilda, numb, touched the death date. "It was my birthday," she said. "I was on Route 6. Mom kept calling me, every hour, but I fell into the river and my Xtransceiver shorted out…"
"They killed him," Cheren said. "When I was in Chargestone Cave. I…ran into a couple of Team Plasma grunts, and I said…'oh, not you again…' and I just sort of creamed the ones I ran into and left. It wasn't…efficient…to hang around and beat the rest…"
Hilda took Cheren's hand uncertainly, knowing he wouldn't want her looking at him right now. Instead she saw again forgive, and she thought of someone she'd promised she would forget.
How to…
Quick notes:
Terrible ending.
But the main point was that Hilbert Black (I called them Hilda and Hilbert in order to give Hilbert a last name) sacrificed himself to stop Team Plasma and the "shadow" (legacy) he leaves awes Hilda.
The bit about forgiving hits her hard because of N, I suppose.
047. on the cusp of friendship
Stats:
Character(s): Cheren, N, White
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Cute, musings, friendship, good idea
To say that Cheren dislikes N isn't adequate. It doesn't cover the the multitude of dirty looks N inspires in Cheren, each more scathing or outright suspicious than the previous; it doesn't cover the way that Cheren's eyes narrow just a little whenever he hears N's name, or whenever he's thinking about N, or whenever he can tell White is thinking about N; it doesn't begin to describe Cheren's twisting sarcasm or cynical witticisms.
To that that N dislikes Cheren would also be inadequate. Dislike wouldn't include the long, expressionless stares N gives Cheren's back, or his face; it doesn't explain the pause, too long to be a hesitation, most definitely deliberate, each time before N responds to Cheren; it doesn't account for N's passive aggressive behavior around Cheren, the sneaky sort of passive aggressive as if he doesn't want anyone to notice.
They are both reticent young men, with intense, internal passion. They are dedicated to Pokémon and are skilled in battle. But above all, they both are dear friends of White's.
They both have something of a soft spot for her.
And White is nothing if not stubborn.
Quick notes:
I imagine that Cheren and N would not get along, in a really quiet, passive-aggressive kind of way, but they'd ignore it (mostly) as a favor to White. And interacting with each other through her, they'd develop a grudging friendship.
idk
056. the world of toys
Stats:
Character(s): N, Ghetsis
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Family, character study-ish, good idea
A boy sits on the floor, a toy train in his lap and a thick book spread open beside him. He idles with the train, his fingers feeling its dimensions, picking at its wheels, spinning them, as his eyes travel over the pages of the book. As he absently reaches over to turn the page, he hesitates, his lone hand stilling as the other traces over a section of text. Decisively, he abandons the train car to tear the page out of the book as carefully as he can, frowning with dissatisfaction at the uneven edge. He smoothes the paper out before laying it beside him, on top of other such papers. A pile of them has grown, their edges lined up as precisely as they can be.
His hands return to the train, finding the axels of its wheels.
A knock on the door.
The boy looks up sharply.
The door opens, and he squints against the light it brings. The hulking silhouette enters the room, robes lisping over the worn carpet. There is a pause, and then in a reluctant rustle, the man kneels.
His red eye is level with the boy's.
"My lord N," he says, his voice an unfamiliar, human rumble.
"Sage Ghetsis," N acknowledges, spinning the train's wheels. "I was told you would be by."
"Yes. And how are my lord's studies?" the man inquires, his head dipping forward confidentially. Waves of green tilt toward N.
"Well," N says. "I learn much."
"And what is this?" Ghetsis murmurs, allowing his eye to linger in N's lap. N draws the train closer. "I thought you had outgrown such trivialities, Lord. And why do you sit on the floor? I believe I told Concordia and Anthea to break you of this habit."
"It helps me think," N answers, turning the train over in his hands. "Both."
"You are twelve years of age, my lord N," Ghetsis says. "Heroes do not require children's toys." There is a leaden pause, and he adds, "Unova awaits its King. All of suffering Pokémon kind await their savior. But you are not yet ready, Lord N."
N's jaw clenches.
"No," repeats Ghetsis, his robes groaning as he gets to his feet, "twelve years past is not yet enough, not enough to disconnect a human from his baubles. But the Hero's path is untrodden, untouched, and we cannot understand. Take your time, Lord N."
He lumbers out of the room, the heavy door creaking as it swings shut, the triangle of outside light cut off.
N stares down at the paper in the dimness. He looks, seeing the train still held in his hands. He lifts it, sets it aside, and stretches himself out on the floor, his nose nearly touching the page of the book.
He read with great care, and, so scrupulously, tore out another page.
Quick notes:
In which N is trapped in a world of toys, a toy himself in Ghetsis's game.
I put in the ripping pages (taboo) part to show N really doesn't know the rules.
079. she knows the path to ruin too well
Stats:
Character(s): Anthea/Concordia, N
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Drama, character study, good idea
She sees it sometimes. In his eyes, in his face, in his hands-she sees the signs. He lives in a black and white world, a world written in equation and formulae, with convenient equal and unequal signs, with greater than and less than, with variables that can be tracked and measured and defined.
He is the writer of equations, he is the maker of formulae, the observer and the definer, the ruler and wrecker. He is so far removed that he does not understand the road beneath his feet; he only knows that the power is in his hands, in his words-and she knows the power is only in his mind.
Sometimes she strokes his hair, carding her fingers through its rough strands. She smoothes it away from his face carefully, working back the layers until he stares up at her with stark eyes. They are so unlike his father's, a grainy, pebbly sort of gray-blue that looks silver in the right light.
In the right light, she can see her own reflection.
Quick notes:
nm
just sort of rambled
081. when it ended, only the two of them were standing
Stats:
Character(s): The Two
Time: During BW climax
"Tags": Drama, short
Everything was in shambles. Everything was in shambles.
The castle had collapsed into black rubble, its walls reduced to sizzling, melted stone. Lightning had made scorches of the floor, now ankle-deep in gray ash, and fire impossibly flickered and burned in huddles. The air was black with smoke, billowing as if dancing in victory, or contorting in desperate escape. It poured from the remains as if it would never stop.
Grandeur was left to memory, shattered into a multitudinous defeat.
When it was done, only White and Reshiram still stood.
Quick notes:
nm
085. full circle; we've ended where we began
Stats:
Character(s): White, N
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Fluff (because they're so childish), drama
She wrinkles her nose at him. "No, silly! White is not a Pokémon!" she exclaims with righteous indignation. "White is human, just like you!"
"I not a human," the little boy informs her solemnly. "I Pokémon."
"No you are not," she protests. She reaches out, taking his hand and showing him hers. "See!" she says, glowing with triumph. "You got fife fingerws and you got a nose and two eyes! And you talk! You arwe human, like White!"
The boy lifts his chin. "You not look human. Humans, orange hair, and second skin on heads." He plucks at his dirty shirt.
Now the girl scowls. "All humans looks differwent, stupid."
"I not stupid."
"Arwe too!"
"Not stupid!"
"Are stupid! You can not even talk right!"
"I talk fine!"
"No," the girl persists. "It should be 'I am not stupid' not 'I not stupid.'" She snickers. "That how babies talk."
"I not baby!" the boy protests, starting to get riled up.
"Arwe too!" she cries gleefully. "But White is all grown up." She preens for a moment, happily touching her hair.
The boy, shoulders drawn back, declares, "I a pri-I am a prince."
She looks him over dubiously, taking in his scruffy appearance from the twig-tangled hair to the bare feet to his torn, and liberally stained, shirt. "No you arwe not," she says scornfully. "Prwince of the bugs, maybe."
"I am!" the boy says. As the girl denies his title, he grows more agitated, all but hopping with emotion he does not know how to express. "I-I-I-I-I will a Hero!"
"Well," she says reasonably, lifting her hands palms-up to her shoulder height, "if you arwe a prince, where is yourw castle?"
"It at home," he says, relieved. "Not here."
"Hmm," she says. "How White know you are telling the truth?"
His brown furrows. "What?"
"You could be lying," she points out.
"I not!!"
"Okay, okay," she says hurriedly, frightened by his outburst. "Well, if you a prince, the' you mus' slay a drwagon."
"Ssslay?" he asks, confused.
The girl mimes swinging a sword. "Or catch'ure one," she amends.
He draws himself up. "Never!"
"Then you arwe not a prince!" she hollers at him. "Knew it! Knew it! 'Cause if you a prwince, then you hafta be human! You stupid, don' wanna be human! Knew it, yerw a liar! Liar, liar, yerw human-"
"Shuttup!" he screams, throwing himself at her. The two tumble, clawing at each other and screeching at the top of their young lungs. He catches a fistful of hair and pulls as hard as he can; unfortunately for him, she is a girl well-versed in human flaws. She drives her knee into his crotch, stunning him into limpness.
White, crying, her hair tangled, jumps off him, hiccuping. "Take that!" she cries. "Take that, you liar!" She tries to stick her tongue out but is too busy sniffling.
He is contorted on the ground, a noise like a shrill train whistle emitting from his throat.
Hysteria bubbles in White, pitting her between laughter and sobs.
"You pulled my hair," she whimpers. "It hurts."
He continues to lie on the ground, moaning in agony.
She touches her hair, uncertainty flickering through her face. She kneels, reaching out to him.
He, having regained enough of his reasoning to process and understand, drags himself away from her, breathing heavily and each exhale is a groan of pain. She stops, her hands falling to her sides as her tears renew.
"Sorrwy," she whispers, trying to comprehend and drawing a blank.
He staggers to his feet, all but diving away until the forest obscures him.
Quick notes:
Little White lives in White Forest, where she meets little N. (Unlike my original idea, they do not become friends in this drabble.)
So this is supposed to function as parallel to their final battle/meeting in BW. It's sorta funny to reduce their ideological argument to "you stupid" and "not!", heehee.
092. a reason to live
Stats:
Character(s): Cheren
Time: Pre/During/Post-BW
"Tags": Character study, lame ending
Cheren can't tell White and Bianca, who are both so worried, why he needs battles to feel alive. He doesn't know himself.
All he knows is that when he was little and saw a Pokémon battle for the first time in person, it was as if lightning had struck him; as if he had been electrified and fried and turned inside out. It was a message from some higher being, if he had ever believed, that this was it. There could be nothing more.
Is there? Is there something more than strength? Can there be more than victory?
Alder is old. He is slow, physically, and when it rains he walks as if his bones ache. His voice is low, but his laugh is lower, like booms of thunder. His skin has the paths of life he has tread etched onto it, especially around his eyes. Framed by his wrinkles, Alder's eyes are kind, gentle, and a little scatterbrained. (Maybe it's just age, but Alder forgets the most basic information, making Cheren wonder just how much attention the man is paying in the first place, and has epiphanies of memory at the most random moments. Somehow it all works out, though-even if he forgets your birthday, as he does every year, he somehow manages to find you something you once sighed over or needed.)
There is an all but countless amount of different moves, and each can be applied and combined in undiscovered ways to create spectacular effects. There are seventeen types, each with its own weaknesses, advantages, and dangers, and some have immunities. There are ever-changing, ever-growing items Pokémon can hold, influencing different Pokémon in different ways, achieving distinct effects and set backs.
Pokémon battle requires study. It requires memorization.
It is not a fight between brutes, unless the said fight is occurring between little overenthusiastic brats.
Cheren has a lot to learn.
Quick notes:
Idk, it seemed to fit.
Someday I really would like to explore the Alder and Cheren dynamic…
095. the storyteller
Stats:
Character(s): Shauntal, OC
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": General, character study
Shauntal's dad used to always tuck her in at night, pulling her sheets and blankets all the way up to her little chin.
"To keep you safe from the monsters," he explained with a chuckle.
Then, perched comfortably on the side of the bed, his daughter staring up at him with eyes already blind without glasses, he would tell her a story. Every night was a new story and the beginning of a next, but he would leave off the end, poking her cheeks teasingly and telling her dream it up.
So she did. Every night after he left with a good-night kiss, she lay awake, thinking and scheming, trying to figure out the right ending like it was a math problem at school. And each morning she awoke with many, many endings in her head, many ways the story could go, and listened carefully when Daddy finally settled her down in bed to hear the right ending and find out if she solved it wrong.
One time, frustrated, she told him an ending she particularly liked, and was surprised when he liked it too.
"Maybe it should have gone that way," he said, amused. "It's certainly more interesting to have the zombies come back and crush him."
When he dies he leaves a story unfinished.
Shauntal has written that story many times but has never liked any version of it. Hundreds of different endings, and yet there is not one of them she likes even a little.
She realizes that maybe some stories don't have a right ending; and then she realizes that no story has a right ending.
Some of them will never have an ending at all.
Quick notes:
Random, but I had to do Shauntal for "storyteller"
Tense shift near the end is deliberate.
099. the jump
Stats:
Character(s): White, Black
Time: Any
"Tags": Family, twin-ness, friendship, relationship study, ambiguous ending
Black and White are not brother and sister. They are twins, something completely different.
They look alike.
They eat the same foods.
They play the same games.
They say the same things.
They are the same.
It's strange, their names-Black and White. White and Black. They are opposites, as far as far can be, the line between them a clear division. And yet White thinks they breathe the same breaths, their hearts beat the same beats, their feet follow the same prints and step in unison; there could never be someone like Black to her.
Cheren and Bianca don't understand.
Cheren once said that they each are half, so neither twin is complete without the other. White disagrees. To her, "half" is a divided amount, that distinct line between black and white. This chunk is Black, this chunk is White. When a note is played on a violin, you can't say this half of the sound comes from this end, and this half comes from that end. White and Black are intrinsically intermixed in a way that cannot be divided up.
It is so Cheren to approach the question in a mathematical way.
Bianca once called them soulmates, that their souls magically slot together in some way that others' cannot. "Soulmate" means they have separate souls, and White doesn't think they do. They are separate expressions and manifestation of the same soul. It is as if their soul is a spring that falls into two pools, little burbling waterfalls feeding into the Black-Spring and White-Spring. There are little differences as time wears on, but they are essentially the same.
It is so Bianca to approach the question in such a fairy-tale way.
White asks Black, once and last, what he thinks.
Black looks at her, not as if she is stupid but rather that the answer is hiding in plain sight. They don't need to define it to themselves or to others, they need merely be and breathe.
They are twins.
But in the end, Black jumps alone.
Quick notes:
A Black and White as twins :)
I started out with the idea that White and Black are twins and they do everything together. The catch would be that the whole story is spent describing, trying to capture, what unity and togetherness they have (as they face Team Plasma and struggle with N), and then end with the contrast and implications that "Black jumps alone," and since this is from White's PoV, all the weight of guilt that implies.
But the description of their journey just turned into listing and being boring, so I went with Cheren and Bianca, ended on twins, and I was considering whether to take out my planned last line, but then I remembered there's actually a prompt I'm following, heheh… I'm not sure if this really fills the prompt, but…
Grammar and etc mistakes ahoy!
007. when she was older, she finally understood
Stats:
Character(s): White, Alder, OC, N
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Friendship, acceptance, cute, good idea, <3
"Don't be ridiculous, Alder," White says firmly, hefting Bel more securely onto her hip. The squirming child giggles, fisting a tiny hand in White's shirt and burying her face in the curve of White's side. "I'm perfectly capable of facing him."
Alder hesitates. Time has been kind to him, graying his hair to a distinguished dark gray and giving him silvery stubble. Lines of age reveal laughter and kindness, and his eyes are more gentle than ever. Now, though, his brow is drawn with worried apprehension as well as compassion, looking at White with that seeking, grandfatherly concerned gaze. "White…"
"I'm happy with my life now, Alder," she says, her voice quieter and her eyes unwavering with conviction. "I'm not going to jump into his arms like some sort of teenager. N means a lot to me, but not-that."
Bel, oblivious to serious conversation, begins to giggle more maniacally as she squishes her tongue into the shirt. White gives her jolt and Bel screeches with joy. She yanks on White's shirt eagerly.
"Again! Again!"
White shushes her.
"Cheren is over at Mistralton," Alder says, reaching out for the child. "I'll give him a call for you."
"Don't you dare," White says, and though her words are harsh, her tone is poised. "I'll be the first to speak to him, thank you. And don't worry, I'll take Bel with me."
Now Alder frowns deeply, genuinely worried. "Are you sure that is a wise idea?"
"Yes," White says without hesitation. She once wouldn't have dared give the benevolent ex-Champion an order, but not anymore. "Go wait in the lobby, Alder. I'll talk to you when we're finished."
With a final uneasy glance, Alder bows his head and leaves the Champion's room. As soon as he is gone, White inhales sharply, sitting down in the middle of the battlefield and settling Bel in her lap. She fusses with Bel's black hair, to the girl's annoyance.
"Up!" the child ordered, lifting her arms imperiously. "Bel wanna go up!"
"Not now, sweetie," White soothes her. She glances to the side, where three of four bulbs have been lit. "Guess what?" White asks, lifting her hands to hide her face. She slowly moves them away, leaning closer to Bel. "You're gonna see a battle."
The girl brightens. "You and Daddy?"
"Nope! It's going to be more exciting than that," White answers with forced cheer, looking over. All four bulbs are lit. "Now, you have got to be careful; your dad's going to be pretty mad if I get you caught up in a fight again. No fighting," she reiterates, wagging a finger back and forth.
Bel giggles, imitating her. "No fi'ing!"
"Only between Pokémon."
"Pokémon!"
White's spine tingles, and the entire skin of her back ripples with a sudden sensation. She looks up, her hands falling onto Bel's shoulders; a figure has just stepped up, framed by two pillars. He keeps his distance, his face wary as he takes her in.
White returns the favor. His hair is as long as it was before, a springy green in a ponytail. He wears travel-worn clothing and a bag, but the menger sponge is conspicuously absent; instead his hand in knotted in the strap of his bag.
He doesn't say a word and neither does White.
Bel turns, squints at him. White hears her inhale before lifts a finger, pointing at him. "Fuzzy hair!"
N stares at the little girl, caught between disbelief and something White can't identify.
"Be nice, Bel," she scolds the girl. She looks up, seeing N still hovering at the edge of the steps, more uncertain than ever. "You can't back out of a League challenge, N," she reminds him. "Come here."
N obeys cautiously, eyeing the girl-who is desperately wriggling to try and run to greet him. She watches until his eyes wander from the child, meeting hers instead.
"It's been a long time, N," she says.
He looks nervous. "Yes," he agrees stiltedly, looking back down at Bel.
White beckons him closer, and closer again when he stops a good few meters away. "Bel, manners," she says firmly. Pouting, Bel settles down. "Bel, this is N. N, this is Bel."
"Your daughter," he says; it is less a question than a statement.
"Yes," she admits blandly. She lets Bel go, and Bel crawls over to N, tugging on his pants leg. "She wants you to pick her up."
N does so, with such caution and uncertainty that White has to bite back laughter. Bel immediately starts to pull on his hair, eliciting a reprimand from White.
"She has your eyes," N says eventually, struggling to keep ahold of the fidgeting child.
"Yes," White says with no small amount of pride. "Though Cheren also has blue eyes, Bianca says Bel's eyes are more my blue than his."
"Cheren…" N murmurs.
"Black hair, glasses," White supplies. "He was in Accumula with me when we met, and he was at your castle, there at the e-"
"I remember him," N interrupts.
"Daddy?" Bel says. "Is Daddy coming?"
"No, sweetie. Not yet," White answers. She gets to her feet, taking pity on N and lifting Bel from his awkward arms. With an expert movement, she flicks out a pokéball, revealing a stoutland with a baby seat fixed onto his back. "Scruffy's gonna take care of you during the battle, okay, Bel? Stay with Scruffy." She fastens Bel's seat belt and Scruffy takes off for the other side of the field, making Bel scream for more jumping.
White looks back at N, who is still watching her, a trace of uncertainty in his face.
"Before we start, N," she says, reaching for a pokéball. He does the same. "I just want to say… Thank you. Thank you, for leaving. We, we were both confused and everything was so chaotic and changing, and…it couldn't have been easy for you. Not as easy as you made it out to be. And it was the right thing to do, even if I didn't know it at the time."
N regards her for a moment. A tiny smile touches his lips. "Thank you, White," he says, and she is struck by the rich timbre of his voice and the wisdom held in his eyes. "You saved me in a place where no one could reach me, in a time where no one would… I owe everything that I am to you."
Tears touch White's eyes and some weight she had not even been aware of lifts from her. "Well, N," she says, smiling herself, "how about you show me the strength of the beliefs you have found?"
There is a pokéball in both their hands. There are twin flashes of light, and laughing, they take to the air.
Quick notes:
Wanted to do something where White acknowledges that N was right to leave. I imagine it was something that really pissed her off and upset her at the time, but with maturity, she would realize N had needed it and so had she.
Yeah, threw in some Checkmateshipping just help get rid of any romantic tones in this and go for powerful friendship. And Cheren and White named their daughter "Bel" because it's Bianca's middle name, if you're at all interested. And Bel calls Bianca "Auntie B"
And after their battle, N goes to White's house to have dinner with her, Cheren, and Bel.
009. she hates arguments
Stats:
Character(s): Elesa
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Angst, good idea, short
Elesa goes up the stairs (but it's not enough). She shuts the door, her back against it as she slides to the floor (but it's not enough). Her head sinks between her knees, arms folded over the back of her neck, her body curling forward so that her chin touches her sternum (but they're still yelling).
Her eyes are swollen now, puffy. She jumps from the floor and whips the heavy covers off her bed, tangling with her legs, and throws her shuddering body onto the bed. Cold blankets settle around her and she digs her palms into her ears.
(but she can still hear them)
Elesa wears headphones the next day.
Quick notes:
It is my personal headcanon that Elesa grew up in Nacrene City with a father/family who was not supportive of her dreams, just like Bianca's family.
Of course, not relating to this drabble (in fact, in direct conflict with it) is that I believe that Elesa's headphones are silent.
012. the ultimate disappointment
Stats:
Character(s): N, White
Time: Pre/During/Post-BW
"Tags": Character study, romance, sort of rambling and unclear, confusing tense
N loves easily and freely.
He loves the stones that build his castle, he loves the grass beneath his toes. He loves the cloudy sky and the clear sky, just as he loves snow. He loves the sound of people running in the hallway, he loves the burnt smell that means some fire Pokémon got into the kitchen, he loves sneaking out of bed at silent night.
N loves all Pokémon. He loves each woobat that stays in his castle's shelter, even if they are there for only a day, and he loves to see them evolve under his care. He loves each skittish Pokémon in the forest that flees from him in surprise, he loves the Pokémon that come to his bird feeders, even if they are not birds themselves, and he loves each fish Pokémon that has forgotten him by the next time they meet.
N there are some things that N doesn't love, of course. These are things like violence, bloodshed, conflict, cruelty, and the people who execute such things. N has never wanted nor ever will try to love trainers, or abusers, or anyone who has enslaved a single Pokémon.
Love comes easily to N, but loving White did not.
She was an irregularity. N has always had the ability to see the potential of people and Pokémon, to see what paths they might walk and which paths they may cross. Yet when N touched White, it was as if something heavy weighted his senses. It was like those before had only been strings inside of a jar while she encompassed a whole jar he couldn't quite see into.
Her Pokémon did not clarify matters, only confusing him further.
They met, again and again, and N grew more intrigued and more frustrated with her. White. She was a separate equation all on her own, but the more he studied her, the more complex she grew. She could not hear the voices of her Pokémon, yet she understood them all the same. There was a bond there, a stable, powerful bond. And there was a bond between he and her, a bond just as stable despite their differences of opinion.
So high up in the sky, trapped together in the Ferris wheel, he strained their bond to create potential energy. He could feel the tension, maximizing her potential, her Pokémon's potential, and his own potential.
It was there, building inside him. This potential…for something. The more he revealed himself to her, the more of his beliefs he shared with her, the more she looked at him, the more she smiled at him, the more she shared with him, the more they fought, he could feel the energy pounding in his veins. He could feel the overwrought bond pulling him towards her, making him see her more, urging him to convert potential into, into…
He awakened Zekrom. He couldn't make one end top heavy, she had to equal him, so he tells her of Reshiram.
When she came to him without Reshiram, the disappointment N felt was crushing. She could not match his energy with her own, and to know all her potential was going to burn up and fade away right here was a betrayal of all the energy he'd put into this bond.
But Reshiram blazed to life.
And N burnt up. He fell.
In their reaction, her energy won out.
N felt…empty. He remembered White's jar that he couldn't quite see into and wondered what it held; he wondered if his own jar held anything at all.
N needed to take himself out of context. He needed to be somewhere completely new, with nothing at all, to see into his own jar.
While he was out, N re-learned himself and the world.
He found that his jar is stuffed. His jar is filled with love again for the sky, the grass, the voices. There is second love for the Pokémon he meets and he finds a love for strangers who did so little as offer him a smile on his harsh journey. He fell in love again with chemistry, attending a summer school on it from a scholarship he earned by taking some test. He discovered that though he loves the subject, studying it with other people was distracting.
He realized there that all people have their own equations, not just White, and their equations are just as difficult.
He also realized that White is inside his jar. Not trapped, not captured-she is there, a little worn around the edges and regarding him with her blue eyes. He was surprised to realize White is in there because his feelings about her are so mixed up and jumbled, nothing like the pure and simple love he feels for the other things in his jar. She seemed out of place, as if she, the irregularity, couldn't be in the sequences the rest of the jar's objects fit into.
Then N understood that their bond was not broken.
And he understood that this fusion of memories and manifold emotions he holds for her is love. A different type of love than he feels for anything else.
So now, five years gone, he returned to Unova. Now that he knew why White is in his jar, he felt as if she radiated an aura within him. Now that he searched for her, he could feel energy seeping into him, Zekrom's power fueled by the beliefs N has found. Now that he stood in front of her little house in Accumula Town, he could feel White pounding on his jar.
N knocked.
He will always remember the moment the door opened.
The door was opened by a stranger. A man, with curly brown hair, his eyebrows shooting up until the bill of his cap hides them. "Holy shit," he said. "You must be N."
N gave a short, quick nod, feeling as though he has reached the top and now someone was stretching him sideways.
"White!" the man shouted. "White, you're gonna want to see this!"
N looked over the man's shoulder, into the cozy house. There was a low table on a rug on a wooden floor. Windows flooded the house with light. He glimpsed paintings on the walls.
White appeared, walking down the stairs. She froze when she caught sight of him, and then lurched forward, running up to stand beside the man.
"N," she said, stunned.
"Hello, White," N said. At the sight of her, the White in his jar doubled her pounding.
"You came back." She was shocked into simple sentences, shocked into an emotionless tone.
N gave her a tentative smile. "Yes."
"Well," she said, gathering her wits, "come on in! Oh, N. This is Black, my fiancé. Black, this is N, that guy who-"
Black said something, holding his hand out to N, and N took it numbly.
The jar, in his chest, had grown suddenly still.
And when N took Black's hand, he knew Black's path.
White took N on the Ferris wheel. They went around and around as N told her everything about his journey. He explained about the jars and told her that he loves her, without any hope or expectation of reciprocation. White took his hand, and he felt again the impenetrability of her future. He felt the ring on her finger.
She told him that she loves him too, as Reshiram loves Zekrom. The sort of love that bound you together.
N understood.
He went to their wedding.
White is still in his life. They still talk often over the Xtransceiver. They sometimes battle. Sometimes Zekrom comes back N, and N knows he's been with Reshiram.
White is still in his jar.
Quick notes:
Wasn't sure how to end it…Kinda like, loving White was so hard for him it was the "ultimate disappointment" when she wouldn't love him back, and continues to haunt him
014. answering a question with another question
Stats:
Character(s): Black, Cheren
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Romance, cute
"Hey man," Black greeted Cheren as he entered the room, and though he settled himself in a chair beside Cheren, tension remained in Black's frame. Cheren grunted, not looking up from the microscope. "How've you been?"
"Well," Cheren answered. "You?"
"Good." Black hesitated, glancing around. "…Hey, guess what."
There was a long pause; Black didn't continue. Cheren pulled back to give him an exasperated look before returning to the microscope. "What?"
Black laughed rather nervously. "Well, get this: White is convinced you're gay."
Cheren snorted scornfully. "Really."
"Yeah. But you know what's even more crazy?"
"What's even more crazy," Cheren said.
Black scoffed, "She thinks that you like me."
"Is that so."
"Yeah. She even grabbed a rolled up newspaper and started whacking me around the head for being 'oblivious.'" Black laughed again. "Get a twin sister and she thinks she knows a man better than he knows himself, right?"
"Quite so."
There was silence as Black watched Cheren adjust his microscope. Cheren's hair was mussed from clearly an all-nighter, and his blue jacket discarded, along with his glasses. There were gouges beneath his eyes from exhaustion and pressing his eye to the microscope. Several empty coffee cups were piled together on the next table next to an encyclopedia.
"Do you like me?" Black asked impulsively.
Cheren's pale hands hesitated on the knobs of the microscope. "Do you like me?"
Time was agonizing. Answers churned on Black's face but Cheren wasn't looking. "No," he said.
"There's your answer," Cheren responded. "I don't like you either."
"Right," Black said, forcing a grin. "Of course not, man. I knew White was delusional." He pounded Cheren on the back, causing Cheren to hiss when it moved his microscope. "Whoops, sorry."
"Not your fault," Cheren said quietly.
And they sat in a silence filled by secrets.
Quick notes:
I saw the prompt and immediately thought of the confession scenario, and I was like "what would make confessing someone even harder?" and was like "well, if you didn't whether they were gay."
And voilà, this.
I actually kinda like how it came out.
039. once, she managed to glimpse his shadow
Stats:
Character(s): Hilda (White), Cheren
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Friendship, tragedy, regret, lame ending, but good idea
"Huh," Hilda said, musing. "The Battle Subway? It sounds familiar…"
Cheren nodded, walking alongside her. "We weren't in town for it, but Team Plasma tried to forcibly shut it down."
"They did?" Hilda said, surprised, then: "Oh yeah! I remember hearing about that. Elesa was pissed. She missed a bunch of photo shoots because she was chasing down Team Plasma, and I remember some people were pretty upset with her…" Hilda trailed off, her mouth twisting. Some people had cared more about Elesa missing her photo shoots than they had about the attack itself.
The two friends jogged down the steps that led to the underground subway system. The steps opened into a gigantic chamber, filled with people hurrying onto different subway lines and staggering off others. But in the center of the room was a statue of a pokéball, cracked open as if a Pokémon was about to leap from it.
"That's new," Cheren said in surprise, reaching up to adjust his glasses, like he was making sure the giant thing was really there. Before Hilda could even open her mouth to comment, Cheren was striding through the crowd to reach the statue. There was a plaque in front of it, with golden words embossed onto the black plate.
Hilda's step faltered as she saw Cheren go suddenly still. Cheren was a fidgety type, unsurprisingly; he had little patience. To see him freeze, his chest jerking as if his breath snagged… Hilda sped up, reaching the plaque. There was a photograph on there, and beside it the text read:
HILBERT BLACK
He who dedicated himself fully
and faced the end with bravery and determination,
and the strength to forgive his adversaries.
d. December 21, 2011
"I met him," Cheren said blankly. "It…it was only for a day. The two of us went on the Multi-Line together as a tag team-we beat all seven contestants."
Hilda, numb, touched the death date. "It was my birthday," she said. "I was on Route 6. Mom kept calling me, every hour, but I fell into the river and my Xtransceiver shorted out…"
"They killed him," Cheren said. "When I was in Chargestone Cave. I…ran into a couple of Team Plasma grunts, and I said…'oh, not you again…' and I just sort of creamed the ones I ran into and left. It wasn't…efficient…to hang around and beat the rest…"
Hilda took Cheren's hand uncertainly, knowing he wouldn't want her looking at him right now. Instead she saw again forgive, and she thought of someone she'd promised she would forget.
How to…
Quick notes:
Terrible ending.
But the main point was that Hilbert Black (I called them Hilda and Hilbert in order to give Hilbert a last name) sacrificed himself to stop Team Plasma and the "shadow" (legacy) he leaves awes Hilda.
The bit about forgiving hits her hard because of N, I suppose.
047. on the cusp of friendship
Stats:
Character(s): Cheren, N, White
Time: Post-BW
"Tags": Cute, musings, friendship, good idea
To say that Cheren dislikes N isn't adequate. It doesn't cover the the multitude of dirty looks N inspires in Cheren, each more scathing or outright suspicious than the previous; it doesn't cover the way that Cheren's eyes narrow just a little whenever he hears N's name, or whenever he's thinking about N, or whenever he can tell White is thinking about N; it doesn't begin to describe Cheren's twisting sarcasm or cynical witticisms.
To that that N dislikes Cheren would also be inadequate. Dislike wouldn't include the long, expressionless stares N gives Cheren's back, or his face; it doesn't explain the pause, too long to be a hesitation, most definitely deliberate, each time before N responds to Cheren; it doesn't account for N's passive aggressive behavior around Cheren, the sneaky sort of passive aggressive as if he doesn't want anyone to notice.
They are both reticent young men, with intense, internal passion. They are dedicated to Pokémon and are skilled in battle. But above all, they both are dear friends of White's.
They both have something of a soft spot for her.
And White is nothing if not stubborn.
Quick notes:
I imagine that Cheren and N would not get along, in a really quiet, passive-aggressive kind of way, but they'd ignore it (mostly) as a favor to White. And interacting with each other through her, they'd develop a grudging friendship.
idk
056. the world of toys
Stats:
Character(s): N, Ghetsis
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Family, character study-ish, good idea
A boy sits on the floor, a toy train in his lap and a thick book spread open beside him. He idles with the train, his fingers feeling its dimensions, picking at its wheels, spinning them, as his eyes travel over the pages of the book. As he absently reaches over to turn the page, he hesitates, his lone hand stilling as the other traces over a section of text. Decisively, he abandons the train car to tear the page out of the book as carefully as he can, frowning with dissatisfaction at the uneven edge. He smoothes the paper out before laying it beside him, on top of other such papers. A pile of them has grown, their edges lined up as precisely as they can be.
His hands return to the train, finding the axels of its wheels.
A knock on the door.
The boy looks up sharply.
The door opens, and he squints against the light it brings. The hulking silhouette enters the room, robes lisping over the worn carpet. There is a pause, and then in a reluctant rustle, the man kneels.
His red eye is level with the boy's.
"My lord N," he says, his voice an unfamiliar, human rumble.
"Sage Ghetsis," N acknowledges, spinning the train's wheels. "I was told you would be by."
"Yes. And how are my lord's studies?" the man inquires, his head dipping forward confidentially. Waves of green tilt toward N.
"Well," N says. "I learn much."
"And what is this?" Ghetsis murmurs, allowing his eye to linger in N's lap. N draws the train closer. "I thought you had outgrown such trivialities, Lord. And why do you sit on the floor? I believe I told Concordia and Anthea to break you of this habit."
"It helps me think," N answers, turning the train over in his hands. "Both."
"You are twelve years of age, my lord N," Ghetsis says. "Heroes do not require children's toys." There is a leaden pause, and he adds, "Unova awaits its King. All of suffering Pokémon kind await their savior. But you are not yet ready, Lord N."
N's jaw clenches.
"No," repeats Ghetsis, his robes groaning as he gets to his feet, "twelve years past is not yet enough, not enough to disconnect a human from his baubles. But the Hero's path is untrodden, untouched, and we cannot understand. Take your time, Lord N."
He lumbers out of the room, the heavy door creaking as it swings shut, the triangle of outside light cut off.
N stares down at the paper in the dimness. He looks, seeing the train still held in his hands. He lifts it, sets it aside, and stretches himself out on the floor, his nose nearly touching the page of the book.
He read with great care, and, so scrupulously, tore out another page.
Quick notes:
In which N is trapped in a world of toys, a toy himself in Ghetsis's game.
I put in the ripping pages (taboo) part to show N really doesn't know the rules.
079. she knows the path to ruin too well
Stats:
Character(s): Anthea/Concordia, N
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Drama, character study, good idea
She sees it sometimes. In his eyes, in his face, in his hands-she sees the signs. He lives in a black and white world, a world written in equation and formulae, with convenient equal and unequal signs, with greater than and less than, with variables that can be tracked and measured and defined.
He is the writer of equations, he is the maker of formulae, the observer and the definer, the ruler and wrecker. He is so far removed that he does not understand the road beneath his feet; he only knows that the power is in his hands, in his words-and she knows the power is only in his mind.
Sometimes she strokes his hair, carding her fingers through its rough strands. She smoothes it away from his face carefully, working back the layers until he stares up at her with stark eyes. They are so unlike his father's, a grainy, pebbly sort of gray-blue that looks silver in the right light.
In the right light, she can see her own reflection.
Quick notes:
nm
just sort of rambled
081. when it ended, only the two of them were standing
Stats:
Character(s): The Two
Time: During BW climax
"Tags": Drama, short
Everything was in shambles. Everything was in shambles.
The castle had collapsed into black rubble, its walls reduced to sizzling, melted stone. Lightning had made scorches of the floor, now ankle-deep in gray ash, and fire impossibly flickered and burned in huddles. The air was black with smoke, billowing as if dancing in victory, or contorting in desperate escape. It poured from the remains as if it would never stop.
Grandeur was left to memory, shattered into a multitudinous defeat.
When it was done, only White and Reshiram still stood.
Quick notes:
nm
085. full circle; we've ended where we began
Stats:
Character(s): White, N
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": Fluff (because they're so childish), drama
She wrinkles her nose at him. "No, silly! White is not a Pokémon!" she exclaims with righteous indignation. "White is human, just like you!"
"I not a human," the little boy informs her solemnly. "I Pokémon."
"No you are not," she protests. She reaches out, taking his hand and showing him hers. "See!" she says, glowing with triumph. "You got fife fingerws and you got a nose and two eyes! And you talk! You arwe human, like White!"
The boy lifts his chin. "You not look human. Humans, orange hair, and second skin on heads." He plucks at his dirty shirt.
Now the girl scowls. "All humans looks differwent, stupid."
"I not stupid."
"Arwe too!"
"Not stupid!"
"Are stupid! You can not even talk right!"
"I talk fine!"
"No," the girl persists. "It should be 'I am not stupid' not 'I not stupid.'" She snickers. "That how babies talk."
"I not baby!" the boy protests, starting to get riled up.
"Arwe too!" she cries gleefully. "But White is all grown up." She preens for a moment, happily touching her hair.
The boy, shoulders drawn back, declares, "I a pri-I am a prince."
She looks him over dubiously, taking in his scruffy appearance from the twig-tangled hair to the bare feet to his torn, and liberally stained, shirt. "No you arwe not," she says scornfully. "Prwince of the bugs, maybe."
"I am!" the boy says. As the girl denies his title, he grows more agitated, all but hopping with emotion he does not know how to express. "I-I-I-I-I will a Hero!"
"Well," she says reasonably, lifting her hands palms-up to her shoulder height, "if you arwe a prince, where is yourw castle?"
"It at home," he says, relieved. "Not here."
"Hmm," she says. "How White know you are telling the truth?"
His brown furrows. "What?"
"You could be lying," she points out.
"I not!!"
"Okay, okay," she says hurriedly, frightened by his outburst. "Well, if you a prince, the' you mus' slay a drwagon."
"Ssslay?" he asks, confused.
The girl mimes swinging a sword. "Or catch'ure one," she amends.
He draws himself up. "Never!"
"Then you arwe not a prince!" she hollers at him. "Knew it! Knew it! 'Cause if you a prwince, then you hafta be human! You stupid, don' wanna be human! Knew it, yerw a liar! Liar, liar, yerw human-"
"Shuttup!" he screams, throwing himself at her. The two tumble, clawing at each other and screeching at the top of their young lungs. He catches a fistful of hair and pulls as hard as he can; unfortunately for him, she is a girl well-versed in human flaws. She drives her knee into his crotch, stunning him into limpness.
White, crying, her hair tangled, jumps off him, hiccuping. "Take that!" she cries. "Take that, you liar!" She tries to stick her tongue out but is too busy sniffling.
He is contorted on the ground, a noise like a shrill train whistle emitting from his throat.
Hysteria bubbles in White, pitting her between laughter and sobs.
"You pulled my hair," she whimpers. "It hurts."
He continues to lie on the ground, moaning in agony.
She touches her hair, uncertainty flickering through her face. She kneels, reaching out to him.
He, having regained enough of his reasoning to process and understand, drags himself away from her, breathing heavily and each exhale is a groan of pain. She stops, her hands falling to her sides as her tears renew.
"Sorrwy," she whispers, trying to comprehend and drawing a blank.
He staggers to his feet, all but diving away until the forest obscures him.
Quick notes:
Little White lives in White Forest, where she meets little N. (Unlike my original idea, they do not become friends in this drabble.)
So this is supposed to function as parallel to their final battle/meeting in BW. It's sorta funny to reduce their ideological argument to "you stupid" and "not!", heehee.
092. a reason to live
Stats:
Character(s): Cheren
Time: Pre/During/Post-BW
"Tags": Character study, lame ending
Cheren can't tell White and Bianca, who are both so worried, why he needs battles to feel alive. He doesn't know himself.
All he knows is that when he was little and saw a Pokémon battle for the first time in person, it was as if lightning had struck him; as if he had been electrified and fried and turned inside out. It was a message from some higher being, if he had ever believed, that this was it. There could be nothing more.
Is there? Is there something more than strength? Can there be more than victory?
Alder is old. He is slow, physically, and when it rains he walks as if his bones ache. His voice is low, but his laugh is lower, like booms of thunder. His skin has the paths of life he has tread etched onto it, especially around his eyes. Framed by his wrinkles, Alder's eyes are kind, gentle, and a little scatterbrained. (Maybe it's just age, but Alder forgets the most basic information, making Cheren wonder just how much attention the man is paying in the first place, and has epiphanies of memory at the most random moments. Somehow it all works out, though-even if he forgets your birthday, as he does every year, he somehow manages to find you something you once sighed over or needed.)
There is an all but countless amount of different moves, and each can be applied and combined in undiscovered ways to create spectacular effects. There are seventeen types, each with its own weaknesses, advantages, and dangers, and some have immunities. There are ever-changing, ever-growing items Pokémon can hold, influencing different Pokémon in different ways, achieving distinct effects and set backs.
Pokémon battle requires study. It requires memorization.
It is not a fight between brutes, unless the said fight is occurring between little overenthusiastic brats.
Cheren has a lot to learn.
Quick notes:
Idk, it seemed to fit.
Someday I really would like to explore the Alder and Cheren dynamic…
095. the storyteller
Stats:
Character(s): Shauntal, OC
Time: Pre-BW
"Tags": General, character study
Shauntal's dad used to always tuck her in at night, pulling her sheets and blankets all the way up to her little chin.
"To keep you safe from the monsters," he explained with a chuckle.
Then, perched comfortably on the side of the bed, his daughter staring up at him with eyes already blind without glasses, he would tell her a story. Every night was a new story and the beginning of a next, but he would leave off the end, poking her cheeks teasingly and telling her dream it up.
So she did. Every night after he left with a good-night kiss, she lay awake, thinking and scheming, trying to figure out the right ending like it was a math problem at school. And each morning she awoke with many, many endings in her head, many ways the story could go, and listened carefully when Daddy finally settled her down in bed to hear the right ending and find out if she solved it wrong.
One time, frustrated, she told him an ending she particularly liked, and was surprised when he liked it too.
"Maybe it should have gone that way," he said, amused. "It's certainly more interesting to have the zombies come back and crush him."
When he dies he leaves a story unfinished.
Shauntal has written that story many times but has never liked any version of it. Hundreds of different endings, and yet there is not one of them she likes even a little.
She realizes that maybe some stories don't have a right ending; and then she realizes that no story has a right ending.
Some of them will never have an ending at all.
Quick notes:
Random, but I had to do Shauntal for "storyteller"
Tense shift near the end is deliberate.
099. the jump
Stats:
Character(s): White, Black
Time: Any
"Tags": Family, twin-ness, friendship, relationship study, ambiguous ending
Black and White are not brother and sister. They are twins, something completely different.
They look alike.
They eat the same foods.
They play the same games.
They say the same things.
They are the same.
It's strange, their names-Black and White. White and Black. They are opposites, as far as far can be, the line between them a clear division. And yet White thinks they breathe the same breaths, their hearts beat the same beats, their feet follow the same prints and step in unison; there could never be someone like Black to her.
Cheren and Bianca don't understand.
Cheren once said that they each are half, so neither twin is complete without the other. White disagrees. To her, "half" is a divided amount, that distinct line between black and white. This chunk is Black, this chunk is White. When a note is played on a violin, you can't say this half of the sound comes from this end, and this half comes from that end. White and Black are intrinsically intermixed in a way that cannot be divided up.
It is so Cheren to approach the question in a mathematical way.
Bianca once called them soulmates, that their souls magically slot together in some way that others' cannot. "Soulmate" means they have separate souls, and White doesn't think they do. They are separate expressions and manifestation of the same soul. It is as if their soul is a spring that falls into two pools, little burbling waterfalls feeding into the Black-Spring and White-Spring. There are little differences as time wears on, but they are essentially the same.
It is so Bianca to approach the question in such a fairy-tale way.
White asks Black, once and last, what he thinks.
Black looks at her, not as if she is stupid but rather that the answer is hiding in plain sight. They don't need to define it to themselves or to others, they need merely be and breathe.
They are twins.
But in the end, Black jumps alone.
Quick notes:
A Black and White as twins :)
I started out with the idea that White and Black are twins and they do everything together. The catch would be that the whole story is spent describing, trying to capture, what unity and togetherness they have (as they face Team Plasma and struggle with N), and then end with the contrast and implications that "Black jumps alone," and since this is from White's PoV, all the weight of guilt that implies.
But the description of their journey just turned into listing and being boring, so I went with Cheren and Bianca, ended on twins, and I was considering whether to take out my planned last line, but then I remembered there's actually a prompt I'm following, heheh… I'm not sure if this really fills the prompt, but…