Chapter Text
The Trainer with Two Heads
Soft whispering floats through my mind like autumn wind through dry leaves, thankfully drowning out the grating clamor of the crowd. Free’s keystone is a little heavy on my shoulder, and the stares feel even heavier, but his gentle whispers are worth it. Besides, I’d never consider my first Pokémon a burden.
He makes the gauntlet of tracking down the tournament sign-in bearable, but only barely. The summer sun forces me to squint across the manicured public park, and I have to hold my hand up to block the worst of it as I look for the likely signs. Foldable picnic tables, a line beginning to form, maybe even a literal sign for the Summer Break Bash Brawl, anything to clue me in how I can get the sign-up over with and get off the sun-roasted grass into the shade of the trees. Even with Free’s gentle murmuring from their perch on my shoulder, I feel my face screwing up into a grimace, independent of my squint.
Suddenly, a soft presence descends onto my head. Soft, navy blue cloth presses down on my messy mop of mossy green hair, and the world is cloaked in darkness.
I blink, adjusting my vision to the vague shapes and opening my eyes fully. I realize that I can still make out the inviting forms of Pokéball flags and banners through the cloth, and smile. I reach up to scratch my third oldest friend on top of her head, and the silky texture of the Shuppet feels kind to my bitten-down fingernails.
“Thanks, Softie.”
Her chirrups sound like someone shaking a cloth bag of wooden buttons and my smile grows ever wider.
There is a small uproar in my left ear like the crashing of a wave, and I reach up with my other hand to give Free’s keystone an appreciative pat. “Oh, You’re BOTH absolute lifesavers, and today, I’m going to…” I trail off, my mind descending through memories of the world of good my only real friends have done for me. “I’m going to START repaying your kindness, all of you, today.”
I see the crowd parting for me as I approach the red and white tablecloth of what must be the sign-up desk, and through Softie’s heavy fabric, the menacing eyes of two dozen strangers mercifully blur into harmless smears of color.
I can do this. I NEED to do this.
It’s time.
A Pokémon tournament, especially one that’s free to enter, is bound to attract all kinds.
Youngsters, bikers, breeders, fishermen, bug catchers, and even a few pokemaniacs in costume were bound to show up, heat wave be damned, but this guy was new.
Red was no stranger to Pokémon tournaments, but few strangers were stranger than this.
A tall, lanky trainer with two heads awkwardly cuts through the crowd, three glowing eyes sweeping the crowd and seemingly reveling in the wide berth so generously given to them.
Red tugs on the brim of his hat and narrows his eyes.
A Spiritomb is perched on the trainer’s shoulder, his neck tilted disconcertingly askew to make room for it, and the coursing flames wreath the ghostly forms of the Odd Keystone and the Shuppet this trainer has taken as a hat.
Despite himself, Red takes a step back from the sign-up table, letting him go first.
He’s not afraid. He’s just giving this oddity some extra study. He doesn’t want to get taken by surprise if this is some ace ghost type specialist who has decided to crash a low-level tournament for kicks. Red crosses his arms, his mouth pulling into a thin line.
A green, greasy bedhead pokes out from underneath the Shuppet’s fabric like wiry weeds bristling from cracked pavement. He wears a dingy, drab, slate gray hoodie, seemingly ignorant of the heat wave today, and his (formerly) blue jeans are in no better shape.
Red would rather judge someone as an opponent, or from how they would treat someone weaker than them….but when he sees the raggedy state of this stranger’s sneakers, he can’t help but draw some conclusions. Red quickly takes his eyes off of his opponents shoes, looking back up to where the trainer's face should be, but he only sees dark fabric, purple flames, and three ghostly eyes bearing down on him.
The stranger holds his hands at about waist level, fidgeting with his nails as he tilts his head even further.
“Oh…” A hollow voice softly intones.
The ragged trainer catches his eyes from behind his veil, and Red sees him reach for something jutting from his pocket.
Thankfully, the sign-in doesn’t ask for a trainer ID. First hurdle passed.
The lady sitting behind the desk is quiet, but seems to be polite as I grab a pen from the little cup and lean down to write my name. I feel Free’s keystone roll forward a little bit, and grin as his power spills down my spine, pulling him back into balance.
Knowing my friend is safe and stable, I put ink to paper. The first box is much easier to fill in than the second. It’s not like they can check my trainer ID.
Name: Ben
Age: 10
Pokemon:
I pause, and search among the other papers on the table for something official looking.
RULES:
ONE POKEMON
NO HELD ITEMS
NO BATTLE ITEMS
BEST OF ONE MATCHES
SINGLE ELIMINATION
There we go. Only one Pokémon, that sounds right. Double battles might be fun…might be…but I don’t want to start out with anything complex. Nice one on one fights. Win three matches in a row for first place, I think. My eyes continue to scour the table for important information. Information that might make or break this whole mission, hiding in plain sight.
PRIZES:
FIRST PLACE: THREE GREAT BALLS
SECOND PLACE: THREE POTIONS
THIRD PLACE: THREE ORAN BERRIES
There it is. Three whole pokeballs, all for free, and I just have to win three times in a row. The Summer Break Bash Brawl was made for youngsters, sponsored by the Parent Teachers Association, and hopefully small enough that I have a chance. A real chance to do right by my best friends in the whole world. I press my hand over Jammy’s jar in my pocket, my thumb running over the well-worn aluminum lid and nervously fidgeting the little button thing on top. I snap out of my thoughts and bring my pen back to the sign-up sheet.
Name: Ben
Age: 10
Pokemon:
SoftieShuppet
A familiar chill interrupts my smile, and unfortunately, it’s not the ghostly flames blocking out the chaotic noise of the crowd.
I stand upright, putting a concerned hand to Free and balancing them in the crook of my neck. Something isn’t right.
The lady behind the desk continues to sit there, staring at me. Bad sign.
I look around and notice that a trainer standing to my right is staring at me rather intensely. He looks…angry? His face is pulled into what might be righteous indignation; or is it just intensity? His arms are crossed, and his legs are apart just so for stability and strength. He might be very mad at me. What have I done wrong? I think back, my hand fidgeting with Jammy’s lid as my mind races.
“Oh…..” I finally get out.
He frowns. Another bad sign!
“Did I…. cut you in line?”
He shakes his head! He still glares at me from beneath his hat, so I think I upset him. He looks strong, or at least mad. Why would he lie? Maybe I did something REALLY bad!
I take a step back, and offer him the pen. I quickly realize my mistake, and take a step FORWARD instead. Taking a step back to get out of his way would come next. “Y-Your turn!” I say, and offer him a toothy grin, forgetting that my Shuppet is covering my face.
He slowly takes the ballpoint peace offering, and steps to the sign-up sheet.
Name: Red
Age: 10
Pokemon: Pikachu
He accepts the gift, and I inwardly praise Arceus.
My mind ruffles through its internal notepad of things to say. Good luck out there? Can’t wait to battle you? Is Pikachu your favorite Pokémon? Oh! Is Pikachu your first Pokémon! I can work with that because…okay, Softie ISN’T my first Pokémon, but third is close enough to first that I could swing it, talk about how I raised Jammy, or found Free! Those are fun stories, and then I could turn it around on him, ask him how he met Pikachu! If he likes Pikachu half as much as I love Jammy, there’s a super fun story to tell there!
I take a deep breath, my fingers gripping Jammy’s lid in preparation for spinning the yarn of ‘making my first friend.’ Maybe he knows something about why Jammy is a different color from other Grimers?
The words die in my throat as I see his eyes.
Red is not someone who gets intimidated easily. Douche always tried to get a rise out of him, and always failed. He will beat Blue, and he will beat this glowering creep too.
When he finishes writing in his name and Pokémon, he confirms the stare burning into the back of his neck. This guy is still staring at him, and it doesn’t look like he is going to stop soon.
Red sees a pale, skinny hand reaching into filthy jean pockets, and doesn’t have time for a pre-tournament dick measuring contest. He takes a deep breath for some spooky banter, but Red knows the kind of pre-battle chirps to expect. Save it for before the fight itself. Red turns and leaves the sign-up table, purposefully walking tall and keeping his eyes forward. The crowd is all staring at the trainer with two heads, but Red isn’t going to let himself get put off. He’s going to put those great balls to good use, but he doesn't want to spend too much time on this cakewalk. Pikachu can feel that something is off, and lets himself out of his ball, hopping up onto his shoulder for a pat.
“Hey, bud. You ready to sweep this?”
“Pika-chu!” The little champion puffs out his chest adorably.
“That’s what I like to hear!”
It’s a while before Red spots the trainer with two heads again. The Spiritomb has not budged from his shoulder, but the Shuppet has been unseated, and Red gets a chance to see his real face for the first time, the Shuppet silently orbiting his off-kilter head.
He has a full head of spiky green hair, a thin and narrow looking face, and a haunted expression, but most of his attention is taken up by the bright purple eyes. Specifically, how that trainer is still staring directly at him from beneath the shade of some nearby trees.
Red turns back to his Pikachu, ready to continue Quick Attack training, when the school principal/event organizer speaks through their faded megaphone.
“THE FIRST ROUND IS ABOUT TO BEGIN! PLEASE MAKE ROOM WITH YOUR FIRST OPPONENT WHEN YOUR NAMES ARE CALLED AND WAIT FOR MY MARK!”
Red straightens his hat and tries to ignore the trio of eyes burning into him.