Pokémon Fanatic Fiction
The door slammed open. The occupants of the tavern all turned to find a silhouette standing against the storm and the rain outside. Dripping wet, the figure emerged into the scene, seemingly caring not for the dampness of garb. Rain water trickled down from the wide brim of her dark hat, leaned low over her face, and gently splattered onto her shoulders, on which draped a coal black jacket, wrapped tightly around her form. Its collar was turned up, and, with the shade of the head piece, conceal all of her face and hair save a ghostly pale chin and a devilish pair of jet lips. Peaking out from beneath the coat was a long, flowing black dress, adhered to her legs, with a seductive slit running up high, revealing a milky white tight. The thick, leather boots that ran up to her knees made no sound as she gracefully swept in, not a thud, not a squeak. Her hands hung motionless from her dark cuffs, not even twitching from brisk weather. A table of stout, gruff men eyed her for every step of her entrance, jesting and making crude comments as pleased before bursting into a fury of laughter. They thought she could not hear their words. They were wrong. Maintaining stolidity, she silently crept to the nearest stool at the bar, perching herself hunched over, heedlessly dripping over the barkeeps wares, awaiting service. He doubtfully eyed her, at least what parts he could see.
"Ma'am," he hesitated, "you better have some identification on you, 'cuz I don't just let-" In an abrupt swing of her arm, she slammed a stack of coins on the bar's top. He gave her a stare, despite the inability of their eyes to meet. Before he could rebut, the woman's hand slipped away, revealing the pile to be of glistening gold. They sparkled in his wide open eyes. "One mug coming up," he said with an uncontrolled smile. As he filled a flagon of ale, the distant men rabbled on with their own ideas. Cheering one on, a sole member departed the table and approached the mysterious woman, taking the stool besides her. Motionless, she heeded him not and blindly accepted her liquor.
"That seems like a bit strong of a drink," the fellow attempted being sly at saying, "for someone as dainty as y-" The stein met her lips and tipped steeply back as the spirituous drink flowed down with ease. "Oh, so you're a little tough, aye, girlie? Well, I like 'em tough," he sinisterly hissed. The words phased her not as she remained draining the vessel. The buck began to grow restless. "Listen here, you freakin' wench, you and I are gonna have us a little fun, okay?" His insisting still fell past. "Oh, don't think for a second that I believe you can't hear me. And don't think that you have a choice in the matter, either," he threat, drawing his hand towards her.
While the rest of her body stayed stable, quaffing her drink, her free arm, in a flash, reached to the slit on her dress where, in a holster strapped to her leg, she pulled out a pistol. Never looking, each of its barrels lined up directly with the punk's eyes. His body froze with his hand inches from her in complete fear, too scared to breathe or even sweat. The whole populace of the pub did the same as the woman merely sat, gun to the thug's face, finishing her mead, her outstretched arm never wavering. Gently, she set down the mug, emptied completely, rose from her seat, and silently walked out the door, the whole time with the firearm aimed directly at the man's head the entire time. As she slipped from out the doors, the entire bar exhaled their stilled breath. The ruffian, now pale white and beaded with sweat, pivoted around to the bar, not even noting his damper pants, to order a much needed drink.
"Man, what was that chick's problem?" he rhetorically spouted. He barkeep only shook his head as he filled up a pint.
"Be glad you got off as easy as you did," the bartender noted. "Most don't escape with their life." Turning, he cast a stern eye upon him. "Do you know who that was?" The miscreant stared, clueless, as he slide forward his drink. "I saw it. I saw it on her hand when she pulled the arm on you. You're very lucky indeed. You just survived the Black Thorn." Unwittingly, the hoodlum gagged, spraying his drink forth.
Accounts of Rei's life as written in her journal
I seemed to have caused quite the ruckus. The stories of the last Rocket are greatly known, although accepted as a myth more than fact. Usually they blow it far out of proportion. Perhaps, though, I should start from the beginning.
Long ago, how long I cannot remember anymore, in my fragile childhood, my father was killed by Rockets on one of his frequent trips afar to claim badges. His only possession recovered from that day was the vessel for his most prized monster, which housed the soul of the deceased Charizard. The ire and hatred in the air upon his death twisted its spirit into a vengeful phantom, but this was unknown to me at the time. I took the family business upon my shoulders and tried to live my life of solitude. Years later, I caught a Pokemon of my own, Wrath, only to discover that it already had a master, who disposed of it in my local surroundings. He was scouting for a band of Rockets, seeking easy targets to raid. During an emergency leave I took for a friend, they struck, razing my hometown to cinder and ash. This was the point were I lost it. I swore on my life that Rocket would pay, all Rockets. Even if it meant hunting them all down, one by one.
I began attacking their hideouts. Travelling from village to village, I'd bring them the same destruction they brought me. The buildings were utterly leveled. Anyone in side, well, just was not to fortunate. It was through this method that I claimed the men who vanquished my father. I killed them, all, in cold blood. This cost me, however, for as I faced the man who dealt the final blow to my father, Wrath paid the ultimate price. In its departure, Vengeance, the long slumbered Gengar, was awakened, and proved a valuable ally. Eventually, I found the head of the Rockets, but things were not as I thought. Rocket had been working to engineer the ultimate monster from the DNA of the most powerful ones known. With the cooperation of the Silph Corporation, they succeeded, but greed had gnawed their noble roots over time, and their lust for power overcame their intentions to do right. Yes, the Rockets had meant to vindicate a grave sin, for I was beside their leader as he lay dying, uttering his final words. He told me of how -
"Still writing in that?" Shade sighed uneasily. "Why don't you give it a break?" Rei grunted, slamming her journal shut.
"It's important that I write this," she responded. "I want people to know." The dark drabbed figure remained casually munching a piece of fruit clutched in his pale hand.
"But," he spoke, mouth full, "isn't that what the first part of that thing's for? You're just repeating it." The girl shrugged.
"Well," she thought up a reply, "the first half might get damaged, and then people who may read it won't know what's going on."
"Yeah, but by that logic," he countered, "shouldn't you have pieces of the later part in the beginning?" Rei cast a stare, and Shade knew to start being quite. Finishing his morsel, he gazed out to the first golden hints of dawn on the horizon. Letting out a whistle, he then told her, "I should probably get going. The city of Kaghane can't rule itself." The summoned Yasha swept down from the sky and carried him off in the wind. She watched as he faded from view.
"Yeah, I should be doing the same," she said to herself, reaching into her bag of belongings. "I can finish writing this another time, besides," she conjured as she pulled out a sleek, double-barreled hang gun, "I have work to do."
Pokemon and Pokemon characters are property of Game Freaks, Creatures, and Nintendo. I did not make them nor do I take credit for them. However, most characters and various other things included in this fanatic fiction are of my creation, so hands off!
Last Modified - 1/4/03 | Established - 1/1/03