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Okay, look. I'm obligated to say that this contains obscene material, okay? Good. And yes, I mean that I don't go ten chapters without saying the f-word once. I think. Well.... Maybe. And maybe some of it's disturbing. Oh well. So was that animal documentary thing. The one with the wolves eating other animals and all.
Point is, this could be technically rated PG-13 to rated R, depending on where you draw the line for language and inappropriate references. Or rated T if you go ESRB style. The rated T thing makes more sense for this story. So... Yeah.
Be careful. Still love you, though. ;)
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"Really? It's about time. I mean, I'm getting a head start of about negative four years here."
In the dimly lit oaken mess of a living room, there stood a mass of furniture. Preaching up the walls were unassembled shelves, holding the nothing of food the family of Pepe and his mother Mary could afford at any given time. While one might think something of the world of Pokemon to be prosperous, one ripe with life and friendship, no amount of love and family can equate to an actual morsel of food, just as how no amount of air will be the same as something solid and meaningful. On the ceiling of the shack of a house droops Angels whose form resembles that of wooden pillars ,not hopeful beings of respite. In the center preaches a table with various wrappers and scraps, praying ever to the holy lamp above- okay, enough with the church symbolisms, you came here to read Pokedruids, not some depressing article on a poorly kept house.
Aside from the shoddy everything, there sat a few worn plush dolls depicting long time favorite Pokemon such as one of an Eevee missing an eye, or a Totodile with all but one of the teeth torn off by a little child, lied about the dusty corners of this sad box of a home. The little tooth-tearing boy, who grew up to be the boy known as Pepe, who also happens to be sweeping in the middle of the room, responded to the opening statement a few paragraphs up by sustaining a neutral face while fostering a feeling of negative shock which would be best described as appaullment, except that that isn't actually a word. Apparently. Either way, a slightly dark skinned, mop headed 14 year old boy emitted the sarcastic response to the start of what would be a great milestone in his life, which is just what every Pokemon trainer awaits to hear at the age of ten, right before getting the crap beat out of him by a level 50 wandering monster, because not everyone lives in starter town. Boo-hoo.
The only vestments on this boy were his loose-fitting jeans and red sweater, of which a few holes opened to reveal a white undershirt. His Hispanic face was brutish, rough on the eyes for such a young face. Only the smallest patch of hair was atop his chin, although he was soon to receive more. One could not look at this boy without immediately thinking of the word 'peasant' or the like.
However, just as years easily take the vigor out of all but the greatest trainers, who have made the epics that are passed on until this day, it wears even more upon the will of those who cannot afford a pokeball (which would be ridiculous, considering 100 poke translates into 100 yen, which is about 0.10 USD and also happens to be the cost of a normal pokeball, which is stupid. Hence, the actual price of pokeballs is multiplied by about 1000 here. But enough economics). Pepe spoke to his mother again, but in a tone and phrase that would give reason to answer.
"I mean, yes, that sounds like fun, but I don't want you to push yourself if it means you'd have to-" and, stopping the sentence short of completion, a soft, feminine voice from a mother who goes by Mary spoke in immediate response, "Please listen. I'm not talking about buying you a pokeball or your first Pokemon myself. Instead, the professor from Ashport said he wanted to 'help another young trainer-'"
"'-another young trainer get a start in exploring the wonderful blah blah Pokemon.' Bullshit."
"Pepe!"
"I mean, the professor is full of himself! Every so often he gives out some poor Pokemon, maybe worth keeping-"
"All life is valuable, Pepe-"
"Or maybe just another overbred Zubat that lies around every corner to any trainer that doesn't have a Pokemon."
"Oh? And what's wrong with a Pokemon like that?"
Pepe opened his mouth to respond, but could not draw and rational reasoning at the moment to respond to his mother who, at the opening of pause and using the expertise of family knowledge, struck critically at the reason and true intent of her son. "You don't want to become a trainer, do you?"
"I'm not saying that it wouldn't be fun, but realistically speaking-"
"What? That all the fun of raising a Pokemon with such early vigor and high hopes would stop food from coming on the table?"
"Exactly-"
"No, not exactly you little shit. I love you and everyone needs to get to know the world of Pokemon as a kid! We share the world with creatures that use miracles as a means of life- they themselves being miracles!"
"It's just magic, mum-"
"And we have the ability to stand on mutual grounds with them! Look, maybe you think that-", and as a pause showed the disconnect between mother and son, "why are you so reluctant? I know that you know that we can do without you around the house for a while, financially speaking. Why?"
"Why what?"
"Don't play sly with me, why don't you want a Pokemon? And none of this 'food on the table' excuse."
"Well..." Pepe stood exposed and in an emotional stalemate, because he had managed to keep his true, insane, idiotic ideals behind the thick skull he knew he had, because no one else thought what he did, and even the rational part of his mind stood apart from his ethically concerned mind. He brung the inappropriately long pause to a... Pause, and responded, "I think it's unfair to capture Pokemon. I mean, what choice do they have in the matter?"
"...Honey, everyone thinks that at one point or another. I mean, even I looked at my Rattata and wondered how it felt. And we aren't supposed to know. But we do, and it's Stockholm syndrome, and humans have it, and Pokemon have it, and they enjoy it. End of story. Anyways, what could possibly be outside that could even compare to our own home's shelter and comfort?" And, as a gesture that exists only to the world of trainers, Mary reached for her belt, grabbing one small ball that could fit in her hand, half white, half red (although that would be a lie, for a small white dot protrudes on one side, the only operable exterior mechanism on the device). And with a small press, and with a small toss, and a small fizz, a small rat of purple coat came out, prepared to fight should it have been a case that called for that; But with a quick small dart of the head, and a small flick of the eyes, the tense body of the little rat went from a stiff brute's (of small size, of course) to that of a relaxed house pet, ready to face a pat on the head, a rub on the back or a meal complimentary to its existence as a prisoner in the finest of cells. "Is this the face of a prisoner?" And, almost to compliment to words of its former trainer, who stands as more of a guardian now, the Rattata smiled and shook it's head, almost to agree with Mary.
"." Spoke Pepe, although that implies a pause, and since filler is the key to good writing, I have an entire paragraph explaining what a pause is. Which is this paragraph.
A small sigh left Mary's mouth, not as a sign of frustration, but as a respite for having won a nonexistent verbal war against her son. "Now, grow a pair and walk over to professor Pine's lab."
"Ah, but what if I run into a Pokemon on the way there?" Replied Pepe sarcastically, enjoying a small bit of small talk before he left, almost savoring the defeat that was his caving into his mom.
"Then maybe whack it with a stick or something. And try not to piss it off."
"Oh, but what if it's already pissed off?" replied Pepe, sliding on his boots and preparing a backpack that almost anyone could afford, and that was affordable for a reason, and that reason being that it was prone to tears.
"Then roll over and die. Come on, you'll be like ten times bigger than anything you'll see on the way there. But, on the off chance that something poisons you or you manage an act of great stupidity," as Mary handed over a spray bottle labeled 'Antidote', "use this."
"... Thank you."
"Be careful."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you too."
And those were the last words those two would ever speak to each other again.