Gardevoir Girl
^Don't call me that
One girl, starting her Pokemon journey… with a rather uncooperative partner. One boy, on the run from his past, trying to survive purely in the present. Two destinies, entwined inseparably, each soul unaware that the fates are guiding them closer to their true path.
How will they survive in a world where traitors and murderers smile at you on the street, where anyone you pass could be your darkest nightmare in disguise?
But they must succeed. For if they fail, all will end…
This story has a key to make it easier to understand.
* is a breaker I use to change the narrating character within a chapter.
*~*~* is a breaker I use to indicate passage of time but keep the same narrator.
“This” is when a Pokemon speaks and I’ve translated what it’s saying.
“This” is humans speaking or telepathy.
This is used for thoughts, memories and other stuff that goes on inside the character’s mind.
The prologue is in third person, but all future chapters will be in first person. Oh, and by the way, the rating is PG-14 for violence, a little blood and dark themes, but there is one chapter that I'll have to temporarily increase the rating for.
BBRRIINNGG!!!
A gaudy pink alarm clock began its shrill ringing from on top of its pine cabinet beside the heaped bed as the first rays of sunlight began to spill joyfully into the room, illuminating the avalanche of clothes and books scattered in heaps all over the floor. The monstrous, many-coloured pile of blankets on the bed shifted slightly; a pale-skinned arm clawed its way to freedom, the long-fingered hand groping around for the alarm clock until it finally knocked it onto the floor. With a crash, the clock shattered, spilling cogs all over the rosewood floor.
The hand clawed again at the patched and faded blankets, finally clearing enough space for a head to emerge. The mass of frizzy, dark blonde hair made its owner resemble an angry albino Jigglypuff. Two sleepy chestnut eyes blinked from beneath this mop of hair, then screwed closed as the girl stifled a yawn.
“Happy birthday, Marisa,” she murmured to herself.
After a moment of hesitation, Marisa kicked off her blankets and crawled out of bed, carefully avoiding the broken remains of her alarm clock. Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she made her way to the closet, kicked aside a heap of undersized children’s clothing and yanked open the green-painted closet door. Unsurprisingly, there was hardly anything inside. Another yawn shook her body as she gazed into the mirror on the inside of the door, seeing a slender, unimpressive ten-year-old girl with very little cleavage, wearing a bright blue nightdress that barely covered her backside. It had fit perfectly when she was eight.
Marisa cast a glance at her bedroom door to make sure it was closed, then shed her nightdress in favour of a simple outfit. Once dressed in her black shorts and aqua blue T-shirt, which featured the logo of a band called Jezebel’s Curse, she examined herself in the mirror and felt only a sense of relief that it fitted. She didn’t really like the shirt; her mother had picked it out for her earlier that year.
Finished with examining herself, Marisa began to search in the bottom of her closet for her favourite mauve backpack. She had last seen it months earlier…
…somewhere.
She dropped down onto her hands and knees and began to dig through a pile of shoes that no longer fitted. It was surprising how many different pairs she had, including soccer shoes, sandals, high-heeled shoes… She came to a halt, holding up a pair of pink satin ballet slippers. She couldn’t even remember taking ballet lessons…
There was no backpack among the shoes. Marisa rose to her feet again and nudged the closet door closed, then turned slowly to face the disaster zone that was her bedroom. She practically needed an Escape Rope to find the door from amongst all of her junk. She had been meaning to get rid of some of it, but there was always some sort of distraction.
With a sigh, Marisa resigned herself to searching for her backpack in the mountains of discarded possessions. She raised one hand to her face in imitation of a walkie-talkie. “Pshht… Marisa West calling in for backup. Repeat, Marisa West needs backup. And maybe a team of Growlithe to find me. I’m going in… pshht…” She dropped her hand, took a deep breath and waded into the sea of clothing on a rescue mission for her backpack.
Meanwhile, not so far away, a young boy awakened to the sound of clanging. He shook his head to wake himself up, blinking eyes of a muddy green colour. His long, lank hair flopped about his face, so filthy that it was impossible to tell if the natural colour really was black or not.
The boy levered himself up on his hands and knees and brushed dirt and food scraps off the tattered rags that barely passed as clothing. His skin was coated thickly in grime, although one could see just by looking at him that his natural skin colour was very dark indeed, almost completely black.
William crawled out of the overturned garbage can in which he had been sleeping. The early morning sunlight blinded him, piercing his eyes like sharp pins. He shielded them with his arm and squinted until the world came into focus.
William tilted his head slightly, noticing what had made the clanging sound that had woken him. He was crouching in a filthy alleyway behind a fast-food restaurant and a short teenage cook with a bad case of acne had just flung a bag of garbage into an enormous dumpster. The teen paused to give William a strange, searching look and, in response, he scuttled behind his garbage can to hide. He felt safer when he was out of sight.
As soon as the man had gone inside again, William leaped to his feet and scrambled into the dumpster. He landed lightly, his bare feet sinking deeply into piles of garbage. With a moan of longing, he fell upon the new black bag and tore it open, his fingers digging into the plastic and shredding it easily. The stench of rotting food assailed his nostrils but he ignored it and began sifting through the bag’s contents, occasionally coming across a scrap of stale and greasy food and cramming it hungrily into his mouth.
After he had eaten his fill, he crawled out of the dumpster again and dropped lightly to the ground. Now that hunger was not clouding his senses, he could take stock of his surroundings and decide where to go next. Ever since he had fled from the place he once called home, he had been frantically searching for a particular building. As of yet, however, he had had no luck with finding it.
He slipped one hand into his pocket, his questing fingers pushing aside scraps of rotting food and dead insects before finally brushing against the edge of a filthy scrap of paper. His grip tightened and he drew it out. Unfolding it and spreading it on the ground, he found himself gazing down on a greasy, yellowed map which showed a bird's-eye view of the city; unfortunately, the top of the map had torn, which was the main reason he had not known that his goal was here in Veilstone City.
William's finger traced a crayoned path scribbled over the map, its journey culminating with a scrawled circle around a particular warehouse. It must be close; he could practically taste it. He crammed the map back into his pocket, so eager to reach his goal that he could think of nothing else.
He moved silently to the edge of the alleyway and peered around the corner, checking for danger. Fate must have intervened, because at that moment the crowds in the city parted slightly and allowed the boy a glimpse of one of the buildings along the street. His heart leaped into his throat; it was a plain office building, but it was the one he had been searching for.
The building had no sign. It was three stories tall and built of grey brick in order to make to look inconspicuous. William stole toward it on silent feet, but his pounding heart was enough to give him away. He had searched almost all of Sinnoh and been on the run for months, but finally it would all be worthwhile.
The building was unguarded; it was surprising, considering the precious cargo inside, yet William had been expecting it. If the occupants wished to remain inconspicuous, they would have to relinquish their right to a guard.
It was a simple matter for William to sneak around to the back of the building without attracting too much attention. He found a sufficiently concealed window and pressed both palms flat against it, pausing to feel any vibrations caused by movement inside the room beyond. He felt nothing and braced his shoulders, leaning all of his weight against the glass.
A delicate, fractured white line traced itself along the glass as, with a sharp crack, the window began to split from the pressure. The unpainted wooden frame was splintering and with a sudden crunch, the rotting wood gave way. The glass fell into the room beyond and shattered on the floor, exploding into a million fragments of frosted white.
William clambered into the room, careful to avoid stepping on the broken glass as he touched the floor. He was standing in a filthy, bare basement, the stone walls dripping slime and the floor stained with the same substance. William’s eyes locked onto a staircase of identical stone and he proceeded toward it.
Minutes later, a shout went up from the building and countless alarms began their shrill shrieking. Gripping his prize tightly to his chest, Will caught hold of the edge of the broken window and hoisted himself out, ignoring the splinters of glass digging deep into his skin. With the alarms ringing in his ears, he bent double over the stolen object and pounded down the street, glancing neither left nor right. His breath rasped in his throat but he felt only a savage triumph; he had escaped. The guards would be far too late to capture him.
William glanced down at the object in his arms as he fled. His prize, one of the most valuable objects in the entire region, was a large egg the size of his head. Its hard, dark blue shell was patterned with splashes of midnight black.
How will they survive in a world where traitors and murderers smile at you on the street, where anyone you pass could be your darkest nightmare in disguise?
But they must succeed. For if they fail, all will end…
This story has a key to make it easier to understand.
* is a breaker I use to change the narrating character within a chapter.
*~*~* is a breaker I use to indicate passage of time but keep the same narrator.
“This” is when a Pokemon speaks and I’ve translated what it’s saying.
“This” is humans speaking or telepathy.
This is used for thoughts, memories and other stuff that goes on inside the character’s mind.
The prologue is in third person, but all future chapters will be in first person. Oh, and by the way, the rating is PG-14 for violence, a little blood and dark themes, but there is one chapter that I'll have to temporarily increase the rating for.
Prologue
One day will come two… who will unite… conquer enmity… curse shall claim the life of… yet rescue at the hands of enmity is… will go on to fight obstacles and accomplish what… guardian never succeeded… not without obstacles… fail would result in the loss of all life, human and Pokemon alike…
Ancient scripture, written at unknown date.
*
One day will come two… who will unite… conquer enmity… curse shall claim the life of… yet rescue at the hands of enmity is… will go on to fight obstacles and accomplish what… guardian never succeeded… not without obstacles… fail would result in the loss of all life, human and Pokemon alike…
Ancient scripture, written at unknown date.
*
BBRRIINNGG!!!
A gaudy pink alarm clock began its shrill ringing from on top of its pine cabinet beside the heaped bed as the first rays of sunlight began to spill joyfully into the room, illuminating the avalanche of clothes and books scattered in heaps all over the floor. The monstrous, many-coloured pile of blankets on the bed shifted slightly; a pale-skinned arm clawed its way to freedom, the long-fingered hand groping around for the alarm clock until it finally knocked it onto the floor. With a crash, the clock shattered, spilling cogs all over the rosewood floor.
The hand clawed again at the patched and faded blankets, finally clearing enough space for a head to emerge. The mass of frizzy, dark blonde hair made its owner resemble an angry albino Jigglypuff. Two sleepy chestnut eyes blinked from beneath this mop of hair, then screwed closed as the girl stifled a yawn.
“Happy birthday, Marisa,” she murmured to herself.
After a moment of hesitation, Marisa kicked off her blankets and crawled out of bed, carefully avoiding the broken remains of her alarm clock. Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she made her way to the closet, kicked aside a heap of undersized children’s clothing and yanked open the green-painted closet door. Unsurprisingly, there was hardly anything inside. Another yawn shook her body as she gazed into the mirror on the inside of the door, seeing a slender, unimpressive ten-year-old girl with very little cleavage, wearing a bright blue nightdress that barely covered her backside. It had fit perfectly when she was eight.
Marisa cast a glance at her bedroom door to make sure it was closed, then shed her nightdress in favour of a simple outfit. Once dressed in her black shorts and aqua blue T-shirt, which featured the logo of a band called Jezebel’s Curse, she examined herself in the mirror and felt only a sense of relief that it fitted. She didn’t really like the shirt; her mother had picked it out for her earlier that year.
Finished with examining herself, Marisa began to search in the bottom of her closet for her favourite mauve backpack. She had last seen it months earlier…
…somewhere.
She dropped down onto her hands and knees and began to dig through a pile of shoes that no longer fitted. It was surprising how many different pairs she had, including soccer shoes, sandals, high-heeled shoes… She came to a halt, holding up a pair of pink satin ballet slippers. She couldn’t even remember taking ballet lessons…
There was no backpack among the shoes. Marisa rose to her feet again and nudged the closet door closed, then turned slowly to face the disaster zone that was her bedroom. She practically needed an Escape Rope to find the door from amongst all of her junk. She had been meaning to get rid of some of it, but there was always some sort of distraction.
With a sigh, Marisa resigned herself to searching for her backpack in the mountains of discarded possessions. She raised one hand to her face in imitation of a walkie-talkie. “Pshht… Marisa West calling in for backup. Repeat, Marisa West needs backup. And maybe a team of Growlithe to find me. I’m going in… pshht…” She dropped her hand, took a deep breath and waded into the sea of clothing on a rescue mission for her backpack.
*
Meanwhile, not so far away, a young boy awakened to the sound of clanging. He shook his head to wake himself up, blinking eyes of a muddy green colour. His long, lank hair flopped about his face, so filthy that it was impossible to tell if the natural colour really was black or not.
The boy levered himself up on his hands and knees and brushed dirt and food scraps off the tattered rags that barely passed as clothing. His skin was coated thickly in grime, although one could see just by looking at him that his natural skin colour was very dark indeed, almost completely black.
William crawled out of the overturned garbage can in which he had been sleeping. The early morning sunlight blinded him, piercing his eyes like sharp pins. He shielded them with his arm and squinted until the world came into focus.
William tilted his head slightly, noticing what had made the clanging sound that had woken him. He was crouching in a filthy alleyway behind a fast-food restaurant and a short teenage cook with a bad case of acne had just flung a bag of garbage into an enormous dumpster. The teen paused to give William a strange, searching look and, in response, he scuttled behind his garbage can to hide. He felt safer when he was out of sight.
As soon as the man had gone inside again, William leaped to his feet and scrambled into the dumpster. He landed lightly, his bare feet sinking deeply into piles of garbage. With a moan of longing, he fell upon the new black bag and tore it open, his fingers digging into the plastic and shredding it easily. The stench of rotting food assailed his nostrils but he ignored it and began sifting through the bag’s contents, occasionally coming across a scrap of stale and greasy food and cramming it hungrily into his mouth.
After he had eaten his fill, he crawled out of the dumpster again and dropped lightly to the ground. Now that hunger was not clouding his senses, he could take stock of his surroundings and decide where to go next. Ever since he had fled from the place he once called home, he had been frantically searching for a particular building. As of yet, however, he had had no luck with finding it.
He slipped one hand into his pocket, his questing fingers pushing aside scraps of rotting food and dead insects before finally brushing against the edge of a filthy scrap of paper. His grip tightened and he drew it out. Unfolding it and spreading it on the ground, he found himself gazing down on a greasy, yellowed map which showed a bird's-eye view of the city; unfortunately, the top of the map had torn, which was the main reason he had not known that his goal was here in Veilstone City.
William's finger traced a crayoned path scribbled over the map, its journey culminating with a scrawled circle around a particular warehouse. It must be close; he could practically taste it. He crammed the map back into his pocket, so eager to reach his goal that he could think of nothing else.
He moved silently to the edge of the alleyway and peered around the corner, checking for danger. Fate must have intervened, because at that moment the crowds in the city parted slightly and allowed the boy a glimpse of one of the buildings along the street. His heart leaped into his throat; it was a plain office building, but it was the one he had been searching for.
The building had no sign. It was three stories tall and built of grey brick in order to make to look inconspicuous. William stole toward it on silent feet, but his pounding heart was enough to give him away. He had searched almost all of Sinnoh and been on the run for months, but finally it would all be worthwhile.
The building was unguarded; it was surprising, considering the precious cargo inside, yet William had been expecting it. If the occupants wished to remain inconspicuous, they would have to relinquish their right to a guard.
It was a simple matter for William to sneak around to the back of the building without attracting too much attention. He found a sufficiently concealed window and pressed both palms flat against it, pausing to feel any vibrations caused by movement inside the room beyond. He felt nothing and braced his shoulders, leaning all of his weight against the glass.
A delicate, fractured white line traced itself along the glass as, with a sharp crack, the window began to split from the pressure. The unpainted wooden frame was splintering and with a sudden crunch, the rotting wood gave way. The glass fell into the room beyond and shattered on the floor, exploding into a million fragments of frosted white.
William clambered into the room, careful to avoid stepping on the broken glass as he touched the floor. He was standing in a filthy, bare basement, the stone walls dripping slime and the floor stained with the same substance. William’s eyes locked onto a staircase of identical stone and he proceeded toward it.
Minutes later, a shout went up from the building and countless alarms began their shrill shrieking. Gripping his prize tightly to his chest, Will caught hold of the edge of the broken window and hoisted himself out, ignoring the splinters of glass digging deep into his skin. With the alarms ringing in his ears, he bent double over the stolen object and pounded down the street, glancing neither left nor right. His breath rasped in his throat but he felt only a savage triumph; he had escaped. The guards would be far too late to capture him.
William glanced down at the object in his arms as he fled. His prize, one of the most valuable objects in the entire region, was a large egg the size of his head. Its hard, dark blue shell was patterned with splashes of midnight black.
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