this is my…… alter ego- ANITA MAXWYNN. ANITA MAXWYNN

I completely forgot to show you guys a rough idea of what I had in mind for Ghostie’s team!! I made it while half awake so it’s obviously subject to change…

(from left to right, up to down: Cinccino, Mareep, Indeedee-f, Polteageist, Diancie and Silvally)

I won’t give as long as an explanation as I did with the boys for this one; I started out trying to make this team primarily normal type, since I thought it’d be funny in combination with Ghostie’s not normal-ness. However, most of the picks here were based on general vibes rather than pokédex entries and relatability this time around. I wanted her team to come off as a bit uptight/neat, but still strong and having some character to it (cuteness factor >:3). She only has one ghost type because I don’t think she’d exactly want more ghosts involved with her life… but maybe a certain someone will convince her that ghost types aren’t as bad as real ghosts :) yes mareep is only on here because it reminded me of ryou. no i have no apologies

Pokémon most subject to change in this team… probably Indeedee. Maybe Diancie… still up in the air >_< think the latter fits in well here with polteageist though….

Please do #7.

#7 - Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

I’ve written so many scenes I love. I couldn’t pick just one, so here is one from each of several fandoms.

Total Drama - The Lyin’ Queen, Chapter 2: “Last One Standing”

Context: It’s just after Staci’s elimination ceremony. We follow her point of view as she wanders Playa Des Losers while the Season 1 cast pack up and leave after learning that they won’t be participating this season. Note that in this scene, Ezekiel is on Staci’s shoulders.

That snapped up the attention of the boy with the injured arm who had greeted Staci down by the beach. “Hold on. Owen, what happened to your face?”

“Um, Chris strapped a bomb to it, and it went off. It’s okay, though! It wasn’t really a bomb, it was just a signal flare thing. It doesn’t hurt anymore, really, Noah. You don’t have to worry.”

Noah opened his mouth. Shut it. He raised his good hand. Lowered it. Raised it again, then lowered it.

“Why didn’t you tell me this five hours ago when I asked for everyone with injuries to meet me down at the dock?”

They made a comical sight- a giant cringing away from a scrawny bookworm who had one arm wrapped in a sling of reeds. “I didn’t want you to yell at me,” Owen whimpered.

“Why would I yell at you?” Noah yelled, slapping his palm to his forehead. “You need serious medical attention, Brickhouse! What is your problem?”

Staci had begun to walk backwards as she watched them, so she didn’t know what to think when her heels and hips thunked against something large and metal and cold. She looked up. The thing was a robot. A big, chunky robot with a square head and small, colorful buttons all over it. It breathed at her.

“Hello?”

The robot continued to breathe at her.

“Okay, yeah…” Staci grinned and tried to slip beneath its arm, but the robot would have none of that. Its clawed hand twisted around. It grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her into the air. “Hey!” she sputtered, kicking her legs. Ezekiel launched into a stream of snarls, and the robot launched into a stream of high-pitched beeps. Staci wasn’t much of a yeller, but she considered putting her lungs to full use when another voice broke her out of her stupor, and she glanced down.

“Leave her alone, gawsh!” A redheaded boy with thick glasses - Staci knew he was Harold, because he’d been in the Drama Brothers band too - brandished the tattered white tablecloth from the buffet table. After folding it a few times, he twisted it up and smacked it against the robot’s chestal region. With a few more grunted clicks and whirrs, it replaced Staci (and Ezekiel) on the ground. Then it rrrrrd backwards, turned around, and drove away.

“You all right?” Harold asked, taking Staci’s shoulder to steady her. She wrinkled her nose in the direction the robot had rolled.

“Ya, I’m fine. What… is it?”

He shrugged and, after casting it another glance, shuddered and began walking in the opposite direction. She hurried after him. “Oh, him. That’s just the Total Drama Machine. It’s just programmed to pick stuff up and throw things away, reach high shelves, purify drinking water, give off magnetic pulses to scare off the mutant wildlife, stuff like that. Just kind of roams around until it bumps into something.”

“Huh. Well, I might have to take it apart and see how it ticks, ya. Inventing runs in the family and I won’t rest until I make a significant contribution to the world. You see, my great-great-great-great aunt Tanya invented HELLO GOLDEN FLIPPING SWEETNESS!”

She recognized him instantly- Who wouldn’t? But he was so much different in real life than he’d looked on YouTube. His tan skin was… was the color of perfect skin, and his black hair had that sheen that all hair should aspire to gain. He had the gorgeous rounded muscles, had the defined cheekbones of cheekbone heaven. He lay back in a pool chair with broken legs, penciling in a crossword puzzle with one hand and holding a tall glass of fruity pink juice in his other. Even before the last word had left her tongue, the newspaper in his lap burst into flame. “What the-?” he yelped, flinging it away as he jerked upright. “Who turned on my-?”

HOOOOO SNAP HE WAS HOT!

He tipped up his sunglasses and gave her a puzzled look. He had two black eyes and a mummified leg and a bloody slash down his right cheek AND HE WAS STILL THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN SHE’D EVER SEEN IN HER LIFE!

“Who is this?” he asked Harold, pointing at Staci with his pinkie. As he said it, his pencil started to smoke. Even his warm voice was super unfairly attractive.

“Justin,” Harold said, gesturing towards the ILLEGALLY MEGA HOT GUY with one upturned palm. Then he moved his palm back towards Staci. “Staci. She’s part of that new cast Chris brought in, and she got booted first this season.”

HE WAS LITERALLY GLOWING AND OH MAN IT WAS SO LUCKY HE WASN’T WEARING A SHIRT BECAUSE IF HE WAS HE’D HAVE TO BE ARRESTED FOR EVER CONCEALING SO MUCH FREAKING BEAUTY FROM THE WORLD FOR EVEN LIKE FOUR SECONDS!

First of all, I just want to say that “Why would I yell at you?” Noah yelled is one of my favorite lines of all time.

Okay, but how can you not love Staci? She is so ridiculously… chill. About everything. I really do need to finish this ‘fic one of these days, because she’s so funny. Keep in mind that this scene with Justin comes shortly after the scene when Staci was about to drown and when she saw someone coming to her rescue, her first thought was, “Please be hot, please be hot, please be hot.”

I don’t think the scene above really needs much explanation. Staci finally meets Justin in person, and it goes down exactly the way you’d expect it to. I nailed both Staci’s voice and succeeded in adding humor to this chapter, so I’m pretty pleased with it to this day.

Pokémon - PMDU - “Playin’ Sight” and “Rory and the Duckletts” Part 7

Context: PMDU is/was a Pokémon Mystery Dungeon group on deviantArt that allowed members to create teams and embark on story adventures. I’ve actually got two pieces from PMDU that I’d like to share because ??? I’m like that ??? The first one comes from “Playin’ Sight”, and is told by Kit the shiny Duskull, who has fallen into despair after Roland migrated south for the winter. As a result of their break-up, Kit lost all housing benefits and can’t stay in the Hunters’ Guild dorms anymore. Snow is on its way, Kit has no place to live, and it’s a very sad day for a suicidal little hippie ghost with depression.

My thoughts had wandered back to Roland’s smug face with its tall, pointed ears and soft feathery muzzle. His whiteness and purity, his snappy red and electric blue freckles, that incurable quirk to his right ear, the muscles rippling around his wings like waves amidst Iravian prairie grass… Was it any real surprise? Roland was all I had. As a Ghost, I’d seen many faces come and go - most of them people I didn’t think were all that fab - but through some twist of fate, I had never met anyone quite like Roland before. He wasn’t a prince. He was hardly a citizen. He was dirty and vulgar and foul-mouthed and ill-tempered. He was sexist, impulsive, gluttonous, clumsy, illiterate, accepting, noble and brave, a devoted worker, passionate… Roland… liked me.Such an absurd concept, that. No one liked me. Katherine Christopher “Kit” of the surname they would not acknowledge was an awful ‘mon by nature. Depressed and troublesome, chaotic and shy. I cared more for my plants than I sometimes did for others’ lives.And yet, despite every flaw, Roland found something in me that he appreciated. He lay his hand against my dead, unfeeling cheek, and he brought me to life. A Duskull that feeds on negativity and a Togetic that feeds on happiness make for quite the pair.Roland was the embodiment of everything that was meant to be in the world. Optimism. Socializing. Fun. He made me laugh when no one in the world could, because his genius blossomed from his gentle stupidity. Despite him disgusting me, he was my favorite ‘mon in the world. Why did I hate knowing that he saw me as his friend? I know why. Because that hurts. When your best friend doesn’t count you as their best in return. When I gave him my everything, but being roommates with benefits wasn’t enough to make him stay.Serpent below, I’m in love with someone I’ve forgotten how to hate.

“Get me another leppa,” I told Linette, shoving my empty juice cup across the counter as the Mareep beside me got to his two rear feet and stretched. When she closed her flipper around it, we touched for the briefest of moments. I let my fingers linger, until finally she eased the glass away. If she’d been Roland, she would have held them absently as she stared out the window, then turned to me with crooked teeth slightly parted at the sight of simple wonder in the evening streets.I’d have murdered someone for the chance to tell him I was sorry. I’d curl my long, wispy tail around his ankle the way he liked, leaning forward with my folded arms on his knee. One more night. Just one with the love god who considered me dirt, since I played in it so much, burying plants, burying emotions, burying dreams. One more night. Someone else’s blood on my hands for the taste of nacho cheese on his lips. I’d give anything to hear him whisper in my crumpled Slakoth ear that I actually mattered.

“Playin’ Sight” is a really cool piece for me, because it really allowed me to develop Kit’s character. Especially Kit’s relationship with Roland. Apparently those two were roommates with benefits the entire time and I just had no idea until now. But a Duskull and a Togetic have got to be one of the cutest, most complicated, and most unexpected couples you can stumble across. One wants to make the other miserable, the other wants to make the other happy.

Kit is aromantic pansexual, and I had a lot of fun writing sexual attraction from an aromantic ghost’s point of view. Kit’s lost so many people… so why does losing one more have to hurt so much? Especially when Roland is deliberately written to be as stereotypically horrible as I could make him, except for the fact that I accidentally made him volunteer at orphanages and nursing homes in his spare time and censor all his swears. I just love their dynamic. I like the prose above because we see Kit working out messy feelings, and I think it’s cute.

Now! “Rory and the Duckletts” was a side story I wrote over the course of a year and a half that told the story of Team Plum Pudding’s first days in the city of Andalusst. This particular scene revolves around my characters Rudy the Gothita and Adrian the Chespin after Rudy was tossed in “temporary jail” for crushing part of the city with a flying (read: falling) Wailord. Adrian has come to seek him out, since he believes Rudy to be the only person in the city who knows who stole the notebook that contained his entire life’s work regarding Pokémon biology.

The floor was rough. Cold. There were only six cells in the small side building, and of them a mere two were occupied. The first cell contained a sleeping Audino with matted pink fur, curled up in the far corner. Rudy was in the second one. The Gothita lay on his back on the simple bunk in the otherwise empty enclosure, sliding his feet up and down the brown wall. His hands were still bound and covered with the cloth sack.Adrian glanced Angelo [the Zangoose]’s way. “And I’m allowed to speak with him?”“I honestly don’t care one way or another what you do, so long as you don’t attack him or me or try to remove him illegally from the premises.” Angelo flicked his claw at one of the bars. It clanged. “We force-fed him a Disable pill approximately fifteen minutes ago. He ought to be harmless for the next forty.” He withdrew to his desk along the opposite wall.Rudy sat up. “Darian?”“It’s me, Rudy.”He rolled from the bunk and came over, pressing his snout to the bars. His eyes rotated around a little, and finally he found the Chespin’s body heat and smiled.“I knew you liked me. It was the ride above the clouds, wasn’t it? It’s always the ride above the clouds. That’s the rule of three.”“Of course I like you. I adore you.” Adrian crossed his arms. “You know why I came and I have neither the time nor desire to play games, so let’s hear what you have to say and get on with it.”Rudy’s little smile disappeared. “Hey Darian, listen. It’s weird, but they severed my connection somehow.” “Connection to what?”He pointed at his head where his ear should be (Adrian decided that he probably had ear holes just beneath those ribbons). “I don’t know the word for it in like non-psychic language. But the pill messed up my connection.”“In Common, please?”Rudy sighed like Thorn. “You know, my thing. My Gothita sight powers. I can’t even see the warm windows anymore, even though you’ve had one following you all day and it’s probably still here. And I’m not picking up too many signals, so half the time I’m losing my words.”“I’m sorry for you. Does that interfere with your ability to describe the location of my sketchbook thief?”“Well, no, but… It bothers me. No, it really does. I feel gross and dead.”Adrian clicked his fingers several times, at least as well as he could manage. “Rudy. It’s late. My feet are sore. My ribs are broken, gosh darnit, if you’ve forgotten that. I am starving, exhausted, dried halfway to a husk, and just in an incredibly cranky mood overall. Please, just once today, can I not have something go easily for me?”Tilting his head, Rudy brought his brows together. “Why didn’t you tell me your ribs were broken? I would have healed you if you’d asked nicely.”“Please don’t tell me you know Heal Pulse. I will pitch a fit.” “Yeah, I do. My Dad taught it to me when I was little.”“Why didn’t you- I told you I couldn’t walk!”“Well, you didn’t say it was because you’d broken your ribs. You just need to be more specific. Wait, did I just…?”Adrian narrowed his eyes. He probably deserved that, although he wasn’t sure exactly how. He glanced out the window over Angelo’s desk. The sky was still black. He ground his teeth. His tongue flicked over the space in the back where he was missing one. Had that only been yesterday?“Gosh darnit Rudy, please. I will fall to my knees and clasp my hands if that is what you would have me do. Everything I am is dependent upon that notebook. You’re the only one who can rescue me from this despairing pit I have slipped into. I’ll owe you so many favors. Please, for the love of science, answer me. Where is our thief?”“I’m sorry,” Rudy said, not looking particularly broken up about this. “I can’t tell you. I don’t know what street he’s on. I’m thermosighted, remember? I can’t read signs, so I’d have to show you where. I can find it - it won’t be hard.”Adrian bashed his head against the cell bars. He let it stay there for a few seconds, then turned around to look at Angelo. “Is there any way possible I could take him out, just long enough for that?”Angelo shrugged, bored. “Not particularly, no. He’s being temporarily contained, so he’s stuck here for twenty-four hours or until his legal guardian comes to pick him up and sign the necessary forms. Whichever comes first. I think they’re planning to move him to the real jail once his time is up, since they can legally arrest him or something. I don’t know for sure. They told me, but I wasn’t really listening.”Adrian swiveled his gaze around to Rudy. “And I suppose it would be far too much to hope-”“Ended up separated from my dad in the Fog a season cycle ago, biff. As of yesterday, I’m now registered as a legal dependent of the city until I turn seventeen in common year.” He frowned. “I’d tell you ‘It will take awhile’, but that’s too close to the old thing right now, I think. I don’t remember.”Oooof course. This would be too easy otherwise. Adrian pressed his hands against his back and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, that settles that for us, then. This is the worst day of my entire life. No, you think I could be exaggerating, but I’m not. I hate every ounce of today. Or do we use another measurement system in this goshdarn city? I hate every gram of today.”“Hey.” Rudy tapped his bound hands against one of the bars, producing a low rattling sound. “Hey, plant guy. You should become my legal guardian. I think it would be nice to have parents.”His whiskers twitched. “That’s not happening. I didn’t come here to adopt a foster kid. Try again.”“Oh.” Rudy thought for a minute. “What if you broke me out?”“I’m not doing that. That’s against the law. Even if it weren’t, it would be rude. I’m not the kind of ‘mon who finds joy in tearing apart a carefully-constructed public building. Aside from that, your new friend the Zangoose is standing right here and I assume he would attempt to stop me.”Angelo shrugged. “That sounds like something I would probably do.”Rudy sighed. “Weeeell… I guess if I were a nice person, I could let you read my mind.”“Oh, would you? I would be so flattered. Ah, wait. Drat- I can’t read minds. Believe me, I would love to be a Psychic-Type.”“Phone a friend?”“Phone a… Oh, do you mean call in another Psychic? Do we have time for that?”“Nope. Maybe. I dunno. Not my problem.” Rudy shrugged, and his smirky smile came back. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. You’ll have to run away. I mean, I mean! Adopt me. You’ll have to adopt me. This helps both of us. I don’t see any better solution. And speaking of better, I’m feeling better already. Did you hear what I just said? I think my pill…” He chose to shut up without being asked. Probably for the first time in his life.Angelo shrugged again. “If you want to take him under your wing, you just need the mutual consent of all parties involved for that. Adopter and adoptee. Birth parents can intervene if they can prove their genes are shared, which isn’t hard. If they’re around. You could sign the document and be out of here in a matter of minutes. I have a stack of papers like that here in this drawer. Interested?”Sure, why not? Because that sounded like a perfect idea. Of all the children in the city, wild Rudy - who was currently behind bars in first-level jail, in case anyone had forgotten - was definitely the one Adrian wanted most. Rory had a c-day coming up, and a child would make a perfect mid-birthday present for her. And with Rudy came the Wailord, and then Adrian could get to enjoy the experience of almost dying every possible day. Everyone wins.Adrian picked up the first sheet of paper.Check all that apply: I am adopting an Egg of uncertain origin / I am adopting an Egg of known origin / I am adopting a person who has seen four or fewer winters / I am adopting a person who has seen five or more winters / I am adopting a direct relative / I am adopting my spouse’s child / I am adopting a person already affiliated with my Guild team as a fully documented member for at least one season.“I’m not doing this,” Adrian said, skimming down the rest of the page. It was alarmingly short for a document that could change one’s life so tremendously, so it didn’t take long.What city, town, village, or similar do you reside in? Do you qualify for official residency?I can confirm the adoptee’s birth parents or former guardians consent to adoption and have signed the necessary relinquishment forms or have otherwise been unable to perform physically or morally proper guardianship duties for the adoptee for a period of at least one most recent season.Consent of birth parent or former guardian is not necessary because: Guardian is confirmed deceased with currently no confirmation of spectral return / Guardian has been lost in the Fog for time exceeding one season / Guardian has been deprived by law of custody / Guardian has voluntarily surrendered right to custody / Adoptee was first discovered as Egg or somewhat or entirely Fogwiped and birth parents have not yet been traced.Contact with adoptee’s former guardians post the adoption is: Signed and attached / Undecided / Not applicable at this time. He shook his head. “No. I can’t commit to this - there’s no way I have time to read all these papers. Have any other plans in that unstable little skull of yours?”Rudy had tilted his head and put his mouth around one of the bars - Adrian tucked that thought away for later - but he stopped mid-chew to screw up his brows. “I’b not really what you migh’ call th’ planning type. I us’wawy just go vith th’ first thing to pop in’o my head s’long as it’s vithin the rules I know, and things us’waway work out okay.”Suitability for adoption: Adopting guardian can be considered an adult by officially recognized common count, will treat the child as a member of xir own family, will care for and provide support for the child, has a suitable home for the child, bestows upon the child rights equal to those that would come from natural birth including inheritance, and is adopting the child while being of their own, safe and sound mind.Yeah right. Like Adrian was going to get that garden house of his dreams and just pass it on to Rudy when he died. Rudy would probably murder him to get it if he found out.The information given on this form and all attached documents is correct to the best of my knowledge. I understand that this means if I have lied on this form, I am guilty of crime unless a condition of ethereal powers such as in the case of possession or psychic abilities is recognized and confirmed within thirty days.The edges of the paper crumpled in Adrian’s fists. Lowering it so he could see Rudy’s bright blue eyes again, he jabbed his finger through the bars of the cell. “If I do this for you, you will never, ever, ever, ever cross me for as long as you should live or exist in spiritual form.”“But why would I do a thing like that?” Rudy asked, setting his covered hands against his chest bow. 

Oh, there are a dozen things I love about this piece. We’ll start with the most obvious: Adrian spontaneously adopting the child he despises, and refusing to tell his boss and team partner Rory that he did so. Adoption was not my original plan going into this scene, but I adored the idea. What’s funny is the sheer amount of people who know this happened, none of them being Rory. In a later piece called “‘Cue the Music”, Miles and Kit argue over how to bring “Hey Rory, Rudy is legally your child now” up in conversation now that Adrian has been… removed from the picture. They know, she doesn’t. Good times. Love it.

I love the little details here, like the fact that Rudy was force-fed a Disable pill to strip him of all his moves. In the next scene, when he and Adrian are walking down the street, Adrian realizes that because Rudy is a Psychic-Type and his blood moves extremely quickly through his body, drugs don’t last very long in his system and if he would have waited a few more minutes, Rudy could have gotten out of jail by catching Angelo off guard with a few attacks. Cracks me up every time.

I think my absolute favorite bit of prose here is Adrian listing off all the reasons why he SHOULDN’T adopt Rudy, and then promptly picking up the adoption papers and reading through them anyway. I love these two and their dynamic so much. Really wish this Group hadn’t gone on hiatus. I had big plans.

This scene is also notable for being the only time we ever see Rudy speak without using references in every line of his dialogue, as he lost his psychic connection with the Fourth Wall when he was Disabled, so it’s kind of cool to see what he sounds like when I’m not feeding him obscure quotes all day. Turns out he’s still an adorably annoying little guy.

Fairly OddParents - 130 Prompts, “Solo”

In all honesty, China’s introduction scene is probably my all-time favorite. I have a lot of scenes I like, but several of them I’ve talked about on this blog before, and some of my other favorites we haven’t reached yet and they’re spoilers. A lot of my favorite scenes are lengthy ones (“Shadow” and “China’s Finger Trap” come to mind), so here are two that are a bit shorter.

The door on this end had a small sign above the handle that read, Timmy’s Room: PLEASE, PLEASE Knock.

Remy entered without knocking and switched on the lights.

This is from “End of the World.” Remy barging into Timmy’s house in the middle of the night and turning on all the lights like it’s his own home just cracks me up. You can bet that Timmy’s parents don’t knock either, but you can’t blame a kid for trying.

And I have another one too:

Context: H.P., Sanderson, and several other pixies are about to observe one of the youngest pixies in the company as he retakes an exam for the tenth time.

Four minutes later, Sanderson gathered with the other proctors of the exam - Hawkins, Wilcox, Longwood, and the Head Pixie himself - outside the door.

“You all have your clipboards and two pens at the ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect you all to be as objective as possible. Is that understood? Hawkins? Sanderson? There will be trouble if I see any more ‘At least he tried’s. We’re not cutting him slack because he’s already failed nine times.”

They both nodded. Longwood tugged at one tight sleeve of that fluffy brown jacket of his, plainly reveling in the fact that H.P. hadn’t said his name.

“And Longwood?”

“Sir?”

“You have a lipstick stain smeared beside your ear that wasn’t there before Naelita Sorins went up to your office. I’ve noticed she’s been visiting quite often lately, and less and less often when you go on break.”

Longwood’s face turned gumball pink beneath the dozens of red freckles that identified him as a gyne rather than a drone. His fingers went straight for the spot on his cheek. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s twice I’ve had enough proof to call you on it now. Three strikes and you’re out. If this happens again, I want your cap on my desk, and Smith will rise to his gyne duties and replace you as company vice president. After we finish here today, you can report to evening dish duty for two months as you did before.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for not firing me. I’ll clean myself up better next time.”

H.P. raised one eyebrow. Sanderson kicked his ankle, because he could get away with it.

“I- I mean, I won’t do it again (Watch your fat toe, lug).”

“Do what?”

“I, erm, I won’t sneak smooches during work hours, sir.”

Sanderson whistled a few bars of “Kiss the Girl” from Disney’s “The Little Mermaid” as H.P. looked him up and down. “I suppose that’s the most compromise I’m going to get out of you. If you ever wonder why you aren’t allowed to leave Pixie World unsupervised anymore, this is why.”

“That's… that’s perhaps for the best, sir.”

“How am I doing, boss?” Wilcox asked. H.P. stared at him for a moment, rubbing his chin, then gave him a thumbs up. Wilcox brightened. Hawkins patted his shoulder with his bad hand, and Sanderson mimicked the thumbs up once the boss’s back was turned.

H.P. opened the door. The room was small, with a desk and chair set solidly on the tile. A window into the observing room spanned the back wall. Arranged neatly on the desk were one landline phone, one pad of green sticky notes, his starpiece, a wrinkled purple pamphlet that listed each pixie’s name, job title, and room number, and about a dozen blue and black pens. Rosencrantz sprang from the chair as soon as the door opened, holding his arms straight by his sides.

“Sir.”

“Good afternoon, Rosencrantz. The time is 1:00. You will now be entering the fifth and final day of your assessment. Today you will be answering calls from clients and, if necessary, directing them to whomever you believe can be of best assistance to them. You may use the provided pamphlet, but no other notes or reference materials you may have written. You must take ten calls, and are expected to remain in the exam room until you do. You may contact any pixie for anything you need to complete your tasks. However, you cannot ask for advice on how a call should be answered. When you are finished, you must demonstrate the proper exit procedure as though you were going on break, after which you may leave the room and wait while we tally up your score. Are there any questions?”

“No, sir.” Unsurprising. Rosencrantz had run through this test so many times, he probably had the opening speech memorized as well as H.P. did.

H.P. flipped the wall switch to redirect all incoming calls to Room 1C. “You may begin.”

On that signal, he and the others floated (Longwood walked) through the room’s rear door and took their seats in the floating chairs behind the window. H.P. sat down in the centermost one, removed his glasses, and massaged his temples.

“Twelve pens. He’s nervous. The utmost he can pull out of this now is a two hundred and forty-nine.”

The scene where H.P. studies Wilcox thoughtfully and then gives him a thumbs-up is probably one of my favorite bits of prose that I’ve ever written. It was the perfect end to the little critique session going on there. Wilcox brightening up just makes my day. Although he’s a boring, stoic pixie, I always envision him breaking into a grin and clenching his fists near his chest in a squee. Praise from H.P. is hard to come by some days, and they drink it up when they can.

Some other aspects of this scene that I love are Longwood instantly knowing where the kiss mark on his cheek is, Longwood promising to “Clean himself up better next time” and H.P.’s eyebrow raise in response to this, Sanderson kicking Longwood “because he could get away with it,” and of course, the last line here where H.P. deducts points before the exam even starts just because Rosencrantz has “too many pens.” With the way he rubs his forehead, you can just feel him oozing disappointment.

Not to mention, I love the entire concept of this piece. It’s a cute one. And it ends so dramatically. Lots of fun, and definitely counted as one of my favorites of the entire project.

Danny Phantom - “How to Get Ahead In Navigating”

Context: Youngblood has returned to the Ghost Zone after “The Fenton Menace” and arrived at a Western-themed saloon-like restaurant. He announced his arrival and all the patrons are scrambling to pull out money for him. All except for two: one being Vlad, and one being a muscle-headed mercenary-type here.

“Who the heck are you to be bossing me around, kid?”

It’s very quiet in the room. I hear someone reach out and adjust their fork on the table behind me.

“Mmm.” I prop my cheek against my fist, with my elbow on the table. I even kick my legs behind me as I do it, so I’m more like floating horiz… horace… on my belly in front of them. “You’re cute. You know what? I like your moxie, so I’ll give you one more chance to decide what you’re gonna do about this. I’m Captain Youngblood. The Captain Youngblood. Plunderer of merchant ships, transporter of Living Realm goods, adopted son of Prince Aragon’s chief royal advisers, hold the all-time high score on Plasmius Peril at the Purgebane arcade, savior of the skeletons. Ring a bell up in that waxy noggin of yours?”

Anchor Arm sweeps his stare over the other patrons in the restaurant. I don’t look behind me, but I know a lot of them are probably watching us. This doesn’t happen a lot. “You really here bragging that you’re the toughest guy in this dinky little joint?” He looks at the man in white like Is he for real? while the man in white simply smiles back at him with the patience of a cracking tree branch.

“Yeah, well.” I walk my gloved fingers across the tabletop, and jump them on Anchor Arm’s spoon. His spoon flips into the air and clatters down in the other guy’s soup bowl. “I never said thaaat. I mean, I am just eight years old. You don’t really have to do anything I say. Unless you want to.”

He gets ready to smack me in the face, because we’re being the most cliché people ever and of course he’s going to lose his temper at me in five seconds. I get ready to not move. If he chickens out, I win. If he slaps someone who looks like a kid, then everyone will be shocked and afraid, and I can fall to the floor and act stunned, then get up and be super calm about it and make a show of forgiving him while still being the mysterious, barely-restrained loose cannon everyone thinks Captain Youngblood is. And then I win.

But I don’t get the chance to not move. A glowing pink coil of energy, like a whip, snaps out and catches him around his hand bobble. Wrist. It’s the other man at the table. With a yank, he pulls his friend’s arm down with a light grunt. It slams against the table, rattling the silverware.

When I look at Anchor Arm’s friend, I expect to see him pleading, ready to grovel at my feet for mercy. Instead, he’s all relaxed. Maybe even laughing. The guy actually has a sort of chuckle on his face, a friendly We’re sharing a joke here; typical Anchor Arm–you know how the poor man gets.

Um. Do I know this guy? Like I said, he’s dressed in almost all white, except for a black triangle of a shirt at his chest. He also has on huge black gloves that look like my cowboy ones, and a thick black belt around his waist. And there’s that huge puffy red and white cape too. The collar on that thing is like fwoosh. His Dr. Spectra devil horn hair is the blackest shine you can get in hair. His calm attitude stabs me in the guts. If I had skin, this is the definitely the first guy I’ve met in a long while who would make my skin crawl. But I don’t have skin. I don’t know who this is.

“Goodness me, I’m so terribly sorry. Allow me to extend my most formal apologies.” The man touches two fingers to the two clasps on his red and white cape, briefly shutting his eyes. The smile doesn’t disappear. “My name is Vlad Plasmius.”

… Eep. Yeeaahhh, I know who this is. I mean, we’ve never met, but I don’t think we have to. I’m Captain Youngblood, champion of the rebel skeletons. He’s Vlad Plasmius, the grown-up halfa who can beat up Phantom, and guardian of the only other permanent portal we usually talk about in the Ghost Zone. Does anything else even need to be said? What’s he even doing in the Limbo sector? I thought his portal was in Haykees. Shouldn’t he be, I dunno, guarding it?

Plasmius retracts his pink whip with a flick of his hand. The energy dissipates like mist. “And what my friend Romeo here means, dear boy, is that we would be delighted to provide a strapping young orphan boy like you with all the funds you could possibly need that you’ve been unable to procure for yourself.”

My smile wrinkles. “Huh?”

I know what all those words mean. I’m smart like that. But huh?

The man reaches into his vest, I guess, and pulls out the biggest stack of cash I’ve ever seen, except on game shows. He drops it on the table next to his bowl, where the spoon I flipped is still sitting, then pulls out another stack of cash even bigger than that one. And then another. It’s like he just goes around wearing a whole padded vest stuffed full of money to protect him when he gets shot by lasers or something. I don’t even have a clue how valuable cash even is in the Ghost Zone, so is that a good idea, or a wasteful one? Does our economy even work anymore now that King Pariah’s gone and half our money is rocks picked up off the ground? I actually do not know. I don’t really care about booty.

“Now.” After four bundles, the man laces his fingers under his chin, leaning his elbows on the table. “What exactly was your usual pay rate, again?”

“Uh.” My eyes dart to the money, then to him again. That stuff looks real. That can’t be real. It’s too much. He’s showing off. This is weird. What’s going on? “I… I… I don’t have a set rate for what I take. I just take whatever people give me. It, uh, averages out to be about 900 /d/ a person, I guess.”

That didn’t sound very pirate captain. That sounded very domino punching bag king.

I love the restaurant scene as a whole because it makes it very clear that Youngblood actually is a big deal in the Ghost Zone. In show canon, he has a ship full of skeletons who respect him, and the plot of “Pirate Radio” literally revolved around Danny being confused that everyone respects Youngblood when he’s in charge, and no one respects him when he tries to be in charge.

In this scene, Youngblood strolls in like he owns the place, with confidence and swagger through the roof. Everything is fine until his path crosses with the one person who refuses to bow to him. Youngblood is used to rerouting paths so that he can pull a victory either way the situation goes. But clever Vlad knew exactly how to surprise him, and humiliate him in front of the entire restaurant. 

Youngblood is a very interesting character, having fifty years of world experience and the mind of an eight-year-old to process it all. I feel that the restaurant scene really delves into the way he works and the teasing games he plays. I love the way he describes things: The collar on that thing is like fwoosh. I also love the fact that when Youngblood was flaunting his credentials, he listed his high score in the arcade before the fact that he’s known as “the savior of the skeletons.” Priorities.

This piece is heavy on stream of consciousness, and I think it came out very well. I’ve tried writing Youngblood in past tense, but I just can’t. His constant thoughts and his way of addressing the reader pin him so well in present. I just adore his little comments like, If I had skin, this is the definitely the first guy I’ve met in a long while who would make my skin crawl. But I don’t have skin. I don’t know who this is, and Does anything else even need to be said? What’s he even doing in the Limbo sector? I thought his portal was in Haykees. Shouldn’t he be, I dunno, guarding it? He’s just so beautifully… child-like. Nailed it. “Ahead In Navigating” is definitely one of my absolute favorite pieces I’ve ever written.

Bunsen Is a Beast - Goodness of Misfit, Chapter 1: “King and Lionheart”

Context: Mikey Munroe has been called down to the principal’s office, and he’s about to be given Bunsen’s file and told that he’s been assigned to welcome Bunsen to school, since no one else on the welcoming committee wanted to. The peppy welcoming committee supervisor, Miss Lighthouse, is here as well.

“Oooh, it’s such a shame you hate traveling beyond town as much as you do, bingo ball! You know, when I was your age, I was out running and climbing in the woods and swimming in the river just constantly. I recorded all my adventures and wrote a book. School is delightful, but the summer season is what really gets me drunk on living such a glorious life!”

With that, she punched the air. The arm that still had all its fingers was a prosthetic, and sometimes it freaks out when it moves too fast. This was one of those times. Principal Freshwater’s globe flew off the bookshelf and crashed behind my chair. I winced, but didn’t get up to look at it. Instead, I folded my [unbroken, unburned, untouched by insects, uncovered in poison ivy, free of snake bites, fully functional, very safe because I don’t take them into the woods unprotected like a crazy person] arms and tried to find his pupils behind his milky glasses.

“Uh… Are we really getting a new student this late in the year? Sir?”

I didn’t see any other reason for Miss Lighthouse to leave her classroom. I mean, I was just a fifth grader, lowest on the rungs of middle school, but everyone knew I’d be promoted from a mere member of our welcoming committee to its head next year. It was a win by default; one by one, the rest of the kids had told me flat-out to my face that they wouldn’t be coming back.

… Come to think of it, I’d noticed most of them called down to meet with our principal a few days before telling me flat-out to my face that they wouldn’t be coming back. In our last meeting, Miss Lighthouse and I had been the only ones to even show up.

I crossed my ankles as my toes curled in.

Principal Freshwater placed both hands on his desk and heaved himself from his chair. Well, he got up, at least. The seat stayed stuck to his, uh, lower half for an extra two seconds before it fell back on its wheels with a clatter. “That… is precisely what we called you down here to discuss today. Our new student will arrive at the end of September, six weeks into the school year. As you well know, Michael, I’m due to retire in a matter of months.”

“Really? Weren’t you supposed to retire in like, January? And the October before that? And the June before that? And the-”

He adjusted his striped tie with his fist until it reached an angle that said “Shut your yap, punk-to-be, before I transfer you into Coach Glutes’ homeroom and obliterate all your chances at a successful future.”

As a punk-to-be, I was thereby cowed into shutting my yap.

“Our humble school has been granted a… sufficient amount of funding to ensure our new transfer student feels as though we’ve actually put forth effort into making him feel accepted in our community. When I leave this job behind, I do not want to be remembered as the man who wiped our town off the map… and into a pit of gnashing teeth, roaring flames, and acid burns. As such, I want to see this exchange program pulled off without a hitch.” While he was talking, Principal Freshwater oozed around the edge of his desk and brought his mouth near my nose. “Do you know what ‘without a hitch’ means, Michael?”

I squinted one eye to block his spittle from my cornea. My gaze darted to the picture frames lined up along the edge of his desk, but no one in the family photos screamed ‘Killman material’ to me, so I relaxed again. A little. “Uh… That this is a really huge and important job and you’re asking me to do it because I handle stress well, I run three of our clubs, I’m like the only kid who still wants to be part of the welcoming committee next year, and you know I won’t drop out because when I stay after school I get to use Miss Lighthouse’s computer without the constant fear of my parents being able to tap into my browsing history and expose my innermost secrets behind my back?”

In my free time, I tap into people’s security systems and jot the codes that work down for future reference. It only takes a few dozen tries, and I’ve lived here all eleven and a half years of my life. Not the kind of thing any kid wants to surrender to the loophole police.

Placing a hand over the headrest of my seat, Principal Freshwater leaned it all the way down until my back was almost parallel with the floor. His shoe stopped the feet from kicking too high. “It means that if you mess this up for us, Michael… it will be on your meaty head. And that’s a lot of head.”

“I can’t say I entirely disagree, sir,” I whispered through the reek of oysters and mayonnaise on his breath. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to remind him my last name was spelled with a ‘u’ and not an ‘o’.

I absolutely love the moment that Principal Freshwater pushes the headrest of Mikey’s seat down and leans over him. It came out exactly the way I wanted to, and really emphasizes Mikey’s discomfort. Overall, I think my Mikey voice came through very well in this piece. That casual way he mentions that he taps into people’s security systems, though. I mean, small town boy who’s parents installed them in the first place. He gets curious. What do you expect?

We never saw the school principal in the show, so I made one up and I feel like he fits in perfectly. In case we did meet the principal in the future, I wrote this scene so that Principal Freshwater here is about to retire. I just love the scene where Mikey is questioning this, musing that the principal has been wanting to retire for a long time. Mikey has that little, absentminded way of undermining people that’s such a funny part of his character. I’m glad I was able to slip it in, and set up the opportunity to use Principal Freshwater later if I’d like to.

Mario - “Pendant of Scarabs” Chapter 1

Context: Back in 2011, I started a ‘fic called “Pendant of Scarabs” that revolved around young Kamek and Cackletta, two long-time rivals who team up to search for magical treasures in an underground pyramid. I never finished it, but I have oodles of child Cackletta stuff that I would love to reboot as a backstory fanfic someday if I had the time. This scene here is the first part of the first chapter.

The flying turtle boy was bothering her again.

Idiot.

She shielded her face with one hand, narrowing her eyes against the sky. He circled above on his broomstick, watching her watch him. It had been two days since she’d first noticed him, three since she’d thought she was being followed. Now, he didn’t even bother to hide the fact that he was tailing her. He swam lazy circles through the air, over and over in front of the sun, his shadow tracing her progress on the ground.

There were two ways to get him to come down. For the first one, she could blast him out of the sky with a lightning bolt. It would be tiring though, and just make him angry, and she really wasn’t in the mood to deal with angry flying magical turtles.

She could wave him down with her hands, but that was something she could never see herself sink to doing. He could circle the sky all he wanted. She didn’t care.

Or he could dive down like that. That worked too.

Cackletta scowled at Kamek as the Magikoopa swooped low. “Why have you been following me? Do you want something?”

His broom slowed to a halt in front of her. “Hello to you too, Princess. Lost again?”

The young witch crossed her arms, her scowl deepening. “What do you mean ‘again’? And I’m not lost. I know exactly where I am.”

“Hmm…” Kamek tapped the side of his snout with a clawed finger, pretending to think. “Crossing the desert, far from home, and I’ve watched you go in circles for the past three hours. Yep, you’re definitely not lost.”

She glowered at him as he slid from his broom. “This is none of your concern. I should zap you into nothing right now.”

Kamek raised the nearest thing to an eyebrow. “I’m still alive, aren’t I? Obviously you don’t have magic abilities right now,” here he pointed to the sun, “or you wouldn’t have warned me. Little unfamiliar with the desert, are we?” When all he got for an answer were gritted teeth, he changed the angle of his claws to point at the paper tucked beneath her arm. “What’s on the map?”

“Like I would tell you.” Cackletta’s long green fingers curled into fists, still smoldering at the desert comment.

“Oh, I already know,” Kamek assured her. “I’m a Magikoopa.” His face became a mask of concentration, and a few seconds later he managed to pull a crystal ball out of the air. Still a little unfamiliar with his magic, his clawed fingers slipped at the awkward grip he was holding it in, and the crystal crashed to the desert sand.

“Hmm… little unfamiliar with the desert, are we?”

“Shut up,” he growled, picking the crystal from the sand and causing it to vanish back to wherever it had come. “My point is, I already know what you’re doing. You’re searching for that amulet thingie of yours.”

“Pendant,” she corrected, narrowing her eyes. “There’s a difference.”

He shrugged. “I’m in need of special magical ingredients for… certain things, and supposedly these things are found at the same place as your amulet. Am I right?” he beamed.

Cackletta’s fingers twitched slightly. “Pendant. What are you talking about?” She had an uneasy feeling that she already knew what he meant, and hoped she was wrong.

Kamek picked up his broom in one hand and angled the handle in her direction. “Well, isn’t it obvious? You need the amulet, and I need a few gems also supposed to be hidden in the pyramid.”

“Who said anything about a pyramid?”

“You know.” He waved the broomstick absently. “The underground pyramid.”

So he DID know. That wasn’t good. “So what you’re saying is that you want to team up. With me. Why would I ever do that?”

Kamek held out the broom again. “For one thing, I can fly. If you’re with me, we’ll have a better view of the area. For another, I’m a magic user too. We have different kinds of magic, Beanish and Koopa. That could be a good advantage.”

“Lachenohr,” she growled.

“Hmm?”

“I’m not convinced. Go on.” She folded her arms.

“I have access to food,” he offered. “Which, after watching you for three days, I think I can safely say that you don’t have anymore. How much longer do you think you can go without food?”

“I can create water out of nothing. I don’t need food.”

Kamek grunted, unimpressed. “Well, think about my offer,” he said as he began climbing onto his broom. “Shame, too. How long do you think it will take until they catch you?”

“What?” Cackletta blurted before she could stop herself. She whipped around, scanning the desert. Nothing but sand, sand, and more sand, a few rocks scattered here and there. “You’re lying.”

“Oh no. Why would a lie about something like that?” He leaned forward over his broom, which still hovered at least a foot off the sand. “Forget it. I should have known you’d be stubborn enough to turn down my offer.” He clicked his tongue, and the broom rose higher into the air. “I’d say they’re only about twenty, thirty miles off? You move fast. I’m impressed.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “… I hate you.”

“Last chance,” he warned, smirking slightly.

Cackletta looked him over. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen years old her time, probably less than that. Juvenile Koopas. She’d never liked them. He wore a blue and white robe a few sizes too big, and the matching hat perched on his head was floppy, forcing him to keep pushing it out of his eyes. A pair of thick glasses rested on his snout. It was a wonder he could even see through those things. At his side was a leather satchel, a strap holding it up around his neck. It wasn’t very large, but it was probably magicked to hold more items than space should allow. And he was right about two things: he could fly, and she was hungry.

“Temporary alliance,” she cautiouslyagreed.

I love this scene because it really captures the relationship between these two characters that I was going for. Cackletta and Kamek have so much potential, I think, and I enjoy watching them bounce off each other. I wrote them here as rivals, but they’re still willing to form an alliance. Cackletta is stubborn and hates swallowing her pride to ask for help, and Kamek is a bit of a social, “Yay, this will be a super fun adventure!” bug. He grows more world-weary with age, but I was aiming for that side of his personality that will stop to chat with you about the lovely pink dress he’s wearing before you take him on in battle. I think I nailed it.

I also like how the worldbuilding is pretty seamlessly woven in (Cackletta’s struggle to use her magic under bright sunlight, and Kamek thinking he’s the big cheese even though he’s still learning his trade himself and dropping his crystal ball). It doesn’t come in all at once. I also love the little details, like smug Kamek being well-prepared with plenty of supplies, casually kicking back and asking Cackletta what’s on the map, while she’s been stumbling around with nothing for days. She’s definitely the rasher one between the two of them. “Food? We don’t need no stinkin’ food. We die like men.”

Even seven years later, it still holds up fairly well, wouldn’t you say? Wish I could say the same for the rest of the ‘fic, ha ha ha. Either way, I’m quite proud of my younger self’s abilities.

My other favorite Cackletta / Kamek rivalry piece would have to be “Our Pointless Magic Lesson”, which opens with those two having a magical snowball fight. Looks like even back then I was already slipping bits of biology into my worldbuilding. I gave Cackletta’s species feet bristles. Hee hee. Desert people. I certainly look forward to writing new Mario ‘fics with improved skills very soon.

Those are some scenes that I enjoy, and I hope that you guys enjoyed them too!

Fanfic: Buried Deep (pt1)

There was nothing anyone could do. When the lightning struck, it spread too fast to be stopped. The old tower was no match for the forces of nature. The city folk could only escape while they still could and watch as the building burned. Even the guardian of the tower could not hope to stop the flames - as the wood smoldered and collapsed around it, it spread its wings and fled far to the west where the fire would not spread.

The blaze proved to be unquenchable, and the people of the city feared that it would take the next tower, and the city itself if it continued to grow. In a panic, they sent word of their plight to the south, begging their neighbors and friends in the hopes that others could save them.

But while their pleas for help spread from person to person, another message was being sent. The birds and beasts of the wild passed a message of a great tragedy, as yet unknown to the people of the city. In the old burning tower, three poor creatures had been trapped by the debris.

The birds and the beasts gathered together and sang out for their three lost children. Their song reached the heavens and brought a great downpour of rain, finally putting out the flames that had destroyed the tower. The people of the city rejoiced. They were saved!

However, it was too late for the three little creatures that had been trapped inside the burned out building, for they had already perished. The birds and the beasts cried in mourning for their lost little ones.

This time, their voices were heard by another - the brethren of the burned tower's guardian, who lived in a tower made of tin. The second guardian took pity upon them for their loss, and granted the three little creatures life once more.

One was born again in a blinding flash of light as a memory of the storm.

The second returned in a blaze of fury, an echo of the flames that had consumed them.

And the third was formed from the tears of the birds and the beasts in a great deluge, as a reminder of the rain which had quenched the fire.

Then, with its gift bestowed upon them, the guardian of the tin tower disappeared into the clouds. It left a glittering rainbow in its wake as it departed, never to be seen again until the time was right and the world needed it once more.

Meanwhile, the three reborn beasts remained in the ruins of the old burned tower. Imbued with new powers given to them by the guardian, they served as a reminder for the tragedy that had taken place, and as a symbol of nature's wild power. It is said they lie beneath the tower even now, sleeping and waiting for their time to rise again.

***

'This is Reed signing off,' said the radio host. 'And remember, all you beautiful listeners out there - keep yourself tuned into the Lucky Channel.'

His voice trailed off and was replaced by one of the cheesiest jingles Ryo had ever heard. In a temper, she leaned over to the front of the car and turned the radio off. Anything was better than listening to that garbage.

Unfortunately, turning off the radio only left her more thoughts to contend with. With no sound to distract her, she could only dwell on what was probably going on inside Professor Elm's lab. Her mom had driven her here and asked her to wait in the car while she discussed something "really important" with her dad.

Knowing her luck, she was probably in trouble again. Ryo couldn't remember a time where she hadn't been in trouble. For the past year or so, she'd had her parents breathing down her neck almost constantly for one reason or another.

First, it had been her run-in with the neighbour's kid, Lyra. The girl had been so smug about the Pokémon her parents had gotten her and paraded the stupid blue mouse ball all over the place for weeks - Marill or Mareep or whatever it was, Ryo didn't care. Her parents hadn't found it funny when she'd taken Lyra's stupid pet and offered to show off her soccer skills with the thing, whatever it was called. Clearly no one in New Bark Town could take a joke.

Then after that, there had been the incident with another one of their more gullible neighbours. Her mom in particular hadn't been impressed when she'd found out that Ryo had convinced the guy to stand out all night in the pouring rain just to find a Pokémon that would only come out of hiding in the daytime. It was his own fault for actually going along with her, but apparently that didn't matter.

When that had all blown over, Ryo had accidentally broken the Pokégear her parents had bought her for her birthday. A Pokégear was an expensive gift, she knew, and her dad had apparently worked extra hours in the lab for Professor Elm just to afford it. Obviously she hadn't meant to break it, but one peaceful walk in the fields just on the town outskirts had turned into a nightmare when a bunch of what she had _thought_ were rocks turned out to be a family of very grumpy Pokémon who didn't enjoy being sat on. She'd come home covered in bumps and bruises after the little rock monsters had finished pelting her with pebbles, and her brand new Pokégear had been all but smashed to bits.

It never stopped. When her parents had finally forgotten about one problem, they'd find another reason to get mad and punish her. She was beginning to forget what a life without being grounded was like, and her TV probably didn't even know how to turn on anymore, but worst of all - worse than anything else that her parents had thrown at her these long eighteen months...

They'd forbidden her from getting her first Pokémon and becoming a fully fledged trainer. While all the other kids her age had been given a Pokémon by Professor Elm and sent off to explore and battle one another, Ryo could only sit and watch from the sidelines.

It wasn't fair. Okay, she had to admit - she might not have been the perfect kid all the time, but it was cruel to keep her hanging back for so long. She was already a teenager now, easily old enough to start her Pokémon journey - and yet here she was, stuck in a stuffy old car while her mom and dad cooked up new ways to make her life miserable. Meanwhile, kids much younger than her were probably setting fire to gym leaders and punching the Indigo League champion, Lance, in his stupid pretty face.

But what could she do about it? She didn't have the money to go out and buy Pokéballs, so catching her own Pokémon was out - and she couldn't just steal a Pokémon from someone else.

She slumped back in her seat. In time, maybe she'd meet other losers who never became a Pokémon trainer. Maybe she'd train to become an accountant or a bus driver or something else that didn't involve Pokémon, and she could be happy watching other people have fun while she begrudged her parents for forbidding her to get her first Pokémon until she was old enough to retire.

'Ugh.' She punched the seat in front of her and took a deep breath.

She was being stupid, she knew that. She just hated this. She hated waiting, she hated feeling useless - and she hated being held back like this. Maybe it was her own fault, or maybe it wasn't. It didn't really matter. She just couldn't stand feeling like all that was waiting for her was a great big nothing. If her parents were going to punish her, they could have made her do any chore they wanted - but this? This was pure torture.

Ryo was shaken from her misery by a knock on the door. Her mom was glaring at her through the window, tight lipped and stiff-limbed like she always was when her daughter got herself in trouble. Ryo opened the door and climbed out of the car.

'Come with me,' her mom said sharply. She was a very severe looking woman even at the best of times, with her sharp haircut and thin, angular build - about as far away from Ryo's dumpy, grumpy look as it was possible to be - but when she was in a mood like this, she looked even spikier than usual. 'You're needed in the lab.'

'Oh boy,' said Ryo. 'Is that where the electric chair is? I didn't think they did public executions any more.'

'Don't be smart, young lady. Come on, we shouldn't keep them waiting.'

_Them?_ She was beginning to like the sound of this less and less, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. Her mother grabbed her arm and guided her through the lab's double doors, past a cloud of glasses-wearing nerds in lab coats, and finally - worryingly - to the entrance to Professor Elm's private office.

'What's the professor got to do with this?' asked Ryo. 'I just thought you and dad were going to ground me again...'

Her mom didn't answer her. She swung the door open, still frowning. 'In,' she said.

Inside the office, she was greeted by her dad and Professor Elm standing by a large machine on the far side of the room. It was a little difficult to tell the two men apart, if she was honest - they were both tall, thin, prematurely balding geeks, and right now, they were both staring at her like she had grown another head. One of them tried something that looked almost like a smile. Her mom closed the door and stood beside the pair, her arms folded firmly against her chest.

'Oh, Ryo! There you are!' One of the men greeted her cheerily. By his tone of voice, she presumed she was talking to the professor; he sounded a little less disapproving than her dad when he sPoké to her. 'Now, I suppose you're wondering why I asked you here.'

'Uhhh...' Ryo shrugged. 'I figure I've done something wrong?'

Elm laughed. Her dad followed nervously. Her mom was still deathly silent.

'No, no. In fact, quite the opposite,' said the professor. 'I need to ask you a favour. I've been trying to ask for your assistance for the past... the past... I'm not quite sure how long, but it's no doubt been several months at least. Unfortunately, with one thing or another, I just haven't had the opportunity to ask. With recent developments, however, I simply can't put off asking you any longer, which is why I've gathered both you and your parents here.'

Ryo was already baffled. A favour? Something her dad's boss had been meaning to ask her for months on end? But that meant... No, they couldn't have...

'Now,' Elm continued. 'I have an acquaintance who goes by the, uh... the intriguing moniker of "Mr. Pokémon". He is, uh, quite fanatical about his research, you see, and he continually raves to me about his strange discoveries. There have been numerous accounts he has regaled me with that, despite their preposterous nature, have intrigued me... but just this morning I received a message from him that was too remarkable for me to ignore. It really is an intriguing case, and I would love to go and visit him myself, but we're so busy with our research here, and I simply can't spare any of my assistants at the moment. And obviously, I have considered asking others to go and visit him, but given his... um, peculiar living arrangements, I daren't send anyone without a Pokémon to visit him - someone trustworthy and reliable. And I was wondering -'

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'You want me to visit this Mr. Pokémon guy?'

The professor nodded. 'I've already asked your parents' permission, and they've agreed,' he said. By the looks of her mom, asking for her permission would have been no easy feat: she was practically quivering in the corner, her face pulled into a furious scowl. 'I understand you haven't yet been given your first Pokémon, so I would be happy to give you one of the rare creatures we've recently discovered to help you start your journey...'

'Yeah,' Ryo interrupted, glaring at her mother. 'Yeah, that sounds great, doc. Sign me up. I'd love to have my first Pokémon. I've waited for so, so long,' she said, labouring the words, 'I never thought I'd ever get one. But yeah, I'd be happy to visit your friend for you. After all, you said yourself - I'm pretty trustworthy and reliable, aren't I? Kind of a perfect candidate for this kind of job, really. And if mommy and daddy dearest have said it's finally, _finally_ okay for their trustworthy, reliable daughter to start something that everyone else started months ago, then I guess I have no complaints.'

Thankfully, all of her snide remarks sailed over Professor Elm's head. 'So enthusiastic! Well, let's not delay any longer. Let's get you a new Pokémon, shall we?' He smiled and pressed a button on the machine next to him. A panel opened, revealing three Pokéballs. 'I thought I'd give you a selection, so you can choose one that suits you.'

She'd been waiting for this for so long. If it had been any other situation, she would have taken her time, too overwhelmed by the prospect of finally getting her first Pokémon to know which one to choose.

But her parents had done this on purpose. They didn't want her to get a Pokémon. They didn't want her to become a trainer. They wanted her stuck at home with them, miserable and left out. She stalked over to the machine, swiped the first ball her hand came to, and turned for the door. 'Thanks doc,' she said. 'I guess I'll go and see this Mr. Pokémon guy then. See ya.'

'Aren't you going to check your Pokémon first?'

Ryo's hand was already on the door. 'Nah,' she said through gritted teeth. 'This one will do. Thanks again, doc.'

She threw the door open and slammed it behind her. She could hear her mother erupt in the room as she left, and she broke into a run, bursting out of the laboratory and onto the street.