Other Fan Fiction ❯ Pokegirls: The Savage World ❯ Southern Belles ( Chapter 2 )

Southern Belles

 

Desert sand rippled in the distance, a moving wave that shifted dunes and scattered dust. The party's leader followed it with hard grey eyes, muttering, `Wormsign. Not like them to move during the day.'

 

The Dromaids stirred; natives of the desert, they knew the Worms' appetite. Their handler soothed them with caresses and gentle words. If they bolted on their tough, horny feet, the party's food and water went with them.

 

`Wow! What is that?' Peter burst out. All of sixteen, he'd already Tamed a pair of wild Pokégirls: an insatiable cat-type and a shyer bunny-type. The two plodded along loyally behind him, but the heat was taking its toll. Every day, they collapsed as soon as the party stopped for the night, barely rousing to eat before falling asleep. Peter was much put out by this.

 

`Worm, boy- Sandworm.' The leather-clad leader didn't bother to turn around to answer. `Biggest one ever caught was near ten meters long and two meters tall. I reckon this one's five meters. They say, “Walk without rhythm to avoid the worm.”'

 

`Thanks, sir. I'll remember that.' Peter pulled a small notebook from his worn, faded jeans. He groped for a pen until the leader barked an unpleasant laugh.

 

`Just pulling your leg, boy. It's a line from an old novel I found in the sand. Those worms are as blind and deaf as that rock over there.' The older man pointed with one gnarled finger. `They hunt at night. Some pencil-necked scientist came through here last year. Called `em “pit vipers,” said they hunt by scent and heat. Any idea what they live on, boy?'

 

`Um…Saguarinas and Dromaids, most likely, sir. They're the most common desert Pokégirls,' Peter replied.

 

`Aye, Pokégirls. And idiot Tamers who keep their fires burning. Come on, we need to make Broken Wall by nightfall.' The party trudged a few dozen yards in silence before the leader said grudgingly, `You know your Pokégirls, boy.'

 

`Every name in the Pokédex. Powers, habitat, and appearance.' Peter whipped out the slim, battered volume with glowing pride. It listed every major breed of Pokégirl in North America, as well as a small section on various regions. From the Southwest Desert to the Alaskan Tundra, from the Southeastern forests to the Cascade Mountains, it described every habitat Pokégirls inhabited.

 

The party camped in a small oasis that night. A burned-out shell of sun-baked brick stood by the brackish pool. The leader lit his pipe after dinner and leaned back against a pile of bricks that might once have been an outhouse. He blew smoke rings into the night, then turned to Peter. `Where're you going after El Gordo?'

 

`I'm planning to cross the Mississippi and going after some of those Southern Pokégirls.' Popular lore described them as beautiful, docile, and possessed of voracious appetites.

 

`That's a long way to go for a Pokégirl, boy. See this scar?' The ragged, hairless streak ran the full length of his forearm. `Got that from a Coongal in Atlanta. Cutest thing you ever saw- bushy tail, domino mask over her blue eyes, and soft brown fur- `til I grabbed her tits. Then she showed me the sharpest little claws I ever felt.'

 

`Why'd she do that? I thought Pokégirls liked that sort of things. Except the feral ones.'

 

`Not those Southern belles, not the ones raised by a family. They're mighty picky about Tamers down South. Lemme tell you something that happened about ten years after the Crisis. I was twenty-five, and it was my first trip south of the Potomac-'

 

`-when I met this gorgeous Catgirl,' the Dromaid handler finished the older man's sentence. He continued, `I'd just gotten her alone behind the woodshed when her father came up with a shotgun. He's told that story to every poor soul who's traveled with him the past twenty years. Haven't you, Dad?'

 

`That's because it's a damn good story. It's how I met your mother. And you're wrong. I never told it to that Jack Straw guy last winter.'

 

`That's because he heard it from Mom before we set out.'

 

The older man sighed and sank back against the bricks, saying, `Your mother was really something. I stopped hunting Pokégirls after I met her. She almost made me get rid of the ones I'd already Tamed, too.'

 

`What? How could she do that? I've never heard of a Pokégirl questioning anything her Tamer did,' Peter said.

 

`That's because you've never really traveled, boy. This wasn't a Pokégirl talking back to her Tamer, this was a wife trying to fix her husband's cheating ways. That's how she'd put it, anyway. They still believe in marriage down South: one man, one woman, white dresses, all of it.'

 

`That's ridiculous. Pokégirls are good for two things: keeping house and fucking. And the more you have, the better,' Peter declared with all the certitude of youth.

 

`Believe what you want, boy. You'll learn soon enough what they think down South.' With that, the leader went to his bedroll and curled up for the night. `Get some sleep, boy. It's a long way to El Gordo.'

 

 

Peter took ship down the Rio Grande from El Gordo. He changed ships at the river's mouth for the voyage around the Florida peninsula to a small port near the Savanna ruins. Mermaids were sighted off the Keys, amphibious Pokégirls with gills and lungs, though adults were unable to walk.

 

Peter disembarked in Mariana on an early summer day with a gentle breeze. The odour of sea and fish clung to the wharfs and the quarters closest to them. Men and Pokégirls, no more than one to a man, promenaded down the cobblestone street with children following close behind. Nude or clothed, all were impeccably groomed and many Pokégirls discreetly inspected each other from beneath parasols or broad hats.

 

Peter ignored the flowing throng and sought out the nearest inn. It was closed, as were the next three he tried. Finally, he found an innkeeper just locking his door and caught his attention. `Excuse me, sir. Why are all the inns closed today? And why is everyone going there?' The young Tamer pointed to a whitewashed building with a tall steeple.

 

The innkeeper replied in a broad, slow drawl, `It's Sunday, son. Folks hereabouts usually go to church on Sundays.'

 

Peter had heard of churches, though he'd never attended one. Dreary sermons, hard pews, and summer heat were frequent complaints among travelers who ventured into the South and other regions where the old religion held sway. Unthinking, Peter asked why they went to church and closed everything down on Sundays.

 

`Why, to hear the Word of the Lord, son!' was the outraged response. Mastering himself, the innkeeper added, `You just got into town, didn't you? Might as well let you in for a minute- wash up, change your clothes, let the girls freshen up. No one'll be doing business until after the service, anyway.' The portly man unlocked the door and herded Peter in with his Pokégirls. `Now remember, services start in half an hour.'

 

The innkeeper led the group to a small room where Peter dropped his pack beside the hard bed. The girls went into the floor's bathroom with its communal tub while their Tamer made do with a basin on the dresser. He gave his face, hands, and arms a half-hearted scrubbing with dark soap; the girls laughed and splashed in the tub next door. Peter pulled out some relatively clean- if faded- clothes and called for the girls to get themselves ready.

 

The innkeeper was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs. He said, `The name's Cornelius Scott and this is the Sailor's Rest.' Cornelius stuck out a meaty hand, which Peter shook gingerly.

 

`Peter Colms, from California. I came here to Tame Pokégirls.' His two girls joined them and the four left the inn. Cornelius locked the door behind them.

 

`You've come a mighty long way for Pokégirls. Best if you hunt them in the woods and swamps around here. The town-bred girls are mighty particular about choosing a mate. By the way, are you going to introduce me to your ladies?'

 

`I caught them wild; they don't have names.' Peter changed the subject under Cornelius's cold stare. `I've heard that there are a lot of strange Pokégirls down here: Cokemaidens who give black mild, Sorores with alcoholic blood, and the legendary Forest Queen who commands the beasts.'

 

`They're real enough, but most Cokemaidens and Sorores live a couple hundred miles north of here. And stay clear of the Queen, son. No man has ever come back from hunting her.'

 

`Cornelius, are you scaring that boy with stories about the Forest Queen?' demanded a stately older woman standing beside the church doors. Her fair hair was liberally flecked with grey, but she bore no other signs of age. A faint golden nimbus surrounded her, almost invisible in the sun. The young Tamer only noticed it when a man in black passed behind her.

 

`What are you?' burst out Peter.

 

`Peter, this is Mrs. Agatha Lee. Mrs. Lee, Peter Colms, from California.' The innkeeper introduced the two. Leaning closer to the young man, he added, `You treat a lady's powers the way you treat her age. Understand?'

 

Peter flushed and nodded. `I'm sorry, ma'am.'

 

Mrs. Lee laughed gently and said, `It's all right. You're new here and don't know our ways. Shall we go in? Reverend Morris is always so put out when someone comes in late.' She paused at the door and asked Peter, `You were taught what he meant, weren't you?'

 

The inside of the church was a light, airy space with windows to catch the cool sea winds. Rank upon rank of dark wooden pews marched over the blue carpet on either side of a broad aisle. A low dais at the far end supported the whitewashed pulpit with a tall cross hanging on the wall behind it. Reverend Morris took his position as Cornelius and Peter slipped into seats by the door. He was a tall, spare man with an ascetic's face who wore a severe black suit but no tie.

 

The pastor delivered a fierce diatribe against the reemerging science of genetics, which had been revived in one of the old research centers in northern Georgia and other labs scattered around the continent. `Welcome, brethren. I am glad to see so many of you gathered here today. But it outrages me to hear what is being done in this country, what is being done in the old labs left standing in the north. Once again, men are delving into the secrets of life.

 

`Have men forgotten what happened the last time they sought that knowledge, what they did with that power? The monstrosities they created- not you, dear ladies, but the true monsters- the Hellhounds with their sulfurous breath and triple heads, the great Sandworms of the desert that swallow men whole, the venomous Sludge Rats of the abandoned cities- they are still with us.

 

`Cities fell in the Days of Fire, and we have not yet raised them up. The roads were closed, and we have not yet opened them. The arts of flight, of medicine, of electricity were lost and we have not regained them.' Morris continued in the same strain for over half an hour, prophesying doom and terror if scientists succeeded in recovering the techniques of genetic engineering. Finally, he said, `Let us pray for their guidance and that they repent of this folly.'

 

The congregation rose and bowed their heads in prayer. Hymns followed and a brief reading from the massive Bible on the dais beside the pulpit. The service ended a little before noon and Cornelius forced Peter to endure an endless series of introductions. Finally, the last parishioner shook the young Tamer's hand and Cornelius let him leave.

 

Peter set out into the forest at dawn the next day, followed by his Pokégirls. He wore his usual hunting outfit-boots and a thin coat that hung to his knees with nothing under it. The girls were nude, as usual. Peter carried a long coil of rope in case he needed to restrain a Pokégirl before Taming her.

 

Tall oaks and pines spread their leaves over narrow, winding trails. Dark ivy and thorny brambles wound around the trees and strange bushes grew all around. Butterflies fluttered between the brilliant flowers that grew in the patches of sun between the trees and small buzzing gnats swarmed about in search of prey.

 

Peter's Catgirl soon caught the scent of a wild Pokégirl. The trail led to a stately oak wrapped in some vine whose broad, pointed leaves came in clusters of three. The green-skinned girl was asleep in a fork of the tree, her emerald hair spilling down the trunk. She seemed a little taller than Peter, full-breasted and voluptuous.

`Beautiful,' Peter breathed. `She'd make a wonderful addition to my harem. Get her down from there.' The Catgirl scrambled up the tree at her Tamer's signal and unceremoniously threw down the wild one.

 

The green-skinned girl woke just as Peter threw himself on top of her, pinning her arms to the ground. She struggled, but the Tamer was too heavy to throw off. Peter opened his cloak and showed he was ready to Tame the wild girl. She growled and bared her teeth, but Peter just laughed and positioned himself to enter her.

 

Something caught him by the waist and smashed him against the tree. When his vision cleared, he saw the Pokégirl had sprouted half a dozen green tentacles from her back. Peter's Catgirl dove from above with a savage cry. Two tentacles caught her and slammed her into the ground; she did not get up. The bunny-type disappeared into the undergrowth.

 

A tough, fibrous tentacle gripped Peter's wrists and pulled him to his feet. Another tentacle bound his ankles. The Pokégirl leaned close and spat in his face. `So, you want to Tame me. And what makes you think I'd want this tiny little thing?' She gave his cock a contemptuous flick and twisted.

 

Peter screamed and the girl laughed. `That's a good start, but not good enough.' Hard red eyes looked him up and down. `You're not a bad-looking man, but throwing me out of bed was just a bit rude, wouldn't you say?' She thrust her knee into his guts and threw him down. `Now let's have a little fun.'

 

`Wha-what are you?' Peter coughed. His captor stood over him, holding his arms up with one tentacle and securing his legs with two more.

 

`They call me Poison Ivy.' A slick, oily tentacle trailed up the Tamer's leg, stopping just short of his groin. Peter flinched away from its touch. The Poison Ivy smiled and said, `You're afraid. I'm not into that sort of thing, but fear is so good.' The oily member slid between his cheeks and gently brushed against his hole.

 

Peter stiffened and the girl crouched down over him. `I can see we're going to have a lot of fun together. Now just relax and it won't hurt- much.'

 

Peter didn't remember much when he came to, only that he had screamed his throat raw before passing out. His Catgirl remained where the Poison Ivy had thrown her; she wasn't breathing and Peter left the corpse where it lay. His coat had been torn away and taken. He turned around, looking for the path back to town, but there was no sign of it. Finally, he picked a direction and started walking.

 

Before long, his left leg started itching, then the right leg. Then his cock, and his belly, his back, his entire body was covered in an angry red rash punctuated with hard, tiny blisters. The barest touch caused terrible pain; scratching was almost worse than enduring the itch.

 

He'd been walking for two hours when he noticed that he'd seen no sign of Mariana, though he remembered that he'd encountered the Poison Ivy half an hour from town. He sat down- carefully- on a convenient rock and tried to remember what direction he'd set out in and which one he'd been taking the last two hours.

 

A bestial squeal and thundering hooves jolted Peter from his thoughts. Saplings and bushes fell in front of him and a long-tusked razorback boar charged out of the brush. Its beady black eyes fixed on the young Tamer. Peter jumped from his rock and ran. The first tusk caught him behind the knee and he stumbled. The next thrust ripped open his back and tossed him into the air. He landed on a tangle of brambles and the boar ripped him open from hip to shoulder. Search parties found him two days later, half-consumed by ants.

 

 

 

Pokédex

 

 

P-001 Ivy: The first plant-type Pokégirl discovered, this breed is found in all sections of eastern North America, as well as many parts of Europe and the British Isles. Distinguished by green skin and hair, this breed is exceptionally hardy and adaptable. Each Ivy has from two to six tentacles, usually coiled in pouches on her back. These tentacles are most often used as supplementary hands, though rumours persist of orgies involving other Pokégirls.

 

P-002 Poison Ivy: Almost identical to the Ivy, this variety is much more dangerous as it does not Bond to men and in fact usually has no desire for Taming. The Poison Ivy can secrete at will a highly irritating oil, much like the plant of the same name, which it often lives near. The primary distinction between the Ivy and the Poison Ivy is the latter's red eyes. Tamers who attempt to Tame a Poison Ivy rarely survive her revenge if she is not in the mood.