Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Pygmalion, or My Fair Trainer ❯ Act 1, Scene 1: The Bet Suggested ( Chapter 1 )

A Firm Avowal of the Lack of Authorial Rights: The Author of this delightful and charming work wishes that her faithful Readers will acknowledge her Lack of Ownership of Anything contained within this work of fiction. The Characters, which she has seen fit to adopt to this tale, belong to Mister Tajiri and the Corporations who have paid him well to use them. The Story, which she has seen fit to use in her fashion, is based upon the play Pygmalion, by the Delightful Mister George Bernard Shaw, and the musical My Fair Lady, by Messrs. Lerner and Loewe. Please, gentle Holders of Copyright, do not sue the fair Author, as she is forced to live in Abject Poverty.

Gentle Reader: The Author requests that you, fair Readers, bear with the Author for the seemingly slow pace of this Chapter. She also asks you to bear with her changes in viewpoint and dialect. Regrettably, she is not well versed in British cursing, and she has only secondhand knowledge of Bostonian tone. Hopefully you will enjoy this part anyway, dear Readers. As before, this Story is dedicated to the marvelous Miss Harrington, from her most obliged and humble servant, the Author. The Author also sends Greetings to the venerable institution known as the Eldershipping Brigade. Please do send the Author your comments on this odd piece of Fiction.

Pygmalion, or My Fair Trainer

Being a Romance by Latonya Wright

Act I, Scene 1: The Bet Suggested

Theatre District, Viridian City, 1987

Damn and blast it all! Of all the nights for a torrential downpour!

Samuel Oak stood under the awnings of St. Martin-in-the-Fields. Raindrops fell from the brim of his wool fedora, splashed onto his nose.

How absolutely irritating!

He'd never wanted the damnable theater tickets anyway. That was a concession to dear, sweet Audrey, God be good to her soul. His lovely little wife had loved going out to plays and concerts--though, granted, back when they went to the theater there were no foolish ninnies jumping around on stage in Meowth costumes, singing... or perhaps the word was caterwauling...

However, that was neither here nor there. What was here or there was the fact that he had bothered to keep the box at the Eynsford, and for all that money and trouble, his reward was a night stuck in the rain after a terrible show. Preposterous!

Now he was a scientist. To be more precise, he was a Pokemon researcher. And any man worth his salt knew that scientists did not go to the theater. No, they stayed in their laboratories all day, as he should have.

Oh, well. As soon as the rain let up, he could catch a taxi and get back to his lab in Pallet Town. It would be damn near impossible to get a cab while this infernal downpour was still raging. It was just the matter of how to best pass the time...

He decided to play a game with himself again, a little game that his years of training and research had developed for him. If that ridiculous show hadn't numbed his brain to the point of insanity, he could play What the hell kind of trainer are you?

He pulled out his notepad and ducked behind one of the massive pillars to better examine the people milling about.

Lydia Lawson glanced around at the small throng of people underneath the awnings. A particularly dirty and scruffy trainer stood next to her. His sleeve brushed lightly against her mink stole.

She sniffed and moved closer to her son, Giovanni. "My goodness. Where on earth is Wyatt with the car?"

Giovanni pulled his coat tightly and shrugged. "There's probably a huge traffic jam, with the taxis and the buses and all."

"Well, I wish he'd hurry up. I want to get back to the Gym... where we belong." Lydia shivered. "Honestly, a respectable person of quality shouldn't have to stand around with the lower classes. As if we don't get enough of them every day!"

"Yes, Mother," Giovanni said, because he had learned that that was what his mother wanted to hear.

They stood there for a moment, gazing at the street longingly, hoping to see the official Cadillac. Still no sign--just more taxis and carriages and buses and chaos.

Lydia eventually gave Giovanni a little shove. "Giovanni, darling, go and see if you can find Wyatt and the car."

"Oh, Mother, you honestly don't think sending me out in the rain is going to make Wyatt show up any faster!"

"Well, it might help in some way..."

Giovanni rolled his eyes. "Mother, really."

"Now don't argue with me, Giovanni. You don't want me to catch pneumonia from the rain..." She carefully moved away from another trainer who appeared to have a bad case of lice. "... or any other infectious disease that could possibly find me. Be a good boy and find the car."

"All right, all right." The young man raised the collar of his coat, then dashed out into the maelstrom of cars and people.

At first, he moved gracefully--dodging a car here, a bike there, sidestepping a careless pedestrian. But he paused a bit too long after avoiding a Corvette... and ran smack into a young woman. She tumbled into the street, dropping her basket of flowers all over the street.

"Oh, goodness!" Giovanni hurried to help the girl up, but she waved him away.

"Oh, dammit, my basket!" She saved it from being crushed by stampeding feet.

He bent to salvage a bouquet of daffodils. "Here, let me help you."

"For crying out loud!" The girl tossed another bouquet down and stomped. "Two bunches of violets, in the mud, practically broken!" She whirled on him. "Why don't you watch where you're going, huh?"

Giovanni gazed at her. She was a young woman, not more than twenty, he guessed, though she wore her hair in two pigtails that made her seem a lot younger. Strange... he'd never really paid much attention to redheads before... but this one had big, bright brown eyes. If she looked like a proper lady and not like a wet, bedraggled cat, she would almost be pretty...

Then he heard his mother's voice behind him. "Giovanni, find the car before I catch my death!"

"Yes, Mother," he called over his shoulder before handing the daffodils to the young woman. "Sorry about that. I managed to save these." And he gave her his patented "lady-killer" smile.

Strangely enough, the flower girl didn't seem impressed at all. "Thanks. Next time, though, just be more careful, okay?"

Women were strange creatures. Any other woman would have practically fainted. Oh, well. "Okay." And he ran off to find Wyatt and the car.

Under the awnings, Lydia watched the whole exchange and frowned. Who was this brazen hussy flirting with her perfect son? Did this girl really think that the Viridian City Gym Leader would be interested in a common flower girl? But here came the little wench now, running up the church stairs.

"Hey, is that your son?" The girl had the most atrocious accent. Lydia cringed to hear it. "If you'd raised him to have any kind of manners, you wouldn't let him ruin a girl's flowers without paying for 'em."

"Oh, go about your business, girl, and don't bother me." With a dramatic sweep of her skirts and lift of her head, Lydia moved away to another pillar.

She pretended not to hear the girl's last words. "And if you'd had any manners, you wouldn't run away without paying either. Sheesh." Dirty commoners, backtalking to their betters...

"Taxi! Taxi!"

But the cabs all bypassed the tall, darkly handsome young man with the luggage at his side.

As he stood in the pouring rain, Spencer Hale decided that he should never have left Ecruteak.

First the long train ride. Then the getting pushed around in the train station. Now the sudden rainstorm. And he was stuck out in it, and totally unable to find any means of getting to Pallet Town. And if he stood here one more minute, he was going to be a puddle.

Fortunately there was a church nearby. He could see people standing under the awnings there. That would be a nice place to wait out the rainstorm... Spencer grabbed his suitcase and hurried over.

A woman wearing a long black dress and a mink stole stopped him as he raced up the stairs. "Excuse me, young man," she asked. "Does the storm seem to be ending now?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am." He tossed his long, black hair from his face. "If anything, it seems to be getting worse. I'm very sorry."

She sighed. "Thank you, young man." She ambled back toward the edge of the pillar.

Hmm. That was odd. That woman almost looked like the Viridian City Gym Leader. He would think that someone that important could get a cab anytime. Guess not...

"Hey!" A bright, young voice came from right beside him. He turned and gazed at a slightly wet but still pretty young woman. She was giving him a huge grin. "Don't worry! If it's getting worse, that just means it's almost over. So cheer up!"

Strange. Now that he thought about it, this girl was the first person to smile at him here. Heck, she was the only person who seemed genuinely happy. He couldn't help smiling back at her.

"I know just the thing to cheer you up!" The little redhead reached into her basket and pulled out a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils. "How about a nice bunch of daffodils? They're on sale for only two pounds! Sounds expensive, I know, but these flowers come right from my own garden."

Spencer wanted to buy them, really he did, but he only had a twenty pound note, at least until the banks opened tomorrow. "I wish I could, but I don't have any change. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about that! I can change up to five pounds!"

The girl had such a sunny disposition. Her youthful optimism reminded him of Laurel... Impulsively he began searching his pockets. "I don't think I can... oh, wait, here's a pound." Spencer tossed the coin to her. "Hopefully that'll help you a little."

If she was dismayed, she gave no sign. "Thanks a lot, mister!"

He decided to step a little closer to the center, so he could avoid the rain and the noise. With a polite nod at the flower girl, he moved away to wait.

Hmmph. He had looked young and rich and handsome, and she had turned on the charm just for him. And what had she gotten out of it? One crummy pound.

Oh, well. It was better than nothing. Delia Ketchum put the pound in the pocket of her overalls, then glanced around to see who she could charm next.

"Psst!"

What was that? Was someone whispering to her?

"Hey! Flower girl! Over here!"

A trainer touched her left shoulder, then leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You'd better give him a flower for that money. I think you're being watched."

"Being watched?" Who would keep tabs on her?

"Yeah. There's a guy right behind this pillar, taking notes on you. I think he might be working for the cops."

"Taking notes on me?!?" Delia sprang up, dropping her basket. "What the hell is he taking notes on me for? I haven't done anything at all by speaking to that guy! I can sell flowers out here! I've been selling here for almost a year now. And that's all I'm doing, too, is selling flowers!"

Several people turned to look at her, but she could care less. No way was some cop going to arrest her for something perfectly legal and respectable. In fact--

Delia marched up to the young man who gave her a pound. "Hey, mister!" she yelled, making him jump. "Don't let them make false charges against me! Tell them what I said to you! I won't have anyone ruining my reputation for some silly false charge. Do you know what'll happen to me if I get arrested?"

The crowd around her was talking about her. "What's wrong?" "What's that girl talking about?" "Some cop's out here trying to arrest her."

She didn't care. In fact, she stomped her foot at the young man and screamed, "Go on, mister, tell them!" He stood there, looking like a deer caught in someone's headlights. Damned if she wasn't going to get an answer from him, though.

Suddenly she heard another voice. An older male voice, with an English accent. "There, there, now, you silly girl! Who's hurting you? What do you take me for?"

She whirled around. Her gaze fell upon an older man with a book in his hand. He was just coming around the pillar. So this was the guy taking notes on her, huh? She stormed up to him. "Look, I don't know what you're doing, but I swear I haven't said or done anything illegal--"

The man waved her words away. "Oh, shut up, shut up. Do I look like Officer Jenny to you?"

Well, clearly he didn't. He looked like a crazy old guy with a tweed fetish. But if he wasn't a dectective... "Well, if you're not with the cops, why are you taking notes on me? What are you writing about me? Show me what you wrote about me!"

"With pleasure." As the crowd pressed closer, he held the book open under her nose.

Delia squinted. He had terrible handwriting. "You expect me to read this chicken scratch? I can't read that."

"Chicken scratch? Impudent hussy! I'll have you know that this is perfectly acceptable handwriting!" But he pulled the book away from her and began to read. " 'I have just been presented with a challenge this evening. Young woman, perhaps two months into nineteen years of age, auburn-red hair, brown eyes, about five-five. American accent--I would guess from the Northeastern United States. I cannot tell what kind of trainer she is, simply because I can see no distinguishing characteristics of any type on her person. To be precise, I would guess that she has never trained a pokemon. I wonder if she's even touched one. Most extraordinary that our so-called rigid training system could turn out a person such as this.' " He snapped the book shut and smiled.

Oh. So he wants to discriminate. "I see. You're one of those."

"Those what? What are you going on about?"

"One of those detectives who discriminate against non-trainers! I've heard about you guys!" Delia glanced around and found the young man from earlier. He would help her--he seemed like a good guy. "Please, mister, don't let this guy talk to me that way. It's not fair to pick on a girl who doesn't train just because she doesn't."

"I quite agree!" The young man came to stand beside her. She felt an inward thrill when she noticed that she came to the young man's shoulder. Yeah! This guy can kick this geezer's ass! "Really, sir, you shouldn't discriminate against this young woman. Just because she isn't a trainer is no reason to make up slanderous charges against her. Why, she can report you for this..."

"Bloody hell!" The older man threw his hands in the air. "Can't anyone see I'm not with the police!"

A random bystander pointed. "Anybody can tell this one's not a dectective. Look at his shoes. They don't look like they've been pounding the pavement."

The older man quickly opened his book and began taking notes. "Ah, young man, how long have you trained under Karate King Bruce at Saffron's Fighting Dojo?"

The bystander's mouth flew open. "Who told you I trained there?"

"Never mind that. You did." He made another note before turning back to Delia. "And you, my girl... what the devil are you doing in Kanto if you don't train Pokemon at all?"

See, now look! That bastard was picking on her again! Delia felt tears spring to her eyes. "It's not like I wanted to come to this stupid country! My dad made me move here! If I had my choice..."

"Well, actually," and now the older man's voice held a note of scorn, "I couldn't care less. Go back to your bloody country. Just stop that awful screaming." Then he began perusing a number of bystanders.

Why... that... she had never been... She wanted to wring his snotty little neck!

In the end, though, she sank to her knees and began to cry.

She felt the gentle pressure of a hand on her shoulder. "Please don't cry," her protector murmured.

Who cared? She was tired of all of them! They all could go straight to hell!

"Sir!" And now that long-haired boy who looked as if he were an Eton reject was trying to break his concentration. "I really must insist that you apologize! You've made her cry!"

"Oh, dash the chit," he answered shortly. "She'll be fine after she's had a good cry." Of course she would. He couldn't be bothered by a stupid woman, not when he was on a roll...

But here came another blasted woman, hell bent on worrying him. "Excuse me, sir, do you think you could find me a taxi?"

Ah. Lydia Lawson. Samuel knew her quite well, even without the little clues that gave her occupation away. How could someone not know a painted bird such as that? "Well, madam, I don't know if you've noticed with all the commotion, but it stopped raining about five minutes ago. You should have quite an easy time finding your car and getting back to the Viridian Gym."

At that remark, the crowd buzzed with excited murmurs, and Lydia raised her head and gave him a proud smile. She looked like a puffed-up pidgey, and he couldn't resist knocking her down a peg or two. "Of course, if I were you, madam, I would stop training whatever type gives off the gunpowder smell. You wouldn't want anything to backfire on you, now would you?"

Yes. It was worth it all to see the shocked expression on her face. "Why, I never!" As she stalked off, leaving a confused crowd in her wake, he wondered how the devil she got away with being the Team Rocket leader when it was as plain as day that she was. That just proved how ignorant all these silly twits were.

"Say, if you can tell where people have trained, where did I train?" A younger boy, covered lightly in boulder dust. Easy enough.

"You've got Rock types. Pewter City."

"Well, who said I didn't?" The boy seemed more impressed than he should have been. "You know everything!"

The silly flower girl was mumbling to herself. Something about being a good girl caught in a bad scene. He promptly ignored her.

"You can't guess where I trained!" A girl in her twenties, with crystalized remnants of Nightshade around her and that otherworldly look in her eyes.

"Lavender Town. You've got the wee ghosties all over you, my dear. My sister trains with them, so I should definitely know that. You all are going to have to do better than that if you want to trick me."

"Well, since you know so much, where and what does he train?" The ghost trainer was pointing to the Eton reject.

Hm. Difficult, but not challenging if you knew what to look for. "You're not from around here. I'm guessing Johto. Trained around Grass types when you were younger... gave it up because you weren't particularly good at it. Decided to go into research and attend university instead. Wait a moment and I'll tell you what type you study." Carefully kept hands, as if he needed to watch his hands... or touch things with them... things like old documents... "You study the Legendaries."

"Why... that's right. You're completely right." The boy flipped his hair back--what sort of man would willingly let his hair grow long?--and gaped at him. "How did you know? Do you do this for a living?"

The flower girl was calling him a no-good busybody. He promptly ignored her.

"Of a sort. I've trained and researched and taught for many years. I've been around Pokemon and seen their attack aftereffects for so long that I've learned what to look for. It's actually just simple training methodology. I'm pleased to say that it's my profession and my hobby."

"Oughta be ashamed of himself, the coward," the flower girl continued, growing ever louder. Why the devil didn't she shut up?

"Is there a living in training methodology?" the student of Legendaries asked. "It seems that most people want the hands-on approach to training."

"Not as much of one as there used to be, and that's a shame, because we need it now--"

"He should mind his own damn business," the flower girl continued, oblivious to the fact that she was ruining his concentration, "and leave a poor girl alone--"

"Woman!" Samuel roared at her, using the voice previously reserved for wayward trainers. "Cease your detestable chatter, or ruin the nerves of people at some other house of worship!"

She was quick to respond. "I've got just as much right to run my mouth here as you do!"

The insufferable wench needed a good shaking. "A woman who's as ignorant of the wonders of Pokemon training as you are doesn't have the right to interrupt those who know something. Remember, Pokemon training is the divine spark for us, the fire that inspires us and drives us, just as it has inspired and driven generations of Kantians for ages. So don't sit there berating us just because your native land has no divine spark of equal value."

"Are you kidding?!?" She was having a veritable fit now, but he could ignore that. He could feel a lecture coming on. "I'll have you know that America is--"

"Look at this woman!" he cried, pointing an accusing finger at the silly wench. "She's never trained a day in her life, yet she has the gall to call me a busybody and a coward because I've merely told the truth--that she knows nothing. She cries out for vengeance in oppression of non-trainers, but she insults me because I believe that training is essential! I ask you--who is the real criminal here?"

Good, the stupid girl was ripping her hair out. "You started all this! You were taking notes on me!" But the crowd was on his side, and the Muse was giving him the proper words, so he continued.

"But I am a patient and forgiving man." Samuel placed a hand on his chest, gazed into the distance. "I don't blame her for her ignorance in training. What should she think of trainers when she has such poor examples of proper training around her? I'm speaking, of course, of all of you." He pointed toward the crowd, now murmuring angrily. "No, no, think about it. How many of you train daily? How many of you know and understand all the potential powers of your monsters? How many of you really understand anything about Pokemon beyond whatever it takes to beat the next opponent or get the next badge?"

They were silent then. Samuel smirked. What could they say? He was absolutely correct. "You see, you all have lost the divine spark of training. You don't realize just how wonderful these creatures are and all the things they can do. You simply don't have the fundamentals of the monsters down yet." A dramatic pause, then, "And yet I don't blame you either. You all only know what the Gym Leaders and trainers around you tell you. And what do they tell you? 'Go out and just catch as many as you can. Just learn their attacks as you go. Who cares how you win, so long as you get those badges and win lots of money?' Those people, those who just do it for money and power and fame and a convenient way to skip school... those are the people I blame for such shoddy training today." He leaned against another pillar.

The long-haired whippersnapper gazed at him with a fascinated look. "Are your own methods of training different, then?"

"Well..." Samuel looked at the little flower girl. She was still mumbling to herself. "Let's consider our little non-training guttersnipe here."

"I'm not a guttersnipe!"

"Any other trainer her age might know a few things about their monsters by this point in their career. However, in six months, I can take this ignorant wretch and teach her more than the average trainer her age would know. Why, I'd wager that I can even pass her off as... as a Gym Leader, or at least a highly experienced and respected trainer. At the very least, as a person who can get along with trainers, which I think she'll find beneficial."

For once, she was quiet. "Really?"

He ambled over to her. "Yes, you squashed cabbage leaf, you disgrace to the hallowed halls of this cathedral, you incarnate insult to humanity, I could pass you off as the President of the Pokemon League."

And he knew he could, by God.

This old guy was clearly off his rocker, and from the look of things, he had taken her protector down with him.

And if she weren't careful, she'd fall off the rocker too. Imagine! She had almost thought that she might want to train someday... just for a little while...

How stupid! And how stupid of him to make her think he could turn her into a trainer overnight!

Delia shook her head. "Oh, come on. You don't expect me to believe that." She turned to her protector, hoping to snap him out of his thoughtful reverie. "Hey, mister, you don't believe he can do that, do you?"

Much to her surprise, the younger man laughed. "I don't know. Anything's possible. I've come to Kanto to study stuff like this from a man with similar ideas. Tell me, sir," he said, addressing the old guy, "have you ever met Professor Samuel Oak?"

"Met him? My boy, I am Professor Samuel Oak."

A gun could have fired with less commotion. The crowd murmured excitedly again--"Well, how about that?" "I thought he would be taller"-- but Delia was hopelessly confused. Was this guy actually important?

"Who the devil are you?" he asked the young man.

"I'm Spencer Hale, third year doctoral at the University of Johto-Ecruteak. I'm currently under the direction of James Westwood, and he suggested that I come to Pallet Town to study with you--"

"James Westwood! Why, you're the marvelous boy he keeps threatening to send me! He's been carrying on about you and how brilliant you are. I was just about to come out to Ecruteak and get you!"

Oh. So they were both important people...

"Tell me, my boy, where are you staying?" And suddenly the men were walking off together.

"Well, I thought I'd find a little apartment in the city, or perhaps a little cottage in Pallet--"

"No, you won't. You'll stay right at my lab in Pallet Town. No one's there now except for myself and my housekeeper, so we have plenty of space."

Wait a minute! No way was this guy going to wreck her nerves and walk away without her getting something out of the deal! She grabbed her basket and ran after them. "Wait a minute!" They turned to look at her. "Buy a bouquet of flowers? Come on, I'm short on dinner money."

The older man smirked. "Little liar. You said you had five pounds in change--that ought to be enough."

If she hadn't been so furious with him, she might have noticed that he had a point. But she didn't. Instead, she got royally pissed off. Why, the nerve of... Oooooh! I could just kill him! Delia hurled the basket at the man, hoping to knock that smirk right off his face. "You oughta be dragged into the street and shot! Take the whole damn basket for two pounds!"

"Why, you hellion--"

The chimes of St. Martin's carillion sounded then, marking midnight.

He glanced up at the steeple and smiled. "You're right as usual, Audrey. 'Be charitable.' All right, then." He dropped her basket, reached into his pocket, and poured a heap of change upon the badly beaten daffodils. The clink, clink of the coins echoed off the concrete pillars.

Delia's eyes grew large. She looked at the older man. He smirked, raised his hat in a mocking salute, and resumed his conversation with her protector. "So... Spencer, is it? How long have you studied with that bloody fool Westwood?"

"Well, a year and a half. I'd originally thought I wanted to study the Legendaries, but recently I've been wondering if I should go on the training track..."

They faded into the night.

Delia ran to her basket and knelt next to it. One pound--another two pound coin--no, two two pound coins!--five one pound coins!... Why, there must be at least twenty pounds worth of change here!

"Hey, check it out!" A saxophone player she knew from the area laughed as he came up to her. "Looks like Delia's come into the family millions!"

"Aw, shut up and use that hot air to make that saxophone work, Wes." She punched his arm lightly before beginning the long walk home.

He followed her anyway, his street quartet in tow. "Say, what are you gonna do with all that money?"

"Maybe go out to Valentino's and have the escargot?" the bass player asked.

"Take a trip to Puerta Vista for the weekend?" the clarinetist teased.

"Hell, I don't know." She shrugged. "I do know that I'm going to at least think about paying the phone bill... and I'm definitely going to buy a really huge Cadbury bar! I think I've earned it!"

"Just think, Delia," the drummer said, "if you'd only go off and train somewhere, you could rake in dough like that every five seconds."

She blew a raspberry at him. "Come on, Chuck, you know better than that. Look at Pop. He's out there training and he's poor as dirt."

"Sure you don't want to go out and train, ever?"

"Nah. I'd like to live the high life like all those guys up in the gym there. Who wouldn't? But all I need is a roof over my head, with working heat and lights, enough food to eat, and enough space to grow my flowers."

However, later that night, after she'd comfortably settled in bed, she'd gazed up at the cracked ceiling and wondered.

Could that professor person really make her a good trainer?

Because if she actually were a trainer, she might be good enough to get the life she really wanted. A nice big house like the ones out at the Vineyard. Lots of money to use however she wanted--for pigging out or five telephone lines or tons of chocolate... Godiva chocolate. A huge yard to have four or five different gardens. Perhaps a really nice boy who would adore her... and all the respect in the world.

Boy, I'm really being stupid tonight. Training's not going to bring me the life I want. It's not going to bring me instant money and fame and respect. The only things that can do that are hard work, perseverance, and a lucky break. The only thing I need for the moment is a lucky break. Not a lesson on some stupid house pets.

With that thought, she lulled herself into a peaceful sleep.