Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Pygmalion, or My Fair Trainer ❯ Act 1, Scene 2: The Bet Remembered ( Chapter 2 )

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 gives most humble thanks and blessings to her faithful Reviewers, all of whom she loves very much. She also thanks them immensely for being quite fond of this silly little Tale. The Author continues to ask for Forgiveness in getting Bostonian tone down correctly, but certainly you, dear Reader, will understand that trying to write a Conversation between two native Bostonians is a Delight, or "Wicked Frickin' Pissa," to the Author. As always, the Author salutes the worthy institution known as the Eldershipping Brigade. This tale is eternally for Mademoiselle Harrington, from her most obliged and humble Servant, the Author. 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 1, Scene 2: The Bet Remembered

Viridian City, 1987

Okay. So he'd gotten caught in the rain right outside Viridian City last night, and had been forced to camp out in the wet wilderness.

He didn't mind that too much. It hadn't been the first time such a thing had happened to him, and it probably wouldn't be the last time. Still, Drake Ketchum welcomed the opportunity to get to his apartment for fresh and dry clothes, a hot shower, a warm bowl of oatmeal, and a little bit of money to treat himself to a beer. After he dropped his Pokemon off at the Pokemon center for some much needed healing, he headed straight for the apartments at Wimpole Street.

It was a good morning for walking through Viridian anyway. Wall to wall people, of all ages and sizes, walking with monsters and packages and suitcases and bookbags; cars and carts and bikes and animals and walkers and joggers; street vendors and big corporate chains; and the brilliant sunlight sparkling off the windows from the towers of the skyscrapers, the sides of the Pokemon center, the gilt edges of the Gym, and the ratty protective fences of the little corner shops.

Drake knew his kid hated it here, but damned if he knew why, because on mornings like this it looked just like Boston. Damned if he knew why his kid was always so upset with him, too. Hadn't he given her a good life? First off, he'd had the decency to give her life in the greatest city in the world. Then, after Melina had died, he'd had the good sense to bring Delia to another part of the world--to "expand her horizions," as the brains in Cambridge would put it. Next, he'd had the good sense to come to a wicked city like this that was almost as good as home. And he'd turned her loose in this city to do whatever the hell she wanted, and he'd had the grace enough to leave her alone and let her do it! Any other kid would have been grateful... he just didn't get it.

Drake finally made it to Wimpole Street and put his key in the lock at 27-A, fully set to face his kid's shock and fury. Instead, he came face to face with a young woman who was absolutely not his daughter. If he squinted a bit and ignored the woman's dirty face and ludicrous hat, she might have been a bit like Delia, but...

"Here now, Charlie!" the woman squawked. "Who are you, tryin' to come into my house as if you own the place?"

"What're ya talkin' about? This is my house! Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Eliza, and I tell ya this is my house, make no mistake! I've lived here for nigh on six months now!"

Drake blinked. "Well, what happened to Delia Ketchum? The girl who used to live here?"

"How should I know? All I know is, the apartment was empty when they rented it to me, and so here I am. And now, if you don't mind, I should like to go about my business!" She practically shoved him out of the apartment.

So his kid had moved away, huh? Wow, she must be doing better on her own than he thought! Maybe she'd finally gotten a nice job in a flower shop, or gone off to one of these colleges. Maybe she'd actually found a nice boy and gotten married or something. Whatever happened, her change in fortune meant better living and more money for him! At least, until he earned his Pokemon Master fortune...

Of course, he had to find Delia first. Drake vaguely remembered that she used to sell flowers over in the Theatre District. If she still worked there, he might see her; if she didn't, perhaps someone there would know where she went. And there was a good chance he'd run into someone he knew who might be open to letting him have a little dough...

Hey, speaking of which, here came this trainer he knew right now. He put on his best smile and used his most jovial tone. "Hey, Allen, how are ya?"

"Not a pound, Drake," Allen said, not even slowing down as they passed each other.

Okay, maybe Allen was still pissed off about not being paid back for the last loan. Well, he saw another trainer he knew standing at the crosswalk on the corner. He remembered Sally--she was a good kid... "Hey, Sally. How's it goin'?"

She didn't even turn to look at him. "Not a pound, Drake," she snapped before crossing the street.

Hm. Maybe he shouldn't have made her a hit-and-run... Hey! Out there in front of St. George's Tavern! It was good ol' Alfie sweeping the street! "Good morning, Alfie! How's life over there at St. George's?"

Alfie stopped sweeping long enough to glare at Drake. "Not a brass farthing, Drake. And don't bring yourself in here unless you got some money for your beer. I ain't runnin' a charity, you know." Alfie went back to sweeping, leaving Drake momentarily dumbfounded.

Is this how they reward hard work and perseverance around here? What kind of a place is this? Still, he was feeling lucky this morning. Certainly his kid was doing well enough to spare some money for her dear old man.

To his surprise and dismay, when he got to the Theatre District, he saw a familiar redhead with long pigtails behind a cart full of flowers. Great, so his kid hadn't gotten a better job! Well, maybe she did it for love of the game. Or, maybe her husband just let her do it as a way to give her something to do every day. Either way, she had more money than he did.

He tiptoed up to her, then announced joyously, "Delia! Look who's back in town, huh?"

She didn't even turn around. "Not a dime, Pop."

"Hey! Is that any way to welcome your old man back home? Then again, is movin' out to another place and not tellin' me a proper thing to do, either?"

She glared at him over her shoulder. "Is comin' back to town and stealin' your kid's food and rent money a proper thing to do?"

"Can't be too hard livin'. Ya moved!" He took control of the nearby stool. "Tell me, kid, ya got married yet?"

"Have you lost your mind? Who the hell wants to marry me?"

"Dammit. Well, how'd you get enough money to move?"

"Took all my savings for the down. You oughta see it. Nice yard for flowers. House has plenty of charm and character."

"Ya sound like one of those Barnyard realtors there... wait, so you got a house? And you got enough money to get those flowers the kinda fertilizer you like? So that means you've got enough to slip me a fiver, huh?"

Well, apparently she didn't think he sounded desperate enough, because she looked highly pissed. "Come on, Pop! I'm tired of you comin' by long enough to take my money!"

"Aw, take pity on your old man, Delia! I've been on the road, I'm hungry, I'm tired, I'm wet... surely I've earned a little reward for all that!" And he gave her the whipped puppy look that had always worked on Melina.

She sighed. "Jeez, Pop... Well, it's your lucky day, 'cause I've got some extra cash. I had a little bit of luck myself last night." She pulled a ten-pound note from her pocket and handed it to him. "Ran into a guy who left me a really nice tip."

Drake whistled as he took the money. "No sir!"

"Ya-huh! He was a wicked quayre guy, though. One of those faker Brahmins, you know? Talked real funny and looked down his nose." She giggled. "He was talkin' about how wonderful Pokemon were, and how I had to be ignorant for never trainin' 'em. Tellin' ya what, though, I cracked on 'em a coupla times."

"Didn't you find out who he was?"

"Said his name was Oak. Professor Oak."

"Oh, Gawd. No kiddin'? That guy's wicked famous and wicked smart. Everybody thinks he's some kinda god. You're soft to crack on him."

She blew a raspberry. "Aw, wicked smart my ass. At heart he's frickin' hoopie just like everyone else over here. Anyway, where ya goin' now?"

"Figured I might go down to the bar for a beer--"

"Come on, Pop, you aren't gonna spend my good luck money on a beer! And it's only ten in the morning anyway!"

"Nah, you come on. You can't expect me to go on without celebratin' my successful journey through Kanto somehow, huh?"

"Did you get all the Boy Scout badges, then?"

"Yep. Well, all except the Viridian one, and I'm gonna get that one tomorrow, after I've gotten all rested up. Hey, lemme tell ya about all the people I met on the way--"

Delia nodded her head towards the people walking by. "I'm on the job, Pop. Tell me later tonight. Here, lemme give ya the key..." She pulled her keychain from the pocket of her overalls and handed it to him. "It's 240 Silas Lane, think you can remember that?"

"I wasn't born yesterday, ya know."

"Whatever. Just don't lose my frickin' keys, ya chowdahead."

As he sauntered off, Drake called over his shoulder, "Thanks, kid. You're a good daughter!" Because she was, even if she didn't fully appreciate all he'd done for her.

On the way to the center of town, Drake passed by St. George's again. He paused for just a moment outside the door. His kid had made some pretty good points: it was kinda early for a beer, and he shouldn't waste his money on beer, and he really should find home and change...

Then again, who was he to tempt Fate? Fate had found him his kid and some money, and the least he could do was thank the gods accordingly, right?

He walked into the bar, holding the ten above his head. "Hey, Alfie! We friends again with the arrival of this little baby? How about a Bud, huh?"

Well, all things considered, he was a pretty piss poor Pop, but he was hers. Besides, it was good to speak Bostonian again. Delia shook her head and went back to flower selling. She had to make some extra money to cover the expenses of having a big, burly deer drinker in the house, after all.

As the day passed, however, Delia wondered if her father's arrival had brought bad luck too. She saw her profits dwindle and her merchandise's value, well...

One woman had come up to her with an armful of packages. "Good day, young lady. I've got a fabulous dinner party this evening, and I'd like a few flower arrangements for the table, you know. Something very pretty and elegant, with big, gorgeous flowers, yes?"

She had put on her best smile and her most pleasing manners. "Wonderful. I've got just the arrangement for you. Have a look at this! Lovely little pansies--purple and yellow here, but I can get them in any color you want, in case you want to accessorize. Nice size, so the guests can see them and the people across the table."

The woman had frowned at the delicate petals. "Oh, my... these are awfully small, aren't they?"

"They're the same size as any others."

The woman shook her head. "No, I've got a friend who grows flowers. She's got a marvelous garden up in the Village, you know, just past her gates... and her pansies are much larger than this. In fact, all your flowers look a little smaller than hers. Tell me, what fertilizer do you use?"

"The 10-10-10 standard--ten parts nitrogen, ten parts phosphate, ten parts pot ash. Same as they use on the lawns of the White House!" she added with a giggle.

"Ah... tell me, what Pokemon do you use to enhance that formula? Because my friend has a lovely Sunflora she uses to add some sort of chemical to her soil, too."

Come on, lady, if your friend's so good at this, why don't you get her damn flowers? But Delia lifted her chin and gave the woman the most winning smile she could muster. "I'm happy to say that I don't use any monsters at all to enhance my flowers. What you see comes straight from my own garden, and grown just the way we do it in America--the all-natural way."

"Oh, dear." The woman shook her head again. "Well, young lady, it might help a bit if you got a monster to help out. I'd like to buy some of your flowers, but... well, forgive my bluntness, dear, and don't take it as an insult, but they're simply not big and bright and beautiful enough for my dinner party."

Why... my flowers are the best and most beautiful in the whole city! But she couldn't say that, because the woman might decide that she liked her flowers better later! So she kept smiling and said, "That's all right. I hope you find what you're looking for. Thanks for stopping by, and thanks for the advice--I'll try it."

Yeah, Delia snapped inwardly at the woman's retreating, tottering form, I'll try it when Hell freezes.

Half an hour later, better luck struck, but...

A cute young man came up to her cart, whistling a happy tune. He'd looked around for a few moments before pausing before her favorite bouquet--a rainbow of colorful crysanthemums. "Oh, yes," he'd muttered, "this is perfect. Just perfect."

"Yeah," she answered. "That's one of my favorite arrangements there. Getting some flowers for your sweetheart?"

His shy smile and faint blush were really, really adorable. "Well... I guess. Not really a sweetheart, but a really good friend."

Aw. Too bad. Sounded like he was trying to make her more than friends. Oh, well. "Well, she'll like those a lot."

"Yeah, I think she will. I'll get two bouquets. That should be enough for her."

He'd paid for them, and Delia thrilled to see the money in her hand. Imagine that--he'd thought her flowers were good enough for the woman he wanted! And he was willing to pay for them!

The boy stepped back, pulled a small red ball from his pocket. "Pokeball, go!" he cried, tossing the ball into the air. A flash of light... and suddenly an ugly, fat, pink animal with a horrendously long tongue was standing next to Delia.

"Licki!" the thing yelled, causing Delia to jump backwards.

The boy knelt next to the thing. "Look, Asuka! I've got the perfect gourmet treat for you today! How do you like these flowers?" He held them out to the animal.

Delia stood in stunned silence. You mean... he bought my beautiful flowers... for that?

The animal unfurled its tongue and grabbed the bouquets in one scoop. The trainer grinned; the thing chewed; and Delia stared with huge eyes.

Then the thing coughed, turned towards Delia's loafers, and spit the chewed flowers right on her. "Licki tung!" it announced, folding its fat piggy arms over its chest.

"Sorry," the boy said sheepishly. "She's a really picky eater."

My flowers are only good for Pokemon food?! I oughta knock this guy into the stratosphere! But the kid wouldn't take his money back, despite her attempts to give him a refund for flawed goods, so Delia smiled and carried on.

At about five-thirty, the evening's theatre crowd began arriving for dinner before the shows. She usually did pretty well, but tonight...

Delia had smiled, been her most charming. She'd had a few customers--mostly people around her age, college kids, the grungy types, who bought the cheapest arrangements because they were just as poor as she was. She couldn't land the rich people though, and she couldn't understand why!

Two people passed her, dressed in lavish dresses of silk and chiffon. She grinned at them, hoping that these would be the ones to make a big purchase. At first they passed her. She frowned and returned to clipping the thorns from the single roses.

After taking a few more paces away from her cart, however, one woman stopped and looked back. "Oh, look, Virginia, flowers! I want to get some to throw at Luciano when he's taking his bows."

Delia smiled to herself, but she didn't look up.

The other woman spoke then. "No, Margie, you mustn't buy from that girl. I've heard the most dreadful things about her."

Heard about me? Who's talking about me? She didn't look at them. If they thought she couldn't hear them, she might learn more...

"Goodness. She looks like such a sweet thing. What could she possibly do that's so bad?"

"She's been known to brag about not using Pokemon to make those ratty little flowers!"

Delia stiffened. These are the people I should watch out for. She continued to clip the thorns carefully.

"Not use Pokemon? How can she get by... I wonder why she doesn't?"

"I suppose she thinks she's better than the rest of us. All hoity-toity because she does things all on her own, without our 'horrid critters.'"

No! That's not why! I don't do it because I'm arrogant... do I? I just wanted to prove that people could get by just fine without having to train... I wanted to prove that there was more to life than that, that people can be satisfied in life with no monsters--

"As if the way she does things is any better!" The second woman's insults grew louder, more hateful to her ears. "If her way of life were so great, she would be doing more than selling flowers on the street! Just look at her! Drooping flowers, ragged cart... and what in Heaven's name is all over her shoes? I know Andrew doesn't look much better when he's out on the road, but at least I know he's coming by his looks honestly!"

The scissors in her hand still cut the thorns, even as her teeth drew blood from her lip.

"The poor girl," the first woman was saying. "Her life can't be so easy without Pokemon. I should buy from her just to help her."

No! I don't want your damn pity!

"Don't you dare! Your husband got that money through all his Pokemon victories. I'll not have you spending it on a girl who doesn't respect his way of life. No, if she wants to be arrogant and foolish towards us, let her, but she'll never profit by it. There's a girl the next street over who I've seen with a Bellsprout--let's go to her flower cart."

Yeah, but who respects my way of life? Doesn't anybody ever think of that, just once?

The scissor's blade sliced into her finger, and she yelped. She could feel the hurt and angry tears welling in her eyes. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair--

She leapt up, placed her stool underneath the cart, and grabbed the cart's handles. "Hey, Delia, where ya goin'?" the Italian ice vendor near her called. "This is the time we start making money! You can't leave now!"

"Screw it," she yelled back, pushing her way through the crowd. "I'm not in the mood to deal with people tonight. I'll make it up tomorrow." The truth was, if she stayed she'd hear more of the same. Your flowers aren't good enough for anyone. You're just a fool for refusing to train. You'll never amount to anything around here without a monster. She didn't feel like dealing with Pop and with pushy, stupid people today. She could at least tune Pop out.

The walk through the District didn't do a damn thing to calm her nerves. If anything, it made her even jumpier. Finally, when she heard the chimes of a church over her head, Delia dropped the cart's handles, picked up a bouquet of crysanthemums, and slammed it on the street. "Here's what I think of your stupid bells and your stupid country!" she yelled at the columns.

Then she blinked. Oh... it's the church from last night. How could she have forgotten that place? It was a good tipping spot, even if the people hanging out there were really rude and obnoxious.

Instantly the crazy old guy's words floated through her mind. "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."

Hmmph. Yeah, that guy wasn't any better than the women earlier. The last thing she needed was a mental catalogue of all the ways she'd been pissed upon in the last twenty-four hours. She picked up the handles... and paused again.

"I don't blame her for her ignorance in training."

... Well, maybe he should. Maybe the women had a point too. When it came right down to it, she really didn't know a lot about the house pets that were so important around here. And hadn't she been a little bit arrogant about it? Hadn't she thought that running around to get all the trinkets was pretty damn stupid? How could she say and think such things when she'd never done it herself? Yeah, that was arrogant and ignorant, and she had a lot of nerve.

But how could she possibly learn about them? Getting a book didn't seem like the right way to do it. Most people didn't use books anyway. At least Pop hadn't. He'd just gone down to the Gym, picked up a little blue thing with a horn on its head, and gone on his way. She could do that... but dammit, she didn't want to leave town and go playing in the woods for months. Besides, the guy last night had said that wasn't the way to do it, 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?'"

Did that guy know a way to do it without leaving town and without having to run around and pick up trinkets? Well, clearly he must have. "In six months, I can take this ignorant wretch and teach her more than the average trainer her age would know. 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."

And that was the important thing--learning how to get along with these people, so she could earn their respect. Maybe so she could even have a little bit of respect for them, too.

Wonder if this guy would be willing to teach me about Pokemon and training and all that stuff?

His name was Professor Oak. He apparently had a lab over in Pallet Town. If she went there tomorrow and asked him for training lessons, he might take her on... if she offered him the right amount for his services. She hated to spend money on that, but it was a necessary evil. Or, funding for her lucky break. Thinking of it like that made it a lot easier to tolerate.

Delia felt a lot better, now that she'd decided on a plan of action. She felt good enough to stop in a bookstore and pick up a book on Pokemon. After all, she couldn't go to the Professor looking like a total fool, could she?

Oh, yeah. She'd wasted her money on this place? What a joke.

Drake cracked open a Bud and sank back on the couch. Oh, well. It was home. At least he had beer--though right now he thought he'd sell his soul for a Sam Adams.

His kid came through the door. "Hey, Pop, how'd ya--" She wrinkled her nose. "Phew! Gawd, Pop, you smell! Take a bath, ya frickin' Soap!"

"In a quality house like this one, there's no hot water, kid. Wanna beer?" Because he had to offer, but he was secretly hoping that she'd refuse.

"Hello, light dawns over Marblehead! Boil the water!" To his dismay, she took another can out of the twelve pack. Damn, less for him. "I think I need this today, Pop."

"Bad day, kid?" he asked while she plopped down next to him.

"Kind of. Stupid friggin' people. Stupid friggin' me." She opened up the beer can and set it down before pulling out a slick-looking magazine. "Plus, I need a drop of liquid courage, so I won't chicken out tomorrow."

"Chicken out? Whatcha gonna do?"

"I think I'm gonna go ask about training lessons in the morning."

Had he heard her right? Did Delia actually say she was going to training lessons? "Ya mean ya wanna train, kid? You serious about that?"

"Yeah, I'm serious. Look, I went and bought a book and everything." She held up the book, and he squinted at the cover. A Beginner's Guide to Pokemon. "That guy who left me the tip last night--the wicked crazy one, who you said was wicked smart--he said he could teach me how to do it in six months. So I'm gonna ask him if I can take lessons from him tomorrow."

"Well! Hell of a surprise. You got money to do that?"

"Not really. But it's a worthwhile investment around here, so I'll spend it."

How about that? She even seemed hell-bent on training. Hell of a turnaround for the girl who had proclaimed, "I'd rather die than train these things!" Drake idly wondered what caused that change... Aw, it didn't matter. "Well, good luck to ya, kid."

"Thanks, Pop. Hey, ya never know. I might end up being as good as you are!"

"Sure ya will. Remember, Bostonians can do anything if they put their minds to it."

Father and daughter sat there in a comfortable silence, drinking beer (though she only sipped from her can). Drake watched Delia as she read her training book; from her furrowed brow, he could tell that she was reading even though she was confused.

Dammit. He hated moments like this. Watching her was giving him an attack of parental feeling. He didn't necessarily hate that, but he hated worrying about his kid.

Because on one level he was glad she'd finally given in and decided to learn about Pokemon. On another level, however, he didn't want his little girl running around in the wild. She wasn't suited for that kind of life anyway. He was, but she wasn't. Melina's kid should have gold and diamonds and mansions and gardens, not tempermental monsters and cold nights on the ground.

Whatever. She wanted to do it, and if it helped her get by around here, it was fine by him. With any luck, she'd get bored with it and go back to a more normal life, like college or something. Or maybe she'd meet a rich trainer along the way and get married and not worry about working at all. Those options were better. Anything that made them money with little or no effort was good.

Drake nodded, crushed the empty beer can against his head, and reached for another one.

Delia frowned at the book.

These things didn't go by normal classes, like mammal or reptile or amphibian--they had types.

These things didn't grow up--they evolved, and they changed their names when they did it, too.

They didn't just scratch or bite--they attacked, with powders and arms and whatever the hell else they had or made on their bodies.

When they lost energy, they couldn't just rest to get it back--you had to take them to a special place or feed them special stuff or give them haircuts. (How the hell did that help?)

It all looked really confusing and really stupid.

Well, she'd tried. No sense in going to the guy if she understood it all right away, anyhow. Wasn't she going to pay him to teach her all about it? She'd worry about learning it all tomorrow.

Delia tossed the book behind the couch and grinned at her father. "Well, enough of that for right now. We gotta worry about dinner. Come on, chowdahead, let's see if we can't find some cheap eats."