Pokemon Fan Fiction / Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ Pygmalion, or My Fair Trainer ❯ Act 1, Scene 3: The Bet Made ( Chapter 3 )

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 continues to praise and bless her faithful Reviewers, all of whom she loves very much. She adores knowing that you enjoy her silly Tale. This time, the Author must ask for Forgiveness in trying to make a suitably realistic lab environment. She is an Insufferable Git who knows nothing of Science, but she has resolved to Fake It. She must also apologize for the length of the Scene. However, it may interest you, dear Reader, to know that the Author speaks from Experience when describing the Terror of Rats and the Wonders of Chocolate. As always, the Author salutes the worthy institution known as the Eldershipping Brigade. This tale is continually for Mademoiselle Harrington, the wisest writer of her Generation, 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 3: The Bet Made

Pallet Town, May 1987

Spencer Hale had been in Kanto for a little over a day and a half now.

When he'd first considered coming here, he had thought that he wouldn't mind Kanto so much. Leaving his university's halls had been bittersweet, but he knew he could come back if he found his work in Kanto displeasing. Leaving his parents, who had wanted to keep their only child close to home, had been hard, but he had convinced them that this move would make him more marketable back home. Leaving Laurel had been downright difficult, but he knew he could always call and write her, perhaps even take the train or a flight home for a weekend if being away from her became impossible to bear. All these things had challenged him, but he'd always thought that it would be nice to be away from home, to get a change of scenery and a new angle on his studies. Being away from Johto for six months, maybe even a year, would be good for him.

Now, however, after only a day and a half--a day and a half!--he was ready to get away from Kanto and back to the relative safety and ease of life in Johto.

Professor Westwood had warned him. "Studying with Samuel Oak is not for the faint of heart." Spencer didn't think that his mentor knew just how hardcore studying with Samuel Oak would be.

The first night, they had gotten to Pallet Town at one in the morning. Though Spencer had yawned, had tried to excuse himself politely, the Professor had insisted upon showing him around the whole area--both the laboratory and preserve--right then. He hadn't gotten to bed until three-thirty.

The next morning, he had been awakened by a voice roaring, "Mrs. Pearce!" Apparently the Professor was leading his housekeeper on a merry chase to make properly toasted bread--toasted only on one side, covered with proper rhubarb jam thereafter. Spencer had staggered into the hallway and come face to face with the Professor, who had responded to his "good morning" by flinging a thick, heavy book at him. "We'll begin the day by discussing Beech's Compendium on Training Methodology, Volume 1. Well, why are you standing there like a gaping idiot? Get to work!"

The rest of the day had gone downhill from there. Someone had called the Professor--some woman who answered to his repeated epithet of "silly old bat"--and angered him. "What the devil do I care about a blasted Trainers' Invitational? First, that's six months away, and I care only about those things I can control right now. Second, I'll not have a trainer good enough to compete anyway, so why should I care?" She had laughed and called him a senseless imbecile. He had hung up on her and come to Spencer with a tirade on the incompetence and foolishness of the Elite Four. Being not well-versed in Kantian politics, Spencer failed to see how this quickly became an order for him to go outside and clean up Pokemon droppings.

This morning, he and the Professor were down in the lab, poring over a number of printouts analyzing the DNA of various Grass-types. They had moved up to Grass-types at ten, having spent the hours of nine, eight, and seven analyzing Bug, Rock, Ground, and Water respectively.

"Now, Spencer, tell me how many differences you see in these two samples."

"Erm..." Spencer squinted. They both looked the same to his eyes. Still, perhaps if he turned the page upside down... "Fifteen?"

"Off by thirty."

"You mean..." Spencer's eyes were now tiny slits as he peered at the paper. "How?"

"Well, first, look at the fifteenth sector here. Do you see how the sequences in the code there vary? This is the primary difference between a normal Chikorita, level fifteen and a Chikorita who's been taught Cut."

"Oh." Spencer nibbled his lip, then asked, "What does that have to do with training?"

"Plenty! The attacks you teach a Pokemon have a drastic effect on what they'll learn later. Granted, this is only a theory I'm testing, but I believe that--"

And then he went into a convoluted explanation of DNA mutations and chemical babble, ending with "The answer is clear. Know your Pokemon and what they are capable of doing." With a satisfied nod, as if that explained everything.

Spencer considered himself fairly intelligent and fairly clever. Therefore, he didn't understand why he couldn't see the leaps in logic. Well, he hadn't gotten much rest lately. His brains must be mush by now. "This is all very fascinating, Professor, really. But I'm quite worn out. I don't suppose we could take a break?"

"Nonsense. We'll take a break for tea at four. Now, let's have a look at these samples--" He waved around a stack of printouts.

Spencer closed his eyes and prayed for a diversion.

Apparently the gods heard him, because it came a few moments later, with the arrival of Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper. She was a middle-aged, pudgy woman, who carried the years of dealing with the Oak household eccentricities on her face. At times she could be polite and even friendly, but most of the time she was mostly snappish and severe. (That might be why the Professor kept her around.) Spencer thanked his lucky stars--but then again, from her expression, Spencer could tell that the reason for her interruption was not a happy one.

"Yes, Mrs. Pearce?" the Professor snapped over his shoulder.

"There is a young woman here to see you, sir."

"Young woman?" He tossed the papers down on his desk. "What the devil does she want?"

"She won't tell me. She says it's 'business of a personal nature.'"

Spencer glanced at the older man. That line sounded questionable, and Spencer wondered just what the nature of this "business" was. But the Professor looked completely baffled. "Well, does she look like a trainer?"

"She doesn't look like one. I thought she might be one of the new trainers this season."

"How peculiar." The older man frowned. Spencer must have seemed confused, for he explained, "I don't see too many young women here--I've left too many of their mothers close to tears in the past. Since she's here... Send her down, Mrs. Pearce."

"All right, sir, but don't come complaining to me if the girl vexes you." She left, and the Professor grinned at him as he strode over to a nearby cabinet.

"Well, this is rather a bit of luck for us, isn't it? You'll get to see how I train these foolish children. And I have a new means of monitoring everyone's progress--I can't believe I've never done this before." He unpacked a videocamera from a nearby bag and began setting it up on a tripod. "We'll video her lessons, and I'll give you the tapes when we've finished. Anytime you need to remind yourself of the proper way to do things, you can put this in your player. Sort of a guide, hey?"

"Sure, that sounds very useful." Spencer wanted the monotonous but infinitely easier task of running the videocamera. However, knowing his luck lately, it seemed highly unlikely. He sank into a nearby chair and waited for the next command.

After a moment, Mrs. Pearce entered, with a familiar face in tow. "This is the young woman, sir."

"One moment--where is the blasted recording light--Aha! All right, proceed."

The young woman stepped forward, head held high, red hair braided in two neat pigtails, brilliant smile shining from her face. Why, it was the flower girl from his first night here! She was still a cute little thing, and despite his firm belief in the sanctity of engagement, Spencer found himself straightening his hair, tucking in his shirt, trying to arrange his lab jacket so it wouldn't look quite so bulky on his thin frame.

"Good morning, Professor Oak, how are you today? I know you must be busy, but I'll try not to take up much of your time--"

"Oh, no. Not you again, you common wretch."

Spencer whirled around to glare at the Professor. Was that any way to treat a lady, especially one as well-mannered and as neat as this girl? But the Professor was giving her the same glare. "Mrs. Pearce, this isn't a young woman, this is a reckless hellion who sells flowers on Viridian's streets. No, absolutely not," he told the girl, "I know what you've come here for, you despicable little beggar. You've come to weasel more charity out of me, and I won't have it. Perhaps if you hadn't shied those flowers at me, I could tolerate you. But you did, so I can't. Be off with you. Now," he went on smoothly, perusing the camera, "where's the bloody record button, I've lost it again--"

"Hey! Wait just a minute!" For her part, the girl had a fairly hateful stare of her own for him. "Accusing me of stuff and then throwing me out, and you haven't even heard what I want yet!" She turned to Mrs. Pearce and asked, "Didn't you tell him that thing I said about 'business'? Can't you deliver a message right?"

Big mistake. Mrs. Pearce looked ready to grab a ruler from the Professor's desk and beat the girl with it. "Don't be foolish, girl. What concern would the Professor have with... whatever your business may be?"

"For crying out loud, you guys are all so snotty around here! But this guy's not above teaching people. I heard him say it myself. Now I'm not here looking for handouts, I'm trying to practically give handouts, and if my money's not good enough, I'll just go somewhere else!"

"Good enough for what?" The Professor was too engrossed in the technological confusion of the camera's labels to pay attention to her.

"Good enough for you!" she declared, with another toss of her head.

The Professor paused in his search for the record button, pulled himself to his full height, and gave her a look of fury, confusion, surprise, and shock.

The girl's smile became positively feline. "Yeah, now you know, don'tcha, buddy? I'm here to ask you about training lessons, and to give you cold, hard cash for 'em."

In the silence that followed, the girl tapped her foot impatiently, while the Professor's expression slowly became the typical smirk. "Well!" he finally responded. "What do you expect me to say?"

She blinked but rallied quickly. "Well, if you'd been raised to have any manners, you'd ask me to sit down. Come on, pal, I'm trying to give you some business. The least you could do is act professional."

Quite right! Spencer mentally cheered. Not only was the girl cute, she could also probably set the Professor in his place. He should behave as a gentleman would; you'd think an Englishman would know that.

Of course, the academic's next words reminded Spencer that Professor Oak was not your average English gentleman. "What do you think, Spencer? Shall we ask the baggage to sit down, or shall we toss her out the window?"

The girl cringed and stepped back, as she should--after all, Doctor Oak was probably perfectly capable of doing such a thing. "Hey! I'm not a suitcase, I'm a human being! And because I'm a human being, you can't just throw me out a window! Not when I've done my part and offered to pay you like any other human being would!"

Spencer decided to show the girl that not all Pokemon researchers were rude bastards. "How may Doctor Oak and I help you, young lady?"

He could feel the Professor's glare burning into his back. However, whatever inevitable punishments he could devise were worth it all for the shy smile she gave him at first, then the bright grin as she recognized him. "Well, mister, after hearing him talk about Pokemon training the other night, and after seeing just how important it is to everybody around here, I started thinking." She paused. "I like my life as it is--growing flowers, selling them, and just living. But the bottom line is, around here that doesn't work. If I want people to take me seriously and respect me around here, I've got to learn something about Pokemon and training and all that. Now the Professor there says he can teach me about them. I'm willing to learn something now, even if it is just the basics. I know what lessons for me ought to cost, and I'm ready to pay for them."

The little speech, so carefully rendered, so full of pragmatism beyond her years, placed Spencer firmly on the young woman's side. He was ready to kill, maim, cajole, anything to make the Professor take her on.

Doctor Oak, meanwhile, had begun pacing around the room. He paused near his desk, picked a piece of candy from a box, ate it slowly. Eventually he leaned against his desk, picked another piece from the box, and asked, "How much?"

"All right!" Her feline grin was back. "There ya go! See, I knew you wouldn't mind teaching me if you saw a chance to get some of that tip you left back."

The Professor pointed toward another chair. "Sit down," he ordered. Spencer wanted to kill him for his uncouth manners.

"Well, since you're offering--" she began.

"Sit down!"

Spencer and the girl both jumped at the roar.

Mrs. Pearce added to the commotion. "Sit down, girl. Do as you're told."

She seemed positively terrified. How unfair of them to intimidate the poor girl! Impulsively Spencer rose from his chair. "What's your name?" he asked.

When she spoke, her voice held a note of fear. "I'm Delia. Delia Ketchum."

He smiled, gallantly gestured toward the chair he'd vacated. "Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable, Miss Ketchum."

The smile he received was even prettier than Laurel's. See, being a gentleman does have its perks. "Thanks, mister, don't mind if I do." She sat down, daintily tucking one leg underneath her, letting the other leg swing idly.

The Professor rolled his eyes, but he took a seat behind his desk. After propping his feet up on the corner of the desk, and picking out another chocolate, he asked, "All right, how much do you propose to pay me for these lessons?"

She became all business then. "Okay. I've thought about this. I figure that most of the training expenses come from getting the critter itself, you know? But I don't want to get one to keep. I just want to learn what they do and how they can be useful. Now, I think that since you're one of those bookworms, you can just show me what to read and explain all the stuff to me, and if I need to see how it works, we can use the Pokemon here. I don't think just explaining and letting me read will take lots of time, and I don't think it should cost a lot to do. So, I propose to have two one-hour lessons at fifteen pounds per hour--twice a week, or however you like. Comes to thirty pounds a week. Take it or leave it." She sat back in the chair, continued to swing her leg.

The Professor picked out another chocolate, bit into it, frowned, and tossed it into the wastebasket. He gazed at Spencer. "You know, Spencer, thirty pounds is a sizable portion of this ragged urchin's income. And she's describing a program that I've certainly done before."

Oh, good, then he's going to take the offer.

"However."

Spencer did not like the tone of that "however."

"I am the Kenan Professor of Pokemonology at Celadon University and the Catalan Fellow for the University of Kanto at Viridian. I have won the prestigious Michaelson Award not once, but twice. People come from all over the world to read the very same course she's describing with me. And they usually don't do it for less than three thousand pounds." Spencer gazed, openmouthed, as he tossed the now-empty box into the wastebasket, opened a drawer on his desk, and pulled out another box wrapped in gold paper.

Delia had sprung from her chair to lean over the front of his desk. "Three thousand pounds? Where the hell do you expect me to get three thousand pounds?"

"Hold your tongue, you silly girl, I never said you needed--"

"I haven't got three thousand pounds! I've barely got thirty!" She slammed a hand on his desk, then turned her head. From where he stood, Spencer saw that her big brown eyes were brighter than normal. Why, she was crying!

"Don't cry, girl, and sit down," Mrs. Pearce snapped. "Nobody's going to touch your money."

Doctor Oak rose from his desk. "Somebody's going to touch you with a broomstick if you don't stop that snivelling. Sit down." As she slowly sank back into the chair, he pulled a bright red handkerchief from his pocket.

"Sheesh," Delia sniffled. "You yell at me like you're my dad or something."

"If I decide to teach you, I'll be worse than three fathers to you." He thrust the handkerchief at her. "Here."

"I don't want your charity." A weak but still incredibly defiant voice.

"Nonsense, you stupid twit. Take it." Under the Professor's intense glare, the girl obeyed. "If you're going to be a trainer worth anything, you mustn't go to pieces over every mishap. You must face every problem with rational action, not hysterics. Remember that."

He sounded different... almost sympathetic. It was so unlike anything Spencer had heard from him in the past thirty-six hours that Spencer was shocked into stillness. In that stillness, Spencer's analytic side sprang to life. All right. He sounds somewhat willing to teach her right now. We just have to give him a reason to want to do it. No... we have to make it seem as if he can't do it...

Suddenly, the plan became crystal clear. Spencer smiled, cleared his throat. "Professor?"

"What?"

"Do you remember your boast the other night? That you could pass this young lady off as a highly experienced trainer in six months? If you really could do such a thing, why, you'd be the world's greatest Pokemon instructor. But... no, no. You can't possibly be the world's greatest. Never mind."

"You insufferable git! I am the world's greatest Pokemon instructor!"

Now he's falling for it! "All right. If you really are, then you should be able to pass her off as an experienced trainer in the Trainers' Invitational." He paused, then added with a wink at Delia, "I'll bet you all the expenses of the experiment that you can't do it. Including the lessons."

The Professor frowned thoughtfully; Delia rewarded him with another brilliant smile and a "Wow, thanks a lot, mister!"; Spencer merely crossed his arms, smirked, and basked in the glow of her praise.

This was intriguing. Quite a challenge, indeed.

Samuel had been vaguely interested in the girl from the moment she'd walked into the room. He was surprised the silly little thing could remember who and where he was. He'd been slightly intrigued when he'd heard her motivations for wanting to learn. So she had realized just how vital Pokemon were--and how stupid she'd been for not learning about them before. But he'd been downright impressed with the plan of study she'd laid out. Not necessarily a training track... more of a "how can I make them useful for my purposes" track. Not bad for an ignorant girl.

He might have done it of his own free will. It seemed quite an amusing way to make thirty pounds a week (if she wanted to pay him to do it, he'd not complain). Another perk: he would only have to deal with her twice a week for one hour, unlike the usual five times a week for three hours a day. The less he had to deal with any annoying trainer, the more tolerable it was.

The mad Etonian boy had thrown a wrench into the plan, however.

Samuel remembered his boast well: I'd wager that I can even pass her off as... as a Gym Leader, or at least a highly experienced and respected trainer. And he knew he could do it, if presented with the chance. Damned if the boy hadn't dropped the chance in his lap.

And what a challenge, too! The girl knew nothing. Nothing. Yet Spencer had dared him to make this girl a trainer suitable for the Invitational in October. It would be like trying to teach a newborn a Shakespeare soliloquy.

He rubbed his chin for a moment. "It's almost irresistible," he said thoughtfully. "She's so deliciously low. So horribly ignorant..."

"Hey!" The chit lifted her face from his handkerchief and scowled. "I tried to read about Pokemon before I came! Really I did! But it all looked like Greek to me."

Teach this foolish girl all the knowledge of a Gym Leader in only six months? Pass her off as an experienced trainer, experienced enough to compete against others with more years behind them? Make her a worthy opponent in the fiercest exhibition competition in the land?

It was devilishly difficult. Most would say that it was damn near impossible. Samuel knew what he must do.

"I'll take it!" he cried, grabbing a handful of papers from his desk and tossing them into the air. "I'll take it! I'll make a Pokemon Master out of this ignorant guttersnipe!"

Nearly impossible causes were his favorite kind, after all.

"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a guttersnipe!"

But the Muse was pouring the plans for the experiment into his head, so he had no time for her jabber. "We'll start today! Right now! This very moment! We have enough room around here--she can stay here! Better for her to stay here, so she can be fully immersed in the culture! And she won't pick up any nasty habits from those lazy bastard trainers around her! That sounds like a lovely plan, doesn't it, Mrs. Pearce?"

The woman was completely flummoxed. "I suppose so, sir, but--"

"Wait a minute! You want me to come live here? With you?"

"Of course it's a marvelous plan. Quite right. Mrs. Pearce, take the girl upstairs and show her around her new home. Show her the grounds, the rest of the lab, the library, the upstairs... I suppose you can show her my room and Spencer's room, she'll probably spend a lot of time there--"

The girl leapt from the chair again. "What the hell is wrong with you? You expect me to stay here by myself with two grown men? No, thank you! I'm a good girl, and I know when I'm going to be stuck in a bad situation!"

"No, no, we want none of your Yank prudery here. You've got to learn to think like a trainer. Trainers will take any room and board that's free to them. Take her away, Mrs. Pearce, and if she gives you any trouble, wallop her." He swung his arm to emphasize his point, then reached for the chocolates.

"Oh! Threatening me, whipping me, putting me out here in orgies--no way! I'm gonna call the cops!"

"But where should I put her, sir? Master Charles and Miss Anne still use their rooms when they're here on holiday, and Mr. Hale is already in the guest suite!"

That was the problem with women. They were always bothering him with inane questions and threats. "How the devil should I know? Put her... put her in Audrey's rooms. Yes, that's quite good, right next to mine so I can monitor her progress every hour of the day."

Mrs. Pearce looked like a bulbous pidgey when she stared at him like that. It was most unbecoming.

"Next thing you know, you'll want to chain me to a bed!" the girl cried.

Samuel gazed at her for a moment. He'd never tried teaching someone like that before. "That's not a bad idea. I'll think about it. Now, if you're to train, you'll need a monster of some sort..."

A moment of silence, and good thing, because it would take him a while to think of a suitable monster for the girl.

"Professor," Spencer began, "be reasonable--"

Mrs. Pearce cut him off. "Yes, you must be reasonable, Professor, really you must! You can't just walk over everyone!"

The girl just gave him a wild-eyed, frightened stare.

Was he really walking over everyone? Nonsense. "I, walk over everyone? My dear Mrs. Pearce, my dear Spencer, even you, my dear guttersnipe--"

The girl clapped a hand to her forehead and sank back into the chair without a word.

"--I never intended to walk over anyone. I am merely proposing that we help the poor girl. She came to us for training lessons. Should we not give them to her in the most convenient and beneficial manner possible? If that involves keeping her here, under our watchful, protective eyes, then so be it."

"But, but, sir," Mrs. Pearce stammered, "letting a complete stranger into the house... we don't know anything about her! Does she have parents? Heaven forbid, does she have a husband?"

The girl answered that query by sticking her tongue out and blowing a huge raspberry.

Samuel pointed to her. "You see, Mrs. Pearce? As the girl very properly says, pppppbbbbbbbbttt." Spencer chuckled at that, and he couldn't help grinning.

"Come on, lady. My mom's dead, and my dad's always out on the road, so I may as well not have parents. And nobody'd want to marry somebody like me."

Well, of course they wouldn't, not in her present state. After he was finished with her... "By George... Delia, is it? By George, Delia, when I'm done with you, the streets will be filled with men throwing themselves at your feet. Everyone in Kanto will willingly shoot themselves for a moment with you."

Delia blinked. Then she sprang from the chair again and hurried towards the French doors in the rear of the lab. "Uh-uh, no way, buddy! I don't want to know whatever it is you've got to teach me! This guy's off his rocker, he's frickin' hoopie! What the hell does he want to teach people such dangerous stuff for..."

Why, that presumptuous insect! He raced after her and snatched his handkerchief from her hands. "So you think I'm mad, hey? Very well, Mrs. Pearce, don't show this intolerable wench around, throw her out!" And he went back to his box of chocolates, knowing that she would turn around and beg soon.

"I won't allow it, Professor! Go home to your family, girl."

"I just told you, I haven't got anybody at home!"

"Exactly!" Samuel added around a mouthful of cream. "Then what's all the fuss about? She doesn't belong to anyone. She's no use to anyone except me. So, for heaven's sake, take her around the house."

"But sir... what about her personal effects? What about her clothes? Who will be paying whom for what? Think the plan through, Professor!"

"Personal effects? Clothes?" He hadn't thought of that. He filed the problem away for future concern; after all, he still had the question of the proper monster for the girl. "Bloody hell, Mrs. Pearce, I don't know. Anything she has can't be worth very much... and if her clothes look anything like this rag she's wearing, she'll do better without them."

"Hey! You've got a lot of nerve, pal! My clothes look just fine! And my stuff may not be worth much, but it's mine!" She looked towards Spencer. "Please, mister, you're a gentleman, please don't let him insult me that way!"

Ha. Turning to the young man for sympathy. But it worked, for Spencer answered, "I quite agree with Delia, Professor, you shouldn't speak ill of her. Don't you think you're hurting the girl's feelings?"

"Rubbish, Spencer. I don't believe she has any feelings that we need to worry about. Have you, Delia?"

"Why, I've got feelings just like any other human being!"

"Professor," Mrs. Pearce interrupted, "what about after the experiment? Would you feel comfortable turning the poor girl loose on her own after spending six months with all of us?"

"Hasn't she survived the streets of Viridian without us? Answer me that, Mrs. Pearce."

Ha! She looked flummoxed again. "Well, I... that is... that's her own business, not yours, Professor. You weren't responsible for her then."

"So when I'm done with her, we'll throw her back into Viridian's streets and let her be responsible for herself again. Then we won't have to worry about it. That's all right, isn't it?" He chuckled a bit as he reached for the chocolate box, pleased to see that the whole experiment could be easily resolved at its conclusion.

Meanwhile, the girl--Delia, he probably should call her that instead--was giving him a hateful stare, full of immense fury. "What--you selfish--you've got the worst heart I've ever seen, you selfish bastard! You don't care what happens to anyone except yourself!" She stormed toward the staircase. "I've had enough of your insults and enough of your craziness. I'm outta here!"

You mean she's still going to leave? Oh, no. Not his project. What could he possibly do to keep her here?

Samuel gazed at the box of chocolate in his hand. Hmm. If it worked for Audrey...

He cut off Delia's dash for the door. "All right, then, but before you go--" And he carefully waved the box under her nose. "Have some chocolate, Delia."

Okay. This guy was just a lowdown, dirty bastard. She wanted to knock him into next week!

After all the insults he'd thrown at her, after all his bullying, after his blatant disregard for her feelings, after his weird plot to chain her to a bed for whatever the hell reason, he had the nerve to try and lure her with her one fatal weakness: chocolate. And he had pulled out all the stops to get her to take it: fake politeness, a voice dripping with honey, and a hand that was holding the box so close that she could taste it.

Well, she'd show him. She wouldn't fall for that. No way.

Delia glanced down at the box. Gorgeous truffles, lathered in rich chocolate, all surrounded with a gold-wrapped box. She knew that packaging--she knew those truffles--

Oh, my God, it's Godiva!!!

No, Delia, ya gotta fight this. Remember, this is a wicked sick guy. He might have put some kinda poison in them.

"Not a chance, Doc," she gasped, trying not to look at the tempting treats. "For all I know, you might've drugged 'em. I wouldn't put it past you..."

"Then let's make it a pledge of good faith." He picked one from the box, placed the box on a nearby bookshelf, and broke the truffle into two gooey parts. "I'll eat one half--" Shoving half into his mouth. "And you eat the other half." Before she could respond, he popped the other half into her mouth.

Why, that dirty old... Oh, God, cream, chocolate... heaven!

"I practically live off these," she heard him say. "I have so many boxes of them... boxes and boxes. If you stay here and let me teach you, you can have barrels of them all to yourself..."

I would be really stupid to leave this place... the man has Godiva chocolate... Of course, she couldn't let him know just how much she liked them. "Oh, they're all right. I don't really like chocolate. I just ate it because you practically shoved it in my mouth--ack! Hey, wait a minute! What're you tryin' to do, break my arm?"

He had paid no attention to her. Instead, he'd grabbed her arm and started dragging her up the staircase. "Think of it, Delia. What a wonderful life here... chocolate, excellent living quarters, lots of open space, all sorts of lovely things to see and learn and do, and the company of two intelligent men..."

"Hold on, Doc!" Delia snatched her arm away, ignoring the throbbing pains. Yeah, despite the fact that the guy in charge was insane, the place as he described it sounded awesome. But she wouldn't let his descriptions and promises lure her into something bad, like orgies with him and the younger guy. "I'm sure your place is a thousand times better than my shack in the city, and I'm sure it's got a lot more perks. But I'm a good girl, and I won't be roped in by promises of learning things only to end up as some kind of... well, you know," she hastily finished, unable to think of a nice way to say hooker. "What's my purpose for staying here to learn? What is your plan for me?"

Her protector hurried over to the rail. "I agree with Delia, Professor. If she's going to put herself in our hands for six months, I think we had better tell her exactly what our plans for her are."

The old guy nodded slowly. "Quite right." He folded his hands behind his back, stood up straight, and sneered down at her from two stairs above her. Then he cleared his throat and began. Delia became so hopelessly confused by his words that she didn't notice him edging toward her and herself edging away

"Delia. You are to stay here for the next six months, intensively learning the art of Pokemon training, as countless others in Kanto have done before you. If you're good and do whatever you're told, you shall sleep in a beautiful bedroom, have all the food you could possibly eat, lots of pocket money to do whatever you like, and trays of chocolates every day. However, if you are naughty and idle, you shall sleep out in the dung heap with the Caterpies and the Weedles, and I shall order Mrs. Pearce to hang you from one of the windmill's arms. At the end of six months, we shall carry you out to Viridian City to see if you have learned everything we have taught you. If the Pokemon League finds out that you aren't a real trainer, they shall take you out to Cinnabar Island and push you into an active volcano as a warning to other presumptuous Yanks. But if you are not found out, I shall personally give you a reward of... three thousand pounds to assist you in your new life, whether it is a life devoted to Pokemon or pansies. If you accept this wonderful offer, you will be blessed among women, and God shall come down from Heaven to sing hosannas for you. However, if you refuse this generous offer, you will be the most naughty, ungrateful, wicked girl in Christendom, and the angels, from the Archangel Gabriel to the smallest cherubim, will weep tears of blood for you."

Delia blinked. The Professor's face was about two inches from hers, while she had backed down the staircase and gotten smushed against the bookshelf. She imagined herself getting away from him by disappearing through the books.

He turned his face toward her protector. "Now, are you satisfied, Spencer?"

"Well, sir," the man said hesitantly, "I don't think I would have described it quite like that--"

"Could I have put it more plainly or fairly, Mrs. Pearce?"

The old woman sighed and grabbed Delia's arm. "Come with me, Delia," as she practically pulled her up the stairs.

Who did these people think they were? Dragging her around, ordering her around, threating to push her into volcanoes and hang her from windmills... "You're nothing but a big bully, that's all!" she yelled over her shoulder. "That's all all of you are, just big bullies picking on a little girl! Well, I'll show you! I won't let you people push me around and hang me off stuff! I'll leave when I feel like it! You harm one hair on my head and I'm gone--"

"Oh, don't answer back, girl," the old woman snapped as they went.

Her protector looked absolutely horrified, but that bastard was smirking at her! "Oh, yes," he said, "I'll make a Master of that barbarous wretch, Spencer."

That selfish bully needed a good kick in the pants! Since Delia couldn't reach him, she settled for more angry words. "If I'd known how you really are, I never would've come! I don't know how you people make your women act around here, but I can tell you that in America women are independent and free thinkers and can do whatever they like! You won't force me to stay if I don't want to! And what about my stuff?!?"

The old lady closed the door to the lab's entrance behind them, only to open it seconds later when she heard a shout: "Mrs. Pearce!"

"Yes, Professor?"

"See if you can find that Bulbasaur I received from the Humane Society. I think that one will be perfect for our flower wench: they can both grow and learn together."

"Yes, sir." She closed the door again, then turned to Delia. "All right, then. Here you are at the Pallet Town Pokemon Preserve. I am Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper. I do everything around here that the Professor can't be bothered to do, such as cook and clean. The young man is the Professor's research assistant, Spencer Hale. I assume you are well acquainted with the Professor by now. I suppose I should show you around the lower levels of the house on the way to the grounds."

The house was huge: a big kitchen, a dining room, a den, a massive library (with two levels and a spiral staircase!), an art room, a music room. Each area was decorated with all sorts of antiques and paintings and pictures, and every decoration seemed elegant and just right for the room. Except for the animals hanging out on chairs, walking through the hallways, snoozing in the light patches beneath the windows, the house could have easily been a museum.

One portrait in the library caught Delia's eye: a younger Professor with a woman. He didn't have a smirk: he looked happy. And the woman was just beautiful: long auburn-brown hair, big brown eyes, a gorgeous smile, and an hourglass figure. Despite her model looks, she looked so friendly and natural that Delia liked her anyway. "Who's that?" she asked.

"That's the Professor and his wife, Audrey. She passed on two years ago. She was such a sweet woman."

"She's really pretty... wait, his wife? You mean somebody actually fell in love with and married him?"

"Yes, and they also had children. Is that so surprising?"

"Well," Delia answered, "if someone can love a guy like that, then there's definitely someone out there for me." Funny; Mrs. Pearce didn't seem so bad when she laughed.

The view from the back door looked like a painting too--mountains in the background, a large, clear lake, huge green fields as far as she could see. "This is the Preserve proper, where the Pokemon should live, though as you can see sometimes they get into the house. Come along, I'll show you each section."

Delia saw all kinds of creatures during their walk, and to her surprise, a lot of them looked normal. She saw some sheep, some pink cows, bigger versions of sparrows and pigeons, a larger than normal butterfly, fish and seahorses and even something that looked like a seal or a manatee. Some of them were really cute too: a teddy bear, a round pink ball with big eyes, the pretty little fox that rubbed against her leg. "They're not so bad, are they?" Mrs. Pearce asked, and Delia had to agree at first.

Some of the stuff she saw was just weird. A bunch of eggs? No, something called an... Execute? Big walking trees with three heads? No, an Executor or something like that, and the eggs would grow up... no, evolve to be that. A unicorn with fire coming out of its neck? No, a Rapidash, no horn. She mistook a Jinky (she thought that's what Mrs. Pearce said) for a little old woman.

A lot of the stuff she saw scared her to death. Tall ones with four arms and muscles like bodybuilders. Big things that looked like massive worms but were made entirely out of rock, and other talking boulders nearby. Big, colorful bugs that resembled spiders and caterpillars--but others that had boxing gloves and blades for arms. A real, live fire-breathing dragon that swooped right over their heads. And the great big sea monster that growled at them as they went past. These guys were more than just house pets--they were dangerous and scary.

Maybe I should just get out of here, Delia told herself. I'm too little to control big, bad critters. Plus, I could get killed by one of these monsters, and none of these people would care.

"So, you grow flowers, do you? I've saved the garden for last. I think you'll like it."

"The garden" turned out to be a large, showy affair too, an English-style garden that was... beautiful. It was slightly overrun with weeds, but the flowers seemed to flourish anyway. Delia gazed, open-mouthed, at all the vegetation: roses and crysanthemums, pansies and posies, ivies and bushes, and all sorts of vegetables. Imagine what I could do with all this!

"It's Audrey's garden," Mrs. Pearce explained. "She arranged it and supervised it personally. Much prettier and more growth when she tended it. I've tried to do what I can, but I haven't a green thumb at all. And the Pokemon are starting to get into it, too."

But what wonderful Pokemon! Walking sunflowers, weeds that could talk... dancing flowers, wearing petal dresses. And all of them smiled at her, waved at her, came up to her to dance and chatter and be petted. She knelt to greet them, to let them climb all over her.

"If I stay here, can I... do you think I could take care of the garden?"

Delia had said it without thinking. Almost as soon as she heard the words, she inwardly cringed, expecting the older woman to yell at her. But Mrs. Pearce only smiled and said, "I don't see why not. Certainly you'll know more about it than the rest of us."

Just then they heard a slight rustling in the rhododendrons. A few seconds later, a very small creature, no larger than a kitten, wriggled out of the tangled roots. Blue, with big red eyes and a big bulb growing out of its back, with a shape like a rhinoceros? No... like some dinosaur she'd seen in a book long ago, whose name she couldn't remember.

"Ah, there you are, little one." Mrs. Pearce walked to the monster, knelt, and scooped it up in her arms. "How convenient. You're here in time to meet your new owner."

"What is it?"

"This is a Bulbasaur. It's a grass and poison type. She's very young."

"Oh. It's just a baby, then. Wow, these things are really tiny when they're babies."

"Well, this one is smaller than usual. She was the runt of her litter. Her previous owner dropped her off at the Humane Society. No one would take her, and they were about to put her under. Thank goodness the Professor saw her the day before. He brought her home so she could live in a lovely place... or perhaps be adopted by another trainer. Like you."

"Oh... good thing he saved her... wait a minute. You mean it--I mean, she's mine?"

"That's right. She'll be your first Pokemon to train. Would you like to hold her?"

"Oh... wow... I... okay." She held out her arms, and Mrs. Pearce carefully deposited the wriggling animal into them. It shuffled, wriggled, eventually nestled against Delia's chest. "Hey there, um, little Bulbasaur," she began, not quite sure what to say or do to it--her.

The Bulbasaur sniffed her chin for a moment, then gave her a gentle lick. "Bulba," she announced before snuggling into the crook of her elbow and falling into a light doze. Awww! How sweet! It's a sweet little baby...

Aw, man. This wasn't supposed to happen. She usually hated schlocky stuff like this in the movies. Like a boy and his dog. Boy finds stray puppy, finds it too endearing to leave, runs around and has adventures with cutely named puppy. Well... hell. The Bulbasaur was a cute little critter. And, like Delia, no one seemed to be too fond of her just because she was different. We'll show them, won't we, kiddo? Nobody's going to write us off that easily.

"Looks like it's you and me in this together, kiddo," she murmured. "No, I can't call you kiddo all the time. You've got to have a name. You've got flowers on your back. Flower? Petal? Gardenia? No. You came out of the rhododendrons... How about Rhoda?"

The Bulbasaur squirmed in agreement, and Delia smiled. She stood up, gazed at the garden, the house, Rhoda, thought of the boxes of Godiva chocolate. Everything she'd ever wanted, right here, and all she had to do was learn about the critters. What a wicked lucky break...

"Come along, and I'll show you your room," Mrs. Pearce said, and they headed back to the house to see the rooms upstairs.

Wow. Delia gasped when she saw the bedroom: French provincial furiniture, a chandelier, a huge bed, wall to wall carpeting... not a single crack in the ceiling. She carefully placed Rhoda on the bed, then raced around the room to try each chair, look at every picture, check every drawer. "Wicked frickin' pissa," she whispered. "I think this room is too good for me. I'm afraid I'll break something." She stretched out on the carpet, determined to see just how soft it was.

"Oh, I'd not worry about breaking anything, my girl. Though I do hope I got all the Pokemon out earlier..."

Delia lifted the bedskirt to see how much space was under the bed. Then she saw something... lots of somethings... moving under the bed. She narrowed her eyes... and came face to face with the things she hated most.

Oh, my God, I knew it, I knew this place was too good to be true...

She jumped up and ran to the other side of the room, because she had to get the hell away from them. Now.

"What is it? What's the matter?"

"Rats," Delia hissed, clutching the wall. "P-p-purple rats. Under the bed. Get them out of here. Get me out of here. Now."

"Oh, dear. They did come back, the naughty things. Don't worry, they're only Rattata, they're perfectly safe--"

But they were coming out now, tons and tons of them (okay, more like ten, but that was still too many). And they were all looking at her. Delia could not breathe. No, stay away from me, stay back there or I'll scream--

To her horror, an enormous brown rat toddled out. It blinked, then showed its huge rat teeth at her. "Raticate!" it yelled, then started running toward her. Inspired by their leader, the purple rats moved toward her too.

Delia screamed.

Samuel had almost come to a theory on the restorative properties of chocolate truffles when the feminine yells from upstairs broke his concentration.

"Help! Someone help! This goddamn rat is trying to eat me! Oh, my God, get it off me! Help!"

"Nonsense, girl! Calm down! They're just saying hello!"

"I don't give a shit--I hate rats! Get them away from me! What kind of a hellhole is this?!"

Bloody hell. Why did women always have to break his concentration? Even Audrey had done so on occasion at first, but eventually, with the proper guidance, she had learned not to do it. However, no other woman had seemed willing or able to learn the lesson. Clearly this one, this Delia Ketchum the Yankee guttersnipe, would be just like the others. Ah, well, at least that made her easy to ignore until he absolutely had to deal with her. So he ignored her screams.

Spencer had instantly winced at her pitiful wailing, however. "I hope she's okay up there."

"Oh, dash the chit," he responded, not even bothering to look up from his notes. "She'll be tolerably good fun once she's gotten used to us and everything around here."

Now what was the boy staring at him for? What had he said?

But the impudent fop had walked over to his desk and looked him right in the eye. "Professor. Forgive the bluntness, but... well, now that I've gotten into all this, I feel completely responsible for Delia. I hope... I hope you won't take advantage of her in any of the ways she, ah, mentioned."

What? Did Spencer actually think he was going to sleep with the girl or some other nonsense? "That thing? Sacred, I assure you."

"Really, Professor, I'm being completely serious. Are you..." The young man was blushing now. "Are you an honorable man when it comes to dealing with women?"

Most irritating. Still, Samuel knew he wouldn't have any peace until he answered the boy. "Spencer, have you ever met a man who has behaved honorably toward a woman?"

"What? Yes, of course. I happen to be one."

He propped his feet up on the desk again. "Well, I haven't, because I happen not to be one. Most of the time, I am an honorable and decent man. However, when I get close to a woman, I find that my honor disappears, and I become a heartless and cruel bastard. It's not completely my own fault. Most of the women I've known have driven me fair mad with their silly ways."

"What do you mean?"

Aha! He felt his lecturing spirit coming upon him. "Let me give you examples of the women currently in my life. My mother is a mad old wench who delights in screaming at me for silly things, such as not sitting up straight and grinding my teeth and speaking my mind in polite company. My sister is a silly old bat who delights in bossing me around, not because she has any more sense than I, but simply because she had the unfortunate blessing of being born first. My daughter is a dunderhead who has fits of fatherly love when she needs money for the newest fashion or the most enchanting little trinket that she absolutely must have. My granddaughter is only three years old, but I can already see from the way she knows how to charm me into buying her things that she's going to be as manipulative and silly as the rest of her sex. I pay Mrs. Pearce to nag and annoy me, but damned if she isn't good at it. From these examples, I think the answer is evident. Women are foolish and conniving and selfish and shallow, and when they are around me, I become all of those things too. So, here I am, a confirmed old celibate widower, and likely to remain so."

Spencer leaned on the desk, head resting in his hands. "If all women are so terrible, how did you manage to get married?"

"To answer that, let me tell you what I look for in a perfect woman. I freely admit it, she must be pleasing to look at, or I should be quite ashamed to be seen with her. Next, she must have all the social graces and elegant tastes of a well-bred lady, or I would never take her anywhere. She must be intelligent and have some sort of talent, or we'll never have anything to talk about. She should be clever and quick-witted, or she'll bore me. She should be independent, or she'll get on my nerves. She should feel passion, or she'll chill me. Most importantly, she should be plain-speaking to a fault, or she'll never tolerate me. My Audrey was all those things to me, and many more, and for that I loved her and married her. She's gone now, God bless her, and I'm fairly certain that there will never be another woman like her."

At Spencer's nod, Samuel smirked. "Therefore, my boy, you needn't worry about my behavior toward our fair trainer upstairs. I won't let any woman who doesn't have every trait I've listed into my personal life. Though I should be quite worried about your intentions."

"Mine? I'll have you know that I'm a very happily engaged man, sir! I would never dream of being with another woman!"

Ha. That's what they all said--until the pretty faces, beguiling smiles, and sweet words drew them in. "We shall see. In the meantime," he continued, returning to his notes, "if we have exhausted all talk of our love affairs, we should get back to work. You and I have a lot to do, after all."

The snotty boy sighed. "Yes, sir. Where should I start?"

"First, look into having Delia's items brought from her house. By the time that's arranged, I'll have my reading lists for both of you ready, and you can run up to the library and begin pulling all the books from the shelves. Then I should be ready to discuss Beech's Compendium 1 with you over tea. I hope you've read it thoroughly, for after that we'll immediately turn to Compendium 2, which you should have read for tomorrow. Next, we'll have to go down and look after the Pokemon. After dinner, we'll discuss some strategies for teaching our guttersnipe..."

Now why was the senseless git banging his head against his desk? Sometimes men were as foolish and selfish as women. He didn't think he was making incredible demands upon the boy.

Samuel shook his head and reached for another chocolate before returning to his booklist.