Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ This Blood On My Hands ❯ Chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing here, except maybe the plot, and I doubt that even that's original. The poem is not mine, my sister printed it off the internet and I just really like it. But the title I own (and I like it, as well) and I own Lydia too.

 

--

 

WARNING: If all you're going to do is read this then razz me about my writing ability, then don't even bother. If you're going to make fun of me, do it intelligently. Criticize, but don't flame cruelly unless you can write better.

 

--

 

This Blood On My Hands

 

--

 

Chapter 2

 

--

 

Littleroot Town

 

 

By the time Mae crept through the door of the new house, night had fallen long ago, the stars splashes of quicksilver against the black of the sky. There was no moon. She had stayed behind Brendan's house until she'd been able to hear the howls of strange Pokemon; by that point she reasoned her mother must have been abed by then, if not forgotten the window incident.

 

Lydia was curled up on the couch; her Arcanine Growlie sprawled next to her, both half asleep. The TV was on, the only light in the house, switched to some action movie judging from all the explosions. Not something that Lydia would watch, so she must have been asleep until the sound of the door opening woke her.

 

“Mom's furious,” the older girl said sleepily as Mae slunk up the stairs, her Pokemon coming awake all at once to stare at Mae with his intimidating yellow eyes. A low growl formed in his throat; Lydia didn't seem to notice. “You missed dinner. Oh, and you're paying for my window.” A note of smugness slid through her voice at that.

 

“Fine,” Mae answered in a monotone, vanishing into the dark stairwell. Lydia stared after her for a moment, then snorted, cupping the Arcanine's face in her hands. “She's such a freak, isn't she, Growlie?” she cooed. “Yes she is. I bet you'd just love to go take a nice big poop in her room, huh?” He growled happily and licked her face.

 

He'd better not, Mae thought, but was too tired to say anything aloud. She drifted slowly into her room, noticing vaguely that her bed and dresser had been unpacked for her. She collapsed onto the soft blankets, not even bothering to get undressed, wrapping her arms around her pillow. She fell asleep almost immediately, pretending the pillow was Roger.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

She woke once during the night, at a bright light shining directly into her room window onto her face. She looked up for a dazed moment, but in the next second had fallen asleep again before she could register what was making the light. In the morning, she had forgotten it.

 

Mae rolled off her bed, landing on the floor with a groan, looking at her new clock blearily before remembering it hadn't been set. “Dammit,” she mumbled, using the bedposts to pull herself to her feet, feeling tired, angry, helpless. She kicked the pillow across the room and pulled some clothes out of a box.

 

She paused in pulling on the T-shirt, glancing back at the box. She pushed open the flaps once more, hesitant. Her lips trembled.

 

It was her Trainer outfit: a thick, warm green T-shirt, a red windbreaker, blue Capri pants, her running shoes, Pokeball holster, pack, green head-scarf. A lump formed in her throat.

 

Mom must have taken it out of the garbage can and put it in here. Dammit, I should've just burned it!

 

Mae opened the pack gently, fingers shaking slightly. There was still an empty Pokeball inside, along with an Antidote and a Leaf Stone. Her breath caught; the Stone had been for Roger.

 

She slammed the box shut again, shoving it with her foot as far away as it could get, bouncing backward onto her bed with wide eyes.

 

Mom, Mom, how could you?

 

Mae folded in on herself, burying her teeth in her lip until she tasted blood, holding her breath until she was dizzy. Don't cry, don't cry… she begged herself. She hadn't cried for Nelo; why should Roger be any different?

 

She took a deep, steadying breath, opening her eyes, proceeding with her dressing. She did a slow, silent count of ten before she left the room, glancing outside briefly for the weather. It was raining, and hard too. Wouldn't be surprised if there was hail in there. Slightly unusual weather for early September, but then again, Hoenn was much farther north than Kanto. Hard rain at the end of summer probably was common.

 

Probably especially for a shitpile like this.

 

She snorted in a Lydia-like way, thumping heavily down the stairs toward the kitchen.

 

I should totally write a poem about this rain.

 

“Morning,” her mother greeted her from the living room, where she was setting up a bookshelf.

 

“Hey,” Mae replied, forcing cheer into her voice, stretching. “I got an idea for another poem.”

 

“Oh really? What's it about?”

 

“Rain.”

 

Her mother gave her an odd look as she rifled through the cupboards, looking for something to eat, finding a half-finished loaf of bread. Not that she was particularly hungry, but her mother would force food down her throat with the garden hose if she had to. Best to eat toast dry, really.

 

“We're having company for dinner tonight,” her mother announced. Mae's eyebrows rose. “Are there enough people here for that?” she asked cynically.

 

“That's enough lip,” Sherri snapped. “The Birch's. They have two kids, a son your age and a daughter who's about four or five. I heard she's real cute, too, and the son is single.” She winked.

 

Mae rolled her eyes. “If the son's name is Brendan, I already met him,” she told her mother. “He's not really that great. Where's Dad?”

 

“Went to the Gym already. What do you mean, you already met him?”

 

“Mo-om, it's not like he tried to rape me or anything,” Mae snarled. “He's all right, nice and all. Offered to catch me a Pokemon and everything. I said no.” The instance the words left her mouth she regretted them at the scandalized look her mother sent her.

 

“You said no? Why?”

 

Mae gritted her teeth, slathering her toast with butter and cinnamon, grabbing paper and a pen from the cabinet. “I told you, Mom. I'm through with Pokemon. I'm writing my poem now. You'll crush my creative spark.”

 

Sherri shook her head exasperatedly, muttering a “Whatever” before going back to her unpacking.

 

Lydia came stumbling down the stairs a few minutes later, halfway through a huge yawn, Growlie trotting at her heels. “Where's the rest of the posse?” Mae asked sarcastically.

 

“Still asleep,” Lydia replied. “What's your problem?”

 

Oh, yeah, because you're totally innocent. Bitch.

 

“Mae's got a bit of a temper this morning,” Sherri put in, smiling warmly at her elder daughter. “Morning, you two.”

 

Lydia yawned again, flapping a hand in greeting. “Mom, I'm gonna keep Ponyta out back for a little, if it's okay. I think it'd like the grass there. It's soft and it loves napping in soft things.”

 

“As we've heard about a thousand times.”

 

“Mae, shut up. Of course you can, Lydia, after it stops raining. We're not doing anything with the backyard for a while yet, anyway.”

 

Mae rolled her eyes. If I had a Ponyta, would I be able to let it sleep in the grass back there? No, I'd get the whole `It'll burn down the house!' routine. She stuffed her toast savagely into her mouth.

 

“Mae, if you eat like that tonight at dinner, we won't be able to have you there,” he mother warned. Mouth too full to articulate a proper response, Mae merely glared and wrote RAIN at the top of her paper.

 

“What's happening at dinner?” Lydia asked, pulling milk from the fridge, pouring some into a bowl for Growlie and some in a glass for herself.

 

“The Birch's are coming over,” Sherri repeated the announcement. “They have a son Mae's age and a cute young daughter.”

 

“What about the guy?” Lydia asked, suddenly interested. “Is he hot?”

 

“Not really,” Mae sighed. “What rhymes with `rained'?”

 

“Maintained. How d'you know, have you met him?”

 

“Yeah. He's nice and all, just not hot, so you wouldn't be interested.”

 

“Mae is really in a bad mood today,” Lydia told Growlie, rumpling his ears fondly. “I wonder what's eating her?”

 

“Shut up, Lydia, my God!” Mae snapped. “You are totally crushing my vibe!”

 

Growlie let out a defensive snarl, angered at the rude tone used toward his friend. “Well, sor-ry,” Lydia returned innocently. “I didn't think you were actually doing something creative.”

 

Mae resisted the urge to hit her, rinsing her plate before sliding it into the dishwasher. She also had to resist the urge not to step on Growlie's tail as she passed him, plucking her paper and pen from the table, moving toward the door. “I'm gonna sit outside…” she muttered vaguely, slamming it shut behind her, leaving a ringing silence in her wake.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

It rained and it rained and rained and rained

The average fall was well maintained

And when the tracks were simply bogs,

It started raining cats and dogs.

 

Not bad for a start.

 

Cats and dogs… Mae thought musingly, chewing her pen lid. Does it fit? I mean, sure, I've heard of them, but that doesn't mean everyone has.

 

She stared thoughtfully out at the rain, which only seemed to be coming down harder. Her feet, unprotected by the overhang of the house roof, were drenched and itchy, but she didn't really care at the moment. She'd been out for about half an hour, and had been able to get only those four lines down.

 

But slow and steady was Mae's style when she wrote poems. It was how she worked.

 

She glanced at the Birch's house, frowning, wondering why the name rung such a loud bell. Well, they are friends of Dad's. I suppose I just heard him talking about them to Mom or something one day and the name stuck.

 

Brendan still didn't seem to be home, and she was struck by slight loneliness. How long does it take to do fieldwork? Or is he just slow in the head? I'm bored…

 

After a drought of half-an-hour,

We had a most refreshing shower

And then the most curious thing of all,

A gentle rain began to fall.

 

An hour later, and still no one to keep her company. The little girl from the day before—who was probably Brendan's little sister, now she thought of it—was most likely inside playing with dolls or her big brother's Pokemon or something.

 

Next day was also fairly dry

 

Mae supposed she could just go inside and play her GameCube or something.

 

Save for the deluge from the sky

 

But it was so much more peaceful out here. Besides, she was stuck on one part of her game that would only serve to frustrate her, which would cross over onto everyone else.

 

Which wetted the party to the skin

 

And her GameCube was probably in one of Lydia's boxes anyway, which would mean Lydia would be playing it.

 

And after that the rain set in.

 

Sighing in satisfaction, Mae read over the poem, a slow smile pulling her lips up in an unfamiliar position. Hunh. I think I like that.

 

“Hey, it's Mae.”

 

She jumped at the sound of her name, whipping her head around to the source of the voice. Brendan stood out in the rain, squinting at her through the dripping water, mouth half open as he panted. She gave him a little smile, and even that felt so strange.

 

“Hey,” she said back. “Have fun at fieldwork?”

 

He snorted, drifted over out of the rain to lean against the wall next to her. “Not really,” he sighed. “Got rained in at Oldale, the town about ten, fifteen minutes' walk from here. I must have stayed at the Pokemon Centre all night before it was light enough for me to start walking. And then it started raining again. Stayed beneath a tree for a few hours, but Dad was expecting me back so I had to get going.”

 

“Wow,” Mae commented, capping her pen. “That doesn't sound like much fun.”

 

“Not really, and I got no research done at all,” Brendan groaned. He glanced at the paper. “Hey, what's this?” She moved her hands to display it shyly, and he read it aloud:

 

“It rained and it rained and rained and rained,

 

“The average fall was well maintained.

 

“And when the tracks were simply bogs,

 

“It started raining cats and dogs.”

 

“After a drought of half-an-hour,

 

“We had a most refreshing shower.

 

“And then the most curious thing of all,

 

“A gentle rain began to fall.”

 

“Next day was also fairly dry,

 

“Save for the deluge from the sky,

 

“Which wetted the party to the skin,

 

“And after that the rain set in.”

 

He sat back, eyebrows rising. “Did you write this?”

 

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “Personally, I like it, but… meh.”

 

“Mae, common, it's pretty good!” He stretched. “Anyway, I hafta get home and take a shower. Your poem reminded me, haha. See ya later tonight; we're coming over for dinner, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Mae called back as he jogged off through the rain. “See you then!”

 

As soon as he was out of sight she unfolded from the ground, yawning, kicking a kink from her knee. I really should start unpacking my room… Glancing once back where he'd disappeared, she moved slowly into the house.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

Lydia invaded Mae's room while she was unpacking a box of clothes, keeping far away from the one with her Trainer outfit within. That one she would unpack later, far later, when she could have privacy for forcing herself not to cry.

 

Lydia sat up on Mae's bed, her Arcanine and Charmander curled up together beside her, the aforementioned Ponyta standing in a doze in the corner. “It didn't get much sleep last night,” Lydia informed the uncaring Mae. “I saw you talking to the Birch boy. He's not nearly as bad as you say he is.”

 

Mae rolled her eyes, thrusting a pair of shorts a bit too forcefully into the bottom drawer of the dresser. “So you would think,” she muttered.

 

Unfortunately Lydia heard. “Of course,” she told her younger sister. “I enjoy guys, not GameCubes. Which, by the way, is in my room.”

 

“Why would you even want him?” Mae snapped. “He's two years younger than you!”

 

Lydia's smile reminded Mae forcefully of a Persian baring its fangs for the evening meal. “I like `em younger,” she said softly.

 

Mae shivered, turning her back on her sister. “Well, it's not like there's anyone else,” she murmured. “I don't really care.”

 

“Don't worry, sis,” Lydia said happily, beginning to braid the long hair on Growlie's tail. “You can have him when I'm done.”

 

Why does that scare me so much?

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

By late afternoon—almost evening, in fact—the rain had finally stopped, only to be replaced with heavy, dense fog that seemed to have rolled in from nowhere. It was actually, Mae thought ponderously, watching the grey smoky tendrils twist through the trees of the road from her bedroom window, rather creepy. She pulled the brush once more through her brown hair, wet and tangled from the shower, before setting it down on the windowsill and turning back in disgust to face the skirt and blouse her mother wanted her to wear.

 

I'd rather go naked than wear that. It's just having a few people over for dinner.

 

However, putting this plea to her mother hadn't quite worked. “This is the first dinner party we've had here!” Sherri had said, or rather, shouted. “You'll damn well at least look respectable!”

 

“I can look respectable in pants,” Mae argued.

 

“Not in your pants, and in Lydia's you just look like a slut.”

 

“So I'll wear a long sweater!”

 

“Mae! Wear the skirt! End of story!”

 

Maybe saying, “It's just friends over, why the hell do I have to wear that frilly piece of crap?” wasn't the best way to persuade her mother to let her go in pants.

 

Grumbling angrily, she pulled on the skirt, scowling at the sight of her knobby knees, yanking on the blouse roughly enough that it wrinkled in a most pleasing way. Below she could hear the front door opening and the high-pitched greetings of her overeager mother.

 

Mae rolled her eyes, turning to her mirror and fluffing up her damp hair a bit anyway. She thinks she's so funny and just such a good hostess. Too bad I can see right through that.

 

She trundled down the stairs on heavy, bare feet, suddenly shy. What would Brendan think of her in a skirt?

 

She had to grab the banister, she was laughing so hard at that. The maximum time he'd ever actually talked to her had been less than five minutes; she and her family were just ending their first full day here! But still, guys who were becoming your friend sometimes got uncomfortable at the sight of a girl in a skirt. Especially if the girl happened to be you.

 

Oh, damn. That must have looked weird. I walk halfway down the stairs and then out of the blue start laughing hysterically.

 

That almost set her off again, so she pushed it from her mind and ignored the stares Brendan's mother and little sister were giving her. Brendan's father—she assumed him to be the professor, though she still couldn't remember why their surname seemed so damned familiar—stood just inside the door, already in deep, animated conversation with her father Norman. Brendan stood beside them, half-listening, looking around the house with vague interest. The little girl holding tightly to the hand of her young, pretty mother was, indeed, the same as the one that Mae had snapped at so harshly just yesterday. Mae gave her a soft smile, full of apology she didn't feel and empty of the amusement that she did feel. The little girl's eyebrows shot up to disappear into her light blond hairline.

 

Well, I know where she got it from.

 

She slid up next to Brendan and nudged his arm; he, she noticed, wore a dress shirt and slacks, probably the work of his own mother. Fortunately, the Pokeball holster was nowhere in sight. He glanced over at her, then grinned. “Hey, it's Mae,” he whispered at her.

 

“Hey, so it is,” she whispered back. “All dressed up for a night in hell, I see?”

 

“My mom made me.” He grimaced and plucked at his shirtsleeve.

 

“So did mine.” Mae swatted his hand. “You'll tear the button off, then yours'll be really mad.”

 

He made a face at her, and she laughed quietly.

 

“Well,” Norman announced, emerging momentarily from his talk with the professor. “Why don't you all have a seat, and me and Sherri will just finish up making dinner. Drinks, anyone? James, hold that thought on Pokemon prosthetics; we'll talk more about it at the table.”

 

Lydia glided down the stairs, smiling, looking almost dazzling in her short skirt showing too much leg and tight shirt that made her bust nearly explode out of it. Mae felt a shiver of ashamed disgust as she saw her sister, but her parents were already in the kitchen and wouldn't even notice until it was too late for Lydia to go upstairs and change.

 

The witch has timed it perfectly.

 

She felt Brendan beside her tense, then go lax as he dropped on one of the two couches; turning to glance at his expression as she sat down next to him, Mae scowled in further revulsion as she saw he looked stunned.

 

She nudged him again. “Take a picture, it'll last longer,” she muttered. He seemed to jump back to his senses, giving her an apologetic glance. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “But, Mae, your sister is hot.”

 

Mae grimaced at him. Should've known. He's as shallow as all the rest!

 

She proceeded to make a vow to ignore him for the rest of the night.

 

She only got as far as the dinner table—e.g., five minutes—before he made a joke to her about etiquette and she had to giggle. Lydia sent her a warning look as Mae thumped down into the dinner chair next to Brendan, with his mother on the other side so Lydia was forced to sit across from Mae, a look that seemed to say, I thought you didn't care. Mae shot back a smirk that replied, I don't. Am I not allowed to have a male friend without any romance involved?

 

So far, the dinner had gone well. The food—roast beef, mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables—made its way around the table, each taking a share before passing the bowl or plate onwards. Mae, who hadn't been that hungry in the first place, took as little as she could without her mother becoming suspicious and began munching ponderously.

 

She was more or less ignored, her father, the professor, and Lydia, though this was covert, being the center of attention. Mae could tell at a glance that her parents were furious with Lydia, and allowed herself an inner smug smile at the yelling that would hopefully happen later. Pretty much the only annoying thing happening throughout the first half of the meal was Brendan constantly staring at Lydia, and not listening to what Mae was talking about to him as a result.

 

The real hell began when her mother had begun clearing the table and everyone had retreated into the living room to wait for dessert.

 

Mae had curled up alone on a sofa, playing with a little thread coming out of the carpet, spacing out about some random thing that she forgot about the second the words “So, tell me about your daughters” jolted her back to earth.

 

The professor was giving both her and Lydia furtive, studious glances as he asked the question, eyes flicking back and forth. Mae caught his gaze with her own, sending him her hottest glare. He merely gave an amused smile as Norman began:

 

“Well, Mae is thirteen and Lydia is almost sixteen. Lydia uses Fire Pokemon; tell Professor Birch about them, Lyd.”

 

We'll be here until the next ice age if we let her keep talking! Mae thought with a half-concealed groan, burying her face into the sofa arm.

 

“Well,” Lydia said confidently, bursting with pride of her Pokemon, “I have an Arcanine, Ponyta and Charmander, all around level thirty. They're all really great Pokemon, just wonderful, but unfortunately I had to keep them upstairs for tonight.”

 

“That's because Charmander eats everything she sees,” Mae mumbled, bringing forth a smattering of polite laughter.

 

Lydia forced a patronizing smile. “That's not Charmander's fault,” she said charitably. “It is still growing, after all.”

 

Am I the only bloody one in the room that has figured out that Pokemon actually have sexes?

 

I'm surrounded by numskulls.

 

“And you've only evolved the Arcanine?” the professor asked curiously.

 

Lydia nodded. “Someday I'll evolve Ponyta, but right now I'm happy with the way it and Charmander are.”

 

The professor nodded happily, glancing questioningly at Mae.

 

“Mae, why don't you tell Professor Birch about Roger?” Sherri asked, bustling into the room to check on everyone's drinks and seeing that questioning glance.

 

Mae stiffened, sitting up straight, thread forgotten. “I'd really rather not.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Lydia said sweetly, smiling innocently. “I'm sure they'd just love to hear about it.”

 

“I'd really rather not, I said!” Mae snarled.

 

“Mae, there's no need for that tone of voice,” Norman scolded gently.

 

Mae shot up from her sofa, moving swiftly towards the stairs. “May I be excused?” she shouted from halfway up, before rushing into her room and slamming the door with all her strength.

 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.- .-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

 

A/N: I like this chapter a whole lot better than the other one, even though Mae isn't quite as sarcastic as she could be here. I brought in all the parents for the first time, plus Brendan's little sis, who is such a minor character I don't even have a name for her. She'll probably only appear in a few more chapters, and really briefly, too. I got in that thing with Brendan and Lydia, too; we'll be seeing a lot more of that! *wink*

One reason I like this chapter better is that it's longer than the first one. Another is the poem I put in; like I said, it's not my poem, my sister printed it off the Internet, but it's still probably my favorite poems.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, and I hope reading didn't give you a headache like writing did for me. ^.^

 

 

--Snowhearte