Sayonara Bye Bye
Join Date: Feb 2017
Posts: 1,003
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Meeting Kahakai
Late. Tate was late… again. When the 20-something had first begun taking classes in the metropolois of Goldenrod City, the walk through Ilex forest from Azalea -- where a little rent house was called home -- didn’t seem like that big of a deal. A year and a half hour later, however, and the twice-daily commutes were taking their toll on the weary student. Not onlhy was the walk itself long and tedious, but the forest was full of Pokémon, some of which were aggressive. More than once Tate had had to shake off an enraged insect that had decided to divebomb the trveler from a tree branch, screeching and flailing like a lunatic in fear of getting stung. More often than not it was a harmless Caterpie or an immobile Metapod or Kakuna, but there fear was there and it was real, especially since Tate was not in possession of any Pokémon. What if something really nasty showed up one day? What if… Beedrill?!
Of course, the great Beedrill apocalypse never happened. Rather, today -- like so many days -- Tate was simply too slow getting through the forest, and by the time the city limits proper came into view at the end of the nearly two-hour walk, classes had been in session for a good ten minutes. It was another half hour to the tiny lab where Tate studied under a rather less-than-known professor and the first course of the day would be over by the time the tardy Johto-born made it in. Another disappointed lecture would surely be in store. Tate deflated under the knowledge, and focused on the coastline as it passed by on the left; the sea was gorgeous.
Someday, Tate thought, I’ll disappear over the horizon.
These kinds of thoughts consumed Tate frequently; the desire to run away towards what was perceived as something better. There was a place -- the Alolan Archipelago -- about which Tate dreamed, and it was to this end that Tate worked towards and studied, persevering through the numerous days like today. Tardy, expecting a tongue-lashing… but it would all be worth it, to step foot on the islands.
The noise picked up, as it often did, when Tate neared the patch of land belonging to the Daycare Center. Sitting on roughly a half-acre, a good dozen Pokémon were running about in a fenced-off area near the street, playing and howling. More, Tate knew, were inside, in kennels and enclosures. The work they did was fascinating, and Tate had even tried to get an internship with them during the first semester at the lab, but nothing had panned out. Probably for the best, Tate had rationalized; there were rumors that some trainers used the facility like a breeding mill; Tate didn’t know the details, but it all sounded very unscrupulous.
In the near distance was a treeline that caught Tate’s attention; it signalled the edge of the city proper and was a key landmark in the daily commute; it meant fifteen more minutes to the lab. Perhaps, if Tate were lucky, it could be as easy as slipping into the back of the room while the professor’s back was turned, and then maybe the whole ‘lecture Tate on personal responsibility’ thing could be completely avoided! ...yeah, right. Tate’s luck wasn’t that good. Tate heaved a sigh, shoving both hands into the pockets of the turquoise and black hoodie meant to stave off the creeping fall chill. Meant to look like the uniform jackets from one of Tate’s favorite shows -- Space Adventure: Advanced Generation -- it broadcasted to all the world watching that this was a poorly adjusted 20-odd-year-old nerd, the image brought to its apex by the thick corrective lenses literally strapped to Tate’s head, lest the weight of them cause them to fall off. Tate tried not to give this any thought, trying to maintain a modicum of self-esteem. Maybe it would have been better to stay in bed that morning?
Just past the treeline were a patch of residential neighborhoods before the city opened up into the metro area. It must have been garbage day because rows of steel cans lined the streets by the driveways. Here and there, one was tipped over; presumably by scoundrel Furret in the wee hours of the morning. Tate smiled at the thought; Furret were cute, even if some people considered them a menace. Murkrow too -- another ‘pest’ species Tate liked. Pidove weren’t native to the area, but had become ubiquitous to cityscapes, and Tate liked those, too! Tate liked Pidove a lot…
So lost in this train of thought was Tate that the sound of one of the trash cans clattering was enough to give the meandering student a real fright. Yelping, the sound of the scream caused something rooting around inside an overturned rubbish bin about six feet away its own scare, and it jumped inside its steel prison, making all sorts of scraping noises. Celebi, help me! Tate heaves a breath, heart thundering. A Sentret? Sometimes the weaker ones would come out later in the day, when there was less competition for resources from their more able peers.
“It’s not nice to dig through peoples’ trash,” Tate admonished, as if a wild Pokémon would even understand the concept of etiquette or private property. Sauntering over to the trash can, Tate bent down, expecting to find a Sentret or perhaps a Rattata. Instead, something inside loosed a felid hiss, dim light glinting off of the tapetum lucidum behind large, brown eyes. It took a moment for Tate’s eyes to adjust, and another moment to process what was being seen.
An Eevee?
“Oh jeez,” Tate groaned, recoiling slightly. Someone’s pet? Did it get out? Reaching inside to try and fish the creature out, there was a horrible shock of pain as the decidedly uncooperative Pokémon bit down on Tate’s hand and held fast, drawing blood. Tate screamed, and tried to shake the bastard monster loose. Only after accidentally ramming it into the side of the trash bin did it let go, and Tate withdrew a mangled hand, tears pricking the corners of both eyes.
“You little shit-” Tate snapped. Terrified, the Eevee cowered against the back of the trash can, against a pile of refuse. Bleeding and angry, but not wholly heartless, Tate couldn’t in good conscience leave it there, nor could the wounded 20-something risk more bodily harm. Grunting, Tate unzipped the prized hoodie -- the one designed after that most favorite of shows -- and used it as a barrier, reaching in with and wrapping it around the Pokémon so it could neither struggle nor bite. It took crawling halfway into the trash can, but Tate eventually managed to swaddle the creature, who hissed and kicked through the entire effort. When Tate finally crawled out of the can, Eevee bound in a now dirty and bloody hoodie and tucked under one arm, there was bits of garbage weaved through strands of black hair, and thick corrective lenses were smudged. Tate was sweating.
Now what?
Tate was even more late to class than before. The Eevee was growling; it didn’t appear to have a collar of any sort and Tate was not eager to stick a hand down in its face to double-check. Briefly, thought was given to just going home and getting cleaned up, and then going from there, but missing a whole day of classes would only elicit more ire from the professor. Besides, he might have an idea of what to do with the Pokémon. Tate sighed. Dirty, sweaty, stinky, late; an untame Eevee in a hoodie. Tate’s favorite hoodie, ruined! What a way to show up for class.
Tate sat the trash can upright -- the least that could be done to whoever owned it -- and kept walking. The lab was only five minutes away; just on the other side of the residential area. The Eevee stopped squirming, having momentarily given up the fight.
Someday, Tate thought, Things will be better than this.
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