FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1: First Impressions

Thomas's hands shook, his nerves getting the better of him. He'd put everything into that exam and standing before the committee waiting for their decision, felt like an agonizing eternity. The professor cleared his throat, looking to the man over half-moon spectacles. "Thomas..." the tone said it all. Thomas couldn't stop his shoulders from slumping as his hopes fell with them. "I'm sorry, but we cannot authorise your application for Pokemon Trainer."

"Professor Eucalypt! Please..." Thomas begged, tears only held back due to his hands shaking so badly. He took a deep breath and got his emotions under control. But before he could plead further the professor spoke again.

"Thomas, it's more than talent we have to assess." He sighed, removing his glasses to rub his eyes with tired fingers. "We told you last time, we cannot hand a Pokemon over to someone if they can't prove they can take care of-"

"But I CAN!" Thomas growled, his voice breaking as once again his attempt to qualify as a trainer was denied. "You just need to give me a chance to prove-"

"No." The experienced trainer shouted, silencing him before the professor could. "It's not about whether you can care for them, it's about whether you can afford to." Thomas' heart sank. She stepped over to him, the fact she was several years younger than he a stung him almost as painfully as her words. "Thomas, we know you would care for whatever Pokemon you were given with everything you had. That's not the problem."

"The problem is I don't have anything." Thomas wheezed, his failure crushing his heart to powder within his chest. He shrugged the trainer's hand off his shoulder as she tried to comfort him.

"We know you're trying." She said after Thomas, who was turning to leave. "And if it were up to me-"

"Don't." He sighed over his shoulder. "Thanks, but don't." And with that Thomas walked out of the training hall and into the rain.

It had been overcast all day, but sometime during his exam the sky had opened, pouring itself onto the medium sized town below. Streets were clear of the usual rabble of people and Pokemon as the rain beat down harder than usual. Thomas pulled on the strap of his satchel, the secondhand bag having surely weathered worse than the current downpour given it's worn leather look. But despite the care he was taking to keep it close, in truth it was entirely empty.

With heavy footsteps the man made his way slowly through the rain. Thomas knew by the time he made it home his recently purchased clothes would be soaked through regardless, so he saw no need to rush. Thunder cracked out through the ominously dark sky like a cymbal, reverberating through the streets as he trudged along.

This had arguably been the man's last chance to apply, mainly due to him being much older than the usual applicant. But more than that, he knew he wouldn't be able to stay homeless forever. And if you wanted to explore these days, you needed a pokemon or at least a partner with one to help with the bandits and trainers along the rougher routes. There was no shortage of hard labour work in the cities, and there were plenty of farms and orchards in the country that could use an extra pair of hands. It was solid work with enough pay to keep him fed and under shelter.

But it wasn't Pokemon Training.

Thomas looked to the sky, his face pounded with raindrops as they rinsed the tears from his cheeks. His mind strayed to the panicked voices of his past before being quickly silenced by the roar of a truck smashing through a puddle before him. 'Beyond drenched.' he thought, finally rounding the last street corner before the bus depot. It backed onto a nature reserve, and the disused sheds that lined the back fence were more than enough shelter for him.

It was still early afternoon, but there would be no busking today. Not after Police Officer Jenny gave her final warning to him to stay out of the Pokemon Center. Thomas walked around the depot's fence line and into the woods before doubling back to the fence outside Shed 2C. He unhooked the chain-link from the post where he'd rigged his entry and pushed aside the old wooden panel masquerading as a wall. Immediately he felt the weight of the day lift from his shoulders as the relative dry warmth of the old shed calmed his nerves. He re-hung the fence and slid the panel closed once more, until the sound of raindrops on grass and gravel was replaced entirely by the thundering of rain on the tin roof.

He slid the wet second-hand trainers gear off and tossed them over some defunct machinery in the corner. Normally Thomas would be more careful about where he left his stuff but the Depot's guard Simon would not be likely to be making rounds in this weather. He looked to the dirty Ultra Ball sitting on one of the rafters next to a singed and worn photograph of his parents. "Again." He said morosely as he slipped on some dry clothes. "Again."

As the day went on, he could do nothing but lie on one of the rows of broken bus chairs set up along the second floor of the storage shed; a dusty window looking out over the southern route coming into the town. He watched as the dark storm came further overhead, pushing the afternoon to near-twilight with its dense cloud coverage broken every handful of seconds by a flash of brilliant white and the crack of thunder. The roar of the rain is what eventually lulled the man to sleep, his dreams for the night as hazy and oppressive as the sky above.

Come morning, Thomas awoke with a sore neck and dry mouth. The rain outside was only slightly lighter, and after looking at his rations he sighed, the flyer beneath them forcing the decision he'd not wanted to make. He picked up a stale bun and chewed it as he stared at the battered photograph of his parents, tears welling up as he shook his head. "I don't have much choice." he said between bites. "They pay well and after a while, who knows? Maybe the professor there will be..." he was about to say 'nicer' but Professor Eucalypt had been quite kind to Thomas over the years "...more lenient." Rules were rules, and while the professor here wouldn't break them, perhaps the one near the Nanab berry farm would be willing to bend them a bit.

Having finished what little breakfast there was, he folded the photograph carefully along the worn lines and tucked it deep into his financially empty wallet. Gathering the rest of his items was not that difficult, the worn rucksack able to hold the still damp trainers clothes as well as the satchel. He thumbed the trigger on the empty ultra ball for a moment before placing it gently into one of the slots on the satchel's strap. The only other item on the shelf was his grandfathers pocketwatch, which after giving it a quick wind, he slid into one of the smaller internal pockets of the rucksack.

His music box was next. It was a device of his fathers making, combining many instruments into one, so he could pluck, beat and strum the songs that accompanied his singing in the town square. Not the best way to make a living, but a living nonetheless. Packed around that were rolls of newspaper, not just to keep the instrument protected, but newspaper was a fantastic insulator and bedding alternative for the financially inept. Lastly was his rations. A weeks worth of food at best, and just enough for the hike to the farm up north. His father's water skein had suffered many punctures these last few years, but after his latest patch attempt, Thomas was sure it was now leak-free. He filled it from a pail left near the cracked window before washing his face with the same water.

As he pulled the chain-link fence back into place and stared off into the dimly lit landscape Thomas shed a tear. It wasn't the end of his dream. It couldn't be. The farm would give him what he needed to apply again. It had to. He took a step, then another, and was soon on his way out of the town's limits and up the main route north.

The landscape was beautiful, Thomas realised he'd forgotten that over the years. His focus had always been in the city; you can't busk in a forest after all (unless you happen to get lucky with a pack of raucous meowth). This realisation seemed to grow with every step he took. Bird pokemon sung their beautiful songs from the treetops as others wandered around the forest floor just out of sight of the road. The rain had dulled to a drizzle by this point but the overcast sky did nothing to diminish the beauty around him.

It was many hours before the man's stomach began to protest. So wading into the forest to find a reasonably dry rock, Thomas set his pack down and checked the time. He was shocked by how well into the afternoon it was, so much so he might as well just have dinner instead and pack up for the night. Sighing, that is exactly what he did. He checked around for any pokemon trails so as not to disturb anything or worse, lure anything big over to him. But aside from the birds above and the smaller pokemon scurrying around the forest floor, there seemed nothing too threatening around.

Dinner was just a small can of food and some stale berries; nothing too fantastic but nutritious enough to keep him going. In the morning he'd finish off the rest of the bread and berries before they spoiled. Despite it being near the end of spring, the rain brought out the cold in the forest. Something Thomas discovered as he tried to curl up to sleep. He'd have used the trainers clothes as a blanket if they weren't still damp from the day before. Or the newspaper if it weren't still a little drizzly. So instead he just picked a soft-enough spot on the ground at the base of a large tree and set in for the night. He tapped his thigh with the wallet in it before nodding off, whispering "We can do it."

The crash of lightning was an unwelcome way to wake up, but effective. Thomas blearily glanced around, checking to see if any of the trees had been struck. But he quickly realised the lack of rain. Blinking into the near pitch-black night he tried to figure out how far away the storm was to have delivered a strike loud enough to wake him. Which is when he saw the forest light up a fair distance north of him. Cracks of yellow and large puffs of orange scattering shadows everywhere as his eyes hopelessly tried to adjust to the scene unfolding before him.

Then a figure broke through the foliage. They had a brown trainers vest but otherwise were wearing what appeared to be some sort of pink and yellow jumpsuit with an oddly shaped hat. Their pack jostled to and fro as they ducked and weaved between the trees, scampering over bushes and rocks to avoid the incoming fire. 'Trainer in over their head?' Thomas thought to himself as the figure was quickly followed by an Electivire and Magmortar. "Shit!" he gasped. Neither of those pokemon were common, let alone local. How the trainer had happened on them was a complete mystery to the man until he saw their trainer.

Following behind the colourful trio was a man dressed all in grey. He strode over the logs and underbrush as though they were nothing. "He's exhausted! Catch him!" He bellowed, voice shaking the trees almost as much as each crack of lightning from the Electivire's massive hands. Thomas had heard about this. A kind of pokemon Mafia that would steal other trainers pokemon. He couldn't just sit by and let this happen could he? He didn't like the look of those fire and electric attacks, but what sort of trainer would he be if he didn't try to intervene?

Before the words 'But you're not a Trainer' could make their way through his mind, Thomas was up. Moving silently wasn't his strong suit, sitting still making folks pay attention to him was his living after all. So given the rules on not attacking another's pokemon directly, Thomas took it upon himself to go for the grey man instead. He picked up a nearby branch and hefted it, the damp wood heavy in his hands.

His heart was beating faster than ever before as he lay in wait for the other trainers to pass him. And as the grey man got close, he leapt from his cover and struck. But the grey man was further than he'd anticipated, his initial charge falling short, giving the man time enough to whistle to his pokemon for help. The branch came crashing down on an upheld hand, the rotten wood splintering as the half Thomas still gripped scored the grey man's wrist and arm. "Never order a Pokemon-" Thomas shouted as he swung for the man's head, easily blocked by the now bleeding arm as the gry man got his footing on the uneven ground "-to strike another trainer!"

The grey man went to grab for the branch as Thomas made another swing, and Thomas let him have it. He'd been in enough scraps to know when to get a cheap shot in and took the advantage given him by leaning into the strike, following through with his fist to the man's exposed ribs. The hit was solid, but Thomas knew at that moment he couldn't take this man down. He was almost pure muscle, and despite being winded, the grey-suited man barely flinched from the sneaky blow. Thomas steadied himself for the man's return strike but was caught flat footed as a surge of electricity coursed through him.

The Electivire had abandoned it's pursuit of the other trainer and instead returned to defend it's master. Thomas tried to turn to face his new attacker but was floored by a king-hit from the grey man. He hit the ground hard, the world fading to black as rain once again tore from the skies, pummeling his back into nothingness.

The crack of thunder that woke Thomas this time was muffled but still loud. He sprang to his feet, or rather tried to. Cracking wood and slippery rock beneath prevened him from getting a grip before reeling over backwards. A strong hand shot out from the darkness and caught his shirt, tearing it in the process of halting the man's fall. Thomas panicked again, thinking he was still in the fight before a flash of light from one side lit the figure holding him.

At first the pink and yellow jumpsuit calmed him, thinking the trainer from before must have come back to help him. That was until his eyes adjusted and realised the pink and yellow was not so much clothing as skin. Thomas' breathing quickened as his heart rate went through the roof. He scrambled for a foothold again and the figure gently lowered him to the floor. "Hak!..." it half whispered, half shouted. "Hakamo-o Hak." It placed a sharp claw against Thomas' lips before pushing his head around to look out the cave front. Off in the distance a flashlight - lighting a cone through the torrential rain - swung to and fro accompanied occasionally by the swears and curses from the grey man.

"You're the pokemon they're after?" Thomas whispered, wondering what would happen if they found the two huddled in the cave.

"Hakamo." it said mournfully "Mo-o..." The adrenaline from the fight had worn off, and the coldness of the air in the shadowy cave was not helping his body stay warm under recently drenched clothes. As such, he began to shiver.

"But where's-" Thomas found another claw pressed against his lips before the two massive hands gripped his sides and drew him back into the darkness of the cave. There was a large log inside, hollowed out from age and recently halved to form a kind of cot. It looks like there were two, but one seems to have been a casualty from his panic attack moments earlier. Splintered and not really safe to lie on, Hakamo-o instead guided him back to the other cot, laying beside and around him; a big spoon to keep the little spoon warm despite being easiely a head shorter than the man. As his heart beat slowed and the exhaustion crept in like darkness around his vision, Thomas sighed "Thank you."

Thomas was awake first. But what he awoke to was the last thing he expected. The Chatot singing it's morning melody from outside the cave was one thing, and the Hakamo-o holding him close was another. But what the man could feel pressing against his back was far beyond his comprehension for that morning. He took a deep breath and waited, feeling the heat of the Hakamo-o throb against him with each heartbeat. He tried thinking about how best to extract himself from the makeshift bed when he realised he was having a similar reaction downstairs.

He'd slept with people before, sure. Not for quite a while though, the homeless lifestyle isn't exactly what someone is looking for in a sexual partner after all. But he'd never imagined being in this situation with a pokemon before. He'd overheard trainers mention how their Evee or Pikachu would sleep in or on the bed with them, but this, this was different. Before he could think too much more about it, Hakamo-o stirred. He stretched, pressing his morning wood harder into Thomas' back before realising the situation. The pokemon froze, gulping as Thomas did the same. But as he extracted himself from around the human, Hakamo's claw brushed against the man's arousal. The two gasped, though for different reasons.

Within seconds they were both up and trying to ignore what had just happened. Hakamo-o busying himself with his backpack and readjusting the trainers vest after sleeping in it. Thomas remembered his own stuff still in the forest outside. "Dammit." Hakamo-o turned quickly, tense. "My stuff."

"Hak..." the pokemon shook his head, a sigh of relief from having thought the grey man had found them. "Haka." He said, motioning for Thomas to follow as he hoisted the bag over one shoulder and made for the exit. Cautiously he checked right and left, sniffing the air. When Thomas came close he held a claw out, indicating for the man to wait. But when he decided the coast was clear, motioned Thomas to follow once more.

They trudged through wet and muddy ground, though the sunlight pouring through the canopy in shifting beams made the journey worth it. Thomas began to marvel at the distance Hakamo-o must have carried him during the night. Even more so when he began noticing massive charred craters on treetrunks and several bushes burned to the ground. "Those two were no joke..." Thomas remarked, amazed at how unscathed Hakamo appeared to be. But in the light of day, he could make out a bit more detail.

Hakamo-o's skin was a mix of yellowy gold and bright pink, his armored plates shining like cymbals across his body and rattling with the faintest of noises as he walked. He held himself pretty tall and with the trainers vest and backpack it was no wonder Thomas mistook him for a young trainer at first. Occasionally he would catch a glance at the various badges on the vest, some recognisable, others not. Whomever his trainer was, they had travelled a lot. He spent the rest of the journey back to his tiny campsite thinking about how he'd eventually visit all those gyms.

But his daydream was cut short by the nightmare that awaited him. On the ground, strewn about the rocks, moss and leaves were his belongings. Bread and berries mashed into the ground, the trainers shirt and bag tossed to the side, the empty ultra ball open on the ground beside it. But what broke his heart were the pieces of timber and wire of the music box in shards covering the entire area. The charred remnants scored in such a way that Thomas knew it had been blasted apart by the Magmortar.

He turned his attention to the bag, eyes fixed on it as he quickly tore through the pockets inside. "Where is it?" He asked rhetorically. "Where where where where..." Thomas was maniacally throwing the scraps of his belongings in the air trying to find his grandfather's watch. "No..." he moaned. "No..." He collapsed on the ground, followed by Hakamo-o who tried to give him a hug. But Thomas shook it off. "That bastard took it. Took it all away." He felt the familiar wave of sadness building behind his eyes, but he refused to give that grey suit wearing prick the satisfaction. "I'll find you... I'll find you..." he grumbled, pulling a small can opener from his pocket.

Scant few rations survived the turn down, and the few cans he could find Thomas opened. He handed one to Hakamo-o who looked at it, unsure. "Just take it." he pushed it into Hakamo's claws before turning his attention to the one in front of him. "I was headed north to the farms. That ain't happening now." He downed the spicy fish chunks and growled at the after taste. "Damn that's got a kick." He also drank down about half the tin of Pinap Berries in syrup before placing it on the rock near Hakamo-o. "Eat up. Even If they don't know we're already here, they'll probably come back sometime or another. We need to move."

He slid off the torn shirt and threw on the trainers shirt, still soaked but at least it covered him. Stuffing what could be salvaged of the music box in the bag along with his torn shirt, he slung the satchel over one shoulder. The empty Ultra ball lay on the ground, waterlogged and muddy. He grabbed it as Hakamo-o raised an eyebrow and flicked as much of the crud out of it as possible before clipping it to his belt. He looked to the pokemon and they shared a stare. "It's got sentimental value." he sighed.

Hakamo-o downed the berries in one gulp before standing. "Hak." he pointed up the road to the north.

"No, we need to go back to town." Thomas pointed south.

"HAK!" He repeated, still pointing. "Hakamo! O!"

"Look," Thomas said, standing close to the pokemon, smelling the fruitiness of the berries on Hakamo's impatient breath. "If you head that way, I can't follow. I had a weeks worth of supplies, they are currently soaking up the mud. I don't have any money either, and no way of making a living now that this-" He shook the bag of instrument parts, making a cacophany of muffled noises "-is in a thousand pieces." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking Hakamo-o square in the eyes. "I don't have a home. But food and shelter are that way. If you need to lie low, I can give you that safety. But I can't go with you."

The pokemon stared at him for a moment before nodding. He wrapped his arms around the man and pulled him close. "Hak." He whispered in thanks.

"No, thank you." Thomas whispered back. And then he was off, Hakamo-o disappearing into the forest as best as a neon pink and yellow pokemon could. Thomas sighed and made his way to the road. If he was lucky a passing truck might give him a lift. If not, well, at least the shirt would dry.

It was several hours before Thomas realised the odd feeling he had was that of being watched. He looked around but could see nothing. Every mile or so he would stop, check and come up empty handed but the feeling would remain. As the sun drew towards the horizon and the lights of the town ahead became visible he heard an engine coming down the road from where he had started the day. Then one engine became many. Turning to look he spied nearly a dozen black four-wheel-drives come barrelling down the route, with long black antennae bolted to the front bumpers and windows tinted to hide their occupants.

As they shot past, one slowed to a stop just ahead of him. "Shit shit shit..." Thomas muttered. If these guys were connected in any way to the one that roughed him up the night prior...

"Hey Sir. Could I perhaps steal a moment of your time?" A raticate-faced man stepped out of the passenger side of the vehicle and leaned against the door. "It'll only take a minute, I promise." He pulled a photograph out of his pocket and waited for Thomas to get close before holding it up. "You seen this guy round 'ere?"

Thomas looked at the photo. The man was not too dissimilar from him, but significantly more tanned and with a lot more weight to him. "Can't say I have. Who is he?"

"What about his pokemon?" the suited man pulled out another photo and showed it. Hakamo-o. Thomas didn't react, it was one of the few useful things he learned on the street.

"Sorry. Freaky colours though." He shrugged, ready to go back to walking.

"Hey, look." Thomas's shoulder had been seized by the man, his hairs standing on end as he readied himself to run. "You don't look like your normal trainer."

Thomas was taken aback. "I, I'm not."

"What Pokemon you rocking?" the suited man probed, grinning as he showed off his belt of four pokeballs.

"What?" It took Thomas a moment to realise what he was asking. "Oh, this?" He pulled out the beaten ultraball. "It's, well..."

"C'mon, show us. An ultraball as beaten as that? Must be something special."

"He was." Thomas said solemnly, pressing the trigger to open the empty ball. Satisfied at the guys shock, he slipped the ball back in it's holder on the satchel's strap and started walking off.

The guy in the suit wasn't reacting fast enough for whomever was in the car and gets nudged by an arm popping out the window, being handed a card in the process. "Hey, hey." He half-shouted after Thomas, running up to him as the car idled forward to keep pace. "Sorry, it's hard to lose a good Pokemon. If you see either of those two, or want to perhaps earn a bit more money than you would on the circuit, just give this number a call."

Thomas took the card and read it. But all there was was a phone number on one side and a symbol of two 'R's - one backwards but both sharing the same vertical line - within an embossed ring.Before he could ask what it meant the car was speeding off towards town. He stood, several minutes from the outer limits of the town just holding that card, turning it over and over. "I mean, I don't have to tell them about the Hakamo-o. I could just sign up." He felt a burning sensation in his thigh pocket. It was entirely psychological but he knew the mere notion of joining those thugs would go against everything his parents had taught him. "What other choice do I have?"

A warm wind blew down the road as Thomas turned to face it. It filled his mind and body with a purpose he didn't know he had. He stood a while basking in it before it died down. With a sigh, he flicked the card into the grass. "I'll find my own way." And with that, he stepped over the town border on his way back to civilisation.