Those Without Wings: Secrets: Prelude to Darkness
Cho Hakkai
Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. I do, however, own my created regions, characters and Pokemon.
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"I might repeat to myself, slowly and soothingly, a list of quotations beautiful from minds profound- if I can
remember any of the damn things."
Caliban was a dark smudge of a region not far south of Hoenn, a travel destination only for its mild winters and
only vaguely explored southern wilds, which rested near the equator. In fact, they shared the Calenn Strait and
probably fished off the very same waters during a steady northern wind. It couldn't have been but a day's journey
at most, even by the shoddiest raft, excluding the possibility of a temperamental gyrados or leviathan- particularly
in late winter.
But far to the south, past lone white-capped mountains and green-tinted-blue grassy plains and remnants of ancient towers near the Etherical ruins, far beyond Evrae’s perch and Ganymede’s den, past gray cities and temperate forests, wide farmland expanses and vicious jungles lies the apprehensive capital of Denvre, tinted brown with environmental neglect and industrial swarms.
Dipping down from the bare tops of innumerable apartment buildings we focus in on one shady sidewalk, an undulating stream of the avarice businessmen necessary to the surrounding skyscrapers, like flies to death. Or perhaps travelers, for Denvre's outlying areas consist only of livestock grazes and quilted crops that seem to spread exponentially across the once clear grasslands for at least a two day's journey all around.
Nearing winter, the throng of trainers had filtered down to only the either very determined or very foolish few- despite milder winters as compared to Hoenn, the idea of camping out in very nearly single-digit temperatures with nothing but a tent was extremely unappealing to even the most gung-ho of travelers. The economy dipped along with the temperatures, and all-around, winter was a bad thing.
One such girl rested slouched on a choppy cement stoop, head lolling back as her black eyes surveyed the mackerel sky- or what was visible of it, beyond the grasping steel peaks of man's creation. Garbed in tough cream and crimson leather with a black cloak wrapped around her shoulders, only reaching partway down her back, she rose, still gazing at the sky, shouldered a brown pack and joined the mill of people.
Nobody noticed the whirl of experienced hands the moment she slipped into the crowd, or the calculating grin partially hidden by the stiff collar of her cloak and straight yellow hair. With deadened perfection her hand flew from pocket to cloak to pocket, each circuit gaining another passerby's fat wallet or cell phone, each executed with the precognic speed only the young could achieve. Her eyes lay straight ahead; showing only a deep satisfaction as her fingers worked their magic. But it was not meant to be so.
As she rounded a corner in the sidewalk her hand caught with a sharp twangggg on an unpleasantly thin leather wallet. Caught by surprise, the force of two passerbys hurrying in different directions connected by a thick tweed thread knocked the girl backwards off her feet as if clotheslined, stumbling into a group of elderly ladies.
"S- sorry..." She mumbled, regaining balance and dropping the wallet hastily, eyes darting for any sign of danger- not that she had ever been caught... in this city, anyway...The wallet, swiftly reeled in by a younger boy, had been wrapped around twice by a thread and tied to the young man's belt loop.Probably to prevent thievery. Yup. Definitely a possibility. Damn paranoids...
In her experience she knew there were only three main possibilities when caught in a situation like so. First, high tail it outta there. If there's nowhere to run or if the guy's legs are thick as his waist, then strut up and give him a good spit-in-the-face and tell him to piss off and die. If that doesn't work- shriek like an animal, hope someone will come to your rescue, and deny, deny, deny!
As the young woman considered her choices, the boy had already loped to her side with a blatant glare, which quickly transmuted to a narrow-eyed look of recognition. "You- you've stolen from me before!" he cried indignantly, jerking her out of her internal dilemma. Her expression quickly turned to one of deep pity and understanding as she clasped a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Yes... I understand that losses can be painful... But these are things you need to learn to overcome! One as young as yourself mustn't let yourself be mutilated by hatred and begrudgement..."
“... You... Wait, what the hell? What are you talking about?"
"The world is a confusing place full of danger and wonder... And on that note, I bid you farewell!" She said, spinning on her heels and speeding into the crowd once more.
"Wait! I want my money back!" The boy cried, his messy brown hair ruffled in the slight breeze as a semi-trailer passed noisily on the road behind him. But she was gone. It couldn't have been more than a split second, but she had utterly disappeared. He fumed, garnet eyes burning.
"Sonofa-"
Chapter 1
Secrets: Prelude to Darkness
"Modern Manners: Never strike anyone so old, small, or weak that verbal abuse would have sufficed."
On the outskirts of the forest just outside Denvre's farmland areas a feminine shriek echoed, sending dark clouds
of Taillow to disperse in the newly risen morning. Spire Alto snapped out of his dreamy reverie with a start,
springing to his feet and then collapsing once more face-first into the vanquished leaves of autumn due to the
difficult locomotive techniques of a closed sleeping bag. Blinking dumbly he lay still, listening for whatever had
woken him up.
Another scream resounded.
He paused, frowning in deep thought somewhat before burrowing back into his bag, grasping already half-forgotten dreams. Not my problem...
His breathing slowed until he was finally back into a light dream state, an expression of bliss glowing across his wanton face. The past two days had been hell, to say the least, but once past the forest all he had to worry about were the country bumpkins and rednecks that came with an extreme lack of social contact, despite a large city less than twenty miles past the farms. But no worries, just steer clear of the lumps and it'll be home free for the winter. An actual bed... food... shower... relaxation...
"Ohff!" Spire grunted loudly as a boot connected with his lower abdomen. The girl's arms windmilled as her leg caught on his sleeping bag with another annoying high-toned shriek. A passing Rattata watched curiously as she executed a perfect face-plow, lying awkwardly atop Spire, whom was wheezing furtively.
"Oh, God!" He cried hoarsely once he could properly breathe, shoving the girl off and sitting upright, face red with pain. "What are you doing?"
She scrambled to her knees and bowed deeply, shining streaks of tears lining her otherwise pleasant facial features, framed by long chestnut hair. "I'm so sorry! There was this insane Wargon... but for some reason, he seems to have disappeared... Wait, why didn't you hear me screaming if you were right here?"
Spire froze, face still set in a scowl as he stumbled for an excuse. He was spared, however, as she eyed his long black hair- which would have, under better circumstances, been in a low ponytail.
"Woah, are you Spire Alto?" she inquired with an excited grin.
He froze again. "..."
Her eyes brightened. "It is you! You're famous in Denvre, right? For the life of me, I can't remember where I've seen you, though... What're you doing out here?"
But Spire had tuned out, eyes narrowed. If anybody knew of his whereabouts... He smiled. "I'm trying to get some time away from the city hustle, if you know what I mean." He said calmly, rising to his feet.
The girl blinked. Suddenly, she remembered where she'd seen his face...
Spire knew what he had to do.
---
Wanted: Spire Alto
Age: 17
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 187
Hair: Black
Eye: Blue
For: Suspected murder of nine people in the tri-county area and twelve in northern Caliban, for possible connection
with El Sendero Luminoso, and several counts of theft. Suspect may be armed, and is said to be carrying Pokemon
mostly of the water or ice element. If sighted, do not attempt to subdue. Call the tip-off hotline (number stated
below) at any time.
Reward: 160,000
She shuddered at the memory of her mistake. Not that she could have predicted such a precaution- which worried
her even more- but she was already treading on thin ice. Hopefully such anti-theft techniques would not become a
trend.
Turning away, she found an empty corner and splayed her prizes before her- an entire collection of assorted
wallets and cell phones. She sorted carefully through them with a barely contained grin.
"Nine hundred! Who says crime doesn't pay?" She said lovingly. "I can finally get that TM... Lazarus!" She cried,
gathering the money into a leather tie-string pouch and leaving the wallets on the ground.
At first her cry simply resounded off the walls of the narrow alley, causing a sickly flock of Pidgeys on the roof
above to disperse briefly before arcing back as one to their former places.
Suddenly, a loud squawking "Pjiooooo!" alerted Yurika to the fact that she was not alone.
"Lazarus, get down here!" she commanded sharply.
Several seconds and horrible bone crunching noises later a dark form leapt from the heavens, landing neatly before
her with an audible thud. The creature resembled a cadaverous panther about Yurika's height at the top of his
pointed ears, with scales instead of fur and disproportionately large bat wings. A long spiked tail wrapped around
it’s body as it sat, the thin golden bands around his ankles jingling merrily. Currently his regal face was littered
with tiny mottled brown feathers, his sunken red eyes clearly satisfied.
(Nuh?)
"Don't be slacking off. You don't know this city well enough, and we may have to leave soon."
(Oh gawd, ya didn't get caught again, did you?)
Yurika bristled.
(Nev' mind. No diff' 'nyways, these cities're all 'like.) the Cleaver replied, settling down and resting his
head in his wickedly knived paws. (Y'know, if ye'd jes' lemme battle a few trainers an' c'llect the money, we'd
be jes' as good off fer it, and without the cops tailin' us. Don'cha trust me te win?)
"It's not that. But we're in too deep to start that anyway, I don't want people to know me. The police might start to
dig."
(Yeah, an' we might fall 'nto the 'norm'. What're ya so 'fraid of? It was only a few gang whelps. Nobody’ll come
lookin’ fer them.) He said gently.
"Look, I didn't call you down here to have conversation. I don't want to be caught with this stuff, so you take it and
keep it safe."
(When did I b'come yer errand boy? C'mon, lemme hang 'round.)
"Just go, I'll catch up later. I've got stuff to do in the underground; they won't let you in anyway. I’m thinking we’ll
head out tomorrow morning." She said, holding the money pouch down to him.
(I don' believe you even have a license te train me. Therefore I'm a wild animal, an' I can follow you 'round if I
wanna.)
Yurika sighed bitterly. "Look, one of those ‘whelps’ was Hashino’s son. I saw it in the newspaper, it turns out his
enterprise is in this city. I’ve got to get a print wipe, and we’ve got to avoid urban areas for awhile.” She said,
holding up her free hand. Each of her fingertips had sharp burn marks on them, which were healing over rapidly.
Being a thief tended to leave
prints in undesirable places, and she couldn’t have that.
Lazarus displayed the Pokemon equivalent of a scowl. (Hashino… when’s that dill-hole gonna leave us ‘lone?
He’s been after us since ‘fore that ever happened. What’s he want with us, anyway?)
Yurika’s eyes swept the line of posters once more, each displaying the surly or wearied face of a probable future
convict. She felt a twang of pity for each, recalling her own descent into darkness. How many would be put to
death by Hashino’s own hands? Would she be, even?
“I wish I knew.”
NOTES
Cleaver
Type: Dark/Flying
Height: 4’6” at shoulder
Length: 9’2”, not including tail
Weight: 218 pounds
Ability: Lunatic Rush—Attack power doubles at nighttime, but accuracy drops.
General Reference: The body of a cleaver is halfway degenerated, hence it’s extreme lack of mass and weight. The
cleaver must eat almost constantly to stay alive, but though its main diet is meat, it can live off dirt or small
portions of rock for an extended period. The cleaver lives in mountainous, forested regions in the far north of either
Caliban or Johto. Its irretractable claws leave a distinct print, so it spends most of its time in trees or in flight.
Caution Rating: 7/10
Lazarus’s Skill Level*: 39
*Skill Level: The Specified Pokemon’s ‘level’, if you play the game.
You may call anonymously.
Yurika Aisaki eyed the line of wanted posters on the dirty brick wall of the dark alley, breathing a sigh of relief
when her own face was spared. Her earlier encounter with the young boy had rattled her; he seemed able enough
to recognize her and the authorities wouldn't let her off so easily now that she was eighteen... As if they could
catch her, anyway. If they could even find her, they deserved to put her in jail.