Chp 1: Maybe This Time (Cabaret)

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"Surreal…" Tracey whistled under his breath and backed away from the large marble Tauros headed statue. Irritably, he glanced around. It wasn’t fair, he thought. Other guys his age get to dream about getting off with beautiful buxom blondes – while he dreams about being totally lost in marble decorated rooms, with…he looked a little closer…yes, pink clouds dotted around. Pink clouds… Again he shook his head abysmally. He made a mental note not to tell anyone about this; he was having a hard enough time convincing many he wasn’t gay already.

"That’s it Trace-" he whispered to himself. "The next time Misty offers you her home cooking before you go to bed, say NO…"

"Talking to yourself Mr Sketchit?" came an melodic and amused voice. "Isn’t that the first sign of madness?" Tracey turned around, and did a double take.

"Angels?" he queried to noone in particular. "What next? Male chipendales? Why the hell do I have such girlish dreams!" he whined. Suddenly he did a double take on his double take. The angel was a woman – AND HOW! Pink hair, buxom, and barely dressed. Things were looking up.

"Tracey Kenji Sketchit," the angel began efficiently, pulling out a rolled up parchment from under the tiny scrap of pale pink silk that kept her decent. She made an impressed noise. "Wow, you’ve been waiting long. 2000 was it? Bummer." Tracey didn’t have a clue what she was on about, but her exposed cleavage was enough to make him nod in agreement.

Heh, Brock would love this! he thought. Suddenly, he heard a crash, and one of the marble statues shattered on the floor. A familiar voice cursed loudly. Tracey panicked. Nonononono that didn’t mean I wanted him in my dream!

"Brock Takeshi Slate," said the angel, pulling out another parchment. "You’re late. It’s not like you two are in a rush! You’ve both been waiting around for years!" As if called to the feminine voice like a beacon, Brock suddenly appeared from out of the pink coloured fog, drooling down the angel’s top as he struggled to form sentences. Suddenly he noticed Tracey standing there non-plussed.

"Tracey?" he murmured. "But I haven’t dreamed about you since-"

"This is not a dream gentlemen." Suddenly, the angel clicked her fingers, and instantaneously, the three were sitting on a round, red velvet sofa. The angel was now dressed in red velvet trousers and low cut top, and her hair had changed to a fiery red as well. "It is very much reality," she smiled. "My name is Cataliacacphrious."

The boys blinked simultaneously. She smiled again. "Or maybe you can just refer to me as Catalia. Anyway, I am a Fate Angel. You two have been in blissful limbo-" all of a sudden a harp played 3 short notes; "-for a period of time – Tracey for 5 years, Brock for 3." Catalia paused and ran a tongue over her lips and flexed her short feathery silver wings. "And now I need your help."

"What are you talking about?" Catalia paused again.

"I trust you still remember Ashton Ketchum and Misty Waterflower?" she asked hesitantly. "Remember them!" cried Tracey, slightly panicked at the fact he wasn’t waking up. "I just spent the day with them!" His brow furrowed. "In fact I can’t even remember going to sleep."

"What’s the last thing you remember Tracey?" Catalia asked compassionately. Brock was now looking at Tracey in horror, and had started to discretely pinch his own arm. Tracey was quiet for a moment.

"Me and Ash and Misty were on a shopping trip in Trovitopolis in the Orange Islands…" he practically whispered. "And the last thing that I remember is…is…we were crossing the road and…and…Misty screamed, and my head hurt a lot…and then I just turned up here…" Brock looked like he was going to throw up. Catalia turned to him now.

"Tell him what?" Brock squeaked. Catalia looked at him again. "Tracey…I know this is just a dream I’m having, and it’s not re-" Catalia glared at him. "Um, Tracey man you died two years ago…you were killed in a hit and run accident in Trovitopolis." Tracey stared quietly.

"And what’s the last thing you remember Brock?" Brock answered immediately and defiantly.

"I was ill. I was real ill. And the doctors couldn’t cure me…but…but that doesn’t mean I’m dead…and it doesn’t mean that Tracey’s dead and it doesn’t mean that you’re a real angel and it doesn’t mean anything! This is just a dream! A stupid DREAM!" Brock was on the verge of tears. Tracey sat in silence. Catalia sighed.

In a cold sweat, Brock sat up quickly, temporarily fighting with the unfamiliar, and slightly suffocating feather duvet cover. Breathing out heavily through pursed lips, he silently thanked…well…God that it had just been a dream. Then suddenly, he realised that the heaviness on his chest, and the difficulty it took to breath, which he had grown accustomed to over the last few months were gone. Then he noticed that he had no idea where he was.

The room was all decorated in shades of grey – ranging from a deep, almost black grey to practically ‘dirty white’. Then Brock noticed that Catalia was sitting on his bed, her short clipped wings decorated with sequins, and wearing a short grey dress. Her hair, he had correctly guessed, changed colour to suit her surroundings, so now was an unearthly shimmery silver – not unlike her wings.

"Okay, point taken. The duvet was a bad idea!" She flipped herself nimbly off the bed and her diminutive wings made a musical humming noise as she hovered just a few inches above the grey carpet. "Well of course DEAD people like you don’t need duvets for warmth –you don’t feel temperature change. But I thought it might help you ease into the AFTERLIFE," she commented airily.

"What do you want!?" cried Brock, brandishing the nearest item briskly at her. "Tell me straight! Don’t be cryptic! Or…or…else!" Catalia arched a silvery eyebrow cynically.

"Or you’ll lamp me to death?" Brock looked down at the small table lamp in his hands and sweatdropped. She sighed. "Let’s get Mr Sketchit first, and we’ll get this all out of the way." Catalia’s voice echoed down the hallway, backed by the hovering hum, as Brock followed tiredly yet obediently behind her. "…please. You boys…so stubborn! It’s not like I have a lot of TIME on my hands…I’m the head Fate Angel – as in I make sure fate happens? If it wasn’t for me you would all be green and have seven variations of how to reproduce…"

Tracey’s room was done in attractive shades of turquoise and teal, and upon entry, Catalia’s hair changed to a shade eerily like Misty’s eyes. She stopped hovering, and flopped into a large chair. The boys looked at each other edgily, and followed her example. Catalia heaved an exhausted sigh.

"Okay boys, this is it. You two are dead. You’ve been waiting in blissful limbo-" Three short harp notes came out of nowhere. Catalia carried on unfazed. "-since the moment of your death. We would have sent you onwards but our prophet predicted that we would need you. And it turns out that he’s right."

Brock sniffled loudly, and Tracey just continued staring into space.

Catalia leaned in closer, as if she didn’t want the walls to hear her next words. "Okay, the deal is that Ash and Misty’s fate is to get married to each other and have three children-" Tracey caught Brock’s eye and they both grinned. "Their oldest will be Rosa Ketchum. She will manufacture a new kind of Pokéball, stronger than a MasterBall, which will have been found to not catch all Pokémon by then. She calls it the KetchBall, and it’s with this type of Pokéball, that a great scientist will catch a new spirit Pokémon, Sukii. This Pokémon’s DNA will able doctors to find cures for all the major currently incurable diseases."

Brock and Tracey just stared, mouths agog. It was…too much to take in all at once! Catalia sighed.

"But Ash and Misty have had a major fight, which we predicted, but some other power-" she cast her eyes meaningfully downwards. "-interfered, and Misty stormed off, before her and Ash could realise they loved each other. Therefore no marriage, no Rosa, no Pokéball, no cures. Of course, we’ve tried to see if there’s any other way the KetchBall could be fashioned, but there are simply no loopholes. It’s either Rosa Ketchum, or…sayonara to the greatest medical discovery ever for another two hundred thousand years," There was a respectful silence, before Brock spoke up.

"But what do you expect from us? As you are so fond of reminding us, we’re dead!" he yelled. Catalia grinned so broadly, he was immediately suspicious.

"Come now Mr Slate," Catalia crooned, crossing her legs. "Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of…ghosts?"