Welcome to the first chapter of Fiery Sapphire. This story contains every genre 
known to man and Pokemon, and also deals with hate, murder, political standpoints, 
corrupt corporations, lust, luck, danger, sadness, loss, death, anger, violence, and, of 
course, a bit of Pokemon training (and Anti-Training) to make everything fit together.
This Fanfiction is rated PG-13 for cursing, gore, questioning religions, political 
themes, slightly complicated topics, insanity, drug/alcohol reference and use 
(alcohol), and some brief sexual themes.
Please do not steal anything from me. I own all of my characters, including 
Ellen, Fredia, Barlow, and Charles. Brendan's personality is my own.
Thank you, and enjoy.
OoO
Fiery Sapphire
Chapter One
OoO
Ellen Adler never became the Pokemon Champion, she never acquired all eight 
badges, and her outlook on PokŽmon Training was quite skeptical, if not narrow-minded.
But she did manage to give a proper challenge to Team Rocket, and Giovanni 
himself.
That was one, if not the only thing she could brag about.
But wait; perhaps I'm starting to far ahead. Shall we start with Pallet Town?
OoO
Pallet Town wasn't exactly a multitude of colors, the name of the small hamlet 
deceiving along with far too charming. Judging by the blurs of tan sidewalks lined by 
neatly clipped trees, the town looked more like a suburb to Ellen. Small, whitewash 
fences complimented an infinite number of two-story, brick houses. Occasionally one 
would see a small child leaning against said fence, smacking their gum and thirsting for a 
PokŽmon battle, while a Growlithe would bark and Pidgey scatter out of a nearby bush. 
With some discomfort, Ellen noticed that the grass was especially crisp, green and 
healthy despite it being a sweltering day in August. In fact, when the mother and 
daughter had entered Pallet Town it seemed that the seasons had changed from deadly 
summer to a light day in spring.
Suddenly, Ellen rolled down the car window and promptly stuck her black-gloved 
hand out, musing over the temperature for a while. It was still felt like 90 degrees. Beads 
of sweat still stuck to her pale forehead; there was still a dry, uncomfortable taste in her 
mouth; strands of brown hair were plastered like a skullcap to her head. So why did 
Pallet Town seem so fresh and clean? It wasn't a well-known city in Kanto; her hometown 
Fuchsia City was much more popular. A feeling of emptiness spread in the girl's stomach. 
Fuchsia City was no longer her hometown. The beaches, the wide span of the Safari Zone 
hosting a multitude of PokŽmon, the crashing ocean, the shadowy oaks, and the small 
garden in the back of her house made her yearn to go back. Pallet Town seemed to be a 
shell of the former city she had grown up in Ð a simple, fake, reincarnation.
Fredia Adler drummed her delicate, lovely hands on the steering wheel and 
peered through the rearview mirror, eyeing her daughter with her usual collected, secure 
expression. Seeing Ellen sticking her hand out the window, she resisted the urge to snap 
at her and instruct to pull her hand back and close the window, lest the limb be chopped 
off by another car. The mother rolled her grey eyes at her overactive motherly instincts. 
Aging ruined you. How pathetic. She was once such a daring, spirited young woman! Now 
she was old: still quite attractive, but conservative and worrisome.
"I know you'll like it here," the woman began cheerfully, although she herself had 
no clue how things would work out. The new job paid well, though, and the two needed 
the money. "It's not as bad as you think, and besides, the people in Fuchsia City were a 
bunch of wealthy killjoys. I'm sure Pallet Town is much nicer. You'll have more teenagers 
to relate to."
"Yeah," Ellen agreed slowly, nodding her head a bit. She rubbed her snub nose. 
"Do I have to go to school now? I don't really wannaÉthe other kidsÉand it's real hardÉ"
"No, no," Fredia reassured her. "Your home schooling still works here, although 
you might want to think about attending a nice school around here once you're about to 
go to collegeÉthere're some wonderful colleges on this half of Kanto."
The girl frowned and huddled in the corner of her seat, staring furiously out the 
window. She was odd; she was. "I already told you, mom, I'm not goin' to college. I 
wanna-"
"Then what are you going to do with your life? There's plenty of opportunities to 
get into good schools. Why, your father went to a brilliant college on scholarship just 
because he excelled at Mathematical Sciences. He was a great history maven, too. Oh, 
God! You should have heard him when we were dating. Yakking awayÉ" she laughed 
slightly, devoid of mirth.
'And then he decided to just walk out on us one day, huh?' Ellen smirked 
inwardly, but felt cold and lonely. She was too young to understand why her father left, 
and still refused to believe that he didn't love them. 'So much for college.' The girl would 
never speak this thought to her mother, though, as she could not afford sadness nor 
hate. Fredia has always been an unstable person, not liable to take any sort of bad news 
or reminder of such. For instance, as Ellen's home schooling grades continued to 
decrease, Fredia had become more and more irritable, lecturing her on almost 
everything, from the proper clothing to wear in the winter to Team Rocket. "Hey, mom."
"Yes?"
"Do you think I'll make any friends here?"
"Of course," the mother answered immediately, not wanting to disappoint her 
sullen daughter. "There's a bachelor named Professor Birch with his son, Brendan."
Ellen asked spitefully, "Looking for husbands, mom?"
Fredia suddenly jerked into a gravel driveway, halted the blue Volvo to a stop, 
and looked back at her daughter, her eyes expressionless, her glossed lips a tight line of 
austerity. "We're home," she said, ignoring her question. Ellen rapped her arms around 
her knees as her mother departed from the car. She wide-eyed the house nervously. It 
was nothing like their old Fuchsia home; it was a small, square, white house with two-
floors and a small patch of grass in the front, lined by a white picket fence. Ellen 
eventually sighed after her mother called that she was wasting time. Wasting time. Story 
of her life.
The girl was strange, people of the upper crust Fuchsia had whispered when 
Ellen and Fredia had lived in the city. She was low class, unintelligent, and mean, and her 
mother was worseÑ but in a different way. Rumor had it that Freida's husband, Kaden 
Adler, had simply walked out on her one day, and that could only mean trouble. A single 
mother was the devil in Fuchsia, and the girl was even worse. This was the only thing 
Ellen enjoyed about moving. An escape from the controlling, judging part of Kanto where 
sometimes, when the times were dull, Ellen felt as though she was the reason of her 
father's departure.
Ellen was snapped out of her thoughts by a muffled knock on the car window. 
Fredia opened the car door herself, looking down at her daughter with awe. Her short, 
mahogany hair was frizzy from the humidity, and the woman had shed her sweater. The 
girl had always wondered why she didn't have her mother's attractive looks. Instead, she 
was her father: pale, lanky, and brown-haired with strong arms. "You're not out yet? We 
have a lot to do. Moving isn't just a walk in the park."
"Don't we have movers?" Ellen asked, exiting the car and stepping out into the 
wave of summer. "Can't IÉya know, look around a little?"
"WellÉ" she creased her plucked eyebrows and shrugged, a small smile crossing 
her face. Could her daughter be developing some sort of social standing? "Sure! Great 
idea. How about thisÑ go meet Professor Birch and his son. It wouldn't hurt you to make 
a couple of friends while you're here."
Ellen shrugged and stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets, turning around on her 
dirty sneakers. She looked down at the grimy shoes, holes dappling the fabric. 'Damn. I 
guess I'll need new shoes soon.'
Little did she realize that this would soon be the least of her worries.
OoO
The Silph Corporation- Saffron City; approximately 18:56. The giant glass building 
was awash with cold, white light, and other people were contemplating far more solemn, 
if not strange matters. Tensions were high that night for Team Rocket; word had it that 
the Anti-Trainers had come back from a five year hiatus and were currently looking for 
new members.
Giovanni wasn't going to take any kind of that shit.
He was a handsome, middle-aged man; with a firm jaw and broad shoulders, 
elegant black hair combed back to the nape of his neck. Slightly muscled and hideously 
strong, praised by Grunts and admired by Executives alike, he regarded the world 
through hard, dark eyes with an air of arrogance. There was not a woman in Team 
Rocket that did not stare at him or a man that did not admire and envy him. It was 
almost destined for him to become a leader; his tall stature was so impeding and 
overshadowing that it seemed like anyone would listen to him.
Except for the occasional few.
"This is insane." Giovanni was sitting at the end of a large table that almost 
twenty people were crowded around. He had a smooth, deep voice, fraught with 
authority and vigilance. "The Anti-Trainers are back from the dead. What a surprise, 
hmm?" A small, taunting smile crawled onto his face, marring his features.
There were several chuckles from some of the older, more experienced members 
of Team Rocket, remembering the days of 'back-when'. New members laughed nervously 
in an attempt to fit in and eyed the veterans for advice. Whatever the case, the food and 
alcohol flowed freely.
"So what should we do about it, Boss?" someone shouted from the back. 
Somewhere in the room, there was a roar of drunken laugher. "I'm sure those bastards 
won't be coming back anytime soon. You scared 'em off real good!"
The man half-smiled and rolled up the sleeve slightly of his smart black suit. "Did 
I? Hmm; one would expect that from a group of animals such as them. I suppose they 
ran off themselves."
Someone pounded their fist on the table. "Awww, you're right! Everyone knows 
that you chased them away alone!"
The comment lead the group into a round of chanting: 'Hail Giovanni' repeatedly, 
slowly at first, but then faster into frenzied, rapid song, like a mantra. There were 
occasional breaks for gulps of alcohol or a drag on a cigarette. Giovanni just sat in his 
chair, hands folded and eyebrows raised, simmering in his own popularity. This was what 
he lived for. Team Rocket was more than a political gathering, more than a grouping of 
the glorious far rightÑ it was an empire to him.
And he knew how to control it.
"NeverthelessÉ" The Boss stood up and the entire group grew silent. "To keep 
guard, I've positioned Grunts in Mt. Moon, Celadon, Saffron, and Five IslandÑ all of our 
bases. We aren't going to let the Anti-Trainers rise up again, Rockets. We've controlled 
Silph Co. five years now, and very successfully. We can't let them ruin it for us."
"Boss is right!" a female voice shouted.
"Our Game Corner is profitable," he continued, energy building up inside him. The 
thrill of the hunt. The thrill to finally kill off more of the Anti-Trainers. "The mass-
production of Master Balls is almost at hand. We've corrupted the Islands. Do not let 
success slip through our fingers! Remember our motto: 'It is with blood that we will 
triumph. It is with terror that we will triumph. All of Kanto exists for the glory of Team 
Rocket.'"
And Giovanni raised his glass in the air and scanned his eyes over all of them. 
"And now, I'd like to declare a toast," he announced. "To leadership; from what Team 
Rocket is made!"
"To leadership!" the rest crowed.
"To the execution of the Anti-Trainers; their blood will soon spill!"
"To the execution of the Anti-Trainers!"
"To alcohol; without it, we would be nothing!"
There were chuckles from the audience and several half-hearted murmurings of 
"To alcoholÉ"
"And finally," Giovanni yelled, swelling his voice to the climax, "To Team Rocket; 
who conquers all; who rules Kanto with an iron fist! May we never depart!"
"TO TEAM ROCKET!"
And then the laughing returned; a round of applause was brought forth, and 
another chant of 'Hail Giovanni' was surfaced, louder than ever and with more and more 
enthusiasm. And the small celebration continued. The Boss smiled. The Anti-Trainers may 
have returned, but he was still better then all of them, more resourceful, stronger. He 
could snap a neck with one hand. He could crush a trainer's dreams with one slash of a 
Rhydon's claw. He could bring a grown man to his knees, writhing in agony. Yes, that was 
himself, his personage, his prideÑ Giovanni, Leader of Team Rocket.
That was what he lived for.
OoO
Brendan Birch could not be described.
It seemed he was not a person meant to live in Pallet Town, but some 
otherworldly creature that appeared in Kanto one day, on a whim. If anything were to 
describe him, it would be odd, mostly because his scraggly, uncombed head of hair was a 
shocking white color. His stature was short and pudgy, greatly overshadowed by Ellen's 
gangly and awkward frame. He wore faded blue jeans and a pink shirt that read: 
Slippery When Wet. Despite all the imperfections about himself and Ellen, he still smiled 
and did not show the least bit of intimidation towards the girl.
He leaned against the doorframe of his house casually, slightly raising his 
eyebrow in an attempt to be courteous. The girl found him ludicrous. "Hello there, 
neighbor. I am honored to meet you, as you look quite different from the generic 
trainer," he said, a slight, feminine twang creeping into his voice. He bowed deeply. 
"Brendan. Brendan Birch."
Ellen looked at him for a bit before giving him a small smile. "I'm Ellen Adler from 
Fuchsia City."
"Rich girl, eh?" he questioned, wriggling his eyebrows yet again. He stood up. The 
girl shivered when she realized that he had died his eyebrows white, too.
She shrugged. "Not reallyÉmy mom just switched jobs, so we needed a new place 
to stay."
Brendan glanced at her and scratched his expansive stomach, cocking his head at 
her quizzically. "'Me and my mom?' Bad grammar at that, my dear. Myself a writer, I 
can't stand it. So, are your parents divorced? Mine are. Quite sad, if you ask me."
"My dad walked out on us one day...IÉdon't like to talk about itÉ"
"Ah. Well, I'm certainly sorry," he said, patting her on the back with one of his 
sweaty palms. "Hell, I'd kill for a family situation like that." When Ellen glared at him, he 
grinned. "We writers love situations like that. Odd families, murderers, violence, 
lovechildren, brainchildren, complicated love stories, pennydre-"
"I get it," the girl muttered abruptly.
"Fine, fine. Don't take any offence. And besides, a professor-in-training needs to 
know these kind of things. Think about it: me, a professor, and a part time writer. Ellen, I 
could write a whole book on this! A story!"
She raised an eyebrow quizzically. "AndÉwhat wouldja you name it?"
"I've got the perfect title." Brendan stepped back and spread his arms apart, 
closing his eyes in apparent mirth. "In Cold Blood."
"What that supposed to mean?" she asked at him, backing up a couple of steps as 
the boy spread his arms out. Brendan opened his eyes and frowned, planting two fists on 
his hips.
"Ellen," he answered simply. "Dear, my dear, did someone drop you on the head 
whilst you were young? When I write In Cold Blood, I'm implying a murder. It isn't too 
hard to comprehend. AndÉ" he stared at her and narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin. 
"AndÉI believe I could fit you in the book, too. Except you'd be called something 
else...you could be the innocent bystander who watches the victim, your father, and the 
rest of your family, for good measureÉ" he managed a few fake sniffles. "Die."
She stared at him blankly before saying, "Shut up."
He shrugged and smirked. "Okay, okay, you got meÉI'm just retreating 
quietlyÉbut here, I'll give you a spoiler for the bookÉthey never, everÉfind the bodies..."
In an instant Brendan Birch was held high by his collar, Ellen curling her strong 
hand into a fist. Brendan was bubbling with fits of apology; begging her to understand 
that he didn't mean it; he just had a morbid sense of humor, that's all. The boy caught 
her with a punch on the shoulder and Ellen dropped him onto the ground, wincing. He 
scrabbled to get up, narrowly avoiding a kick aimed at his head. The fight continued for 
well into the next two minutes, the girl contemplating whether she should take off and 
run, and the boy contemplating the same thing. When the decision was finally made, 
Ellen backed away from her neighbor just as a short, bearded man lumbered out from 
the house, looking from Ellen to Brendan and back again.
"What's going on here?" he asked quizzically, staring at Ellen in awe, "and who 
the hell are you? ErrÉexcuse my French."
"FATHER!" Brendan gasped from the ground, standing up and wiping a streak of 
dirt from his cheek. A bruise began to cloud his arm. "Don't you dare say that word! 
We're a good Christian family! And besides, dear Ellen here didn't mean to attack me! 
She just forgot to take her medicine today, right, Ellen?"
The girl meekly locked eyes with the man, noticing his uncanny resemblance to 
BrendanÑ the slightly round face, the pug noseÑ the only thing that differed with the 
man's clean-cut brown hair and neat little beard. "Sorry, sir, but Brendan here just sort 
of made fun of my family. He said they died." She explained the rest of the spiel to him, 
leaving out most of the fight, much to the boy's dismay.
The man's features softened, and he nodded. "Ah, you must be Ellen Adler, then. 
I'm Professor Collin Birch." He held out his paw of a hand, and Ellen gave him a disjointed 
handshake. "I already met your mother, Fredia. She's a delightful woman; told me loads 
about you." On a more awkward note, he muttered, "Don't mind my son; he's just a 
bitÉerrÉspecial, if you catch my driftÉa bit on the flamboyant side."
"Excuse me, I heard that!" Brendan cried angrily. "Why not just say it? I'm 
different, for Mew's sake! Let's just keep me quiet, correct? I'm a total disgrace to the 
family, right? A pity to have a homosexual sonÉhmph. And what about Ellen, pray tell? 
She practically killed me! Did you see what she did? I mean, move over Machamp, we've 
got the next Superpower PokŽmon over here! And why haven't you left on your PokŽmon 
journey? You've got to be at least fifteen."
"Brendan," Birch hissed sharply.
"Yeah, Brendan," Ellen copied, and said, "maybe I don't wanna go on a PokŽmon 
journey. Maybe I justÉjust like Pokemon toÉto talk too...Ever thought of that, huh?"
"Are you some kind tortured soul?"
Birch sighed and adjusted the collar of his white lab coat. "Maybe Ellen is just 
different. We don't all have to enjoy training. For instance, I enjoy scientific research." 
And on a side note, he whispered to her, "your mother told me about your 
littleÉerrÉsickness."
"I heard that!" the boy peeped once again. "What's the sickness? Do you have 
severe mental problems?" He gasped suddenly and pointed at her. "Good Lord. You have 
PSD, don't you? Yeh. Socially inert, introverted, aloofÉyou show all the symptoms."
"Say what?" Ellen said, squinting her murky gray eyes. "PSD?"
"UhÉPokŽmon Speech Disorder," the professor said quietly, obviously 
uncomfortable speaking about the subject. It was quite a delicate subject in his opinion, 
as most considered it a mental problem. "You're type ofÉsickness was classified as a 
disorder only about a year ago. Frankly, I don't know what's soÉ" he suppressed a 
chuckle, "disorderly about it, but in my eyes it's certainly a major help if you ever 
wanted to become a trainer. Talking to PokemonÉwhat a thing!"
"If I give you a bone, will you bark for me?" Brendan chuckled.
Ellen narrowed her eyes. "Go to hell for me, will ya?" she growled at him.
The conversation ended there, with Collin Birch gently ushering the two away 
from each other and towards a narrow strip of land between Pallet Town and Viridian 
City. The good professor had finally coaxed Ellen to at least look at the starter PokŽmon 
and think about becoming a trainer before she gave the idea completely up.
"I was studying PokŽmon a bit before I came upon you two," Birch informed them 
sagely. "Sorry we have to tramp around in the tall grass, but my three starters are there. 
I always keep them for protection. Not that they're trained, of courseÉ" his sentence 
drifted off as they reached their destination, a lightly wooded area with small, delicate 
trees popping up every so often and tufts of brownish, dry grassÑ a true sign of dry 
summer. He gestured to the landscape fondly as he grasped a worn satchel bag off the 
ground. "You'll be seeing this for most of your journey. Wide, grassy plainsÉvast 
citiesÉoceans, lakesÉKanto is quite a region. Now, to the starters!"
As Birch released them one by one from their PokŽballs, the professor identified 
them as Bulbasaur, Charmander, and Squirtle. Bulbasaur was a small, teal, reptilian 
creature with two small, pointed ears and a large bulb resting on its back. His eyes were 
large, red, healthy, and he took a particular liking towards Brendan, as shown when he 
rubbed up against him warmly. Ellen was particularly fond of the small, scaly 
Charmander, a bipedal, orange reptilian. He grinned at her sheepishly, displaying a row 
of small, sharp, and yellowish teeth. He clutched his burning tail like some sort of 
security blanket, and once Ellen even tried speaking to him.
"What's up?" she said brightly, kneeling down. For some reason, she always felt 
much safer speaking to PokŽmon. They seemedÉeven more human than humans 
themselves, if that was possible. It was hard to decipher exactly how she spoke to 
PokŽmon, but there was a universal language that all PokŽmon usually understood, no 
matter what dialect she used.
Charmander looked up casually, raising his non-existent eyebrows. "Nothing but 
the sky, a few Pidgey." He looked back at her and grinned, green eyes sparking playfully. 
"Are you my new trainer?"
"DunnoÉDepends if I think training is fun or not."
Without warning, his attitude changed dramatically. "Oh, please," he said sullenly, 
rolling his eyes. His tail was released from his grip; his form was much more confident, 
much more mature and defined. "I've had enough of this cute act. Listen here, I'm a 
Charmander of few words. No, wait, ignore that. I actually talk quite a lot. But anyway, 
I've been stuck in this PokŽball for a while, and I'm pretty sick of it. So, say if you choose 
meÑ you better not use PokŽballs, because I'm am sick, sick of sitting around all day. 
Clear? Understood? Good? We can be friends if you're understanding."
The girl was at a loss for words. She had never met a Charmander with an ego. 
"UmÉuhÉokayÉ"
"UhÉEllen?" Brendan's fluttering voice brought her back to her senses, and she 
looked up to see Brendan gently holding a purring Bulbasaur. Something was rustling in 
the mottled green and brown grass ahead. "We're going to try and have our first battle. 
Care to join?"
The boy set his Bulbasaur on the ground and using his sharp claws, he crept up 
upon the unknown being. Slowly, very slowly, the PokŽmon emerged from its hiding spot.
He was a Poochyena, a small, pup-like PokŽmon that would normally be gray with 
a slightly darker muzzle and eerie yellow eyes, although this one was quite different. 
Instead of a fierce yellow, the eyes were a dull pink, and the majority of the fur was a 
clean white despite the brambles and dirt clogged in his pelt. Ellen and her Charmander 
recoiled a bit from the shock, and Birch hastily stuffed an empty PokŽball into each of 
their hands, a red and white sphere. Ellen stared at it blankly.
"Battle it until its weak and then catch the darn thing," he hissed at the two 
teenagers. "This is a lifetime opportunity. Do you hear me? Lifetime." The albino 
Poochyena flicked his large, snowy ears back and turned to Birch.
"Get out of my territory," he snarled to no one in particular. "Get your sorry butts 
away from me! This is my hangout, and I don't want anymore trainers here."
It was hard to conceive derogatory words in PokŽmon language and translate 
them to English, but Ellen knew a few too many already.
Brendan mused over his father's words, and yelled, "Bulbasaur, scratch!"
The small plant hastily scurried up to the wolf and unsheathed a set of 
surprisingly sharp claws, wriggling his nose with disgust as the Poochyena hastily blocked 
the swipe and countered with a small nip on the ear. Bulbasaur whimpered softly as he 
approached his opponent differently, sinking low to the ground and almost slithering into 
the tall grass. The Poochyena scarcely had time to realize what was happening before the 
Bulbasaur was upon him, clawing and scratching at the bramble-covered fur.
"You can have a go, Ellen," Brendan offered politely, obviously trying to make up 
for their previous fight. He gestured to the small battle, in which the Bulbasaur seemed 
to be losing in. "Barlow and I are finished. Why not have Charmander join?"
Ellen nudged the small lizard with her knee (that was scarcely what he came up 
to), but he shook his head nervously. "Oh, don't make me fight. I can't fight. I was one of 
the wimpiest newborns on Mt. Ember," he admitted.
"So what can you do?"
He grinned at her. "I can pick my nose, recite Tolstoy, and speak ten dialects of 
French."
"Sweet Mew, you're useless." She turned to the small wolf, frowning. What a 
story she would tell her mother! "Hey! YouÉ" she paused. What would she say to him? 
"UhÉgo away!"
Brendan stared at Ellen with genuine respect at the sight of her actually speaking 
to a PokŽmon. "Amazing! You need to teach me how to do that! What are you saying to 
him? 'We're going beat you up?' I bet you are! What a clever little Hoothoot you are, 
Ellen! We'll give you a treat when we get back."
The Poochyena also stared at her, still fighting, but gruffly speaking to them 
between bites and scratches. "No. This. Is. OUCH! My. Territory!"
"Yeah?" she sneered. "Sure."
Collin Birch threw his hands up in the air. "This is insane. EllenÑ you can't be 
conversing with a wild PokŽmon back and forth. Brendan, finish it."
Quickly, the portly teenager commanded his Bulbasaur to use Vine Whip; Barlow 
slowly unfurled two long, deadly vines from his back. They lashed through the air, 
catching the Poochyena around the stomach. Without warning, the vines slowly curled 
tighter around the pup's body, choking it slowly. He began to gag and whine frantically, 
pawing at the vines that encircled him. Finally, he slumped over. The group was silent for 
a bit, and Brendan bit his lower lip thoughtfully, eyeing the empty PokŽball and rolling it 
around in his fingers. Both Brendan and Ellen feltÉnauseous, almost. "Can I catch it?"
Birch jerked his head at the girl. "Ellen? You distracted it for us. It's your call."
"Whatever," she muttered, but suddenly the Poochyena blinked, stood up, 
snickered, and sped away.
The lizard shot Ellen a weary glance and then stared at her as the Poochyena ran 
away, Brendan and Birch both wide-eyed. "Talk about a bad start for a PokŽmon Journey. 
At this rate, we'll never get any of the badges."
For some reason his comment struck her as genuinely funny, plus she was 
relieved by the little wolf's getaway. "You're a pretty savvy little Charmander," Ellen said, 
awed. "D'you have a name? I can't keep on calling your Charmander."
He sighed heavily. "No one's ever called me anything but Charmander." He 
brightened suddenly. "ButÉI made up a name for myself a long time ago. It's kind of 
silly, though."
"Aww, come on, I won't laugh."
"AlrightÉit'sÉCharles."
"That's okay, I me-"
"Thomas Raphael III."
"Huh?" she asked, taken aback.
He blushed, a dark red spreading across his orange face. "Charles Thomas 
Raphael III. Doesn't it sound great? It's like I'm a king or something. A big strong 
Charizard."
"Maybe I'll just call you Charles."
'Charles' grinned and puffed out his chest. "I feel better already."
OoO
Ellen thrust open her large suitcase she hadn't even unpacked from moving and 
hastily stuffed at least half of her shirts into a small, cheap backpack. Out of the suitcase, 
into the backpack. Repeat; add pants, food, and other indiscriminate items. Mix 
thoroughly. Ever since the group had gone their separate ways, Brendan happily toting 
his Bulbasaur, Barlow, Ellen had felt a twinge of curiosity for the road ahead. Still a bit 
unwary about the whole trainer bit, she shook her head to clear negative thoughts and 
hoisted her newly packed backpack up on her shoulder and glanced at Charles.
"Ready?" she asked him.
The little dragon looked up from the magazine he was chewing on. "Eh, I 
suppose. Let's go." They began down the stairs where Fredia awaited, totally unaware of 
her daughter's choice.
After Brendan had almost caught the albino Poochyena with the help of Ellen, 
Collin Birch felt the need to thank her in some way, and she knew just what she wanted: 
telling Fredia about the PokŽmon Journey. Telling things to her mother had always been 
hard, and with an offer like the one Birch gave her, she could not refuse.
Clips of conversation floated up the stairs. "ÉSo you see, Ms. Adler, Ellen is quite 
a capable teenager in the categories of self-defenseÉ"
"ÉOh, of course, Professor. A girl always needs to know how to protect 
herselfÉMore to drink?..."
"ÉYes, thank you..." Momentary pause. "ÉIn conclusion, I'm glad you agree that 
Ellen can travel on the road. She has a cell phone, I trust?..."
"ÉAlwaysÉ"
"ÉGood! Well, glad speaking to you..."
"ÉIt's always a pleasure! HereÑ let me give you my phone number and maybe 
we can chat some timeÉ"
"ÉUhÉthanksÉ"
Ellen rolled her eyes at Fredia pitiful attempt to gain a boyfriend and bounded 
down the stairs as soon as Birch left. "Mom!" she yelled, knowing all to well that her 
mother was only a few feet away. "I'M LEAVING SO I CAN BE A TRAINER! I hope you're 
proud!"
"Me too!" Charles agreed heartily.
Fredia came to her, looking slightly harried. "OhÉgreat timing! Professor Birch 
just left. We had a long talk about you and PokŽmon trainingÉ" Her mother had the slight 
'matronly-tone' in her voice that resembled a sort of song, or a melody. "He said you 
would do absolutely wonderful."
She frowned slightly. "Oh. Okay. Well, that's good. Listen, I packed already, so I'll 
be goingÉ"
"No, wait, wait, wait! Have you packed any food? Any water? I think not," Fredia 
fussed, the Mother Unit springing into action in a flurry of cookies, smashed Peanut 
Butter sandwiches, juice boxes, and clumps of thick woolen sweaters. When asked about 
the sweaters, she answered sagely: "you don't want to endure those harsh Lavender 
Town nights in just a tee-shirt and jeans, now do you? No, you don't."
More sweaters, a blanket, SPF 85 sunscreen (it 'disappeared' minutes later), small 
bandages (in case ickle Ellen get a boo-boo, Charles taunted), and a large case of 
thumbtacks.
"What's with the thumb tacks?" Ellen asked.
Fredia opened her mouth to say something wise, but exhaled slowly and frowned. 
"You knowÉI don't have a clue."
Finally, her mother slouched over in an armchair and sighed, looking at his 
daughter with a sense of worried pride. "Well, that's about all I can do for you. The rest; 
the battling, the travelingÑ it's up to you. And don't talk to strangers, especially if 
they're-"
Ellen finished the sentence for her. "wearing black with even the slightest red R 
on it. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know."
"Oh, Mew, Ellen, just be safe. Just stick to the path. Please. I love you dearly."
After the two had embraced and said their goodbyes, Ellen stepped out of the 
house and let the screen door slam behind her. She grinned. She never imagined that 
Pallet Town would lead her to ultimate freedom, let alone two brand-new friends and a 
chance to do whatever she pleased. The air was warm and sweet, the sky swelled with a 
nearby thunderstorm. "Free at last," she proclaimed happily, and checked in her 
backpack. "Goodbye, ugly sweaters!" She took out the fuzzy clump with one hand and 
proceeded to toss it in the nearest public trashcan.
Something fell to the ground.
"What's this?" Charles snatched the thing off the ground and stared at it. It was 
some sort of a necklace with a gold chain, long enough to be hidden under the shirt if 
need be. On the end was a sort of flat, gold formation in the shape of two, thick letters.
FS.
The Charmander showed the necklace to her. Ellen frowned for a bit, sticking out 
her lower lip. She inspected the necklace thoroughly before breaking into a smile and 
clipping it around her neck. "Wow! Imagine this; I've got my own fancy necklace! 
Thanks, Charles!"
Charles frowned at her skeptically and crossed his arms. He could tell that this girl 
was not exactly the smartest he'd seenÉ "But what does 'FS' stand for? And, pray tell, 
why would it be in a clump of sweaters? And why haven't you recognized this if it was in 
your house? I'm not sure, EllenÉit's awfully odd. Maybe you should give it to the police. 
It might not belong to your family."
The girl grinned at it happily. "Whatever. The police don't do much, anyway. And 
besides, I still like it. Now come on, it looks like it's gonna storm soon, and we need to 
go."
Charles shrugged, and the two walked off.
And they would continue walking for almost half a year; continue walking through 
Kanto, being thrown into a conflict too awful for a cynical Mightyena, a wounded veteran, 
a troubled young man, a depressed Persian, a crazed Swampert, a corrupted Gym 
Leader, and especially, much to great for:
A frightened girl riding on the back of a Charizard, which were what Ellen and 
Charles would become in time.