Hurly-Burly Before I start this story, I'd like to make mention that I do not hate Ash, and this is no reason as to why I'm killing him off. Ash is fantastic, and one of my favourite characters, however, to suit the needs of this story, I need for him to play the role of King Duncan - a good man and leader, though too trusting, and a little slow. That said and done, I think that it has some things that could make it work on all levels. Egoshippy, ending gymshippy. MacBeth. Murder. Mayhem. Perfect. At this stage, I'd like to make it known that Pokemon is owned by Nintendo, MacBeth is owned by the bard himself, Will Shakespeare, and the idea to do MacBeth, Pokemon style is mine, so pisseth thee offeth, this is my story, and it's better than doing yet another AAML version of "Romeo and Juliet". This has no (I repeat, NO) AAML, JAJL… hell, they aren't even in the same scenes together! It's egoshippy, gymshippy, and maybe even some other shippy, though tis debatable. Enjoy, guys - I hope you have as much fun reading as I've had writing. Email me with flames (please do, it gives me a weird masochistic pleasure to open emails consisting of 'er, ur a faget as if ud rite faget shit like this') or compliments at roger_greenspan@hotmail.com, and trust me, I'm a very bored little girl on exam break, so chances are that you're going to get a reply. Respect Shitey-g *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** "So - like, where'll we meet again?" "Here?" Daisy shook her hair, drawing a sharp fingernail against her lips. "Nah, needs atmosphere. You know, somewhere dark, and alone... it like, needs to blow their minds, like!" The three sisters cackled, raising their cups to the ceiling. "So be it, sisters... we so totally have a lot of work ahead of us." *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** "Dear dear dear dear DEARY ME!" Simon flinched as the thick folder was cast down onto him. "I thought you were going for the realistic approach with the actors, Mr Spielbunk, sir..." "Realistic? REALISTIC?" he cowered again, covering his vulnerable parts. The director halted, and smiled, wrapping his arms around the young assistant. "Simon, my dear lad... you remember that time that you and I were filming that psyduck project... that silly movie that ended up flopping worse than anything made recently by Kevin Costner?" "Uh... yes sir, it was a very nice movie, sir." "Good. You remember the young... erm, people that hung around incessantly during the shooting? That young lad with the hat-hair, and the redheaded young Rita Heyworth and the Hispanic fellow?" "Uh... am I going to be fired?" "Simon my son, THAT is the realism! That is what everybody in the real world looks like! That is precisely who I want in my play! Those young children would be perfect!" "But sir..." Spielbunk turned around, his face once again menacing. "Yes, Simon?" "This is a production of MacBeth... it's a highly ... um, adult work? It's about politics... and betrayal... and ambition... do you really think CHILDREN could handle such a mature role?" "Yeah, sure? Why not? The critics LOVE child actors..." "What about that Jake whatsisname kid from Episode One?" "Oh, shut up you silly fruit! The hat headed kid is now playing MacBeth! Thane Of Glamis! Thane of Cawdor! HE shall be king hereafter!" *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** It rained down heavily on the house, the five children inside amusing themselves with cards. "Full house. I win." She grabbed the pile of coins, her four male companions groaning. "Jesus Misty, since when did you have all the luck with poker?" Tracey grumbled, tossing in a five for the next hand. "Since she would beat us up anyway if we complained." Brock said, throwing in his. "This game sucks. Why can't we play the strip version?" Gary whined, throwing his cards onto the table. "Why can't you shut your fucking trap for five minutes?" Brock growled warily. Delia bounced in the door. "Ash, sweetie, there's someone on the phone for you." "OOOH!" he ooohed, knocking the coffee table and sending cards spinning in every direction. Brock gathered them up without a word, dealing them into four piles of five. "Changes, anyone?" Tracey threw in three. He gathered them up, and handed him a fresh hand. "Who do you reckons on the phone?" "Meh... probably someone gay." "Hey Mist! Brock! Trace! Gary! Guess what?" They turned to face the exuberant child. "What, they found your father?" Misty and Tracey snickered, Ash not registering the sarcasm in the message. "You remember that guy who was making that movie a couple of years ago, that Spielbunk guy? He's doing an off-Broadway production of MacBuff, and he asked me to be the main part!" "Uh, don't you mean MacBeth?" "Yeah, sure, why not? And they asked you guys if you wanted to be in it too! He wants Misty to be Lady Macbird, and Brock can be that angry vengeful guy..." "MacDuff?" Misty offered thoughtfully. "Uh huh! He doesn't know you, Tracey, but I'm sure that you'll have a role! Here, have the phone, and ask him if you can have a part too!" "What about me?" Gary piped up, not willing to give up his chance at stardom. "Can you ask if I can have a part?" "Sorry, Gary, they don't let losers on stage. You might scare the kids. Don't worry though, I'm sure they'll call you up when they do 'Hannibal' on ice!" Brock quipped. Misty and Ash fell to the ground clutching their sides. Tracey picked up the phone, a look of bemusement on his face. Gary sat back on the couch, his eyes turned down to the ground. Misty looked at him, but couldn't recognise the mood stirring. Tracey dropped the phone with glee. "I'm Banquo! I get to be killed, and I get to haunt people and..." he stopped, looking at Gary. He picked up his teacup, and carried it outside. He turned back in to look at Gary, and motioned to him for him to join. He stood, and carried his own mug outside to the patio. "Haven't seen it rain like this for quite a while, eh? Good news about the play though." "So foul and fair a day…" "What? What's wrong with you? Jealous that Ash got the part of MacBeth over you? Jealous that Ash was even asked to be in it?" He nodded. "A little… what's done is done, I suppose… maybe ask to be an extra… or even an understudy…" Tracey clapped a hand on the taller boy's shoulders. "See? That's the sort of positive thinking you should be adopting! Isn't it nice to be able to… what the hell?" He pointed out to the far edges of the Ketchum's backyard. Three young women, all beautiful, standing out in the rain, and slowly approaching the two young men under the cover of the patio. Gary squinted, and soon recognised the faces… that of Lily, Violet and Daisy. Misty's sisters. "Like hi there, Gary, master of the Indigo League…" He frowned. "Uh, hi… come in from the rain; you'll catch a death of cold." The girls giggled again, walking up the stairs and almost floating above the timber decking. "Hey there, Gary, Cinnabar Island Gymleader…" "Uh, I'm not… I'm not even a leader… get it right next time, floozies." Lily giggled, and let her hand glide against his cheek. "Hail, Gary Oak, you will, like, be MacBeth hereafter." His breath caught in his throat, and he grabbed the railing to steady himself. "Stop it… what are you saying?" "We, like, can totally see into the future, or something!" Violet said, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. "Ooh, really?" Tracey said, grabbing onto Lily's hands, "tell my future for me! Will I be famous and powerful too!" The girls tittered once again, Daisy wrapping her arms around Tracey's neck. "It's like, weird… you won't be as totally awesome as Gary, but you'll affect him more than he'll affect himself… you know wh'am sayin'?" "Uh, no, not really… what's going on here?" They laughed again, and turned their backs on the boys, heading back out into the rainsquall, the droplets staining their hair darker, until at last they disappeared into the mist. Gary and Tracey looked at each other strangely, frowning in disbelief. "Um… are you going to… uh, you know, believe any of that?" Tracey said, a scared, confused look spreading over his face. "I dunno… I, um… I have to make a few calls…" *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** Sitting back on her half of the foldout, Misty flipped through the pages of the play, sighing every few seconds. Gary entered the room, a tired, silently shocked look on his face. Flopping down on his side of the sofa, he buried his face into the pillows, Misty watching him in surprise. "Blaine has been excommunicated." She dropped the book heavily onto her knees, her face registering shock. "Why, how come?" "He betrayed the Elite Four… or something like that. All I know is that there's a new Cinnabar Island Gym Leader." "Do you know who yet?" "Say hello to the new Cinnabar Gymleader." He said tiredly, not moving his face from the pillow. She shrieked, wrapping her arms around his torso and shoving her face into his back. "My god, Gary, that's… that's fantastic! I mean… whoa, I didn't know you could be league champion and gymleader at the same time… wow!" "Neither did I, until they told me." She pulled him up to face her. "Who told you?" "Well, your sisters… or girls that looked just like your sisters… it was pretty uncanny, really… they talked incoherently like your sisters, but there was just something I couldn't put my finger on… they told me that I would be gymleader of Cinnabar… and also…" She waited. "And also?" "That I would play MacBeth." Her breath caught in her chest. "But… isn't Ash MacBeth?" He nodded. "I don't know what they meant, or how I'd take his place… all I know is that what they told me before came true… this one could as well." "But Gary, Ash is MacBeth." "But the prophecy… I want to be MacBeth! I want to play the lead, I want to be able to have the audience applauding ME…" A wicked grin grew across Misty's face. "You know, you probably would play a better MacBeth… a much better MacBeth… I just don't know if you have the balls to pull it off." He looked at her. "What do you mean?" "As long as Ash is still available, he'll play MacBeth, and there's no way of convincing that director guy otherwise. You're too… good… to do it… 'too full of the milk of human kindness…'" He snatched the play out of her hands. "Oh, shut up. I'll just ask to be Ash's understudy, and if what those weirdo sisters say is true, I'll just step up to the plate when he gets sick… if he gets sick…" Tracey barged into the room, slamming the door shut, and flopping down onto the camping bed set out on the ground. Soon, his snores filled the room, leaving Gary and Misty sitting nervously on the bed. He ruffled his thick, red hair, and Misty lay back down, arms behind her head. She sounded distant, drifting into slumber. "Trust me… you will be MacBeth… if what you say is true… then I'll be your lady." *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** "Hmm…" he chewed thoughtfully, Delia, Gary, Brock, Ash, Misty and Tracey looking on at the older man, "I am REALLY quite looking forward to this next project!" he swallowed. "The last - and greatest - of Shakespeare's great tragedies, shown on stage… it will be my phoenix!" "Nuh uh," Misty said, waving her fork in the air, "Romeo and Juliet was SO his best tragedy!" "Well, actually Misty… Romeo and Juliet was neither one of his histories, romances or his tragedies." Brock explained, sipping from the broth. "But… it was sad… it must have been a tragedy!" "Not necessarily… see, Shakespeare only wrote four tragedies - MacBeth, Hamlet, Othello, and King Lear. They're not tragedies because people die in them, they're tragedies because the characters lives are ruined because of a fault in their personalities." "Oh, yes? And what would they be, oh wonderful knower of all, Brock?" She said, cocking an eyebrow. "The characters were all led to disaster because they had something in them that would ruin them. For Othello, it was jealousy. For Hamlet, it was his indecisiveness. For King Lear, he trusted too deeply in the kindness of others, and was a poor judge of character. And as for MacBeth - he was deeply ambitious. Ambitious enough to kill innocents just so he could remain king." She nodded, eyes closed. "Of course, none of those traits could be applied to anyone at the table tonight… I mean, Gary certainly isn't the jealous or ambitious type… just look at you! Totally devoid of jealousy or ambition of any kind. And Ash… well, he certainly doesn't overly trust people, does he?" "What?" Ash said, Gary choking silently on his broth. Tracey thumped him hard on the back, and he weakly gave his friend a thumbs up. "So, as you see, that's why MacBeth is a tragedy… perhaps if he wasn't so hell-bent on becoming King of Scotland, then he wouldn't have been ruined by the end." Spielbunk said, laying his knife down on the plate. Gary's eyes followed it. "So, Mr Spielbunk… have you given any consideration whatsoever as to who will be Ash's understudy, in the erm, odd event that he won't be able to play MacBeth… what, Gary!?" she squealed, feeling his foot coming into contact with her shinbone. "Well, I haven't, really… my assistant Simon chose a young man to learn the role as well, and seeing that rehearsals will be starting next week, I shall have to get that sorted out, quick smart!" "Who is he, who is this understudy?" Gary whispered manically, grabbing hold of the director's arm. "Well… I believe he goes by the name of… Ritchie, I believe?" "RITCHIE?!" The cry was roared by all at the table; all but Gary, his face draining of colour and his lower lip quivering. "Yes, Ritchie… my assistant met him sometime on one of his location scouting expeditions… he's quite the young firebrand, and should be a more than adequate replacement to Ash, should he fail to take up his duties." Brock raised his cup. "Couldn't have thought of a better understudy. To Ritchie!" he cried, and others met his cup. A soft knock on the front door distracted Delia back into mode, and she raced up to answer. She opened the door to a shrinking, quiet Ritchie. "Is it ok that I come in? Because the director said that it might be a good opportunity for me to… um, well, meet with the other cast members…" "Of course it is, sweetie! Congratulations on getting such a wonderful part!" she gushed, throwing her arms around him. He blushed, and followed her in, taking a seat besides Gary, his usually creamy face a bright pink colour. "Oh, hello Gary! Isn't this all exciting?" He muttered a lame response, sinking into his soup. Brock rose, picking up his plates. "You know, I'd love to stay for the cast reunion… but I did promise to return home tonight. There are matters to attend in Pewter." Delia sighed. "So soon? Why don't you leave in the morning?" "I fear that may be too late - my young sister is in the hospital, and I volunteered to keep her company for the night. I promise I'll be back early tomorrow… it's just that I should leave now to get there before the allowance hours close." He pecked Delia and Misty on the cheek, and went to the door. "Promise to return tomorrow, as early as you need?" He turned, and bowed slightly to Delia. "For you, madam, I promise the world." *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** He stood, staring down at the kitchen counter, fingers tapping restlessly against the cool marble. She approached him from behind, setting down a glass beside him. "The sisters spoke wrong, Gary?" He spun around to face her, his eyes red. "I really want it, Misty… I really want to be MacBeth… and now that there's NO chance that I will even touch his costume, I don't even want to be in the stupid play." She sighed, wrapping her arms around him. "Poor, sweet Gary. I know why you'd want to play the lead… all these years, playing second fiddle to Ash…" "Yeah." "And watching from the sidelines as he takes opportunities never offered to you, winning love and adoration even though he's a stupid little clot..." "That too." "And sitting by as your grandfather gives him the help he never…" "Stop it, right now Misty!" She bowed her head, and took a step back from him. "You're right. It is time to take what's mine." She cocked her head sideways. "In a way… I'd like you to get your way as well. You're not the only one missing out because of Ash, and the things he denies us…" She pulled open the cutlery drawer, drawing out a long, thin rapier-like carving knife. "Misty… is that…" " 'Is that a dagger I see before me?' Of course it is, Gary… You can help sympathise with me on this one…" She walked backwards towards the bedrooms, her feet moving with the grace of ballet dancer's. "Sympathise on what? I can't… I can't just kill him?" "You know how long I've waited to hear the words, Gary? The words saying that he appreciates our company, my company? That he has noticed my years of devoted friendship? That maybe he can reciprocate the feelings I've harboured? Do you know how hard it is, Gary, that somehow my love for him is outweighed by the love he has for himself? Do you think that he gives a damn about whether your grandfather loves you or not?" "Stop it, you're crazy." "Do you think that he cares about whether he wins his battles fairly, and whether he gives a shit about what others feel? Have you noticed how everything we've done, everywhere we go is for him? Why is that, Gary, why haven't Brock and I done anything for ourselves?" Inching further towards the bedroom door, she dangled the knife in front of him. "No, Misty, you're tired. Maybe you should go to sleep." She whispered. "Do you think he notices how sad you are every time you talk about your sister, or every time he spends time with your grandfather when he could be spending time with you: do you think he's remembered that he has no father of his own, stupid little bastard child whilst you, a man of breeding is cast aside for someone who should be cleaning your shoes?" He slammed his hand down on the door beside her, covering her mouth with his hand, and at the same time, the lightning lit the dark corridor. It had begun to rain; not only rain, but downpour, the thunder rolling heavily through the hills. "Don't! Don't you even DARE bringing up emotional blackmail against me, don't think for a moment that my judgement is swayed by my emotions…" But he was only silenced by her lips on his, his hand pushed aside by her own, and held against his side. "How much do you want what's rightfully yours?" she whispered into his ear, his cheeks growing hotter by the second. "Not enough to…" "Not enough to what?" her tongue darted behind his ear. "You don't sound very convincing to me…" He grabbed the knife out of her hand, and swiftly, silently opened the door. She smiled at him, walking out of his path, and out onto the veranda. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** As dawn settled over the grass of Pallet, the dew melting and rising as steam, Misty sat on the old porch chair, clutching at a tumbler of vodka, the ice melted into soft deceptive patterns. As her fingers trembled against the cold glass, the door creaked open quietly, Gary standing at the entrance, his hands bloodied. "Did you…" He nodded, his fists balling and unclenching sporadically and his lower lip between his teeth. "Did I have to do it, Misty? Did it have to be done?" She stood, kissing his temple, holding him close to her. "Of course… for you, and me, and for everyone else." "But in his own house, with his mother in the room next door." "Well then, I shouldn't have had to follow Ash all these years. You did what you must have." She pushed him away, holding his wrists. "I didn't think I should've washed them in the bathroom." "Good." She led him over to a small pool of water in an old bucket by the stairs, and knelt next to it. "A little water absolves us of this sin." She dipped her own lily-white hands into the water, and let them rub against each other. He looked away in disgust. "Hurry up, everyone will be awake soon. Just… just wash them." Uneasily, he dipped his hands in the bucket, the water immediately turning pinkish. He pulled them out, and picked the bucket up, tipping it into the garden below the porch. Walking to the tap, he filled it a little of the way up, and placed it back where he'd found it. "Come now," she said, "to bed, to bed. What's done cannot be undone." *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** A sharp rap on the front door pulled Delia out of her slumber. Dragging her nightgown on, she drifted wearily into the entry hall, and opened the door. "Brock… honey, come on in. Is your sister well?" "She's fine now, she just didn't want to spend the night on her own. Can I speak to the young Laurence Olivier himself? Urgent matters to attend to." She giggled, kissing his cheeks. He walked in, hanging his raincoat on the hook beside the door. "Killer storm we had last night." He remarked offhandedly, moving into the bedroom. She sighed, leaning back against the doorframe, smiling slightly, a blush appearing at her cheeks. "AAAAAAAHHHHhhhH!" His scream rose from Ash's bedroom, and she raced in, to stare down at Ash, her only child, with his throat slit, his blue hands clinging at the sheets, sinews standing at attention, and his pale blue, child's eyes staring up at the ceiling, his mouth twisted in a silent cry of agony. Roused by his screams, Misty, Gary, Ritchie and Tracey entered, rubbing their eyes. They stared down at him, not uttering a sound. Delia collapsed to the ground, Brock bending down to comfort her. "He… he was killed… in this house as we slept…" Misty gasped, and she too slipped down, fainting into Gary, who grabbed at her and brought her down to the ground. "Ok, what's all this going on in OH MY GOD!" Spielbunk screamed, staring also down at the corpse. Fanning himself vigorously with his hands, he stepped back, leaning into the wall for support. "But why?" Tracey said, pacing the room up and down, eyes cast away from the body. "Why would anyone want to kill him?" "For his pokemon? Or maybe because of his lead in the play…" Ritchie suggested, and as he did, his stomach knotted tightly. Backing out of the room silently, he walked into the room where he'd spent the night. Opening the drawers to the bedside table, he saw nothing. Then noticed the upset valance. Lifting it up, and ducking down under the bed, he saw the knife, glinting like a ruby. His face turned pale as Ash's, and pulling himself back up with trembling hands, he picked up his bag and jumped out of the room, not noticing that, on his way out, the patch of grass beside the steps had taken on a decidedly pink tinge. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** He approached Tracey, who was sitting out on the steps. "Hey." Tracey nodded in reply. He didn't really know this Pewter stranger; from some accounts, an arrogant bastard, though not comparable to Gary; and from others, that of a goof, who couldn't control his hormones. But now he resembled neither; just a tired weary teenager, whose naturally browned face was stained with tears. "Who… I mean, who would have…" "I have no idea… when I went to bed, I saw him doing his teeth, and… it was so normal, how could I see him dead next time I would?" "You cannot say that last night was anything but normal. Come on, what about the storm." He nodded. "Yeah… that was wild. The thunder was so loud, no wonder I couldn't hear anything." "You know, Tracey, I woke up this morning to find a spider caught in its own web… and it was being eaten by a fly…" "That is weird." "If you as me, too weird. Something happened last night, and I don't know who's behind it, but whoever it is, they're being helped by something… so unnatural…" *********************************************************************************************************************************************************** End of Act I. Act II in a week.