Disclaimer: Pokemon never will and never has belonged to me, but instead to it's rightful owners 4Kids Entertainment, Nintendo, Game Freak, so on and so forth.
A/N: I received the idea of this fic from the story of Marla Hanson (you can read what it was at http://www.greatertalent.com/biography.php?id=191) and I suggest you do, because its very interesting and touching. This story isn't a complete copy of the reality, I just used a similar theme and I hope no one minds or takes offence. If you have a problem, feel free to contact me. I simply wanted to have a go at writing such a story myself – especially after I saw the movie that had been based on Ms. Hanson's tragedy.
Slashed
Chapter Three – Breeders' Weekly
Misty Waterflower stared at herself in the chipped bathroom mirror. Her wounds were like angry red marks running through her face – as hideous as before. The only shred of compensation left was the fact that those red lines were the natural effects of being cut and would eventually fade to faint silver scars. As for the stitches, they were horribly visible but Dr. Jenkins had said they would be like that until the day they were removed.
Hot tears pricked at Misty's eyelids as she stared at her reflection. Unbidden memories rose and circled in her eyes as she remembered the events of the day before yesterday.
'Curse you Rudi,' her inner voice murmured, 'Curse you and your guts and the rest of your families for eons to come!'
In a sick way, it was almost funny how in one stupid moment of drunkenness, something that had taken moulding for over twenty five years from numerous people could be so easily destroyed. Misty felt her life had suddenly been turned into a ridiculously perverse joke.
Groaning to herself, she went back to her room – her shoulders sagging as if all the burdens of the world had been dropped onto them. She slipped into her bed, praying that she would make up the next morning and realize this was all just some horrible dream.
No such luck.
Misty woke up into the same pristinely white bed the following day, a look of suffering etched onto her features. She showered and dressed and simply sat in bed for the rest of the morning – dwelling in her misfortune – until the Breakfast Nurse as Misty had come to think of her wheeled round.
Taking some milk and cornflakes of the tray, Misty shovelled the food into her mouth, not really tasting it. She felt like a bitter, old crone withering her life away in that stupid place that stank of antiseptic.
No sooner had she finished her breakfast and opened her door to leave the crockery outside, when she was attacked – literally attacked – by a mob of reporters.
She opened her mouth and managed a weak “Aaaargh!”
“Miss. Waterflower, are those your scars?”
This question was so ludicrous Misty simply stared at the man who had asked it. This, she soon realized, was a huge mistake because she was suddenly blinded by numerous flashes as crazed photographers battled for a shot of her face.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Misty hollered hoarsely, “Back off, all of you.”
When no one did as she had asked, the girl tried a different tactic, “Or I won't answer any of your questions.”
They moved away slightly and Misty huffed a sigh of relief.
“Now let's do this in an orderly fashion,” the Waterflower stated, “I take it all of you want interviews for various newspapers and magazines.”
When the response was positive, Misty went on, “I will take only three interviews today and we will decide who they are by this system. I will call a newspaper/magazine name. If its journalist or whatever is there, you can go into my room. Once we have three, no one else will be allowed in and you all have to go home. I'm very sorry, but that's the way it is.”
A few groans were issued but they all hushed as Misty opened her mouth to decide the 'lucky' three.
“The Kanto National,” she called, knowing there was no possible way such a famous newspaper would be there to see her.
She was completely dumbfounded when she saw a balding man slip into her room followed by a grinning photographer.
“Um, er,” she stalled, “Pokemon Planet.”
Two women this time entered her room.
“Breeders Weekly,” Misty suggested.
Oddly enough, there was no one there from 'Breeders Weekly'.
“Okay,” Misty took a deep breath wondering what in Mew's name had compelled her to ask for 'Breeders Weekly', “How about 'The Face of Kanto'.”
A man and a woman shot her a twin pair of smiles as she said this and they went into the room.
“Alright,” Misty cried – for suddenly a great hubbub had been issued as the rejected remainder of the press vied for her attention, “Get out of here you guys. I'm NOT interested.”
Luckily, an aging doctor had been in the vicinity who gestured to the redhead that he would take care of the press. Shooting a smile at him, Misty went back into her room, locking the door behind her.
The six people in her room seemed to be awaiting her command.
“Alright,” she repeated, “In the order I called you out, you can interview me.”
“That means us first,” the balding man said jumping to his feet, “Let's have a smile, Miss? Tom, get a shot of her.”
Lights blinked as her picture was taken. Misty could have sworn she closed her eyes but the reporter didn't seem to have noticed.
“Sit down, miss,” he said and Misty, feeling disgruntled about being told to sit down in her own room, obeyed sullenly.
“Now, it's...er Misty Waterflower, correct?” the man asked.
Misty nodded.
“Your age, Miss?”
“Twenty five.”
“You are one of the Sensational Sisters, no?”
“No,” Misty replied sourly, “I'm the Sensational Runt.”
“Now, now, miss,” the reporter chuckled, “No need to be grumpy. Um, where are your sisters right now?”
“They signed a modelling contract a few months back,” Misty responded, “They've gone for a photo shoot in Hoenn.”
“I see,” the reporter brandished a notebook and scribbled something down in it.
“So you're handling the Cerulean City Gym, right now?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Yeah, I'm a big fan of Pokemon. Especially water types.”
“Now, Miss, who was the man who injured you in this way? Can you give us his name or was he an unknown attacker?”
Misty was silent for a few minutes.
“His name was Rudy Trovita.”
“Of the Trovita Gym?”
“That's right.”
“And how old is Mr. Trovita?”
“Twenty seven.”
“What, if I may ask, was your relationship with Mr. Trovita?”
“We were...” Misty paused, “friends.”
“From what I've gathered you shared quite an intimate relationship.”
Misty felt a spark of anger, “Well if you knew, why bother to ask?”
“Well,” the journalist replied, noting everything down in his pad, “I wanted to hear it from you, that's all.”
“Fine,” Misty hissed, “We shared an intimate relationship.”
“What do you think caused Mr. Trovita to act in this manner?”
“He was drunk. I smelt the alcohol on his breath.”
“I see, after he cut you how did you react?”
“I screamed.”
“And then?”
“I broke his nose.”
“You broke his nose?”
“Yes, I'm a black belt in Karate.”
The reporter raised an eyebrow but jotted it down, anyway.
“Are you deciding to take this to court, miss?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you have any idea of the whereabouts of Mr. Trovita, miss?”
“No.”
“I see. Have you contacted him since the incident?”
“No.”
“Do you feel any feelings of resentment towards Mr. Trovita now?”
“Many.”
“I see. Hmmm, well miss, I think that will conclude our interview for now. Thank you very much for your time.”
“It's alright,” Misty said through gritted teeth.
“Mind if we have another photo?” he queried.
“Not at all,” she lied.
Another flash went off and this time Misty flashed them a smile that could have easily been mistaken as a grimace upon the mouth of a raging Sharpedo.
The next two interviews took place, the journalists operating in a similar manner to the first. Misty had never been so angry in her life – the journalists were treating her as if she was some poor, helpless victim who had been involved in a heart-rendering trauma.
Finally, the last two left and Misty – absolutely insane with fury – dug her nails into her pillow and tore out soft Taillow feathers.
“I hate you, Rudy,” she hissed and ripped her duvet off the bed and flung it onto the marble beneath. She snarled at the air and collapsed onto the floor abruptly, tears taking over.
“Where's Tracey?” she whispered to no one in particular, “We were supposed to look at the lawyers today.”
Still sobbing, she took out the sheet with their details on it from her bed. Her eyes flicked uselessly over their names.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she kept murmuring in disgust as she realized they were all men. Miss. Waterflower had had quite enough of men for the moment.
Suddenly, she noticed the name at the bottom was a female one and the address was strikingly familiar.
“Duplica,” Misty read and gasped as realization struck, “Duplica! The entertainer with her Ditto from that old house near...wait a minute, she's a lawyer?”
Misty reread the words and could barely believe them.
“She is a lawyer. This is amazing!” Misty raised an eyebrow, her tears stopping, “Wonder if she'll give me a discount?”
“Hmmm,” the Waterflower scanned the sheet again and this time as she read Duplica's address she dropped the paper in shock, “Wait, that...that's Ash address. Why would Duplica be staying at Ash's house?”
Eyes widening, Misty leapt to her feet.
“Damn it,” she cursed, “They'll all be able to read about what happened in those stupid newspapers. Oh, why did I say I'd let the idiots interview me? Why I am so dumb?”
She glanced down at the sheet and her eyes crinkled, “Well...atleast, now I'll have an excuse to explain it to them.”
Mind made up, the redhead bent down and stuffed the paper in her pocket. She had already resolved what to do and she prayed to the Poke-Gods that it would work.
*****
Early next morning, after Misty had been discharged the redhead rushed home to pack her bags. She was going to Pallet Town to find Duplica.
Throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, Misty left a message for Tracey telling him where she was going. She was still a little puzzled by his absence yesterday and promised herself she would find out what was wrong as soon as she got home.
Unfortunately, Misty had no car (even though she was saving up for a nice little number, the new Pidgey 500) so she had decided to take the bus. Luckily, there was a bus that would take her directly to Pewter where she would catch the train for Pallet. If all went well, she would be able to meet up with Duplica today itself, explain the case to her and persuade her to take it up.
Misty sighed as she waited at the bus stop, her red ponytail blowing in the breeze. That was only, of course, if all actually did go well – a little fact she found depressingly unlikely.
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A/N: R & R greatly appreciated. My email is lethal.shinken@gmail.com