Resistance
By: Trix
E-mail: q-chan@juno.com
Category: Gen.
Part 2b

A/N: Okay, so I lied. Jessie and James are in the next part. But Lance is in this one! Oh, and promotion of alcohol...and I made up Michael, and Broar is the chef guy from the first episode iwth Butch and Cassidy in it...I don't think he really had a name...and I don't know what it is with me and associating Gary with liking Jell-O...he seemed pretty crazy in the last part of the manga...and some of the faces he makes...I dunno...just don't ask what I'm on because I don't know. Probably a combination of M&M's, root beer, and Backstreet Boys...oh, and lack of sleep...

The kitchens tile floors were spotless, as were its stainless steel counter tops. The latest model of stoves lined the walls, as did microwaves, toaster ovens, and six coffee machines. Pots and pans were hung in various racks, and thousands of drawers held spatulas, spoons, forks, knives of every size, and any other appliance a modern kitchen desired. Several of the assistant cooks had made good use of the expresso maker and were enjoying a coffee break when the Masters entered.
"Hello, Broar," Ash greeted the head cook, who was stirring a pot. "It's good to see you're well."
"You too, Master Ash," he saluted them with his ladle.
"Food, Broar, please?" Gary begged, clutching his spotless sleeve. "I'm starving."
"Lieutenant Gary! We'll see what we can get you, aye?" he winked broadly and turned back to roar out orders. "Jell-O, soft serve, any flavor you can get your hands on! Mix 'em if ya want! I don't care! Just make some! And get something edible going will you?! These people are starving over here!" At Broar's commanding bellows they groaned, downed their coffee and got to work.
"You are a slave master, Broar."
"Yeah, we deserve to have lives too."
"You think you'd be a little bit kinder to the people who work for you."
"We'll form a union against you. Just wait and see! You'll be sorry!"
"Yeah, yeah, and you'll form a mutiny and boycott eating, is that it?" Broar growled and they went about their tasks laughing. "Good natured lot, really, but they're lazy."
Gary bounced on the balls of his feet. "I never saw anything wrong with that."
"Oh, so you want to be lazy now. I thought you enjoyed getting in as much trouble as was possible," Misty teased.
"Hey, now that's work. Staying out of trouble is no biggy, but getting into trouble and not getting caught is talent."

Gary entered his own bedroom, removing the leather strap that pinned his glaive close to his back and undoing the ties of the collar of his cape, allowing it to drop to the floor in a crumpled scarlet heap. Sighing, he ran his fingers through the loose hair that had escaped his ever-present tie, pushing it back from his face and tucking it behind his ears. Taking the few short steps to the bed, he promptly collapsed on the red bedspread framed by mahogany posts. After a few minutes, he turned and sat cross-legged on the furniture, kicking off his hiking boots and undoing the top button of his flannel.
There was something about the room done in bright, exotic colors that he found oddly comforting. Even though the bright and vivid red that his rooms were done in pretty much clashed horribly with everything else, he enjoyed it's shading, red had always been his favorite color anyway.
"Gary? Is tha' you?" a gentle, feminine voice with a brush of the Laramie Clan dialect asked from an adjoining room, and a young woman with long blue hair and warm brown eyes peered around the door frame, her long hair falling gracefully over one slender shoulder.
"It's me," he growled in reply. "Who else would come in here, Lara? Pyro?"
The Fire Trainer stiffened at the mention of the Resistance Fire Master. "Excuse me for caring," her eyes gained a steely glint. "Ya weren' expected back fo' some time."
"Well, excuse me for having a sudden urge to drop my original mission to assist a friend in battle."
She sniffed at his decision. "Well, did ya get any information? Anythin' a' all?"
"Umfood in Celadon is good and the mountain pass that connects us does not offer comfortable travel while riding Dodrio?" he grinned. "And how did you get a key to my apartment. It's my apartment, as in apart from you."
"Gary" she threw her hands in the air in exasperation.
"Hard core bitch" he mocked her actions. "I have my own priorities of what is important, Lara, and nothing you can say will ever change that. And this is my apartment."
She smiled at him. "What's wrong, Gary? Yer really uptight."
"Sometimes I feel like everyone I care about gets hurt because of me," he was barely audible, gazing at the carpet.
Her smile faded. "That's a stupid thought, Gary."
Laying back, he didn't respond.
"Gary?"
"Leave me alone," he whispered hoarsely.
"Gary"
"Just leave me alone," he turned onto his side. With a nod, the Fire Trainer took her leave.

A handful of unscented candles and a fire blazing and crackling in the grate, creating a caravan of shadows that danced merrily along the walls, dimly lighted the room. Those same shadows made Sorcerer Oak look menacing despite his concerned and warm expression.
"Why, A.J?"
"I had no other choice," the Ground Master stated firmly.
"But, why Ash? What purpose do they have for his death, what could possibly come out of it?"
A.J. closed his eyes and refused to respond, leaning back in the low slung ivory colored couch. Sighing in impatience, Oak sat next to him. "I understand, and won't ask again. But spare me this: if you were able to Bond, why did you join the Resistance?"
"I can not tell you, but none of the Masters with the exception of Master Giovonni knew of my abilities," he opened his eyes that seemed to glow in the minimal light. "There are few others that can Bond in the Resistance, and we're considered a valuable ally."
"Why?"
But he declined from answering further questions.

"Michael!" Erika gave him a tight hug around the waist that lasted a moment longer than was necessary. Looking up at him, her bright emerald eyes began to cloud with plentiful tears. "I was so worried"
"It's all right, Mistress Erika," he grinned, "I'm fine."
Their eyes locked for a moment before they turned away reluctantly.
"I'm glad," she sniffed, brushing one hand through her jaw length black hair and adjusting a red headband that clashed horribly with her green attire.
"Unfortunately we lost several trainers," he lowered his head. "'M sorry, Mistress."
One hand flew to her mouth, but she lowered it slowly. "Iunderstand, Michael. The Resistance has returned"
"Yes."
"Why? What can they accomplish by fighting us but giving new birth to the wars?" her eyes narrowed. "Don't they remember how those times were?"
"They don't give a damn," his voice frosted over and a cold, distant look filmed his eyes. "They only want revenge."
"I know. But why now? Why when we're just being able to reform the League and bring back the smaller towns to reform a united Council? I don't understand," she clenched her slender hands into tight fists.
"Never mind that. The Resistance is not our main problem, unifying the Council is," he smiled. "I'm sure that if things go as planned then the Resistance will be a mere annoyance."
"You're right," she returned the smile.
"And I'm actually very tired right now."
"Michael!"

"Mommy! Daddy!" Raychel squealed, hugging Brock around the knees.
"'Ello, li'l bit!" he heaved her up onto his shoulder. "Were you and Brian well-behaved for Lance?"
"I was," Brian stated. Lance's royal blue cloak trimmed with gold draped over his shoulders, the empty sleeves and trailing edge forming a pool of cloth around his boots.
"Gimme that, you," the Dragon Master snatched it away and donned it with practised ease. "They were no trouble at all," he smiled at them. "But you owe me for this one."
"My pockets will be empty when you're too drunk to have another," Brock snorted into his thin moustache.
"Well, you were gone for about two weeks, a drink every hour and I'll be the happiest man alive."
"What can your stomach possibly be made of? Iron?" Liz picked up her four-year old son. "Drinking is bad for you, Lance."
"Whatever."
"It must be stronger than that," the Rock Master huffed. "Lance, we're Masters, not multimillionaires."
"I don't want your money, I want that closet of wine I know you and your wife have," he grinned, brushing one hand through his light brown hair.
"Some example you're setting for the children," Liz held Brian close. "You just talk about all sorts of drinks right to their facesI remember, you did the same thing with Ash."
"Yeah, but he sure as hell thought it was funny," he laughed. The Psychic Mistress fixed him with a disapproving glare. "Well, he was twelve and I was drunk. I told him some of the damnedest thingshalf of it wasn't even true"
"You drunk is amusing in itself," Brock agreed. "But we have more important matters on hand, Lance."
"Yeah, you're right," he nodded. "The last war was ugly enough, I don't know how we'll deal with this onewe lost a lot of Masters to the Resistance."
"Yes, we did," Liz said softly. "And faithful TrainersSparky, Pyro, and A.J., who's been taken prisoner by the League."
"Well, that's news to me," the Head of the Elite Four's eyes widened. "How?"
"Anne wouldn't kill him," she hugged her son tighter. "She couldn't"
Brock gripped her shoulders. "Liz, you need your rest. We've all been through a lot these past few days."
She allowed him to lead her to their apartment silently, and Lance simply looked on.

The Dragon Master softly closed the door behind him and stepped past the short entry hall. The chamber was dim, lit only by a few guttering torches and natural light. It was a wide, circular room, the walls, ceiling and floor meeting in graceful sweeps of stone, like a ball blown by some expert glass blower. Sunlight spilled from a skylight onto the middle of the floor, dust motes playing hide and seek in its shaft. It glowed on an intricate ensign of the Elite Four carefully crafted among the tiles.
"Lance, you're here," a deep, rumbling growl of a voice hailed to him from across the room.
A slight grin crossed his face. "Yeah, and I got rid of the brats, too, Bruno."
Bruno was older than Lance, and taller, towering over the Dragon Master. His single arm bulged with muscles, as did his chest, his sleeveless shirt stretched tightly across it. His maroon cloak, the symbol of the Fighting Master was draped over his broad shoulders, hiding the fact that he had lost his left arm in a battle several years ago. His scared and lined face creased into a smile.
"I hope they pay you decently this time," he boomed with laughter.
"Ah, they will, don't worry. We'll all drink well this time."
"Oh, please," a pale, ageing woman who was occupying one of the four chairs placed to one side muttered, clasping and unclasping her hands. "Is that all you children can talk about? It's all a body can take, the way you carry on!"
"Sorry, Aggie," he grinned apologetically. "It won't happen again, I promise."
Agatha, or "Aggie", was a small, wispy woman, her long silver hair framing a face marred by age set with gleaming coal black eyes. Being the Mistress of Spirit, she wore a silver-pink cloak, tailored to fit her slender frame perfectly. To young Trainers there was an air of mystery to her, and most were utterly terrified of her. To the members of the Elite, she was more like a grandmother than anything else, calling anyone younger than her, which was a great deal of beings, "dear", or "child", even Bruno, who was at least three times her height.
"It's all right, child, I do not mind it," she smiled. "Our company had a safe return, what was left of it anyway. Master Ashton is well, praise the Goddess, the poor child."
"Yeah," Lance nodded solemnly.
"Poor dears, their souls whisper to me," she sighed. "War, it's not a pretty thing."
"But as long as the Resistance chooses to battle us, we must fight one," Bruno growled. "And for what? What can they do by killing those who are Bonded? More will replace us, no doubt. And even if they didn't, what will they get out of it?"
Agatha sat back, hands pressed lightly together and eyes closed. "Do not question the motives of the Resistance. Perhaps they are the ones who have every right to slaughter us."
"I must admit I don't understand that," Lance cut in. "'M sorry, but Death was never a way to solve anything, and I have learned that from experience. Think of the people we have lost to pointless war! Do you call that justice? I, for one, certainly don't. That's all a load of bull shit, if you ask me."
Bruno nodded. "I agree, it's damn foolish of them to think that something like killing those of the League could ever be right. Maybe we do deserve Death, but does that give them any right?"
"You could be right, child," she nodded slowly. "But we best leave this in the hands of those who fight."
"Sorry, Aggie, but they are not keeping me from the battlefield," Lance grinned fiercely. "I do not choose to sit here and watch people that I care abou' die. I will fight, and if I dieso be it."
"I agree fully, Lance," Bruno chucked. "Stay here if ya wish, Agatha, but I choose ta fight."