Spoon: 3.8 Soup (Patreon)

Preface

Surprise Spoon? Surprise Spoon.

Soup 3.8

Aaron Fulan

Oldale Town, Hoenn Region

I woke up the next morning and shoved the pink blob of not-quite-mutton off my face. One of the best parts of her evolution in my humble opinion was that she no longer had wool over most of her body, leaving instead a short, downy fur that felt luxuriously silky to the touch and, more importantly, didn’t retain heat nearly as well.

“Flaaf?!” Jeanne bleated in shock as she fell over onto the floor. She rose up with a doe-eyed teary pout. “Flaafy-flaaf!”

I scoffed, not buying her act for a moment. “You’re a little big for the innocent lamb schtick, Jeanne,” I chided. “I keep telling you not to sleep on my face.”

“Fla-flaaffy. Flaaf.”

“You’re not the least bit repentant, are you?”

“Flaaf.”

“Fine, whatever. You know we have the contest today?”

“Flaaf!” she cheered, arms flung high and horns and tail glowing merrily. I smiled, her good mood infectious.

“That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s get you brushed up. And we can’t forget Solidad’s ribbon.”

“Flaaffy!”

I chuckled as I watched her run off. She’d bug Artoria for the brushing. Hopefully, the articles I’d sent over to Solidad would prove useful for her.

I turned and found my mankey. I’d found that he was an early riser, something Artoria swore proved he was destined for the Distortion. He was seated on the windowsill, looking out over the picturesque town.

“Durvasa, how are you this morning?”

“Man,” my mankey mumbled. He was as always the most complicated pokemon on my team to read. His aura said he was content with the vista before him and the warm bed and full sleep he got, but also… not quite angry… expectant? The peace would not last and so he was upset about the impending disruption, dissatisfied with himself at the rage that constantly simmered beneath the surface.

I reached out and pet him. I remembered reading how monkey troupes groomed each other as a sign of friendship. Apparently, mankey troupes did the same thing. He had no debris or bugs obviously, not after the pokemon center checked him out, but it couldn’t hurt. “Great. Let’s head out. Morning run, breakfast, individual training, lunch, and then the contest in the afternoon. Sound good?”

“Mankey.”

“Flaaffy!” Jeanne bleated. She’d found her brush and returned to bug my starter.

I turned to the last member of my team. Artoria had claimed a pillow for herself and was snuggled against it to my side. “You gonna wake up, Artoria? Or do I have to let Jeanne have her wicked way with you?”

“Kii…” she mumbled.

I rolled my eyes and scooped her up into my arms. “Maybe hold off on the brushing until after the morning workout, Jeanne. I promise we’ll take our time over lunch, okay?”

“Flaaffy.”

I walked out to the canteen, trailed by my flaaffy and mankey and a pillow full of kirlia in my arms. It was an old ritual by now; she’d wake up on her own once we got to the yard to stretch. She was only a little more than two feet tall and my hands could easily cover her entire torso.

The thought hit me, I’d probably be doing this even after she evolved into a gardevoir. It made me snort in amusement, jostling her a little and bringing her that much closer to wakefulness.

We passed the front desk and saw the same lady from the night prior. “G’morning, hun. Off already?” she greeted us with a wave. In her hand was a cup of joe and a newspaper.

“Hello, ma’am, just going for a morning run.”

“Good. Breakfast will be served in about an hour. Canteen’s that-a-way. Not many trainers stopping by as early as you so you’ll probably have the place to yourself.”

“That’s great. We appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you run along. Feel free to take a few water bottles from the fridge,” she gestured to one of those chilled shelves often found in grocery stores.

We headed outside and Artoria hopped down from my arms to begin stretching.

“Kirlia-kir,” she trilled. In front of her, Durvasa and Jeanne did their best to copy her as she touched her palms to the ground. It was adorable, the world’s cutest yoga class. Their body types were different so not everything applied but the principles were close enough so I left them to limber up while I did my own stretches.

I took a deep breath of the countryside air. It smelled of alfalfa hay, freshly turned soil, and a faint hint of manure. The breeze tickled the back of my neck as I twisted and popped my spine. It was amazing being young again. No matter how much I exercised, I’d fought a losing battle against the march of time. No matter how many tournaments I won or how often I perfected my form, there wasn’t anything I could do about simply growing old. Every year, it felt as though my muscles stiffened just a bit more. Forms I’d engraved into my muscle memory came just a little harder, just that tad bit slower. Now that I was thirteen, and had the gift of aura to boot, I had no intention of being ungrateful.

“Ready up!” I barked. “Jeanne, juggle three! Durvasa, I want fifteen pushups from you every thirty steps! Artoria, teleport as far as you can and back every twenty steps! Clear?”

I heard them let out an enthusiastic chorus and turned towards the dirt path. I swung my bokken as I began a brisk jog. I’d see about getting some weights fitted for my pokemon in Petalburg, maybe for myself as well. For now, this would do just fine.

X

I smiled contentedly as I watched my pokemon bicker over breakfast. The pokemon center was generous enough to provide a hot breakfast bar instead of something simpler like a yogurt and a granola bar. It was southern hospitality at its finest, or whatever the pokemon world equivalent was. As the receptionist said, the canteen was all but empty save for the center employees from the night shift catching a quick nibble before going home.

The breakfast was standard fare around these parts, what I would have called an “all-American breakfast,” save of course the lack of an America. Eggs, rashers of bacon, hash browns, and pancakes filled our plates though there was a distinct lack of maple syrup. Apparently, maple trees didn’t grow this far south. I felt betrayed when I heard that considering the name of the Petalburg City gym leader. Instead, the chef had made a syrupy mixture out of pecha berries and honey.

A bowl of nanab berries sat alongside normal bananas. I found the pink not-bananas to be a mix of bitter and sweet, leaning towards sweet of course. It wasn’t unpleasant or anything, but the berries tasted better to a pokemon’s palate according to the center employees. Durvasa, as if to prove the stereotype, promptly hogged a bunch for himself as Artoria lectured him on the very best type of scrambled eggs, the ones that were fluffy and cheesy without being too wet, with just the faintest bit of bacon for that smoky savoriness.

I’d never seen Durvasa look more interested.

‘Guess “pig monkey” is right,’ I mused as I popped a spoonful in my mouth. ‘My pokemon are all gluttons.’

‘We follow your stellar example, my lord,’ Artoria replied cheekily.

‘Cheeky. Just don’t eat too much. We still have individual training after this.’

‘Yes, my lord. I will ensure we are all fighting-fit.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

X

The Oldale Contest Hall didn’t actually exist. Or rather, it did, just on a temporary basis. It was one part auction hall, one part barn, and occasionally got cleared out for indoor rodeos, contests, battles, and hoe-downs as necessary. The whole thing was basically just a gigantic wooden building with a whole lot of open space in the middle. It was big enough to fit the town but lacked the formal feel of Slateport’s colossal arena. All told, it was a far less “official” structure and I found myself nodding in appreciation of its simplicity.

I walked in at four-thirty, half an hour before the start of the show.

Like most everything in such a rural town, the contest revolved around the farmer’s workday. It started late so as to give people enough time to finish up their work in the field, or that was what I heard from the receptionist, a pimply teenager who’d clearly been volun-told for the job.

He took one look at Jeanne’s sunny disposition and bet a hundred credits with his neighbor, around ten dollars by my estimate.

‘He has good taste,’ Artoria said, her voice filled with vicarious pride. She explained the significance of what went down to Jeanne. My mareep redefined a “megawatt smile.”

“That he does,” I replied with a laugh.

What struck me most about the contest wasn’t the relatively sparse number of contestants, only sixteen total, but the spectators. There were several dozen people, and also just as many pokemon. Some were family growlithe, miltank, buneary, and the like but there were also plenty of pokemon that likely didn’t have a trainer at all. A noctowl and her four hoothoot brood nestled in the rafters, heads cocked with curiosity. Beneath the bleachers, I thought I spied a nincada stick its head out of its burrow.

The contest began when the judges took their seats. They at least were similar to Verdanturf: the local head nurse, sheriff, and mayor. A grumpig stepped out in front of the judges to maintain a psychic barrier, probably a necessity in a wooden building like this.

The mayor picked up the mic and spoke. “Right, welcome folks to the Oldale Pokemon Contest! I know this ain’t near as fancy as the ones out in the big cities but I think we can have a fun evening, eh?”

‘Artoria, please take Durvasa to the stands,’ I thought to her as the mayor continued with his introduction. The mayor went on about how only normal-rank contests were held here. Still, prestige or not, a ribbon was a ribbon no matter where it came from. The only stage that mattered to Jeanne and I was the Grand Festival.

‘Of course, my lord. Best of luck in your endeavors,’ she replied, nudging Durvasa up into the stands. I made sure to give Artoria some money so they could buy something to munch on while they watched. She’d already begun regaling Durvasa about the wonders of junk food.

That was another strange quirk of pokemon-human dynamics. On one hand, humans casually acknowledged that pokemon could be intelligent enough to count, conduct transactions, and otherwise interact with human society.

On the other hand, humans also acknowledged that pokemon often hunted and ate each other while nursing violent grudges such as those between zangoose and seviper. It felt weird to me, how we respected their intelligence yet simultaneously went out to capture or even cull wild pokemon populations.

Before I could sink into another mental tangent, the very first contestant went up. Verdanturf Contest had an ordered system in which the most accomplished coordinator went first in order to allow the less experienced members to leave a more recent impression on the judges during the appeals round. Here, it didn’t matter at all; there wasn’t a single ribbon between the lot of us.

For the most part, the appeals round was as I’d expected coming into this. The majority seemed to be from the town itself and were competing with poochyena, zigzagoon, or skitty, common pokemon who were largely content to remain household pets. Their routines would have been impressive in any dog show on earth, but in a world where every pokemon could comprehend complex commands, they largely bled together into monotony.

Which wasn’t to say there weren’t any worth watching. The very first to go up had a lot of talent, though it was her costume that initially drew my attention.

She was a pretty redhead that I’d have pegged for a classic Irish beauty in my past life with ice-blue eyes warmed by laugh lines around the edges. She wore what I could best describe as a medieval peasant girl’s frock, apron and all. I doubted even people in Oldale dressed like that in the last hundred years. At her hip, hanging from a leather strap looped around her shoulder, was a hurdy gurdy, a medieval instrument I recognized from my time touring renaissance fairs across the United States.

She held her dress in her fingertips and fell into a courtesy before the judges instead of a standard bow. “Hello everyone! How’re y’all doing tonight?” she called to laughter and affectionate hoots. She was a local apparently.  Then, for the benefit of those new in town, she said, “My name is Onale Gates and my dream is to be Hoenn’s next Grand Coordinator! I’ll be performing a folk song for you all alongside my fiery friend. Come on out, Ember!”

Onale tossed her pokeball into the air, revealing Ember to be an energetic torchic that ran in a little circle before letting out an adorable chirp that had most of the audience cooing.

“Well, guess she’s one of Professor Birch’s sponsored kids this year,” I mused aloud. “Wonder who the other two are?”

It wasn’t as though there weren’t other ways to get a torchic but considering her age, unless she was superbly well-connected with breeders near Fallarbor or Lavaridge, the professor was the most likely source. Comparatively, mudkip and treecko were more common, if only because their typing made their natural habitats more abundant.

Seeing one of my region’s traditional starters reminded me of the lounge of treecko in Petalburg Woods. Ash caught one there, the same that would become one of his strongest pokemon across all regions.

I shook my head. I didn’t think I could convince him to join me. He’d been willing to stay with his home tree no matter what, to the point that it was only when the tree literally split in half from rotting that he’d left. As powerful as he’d become, I couldn’t take him from his home.

Onale began to twist the crank on her hurdy gurdy and a low, whining note began to fill the barn, drawing me from my contemplation. The strange instrument relied on a circular wheel to rub against a set of melody and drone strings, the latter creating its distinctive droning background sound. She wanted for several breaths to let the wheel set the ambiance before she began to pluck away at the keys.

I leaned back and let the music wash over me. She was hardly the best I’d ever heard, that title went to an old, Bavarian woman at the Maryland Renaissance Festival who’d been playing the thing for forty-some years, but she was excellent for her age. The melody was ambiguous, neither slow and sorrowful nor fast and festive. She did not sing, the stage instead belonged to Ember the torchic.

The chicken-little ran out onto the center of the dirt stage as the melody began to pick up. He, male by the length of the yellow head crest, let out a cute chirp as he fluttered his wings. Embers shot into the air in choreographed patterns, giving him the illusion of lazing wings. He looked like he had an echo of fire that trailed behind him as he began to dance.

The music reached its climax and he leapt into the air. He twisted and scattered downy feathers into the air. Typically, Feather Dance conjured aura constructs of blue or white that soothed all those caught under its effects. His was instead a vibrant orange like his namesake, so much so that I wondered if the feathers were made using modified embers.

When the music came to a stop and the torchic took his bow, it was to a standing ovation. The wool around Jeanne’s collar sparked with anticipation. It looked as though she’d found her rival for the day.

“Flaaffy! Flaaf!” she cheered. Her horns lit up, causing nearby contestants to shield their eyes at the sudden light.

I placed a chiding hand on her head. “Down, girl. Guess you really liked the show, huh?”

“Flaaf,” she bleated, nodding eagerly.

“Was it the dancing?”

“Flaaf,” she shook her head.

“Hmm… the music?”

“Flaaf.”

“Ah,” I rubbed my head sheepishly. “Sorry, but I don’t play any instruments. I dabbled in piano when I was younger but definitely not enough to play in front of an audience.”

“Flaaffy…” she sighed. Her disappointment was palpable but I wasn’t sure what I could do. I hit people with pointy sticks and taught other people how to hit people with pointy sticks. I wasn’t exactly a man of culture and fine art.

Still, I couldn’t dismiss the excitement in her eyes as she saw Onale’s performance. My little lamb obviously wanted me to play a bigger role in her contests so I’d have to find a way to do just that. Truth be told, standing around with my thumbs up my ass while Jeanne went through a pre-practiced routine wasn’t my thing either.

I also remembered what the judges in Verdanturf said: I was too passive; I lacked personality. Even if it was something silly like me playing a bongo, at least then it’d be something. A little humiliation was worth it if it meant making my pokemon happy.

“I’ll look into it,” I promised her.

I was lost in thought and didn’t even register the next few contestants, something about a generic game of frisbee with a linoone that ended in a Pin Missile target practice. Boring.

The only other contestant to catch my eye did so for all the wrong reasons. Where Onale and Ember put on a show of musical talent, pyrokinetic control, and sense of rhythm, Clark Anderson did… something…

He was a big, burly fellow whom the judges announced as being our age but really looked like he was seventeen. His skin was a ruddy red from farmwork and he was clearly no stranger to exercise. He wore a straw hat, no shirt, but covered up with a pair of overalls.

“Right, howdy, y’all,” he said, tipping the hat. He spoke like an actor in a bad western, the accent intentionally played up to go with his outfit. “I’m gonna show ya that us farmboys can throw down too, ya hear?”

Whatever could be said of Clark himself, his partner was that and more. His partner, a tauros named Jax, was a beast of a specimen that stood more than five feet tall at the shoulder and boasted muscles upon muscles. Hell, his bicep was larger than my head. Jax looked like a professional weightlifter forced into a cow costume.

It was kinda gross but a part of me wondered how many pounds of steak he’d be.

‘That’s disgusting, my lord,’ Artoria chided, a hint of humor in her thoughts. Though she was in the audience minding Durvasa, she’d also been listening in on my thoughts.

‘Hey, beef is beef,’ I said back with a shrug. ‘You eat magikarp filets too.’

‘I understand that nature cannot be helped. I was commenting on the specific specimen rather than the practice. He’d be too tough to enjoy properly.’

‘Maybe. Then again, that’s why we have stew recipes. And smoking. Do either for six hours and it’ll all tenderize.’

‘I just want you to know that Durvasa’s first thought too was to wonder about his weight in steaks.’

‘Great minds think alike.’

‘I’m glad you two can relate,’ she said, sarcasm practically dripping.

‘To be fair, he’s going to be very hard to deal with assuming he passes the appeals round. Tauros are very powerful pokemon.’

‘So they are. Although… Is it okay for the trainer to dump a bucket of oil over him?’

Sure enough, that’s what Clark was doing. He showered Jax the tauros in what was probably enough vegetable oil to drown Jeanne and had him use Bulk Up. Repeatedly. Jax then stood on his hindquarters and began to flex, making his already prominent muscles bulge out grotesquely. The light of the fading sunset peeked through, making his muscular contours glisten and sparkle.

‘Alright, yeah, that’s a bit much…’ I admitted. I glanced at the judges who looked somewhere between horrified and fascinated. They weren’t saying anything so I figured this was allowed. ‘Maybe the bucket of oil is considered a prop like Onale’s hurdy gurdy.’

‘Perhaps, my lord. I don’t see how this counts as a performance however.’

‘I mean… it technically doesn’t need to be a performance? It’s called the appeals round. Showing that your pokemon is supremely healthy qualifies, I guess, even if it’s not particularly nice to look at for us.’

‘Durvasa would like to tell you that he intends to be even stronger than the tauros. “I will not be outdone by steak!” he said.’

‘Yeah, that checks out. Wannabe sage or not, a fighting type is a fighting type. I intend to get him proper weights in Petalburg anyway.’

‘Indeed, my lord. Should I use weights as well?’

‘Maybe? It wouldn’t be the worst thing I suppose, but your strength comes from Mana Edge and Burst, not from your physical power. I’ll have to read up more. I’m sure there’s a book on the subject in the family library somewhere. I think one of the family heads raised a medicham as his starter two? three? generations ago.’

I didn’t hear what the judges had to say to Clark because Artoria and I descended into a conversation about muscular development and adolescence and if anything I knew from my past life would hold sway where aura was concerned.

X

In the end, the four to pass the appeals round were myself, Onale, Clark, and some girl whose linoone gave a solid, if generic, performance. By the luck of the draw, I was placed against Clark for the first combat round.

Clark stood cross from me with a confident grin. Now that we'd moved onto battles, he clearly thought the hefty bulk of his tauros would let him breeze through to the ribbon. He’d also gone and wiped off the oil, which was unfortunate because I’d planned to set the walking affront to good taste on fire.

“Coordinators, are you ready?” the mayor called. He looked to each of us and nodded. “Then begin!”

My opponent wasted no time in shouting out an attack. “Jax! Run over that flaaffy with Horn Attack!”

“Agility. Evade,” I said calmly. Unlike against Solidad, I judged that Electric Terrain would be more of a hindrance here than a help. I didn’t need it to keep Jeanne awake and the limited radius of Electric Terrain would be too small against an opponent that could force Jeanne to skip around like the tauros.

Jeanne skipped back as a pink light coated her body. She became noticeably faster, just enough to avoid the charge with a pirouette.

“Keep attacking! It can’t take a hit from you!”

“I’ll have you know Jeanne is a she,” I replied. “Keep dodging. Spore.”

My flaaffy let out an adorable bleat before her head and collar glowed white with aura. Balls of wool erupted from them like the world’s fluffiest cannonade. They covered the tauros in sticky, staticky wool, only for the bull to charge right through, its speed seemingly undiminished.

“Flaaf!” Jeanne cried out in alarm as the bull bore down on her. I’d miscalculated, there was no such thing as a “two stage speed reduction” in real life. The tauros simply had too much mass and momentum to be stopped by a move like this at her level.

“Jeanne!” I cried out with worry as she was flung into the air.

“Yes! That’s the way, Jax! Now let it come down and Stomp!”

I watched as Jeanne flailed desperately in the air. The tauros had flung her almost high enough to touch the rafters and high-five the noctowl up there.

I shook my head. Clearly, our standard lockdown strategy wouldn’t work here.

“Land and Protect!” I called.

The emerald shield came up just in time to stop the tauros from flattening Jeanne. She rolled way as soon as his hooves went up and let out another torrent of spores. Quantity would eventually override his strength, or so I hoped, but it wasn’t working fast enough. If i did nothing, I didn’t doubt that the judges would call it in their favor.

“Thunder Wave! Slow it down!”

“Flaaffy!” she cried. A lance of electricity spread out from her forepaws. As big as the bull was, it was impossible to miss.

“Rush through it, Jax!” Clark shouted. “A little bit of prickling can’t get you down!”

The two played a game of high-stakes tag. Jeanne desperately tried to avoid being run over while the tauros seemed to know no other moves than what he could learn naturally. That didn’t speak well of him or his trainer. If I had to guess, he was a bull used to hard labor, pulling carts and plows and the like, but unused to actual combat. Jeanne ought to have far more experience, especially considering her daily spars with Artoria.

“Watch and wait,” I urged her. “Keep running with Agility and poke him down with Thunder Wave.”

Sure enough, Jax the tauros was slowing. He just didn’t have the agility to match her and constantly forcing him to sprint and swerve on a dime was taking its toll.

I spotted my chance. “Jeanne! Jump on his back!”

“Jax, you gotta stop her!”

Clark’s shouting didn’t help. The bull was flagging. Jeanne bleated out her battle cry before she captured one of his three tails in her paws and hurled herself onto his back in a show of deceptively capable athleticism.

“It’s over! Jeanne, let him have it! Shock Wave! All out!”

“FlaaFFFYYYY!!!”

It was like a flashbang went off in the barn. All the resentment and agitation of being hounded by a bull that outmassed her ten times over were poured out in one, massive discharge. It was so bright that I could hear the hoothoot and noctowl grumbling their protests.

When the light settled, the tough bastard was still standing but clearly woozy. I decided to put him out of his misery.

“Jeanne, one more. Agility into Electro Ball.”

She took to the air as a ball of golden light condensed itself between her paws. Then, with a grin of pure, vindictive glee that stood out on a normally gentle flaaffy, she slammed the damn thing straight down onto the bull’s skull.

The judges called the match after a moment. “Tauros is unable to battle. Flaaffy is the victor and will go onto the final round.”

I bowed and walked out onto the stage to retrieve my lamb. The linoone and torchic gave us a wide berth, though I couldn’t imagine why. Jeanne was an adorable ball of sunshine, so long as you didn’t trigger her prey instincts.

I then watched the linoone and Ember the torchic duke it out to determine who would join Jeanne in the finals. I reached into my pocket and gave Jeanne a plant jerky. “Only one,” I told her. “Don’t want you to fight when you’re full.”

“Flaaf,” she bleated happily and licked my fingers.

I rolled my eyes and wiped bits of cud that got smeared between my fingers on a spare handkerchief I had for the purpose. I loved her to death but her oral fixation was really kinda gross.

Up on stage, Ember used a mix of Fire Spin and Feather Dance to keep his much stronger opponent at bay while wearing him down with his namesake move. The linoone tried its best to compete using Pin Missile but the bug type move burned to ashes in the breeze against the Fire Spin.

I shook my head. The trainer, Jim? James? Whatever his name was, I felt that he was being far too cautious. As an evolved pokemon, that linoone ought to have the durability needed to rush the torchic down but he got sucked into Onale’s pace instead. There were strong unevolved pokemon of course, but at this stage in our journeys, Ember out-muscling a linoone just wasn’t likely.

“Watch the torchic,” I told Jeanne. I’d already made up my mind that we’d be facing Onale and Ember. “I don’t think you’re fast enough to catch the torchic even with Agility so don’t bother. The final is going to be a ranged slugfest.”

“Flaaf,” Jeanne nuzzled her cheek into my hand and I obliged her with scritches beneath her chin.

“Wool doesn’t burn. Use Cotton Spore to shield yourself if you have to. It’s less costly than Protect.”

“Flaaf.”

I smiled as I saw Jeanne’s eyes narrow. She was as intent on studying her opponent as I was. She wasn’t a natural battler, not like Artoria or Durvasa, but she’d certainly picked up a few things through osmosis.

In truth, I was worried. Or perhaps not worried, but cautious. I strongly suspected her of being one of Birch’s saplings and that promised a challenge on its own.

The “starters” of any region were pokemon with great prestige attached to them. They had a certain mystique about them, expectations for power that did not exist for other, “normal” pokemon. That reputation was partly deserved, but also partly a social construct.

Only the best students who scored well in both the academic and practical portions of the TLE were considered for a sponsorship. And of course, the regional professor accepted only the best specimens each year from the breeders. It was no wonder then that such pairs tended to go far in this career path.

Of course, the three starters were rare and powerful, they had to be in order to be worthy prizes for students to aim toward, but the truth was that they were bred more for personality compatibility and general agreeableness than raw strength. In this world, that foundation for friendship and camaraderie was probably more valuable in the long run anyway.

The battle ultimately ended as I’d predicted. The linoone fell to a thousand cuts, unable to land more than a few glancing blows against the torchic. Ember was breathing hard from exertion but I didn’t think he’d be too worn out after the intermission. As the mayor announced a half hour’s reprieve, the redhead’s eyes met mine across the stage. There was conviction there, a fire that hungered for this win.

“Yup. Definitely not just a bard,” I mused. Unevolved pokemon or not, Onale and Ember were going to be trouble.

Author’s Note

A pride is to lions as lounge is to lizards.

Animal fact? Sure. Rabbits should not be picked up by their necks like kittens or puppies. They lack the stretchy skin that makes this comfortable. Their own weight can cause microscopic tearing or even damage their spines.