Moments (Short Stories)

[SongofWindchimes]

Sometimes, my mind comes up with scenes with my characters either alone with their pokemon, or just with eachother. Sometimes it's between threads, or in the past. This is where I plan to keep these things when I actually write them.

One thing I will state is that many of these are written spur-of-the-moment and not well edited. They're extra things that I write for fun and to flesh out my characters in my head. Comments are welcome, but keep just keep that in mind.

Each story will be in a separate post and then listed here by character, just to keep things semi-organized. Stories that involve more than one character will be listed under both. Everything here is considered canon to my characters' stories unless otherwise stated.

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Amelia Haskell
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Bianca Musara
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Faith Leonhard
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Marco Wolfe
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Mileena Carter
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Rosalyn Sol

• Tonight and Tomorrow

Trisha Walker

• Masks

[SongofWindchimes]

Tonight and Tomorrow

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Ser Bane knew that Absol frequently lived alone in the wild, save for a mate and whatever young children they had. He knew that, because he was a well-read creature, which was especially impressive because he could not actually read. Rosalyn always read to him, since the day they met, and, from that, he knew many things.

He knew that Absol were solitary. Yet, he would never believe that it was by choice. Before he and his mistress were forced away from their home and their clan fractured, he could never have imagined a world without the constant company of humans and his fellow Absol.

The hotel room that night was quiet, or as quiet as a place in the Capital ever was. They were close to the area called Party Central, and he could see the flashing lights through the opening in the curtains his head created. So many humans and pokemon in one place, and yet Bane had never been more lonely.

He stepped back and glanced behind him. Belle, the Ariados, had her many legs tucked against her massive body as she slept soundly in the corner. August was sitting beside her, leaning against her bulk, the Mawile having crept over to the object of his affection once she'd already fallen asleep. She would no doubt skitter away when she awoke in the morning and shoot a glare at Bane, warning him not to laugh.

Omen was at the foot at the bed, something Bane always envied. The Houndour's leg kicked out in his sleep, and he gave the occasional whimper, dreaming of something or other. He would probably wake up once or twice during the night, whining for the closest thing he had to a mother, that being Rosie, who was snuggled under the covers and who could probably sleep through a bomb going off but would be awake in an instant at Omen's cry.

Of course, Rosie's mother duties were all the more now, with the Buneary snuggled against her shoulder. Kismet had attached to her with a frantic intensity, and was rarely away from her side. The young rabbit was still a bit unsure about Bane, Belle, and August, but was adjusting slowly. Tempest, on the bedside table with her head under her wing, had bonded nearly as quickly when she was adopted a bit earlier than Kismet, and while the Spearow was an adult, she always seemed to be looking over to make sure Rosie was still there.

All in all, they were a motley group. And his Rosie was going to make them champions, even if it was of the stage rather than the arena. Sure, Omen stumbled sometimes, Belle could be more stubborn than a Tauros, Kismet got stage fright, August was less than a showman, and Tempest could be blown away in a strong wind. Bane certainly wasn't perfect either, as Belle was keen to remind him, having more than once hit a wrong note in singing or failed to clear an obstacle and landed on his face.

Ser Bane, knight to his Rosie's princess, padded silently over to the bed and laid beside it, his head on his paws. So many things had gone wrong, but they had made friends, and, someday, it would all be right again.

The Capital City went on without them, people flowing like blood and music beating like a heart. It would still be there in the morning, and tomorrow would be a new day.

Bane closed his eyes, trying to peer out into the foggy beyond like his fellows had done beside their masters before the civil war.

After a moment, he smiled and decided that tomorrow would be a good day.

[Jay]

^^ Oh this is cool~ Very nice :3 I can't wait to read more.

[SongofWindchimes]

Masks

I made my way through the hospital, walking through the halls with what I hoped looked like confidence. No one gave me a second glance, wearing only simple jeans and long-sleeved black shirt and no makeup, though I noticed a few eyes being drawn to the Vulpix walking beside me, the little red fox looking around with bright eyes and a spring in her step but never straying.

It wasn't the first time I'd done this, but it never got any easier. The bright, sterile environment with people walking or rolling past me on wheelchairs was foreign and, while I'd never admit it, mildly unsettling. Not that I'd never been in a hospital before I'd started this, but every time I'd be chomping at the bit to get out as fast as humanly possible. And yet, here I was. Here we were, rather, and I found my eyes flicking downward toward my four-legged companion as we walked. She was probably blissfully unaware of my anxiety.

Eventually, we reached our destination, and our work began. Inside a hospital room instead of navigating the halls, I was a little less uneasy, but I know I'm not the best at this. When I took the therapy pokemon training, it was an uphill battle for me to look anything but intimidating in a situation that I wasn't completely comfortable with. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Eventually, I gave up on trying to be extroverted and simply stayed quietly to one side, occasionally offering a smile, as the real star of the show worked her magic.

This day, I watched as an elderly woman held my Vulpix in her arms, stroking her gently and whispering gently about how she'd had one of her own and she looked just like him. The only thing I said the entire time was, "Her name's Dora." It was all I needed to say, because the rest didn't require words. The touch of a paw, the wagging of tails, a soulful gaze, or gently licking away tears said so much more.

A few more visits, and we left, and the moment I was home I changed, donning my layers of chaotic gothic clothing and assortment of chains. I pulled back my hair with a black ribbon and went about putting on my heavy, dark make up. I didn't really have anywhere special to be, no date or party or concert, but I went through the work of putting together my style anyway.

It always seems like people see removing the stage makeup and clothing as taking off a mask, but for me it's putting one on. I like knowing Pandora is making people happy, and I know she loves doing it, but I can't help her while looking like me, like the percussionist in a famous band who has an obsession with death and darkness. I have to look like anyone else; I have to put on a mask.

I'm not normal. I'll never be and I don't want to be. But I'll wear the mask, and I'll try to pretend, for every smile and lifted soul. And especially for Pandora.