Question: What are your favori Pokémon favori foods?


    Yuewen was dressed quite poorly for the occasion, not that he was dressed much better, sitting across from her, the same open jacket and t-shirt combination that she had been seeing, just washed up for the first time in weeks. They sat at an actual table for two as requested, redirected to an entirely new area once they ordered the gym battle special. They sat, golden tainted cutlery and silverware laid before them and facing a grand stage that seemed lighted and fitted for opera. The curtains draped a velvet red, hung in silence framing what to be a romantic reveal of whatever was to come onto the stage, that of anticipation of royalty, the dim lights, a brilliantly, buttery, yellow casting spotlight beyond and a long, dreary shadow onto them, inviting them to watch, feast upon the elegant goodness as they shimmered, invisible to it all. And she was wearing a light blue jacket that she had been wearing since middle school.


    "Well? What do you think?" He said, swirling that piece of card around his index and middle finger and his thumb.


    "Too much for a first date. Usually, you would take a girl out for coffee."


    "What? No. I mean, what are you even talking about? I mean this." He slammed the card onto the spotless, mahogany tabletop, creating a hollow ''thonking'' noise. "This is our menu and we got to order something. What do your Pokemon like to eat?"


    "Pidove likes fidough bread and Purloin... She would probably like anything you can order here, luxurious and all."


    "Rocky likes salted food and Longus... likes the taste of raw meat."


    "Eh? What have you been doing with your poor Caterpie?"


    "Feeding it. You don''t feed your Pokemon?"


    "That was like one time, okay? Why does your Caterpie have a flesh habit?"


    "The name is Longus. Gus, for short. He likes to eat bloody meat, do you have a problem with that?"


    "Let me think about that and I''ll get back to you later..." She pushed her glasses up and faked thinking, the way she used to do to seem like a proper secretary, secreting and stuff. "Yes. I do have a problem. That''s fucking creepy. Maybe for a bug-loving, bug-catcher like you it''s normal, but I find it very weird and slightly unsettling."


    He smiled a slightly unsettling smile. "Go with the flow. We all like what we like, right?"


    Ew. Pervert, she thought, but kept that one to herself. If some ugly guy randomly called her a pervert, that would just be so creepy, right? He was such a creep that it was rubbing off on her to the point where she was saying whatever shit she could just to say it. She sighed, glancing over the table again. This was not the mood she wanted to create in such an atmosphere, before her very first gym battle no less.


    "Look, there''s a bell in the middle of the table," she said. "We ring it and then we order our food."


    "Go ahead."


    "Nah. You press it."


    "Ladies first."


    This really isn''t worth fighting over. Besides, there was no harm in pressing it first, was there? Why did she even have to tell this guy anything? She should have just pressed it already, no need to explain herself to anyone. It was the age of the new woman and she would-


    He pressed the button.


    -.-.-


    "Madam. Monsieur. What will you be having tonight?"


    The waiter''s hair was an unusual light green. Whenever he thought of the type of people who would dye their hair, he thought of wild beasts, a motorcycle gang with outrageously sharp mohawks splattered with pink and yellow dye with thuggish expression. Yet, his green was soft, like slightly dehydrated grass, his eyes and bowties also a similar shade, giving him an almost natural look. He wore one of those fancy suits with white sleeves and golden buttons and the top of his hair ruffled upwards exactly like the eleventh picture of a barber shop. He had a soft expression and an easy smile that actually reached his eyes. Wow.


    "I''ll be having, um, your salty food," he started. "Maybe like rock candy, but it has salt on it? That''s for my Rocky, my dwebble. And I want some rare miltank steak, cook it as rare as you can cook rare. My Caterpie is kinda bloodthirsty."


    "And Madam?" He wrote it all in a like notepad reminding him of a certain Madam.


    "I-I will have... whatever he''s having..." She was practically whispering.


    So annoying. What did he see in this person, for real? She was always loud when making fun of him or teasing him or laughing at him and now she chooses to be quiet. There was really no point in kicking her when she was down, but felt that if the positions were reversed, she would never do the same.


    "She''ll have bread, probably made of fidough and the finest warm soup this establishment has. Probably a stew with a lot of expensive ingredients."


    "Is that it Madam?"


    She nodded.


    "Thank you. I''ll be back with your orders. It should be ready in around an hour."


    "Thank you very much," he said. He glanced at Yuewen, but wished he didn''t as she felt the need to mutter out an awkward ''thank you'' of her own, too quiet to be heard, but just loud enough to understand, whilst being on the verge of blush the entire time. He turned away and stared at nothing in particular, just some pointlessly empty stage, not wanting to make eye contact again.


    "Hey," he said. "Gonna talk about it?"


    "Shut up."


    "There''s the Yuewen I know and... Do you want me to call you a bitch or something?"


    "What? Shut up."


    "Bitch."


    "You can''t call me that in public. And I am not a bitch. If anything, you''re a bitch for calling me a bitch and being such a bitch about it... Bitch."


    He buried his face into his hands. I literally can''t. "Public space, Yuewen. I thought you said that you worked at a hospital or something as a secretary. Why can''t you act like a normal human being?"


    "They fired me in like a week. Probably less if I''m to be honest. Moved me to the backrooms."


    "Have some shame lady." She was too far across the table to comfortably smack without standing up, so he let her off with a shrug instead. "And don''t apologize either. Just saying thanks is normal people behaviour."


    "...Thank you?"


    "...I was totally right in my ''sorry'' prediction, right? Was I cool?"


    She smiled and rolled her eyes and head to the side, hitting him with bombastic side eye. "...Want me to call you a creep? Pervert."


    He paused, then hid his face behind his hands whilst rubbing his temple, looking away for good measure. This person was just too embarrassing to be around. He wondered if those that looked the most normal were actually the most scary.


    They remained relatively normal the rest of the hour whilst they were waiting, casually talking about the last two weeks and if anything interesting happened during training. They barely saw each other throughout so it was useful to hear how she went around training and she was surprisingly knowledgeable about the computer system and how to maximize efficiently, also talking about EVs and IVs and other stuff he knew in theory, but wasn''t quite putting into practice. Next gym, he wondered if she would agree to meet up for lunch perhaps once every few days if only to make sure that she would be alright mentally.


    "Bonjour. Here, we''ve brought Pure Sea-Salt Minior Crystals, King''s Bouillabaisse Royale, Goldenrod Reserve Filet, and Heirloom Fidough Sourdough. No need to pay. It''s on the house."


    Two other waiters came up besides him, one with blue hair, the other with red, each with distinctive, barbershop-picture hairstyles, the red one having his hair flare out like a flame, the blue one having the hair curve over his left eye, an entirely emo wave. They both carried two dishes each in those metal plates with lids that you only saw in media, but never in real life, on either arm, white towels draped over their arms. When opened, he was hit with a beautiful fragrance, that of hearty meat and this sticky sauce that surely was created in the heavens themselves. He wasn''t too interested in the sea-salt minior crystals, but wondered if Gus was willing to share.


    Apparently, he didn''t really know his own Pokemon like that.


    "Caterpie. Caterpie!"


    He no longer wanted to eat his steak. Longus was rolling away in the brown sauce like a tepig, literally bug biting it from all angles, looking more snivy than caterpie, wild than domesticated. The steak now looked more of a rotten apple, holes throughout it all, eaten from the inside out. Rocky licked his sea-salt minior crystals, crystalized rocks crushed into chunky pieces each the size of a small nugget. He was as happy as he had ever seen him. He smiled and patted his shell haphazardly, the crux of the situation finally upon him. He was here. For the last month, he had traveled, eaten food he never thought he would, did not the impossible, but that he didn''t even knew existed, from the hazy nights of a body so battered to the ocean-like pressure of computerized white spaces to even just these small moments with his Pokemon, devouring their favourites or just longing in the background, their presence a miracle in themselves.


    "Thank you," he said, wiping away the sauce from the overstuffed caterpie using the given white towel. It looked too bloated to move, but he was planning on using Rocky anyways, so all was well by him. "The food was delicious."


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    "Monsieur. The only one delicious here is you."


    -.-.-


    She chortled. This is kinda hot. She tried to stiffen her laughter even harder.


    Yeah, she understood the subtext. Even she could feel the simple-minded passion radiating off him, that dreamy gaze she saw through her rounded spectacles that he gave to his Pokemon. And to say that the food was delicious without eating any himself? Truly a starstruck lover. Makes you want to push him down and eat him.


    "Hmph," she hastily coughed.


    "What was that, Yuewen?"


    "Nothing."


    "Stop giving me that understanding look, you-"


    "Please. Continue. Please."


    It turned out that these boys were the Gym Leaders, much to no one''s surprise, except for maybe Helmet, because he''s a dumbass. What could she say? She just really didn''t like authoritative figures or perhaps adults or stuck up kids who thought they were adults altogether. It made her feel... inadequate. She rather look down at the weirdos. Laughing at the gays. Hilarious.


    They had apparently passed the first trail with ease. The only way you fail it would be if you were to try to feed your fire-type Pokemon ice cream or something. That would even get you disqualified from the first gym, I guess. Truth be told, it didn''t really matter what you fed your Pokemon, but... She thought of their smiling faces. All of them, even Rocky, Gus, and him as well. She was ready to take on the world.


    They stood on the golden stage now, the prince and princess of the gala. She wondered if everyone got this type of treatment, or if this was only some type of show for those who were last to arrive, the last dance in this lonely ballroom.


    "Je Te Choisis. Pansage."


    A bipedal creature emerged, a small grassy bush sprung up on its head like a bush. It had the same head shape as the decapitated creatures in The Monkey King though with alive facial features, of course. So that meant it was a monkey or similar to one anyways. She had heard a lot of crackpot conspiracy theories in the Pokemon center, something about how humans had evolved from monkeys or some shit. It was how she knew that place was trouble before they stepped in. Was this monkey going to be trouble for her too?


    "Pidove. Your time to shine."


    The stage was set. Her overthinking and monologuing had rapidly been getting boring. She pushed her glasses up and yelled, from the depths of her lungs, making sure to get the enunciation right.


    "Pidove. Quick attack. Aim for the head."


    "Dodge. And counter."


    Swearing down, Pidove furled its wings diving Passage straight as a bullet, as it sidestepped, then rebounded back for a tackle, yet Pidove was already gone, fluttering its wings again, just beyond reach.


    "Another quick attack. Aim for the body."


    "Met it head-on with a tackle."


    Again, Pidove dove, its wings tethered to its sides, the speed of which sending all the curtains swooning just as her heart leapt, the Passage dashing forwards, readying his body to meet the smaller bird.


    "NOW," she screamed. It was just as the Passage turned its body, lifting its shoulder up to meet the blunt of the impact, creating a blind spot to its left. Pidove fluttered her wings, finding footing in the air as Passage hurled right past her, inches from smashing her into a Pidove sized pie. Flapping, flapping, flapping, her wings hummed with power as she fought against her momentum and turned herself around to dive the monkey once again, her wings freely shimmering beside her as she did so.


    "Passage. Turn around quickly and bullet seed."


    "Quick attack into peck."


    A small child watched them on the big stage, it all moving in slow motion. She watched as Passage shot seeds out of his mouth, the kissy face unmoving, but eyes tracking, white pupils growing larger and larger as the pidove dove closer, two blank expressions locking gazes with each other, knowing nothing but their next moment, only their momentum keeping them moving forwards, so thoughtless, they were practically drooling. The small child had nothing on her plate so she could only watch, vaguely hungry as well. As they neared, they glowed a golden radiance, almost blinding, but ultimately cinematic and just before they reached, all froze in time. Her beck was just before it; a seed split across it, shot at point blank range. The small child got up and walked towards the stage. She got as near as she could, just before the light. She could never get that close, but from here, she could see it. The light. Even if it didn''t reach her surroundings, she could see it. The light. She held it all in her eyes.


    -.-.-


    If death was a dream, he would be the one to die dreaming. With a smile on his face, he would wave them all goodbye and kill himself. Running away, dreams dying. Be yourself. He was dreaming.


    Helmet gripped onto his dreamcatcher, the red of his palms, the white of his fingertips. He swayed, if only slightly, that rhythm that only he could hear, that strumming string, the snaring beats, the crashing metal, the booming hollowness. The solo blowing of hot air, the breathlessness thickening.


    What he wouldn''t give to be in a dream right now. To close his eyes and watch it all go black.


    There were noises beyond him. Pulling him back. Telling him to open his eyes again. Telling him to open his mouth. But it was so magical. He didn''t want to ruin it with his shitty self. If only he could stop time, in this very moment, forever. It was closer than it ever was.


    He opened his eyes.


    "Dodge, Rocky. Then rock slide." he said.


    Water shot like out of a hose, a constant stream of pressure. Rocky skirted around it, his claws skating across the stage and whilst the water gun followed, he materialized rocks, each around the size of his own shell, slamming the valve shut, water bursting against the stones like a waterfall crashing into a dam.


    "Rocks. More rocks, Rocky. We''re the rock kings."


    They fell, like rain, pelting the stage, a constant bombardment of all that Rocky knew, all that he had. Rocks, rocks, rocks. More fucking rocks. They would drown the world with rocks until they begged for more, drain all the oceans, crumble all the mountains. When you truly loved, it was unstoppable.


    The panpour powered forwards and leapt, hosing from a height, above their stacked kingdom.


    "Dodge. Into the rocks."


    Rocky slipped to the side again, only being clipped and soaked by the water, but never blown away. Clutching his teeth, he slid into the rocky pile and flipped over a stone to enter the thick of it. Scuttling in the way only bugs could, he wiggled his way from rock to rock, closing in onto the monkey standing on a throne of his own creation.


    "To the side again. More rocks. Focus on elevation."


    The pampour was in the midst of a big breath- Rocky, who was on a mission, a beeline, suddenly flipped, rolling again over his shell and landing on his scuttling feet-only inches away, the burst of water, crashing rebounding like a gunshot.


    The rocks were all the same sizing; texture, coloring, shape, they were all identical, yet they came in different timings, falling, then stacking, then sliding into a coarse home, an entire ecosystems of stones, a thickly layered cake that covered half the stage at least, two, three, four complexions high, the amount of small canvases and cracks endless, beneath and above. Rocky dipped and flipped and climbed, the water chasing like a laser to the end of the world, tracking, splashing, but never quite getting that necessary hit, bouncing off the shell, bouncing off the rocks, the water simply draining.


    Helmet crackled. More... more... more. This was the way, the way of the strong, to play their own game. They were the strongest. They could do it all. Each stone materializing seemed more and more separate, inevitable, impossible, even they just were. They appeared, in stacks, in falling, beyond seeing, without understanding nor source. Rocky was just another rock now, one in hundreds.


    The pampour stood just before the rock pile with the expression that it had no idea of what to do, but curling its body as if it was about to do something.


    Not that I''ll let you. "Rocky. Hit it with a combination of rock slide and stone edge."


    What did it mean to become unreactable? In their computer simulation, Helmet had Rocky throw stones and rocks at him until he couldn''t dodge them anymore. Yet, no matter how hard Rocky tried, if he could see them coming, the lines of its face, the movement of his claws, he could dodge out of the way before the rocks even came. Practically with his eyes closed. But if there was no startup animation... You had to react to what wasn''t there. Like dodging an explosion without being able to see the grenade. Was it possible to be that strong? Show me something.


    Stoned. The monkey was stoned. Right, left, up, down, left, right, down, right, left, up, down. It wasn''t fair. Life wasn''t fair. Pokemon wasn''t fair. These blunt objects appeared just before it, almost always out of sight, having it turning, twisting, and scattered. There was nothing to do than to disappear... or to become. To become more.


    Here it comes... "Rocky. Get in your shell," Helmet screamed.


    He ducked. A rock, the size of a dwebble''s shell and the size of his head, shot right past him, where his head used to be, the exact place he ducked. See what I mean? Completely reactable.


    His kingdom was blown into pieces, eradicated from existence. The stones laid scattered, from the east to the west, from the south to the north. He took a quick glance to make sure none of the stones flew off the stage. Good. He slapped himself, both cheeks stinging. Get your head back into the game.


    The pampour swayed, its lanky arms hanging limply to the side as it stepped forwards, its eyes narrowed to a slit. Rocky propped himself up, groaning, the impact not making direct contact, but instead rocked him, shook him a milkshake, shellshock. Helmet bit his nails, eyes jutted as open as he could force, trying to read what his Pokemon could not.


    The pampour pulled his hands together, hovering its palm and thumbs around, not quite touching, not quite separate either, like he was holding an invisible ball...


    "Stone edge. Aim for the hands."


    The monkey didn''t dodge. The stone was chuckled, bursting straight onto the fingers, yet the monkey kept the position, half of its left hand busted in a weird direction.


    "Shit. Again. For the hands, stone edge and rock slide. Don''t stop. Never stop shooting."


    It was too late. The monkey held power within his hands, a brilliant blue destruction, an orb that swirled and held, the pure tension of it holding the water together. The monkey intercepted all the stones, one by one, evaporating them in the orb, palming it with one hand, then switching, then kicking it, and tailing it, flipping it with one hand, holding it on its head, complete mastery with the ball. There was no angle to hit it from. All they could do was continue throwing stones, only the slightest hesitation necessary to give the pampour the opening it needed.


    No. I don''t want to die. I''ll fucking kill myself if I die again.


    "Rocky. Tackle."


    Did he feel it? He felt it. The endless depth of the orb, swirling around a brilliant white calm, the blue rush, staring into it, the very hair of the skin get plucked and as you draw closer, the gravity of crashes over you, the droning sound of kinetics overcoming until it is all you can hear, until it was all you can see. And it is massive in your small hands, larger than the world itself, burning white hot, the waves crashing open, the orb trembling and that''s when you know you have to let it go, hurling it with all your strengthen into the flying stone, a white explosion just before you-


    "KILL HIM, ROCKY."


    A lone rock scuttled, hidden by the swooping curtains of mist, the fading vapour, its orange crab legs, skating across the pebbles of the blown-up, tackling stone. In each blink, the legs disappeared, leaving only a scuttling noise and a fading shadow in the mist. Yet in silence, in the dim awakening of waiting for the end, that hearts bested too loud and the anticipation too deafening, to see what was right in front of them.


    What was death? To Rocky, death was the crushing of a million stones.


    It sprung, his right claw, a solid right punch to its jaw, burning white with what he knew, as the power to smash through rocks. The monkey twisted and turned, using its flexibility just enough to turn its head and turn its chin. It flailed, limbs folding, but caught itself with its tail, trying to spring away. A rock caught the back of its head, causing it to stumble forward yet again into the opposite claw, the opposite side of the jaw, a flush connection, sending it sprawling backwards. It wiped its mouth, smearing away the blood it might have coughed up and took a deep breath. Rocky sprang forward; the pampour spat it all out. The gentle flood of water, small, but deadly, like a bullet shot out of a gun, knocking Rocky right on his exposed head and following it up with an uppercut to his exposed underside where his legs gripped onto the fist and followed along as the monkey subconsciously retracted its hand and then jumping onto its face, all six of its legs latching on his two claws going to town at pulling and tugging at the monkey''s silly little hair on the top of its head, outright and out-of-place like it was spouting out water from an invisible blowhole and Rocky could tear it off, the water itself able to be battered and bruised. The monkey screeched and began flipping and dashing, less about finesse than pure movement, contorting its body in devilish ways before finally tearing Rocky off by blowing water into his shell. Again, the monkey palmed his hands together, forcing a ball of pure, pulsing water in between as Rocky trembled, pointing a claw towards it-


    "Wait," he said. "Wait until it finishes."


    They waited. The humming collection of water the only lie in the silence. They breathed, readying themselves for the explosion to come.


    Rocky... You are the strongest, aren''t you?


    "Dwebble!"


    The monkey created its ball, the ball of mass destruction, held it in its hands, sweat pouring down its body. This will end, in one way or the other. It took a step back and then flung with all its strength.


    "Rocky. Rockstorm."


    It had never once worked in practice. But now...


    On the precipice, they stood on the narrowest of cliffs. Looking down. Closing their eyes. And dancing.


    Hundreds of rocks flew against one, singular blue orb. The first stone flung made contact. And the world exploded, the whole world going white.


    Then black.