Subject: [PW!] Silent Whismur Date: Mon, 31 Mar 2003 20:25:31 +0100 From: "Steffan Alun" <steffan.alun@virgin.net> Organization: Virgin Net Usenet Service Newsgroups: alt.games.nintendo.pokemon [NS: If I'm not mistaken, this is a it longer than my past fics. It also took a bit longer, but went at a pace that I think will be kept up in future fics. What I'm basically trying to say is that this is probably the style I'll be using in most fics from now on, especially if I start interacting. I feel that there are more elements of humour involved. There are a few references here to the chat. I'm not sure how many people will spot them, since I don't really have a clue who's actually reading these - wave if you're there - but dated humour appeals to me, so I expect to cringe in the future as I look back on this. Sorry about the long NS introduction - I don't often bother talking about how I feel about anything I send, and it's five to one in the morning, so you'll have to live with it.] Lady Gaucherie was sorting through her mail. It was her last chance to do so before going on a wonderful holiday. The sun, the sea, the posh hotels, the impeccable service - holidays were the reason Lady Gaucherie lived. She was sitting next to the table in the west dining room in her dressing gown and slippers. "Shall I clean the toilets before you go?" called Sid, her cleaner. "Of course you shall," replied Lady Gaucherie curtly. "Have you cancelled the milk?" "Yes I have." "Locked all the upstairs doors?" "All fifteen million of them," came the sarcastic reply. "Good," said Lady Gaucherie. As far as she was concerned, fifteen million was not an unreasonable amount of doors. She continued sorting through her mail. A big load today - three letters. "You're ready to take the Pokémon, aren't you?" she called again. "Yes," said Sid. "Swellow, Beautifly and Marrill are all ready to come back to my place for the next few weeks." "Ah, good. That's..." Lady Gaucherie stopped. "Wait. What about Whismur?" Sid cringed. There was nothing in the world he wanted to do less than take his employer's Whismur into his home. "I'm afraid we don't have room for Whismur on top of the others," said Sid. "What? That's nonsense! Whismur's just an icky-wicky thing. He won't take up much room." "Not right now, maybe," said Sid. "But he's on the verge of evolution. We won't be able to handle him then. We haven't got enough experience in taking care of Pokémon as it is, and we have no idea how Whismur will behave once he's evolved. He'd be far better off with experts, and we..." "No! I know what you're about to say, and I'm not doing it. My little Whismur will not spend weeks in the Daycare Center. They're so...impersonal there. You'll have to take him." "Ok, I'll take him," said Sid, "as long as I can keep him in his PokéBall." "Over my dead body is Whismur going to be cooped up in his PokéBall while I'm away having fun. Find me a better home for him, or you'll have to take him yourself. And no PokéBalls." "Actually," said Sid, "come to think of it, I do know someone who can take care of Whismur." "Yes?" "He's very expensive, though." "Money's no object." "Good." Sid had been working towards this goal the entire time. "I have a cousin in Johto who's quite good with Pokémon. His name's Mike. I'll call him now." PokéWars!: Mike Smith Silent Whismur Steffan Alun Mike was over the moon. He'd been sent a PokéBall and a hefty sum of money. If he could return the PokéBall with no damage done to its content, the sum would be doubled. Easy money. "Thanks, Sid," he said to his cousin over the phone. "Yes, it just came through the PC now. Thanks again. It'll really help. Bye." Mike smiled for the first time in days, maybe weeks. At last, he had some of the money needed for his daughter's operation. It was very fortunate that his cousin happened to work for a rich woman with an obsession for spoiling her Pokémon. Mike released Whismur. He'd never seen one before. It was round and mostly pink, with yellow on its feet and ears. It had one blue eye and one red eye, a small mouth, and tiny paws. Mike removed the red ribbon on its head, wondering why all rich women insisted on giving their Pokémon ribbons. "Alright, so far so good," said Mike. It had been twelve seconds and nothing terrible had happened. "Whee?" said Whismur softly. "Hello," said Mike. "I'm Mike. I'm going to be looking after you for the next few weeks." Whismur stared back. He opened his mouth and started screaming. "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHAAAAAWAAH!" "No nononono no NO!" cried Mike frantically. "Don't do that. No. That's naughty, bad Whismur BAD Whismur!" "WHAAAARGH!" "I mean, sorry, GOOD Whismur. Be a good Whismur and be quiet, won't you?" "WHARGHAAAAAAAAWAAAAAAAH!" "Oh, for...please, Whismur, be quiet." Whismur once again gave his opinion of being quiet in the form of the loudest scream in the world. Mike considered calling him back into the PokéBall, but remembered his orders. PokéBalls should only be used in emergencies. "Sid?" said Mike, on his phone. "Is screaming like a prostitute who's lost the use of her legs considered an emergency?" "No," said Sid. "That's considered daytime." "Wh..." "Not just the day, of course." "Ho..." "Sometimes he'll scream for hours on end." "Un..." "You can try feeding him, of course. Or singing to him, he likes that sometimes. Or giving him a toy. Battles are often a last resort." "Ba..." "Bye." "No, I was going to say ba..." Mike was speaking to a dial tone. He replaced the phone. "Right, feeding time." He cut a few slices of bread. He considered putting butter on them, but decided that Pokémon probably didn't appreciate the fine art of food decoration. "There you go, Whismur." Whismur too the slices of bread, and stopped screaming. He took a bite of one slice. He appeared to assess the situation. "WHAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" Mike despaired for a few seconds, and recovered quickly. A toy, he thought. He looked around. A Newton's cradle! Perfect! "WHAHAHAAAAARGH!" Whismur didn't bother stopping its wailing this time. The beauty of a ball causing other balls to make yet another ball move without any visible movement from the middle balls did not, oddly enough, fascinate Whismur to a point where it felt that crying was boring. "Eating doesn't work, a toy doesn't work..." Mike realised something. Why not combine the two? He'd bought a Kinder Egg to give Shelley, but he could get her another snack. He unwrapped the egg and passed it to Whismur. Whismur ate the chocolate quickly and spat out the plastic egg that contained a toy. It was a small plastic boat that had to be put together from tiny parts. Whismur was less than pleased with the boat, as its construction required fingers. "WHURGHAAAAAH!" Singing, though Mike. What songs do I know? None, really. Let's put on the radio. The radio was playing a new single by hardcore rapper Kry's Munnie. The heaviness and decidedly mediocre explicit lyrics combined to make a sound that was considered pleasant only in the most unpleasant areas of Hell and in night clubs (assuming that three extra drum tracks had been added to the mix - it was too soft otherwise, of course). Whismur screamed twice as loud. "That's the spirit," said Mike. "You're singing along, aren't you? Yes you are! Yes you...oh, for crying out loud." "WHAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHUH!" "I didn't mean that literally." There was one thing left that he could try. A battle. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fifteen minutes later, Mike was at work. It was technically his day off - having never missed a day in three years, Mike's store of days off was quite impressive. His current plan was to take one day a week off to raise money for Shelley. He could continue this schedule for three or four months, but being the head of the branch and not having an assistant made things difficult. Fortunately, he could do some work today while settling Whismur. He headed for the lunch room. The lunch room was actually the conference room for most of the day. Between the hours of twelve and one, however, it was used for eating. To be honest, it was used for eating throughout the day, but it was OFFICIAL during the lunch break. Mike made his way over to a group of accountants in the back of the room. "Hello," he greeted the four men and two women who were eating by a round table. "Good afternoon, sir," said one of the men, while the other five looked confused and whispered "who's he?" to one another. "I was wondering if you could help me with a personal matter." Seeing the shocked and disgusted looks that appeared on the group's face, he quickly added, "I need to sort out my Pokémon." Mike pulled on a rope, which revealed a gagged Whismur tied to the end. "Why have you tied him up like that?" asked one of the others, horrified. "He doesn't like to be cooped up in a PokéBall." "But being tied up and gagged is exactly his cup of tea, is it?" "..." "I'm British." "Anyway, I need someone to battle this Whismur. My cousin told me it might stop the crying. It'd help me out." Quick on the initiative, the group quickly went to retrieve their own PokéBalls. If the head of branch wanted a battle, he'd HAVE a battle! And if he happened to promote the opponent, that'd simply be a nice bonus. When they returned, one of the women offered to go first. "I could do with the experience too," she said. "I had a Magcargo stolen from me a few months ago, so my new Pokémon's a work-in-progress." They cleared a small area of chairs and tables and released their Pokémon. Mike untied Whismur, and the woman released her Pokémon - a Fearow. "How clichéd," said Mike. He had no idea why. "Fearow, use Agility to speed yourself up and get an edge on the opponent!" "I think it knows what its own moves do," said Mike. "And even if it didn't, why would it care about strategy? Surely it..." "Peck!" "WHARGH!" "Oi!" "What?" "Don't hurt it - I want it to stop crying." "You wanted a battle, you're getting a battle!" said the woman, forgetting herself slightly. "Erm...sir." "Ok, ok. Let me get a move in." Mike clicked his knuckles. "Whismur..." "Whis?" "...erm..." "Wha?" "...hit it." "..." "Run into it or something." "..." "Tackle attack?" "..." "No tackle, eh?" A few of the men started laughing and stopped just as suddenly, having reconsidered their actions. "Scratch?" "..." "Pound?" Whismur ran into Fearow, hitting the bird with his tiny paws. "Ah, NOW we're getting somewhere!" Mike smiled. "Would you like to borrow my Pokédex, sir?" asked a man from another table. "It'll tell you what moves your Whismur knows." "Oh, right, thanks," said Mike, flustered. "Thankyou." He took the Pokédex and pointed it at Whismur. He checked the screen. "This is quite a handy device," said Mike. "Where can I get one?" "We...erm...MAKE them here, sir," said Sharon, the secretary. "No we don't," said Mike. "We make a PHONE ADD-ON to the PokéGEAR. Completely different." "Ah," said Sharon. "Right. Then I've been lying to my friends about what I do for a living." "What? Sharon, you're our secretary! How can you not know what we do? Your job is..." "By the way, go with Uproar." "What?" "As Whismur's next move. Use his tempramental nature to your advantage." "Alright..." said Mike. "Whismur, use Uproar!" Whismur obeyed. He thrust his body at Fearow with all the strength of his lack of self-control. Fearow was momentarily knocked down. "Use your Growl attack, Fearow!" "NO!" shouted Mike, but it was too late. Fearow was Growling. The noise would surely make Whismur many times worse than before. Fearow was tackled down again. It was shocked - Whismur seemed to have suffered nothing of the Growl. Mike checked the Pokédex. It didn't contain much information about why Whismur would have been unaffected by Growl. Maybe it was an old one. Fearow, overcome by a newfound urge to Growl until Whismur was affected, flailed about as Whismur kept attacking in an Uproar. Fearow was knocked out. "Keep the opponents coming," said Mike, now feeling rather cocky. The next opponent was a researcher's Parasect. "Slash it, Parry," came the command. Parasect Slashed at Whismur, but Whismur was too wild to notice. He continued to beat his opponent, barely pausing to notice that the opponent had changed. "New tactic," said the researcher. "Use Spore." "Wha'?" cried Mike. "Don't do that! The whole point of doing this is..." Whismur was covered in Parasect's Spore. It wasn't having an effect. "Huh?" Mike checked the Pokédex. Apparently, Whismur wouldn't sleep while in an Uproar. "This is the best Pokémon I've ever seen!" exclaimed Mike. "Why isn't it seen more often?" "It's foreign," said one of the three translators emplyed by the company. "It's from Hoenn." "Yes, I know," said Mike. "That's where I got it. But why isn't it used in any leagues?" "WHAAAAAARGHAAAAAAHAHAAAAWW!" "Actually, never mind." Whismur was now out of its Uproar. The Spore was taking its toll. Whismur drifted to sleep. Mike, thrilled at the new developments, scooped him up in his arms and carried him out. Looking back, he saw that the entire room - excited by the mid-meal battles - were fighting one another's Pokémon. "Someone's going to be in trouble for that," Mike told the sleeping Whismur. "Good job it's my day off." [FYI: I have no concrete plans for Mike in the near future, so feel free to interact if you like. I reserve the right to make him go mental, though, since his daughter's dying. Also, unless I've missed a post, Mike is the first non-NPC to have a Hoenn-specific Pokémon. Woo.] -- Steffan http://iceduck.pkmn.co.uk Go there now. No, NOW.