-Wandering Weavile-
--An incomplete NaNoWriMo excerpt from Paupe/Asda
Sinnoh
Blaring lights from the headlights of police cars painted the cobblestone walls of nearby buildings as officers surveyed the home of a city official. They flooded the premises, in and out, scouring the grounds for clues—broken glass, threads of cloth, trails of anything recognizable.
“I… I don’t know, Officer.” The victim of the crime told a detective, “I felt something strike the back of my head when I opened the door. After that, I woke up and everything was gone. My gems, my pens, my clothes! ”
As he whined, the culprit looked on from the distance. In the trees with a sack made of burlap tossed over its shoulder was a Weavile. Its small form cast an equally small shadow on the trees behind; its dark fur keeping it well guised in the night as it calmly calculated and silently made its way out.
Back on the scene, a hand lightly felt over the pokemon’s footprint in the dirt. Its owner pulled his hand back making a thoughtful hum of recognition.
“Daryl? Daryl, what’ve you got?” an officer called over. He looked a bit miffed, probably thanks to the lack of information the homeowner was able to give. Daryl himself sighed. The signs were all too familiar to him.
“It’s heading north,” He said, “A smaller pokemon with quite a bit more weight than it’s accustomed to; More than likely our suspect with its heavy load of loot. Plus, with these similar signs, if the thief is the same as well it’s probably already halfway to Floaroma by now.”
“Huh…” the officer huffed, drawing a cig from his pocket and lighting it before continuing. “Should we follow it then?”
“No, not we.” Daryl responded. “It shouldn’t take a squad to take down a pokemon. I’m sure I can handle it alone. You enjoy your smoke and worry about the cases in Jublife, I’ll handle this.” Finishing the sentence with a call, a Sentret made its way into view and pointed in the direction of the footprint. Daryl began the chase with a stride.
“…Heh, cocky ranger.”
Meanwhile, a fair distance north…
“There, that’s all of it.” A fairly feminine feline voice roared and reverberated from a small hole in the cave of Route 204. Inside was a fairly open area, den and meeting place of a gang of Ratata. The Weavile stood before their lead, a large Raticate with single lazy eye, with only the emptied sack and a dozen of Ratata between them. The walls of the nook were lined with various human clothes, both formal and informal. Most were stained, chewed, and from the looks below, well digested as well.
The boss of the Ratata glared over the goods scattered before him with a mischievous grin, waiting just a moment before he waved his boys to grab the bag and sort through the loot for what they wanted, all creeping through the clothes mostly, and sniffing its aroma with an over-fascinated vigor.
“Ugh…” The Weavile groaned in disgust, shivering a bit in her stance. It took her long enough to get used to the walls, but she could never get used to the fetishes of these filthy rats. “This is the last one. I’m done repaying you now, aren’t I?”
“Hmm…” The Raticate’s hum trailed off as he patiently thought on her position with their little hole-in-a-cave organization. A few of his grunts brought a single, unwashed and over worn sock his way, to which he sniffed and shuddered in, a sign of high quality. “Mm-yes, yes. Fine grade. You’ve proven yourself worthy of your freedom.”
She scoffed. Worthy was an understatement; it was her Arceus-given right that he was merely impeding to get his rocks off.
“Thank you…” She muttered.
“What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.” The Raticate said under the cloth on his face.
“Thank you!”
“Thank you, what?”
“Thank you, Godfather!” The Weavile shouted, grunting in disgust afterward and immediately dismissing herself the room. He smirked. Though the lead of this rag-tag group of Ratata, he wasn’t a mob boss. They were his sons and he was indeed her godfather—though, moreso a stepfather who was a great friend of her father’s and promised to take care of her when she had no one else left to. But he was always crooked, and in the years after the Weavile’s father’s death he worked her to the bone.
“Developing” her “Skills” for “Survival” merely meant training her ability to steal for his personal gain, but she was quite wise. She made a deal that he wouldn’t be able to refuse: that she wouldn’t use her newly found abilities to rip him a new hide so long as she stole that smelly bastard enough “goods” to last he and his sons a long while. She’d reached that point today and it was finally her chance to go.
But someone who could bring him stuff this good wasn’t someone he’d like to lose. She was an ice type, at home in the far north and far beyond his reach. He needed her to settle down somewhere nearby so he could pay visit and request more favors of her. To this end he already had a plot, long before she grew the balls to stand up to him. He pulled one of his boys away from her bounty and gave him the order.
“Go get Bruno… Tell him it’s time.”
---
The next morning came quite quickly for the Weavile and though the sun was still rising she was already out on the trail. She didn’t need the Raticate’s absolute word really, she could’ve left anytime she wanted. That was, after all, how he raised her to think. But, for her father’s sake and honor, she stayed. She didn’t want anyone to think that he had raised a heathen.
… Though that’s what her stepfather turned her into.
…Nevermind that. With a small shoulder pack she’d swiped early on during her ‘career’ of sorts, the Weavile took her first steps into freedom with stride. There was quite the pep in her step. She’d wanted to get as far away from the cave as possible for the longest of time, but had only successfully gotten as far as town, what with all the swiping she was ordered to do. Either way, she was about to make up for all of that anyhow.
Her bag was loaded with gems, rings, valuables, unmentionables—Things that she found to be the most guarded in the homes of humans. They were her “payment” of sorts, all things that her stepfather found to be irrelevant to his personal wants; short of the undergarments. Those were ‘gifts’ from him to her, but having gone through what she had to in order to get them this Weavile wouldn’t stoop so low as to actually keep them. She shuddered at even the thought.
The plan was simple: She would merely sneak her way over to the city police department, drop off the bag in a place where some human in the blue uniforms would find it, and then leave for the hills immediately after. Things returned, her conscience would stop nagging her long enough to at least drop her stepfather cold turkey and let her get to another city far away.
Of course, that’s when it happened…
“Tangela, use Vine Whip!”
Before she could react or even turn to see her assailants, the Weavile found her limbs bound in vines and tugged to the ground. She struggled to get free, but swore once she found it to be to no avail.
“Great job, Tangela.” The voice said again in human tongue. She swore again; of all the bad luck in the world, to be caught by a trainer now of all times. “Hah, you little cat burglar. You didn’t honestly think you were actually going to get away this time did you?”
He walked around the entangled pokemon and give her a glimpse of his face, but authoritarian was all that she could personally describe it as. It was, afterall, how she saw all humans since none would pick her up. Green eyes, brown, poofy-yet-controlled hair. She felt that she would be curious to drag her claws through it if it weren’t for the fact that she was tied down at the moment…. Then realized what her thoughts were implying.
“Blech…!”
“So, what’s in the bag?” he pried, unzipping the shoulder bag on her back and reaching inside. She growled a bit under her breath “Why’d you ever bother asking?”
“Oh, ho… I see. The spoils of a recent run I take it?” He said, his voice remaining calm and cold, as if he were plotting something. Not sinister, bust still something… He then pulled a blade from his pocket, startling both her and her Tangela captor, and after closing her eyes in reflex she felt a sudden snap. It was her bag. He’d taken her bag! The weavile struggled against her loosened restraints but still found no relief, baring her teeth at this mysterious human. He chuckled at her effort though.
“You may be a pokemon, but that doesn’t make you innocent by default.” He said, handing her bag over to a Sentret that had made its way over during her blind struggle. He ordered it away, and then kneeled before his icy prisoner, grabbing her chin fiercely to force her head still as he stared into her eyes. She didn’t know what it was, but she felt compelled to return the gaze. “I’m going to be sure that you spend a long, long time making up for what you’ve done.”
A sense of fear washed over her. He was obviously not there to help, but the thought of what he would do with her scared her even more so. Though still, adrenaline started pumping through her tiny frame, and before both he and she knew it, she let out a roar and took a bite of that hand he had placed on her chin. In the moment he winced she grabbed one of the startled Tangela’s vines near her face and gave it a bite as well, it giving its own wail of pain and loosing its grip.
Weaving her way out of its grasp in a manner common to her species, the Weavile made a mad dash into the bushes. By the time she heard “Shit, get after her!” uttered by the human she was already far out of his pokemon’s reach.
---
Night fell and the fugitive was still on the loose. The pain in Daryl’s hand began to flare up again, and cursed himself for even getting carried away enough to place it near her. Being an ice-type, the Weavile could’ve ice-beamed his head off… Though, it was mostly because he would not have had to endure the now futile several hour chase to restrain the thing if he hadn’t. The little thief would be still be bound and apprehended.
He had no doubt that, with the unforeseen escape, the perpetrator really was halfway to Floaroma Town (if not already there) by now. He and his pokemon had not had a clue for what seemed to be hours. No matter though, he had at least recovered a bag filled with its stolen goods. What it was doing with the loot he would never know until he caught it, but that didn’t matter so long as he had something to show for his efforts. He’d ponder on how to find her later.
“Come on Sentret,” he said, a huff of frustration forcing it way past his lips, “It’s time to get going.”
The Sentret whined a bit. It was perched on its tail for the search, a position that it was quite comfortable with, and, though its partner couldn’t tell, the weavile’s scent was still in the air. A strong one, that; it was the season afterall, and there was actually quite enough musk floating around to overwhelm the poor thing if he poked his nose in the wrong direction. However, Weavile weren’t very common in the area, so he could make quite the distinction… and the longer he smelled it, the more he wanted to—
“Sentret!” Daryl called again. He was already quite a ways away. With his own little sigh, the Sentret quickly dropped down from his tail and scurried the ranger’s way. Once they were out of sight Weavile stopped holding her breath and made her way down from a high tree she was well-hidden perched in. She panted for both air and to work the adrenaline out of her system… Or at least what she thought was adrenaline. It was getting really hard to think at the moment, and she really needed to think.
With that human in possession of her bag her objective of getting the things back to them was accomplished. She’d never get off the hook with the townspeople, but she didn’t have to worry about that very much. After all, once she was long gone, that wouldn’t even matter. It was then that her stomach interjected by grumbling in with its own position on her situation; that she was hungry and hadn’t eaten all day since she was running from that guy…
“Aw, Crap!” she muttered under her breath. She also had enough food to carry her for her trip in that bag. That bastard had not only taken her only method of carrying things around, but he’d also snagged her dinner. If anything, he was the crook in this equation. What hypocracy!
It was then that she heard the buzz of rapidly lapping wings. She quickly looked up as a large shadow passed overhead, quite low and looking to be seeking a place to land. She figured it was a trainer riding atop his oversized servant and plotting to land and set up camp for the night. Luck was definitely on her side if it was.
Though she was not but a short trek away from the cave for a quick restock, she didn’t want to confront her stepfather again for a long, long time. Perhaps never at the rate things had been moving since she left the nook in the wall… Still, providing that she’s able to get a meal off the creature landing nearby, she might be able to at least be able to say that the arduous thievery training he gave her early on had paid off.
Her stomach growled again. She muttered her reply.
“Right, right… I’m going, I’m going…”
It didn’t take long for the ice-cat to find where the thing landed. As she arrived she quickly slipped her way behind a bush and observed. Much to her disappointment there was no trainer with this one, just a lone green… honestly, she hadn’t a clue. This was entirely her first time seeing a pokemon of this shape and size. It wasn’t too big, but was still far from small; was green, with red ‘goggles’ over its focused eyes; and had a pair of large, dimond-like wings. Its smoothly textured skin screamed “dragon” but its looks hinted far more toward that of an insect’s… A freak of nature it seemed.
Though she was certainly in no place to complain. Freak or not, he’d just returned with firewood and after a few quick sparks of light, they were lit and slowly growing from a warm glow. Then, she noticed it lean down toward the flames and give them a small blow. Suddenly the flame grew four times its size in a small burst.
“Yep, definitely a dragon.” She thought, slowly creeping closer as she noticed it pulling something from elsewhere. Around its shoulder was a strap she hadn’t noticed before; a human bag that she’d seen mail carriers running away from dogs in the city with. It pulled from it what seemed and smelled to be fresh berries, which he was placing onto a stick and slowly leaning toward the flames. After a moment, the aroma of delicious cooked Pecha berry began to flood the senses of the young Weavile, and it wasn’t much longer before her belly decided to make it well known. Loudly.
“Shit!” she swore in whisper from her brush. “Shut up.”
Grumble!
“Augh, you’re going to give me away”
“Hello?”
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