Re: Through the Eyes of a Flareon ~ [PG] - Book Two
“You made no—”
“And worst of all,” the altaria continued, her eyes narrow and her tone conveying implications of something close to hurt, “you disrespect our colony.” Further explanation of the statement was clearly desired as everyone remained silent. “The Usster Colony was founded by Retsu, a most honourable a flygon who had at heart the interests of stray pokémon with nowhere to go. The very purpose of our colony is its multiculturalism—the unique acceptance of any pokémon, regardless of species, gender, type or past conflictions who have no place in the world, or who may have been rejected from their previous homes and families.” She scanned the room, noticing as Azure shifted a little uncomfortably.
Nobody spoke for a few seconds and all seemed dead silent. Zaion glanced with minor desperation to the flareon beside him and Tarla noticed, eager to resolve the issue and get her medical aid.
For around five seconds, the lead rhyhorn merely looked on, a judgemental mind making its decision. “While I cannot understand your acceptance of any pokémon who simply asks your favour, I accept it.” For a moment Tarla was surprised but relieved, but the rock type was not finished. “But I cannot stand idly by while a hypocrite tries to tell us how disrespectful we are when your disrespect started this entire battle! Traitors!”
“I think you have the wrong idea of what a traitor is,” Zaion proposed with etched scepticism, watching as the pokémon a few metres from him flared up with anger. “How are we traitors for destroying your territory? Disrespectful, yes,” he started, throwing a small glare to Etire, “but not traitors.”
“You are not just traitors to us. But the whole of your kind,” the rhyhorn hissed.
“To...houndoom?” Zaion questioned in confusion, turning his head on an exaggerated angle.
“No,” she grunted, “to every pokémon who ever lived.”
With a face of shock and then confusion, followed by the addition of near-amusement, the houndoom looked to Tarla, who relayed his expression. The drama of the situation was blown far out of proportion. “Look. I think we better just negotiate some kind of—”
“I already told you,” boomed the rhyhorn, rearing for exaggerated effect, “we do not make peace with traitors. That includes you Rokont scum!”
“Rokont?!” blurted Derino with his gruff edge, silencing the entire room. His bark was so abrupt and direct that nobody’s eyes rested anywhere but to him. Some of the smaller geodude and a few diglett, who had emerged from the ground to listen in, cowered uncomfortably under his infuriated scowl. He puffed his chest out and, too far from a wall to be able to hit one, dropped to the ground and thrust a fist directly beneath where he stood, the floor giving a small shudder. He rose slowly with broad shoulders raised around his neck, and he glowered at the rhyhorn with such wrathful pupils that even she looked on with a tiny instigation of shock. “Those weak, cowardly, frail-minded desecrators are in no way associated with my brothers and sisters,” he snarled with a whisper of disgust, his lips curling back, framing long, sharp teeth. “How DARE you correlate the likes of those screwed up, insidious bastards with my pack mates.” He plodded steadily and purposefully toward the rhyhorn, who narrowed her eyes and coloured her lips with corresponding scorn as he approached, stopping inches before her face. “I would sooner skin my own body and hang myself by my jaw than willingly cooperate with the Rokont Organisation.” His breath was foul; the rhyhorn merely glared back at him.
Silence flooded the room. Not a single strand of hair swayed; not the smallest pebble shifted. The breeze didn’t dare enter the cavern, no muscle chancing a twitch. Breaths entered and exited bodies with unfamiliar gradualness; no eyelid fell over any pupil.
Ears ticked to the sound of spluttering, and a single body moved, seizing on the ground in small shivers.
“She’s in danger,” Tarla snapped, breaking the silence almost nobody would have dared to shatter otherwise. The lead rhyhorn, who she remembered was called Thunderquake, turned to her with reluctance, quickly eying the granbull before her while doing so. “She was attacked by one of your rhyhorn. Now look what’s happened.” Everybody turned back, and the flareon began to stir as she groaned with pain, failing to regain consciousness. “She needs desperate help or she’ll bleed out.”
“What do I do?” the houndoom questioned a little anxiously, capturing the lead rhyhorn’s attention.
“We do not inflict wounds with intention to heal them afterwards. I do not know how to tend to your friend’s wound.”
The granbull took another step, causing her eyes to flick back to him. “Your subordinates better have some way to deal with this,” he growled, glare firmly set. “You made the mistake. You will help us fix it.”
“The only mistake made was by your paw. It was your appearance in our territory that began this feud, and then your reckless destruction which cost us damage to our lands and you...” She moved her head to the limp flareon soaking in her own blood and narrowed her eyes. “I think you can guess.”
The granbull roared, and Zaion was sure he was going to strike the rock type in front of him, but the blow never came, and the normal type loomed over her, working his intimidation. “You must atone for what that creature caused.” He threw an arm in a fallen rhyhorn’s direction, gesturing specifically to his bloodied horn.
“We must atone nothing!” she boomed, rearing on her back legs and coming down again with an enormous thud. “Your claims of indignation towards the Rokont Organisation were convincing; however, we still cannot be sure of your intentions. What could the... Usster Colony possibly want with our land?”
“Azure,” Tarla whispered hurriedly, and the glaceon turned. “Tend to the wound. Maybe your ice can help.”
The ice type gave a brief nod and warily glanced about, making her way slowly between the enemy pokémon as they sneered at the prospect of their target slipping from their grasp. On her way past Splash, she uttered, “Come.” The two stopped by Dusty and the flareon groaned another time, her eyes still closed. Azure guessed she wasn’t yet conscious but was probably trying to wake, and commanded Splash to wash the wound out.
Ever so carefully, he sprayed water into the wound, and the surrounding skin tensed, her leg twitching with discomfort. The water twisted and turned, becoming tinted with a scarlet hue. Azure moved her head to the other side, against the wall, and propped the flareon’s back half up, allowing the water to trickle down her fur and out of the opening. She set her back down and came around next to Splash.
“We were on our way to the Rokont base,” Etire interjected, and the surrounding pokémon renewed the strength of their scornful glares. He gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes. He felt like slapping himself in the face after realising that he had only made things worse.
“You see?!” Thunderquake exclaimed, and Tarla hopped up beside Derino, taking a chance and nearing the opposition. The geodude and rhyhorn nearby closed in, ensuring that they didn’t let anybody take advantage of their leader.
“Who, in their right mind, would admit to returning to their own base if they wished to keep their identity hidden?” she questioned and, except for the soft murmuring of Zaion and Azure, who discussed Dusty’s treatment, everyone was silent again. “We’re on our way there for an investigation.” When nobody spoke again, their accusations replaced with narrowed eyes, she continued. “There was an attack on our village without explanation and we decided that taking a party to the base would be a good way to figure it out. We have one of their teammates hostage, which is clear leverage for us.”
With a snort, the rhyhorn produced a belittling smile. The other pokémon followed her, and she broke into a rumbling, condescending chortle. Tarla frowned in surprise, completely unsure why their reaction had been as it had. She looked to Derino, who was just as confused. The rhyhorn continued, her laughter breaking off after a good few seconds. “You really aren’t from the Rokont Organisation,” she confirmed, and those around her nodded, clearly amused.
“Well what’s that supposed to mean?” Tarla queried, a frown taking her face.
The rhyhorn only looked at her with a face of cruel mockery. “Walking into their base with one insignificant minor will get you slaughtered; nothing more.”
“Not nothing more, leader,” one began, and she turned to him. “Perhaps they’ll have the privilege of being put on display outside of their base.” The room rumbled with more distasteful chuckles, and Tarla swallowed. It was obvious he hadn’t meant alive.
The granbull growled, clearly unhappy with her response. “We’re going there and that’s final.”
Thunderquake shot him a condescending glower. “Don’t expect us to erect gravestones in your wake.”
“Well, go on,” shouted a random rhyhorn, “get out of our territory. It’s death’s territory you want.”
“Okay, would you stop with the death thing?” Tarla screeched, but the rock types continued to chuckle between one another. “We’re going, regardless of what you think. We don’t care if you have a problem with it. We’ll go and just...figure out what to do once we get there.”
“Send me a messenger bird from the Underworld; I’ve always wanted to know what it’s like,” laughed a geodude, and the others slammed fists and shoulders into him in hearty amusement
Tarla shot a glare to the geodude, who didn’t even bother to look. “Look,” Tarla began, sure that Thunderquake was just as keen to see the “intruders” leave, “all we want is to pass through here.” She surveyed the area, sure that this wasn’t their most desirable path.
However, it seemed none of them were able to escape back through the hole. Had her wing been fine, she could shoot straight up like a sapling in good weather, and Rentana could teleport herself. However, there were complications with teleportation that Tarla didn’t understand; besides, the kirlia had specifically made it clear that she would not take advantage of her ability to teleport while her mate, who was unable to use the same ability, would be left behind. Tarla figured it was fair, although it unfairly limited her abilities, which was the part that annoyed her.
From the corner of her eye, Tarla saw several of the enemy pokémon beginning to wake, their grogginess slowly blinked or shaken out. She was glad that they were not currently in the middle of battle, as they would have to try to defeat the same enemies a second time. That thought was not at all comforting.
“Yes. I too want you gone.” Thunderquake tossed a head to the opposite side of the cave, where the two ralts evolutions were. “There’s two paths that way and more over there.” She threw her gaze to the left wall.
“I was going to make a proposition,” admitted the altaria, trying to stand tall. The quadruped rock and ground type raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “We don’t know the way out of here. You want us out, so it would only seem logical that you helped us through. Do you not agree?”
“An escort party?” Thunderquake questioned with obvious amusement. Tarla blinked and swallowed, keeping herself composed. “Are you all the age of two years?”
Once again the flareon spluttered and jerked, the wound caused by a horn sealed with ice. The houndoom looked up. “Your vicious beasts did this. Your efforts to make up for it would be...appreciated,” he said, almost controlling himself as he dipped his head to stare at her from an angle. The words seemed almost like a threat. The rhyhorn narrowed her eyes and snorted.
“Although I don’t appreciate your implication, you dog, I do believe that guidance on our part would benefit us both,” she answered, “as we do not live beneath the surface. We travel this way occasionally but our homes are on ground level. We would be making our way out anyway.”
“Exactly,” Tarla agreed with a civil tone, showing as much submission as she dared. If the rhyhorn needed to feel as if she was in control of the newcomers as well as her own, then the flying type was content, even reluctantly, to abide. It was only the colony pokémon’s pride that would have prevented that, and Tarla thought herself lucky being able to shelve it without a problem. Especially when she and others needed aid.
“Very well,” the rhyhorn began, looking to the fallen eeveelution upon the ground. Her expression was unreadable as she looked, eyes at half-mast, before she turned her attention elsewhere. “We will comply.” Before the altaria could light up with relief, she added, “But you must agree to follow our counsel at every turn. If we tell you to walk a narrow bridge, you walk a narrow bridge. If you must leap across a ravine...” She turned to Tarla, switching from a somewhat condescending voice to one hardened with seriousness. “You jump.”
“Ravines and bridges?” questioned the dragon and flying type, and the rhyhorn nodded. “Underground?”
“Yes... I was right,” the pokémon mused to herself, staring at the altaria through disapproving eyes. “Your inexperience rules out any possibility that you are Rokonts. Unless, of course, you are staging it.”
Tarla decided to keep her beak shut, somehow not interested or willing to acknowledge just how powerful and experienced each member of this mysterious syndicate was and simply nodded. “I’m relieved to see that we finally agree.” She readdressed the most recent statement, adding, “None of what you have seen is staged.” She moved her head tentatively toward the flareon and watched as the rhyhorn also laid eyes on her. The truth was relatively clear.
“Thunderquake!” boomed one of the woken rhyhorn, startling several pokémon in the room. The rhyhorn looked to him and addressed him with a questioning face, a little unfazed by his rage. “What are you doing? These pokémon blemished our land!” The room fell silent as the other rock and ground types began to listen. “Even if they are not Rokonts,” he continued, spitting the last word with contemptuous disgust, “they still pose a physical threat to us.”
“Wait a minute,” Etire began from a little ways behind the rhyhorn, who looked to him with a sneer. “We’ve just been sorting this out. We’ve had the clear and we’re good to go. You’re not entitled to spoil the agreement now.”
“They are fine, Jaskore,” Thunderquake told him simply. “Any trace of suspicion has been denied existence.” She moved her glare to the altaria and granbull. “Or, rather, mollified.”
“Leader, you are making a grave mistake. These pokémon are strangers. Outsiders.” He looked to her with such seriousness that Tarla wondered if he had dreamed something ridiculous about them in his period of unconsciousness that confirmed some sort of evil intentions. He took a step forward, his voice filled with wariness. “They cannot be—”
“Do not question my authority again,” Thunderquake boomed, her composure completely intact and her voice powerful.
She looked to him with a face nearly blank but tinged with unquestionable authority. The reciprocating rhyhorn watched with a face that clearly suppressed his anger, his features twitching with his effort to remain in control. The two shared silent exchanges of master and servant until the lesser rock type pulled his gaze away with a grunt of displeasure. He threw his glare to a fellow rhyhorn who looked to agree with him.
“My decision is solidified,” she announced, each pokémon in the cavern turning their attention her. “Does anybody else wish to oppose me?” She angled her head down with minor manipulation, showing off her large horn. As Tarla scanned the crowd, she concluded that it was the longest and densest of the entire crowd. She wondered if that alone had gained her position, or if it was a combination, or merely a recognised boost for her status as leader.
There was not a stir in the crowd as Thunderquake’s eyes brushed over each of her followers, the diglett – who Tarla was unsure was part of her clan or not – also remaining silent. The female rhyhorn gave a short exhalation of satisfaction, turning herself to Tarla with the intentions of discussing small details before they were presumably to head off.
“I do,” one voice echoed. There was no movement after the majority of the room turned their heads. The speaker waited as Thunderquake stared at Tarla’s fluff, exemplifying her disbelief, before she inched around and lay her sights on a geodude near the rhyhorn, Jaskore, who had previous spoken up. The rock and ground type stood his ground and Thunderquake noticed the corner of Jaskore’s mouth curl into a smile.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. The geodude swallowed.
“I believe that Jaskore has a valid argument,” he answered. To this Thunderquake turned her whole body, looking to the herd member with a challenging expression.
“So do I,” another female rhyhorn admitted and, with a snort, the leader increased the intensity of her glare. However, before she could speak, more raised their voices, beginning to lumber to the initial rebel. The numbers began to rise, to the others’ horror, and soon half the herd had sided with Jaskore. Etire and Rentana, behind the wall of back-turned rock and ground types, shook nervously as they realised that they had become cut off from the others. However, they were quick to realise that a rhyhorn and two geodude to their sides had not pledged their allegiance to the rebels, and stood their ground defiantly. They backed up, creating a small shield around the two psychic types, but luckily the traitors didn’t seem to yet notice their existence.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Thunderquake roared, her demand for an explanation firm and clear. Her temper rose and quickly peaked. “I am your leader! Anyone who dares to clash their armour with mine will be banished!”
Jaskore showed no visible response to the threat, simply smirking. “My horn may be second to yours in greatness, but the length of one’s horn is not all that defines a leader. My followers have recognised such.”
The rhyhorn nearly choked in response, booming, “Your followers?!” She scoffed, clearly detesting such a statement. “Your delusions far exceed your horn’s greatness; that is certain.”
“Silence!” the male boomed, his opposition only sneering without a shadow of respect for his orders. “You have reigned as leader for too long, Thunderquake. It is time...you stepped down.”
With an explosion of, “Traitors!” Thunderquake charged forwards, her rumbling steps alerting her supporters to her cause as they followed her into battle. They changed blindly toward Jaskore and his followers, the leader of which smirking with only accompanying disdain.
“Knock them down,” he commanded, and the majority of his followers obeyed without a second thought.
Continued in the next post...
Everyone who's still stuck here, Pe2k is Dead. It's sad, but it happened. Instead, we moved to...
Pe2k's spiritual successor! :D I'm Suicune's Fire there.
Last edited by Graceful_Suicune; 09-09-2012 at 04:14 AM.