Stealing and the Slakoth
Pokemon to get: Slakoth
Ready for grading.
Strewn across Terren’s room were clothes, books, and even a toy Pokeball. Standing there, he stared in shock as the police documented the damage, walking around him as if he wasn’t even there. They spoke over his head, not bothering to use code, as if he weren’t even there. It didn't make much of a difference to him, dazed and distant as he felt, but a small part of him incessantly nagged him in his mind, reminding him that the Officers were being rude.
When the police left, he slowly set about putting his room to rights. A few things were torn and broken, but unwilling to throw them away, he put them aside in a pile.
“The police might need them for evidence,” He told himself aloud, trying to excuse the illogical choice to keep a pair of torn socks he had never liked anyway. They were wool, from his grandmother, and itchy.
Finally, the room was clear, or as clear as it would ever get. The broken sand bottles, from long-ago carnivals, had leaked colored grains into his rug, and the feet of so many observers had ground them in too far to ever be removed.
Reluctantly, Terren flicked the lights off, waiting a minute to be able to see again before stepping towards his bed. The grains of sand squished beneath his feet, invisible in the lightless room. His vision was very poor in the dark. His grandfather had always blamed it on his eyes. Pale blue, the old man had claimed, meant one could see well in the light but horribly in the dark, though Terren was nearsighted anyway and thus wasn’t sure he believed this.
“Sleeeeeppp,” Something hissed, and the malevolent sound made Terren jump. Banging into the bed, he turned, racing for the light switch again, tripping over various things in his path. Mostly, his own feet.
“Sleeeeeeeppppppppp,” It muttered again, as Terren finally got to the light. Wincing only slightly at the burst of brightness, he flung wild glances around the room, looking for the cause of the sound. However, whatever it was hadn’t been found by the police earlier- Unless it had just arrived- So he doubted he would be able to find it.
Finally, he looked where the Police hadn’t thought to, behind his computer. There, a lazy brown Pokemon clung to the power box. It was a Slakoth, he realized. And it had been repeating “Slotthhhhhhhh,” not “Sleeeeeepppp.”
Logic failed him. Forgetting that this mild, perhaps even near-comatose, creature couldn’t have wrecked his room, he snatched it up angrily. The Pokemon only curled around his hand and lay still again, eyes closing, with what Terren swore was a self-satisfied smile.
Reaching for his only Pokemon, Terren flung the Pokeball sitting on his desk. It left a dent in the wall, but he was too upset to care.
“Caterpie, get it! Tackle!” He proclaimed, flinging an arm theatrically in the direction of the Slakoth, which he had shaken off onto the desk. His Caterpie slid across the desk towards it, before raising itself to leap at Slakoth. The Pokemon was loafing around, and didn’t get out of the way. However, it was larger and sturdier than Caterpie. The little green bug simply bounced off without even irritating Slakoth.
Gaping as his only strategy was defeated without any effort, Terren stuttered for a moment, then closed his mouth to stop his own dithering. That, of course, was when Slakoth lazily reached over, and flung Caterpie off the desk.
Without orders, Caterpie used String Shot, webbing the Pokemon’s arm to the desk. This would stop it from attacking again, once Caterpie climbed up the desk, or so it hoped. Terren, however, seemed to gain a new idea from this. Holding the Caterpie up, he ordered it, “String Shot again, wrap it up. Try not to get the desk.”
His concern wasn’t for the furniture, but for his new strategy. The minute the Slakoth was bound, he snatched it and set Caterpie on the desk, nearly getting his hands accidentally webbed in the process. Throwing open the window, he made to throw Slakoth, when the Pokemon slipped. Instinct, and years of playing Football, made him fumble to catch the Pokemon cocooned in a round ball of thread. The edge of this thick string was finally trapped between his fingers, and luckily, it didn’t fray when he tugged on it.
At first, standing there holding the Slakoth out in the darkness by a few threads, he had thought of dropping it. It still looked unconcerned, however, and he felt his anger grow. The Pokemon didn’t even care that it had destroyed his room, ruined his otherwise good day. Twirling the thread, he prepared to throw the Pokemon. Unfortunately, unlike catching, this action wasn’t something he was good at. The Pokemon smacked into the wall, causing some paint flakes on the boards on the outside of the house, near the window, to fall away.
This time, however, the unusual ‘attack’ seemed to have an effect. The Slakoth went limp, almost unconscious. It was definitely dazed, Terren realized. On a whim, he pulled it back inside. There, Caterpie solved the question of what to do for him. It wouldn’t be until hours later when Terren realized that the lazy Slakoth had neither the strength, energy, nor motivation to wreck his room. Now, however, he took Caterpie’s unspoken advice anyway, by taking the Pokeball from the string it was hanging from at eye level, and pressing the round device into Slakoth’s webbed fur.
My hands have yet to build a village, have yet to find water in the barren desert, have yet to plant a flower, and I have yet to find the path that leads me... I have not loved enough, but the wind and the sun are still on my face.
I have yet to sow green fields, yet to raise a city, yet to plant a grapevine on each chalky hill... There is so much to build and so much to be, and my love is just beginning.