TEEN: transient shelter from the storm

[Unforgettable_Flygon]

transient shelter from the storm​

---

The Exile - a banished slugcat - travels the ruined Hoenn land, fulfilling a request bestowed upon them by Professor Birch. Along the way, they dream of and finally runs into the Venator - their former victim, now respawned. The duo are forced to come to terms with the Great Cycle, and their opposing beliefs about forgiveness and death.

---

Spoiler: Content Warnings

- This fic will contain references to death.

---

• EDIT 1: Chapter 1 revised and amended due to Spiteful Murkrow's suggestions below, as of 5/9/2023

---

The Exile trudged through mud and silt, using their spear as a cane. Slipping was a hazard that they would rather not get accustomed to – the last time it happened their pelt had become matted for two cycles straight. They stared straight ahead, the sigil of the Outlaw burned into their forehead.

Any place was better than their old colony. Crying was easy. It had been their coming of age ceremony yesterday.

A big festival, of course, meant for all the young slugcats of the village. They’d grabbed the other slugcats who were born that cycle and passed out gifts.

Closing their eyes, the events of a few days ago played in their head. They’d drunk a bit too much wine. Angry words, an arguement, the the head of a flashing spear.

The pained screams of death, dread, trial.

Banishment.

---

The Exile hung their head as they faced their parents. Outside the colony walls, they felt so small, so insignificant against the expanse of the mountain.

“You heard the elders. He’s gonna be kicked out, and there’s nothing we can do about it,” the male slugcat began. He smoothed down his salmon-pink pelt. “You’d better go; it’d not be a good look to stay when the verdict has been decided.” His voice was calm and understanding, despite the innate gruffness to it.

The Exile could only stare at their feet, unable to muster up even a simple response.

The other slugcat, dark brown with a noticable lilt to her voice, noddded. “It was an accident, and we know our son didn’t truly mean it. It’s okay.” Had any other being bothered to watch her, they might have noticed she was on the verge of crying. It was hard to blame her; only a parent could ever understand the pain of losing one’s child.

“No. You know how the elders are. Stubborn as fuck, that is. Come on. They’ll get suspicious if we wait too long.” The crack of disdain was starting to show. Just like his mate, he didn’t beleive the verdict was fair. But just as the elders had outlined, the verdict was final. Nothing could be done.

The brown slugcat watched her mate walk back. “I can’t leave you out there like this...” She held up a small, crude backpack.

A flash of recognition appeared in the Exile’s eyes.

“We’re not meant to give this to you, but... you might as well have it. It’s yours, anyway. Promise me you’ll stay safe out there.”

“How did you-” The Exile began to speak, but their mother cut them off.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll think we set fire to the bag and all its contents; I’ll make sure of that.” A slight pause. “We’ll remember you, don’t worry.”

Upon noticing the tiny nod of the Exile, she handed over the backpack, and followed her mate back to the colony...

---

They sighed as the first drops of flood-rain fell, fear in their muscles and eyes pushing them forward. Reaching the old town was paramount before the next flood-cycle came--

Soon, their pelt began to sting from the impact force of the rain.

They had to hurry! Being crushed by bullet rain was not on their list of priorities. All the lights in the city were dark. As expected for the dead of night, of course.

Going under a porch would be a risky endeavor, despite their body being meant to squeeze through small gaps like a Kantoian Furret – despite their species being unable to make use of Moves in any capacity. Getting stuck or discovered would not bode well.

Around another house, they noticed one of the windows was left open. The sounds and scents of a sleeping human and their Pokemon wafted through. Explaining themselves to an on-edge human and their Pokemon would be something best avoided.

They sighed and turned to look around once more, heart leaping with hope upon seeing one of the buildings glowing with light, a little covered porch marking the entrance–

–and sank down to the planet’s core when they realized the doors had no visible opening mechanism.

The blurry lights from the other side of the frosted-door danced, taunting them. Hammering on it did nothing.

On the porch, the Exile curled up in a shivering ball, tears streaming down their face as the water inched ever-upwards.

Sleep claimed them as they waited for the end.

---

Professor Birch sat in his makeshift lab, hands in his face. What was he to do? Norman had once said his daughter was the absolute best Trainer alive – but after seeing her fail to stop the world from being flooded, he was less than certain.

Brendan... he was gone too. The thought almost made him want to scream. Why had he allowed this? Of course, being a Gym Challenger wasn’t strictly necessary for a research assistant, but Norman had insisted, it being a rite of passage after all – and one snap decision later, this was what it had come to.

The lawns of Littleroot Town had become a bog back then, squishing underfoot whenever one dared to tread on them. Hell, most of the Pokemon out back had been washed away by flood rain, never to return to their Trainers. He’d remembered the mildew that had began to show in the peeling walls of the lab years ago, when the apocalypse was just getting started. It reached just up to where his ankles had been. He shuddered. Thank the gods that the next storms in Lavaridge would not be that bad. Hopefully.

A banging at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Trainers weren’t expected now. It was the absolute dead of night, where everyone was supposed to be asleep – and what person would hike here to this town They’d have had to come from the opposite direction, and with the situation in Fortree? Probably a refugee, if he had to guess.

With a sigh, he pressed the “door open” button – the automatic system had stopped working a couple weeks ago; he really should have gotten that fixed – and paused.

Raindrops, crashing hard as bullets, struck his face. Ouch. What was on the front porch was reddish-brown, but it was far from a package. He picked up the unresistant bundle and brought it inside.

It was a slugcat, upon closer examination. He’d initially thought it a wild Furret due to the extreme darkness outside; really, he should have gotten new glasses way, way ahead of time. Shaking his head, he peeled off the slugcat’s backpack and set it down near his desk, before carrying the slugcat into a side room containing a bowl of water and kibble.

The next objective was up; examining the creature’s possessions. Inside the bag were three simple items; a knife, some sort of waterskin, and a firestarter. All of them looked like the sort of craftship he’d seen in Fallabour; even then it was the only other functioning settlement for miles.

The knife, despite its simple construction of wood and steel, was razor sharp and crafted to a high standard. He noted the waterskin was nothing extraordinary, made of tanned leather and stitched with canvas thread. The fire-starter was noticeably simple in form; a simple piece of curved metal with a chunk of flint.

A beat passed. He’d neglected to pick up the other item at the front door. The darkness and rain made it hard to tell what it was, but he brought it in anyway. It was a sharpened stick, worked crudely into a spear. He left it leaning against his desk too, just in case.

Hopefully the slugcat wouldn’t freak out when it woke up.

---

The Exile groaned as they woke up, spotting the food in front of them. It smelled rather like wood shavings, but still... they were hungry after traveling so far.

They took a bite; feeling the food go down their throat. It felt like swallowing sand, and they almost gagged. Still the gnawing hunger pushed them to continue despite the odd taste. Before long, the food was gone.

The taste of sawdust and sand still thick on their tongue and throat, the Exile took stock of the room. Everything looked clean, unnaturally so, causing a few shivers to run down their spine. Chemicals and weeks of accumulated dust stung their nose, and they immediately huffed and sneezed in an unsuccessful attempt to force the scent out of their lungs.

The room; completely bare save for the food bowl and blankets, with a regular square tiling on the walls. A single door at the front marked the entrance. It felt.. wrong, really; with everything so orderly it felt like a machine. Back at the colony the houses had their own hand-built charm to them.

Movement from outside made them tense up.

Something was opening the door.

---

Birch cursed the creaking door as he pushed it open. He was glad to see that the slugcat had finished all the food, but noise was not a good thing when it came to living beings - Pokemon, slugcats, or otherwise. They were... unpredictable, at the best of times.

What he was decidedly less pleased about was the creature itself, with its bared teeth and hostile glare. Shit, he should’ve taken the spear. At least he’d be able to defend himself then, despite killing others being something he would never truly resort to.

He raised his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.” There, hopefully that was enough.

Wait; he probably had to introduce himself. “My name is Birch.” OK. THAT was better. Slowly now, he thought. He’d dealt with many angry Pokemon when out on fieldwork, once, long ago. Then, the Floods had come and made him de facto envoy to the slugcats by experience and circumstance.

Time to see if his actions would pay off.

---

The Exile hissed and glared at the stranger who’d came in. It was a human; with an odd scent about them. They took in the thin, graying hair, the slightly cloudy eyes and the shaky posture; this was clearly an older human from some time before the Floods.

Their tail twitched incessantly and their ears pinned back – ready to strike.

The stranger raised their hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

It took a few moments for the words to register, but their eyes widened slightly. Something was familiar about that voice, despite the passage of time from when they'd first heard it. Buried under the faint whiff of fear was a scent, long since almost faded like a forgotten dream.

“My name is Birch.”

Their ears perked up.

The stranger – no, Birch – spoke.

---

This is a ridiculous crack-fic of Rain World X Pokemon but taken semi-seriously. Also, a reference picture of The Exile is provided for your convenience!

 

[Unforgettable_Flygon]

Birch thought he looked ridiculous, holding up his hands. He held his gaze and lowered his arms. Yeah, that was slightly better, he thought, as the slugcat relaxed.

“Rain’s still coming down.” he began. “You should stay for a few days.”

The only response he got was a stare and a nod. Soon, he turned and left, closing the door behind him.

He sat down and opened his laptop computer, typing up another log. There was almost nothing to report these days, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t do something to stave off boredom.

May’s game console was upstairs; a reminder of better times. Truth be told, he never bothered with video games until now, only playing them for a short while just to remember his child.

Was there really anything he could do? Tapping out notes on a laptop – powered by a generator now in need of refueling – he tried to write up some plans. The nearest place he could go was Fallabor City – the place now a slugcat enclave - though that would be quite the climb. Hell, he wasn't even working on diplomatic relations now; his age had made him stay in his lab much of the time.

The thoughts running through his head made him woozy. One thing at a time. He pulled up the starting gear recommendations for new Trainers – camping equipment, a small amount of potions, pokeballs...

Well! He did have some things. He had a couple backpacks’ worht of supplies, brought from home when he and his wife evacuated. These were in case his assistants needed them or if their gear wore out.

Moving over to the backpacks, he opened them as if expecting to find supplies inside. Nothing but empty air; the food and drink had long since been consumed during the apocalypse. Much of the tools had been packed away in their new home by now; all they were good for was storage of knick-knacks.

Lavaridge was barely even a city. A couple dozen buildings before the Calamity, and only a small Pokecenter and Pokemart despite the Gym’s imposing silhouette. He pondered the state of the two buildings. Once places of rest and restocking for prospective Trainers – including his own child, so very long ago – they laid, empty husks serving as somber reminders of what had been lost.

He checked his watch. 2AM. It was still completely dark outside, the sun not yet peeking over the horizon.

It was far too late to deal with the situation properly. He climbed the stairs with less grace than he’d had a couple decades ago and flopped on the upstairs couch.

---

Birch woke up the next morning to bleary vision and his wife fussing over him. He gave a hasty explanation of ‘checking up on work’ and went downstairs.

The slugcat was already up and sniffing around.

“Hey,” Birch said.

The slugcat gave a blank stare before nodding.

With a sigh, Birch turned to leave, not noticing the patter of feet behind him.

No sooner did he turn around did he see the slugcat jumping onto a nearby table, opening one of the spare Pokedexes – with a slight amount of difficulty on account of the hinge mechanism – and start tapping at the buttons.

Birch chuckled. It certainly reminded himself when he was twelve years old, bright-eyed and ready to go on his own journey. He didn’t have a Pokedex back then. Of course, he was almost sixty by now and not getting any younger.

“Can you help me with this?”

Birch glanced around to check the source of the noise. The slugcat rapped the table with its fist twice, trying to signal for attention.

A brief moment passed before Birch realized the slugcat had spoken. “Uh, yes. Here, I’ll get this set up; though there’s a few question I’d like to ask first. First off, I didn’t catch your name back there at the front door.”

“I don’t really know. Sorrel, I guess?” A slightly dismissive flick of the left ear. It’d been so long since he’d done diplomacy-related work. Flannery was handling the diplomatic relations with the slugcat colonies now. Back in Littleroot, it’d been him who’d established relations with the Poochyena tribes – though it wasn’t like Norman was at home enough to do such a deed.

Gym maintenance and meeting with the league probably took up about three-quarters of Norman’s time. Birch never got to know exactly how the remaining time was distributed, but he had a hunch that twenty percent was spent on a combination of training a team of Gym-Level Pokemon and challenging Trainers. The man was almost never home for his family, Birch knew.

Anyway. “No last name then? That’s fine. You from Fallabour or somewhere else?” Birch demonstrated the power switch, turning the device on and off, before handing it to Sorrel. Something about the name seemed off though. "I thought your kind used nouns for names."

"Oh! My old title back in the colony was "The Solitary" but well, that's behind me now."

"What did your colony change your name to?"

Sorrel shook their head, and Birch decided to change course. "Where are you from?"

“Journey’s Peak – I mean, Fallabour. Nice place, less flooding there.”

“No need to correct yourself; I’m acquainted with a fair amount of the slugcat language. I came from Littleroot. I mean – I used to. Lavaridge is such a change of pace.”

Taking their eyes off the Pokedex to look at Birch, Sorrel swept at a patch of dust with their tail. A small cloud disturbed the air. “That place – Littleroot. Is it good?”

“It’s far from most major settlements. All you get is a larger town 20 minute’s walk from there when you need something more.”

“Third of a cycle?”

Cycles – right, slugcat time measurement, slugcat time measurement. “Yeah, yeah. Not that long, in the old days.”

“Why migrate? The quiet get to you?”

“Floods.”

“Sea titan’s work?”

Birch sighed. “C’mon. What did you expect?”

The slugcat’s ears tilted forward in amusement. “Is that a ‘maybe’?”

Birch shrugged and tapped a pencil on his desk. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen loops.” Sorrel frowned and opened a cupboard. “I... think I know you.” They came over to sniff Birch’s hand. “You smell a bit different from last time.”

Birch just laughed. “I’m a lot older now. And, yes, Sorrel. I did do diplomacy work with your village.”

“I was a slug-pup back then.”

“Right. I have changed.” He chuckled. ‘No wonder you had a hostile reaction back there.”

“My fault, don’t worry. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s all good between us.” A brief pause. “If you want water – clean glasses are in the second cabinet to your right. The wooden box should be a good stepping stool if you need it. And one more thing – I’ll be meeting with Flannery, the Gym Leader, tomorrow afternoon. She’s helping run the town for the time being after she won the last mayoral election, and can offer advice on your situation.”

---

Sorrel followed as Birch showed them around the lab. The lab had two levels, and the upper floor now served as a home of sorts – Birch hadn’t been able to secure a separate house in town, they learned.

The upper floor held a kitchen, living room and a couple disused rooms with adjoining bathrooms, now converted into sleeping areas. A woman greeted them and looked at Sorrel as the duo came in.

“Hello, honey! You’re back.” She paused. “Seems like you got a guest.”

“Sorrel, this is my wife,” Birch replied. He continued, “Yeah, found him wandering around outside in the middle of the night in the flood-rains. Said he came from Fallabour.”

“Hello, Mrs-”

“Birch,” Mrs Birch replied. She turned to Sorrel. “Fallabour? Isn’t that your town? What made you come all the way down here?”

Sorrel frowned and turned to the Professor. “Thought your name was Birch.”


“Oh, no,” Birch replied. “That’s my... surname. But sure, just use Birch from now on. Makes it easier.”

Sorrel huffed indignantly, slapping their furred tail on the floor. “I can distinguish you. My nose isn’t for show.” They looked at the two humans. “Have you seen my stuff?”

“Your-” Birch replied. “Oh! Your backpack; I left it under my desk downstairs. You can go grab it if you want.”

---

Sorrel hoisted themselves up the steps - one by one - cursing their short legs. It was a slow, tedious job, and at points they had to catch themselves to avoid falling.

A hiss of frustration escaped their mouth as they dropped to four-paw and ascended the stairs, cursing (in their native language, so Birch wouldn't understand what they were saying).

“You guys are not made for stairs,” Birch said

“Shut up.”

“If you say so.” Birch carried the backpack up with them, dropping it for them to pick up. He opened the door to the spare room. It was rather spartan, with a bunch of folded-up towels serving as a crude bed.

Sorrel’s ears and tail betrayed their disappointment. ‘Thought there’d be something more.” They took a sniff of the interior. “You smell that?”

“What? No.” Birch replied. “I’d intended to use it to store more stuff or have my kid have it. You can guess how well that went.”

A small chest of drawers was pushed against the far wall now, which was used to hold the meager possessions Sorrel could find in preparation for their exile. The instant they had packed and put everything away, they collapsed on the makeshift bed.

Sleep took them once more.

---

Paving-stones, rough and square, dug into Sorrel’s pelt. They looked around; everything was bleary and completely unfamiliar. Instead of a rich array of scents that would help them pinpoint their location, or the cacophony of noise, there was only still air and silence.

Two humans – children, probably, judging by their looks – stood there, wielding strange red-and-white balls, facing the fabled sea-titan.

The two children fought against the great beast of the seas, elemental beasts trading blows. Slowly but surely, however, the beasts faltered. A hit that grazed too close, the subtle wobbling of knees.

Only despondent looks were exchanged when the fight ended.

The children had failed.

A great wave of water swept the cavern, and all went black.

---

Like sleep, like death, Sorrel woke up, gasping. Thei mouth felt like sandpaper and the towels were much wetter than they had any right to be. Panting, they looked to the door, with its light and the scent of... cooked food?

Ah. It must have been morning.

Stretching in a rather... cat-like fashion, they opened the door.

“Sorrel! There you are!” Their ears perked up once more at the voice of Mrs Birch. “Heh, you;re late for breakfast - come over and grab some brunch.”

Brunch turned out to be a small serving of eggs and sausages that made Sorrel’s mouth water. “Mhm,” they said, taking a bite. “You make good food. I’ve only had these things on my birthdays.”

Mrs Birch frowned. “You ate a bowl of cheap kibble last night. What is your definition of a normal meal, honestly?

Sorrel flicked their ears dismissively. “Like that matters? I was starving.”

“Hrm.” A pause, then, “You should rest, it’s about 12:30PM. The meeting with Flannery is at 2:30PM.” Mrs. Birch said as Sorrel flopped onto the couch. She laughed and tried to scratch behind Sorrel’s ears, which earned her a bewildered hiss.

“Stop that.”

“Hrm? You don’t like being touched?” Mrs. Birch replied. She moved down to scratch Sorrel’s back, causing them to shudder.

“Ohh! Yes, that’s the spot!”

Mrs Birch giggled as she continued scratching the slugcat in front of her. It was a while before they regained composure after stopping.

“That was fun, but next time, please ask,” Sorrel replied. “So what’s Birch like?”

“Oh, my husband was always going off about wandering into the woods for hands-on work, or something or other. I wished he would be home more. Well, I got my wish. Just not how I expected it.”

“How?”

“Ah, I wish he’d talk to me, maybe at least not spend so much time at the lab. Then I got to wait while he came home from climbing a mountain.” She lightly scratched Sorrel’s back. ‘You lived in Fallabour. Did your parents meet Birch?”

“How would I know?”

It didn’t take long for Birch to come back after all. Sorrel heard and smelled him before he ever opened the door. “Just wanted to tell you the time for the appointment is in an hour. You ate, right?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

---

Lavaridge being a small town really worked in its favor. Walking to the Gym took no more than twenty minutes, though the time taken felt far longer to Sorrel.

The Gym came into view, dominating even the Pokecenter and the smaller Pokemart. It must have been far more grandiose before the floods.

Heart hammering slighly, nose over-sensitive from anxiety, they and the two humans entered the Gym as a trio.

“Ah!” Flannery grinned at their arrival. “I see the slugcats from Fallabour have sent an envoy down to check on local affairs. Welcome!” She shook Sorrel’s hand, who returned the favor awkwardly. The humidity of the air made all the scents amplify tenfold, forcing Sorrel to huff and sneeze from the sensory overload.

“Yeah...” Sorrel began. They forced down a nervous chuckle. “About that-”

“What?” Flannery began. “I thought you were here on official business!”

“No,” Sorrel replied. “Just... visiting.”

Birch cut in. ‘I found him crying on the front porch of the lab last night. Dunno what the hell happened but I don’t think it’s anything good.”

Flannery stiffened. “What? You didn’t even ask him?!” She turned to Sorrel. “I’d like to know what the Hell happened before you ended up on Birch’s porch.”

Sorrel shook their head. ‘Too painful,” they replied. “Sorry.”

Flannery frowned. “Alright. I’m not sure what to do with him. We could register him as a citizen; but even then I don’t think the local database for the Pokemon center here is still up and running – or anything else for that matter. Still, we might as well give him the ability to become a trainer as an add-on.”

“He doesn’t know anything about battling-”

Sorrel’s right ear twitched. “I know how to use a spear,” they huffed, rubbing the brand of the Outlaw on their head. “Took combat classes with the Nightwatcher back at the colony, once.”

Flannery sighed. “To become a trainer you’ll have to take the entrance exam. It’d be a week or two of studying. I have the materials needed from the Gym and Trainer School from Rustboro in case people needed them. It’s originally designed for human ten-year-olds, so. Hopefully you won’t have much trouble.” She shot a glance at Birch, who looked away with a noticeable grimace.

“Trouble? Are there any requirements for the exam?”

“One thing is that you must be able to read and write,” Flannery began. “The exam is written in Hoennian.”

“Read-” Sorrel began. “I’m sorry, I can only speak the language. Though, can I request a translated version of the exam?"

"I'll see what I can do, don't worry," Flannery said. "Though I make no guarantees that I can do so."

“Well, that will be a hurdle. Nonetheless, Flannery, if you want, we can do this trainer exam thing. Get him started, at the very least. Then we go from there,” Birch said, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’ll get myself a coffee. Enjoy your chat.” He left and shut the door behind him.

“Have there been any Trainers who were not human?”

“Oh, not here, no. Maybe in Unova, or some other faraway place,” Flannery replied.

“What’s up with Birch?”

“His son, Brendan came here to challenge the Gym in a competition twenty years ago. He won and I gave him the standard Gym Badge as a reward. I never saw him again after the reports of the floods. Sometimes when I see Birch in his home, he stares out the window as if waiting for something.”

Sorrel felt their heart clench. “He... lost a pup, just like that?”

Flannery gave a slight blink. “I’ll never truly get over how frank your kind is about death. It’s just-”

“Like sleep, like death, you’ll wake up again,” Sorrel interjected. They smacked their tail against the ground in impatience. “Hell, if Birch died today he’d wake up tomorrow afternoon perfectly fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s not-” Flannery tried to speak, but relented. “It’s a sore subject for him,” she replied, at last. “They died before that thing that you call the Great Cycle came around. So naturally, they didn’t come back.” She pointed to the door. “I have to prep the materials so you can be ready, as well as speak to Mrs. Birch. You are dismissed.”

---

Birch sat on some chairs in the Gym foyer, holding a steaming disposable cup of coffee. The only thought running through his mind was how Bredan's journey was a failure - and by extension, May's, too.

His only child, forever washed away...

Sorrel came in, making him glance up. They looked at him before sniffing the cup of coffee in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“Coffee. Keeps me awake.”

“Oh.” Sorrel replied. “I like the scent, though, there’s not much subtle about it.”

“Coffee machine’s in the corner.” He gestured to it. “You’d probably die if you drank that. Still, judging by how your kind treats death... be my guest.” He took a large sip of his coffee.

“What happened to Brendan?” Sorrel replied, hopping up on the chair.

Birch looked them up and down. “How’d you know?”

“Flannery.”

Birch just shook his head, going back to his coffee. “Sometimes, I’m inclined to think your kind really has a habit of bringing up unpleasant topics to complete strangers. Still, if you insist – nothing good.”

“Our emotions are written on our ears and tails,” Sorrel replied. “I mean, unlike yours.”

“Whatever,” Birch replied, clearly exhausted. “Let’s go.” He stood up, shakily, holding onto Sorrel.

The first thought Sorrel had once outside was how good it felt to rid their nose of the cloying scent of incense.

 

[Unforgettable_Flygon]

Spoiler: Content Warnings:

This chapter contains:

• Character Death
• An extremely vivid, lengthy, and violent nightmare sequence.
• References to mental trauma, guilt, and despair.

---

Sorrel’s world was a swirl of emotions. Their ears perked upon hearing a knock at the door.

“Hey,” Birch said. “You haven’t eaten much today. Something on your mind?”

A flick of the ear. “I’m not sure why you want me to become a Trainer.”

“It’s because...” Birch hesitated. “You could y’know, grow as a person.”

“Oh?” Sorrel replied. “Have you told it to anyone else besides me?”

“Standard League reasons for young Trainers, yes. All of them younger than you.”

Sorrel grinned from ear to ear, nose twitching. ‘That’s a pile of lizard-dung, I bet.”

“It’s... well - look, it’s nothing important, okay?” Birch stammered, standing off to the side as Flannery came in. She put the stack on the table and handed the top book to Sorrel.

The cover was light blue, entitled, “A Guide to Battling for Beginners” by Nathan Arei. Its glossy cover, still wrapped in its packaging, showed a Mudkip, Torchic and Treecko shooting attacks at one another. Sorrel skimmed the back, before opening the table of contents and flipping through. They were violently dragged out of their train of thought as Flannery snapped her fingers loudly and repeatedly next to their left ear, causing them to flatten it against their head and hiss.

Flannery remained unperturbed. “It’s a fair bit of material and much of it is repetitive, so you can skim through a few of the beginning chapters,” she began. “Birch will also do the same skimming, so I strongly recommend you look deeper for clarification and review as needed.”

Sorrel wasn’t a complete dumbass when it came to surviving. They’d taken combat classes once; knowing which end of the spear was the sharp end was something even a newborn slugpup could do. Stabbing a spear for the optimal angle and power, climbing things... all things a slugcat like them could accomplish with ease. With a final glance, they rubbed at their stinging ear before retreating back to their room to start reading.

---

Mrs. Birch slowly and gently stroked Sorrel’s back as she poured them another cup of coffee at their request.

Rains, they needed a break.

“Do your kind ever sleep?” she asked.

Sorrel gave a quick sniff in response. The reek of brewed coffee in the cup overpowered everything in the room, making it hard to focus. “We do.” With a shaky hand, they reached for the cup and took a sip, savoring the taste. “Mhm. I think.... I love you.”

“Sorry, I’m taken.” A pause. “You should stop; I think you’ve had too much already.”

“That was to the drink. Not you. I... well. You’re nice, at least. Like Birch.” A downward flick of both ears; the slugcat equivalent of a shrug. The motion was hard to discern due to the way their body vibrated, the rush of a million caffiene highs rushing through Sorrel’s veins.

“Wow. I didn’t know a slugcat could be that sarcastic. What do I smell like now, huh?”

Sorrel leaned in for a quick sniff. “Coffee. There’s literally nothing else.” As they chugged the last cup, agonizing pain crushed their torso and upper arms. They crashed to the ground as everything went black.

When their eyes opened next, they woke up in the spare room in Birch’s house. Their heart still hammered madly away, and every fiber in their chest felt stretched to breaking point. Standing up was impossible, and they laid like that for a few moments before Birch arrived.

No response was heard from Birch except for a laugh. “Man, you really did die and come back like that” – he began, positively wheezing – “That was one hell of a skill issue, you floppy wet rascal.” He threw them their scarf.

“My head’s spinning,” Sorrel groaned. Dying really sucked, they knew. Processing Birch’s words was like trying to hear through a mattress.

“You missed half a day of study while dead!” Birch replied. “If you want to pass you’d better get to study double-quick!” His words elicited no response other than another groan. “Don’t look at me like that – it’s your fault that you died from your overdose.”

---

Sorrel hurled themselves back into study with vigorous fevour. Typings and type advantages were fairly easy to understand, as well as the strengths and weaknesses they offered.

Birch would ask them a few questions about colony developments, out of curiousity. In extreme cases Sorrel found themselves steering the conversations back to the topic at hand.

So much information and so little time. Time that could have been used for something productive had their cycle not reset due to a lethal caffiene overdose.

Book pages were flipped and revision questions attempted. By the end of it all, Sorrel’s brain felt like it had been pounded with a hammer.

They’d dearly wanted to become a citizen; to show the world what a slugcat could be capable of. Even if that world was a drowned shadow of its former self.

---

“My head is gonna explode.”

Sorrel sipped at a cup of overwhelming-minty herbal tea as they sat on a large beanbag. It molded around them, forming a nest, just like back home.

Just yesterday, they had taken the standard test for all aspiring young Trainers of Hoenn. It’d been a long test, about two hours.

If they passed, they’d become a Trainer and be able to be a citizen of the city, along with being able to travel more freely. If not... they’d be stuck here a couple more weeks.

Mrs. Birch had been giving them headpats and back-scratches for the last five minutes. “How nervous are you?” She removed her hand after Sorrel hissed.

“Considering it feels like my hindquarters are being stabbed by thousands of sharp pins, what do you think?”

Professor Birch entered the room, a large mailla envelope in his hand. He opened it and handed it to Sorrel, who took it with a quaking hand. “Seventy-five percent. For someone who had little to no knowledge of Pokemon before, that is amazing.”

Mrs Birch interjected. ‘Shouldn’t be that hard to know something that’s basic the world over.”

Sorrel flicked their both ears; right then left. “Yeah. Yeah – though when is that ID card and all coming out?”

“One or two more days. Just hold out until then.”

---

Two days seemed to pass by in the blink of an eye. Flannery and Birch became much more secluded, shutting themselves into a room of the house to talk amongst themselves. Sorrel’s nose could pick up hints of trepidation almost every time.

Other times, Birch would set out into town without really informing Sorrel of what he was doing, coming back with bags of items. He’d made it clear that they were not to be touched or opened until the day their ID card came in.

Sorrel didn’t listen. They’d done this so many times as a pup; sneaking into the colony workshops to spy on the artisans building assorted items. With the sense of a human being so dull compared to theirs, one might have called it pup’s play.

One night when the Birches were asleep; an act double and triple-checked with a quick sniff and twitching ears – they headed into the downstairs living room. Peeking in one of the bags, a dull white box caught their eye.

Emblazoned on the box, tucked away in a corner, was the insignia of a ‘Devon Corporation’, a group that Sorrel only had a passing knowledge of. A group of workers and enginners who had built incredible devices to make the lives of humans easier – now washed away by the Floods, just like almost everything else. On the front of the box, prominently displayed in the center, was an image of some sort of electronic device, over large letters reading ‘PokeNav Plus’.

Sorrel frowned as they studied the box. They briefly considered searching further, but decided better of it. Any shed fur or slime-coating would give them away. Immediately, they took an empty glass and filled it with tap water, wincing as it flowed down their gullet like a waterfall.

Outside, the moonlight shining through the window afforded them a view of the glimmering stars. Their eyes fixated on one seemingly burning brighter than the others.

“Venator...” Sorrel mumbled. “Is that you...?”

Tearing their eyes away from the window and rinsing the glass, they began the climb back upstairs, letting their head fall onto the pillow without so much as a second thought.

---

Darkness engulfed them.

Sorrel groaned and found themselves in a long corridor. Walls of grey concrete and stone greeted them at every side.

A sniff of the air confirmed they had never been here before. Where were they?

They walked forward. More paths branched off, the darkness actively repulsing them as they tried to enter.

With nowhere else to go, they marched on.

No life; at least, nothing that their ears could pick up, anyway. They were alone.

“Hello!?” Sorrel yelled. No response save for the echoes of noise on the walls. Inside, their heart hammered away, just like it had when they had died foir the first time.

The darkness gave way to an odd light-purple light. A whiff of something coming from behind them...

It smelled oddly sickly-sweet, and Sorrel huffed as hard as they could, trying to purge their nose of the stench. Predator? Their pace quickened.

Sorrel could swear they smelt it moving closer.

Keep moving, keep moving– whispered a little voice in their mind. Just ignore it, everything will be okay–

Footsteps behind them made their ears prick.

Shit.

They turned around, alert and ready – heart pounding madly in their chest. No, no, no – they couldn’t have another heart attack here, not now!

The sickly-sweet, acrid scent remained, untraceable as ever, but the brilliant green eyes and gray pelt left no doubt as who it was supposed to be. They’d seen this indivual before, took in their scent –

The coming-of-age ceremony–

Imbibing far more alcohol than they could handle–

Teeth bared, emotions boiling over–

The flashing point of a spear–

Sorrel knew it. They knew who this was–

Venator.

Close friend and lover, out for blood.

Their debt, his to collect.

The Venator stepped forward, a razor-sharp spear in his hand. “Fancy seeing you here,” he drawled.

Sorrel remained silent.

“That’s disappointing,” Venator said, still approaching. “I track your scent, all the way to this damn place, and you’re not gonna even greet me? Fine, I guess.” He stared Sorrel up and down with his one good eye as he approached.

“I – I uh–” “Sorrel’s words caught in their throat.

‘Well?” Venator replied with a sneer. He twirled the spear between his hands. “After what you did to me, and not even a half-hearted apology? What sort of slugcat are you?”

A small part of Sorrel’s mind screamed at them, enough to start running. Venator’s footsteps grew louder as they kept pace.

“Of course you’re guilty. I know about that, Exile. Innocent people don’t clam up when accused. Nor do they scamper off.” Venator’s spear was pointed right at them, Sorrel knew. They had to get out, had to get away – a spear of their own would so so useful right now...

Sorrel’s mind screamed DANGER DANGER DANGER as they ran. Desperate, they dropped to four-paw and pounced away, trying to gain speed on their pursuer–

“I may come back, Exile,” Venator continued. “Just like you. Just like Birch, or everyone else. That does not mean I forgive easily. I hold a grudge like a newly-evolved Dustox that was beaten to near death by a pup.”

Sorrel’s mind kept wailing how WRONG this was. They tried to keep moving, even as their chest ached and their lungs burned. There was no use trying an alcove; these were as impenetrable as ever–

“And I’ve finally found my tormentor.”

Sorrel collapsed on the ground, a quivering mess from exhaustion and fear. Venator moved, calmly, slowly, spear in hand. They stopped just in front of Sorrel, and raised the spear over their head.

“You deserve this, Exile.”

All Sorrel could do was try to scream. Their terrified, half-delirious mind screamed out WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG DANGER DANGER DANGER, but nothing came.

The point of the spear rose, about to connect with their neck–

---

With ears stiff as wooden boards and chest feeling like it was pounded by a hammer, Sorrel’s eyes shot open.

The bed they were in was drenched, again. It’d take a while to clean, they realized. Unable to do much but shake, head tucked into their tail, they stayed there until Mrs. Birch entered.

She immediately moved over to Sorrel and stroked a hand right down their back.

Normally at this time, Sorrel would have hissed. They were unable to do anything but pant and gasp.

“Hey – we wanted to show you something after you’d eaten. C’mon.” Mrs Birch got up and left the room. Sorrel followed, standing on two-paw to get a better look.

---

Birch and Flannery were there in the living room, lounging on couches. Sorrel watched them from the dining-room table before a plate of food was slammed in front of them.

They pointed one ear in the direction of the duo as they shoveled food into their mouth.

“–it’s not like you to ‘wrestle up’ gear for many beginning trainers. For you it’s just the bare minimum – Pokeballs and starter. Flannery began.”

“Well, that and the Pokedex. Actually, that Pokedex is the most important thing here–“

“Of course it is.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Birch sighed. “We don’t have any more of these to give out. Factories all around got wrecked or destroyed, and what few are left have lots of other concerns to worry about.”

Sorrel’s ears twitched as they heard the crinkling of plastic as Birch continued. “I was able to source this PokeNav Plus; it’s what our friend there will use on his journey. The x-transciever I’d have wanted to give him’s been sold out; back then it was fresh off the market from Unova and it’s far too expensive anyway. Besides, the next shipment was supposed to come by a long while ago. About 20 years ago, in fact.”

“Oh, I can guess what happened.”

“Yes. The PokeNavPlus doesn’t have a Pokedex app. We’ll give him a pokemon guide-book for travelers. It just identifies specific Pokemon with a picture of and gives a list of possible moves and such. Bit vaguer though.”

The scraping of a fork and chewing was all that everyone could hear as Sorrel ate. Finally, they pushed the plate away, jumped down and walked over on four-paw to Flannery and Birch.

“Hey, what’s this about?” They immediately stood on two-leg after walking over.

“Ah, just something you’d be given to make this task easier.” Birch threw the box on the table and left, returning soon after with a smnall durable plastic card. “Your Trainer ID.” he said, watching Sorrel take it and stare at it in wonder.

Flannery smiled. “Since you’re of age already, we didn’t get you the junior version. Not that it matters now anyway.” She pulled out a pair of scissors and cut open the box, handing the contents inside to Sorrel. “Your PokeNav Plus,” she said. “I can walk you through the setup process.”

It wasn’t much later when Sorrel had been given a basic tutorial of the PokeNav’s functions. Birch handed over a couple camping supplies – notably, the tent was absent.

“Flood-rain’s gonna drown shit anyway,” he replied. ‘Besides, what is it your species say?”

“Like sleep, like death, you will wake again,” Sorrel replied, flicking their ear dismissively.

“Right. We don’t have a starter, so come with me.” Flannery opened the door to the Birchs’ house, motioning for Sorrel to follow.

---

The Route itself smelled of earth. Wind whipped through the duo’s hair – or, in Sorrel’s case, their fur.

“When are we gonna see something?” they asked.

“Shush. Tracking Pokemon takes time.”

Sorrel bit back the retort of them being able to track by scent. Arguing would decrease their chances of having something show up.

A Numel trotted into view. While Flannery prattled on about its qualities, Sorrel watched. Its empty eyes didn’t even regard the duo, not even when a rock was flung at speeds towards its head that would make a baseball pitcher envious. Before long, it had trotted off, dim-witted as ever, going back the way it came.

“Sorrel!” Flannery chided. “You – why would you do that?”

“I was trying to get its attention. Obviously that thing was too dumb to even notice that.”

“If that’s what you want–“ Flannery began. The two sat in silence as a Marill came into view. Sorrel nodded.

“Ready?” Flannery asked, passing the Pokeball to Sorrel. “Go on, then.”

Sorrel threw the ball. It collided and shook. The duo held their breath.

Click.

One.

Click.

Two.

Click.

The ball came to a stop with the final click.

“Good catch,” Flannery said. “I’ll give you some time with your newest party member to get to know each other – you’ll need it if you want to win in a few days.”

"We're heading back now? Okay!" Their tail flicked slightly and their ears twitched as they realized what Flannery had said. "Win what?”

“Oh, no. We're staying here a moment, you should let your Marill out of its ball. Let it tell its family it's leaving." She gave a devious grin. "That information on battling that Birch taught you from books better not have leaked from your brain! I expect you to pass this first try!”

“WHAT!? Are you serious?”

The only response was silence.

---

This chapter was the longest one I've written for this fic so far. Coming in at almost 3k words, it has a lot of character development.
In RainFall, all characters come back to life when they die, at the point where they last slept. However, they do retain memories of their death(s) and any lingering effects like pain may persist temporarily.
Also; the wonderful Flowerpoots on Discord gifted me this amazing picture of Sorrel, or The Exile, at my request!

​

 

[Unforgettable_Flygon]

Spoiler: Content Warnings

This chapter shows:

• the MC licking a Pokemon (in the context of cleaning it).
• A panic attack.

---

It was presumed – hell, even expected – that new Trainers for being skittish around their Pokemon as a matter of fact. They’d probably reluctantly hug, maybe shake hands, if the Pokemon was smart enough and it came to that.

Flannery felt that last action was a little stiff.

So, when Sorrel released his new Marill, she expected him to hug it gently. What she did not expect was for the slugcat to lick his Pokemon’s face.

Her face a mask of shock, she charged forward and forced the two apart.

“What the FUCK are you doing!?” She gave Sorrel a death-glare with her demand, hands on hips.

Sorrel’s ears pinned back and he shrunk away. Good, at least he was listening. That was not the case with a couple Trainers which had come to her in the few years she’d been Gym Leader before all this started. Quite a lot of challengers had potential, and she’d never seen a non-human become Trainers before, save the odd, vague rumor of disguised Pokemon here and there.

All those were urban legends, as far as she was concerned.

Sorrel brought his hands up, shakily, before he signed, “It’s instinct.”

“Huh?” Flannery replied, holding her glare. “Didn’t catch what you signed, just now.”

“I-I... It’s... i-instinct. N-nothing else...” Sorrel pulled his hands over his ears, trying to stop them from shaking.

Flannery reached out towards Sorrel’s scarf, only to feel a light sting as he batted it away, claws unsheathed.

“Get your hands OFF me!” He bared his teeth and hissed to accentuate his point. “Y-You..” Whatever he was about to say devolved instead into a series of frantic, incomprehensible Journey-sign, which, judging from his demeanor, was anything but complimentary. Exhausted from his outburst, he sighed and flicked a cloud of dust into her face with his tail.

Flannery rolled her eyes. “Let’s head back. Recall your Pokemon – and no licking this time.”

Sorrel gave her a defiant scowl as he followed.

---

The indignation! Sorrel retracted their claws – with great effort – and plodded behind Flannery. Dimly, they wondered just how much she had interacted with their kind. If she was an ambassador, clearly, she wasn’t a very good one.

Feeding their companion would be a priority... and they wondered how badly they had screwed up. Judging by Flannery’s reaction, it seemed major.

They pushed thoughts of getting even with Flannery out of their mind - more important things awaited them.

---

Sorrel grimaced as they tried to wring the water out of their fur. Azy – their Marill – had tried to drench them upon emerging, clearly not too happy with the act of being shoved into a Poke-Ball abruptly.

Thank the stars for enhanced reflexes. They’d avoided the brunt of the torrential fire-hose that was a agitated Water-Type, but falling into mud had matted their pelt. Something that could be worked on later, when all this was behind them.

With an extended claw, Sorrel slashed open a packet of Pokemon kibble and began ladling food into a nearby bowl. They held their breath as the dusty food rose up in a cloud in front of them – it smelled like greased sawdust, and despite the difficulty in holding their breath, they did not want to taste it again.

Moving to the corner of the room, they watched the Marill take cautious bites of the kibble. Did it taste as bad to it as it did them?

Flannery had let them – no, made – them go back out to apologize to their new Pokemon a moment ago. She’d saved the goodbyes for after the Gym Battle, so hopefully things would be calmer then.

When the plate was empty, Sorrel picked it up, before scraping the remaining scraps of food into a sink with a running faucet and their claws.

Feeding had been checked off. It was time for training.

---

A blast of water struck the rock dead center. The ground around it was stained with water; now almost becoming mud.

Sorrel gave a small nod to Azy and replied in Journey-Sign, “You did well. Let’s wrap up this session.”

Azy seemed far more amicable to following orders after Sorrel had apologized for up and capturing them without engaging in proper battle. That, and being fed an entire plate of food.

“We’re gonna be battling soon. Get some rest.” Sorrel gave a tiny smile and ran their hand through Azy’s short, dense fur. The Marill was squat and round as a ball, in contrast to the slugcat’s lithe and agile frame. Being a third of Sorrel’s height, carrying them was burdensome – but they refused to shove Azy into their Pokeball.

With a grunt, they set Azy onto a simple basket before curling up themselves.

---

Flannery sat opposite Birch, resisting the urge to sigh. She’d put off what she’s been meaning to say for long enough. It was time to get it out of her system.

“I’ve been wondering about the symbol on Sorrel’s head. He’s been reluctnat to discuss it with me.” She gave a sigh. Practising Journey-Sign was something she had to juggle with upkeep of her Gym, feeding her team, and to make it worse, even teaching trainers was something she hadn’t done, instead leaving that task to a middle-aged Pokemon Professor.

It was supposed to be Gym Leaders that gave young trainers advice, and here she was, having sent a prospective Trainer books and self study instead of directing their learning herself.

Birch nodded. “From what I’ve seen, that’s the symbol for exile or banishment. I was rather busy teaching Sorrel to notice and it’d been almost fifteen years since I last was with the Journey Clan on diplomatic missions. Hell, I don't know their new chieftain at all.”

“I’ll speak to him after my Gym Battle with him ends. It starts in half an hour.”

“Alright. If you need someone to go up to the Journey Clan, get Norman on the line. He’s doing much better than when I saw him last.”

“Got it, Professor.” Flannery stood up and left.

---

Sorrel flipped through their battle-training manual one last time. Once the clock reached fifteen minutes before the scheduled time, they took everything they would need and left.

They HAD to get this right. Being an utter failure would be the worst humiliation of their entire loop.

Fuck, they’d seen it as an escape from their current situation. Venator was probably on their tail already, and getting as far away as they could would be best. Not to mention whatever skills they would pick up along the way...

Flannery’s Gym came into view. It was time for the moment of truth.

---

Flannery smiled as she opened the last drawer. A sealed pack of extra-strength incense, still rather pungent despite the loss of potency and the age of 20 years. They looked pristine enough to burn in her incense holder.

Slowly, carefully, she set up the incense holders at the four corners of the arena. One incense stick in each would be all she needed. Considering who and what her challenger was - it seemed like a fairly acceptable challenge. Her zero-badge team had not seen battle in a long while, and it would not be sporting of her to send a veteran Mon to break any child's heart and dreams.

Let alone an of-age person who sought a journey as a way to take their mind off things.

Still, the League didn;t exist, not anymore. And nothing in the regulations ever vetoed this.

It would be a test of will for her candidate. If they could do this, she reasoned, they would be ready for anything. Hell, she had not had a proper Gym battle in a very long time.

Her zero-badge Slugma waited at her side, obediently breathing a small fireball to light each stick. A few minutes passed before the aromas filled the room.

It was more than enough to get herself into center stage for her dramatic appearance.

The doors to the arena opened - and, in the evening light; her newest challenger in decades - a red slugcat, approached with its PokeBall in hand.

---

Slightly shorter chapter, wanted to do this ASAP.