Ch. 2
(April 7th, 300 A.S. – 1200 – Costal General Hospital, Coastal City, Ruby League)
He smiled to himself idly fantasizing about what to do. He wound up in a world full of pokégirls of all things. Was he high? Catatonic? Who knew? Of course he couldn’t afford to behave like this was all a figment of his imagination. If he did and it turned out to be real, he could get locked up as a psychotic or worse. That posed a question. What would he do? Questions would be raised about his identity, and, God forbid it, he might get stuck with a medical bill. He had no legal tender for this place. They used some sort of mostly electronic system of credit, or maybe their currency was just called credits. He never got that straightened out.
Another thing, he knew of this world because he arbitrarily joined an online community dedicated to writing for the genre. Could he trust what he knew from the stories and other information he read? Probably not. Of course, there was another thing. Most of the information he did know of were the things the authors generally knew of which was, if it was valid here, classified information that would get him the cement shoe treatment for knowing. He would need to monitor his speech. But, this world had psychics that could rip information from his mind. Arrrgh!!!
He collapsed back onto his hospital bed. This was going to be hard. He had no idea what was going on, had no resources or friends unless he counted that Louis guy which he probably couldn’t, and knew just how dangerous this world could be. After all, he had firsthand experience in that department. That was ironic. The literature, if you could call it that, on this place was originally supposed to be an erotic parody, a male’s biggest fantasy with sex crazed women for all tastes hidden everywhere ripe for the picking. Dear God, was that picture way off the mark.
Other than his strange origin and the language barrier, he had other problems too. In this world, there were people with master race style ideology, maybe not under every rock but certainly common in the upperclassmen. He snorted at the thought. There was no surprise there, but more importantly it was based off of lack of pokégirl heritage, those who had no blood relation to them at all. It was a moot point since the “Pure Bloods” of the world all had around three per cent pokégirl DNA in them or perhaps a little less, but since when had that stopped good old fashion racism?
The problem was that he was not from this world and therefore about as pure of blood as you could get. If discovered that could mean a number of things. Best case scenario, there would be fat cats trying to get him to donate himself to the cause somehow and perhaps showering him with money. Unfortunately, it was much more likely that he would be kidnapped and sent to some kind of death camp or sold off somehow to have his genitals harvested. Not only that but he had none of the physical advantages that those with pokégirl ancestry had genetically. Well, at least some illegal weaponry won’t work on him since they’re triggered by pokégirl DNA, but still he’d have to pick his fights carefully since his size and bulk wouldn’t be a surefire way to win a conflict that wit and words wouldn’t solve.
That thought led him to look down at his wasted frame. He wasn’t exactly emaciated, but a good portion of his muscle had vanished and he had truly thinned up which was certainly disheartening considering the work that it would require in order to get back in shape. He brushed his scraggly, dark brown hair out of his eyes. He needed to invent a story for when he couldn’t simply make something up on the spot. He hated lying. It wasn’t who he was, but if he had to choose between coming clean and sentencing himself to an unfair, hellish life because of a predisposed genetic factor he was born with, no.
Just then a NurseJoy- the bubblegum pink hair was a dead giveaway- came into his room holding a tray. He glanced over to her. Well, she wasn’t like those wild beasts that he had an unwilling romp with. She was most definitely sane and just as human as he was, if genetically predisposed to turn into a rampaging beast if she didn’t screw often enough. At least the screwing part was pleasant.
“Hallo, ha’ow rare vyou?” she asked cheerfully, somewhat guarded but still cheerful.
The survivor smiled at her, rather relieved that her accent was actually understandable like Louis’s. He had heard from Louis that most of the staff expected him to be a trouble patient. Now that he knew what the hell was going on, he was sure he could control himself. After all, his previous misconceptions had been cleared and the last thing he needed was an overly invasive psych evaluation.
“Much better, thank you,” he rolled to get more comfortable, “Things are a bit more stable now, and seeing a pretty face definitely brightens the day.”
The ‘Joy smiled shyly. “Gute d’hur. Vyou war ga’ing en int a’owt ofv wat apeer’t d’beet delirium int brreef psychotic breaks.”
He sat up quickly. “What?!” Her accent was pretty incomprehensible in many areas, but he recognized those last two words. “No, I was just having anxiety attacks. I was getting chewed on by feral pokégirls only a short amount of time earlier after all,” he explained, not wanting that on his record.
The ‘Joy shook her head. “Nyett, et es ah cummun saide ivict ofv fungus dhat hab rröt en oir feet. Ets endotoxins fere jast star’ing d’teke affact. Donne varry. Et’s out ofv vyourre zyztam na’ow int dhere wille byt ne lang term dama’ch sence wy gode et ow’at whan wy daed.”
What? Damn, outside of simple words, he couldn’t understand a thing. Fuck. Something about a fungus making him crazy. Close enough. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Thank God it was a temporary thing. That would’ve been bad, both for him and his record. But then again, he didn’t recall any horrible hallucinations or delusions. Of course, if he really was having brief psychotic breaks, then there was no reason that’d he’d realize he was having them, and it was very well possible that his brain just inserted an excuse into his memory to patch things together as the subconscious was known to do. It was weird though. He had never heard of any psychosis inducing fungus before. It must have been something that simply wasn’t widely known or just something not native to the little corner of the world he used to live in. “Well, that’s both relieving and troubling.”
The nurse placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Donne v’arry about it. Vyou’elle byt fine odnce wy git vyourre tissue rechanaräted int rehapillitaded. Vyou’lle byt a’ow’at ofv hare en no taime.” He smiled weakly at the gesture and nodded in appreciation. Until he saw her pull out the biggest needle he had ever seen.
“Great,” he grumbled to himself. He rolled up his short gown sleeve and held out his arm to the nurse.
“Vyou hab ah IV, glupo,” she said, giggling at his disgruntled attitude towards the needle.
He glanced at the IV rack and said, “That I do,” failing to retain any lost dignity.
She sat down and began the process of detaching his IV from the medicine bags on the rack and hooking the drawing tube to it so the vacuum in the vials would draw out the blood needed. “Wy just need d’abbel jack d’ fungi spores hab alle been purged wy kantinouo hwith vyourre treatment bavore.
“Wait,” He began confusedly still translating the accent and weird syntax in his head, “didn’t you say the toxins were all out of my system?”
She chuckled. “D’endotoxin anly takes affect vhen d’spore germinates. Odni ofv d’tings appire Sukebe efta.”
That last sentence flew over his head. Damn it, he hoped some place still spoke old fashion English. He did hear the word Sukebe though. So it was something that appeared after Sukebe fucked with everything the world had to offer. That gave him something to think about. With everything that happened during that thrice damned war, where the megalomaniac, businessman, and all around lunatic James Sukotto dubbed ‘Sukebe’ unleashed his creations onto the earth, it was no surprise nature fought back as hard as it could to compensate for all the madness that came about. The various super viruses that were released, Sukebe’s uniquely engineered fruit bearing plants, and off course pokégirls who, in combination with the plagues, helped drive innumerable species into extinction. Hell, mutant fungi that induced psychosis when it rooted in you wasn’t that farfetched before all that.
The NurseJoy gave a light smile. “D’spores wonne gift vyou trable hanless tayk rröt. D’medizhin,” she pointed to the IV rack, “Shad floosh mast ofv et a’owt int kill d’rist dhey germinate bavore.” With that, she had finished filling a few vials with his blood and exited with them and a cute trot to her step.
He sighed and leaned back in his bed, giving up trying to understand the locals, and adjusted the level of the bed’s incline so that he could sit up. He pulled off his sheet and gazed at his right leg. It was wrapped up from the knee down with only faint tinges of pink here and there spoiling its white sterility. He was unsettled by how much smaller the affected area was in comparison to his left leg. He could only hope that after it was- What did they say again? - regenerated that he could get it back in shape along with the rest of him. That was one upside of being stuck in this crazy world at least, medicinal advancements that bordered on the magical. Hell, some of them probably were magical considering.
With that final thought, he decided to relax a bit. There was a television in his room which he quickly found the remote to. He flipped it on, and the first thing that came on was a bunch of pokégirls tossing around some kind of ball in an odd game. He remembered that there was some sort of pass time like that listed back home. It was called Wreckball or something. Sadly, he never learned the rules, so it was utterly incomprehensible. Oh well, the athletes were all gorgeous women in nothing but skintight hot pants and sports-bras.
(April 8th 300 A.S. – 1200)
He had been thinking. He had just gotten out of a regen-session and got to watch his leg slowly grow back in morbid fascination. That just went to show how little he knew of this world. Sure, he had written and read stories for hours on end about it, but it was the little things that really turned around and bit you. Like some of the funny slang that had developed over the past 300 years. Hell, even if many spoke some lingering trace of English, most of them chattered back and forth in their regional pidgin, plus he doubted the language had stayed the same in every region throughout the world or even throughout the same country-League-thing. He saw a kid visiting someone in the bed across from him; he had words coming out of his mouth so badly slammed together with what he considered prober English that it still had him confused.
Then there were other things like this PDA-ish looking device he was currently fiddling with. It was a fairly amazing device. It reminded him of some of the ridiculous ‘tablet’ devices that were being hyped up back home but actually useful. If he was interpreting the specs correctly, it was more powerful than some of the highest end personal computers he had ever seen.
The downside was two things though: (1) The language barrier. It had taken him a good hour and a half to find the dialect that most closely matched his own in the confusing options, Southwest Jhoto. A lot of it flew over his head, but at least it didn’t use the Russian alphabet.
He had requested it so he could look up some things, such as League information but most importantly Tamer’s tests. He had no money and was essentially a broke vagrant. He hated to think of the bill he’d incur from this accursed but necessary hospital. Well, he had some money from his old life, a wad of bills that had been his emergency fund in his safe that had thankfully not crushed him when it followed him here, and somehow managed to hold on to it, stashed away in one of his numerous bags and supplies. He’d like to think it wasn’t naked greed but didn’t have a sufficient argument to the contrary. He just hoped no one found it. Hopefully no one would search his belongings too thoroughly.
There was no real other alternative livelihood for him other than the life of a Tamer. He was only semi-educated since he had been yanked here from the middle of his college career but even if he was, it was irrelevant because there was no record of him at all in this world other than his stay at this hospital. He was heading back to the woods, oh joy.
League information was also valuable to him. He had a faint idea of what the leagues were like. Some he wanted to stay far away from like Jhoto which was hardcore anti-pokégirl and Indigo which was also probably of similar politics. They would not tolerate someone with wild ideas about civil rights, even if he only held them in private. He snorted. There was no surprise there considering they had probably been developed from remnants of the American government judging by their location. There had been signs of it heading down that draconian path for the past hundred years, but no one wanted to believe it.
Others like Blue, Sunshine, and Ruby, his current location, were moderate on the subject. He might get away with a pro-rights stance, but it probably wasn’t his best option. His final choices were the much more liberal Leagues which were members of the WAPL, the World Alliance of Pokégirl Leagues, that were supposedly supposed to be the bastion of civil rights. Capital was supposed to be the most liberal of them all but was on the other side of the world, but another, Azure, was much closer even though they had weird societal structures such as near and very near human pokégirls were treated better than those who weren’t.
Azure League bordered on Ruby to the west. He remembered a bit about it, the cobbled together remnants of western Russia, Germany, and a fraction of whatever survived of Scandinavia. It would be interesting to see how the Slavic and Germanic cultures mesh, but more importantly he could pass as a German since he had a healthy dose of the ethnicity in him. He could just say that he had been raised in Jhoto and couldn’t stand the politics, hence the accent.
That triggered a thought in the back of his head. Didn’t that Louis guy think he was an Azure? Yes, yes he did. And, he had a teleport capable pokégirl. Had he ever been to Azure? Maybe he could convince him to transport him ‘home.’ He’d have to ask him if he ever came back to check on him. He probably wouldn’t, but it’d be a good thing to ask if he did.
Yes, perfect. If all worked out, he could slip into Azure, take the tamer test which he could study for in his time in the hospital, and forge a new identity for himself once he got there. Better yet, Azure trained all of their new tamers over a short, seven week stay in a camp style setting. He could be prepared before he stepped back into the wilderness. The thought of going back there with insufficient preparations made him involuntarily shudder. Still, he would need to have a contingency plan just in case he got stuck in Ruby.
On the bright side and very fortunately for him, most leagues didn’t do a thorough identity check on people who weren’t already in their system since most beginning tamers were children fresh out of school if they had any, so it was expected that they’d have little to no paper trail which, if other stories of transdimensional immigrants from his homeworld were true, was the reason why people could slip into society easily. It would probably be more difficult for a native considering that they’d already have a trail.
He sighed. He was leaving his life behind for a dangerous job that involved slave trafficking, but what else could he do? He gave a resolute stare at the open windows in the handheld computer that held the study guides for the Ruby and Azure Leagues’ tamer licensing exams and nodded to himself. He then turned his back on the hopes and dreams he once held in his old life and committed himself to absorbing sufficient knowledge to pass either the Ruby or Azure tests or anything else that could help him along his new path.
(April 10th, 300 A.S. – 1500)
Behind the nurses’ station counter, a gaggle of the civil service ‘girls on staff were giggling to themselves. Where there were bored civil service ‘girls, there was either sex or gossip, sometimes both, and today was a slow day.
“Then there is the idiot tamer in Room 425, apparently he was about to evolve his Dominatrix into a Mistress and she chose that moment to suddenly become a Killer Queen,” said one NurseJoy dramatically. More giggling ensued.
“Yeah, I saw the results. She really got him bad,” another said darkly. “They never heal properly do they? Carpet burns?” her deadpan caused more snickering all around.
“At least he’s not as unlucky as the poor guy that got dragged out of the woods a few days ago,” a third said morbidly, “He wouldn’t have lasted another three days. That rotten leg of his would’ve slowed him down enough to make him a hobbling snack for whatever feral came his way.”
“He hit me!” a poor Bunnygirl interjected, clutching her still throbbing head.
The ‘Joys and other workers gave the bunny a sympathetic look. “Poor guy was going crazy from the infection. He probably didn’t mean it.”
“Hasn’t that guy been spending an awfully long time reading stuff on that pocket computer he was lent? He spends all his time taking notes, only occasionally stopping to watch the news or Wreckball,” the first said.
The third snorted. “He probably wants to be a researcher or something. He kept bugging me about how the all the Healing techniques worked, how they stimulated a response, complications, and other things. He was polite about it, but it was grating at times. The laymen answers wouldn’t cut it for him, and the real answers just raised more questions,” she added, “His accent didn’t help either. Nice guy, but his inquisitiveness slows down the healing process.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him to wait until after it was over?” the first asked.
The third cursed to herself. “I did once and just ducked out before he could ask anything afterward. He doesn’t listen anymore.”
“Odd, he’s pretty amiable and overall nice by what most everyone tells me now that the fungus isn’t making him loony.”
“I think he’s holding a grudge against me for the first time and being passive aggressive.”
A male doctor strode by and noticed what was going on. “Hey!” he shouted, “Break time’s over! Stop slacking stupid bitches.”
(April 23rd, 300 A.S. – 1030)
Wake up sleepyhead, a silvery voice resounded in his head. That was weird.
He opened his eyes. Last night had been the last of the regenerative therapy. His leg was still very weak, but it was once again fully functional if a lot thinner than he was happy with. His scanned the room looking for the source of the voice. He couldn’t pinpoint the source of the noise. Maybe he imagined it.
Then, he saw a smiling woman in a lab coat. Well, technically a pokégirl or pokéwoman. The burnt orange skin and antennae protruding from her forehead were dead giveaways, but despite her looking like she was creeping into middle age, gray streaks running through her light brown hair, she was still gorgeous. The D-breasts of course accentuated it. A word flickered across his mind, a name. His eyes widened it was a Ka-D-Bra, a powerful psychic.
She laughed. Or at least, that’s what he heard. Her mouth was unmoving, and no physical sound was actually coming from her. Her eyes were, however, lit up merrily. In a corner of his skull, he felt rather than heard a foreign thought ghost its way through his psyche. Hello. I am Vera and here to do a brief psychoanalysis of you. How are you feeling?
He extended his hand. What was his name here again? “Matt. You’re not ‘Dr. Vera?”
She looked surprised but shook the outstretched hand. I’m trained but no more a Ph.D. than a NurseJoy is an M.D.
He nodded his head. Ruby was a moderate league, so free pokégirls were probably still not that common. She was probably property of the hospital. “I’m well. And yourself?”
The day has been pleasant enough, her voice echoed in his head. It was rather unsettling to him. The psychic unsurprisingly picked up on this, causing her to frown. You are uncomfortable with telepathy, she stated rather than asked.
He nodded, even more uncomfortable. “Yes well, the idea of private things becoming not so private is unnerving,” he said uneasily, trying to appear calm, “I don’t have any training or any idea of how to prevent stray thoughts from coming up, and the harder you try not to think about something the more often it seems to pop up.”
A feeling of understanding suddenly flooded his mind. He could tell that it was foreign, but it was comforting all the same for reasons unknown. It’s able to be sympathized with, called the ethereal voice of the Ka-D-Bra, Most people have such apprehension. Don’t worry. I am not offended. He breathed a sigh of relief, and idly wondered if non-pureblooded humans had similar weaknesses to psychics. That caused the Ka-D-Bra to raise an auburn eyebrow. You’re a pureblood?
He hid his face in his hands. “Please, stop,” he pleaded, his voice clearly unhappy despite being slightly muffled.
The psychic sighed. “Fain, ” she said with her normal, physical voice. “No dat s’natheng d’byt ashaamt ofv. Burridy ofv blud by Lerj stetus symbal.”
He blinked at the accent. Maybe it was easier to communicate via thought, but he still didn’t want his every mental pathway open to the public.
“Yeah, I know, but it’s really useless. All purebloods, whether they like to admit it or not, have some pokégirl heritage dating back to the Revenge War. It’d only be by a reproductive fluke that one somehow be born with only human DNA; possible but moot because it’s hard to measure. Plus, you can be loveballed all the same so long as there’s a tiny trace of pokégene in your system which is probably the only real test. I can tell you that no one, least of all I, would line up to have one of those horrid contraptions tossed at us to prove our heritage.” He inwardly grimaced when he realized what he was doing. He didn’t want to paint a target on his back for radicalism in a League like Ruby. Even if they were moderate, such outspoken liberal ideas could get him in a bit of trouble.
She cocked her head at him, probably picking up on stray thoughts and emotions without his knowledge or consent, perhaps not even intentionally as she is a psychic by nature. “Dhat s’raather ent’resting edia von burbred. Ne offence.”
He smiled sheepishly. “I suppose my little romp in the woods showed me just how squishy I really was.” He let out an exasperated breath and added as an afterthought, “Oh how useful a couple of bloodgifts would have been. Oh well, I’d like to be another six inches taller too, but what am I going to do about it?”
“Abow’t Dhat, Ha’ow ‘as vyourre taem in d’wood?” the psychologist quickly pounced on the opening, revealing what she indeed was here for.
He looked up at her almost incredulously. “Terrifying.”
“int maks vyou denk?”
He let out an exasperated groan, but his train of thought was interrupted by a thought that caused his face to contort oddly. Wasn’t that pretty much the same question as before? Wait, she was a psychic. Her questions probably had an ulterior purpose than simply being answered, most likely passively monitoring his emotions or something. “Never go into the wilderness alone willingly or unwillingly especially without pokégirls,” he said, deciding to go along with it since there was nothing he really could do anyways.
“Wellengly or untwellengly?”
“I was just in my room, sitting in front of my computer when the next thing I know, I’m fifty feet in the air and rapidly approaching the ground.”
Vera blinked. “How’d vyou zurvive d’ fall?”
“A conveniently placed tree branch and surprisingly sturdy waistband.” Vera gave him a funny look. “It tore pretty quickly, though, and dumped me into the lower branches. I landed pretty hard after that. I think one of my ribs cracked, if I remember the list of injuries I was given a few days ago.”
Finding no deceit in his words with her abilities, she scrunched up her face in thought. “Burhaaps vyou’ab d’eleportashun Blud Gift?”
He smiled at that. “I wish, but sadly I’ve already had my DNA documented and all that jazz so I can assure you that I don’t.” It was true. The last time he was in a hospital they looked for genetic predispositions for his mystery condition.
“Sdranshz,” she said looking thoughtful, “Et’s troo mystery, dhen. At list vyou’rre sav naw.” Vera tossed her long hair back behind her shoulders and wrote something down on her clipboard. “Dhat well byt alle. Dankvyou.”
She turned to leave, but stopped when He called out, “Wait.” She turned back around to face him. “Just out of curiosity, why haven’t they sent any therapists down earlier?”
“Ah, Dhat s’zimpal. Traama s’pervactly normal d’hab eksberrience avta. Et s’lengaring traama, e.g. dhat cummunly ze’en en PTSD, dhat Browplematec. Alle’zo wy niid’t ta wite antel alle ofv vyourre tiddue was regenerated ta mak zure d’fungus wasne hiddan en endospores. Et haappans aat taems.”
Wait a minute, Matt thought. He couldn’t understand a word she was saying. Then how was he holding a conversation? SHE WAS STILL IMPLANTING THOUGHTS IN HIS HEAD! Fuck, he couldn’t even remember what the conversation was about he was panicking so badly.
And with that, Vera stepped outside and giddily trotted over to the nurses’ station blatantly ignoring his sudden conniption fit. You were right, he is cute, she thought/said to a NurseJoy entering something into a computer terminal.
“The guy who got lost in the woods? Did he check out all right?” she asked.
Vera nodded switching to regular speech. “Yes, he’s as stable as you can expect. Made me feel young again, the way he kept glancing at my boobs.”
The nurse couldn’t help but inwardly scoff. Like you need it, she thought. “Oh, he did, did he?” the NurseJoy stopped her work and turned, interested. “He seemed too polite to do that.”
Vera gave her friend a look. I can hear your thoughts, remember? The NurseJoy blushed lightly as the telepathy licked the inside of her skull before Vera continued like nothing had happened. Yeah, he is pretty polite for a pureblood, but since when has politeness taken president over libido for a male?
The NurseJoy looked startled at that. “He’s a pureblood? Really? I mean, he looks like it, but-“
“Yes, I know, I picked up on a stray thought and got him to spit it out. I’d know if he were lying of course. Vera looked proud of herself. From what I could tell he seemed to be pro-rights too. What do you think, Jessie, will the rest of them follow suit?”
Jesse, the ‘Joy, snorted. “If only.” She frowned. “Wait, did he have a DNA test?”
“He said he already had his DNA examined some time ago. It was true from what I could tell. Didn’t they do a comparison to the interleague database on him anyways for identification?”
“Yes, but that can’t be reused. The process damages the structure of the genetic codes to much to be accurate for a genotyping.”
“Oh well, He was telling the truth or at least thought he was. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if he did turn out to have Blood Gifts considering his survival in the forest for so long, if he is convinced he’s a pureblood and has had a genetic code that he saw told him he was but was faulty, that would mean that someone had reason to lie to him, such as so called pureblooded parents.” Vera looked thoughtful before grinning at her friend. Quite a catch though, don’t you think, a pureblood with a pro-rights mentality?”
Jesse frowned in thought. “Yeah, too bad he’s not at a Tamer’s age. He probably never wanted to go into it.” Then she caught sight of Vera’s knowing grin. “Okay, spit it out. What is it?”
“He’s younger than he looks, definitely young enough to endure a tamer’s life, he was found with a pokégirl when he was picked up, and according to my observations he’s been making plans for a local tamer’s journey once he’s fit for it. He probably wants to see the area and make enough money to get out of Dodge.”
Jesse double took at that. “Say what? He’s got to be what, mid twenties at the least?” She then frowned. “Why do you think he’s leaving?”
“Nope, younger than that. It’s an act. He most likely socialized with adults at an early age, so he carries himself like someone a lot older. The trimmed look he has and the fact that he has enough facial hair to have a short, full, even beard just adds to the illusion. He probably skipped one or two grades in school or just only associated with people much older than he. I doubt much of it is intentional.” She then shrugged. “Judging by his accent, he’s probably an Upper Class Jhoto. They tend to babble to each other in whatever they think is Pre-Sukebe English despite every respectable scholar knowing it’s anything but. And, you’re asking why he wants to leave? With his politics, he’d be crucified in Jhoto and he’s probably worried about Ruby politics. My guess is that he’ll abscond to Capital, the one liberal league in familiar territory.”
Jesse whistled. “Damn, if word gets out, the staff will probably be all over him. A step up in society with a pureblood master, pro-rights, and about to continue on a journey. We best keep this to ourselves.”
Vera laughed. “Are you sure you don’t just want him to yourself?”
Jesse flushed as pink as her hair. “Seriously though, he’d never hear the end of it, and he still needs to go through rehab.”
“Oh come now, weren’t you always going on about how you’d rather be with your own personal tamer when you first started here?”
“That. Was. Years. Ago,” Jesse said through gritted teeth. She suddenly gave her friend a sly look. “What about you?”
“Me?” Vera asked amusedly.
“Yeah, a powerful Ka-D-Bra should easily be able to get in a tamer’s pants and harem.”
“Honey, I’m a pokéwoman. Besides, the hospital isn’t as likely to let me go as a NurseJoy. Although, I might snag him for a quick romp once he’s rehabilitated enough to be discharged.” She then unintentionally grimaced to herself. “That is if he’s not too scared of pokégirls to tame them.”
“He’s scared of pokégirls? A tamer who’s gone on tamer’s journey and planning to continuing on?” Jesse asked curiously.
“Yes, I don’t think he has a phobia or anything like that, but his little trip through the forest seemed to give him a healthy dose of respect of a pokégirl’s power. He’ll probably readjust to pokégirls once he’s been discharged.”
“Huh,” Jesse cocked her head. “Well at least he took nature’s lesson to heart. Most are too stupid to realize the power difference even after getting mauled once or twice.”
(August 23rd, 300 – 1145)
He was interrupted from his slow reading to see a timid girl peaking around the corner. He blinked, certain that he was missing something. Wait a second…
“Masta?” she inquired hesitantly.
He knew that voice, it was the girl from the woods. He didn’t recognize her at first because dirt and grime that had covered her during their little stint in the woods had covered her overall extremely fair complexion- Was she calling him ‘Master’ all this time instead of ‘Mister?’ Hooo boy, this was going to get complicated. She was a pokégirl. “Hi,” he replied, “Are you going to come in?”-
She hesitated for a moment before shuffling inside and stopped, looking at him anxiously. He frowned at her thin form. She had probably been in the forest longer than he if she had been feral when they first met. She’d need to be fixed up, get some food down her and such.
“Come here,” he said, beckoning her to him. She sat down on the side of the bed and curled up next to him, causing his heart to melt. Who knew what kind of life she had led even before going feral? She could speak, which meant that she was either domestic or threshold, either born into a slave race or a human who spontaneously became socially subhuman and enslaved as soon as possible. He honestly didn’t know what to say to her.
But, everyone thought that she was his. Her life was in his hands unless they figured out that he wasn’t actually a tamer. Of course, if he took the tamer’s test in Ruby, the jig would be up. Never before had such a weight fallen upon his conscience. Before now, he had always been surviving, socializing with friends, and trying to get a good education. People all around him were neck deep in shit, yet he could not do anything about it; it wasn’t his responsibility.
Now, there was a life in his hands for better or for worse. Could he stand up to the challenge? He idly stroked her hair, thinking about his- their- new predicament.
Vera, the Ka-D-Bra, looked on in amusement. She could literally feel the guilt and apprehension rolling off of him in waves. Typically, whenever they found an identity-less individual in possession of pokégirls, all public servants were required to confiscate them or report it to someone who could until the individual’s identity could be confirmed and their credentials checked. However, she was certain she could convince most of the staff to halt this process convincingly. He was obviously a tamer. A civilian couldn’t have possibly survived in the wilderness for so long with just a Trixie.
She had been worried at first that he wouldn’t have been able to see his pokégirl yet, but that Trixie didn’t know how lucky she was to find the only male Vera had ever sensed feel guilty about the concept of owning someone. She could probably get all of her buddies to make his ownership of her look “legitimate.” Besides, she could tell they already had a light bond between them anyways.
(August 23rd, 300 – 1600)
He was taking a brain brake from his serious studies and once again ogling –I mean watching- his new favorite sport, Wreckball when a buxom, cheery blonde in skintight scrubs bounced her way into his room. She tripped into something carelessly, sending her crashing to the floor. She then righted herself without a second thought and beamed at him.
“Hi! I’m Amber,” she introduced, “ant I’m to be going your therapist of rehab!”
He was so bedazzled by the sunshine and rainbows that he didn’t know how to respond, his brain overloaded, not even realizing that she spoke some recognizable English. She seemed kind of… dim, but hot.
She continued on, either not noticing or not paying any heed to his cerebral shutdown. “So, here some rare weighted legs, aaaaaand I’m to need going you to follow along with the exercise on thises diagrams.”
He followed along dumbly, not having anything to say anyways. Besides, the way his ‘therapist’ wiggled around was extremely fascinating. She hummed happily to herself in a simple tune and was bouncing on her heals, occasionally telling him to correct or adjust the way he was flexing his shrunken calf muscle. After about thirty minutes, his leg felt like it was about to fall off.
“Okay,” she chirped, “that will be all for today.” She then pulled an odd bottle of pink stuff out of her pocket and poured it in a miniature, disposable plastic cup. “Drink this,” she somehow managed to say sparkly and cheerfully. He complied mutely and grimaced at the taste. It reminded him of old potatoes and Pepto Bismol.
“That will help with the…” she continued but paused as if she forgot what she was saying. “The…” she scowled to herself as she tried to remember whatever it was she forgot. She pulled a folded piece of paper out of her considerable cleavage and read off of it, “over regeneration… the muscle building!” she made flexing gestures with her arm and bicep before flitting out the door, leaving a trail of cheer behind her.
He sat on the edge of his bed, still dazed from the woman’s appearance and later started to wonder if she was a pokégirl and what kind and what was with her grammar. Even his forest companion sat there with a dazed expression.
(April 24th, 300 A.S. – 0830)
“Hey,” he addressed the pokégirl- his pokégirl- “do you have a name?” She cocked her head confusedly. She didn’t seem to understand to much of regular English although she seemed to communicate in a pidgin with much of the staff that vaguely sounded English if you strained your ears.
“Your name,” he said, pointing to her.
“U net nam,” she said almost reflexively.
“What?”
“Ai hab net nam.”
“Oh,” he said, wondering if that were really true or if she simply didn’t want to tell him her old name. If that was the case, she needn’t lie about it. Of course, you never know what this world might have conditioned her to do. “Well, you can’t exactly go about nameless. Any particular one you like, or would you rather someone just pick one for you?”
She seemed rather surprised. “Ai ne know.”
He simply shrugged. “Fine, tell me if you decide on something. I’ll suggest something to you if I think of something good.”
(April 27th, 300 A.S. – 1000)
One of the usual ‘Joys moseyed into He’s room “Ha’ow rare vyou t’da?” she asked pleasantly.
He put the borrowed computer device on the small table next to his bed and turned to face her. “I feel great, whatever that pink stuff is, it’s a real miracle worker. I can stand and walk on my leg with only a slight limp now.” Fortunately, he was getting used to their accents. Although a lot still flew over his head.
The nurse cocked her head, “Foorgat dhey boot vyou on dhat. Dya, Et das ets jab.”
He nodded. “I think every bodybuilding nut out there would guzzle it if it became common knowledge, but I’ve never heard of it before.”
“Gud,” she said firmly, “et wark byt vyourre bady can’abaliizinf brateen von oder ariias ofv d’bady. Et’s anly fuer yuse en haspetaal so wy can manetar vyou. Wy nasasaary can mak zhure dhat natheng gets destabelaezed.”
He soaked up the information. Well, what information that was intelligible to him. It was amazing the way medicine had advanced in this world. In his old life, that much rotted tissue would lead to his leg either being amputated or at the very least rendered useless from the amount of tissue removed. Hell, even the rehab to get his leg back into shape would have taken weeks or months, and he probably would’ve been in a leg brace until then. But this was amazing, even if that medication had some bad side effects if misused. Although, what medicine didn’t?
“Huh,” he said to himself, “I’m surprised they trusted that therapist with dosing me with it.”
The NurseJoy’s eyes widened. “Zie was d’odne dhat was asseent ta gev et ta vyou?”
He nodded. “Yes, it makes sense since it probably needs to be used right after the rehab session, but I honestly didn’t think a Bimbo could handle a job that complex.”
That sent the nurse into a coughing fit. It seemed rather bad, and He got up to see if she was okay. He gave a few hard pats on the back to try and help, but then discovered its futility when she was really laughing. She wiped a stray tear from her eye and took a breath.
“Zie s’intern,” she said, clutching her side after she righted herself. “Har uncle, d’jief ofv medicine, gav et ta har fuer whaatever riisan.”
Guilt flooded his conscience. “Oh… uh,” he was at a loss for words. She really fit the description of that particular breed of pokégirl, and his mind sort of jumped to conclusions. Although her being human, one from a good family it sounded like, explained why her accent was considerably thinner than most everyone else’s.
“Danne warry,” she placated with a smirk, “Wee’rre alle zertain zie missed dhat particular threshold by d’skin ofv her tiith.” She involuntarily chuckled again before pulling out a chart. “Kay, vhat Ai cam here fuer es ta tell vyou dhat vyou’rre fet fuer dis’jarrge.”
He heard the word discharge. His eyes brightened momentarily before hardening and setting. “That’s good news.”
“Dya, n’wy rare byt go’eng kiip vyou kross d’night fuer manetareng. Enjoy vyourre laast night har.”
He smiled to himself. Not noticing the jealous glare the NurseJoy sent to the He had studied the published information listed by public study guides for two different leagues. He was confident in his recollection of the information and felt he deserved a break. His study methods had always served him well. After the NurseJoy left him, he sat and simply cleared his head. Tomorrow he would face the music of whatever happened. Whatever debt the hospital saddled him with and how he would manage to survive this crazy new world would come and face him.
NAME: John Doe (Jeremiah Feuerstein?)
STATUS: Soon to be Free
14,700 words altogether (this chapter and last