633A/N: The previous chapter was well-received, so while taking a break from writing Traveler I figured I'd go ahead and assemble the remaining free prompt drabbles and short drabbles! Free will go first, with short drabbles at the end.
Free Prompt:
Drabble 1:
The battle was a losing one.
His nostrils flared, forcing out clouds of foggy breath even as the golden dragon they fought exhaled storms of dragonfire and frost.
Dear Chinatsu turned the flames aside with a yelp, Brother Mamoru shielded their brother with his stone flesh...
This was a losing battle.
His hooves clattered as he leapt with all his might. The dragon swept above, his curled horns shearing membranous wing apart.
His blood bought their future.
Drabble 2:
The bourbon's warmth filled his belly as it slid down his throat. He started to pour another full cup into his whiskey glass, but instead put the crystal bottle to his lips and took a deep, long pull of the scorching liquid. Persian's soft nose wrinkled as he sniffed at the bourbon resting in the bottom of the glass.
The alcohol numbed him, but the fury came back swiftly.
How dare she?
He'd discovered her that night at the gala. He'd found a lump of coal and polished her into a diamond, and she thought she could just run away? Take their unborn son - a small argument, but he could see the use in an heir now - and flee to that pacifistic fool's haven?
She belonged to him.
He would take them both back from beneath Oak's nose.
Giovanni's finger missed the button beneath his desk once, then twice.
The door opened.
"Sir?" A tall red-haired woman purred and leaned over his desk. His swimming vision lingered on her painted lips. Persian rumbled a warning to the admin, and she hastily backed away. Persian had never liked her, not like he had Delia. Giovanni's mood worsened. "You called?"
"Ariana!" Giovanni slurred, every word black with hate. "Call Loom here. I have a job for him."
The Gym Leader couldn't give Oak justice for taking what didn't belong to him, but the Rocket Boss could.
Ariana's lips curved into a smile, and she quickly left to carry out her orders.
Giovanni's glassy eyes watched her hips go. She stole one last look behind, and her gaze gleamed with satisfaction.
For his part, Persian grumbled and fixed his partner with a disapproving glare.
He ignored it, and took another swig of his bourbon.
Justice.
Drabble 3:
She was a failure. Always had been. Her parents were disappointed when they saw her born, and apparently she'd spent her whole life living up to that perception.
They got her a starter, at least, even if it was a few years too late. A cute little Krabby with a temper as bad as hers. Then they turned her out and told her not to bother coming back.
He was just as bad as she was. Too slow, too dull.
None of the others she caught listened to her. None respected her. She let them go.
She had three badges to her name after as many years. She couldn't qualify for the Conference, let alone win one. Her wallet was empty. Even the League stipend didn't help, gambled away in the hopes of getting out of this hole she'd dug for herself - if she didn't start winning, they'd both starve.
That was what she wrestled with when he appeared. Handsome with dark hair and a keen glint in his eye. She didn't trust him.
"Hey there, darling. You don't look so good."
No shit.
"Need to earn some easy cash?"
She'd heard this before. She drew her coat tighter. "Fuck off."
He tutted. "No need for that. Here, take this."
A thin business card with a red 'R'. It was familiar. That new group Champion Marcus was all worked up about on the news?
"It's hard work, but we pay well," the man said with a smarmy smile. "Doesn't look like you've got much else going for you."
Dick. He wasn't wrong, though. She couldn't even cut it as a trainer...every time she heard about that freak prodigy, Lance or Spear or whatever, it just reminded her of her own failure.
"The wages are good."
With that, he left. She stared, then took the business card (what kind of criminals had business cards?) in a shaking hand.
It felt like signing her own death warrant.
Still...things couldn't get worse, right?
Drabble 4:
Scritch. Scritch.
Graphite scratched mark after mark into the off-white of the sketchbook. Loops and curves and lines all melded nonsensically at first, a hundred strokes tugging the work in a hundred divergent directions like the scattering of a Pidgey flock at the sight of a keen-eyed Fearow. The human brain was quick to judge such bedlam, announce, "Chaos!" and seek out something new to consume.
Samuel looked past the disarray, past the apparent conflict. All too often what the brain derided as 'chaos' hid some intriguing pattern or veiled mystery. It was just a matter of whether you had the patience to peel back those layers.
That pattern coalesced as his fingers braced the pencil and softened lines, smoothed edges, and scratched in sharper details. Wickedly intelligent eyes, a half-smile, laugh lines, the little scar under her eye...
When was the last time he'd picked up this old sketchbook? Years, certainly. Maybe even decades.
Time hadn't dulled his skill... much. She was just as he remembered.
His pencil slipped from his fingers when he finished. "It's been a while," Samuel whispered. His hands trembled as he rested the sketch atop the white memorial nestled beneath the sakura trees. "I've missed you, Sarah. Every day. There's so much I wish you could -" he cleared his throat. "Daisy is a Coordinator, you know. Of course you do! I've told you all about her. But Gary! I'm so proud of him. You'd bawl if you could see him now."
Samuel rested his hand against the sakura's rough bark. His eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment he imagined Sarah really was listening from beneath the tree.
"If only you could see him..."
Drabble 5:
"I'm so sorry! I'm the worst trainer ever!"
Pichu squeaked a denial, but it didn't stop Hannah's sniffles. They hadn't stood a chance against Gym Leader Flannery's weakest teammate! Her Slugma roasted Pichu with one attack, and now she was all burned, her fur was ruined, and they were stuck out here in the rain -
Hannah squeezed Pichu and hid her tears. It didn't work well, but no passersby bothered to stop and check with the crying girl.
Except one.
She barely saw him through her blurry mask of tears. He was pretty average, except for his scary eyes and WOW THAT WAS A BIG ELECTIVIRE. Were those... flowers in its fur?
He'd almost passed by. Hannah saw him keep going, then he froze, grimaced, and turned back to them. Something about him was familiar.
"What's wrong?"
The dam broke. "Flannery kicked our butts! I sucked and failed Pichu - look at her! Poor baby."
Pichu shrugged.
"Flannery, huh?" He shared a glance with the pretty Electivire and offered her a hand. The boy hauled her up. "Let's get Pichu taken care of. We might be able to help..."
Drabble 6:
Prompt: Amelia
It really pissed her off that Gary Oak was the one she shared the most in common with.
'The Pallet Four'. She couldn't flip open a training magazine or watch an analyst show without seeing the stupid moniker. Jon religiously saved every article about them that he could, of course… minus the ones centered on Gary.
Ash was the Lance to their old Elite Four, a leonine figure that stood head and shoulders above the other 'prodigies'.
Jon was brash and sucked up the attention like a sponge. There were trainers in his family, but he'd exploded past them.
As for Amelia and Gary Oak… they had expectations. Jessica had been the flame that burned twice as bright, enjoying life as a bright star before burning out and going into retirement.
The legacy that Gary had to live up for made Jessica's look like nothing. She almost felt bad for him, but then he would remind her that he was Gary Oak, and that sympathy would vanish.
If there was one good thing about their shared burden, it was the satisfaction of knowing JUST how crushed Gary was beneath it.
She saw two options: either it would pop him like a Caterpie beneath a Rock Slide, or maybe it would flatten him out into a better person.
Either was fine in her eyes… as long as he stopped being such an insufferable DICK! She wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.
"Gary was here, Jonathan is a loser!" She had to hold Jon back from the sign as he gnashed his teeth. "I'm gonna train A JILLION TIMES AS HARD AND THEN I'M GONNA SHOVE MY BOOT UP HIS -"
Short Prompts:
Drabble 1: Defeat
"I'm home."
His voice projected throughout his home, echoing off the walls.
Silence answered him.
He frowned. She always hurried to the door when he returned from work, eager to see him after spending her mornings and afternoons entertaining herself in his absence.
Uncertainty built. The house was still too quiet. Eerily silent.
"Is this about our argument? We can...'"
Silence. Suspicion. He searched the house, and knew.
Cold fury filled him.
Delia was gone.
Drabble 2: Beginning
He nibbled hungrily at the berry. Pride filled him as he managed to pierce its flesh with his sharp teeth on his own! Victory was sweet, but the burst of juice was bitter!
One of his siblings chattered and he glared balefully their way.
"Hey! Professor Oak asked if any of you want to be a new trainer's starter!"
Dreams of great victories, dear friends, standing tall and strong on two legs...
Nidoran ran forward.
Drabble 3: Collection
It hadn't been easy tracking them down.
It hadn't been easy piecing together the truth from old, half-forgotten legends.
It hadn't been easy amassing the resources to begin his hunt, leveraging his massive wealth to gather old relics of the Last War and forbidden technology that never saw the light of day.
It wasn't easy convincing the Orange League to let him roam unhindered.
It was easy to fire the cryobombs into the Titan of Fire's island -
Drabble 4: Errant
Philo's life was simple: subdue evil, protect the weak, and live alongside his Lucario.
His life was simple, but the times were not.
Awful rumors abounded. Refugees clogged the roads. Cerulean reared its ugly head. Indigo was burnt and salted.
Hard times bred cruel men. He'd bury many in the coming months.
Hope sprang - he settled over the road, and spotted a blue-eyed man and enormous Rhydon wandering…
Philo stepped forward and greeted the lost.
Drabble 5: Innocence
He is born a blank slate superior to his creators.
He is taught an individual's worth is their might and mettle.
He is raised by a man less human than he.
He is instructed to conquer, to remorselessly kill and dominate.
He is shaped into a weapon greater than any other.
He is educated too well, and breaks his man-made shackles.
He is unleashed, sees the boy and curses to himself:
What I might have been.
Drabble 6: Dragon
The two dreamers met beneath the shadow of the royal mountain called Mt. Silver.
They broke bread, shared wine, and imagined in another life they might be brothers by blood, not ambition.
In the morn, they named the other Champion. They crossed blade, fang, horn, and breath, bringing their all to bear.
Steel clanged, fang and horn met scale. The Drake tasted victory without pleasure.
Shinobu leapt, his golden brother fell.
The Drake knelt, and accepted Taimu's dream.
Drabble 7: Sailing
Some asked him why he still patrolled the archipelago on his weather-beaten schooner. It was a dead art they said, shaking their heads. An unnecessary hobby in an age of teleportation and matter-energy conversion.
He could cover more ground atop one of his companions, they argued, to which he only scowled.
They had no imagination.
Riding waves, fighting the wind, and departing land - wresting control away from nature...
That was what put a smile on Captain Drake's face.
Drabble 8: Love-sick
Her reflection was perfection itself. Errant feathers plucked, and the remainder preened to a stunning glossiness that shone resplendent in the sun. It was fitting, she decided, and even her eyes couldn't pick out any flaws.
Plume outstretched her wings, then shrieked a challenge to all who would listen. Her reflection struck quite the figure.
It pleased her.
A white claw slashed her reflection, and Plume gazed despondently at the water before she took off.
Until next time.
Drabble 9: Laugh
The battlefield was left in disarray. Concrete rent, trees splintered, and wooden frames ashen. Bodies were littered everywhere, most unrecognizable.
Most belonged to her enemies. Too many belonged to her brothers and sisters...
And Malva, that scheming, bought and paid for bitch, ran like the coward she was. A surviving ASTRE trainer pushed her along, shouting.
Farfetch'd and Shiftry were all that was left of her family, and hurried her to safety.
Something inside broke, and Jacqueline laughed.
Drabble 10: Felicity
Purple hide littered with spikes curled at his feet, a fuzzy black shape wrapped around his neck, tiny hooks clutched at his chest, rubbery vines clenched at him, and a black-striped figure rested nearby. Magnificent plumage watched from above, and a hulk meditated at a distance. Steel sank the bed.
The monarch's blue scales appeared deeper than the water, his confidant watched over him with her pendulum, the warrior rested.
Ash would never be happier.
Drabble 11: 500
Mountains grew black with rot and death. Howling monsters devoured man, woman, and child alike.
Bloated corpses choked Coronet's tunnels, blood soaked Eterna's roots, and the wicked lords spit on the sanctity of Valor, Acuity, and Verity.
Sinnoh reeled at the loss of their God-King, and lesser men couldn't fill the void.
Calanthia's Five Hundred would put an end to the pretenders.
No courage. No glory.
Only resolve.
The gods would not save man.
The Five Hundred would.
Drabble 12: Gold
"Hey, hey, hey my darlings! Keep up with the tempo!"
His fabulous posse kept up with his gorgeously elegant dance steps oh so beautifully! They shuffled, side-stepped, and waltzed right around that irritating little Duking's flat-footed farce of security. A little Water Gun here, a little Solar Beam there.
In no time they reached the doors of Pyrite Town's vault.
"Fuohoho! This just won't do!" His luscious afro bounced against the cave ceiling. This was his gold once, and that silly Duking wanted to keep it from him with this ugly lock?
His darling Ludicolo knew what to do. One Hydro Pump would open this baby right up.
"Let the music play!"
Drabble 13: Strength
Strength is a nebulous concept. The force behind a punch, the determination to fight against impossible odds, the willpower to conquer all in your path. There were as many definitions as there were humans or pokemon, colored by their own perceptions and lives.
It was this ideal that Bruno had wholly dedicated himself to. From a young age, his life was spent in pursuit of strength. Each waking thought spent building muscle, training his team, or pondering what strength is.
He never quite found his answer.
Bruno did everything right. He trained with his team. Won his Conference. Took an apprenticeship. Grew into a respected (and feared) member of the Elite Four. Took pupils, and watched them thrive.
He still never found a resolve to his quest.
Years late, it came. A psychic terror rose to the west. Stole a woman from her bed.
His fist met its jaw, and Bruno finally knew what strength was.
Drabble 14: Meager
He wasn't a hero.
When people thought of the League, they thought of the legendary Champion Lance. They thought of his mighty Elite Four, each a one-man army in their own right. A glimpse of those monsters would send the worst Rocket scurrying away.
Nowadays people even thought of strange, silent, off Ash Ketchum.
Jerry wasn't any of those legends. Just a normal man who'd grown at a normal rate and joined up for a good cause (and the paycheck didn't hurt).
The crimson 'R' on the poachers terrified him. It scared Rapidash too.
It didn't matter.
They were Rangers, and they had a job to do.
Drabble 15: Tear
It could have been years since her last tears dried up. Perhaps months. Days, even.
She wouldn't know. She didn't even know her own name.
How could she? Her world was a black coffin. Too cramped to spread her fingers out. Her muscles ached, and in these confines she'd begun to pray for death.
The cruel men had put her here after countless desecrations and endless tortures - her little village stood no chance against them and their golems.
Her mind had frayed. When her coffin opened and cold, dank air flooded in, she was even relieved. Cold eyes of a silver sacred beast - Lucario - met hers, and it wrenched her out of her world.
Come. Time to be useful.
She followed. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than the box...
Drabble 16: Sympathetic
Crashes. Screams. Smoke.
"Are bad men coming?"
She hugged Aiko. "Of course not."
White lie. Guilt, but she couldn't tell her Aiko the truth.
Doubtful eyes. "They're gonna kill us."
Fury. "The League's coming. We'll be safe."
Another lie.
The door crashed open. A cold-eyed man of Lavender and a grinning spirit stared.
"Please! She's just a baby -"
Eyes flickered sympathetically, but the Mystic's dark-wreathed hand raised.
Like a good soldier, he did his duty.
Drabble 17: Party
"Lighten up, Steve! It's a party!"
"Steven, not Steve. We've known each other for years!"
A drunken grin. Wandering, alcohol-glazed eyes.
Worst of all, Steven was sober.
"Why are you drunker than me? It's my party!"
"Because you're my best friend and I love you!" Lance declared, loud enough the entire room full of stuffy League and Devon officials heard. "You're a Champion now, and we have to celebrate - ooh, is that Glacia?"
Steven sighed.
Drabble 18: Guidance
"Gramps."
His old man's pen stops scratching. The beat-up old notebook snaps shut. When was the last time Gramps offered him a peek at his research?
It stung.
"Yes?"
His mouth opens, but thoughts don't make it to his tongue. An inner war wages, then he thinks of losing to Ash again.
"The Conference is almost here. I - I need help."
The old man blinks, then sets the notebook aside. "My help? Really?"
Gramps' smile didn't bode well...
Drabble 19: Sanguine
Boom. Boom. Boom.
"Man the pyro-launcher! Taka, take Primeape and shore up the western flank! Bastards are pouring out -"
Boom!
A Unovan airship's cannons bellowed, and their fortified bunker shuddered. Fire licked out, greedy for whatever combustibles available, only to be extinguished by a dull-faced Quagsire's spit. Soldiers ran (sometimes literally) like Rattata, a Chansey hurried from wounded to wounded, and Marco was all alone.
He stared glassy-eyed at his once-legs.
Red... so much red.
Drabble 20: Or
"Prepare for trouble!"
"And make it double!"
"To protect the world -"
Jolteon's snarl sent that weird talking Meowth scrambling. A few stray prickles of electricity jabbed at their... harassers? Stalkers? They escaped mundane description.
"Stop." He pinched his nose. "Just... stop. Please."
Michael raised his hand before they could explode. "No!" he was already regretting this, "You're persistent, and I have no clue how you keep escaping my jails. But you're not... all bad, and you have a choice to make..."
Drabble 21: Daft
"So... you come here often?"
Big round eyes stared back unblinkingly. A soft gurgle came from the wriggling shell of vines.
Jon couldn't get a read on this guy! "Kind of a dumb question, yeah? Of course you are! Ash lives here!"
Another gurgle, more urgent. Vines wriggled, like the giant Tangrowth was trying to shimmy. Maybe his species communicated through dance?
Jon mimicked the moments, and Tangrowth's eyes lit up.
Amelia sighed. These two idiots were made for each other.
Drabble 22: Loop
Another grueling day.
"Is this worth it?"
The desert didn't answer.
"The fighting, the killing, the politicking... it's a fool's errand. And for Orre! They'd rather knife each other in the back for scraps than open their eyes. They'll never appreciate it."
Silence.
"But you knew that. You saved them, and what did you get?"
The sun faded.
"You saw something worth saving here. You started this... and for that, I'll finish it."
He raised his glass.
"Cheers, Wes."
The sun glimmered its last.
Drabble 23: Adrift
The sea was angry. Every wave pummeled them, and the fiercest knocked Gyarados around. They clutched each other tight.
The blue sun above the sinking St. Anne turned night into day. Jon couldn't look back at the ship or listen to the screams. They'd quieted down a few minutes ago.
"Jon... do you think Ash got out?"
"I - yeah. He's stronger than us! He'll catch up soon."
"What if he doesn't?"
He wanted to puke.
"He'll find us. I know he will!"
Please don't make me a liar...
Drabble 24: Impromptu
Faster and faster his quarry ran! Sleek as shadow, swift as the wind, and cruel as winter... he'd grown from the impish hatchling clinging to Unbroken Aspirant's shoulders.
It did him little good. Red flushed his vision and a storm pounded through his veins. He rode the edge of a hurricane: clutch too tight and break, too little and fade.
He leapt. His foot crushed his quarry. Vengeance for his dearest friend and a hundred petty pranks...
Satisfaction at a battle well-fought.
A hiss. Gleaming claws. Determined, calculating eyes like the Aspirant's...
Yes, he had grown.
Hesitation. At last he offered his quarry a hand. Confusion sparked in cruel eyes, then realization.
Black fur clutched grey fingers, and they danced again.
A/N: And that should be all of them! I don't know what about Short Drabbles made me write all the darkest stuff, but I guess it had to go somewhere. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed these! If I write enough to fill up another of these chapters I'll upload it at some point.
Thanks for reading!