Confront
“VUL! Hey Buster!” You sneer out to the foreigner, in a demure voice, but still very pissed off. “What are you doing here? This isn’t Pixing yours!”
Realizing he has been caught, he winces and stands up in front of your domain. You get a good look at him to see what they are about.
A red vest, brown khakis, brown boots, a backpack that is also brown but surprisingly light, and a bearded man with straight hair messy on top of his head. How someone snooping around camp sites could still get a healthy pudge seems odd to you, but they are a Hiker-type Trainer.
This one seems to have long fallen from grace without a single pokeball on his belt. Not that you had one yourself, but there are expectations with this thing when donning the outfit of a Trainer class.
“Oh myyy. Hic. Looks like I stumbled on the wrooooong campside. Whoopsie! Hic!”
You facepalm. The guy is a scavenger, looting people as victims explore the wilderness. It’s safe to assume he got an idea of when you went to the nature reserve shower facilities, and tried his luck to pluck what was left while away. They are not only a threat, but they are a pain.
“Leave. Now!” You stomp a foot, and point away to the trail, anywhere away from your stuff.
“Ohhhhhhh. You don’t haaaave to shout.” Did he turn out to be part Slowpoke, or is that the hangover he is fighting, you wonder. “Why don’t you shaaare like a good little girl!”
Memory flashes before your eyes. You recall yourself being a gentleman to people to the best of ability. Even being changed and finding yourself making a slight curtsy to any other trainer found in the woods, you stay nice to everyone.
This man doesn’t deserve your kindness. Only your justice.
In a blink, your form disappears from sight of the threat, feeling the liberation of the monster that wants to protect itself- yourself as it would be. Since this is your den, err, camp, it makes sense for outsiders to be honest and forthcoming in your temporary territory.
The hiker finally looks up, not realizing you leapt high into the air, and gets a face full of six tails slamming him down across a cheek. His body flys airborne, clear from your tent entrance, and you grin with a fist pump to yourself.
Staggering to get to his knees, there’s a red mark in the same cinnamon roll shape of one of your tails embedded on the hiker. The Tail Whip brought down his defenses, and he doesn't have the agility to prevent a follow-up attack.
“VULPIX!” You cry. “Leave! Before I get really mad!” You point at him accusingly. “Or I will make you well-done. GO!”
Whimpering and being very alert with the stinging pain of the attack brought to him, he runs away in a frightened scream, running awfully quick for a baddie.
Sighing in relief, you bring a hand to your chest, grinning at the display of confidence in your new form. Sliding off your footwear and clenching your toes to the ground feels like a suitable reward for cleaning out the trash. Even though only the wild Pokemon are spectating your accomplishment by sniffing around the grass, and smelling the familiar guardian of the forest, you feel proud to have protected your temporary home for a little while.
More days pass, and it’s about a week since you changed. No stone is practically unturned, and you’ve explored everything within a few miles around you, with the notable exception being a cave downstream from the river where the lookout hill lies.
Written by PoKeHybridTrainer on 06 October 2021
