[MDI] R1 Part Six: Garbage Songs and Hot Bottles

We turned on the bend we had previously been racing Andrea towards and saw that the thin strip of beach disappeared into the jungle as the ground began to slope upwards. We plunged back into the jungle, not straying far from the edge so we could follow the ocean through the trees. Our little reunion romp with the endless forest of green didn’t last long though. When we burst out of the jungle, we found ourselves on the ‘other side of the island’, facing a 400 meter stretch across a shrub-covered cliff to the man in the cape and dragon’s mask, Admin Athens “Black Dragon” Runner. A faintly glowing psychic screen that a cooing reuniclus was maintaining seemed to serve as the finish line. It should’ve been a simple sprint to the end, but we’d stumbled into a warzone with no apparent sides as the other competitors that had already been clawing their way to finish line launched attacks at eachother without discrimination.

And then I heard the sound of something large and swift brushing past the thick foliage in the forest. I looked behind us and saw Andrea and Arcana flying—well not truly, Arcana’s feet were hitting the ground—through the forest like they were riding a breeze.

“LET’S GO EVERYONE!” I shouted, and Amygdala’s reflect and light screens wrapped around us, leaving us only vulnerable to attacks from directly above. The shrubs made the ground too stiff to easily sand sled over it, so Mossimo charged in, letting out a deep bellow to announce our presence and scare the quarreling pokemon out of our way.

Plants attacked and swatted at the screens, fire licked them and spears of ice shattered against them. Needles fired like bullets burst like tiny fireworks, and Amygdala had to drop the screens once so we could squeeze through two large stone slabs that had sprung out of the ground. The screens dissolved due to shear overload several times and Amygdala almost looked panicked as xe tried to restore them. Fugue manipulated Surf to deliver watery punches to our most persistent attackers, but most of what was hitting us was crossfire. Andrea was gaining ground on us; Luna and Aria diverted attacks and opened a path for Arcana with blazes of fire and precise shots of air pockets.

I’d told Andrea that we’d been through too much shit to lose in the first round, and I’d meant it. But from this scene I could see that we’d just gotten through a bunch of shit so that we could stay on this island and go through more shit. Why did winning matter so much?

“Fugue, use Surf to get me a straight shot to the finish,” I said.

Fugue looked at me, not quite understanding my intention, but she nodded and right before us grew two mighty waves of water that shoved the pokemon caught in them aside when Fugue pried the waves apart like gate doors. I’d dropped my backpack, grabbed Jetsam’s pokeball and whispered into it in the meantime, then told Fugue give me another Surf, “but this time I’m gonna ride it.”

A tunnel of water, like an ocean current out of place, shot from the edge of our screen to the finish. I released Jetsam and as soon as he’d fully materialized he snatched me and shot into the current. For a few brief, airless seconds I was dragged along a river by a speeding torpedo, then the water dropped around us and I could breathe, and I also could drop to the ground. My landing was cushioned by waxy shrubs, but my skull still ached and my vision wasn’t just blurry because my glasses had been gone askew. When I finally took in my surroundings, I saw Jetsam had crashed right next to me, we were still 50 meters from the finish line, and Fugue and the others were a long distance behind us, barrierless, fending off Luna and Aria. Arcana was driving straight towards us, limbs kicking wildly with exaggerated determination.

“Jetsam, run,” I ordered in a breath as I pulled myself into a sprint. 50 meters. Mere seconds. The seconds could drag on though with a flygon nipping at your heels. But rain and wind beat against my chest, and I remembered myself at fourteen years old, watching Dee evolve still wearing that stupid bikini top she’d stolen from the department store. I remembered how I’d come to learn that no one could outrace her in a downpour. For all of our disagreements, that’s something me and Dee had always shared. We were both invincible in the rain. Her son ran ahead of me, almost as fast as she had been.

My feet scrambled for--but couldn’t find --sure footing. I was more falling and constantly catching myself than running. My breaths were haggard and desperate just as Arcana’s were eager and blowing on my feet. Then I tripped. Right across the finish line.

I was sprawled out once again over a bunch of shrubs, rain droplets pattering the side of my face that wasn’t smashed against the ground. But when I opened my eyes this time I saw a hand extended towards me. It was covered in a white glove, fingers gently uncurled, waiting patiently. I took the hand, and it helped me to my feet. I looked up to see the painted dragon’s mask that shielded the face of Athens Runner.

“That was quite a stunning performance, Dillian,” said the gentleman admin in his affluent accent. “I look forward to seeing more from you in the next round.”

I smiled. I knew why I’d run, why I’d kept fighting through all the shit for the only reward of getting to fight through more shit in the future. It was the same reason I put up with Dee, with all of her ridiculous, irresponsible, risky, dangerous, stupid stunts. Because I loved that shit.


After every competitor finished, we were given lunch and free time to socialize. Mossimo returned my backpack to me, and I patched him up with potions while Amygdala initiated xeir Rest protocol and Fugue engaged in some self-healing. I’d given Mossimo the spare shades that had been tucked in my backpack to replace the ones he’d lost in our battle with Andrea, and jokingly told him to be more careful, since those were the only spares I had. Jetsam was curled up near the edge of the cliff, staring out into the ocean. Looking for his mother, I supposed. Athens’ reuniclus Aeneas had generated a large umbrella-like shield over a section of the cliff. The ground was still wet or covered in shrubs, but I guess that was nice for the people that didn’t like rain.

Andrea, Aria, Arcana, and Luna sat with me and my team. I’d apologized again for the thing with the sand and Andrea laughed it off, saying that it wasn’t really cheating since we’d only been given like two rules and neither of them were “don’t trap your opponent using Science”.

“I am kinda bummed though,” she admitted, resting her chin on her knees. “I joined this tournament to prove to my rival that I wasn’t weak, but well…”

“The fact that you lost in the first round doesn’t mean you’re weak,” I told her, “it just means you had the misfortune of being matched against the baddest girl on the island.” I gave her a cheeky smile and she laughed, catching onto my self-inflationary humor. “Besides, we were neck and neck at the end, and like I said before, you pretty much had me during our battle. I only won because I a technically-not-cheating-but-actually-cheating jerk.”

“But I guess that’s what it takes for these sorts of things,” Andrea said. “This tournament’s not about how good you are in battle, it’s about all sorts of stuff, like thinking outside the box.” The young trainer smiled, her eyes lit up with the exuberance she’d shown when we’d first met, eyes that saw a journey of excitement and growth ahead of them. “That’s what I’ve learned here, and that’s what I’ll show Ü when I kick his ass!”

I laughed and was about to tell her “That’s the spirit!” when Jetsam yelped with overwhelming relief and dashed past where we were sitting to the three-legged floatzel strutting towards us. Jet nuzzled up to his mother, but she brushed him off and approached me, standing up on her one hind leg.

“Hey Dee,” I said.

“I’m a big giant turd,” she said, but actually she probably just said “Hi.”

“How’d you even get here?” I asked.

She replied, but I had to get Fugue to repeat the translated version to me later. Right then it just sounded like she had driven a clown car over a bunch of pachirisu filled with helium that were playing with rubber psyduckies.

I then did the whole pride-swallowing sigh thing and told her, “Sorry about what I said earlier. I was wrong, and during the race I realized we could’ve used your knack for deviance. It’s probably too late to get you on the roster for this tournament, but I just wanted to let you know that next time, you’re definitely in.”

She gave me one of her shit-eating smiles and then threw back her head in a laugh to show off the mouth that could probably gargle arsenic for all the putridity that passed through it. She glomped me like the dumb weeabo she is and I pretended like I hadn’t been expecting that and was annoyed. All was right with the world.

But then along came an asshole. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself, Dr. Incompetent.”

I knew that nickname. It seemed someone had recognized me from the column I wrote for the IPL magazine, specifically the one who had been so bold as to not address me with “dear” or even my proper pen name.

“…Not-Anonymous,” I muttered.

I was laying flat on my back with a floatzel straddling me when I saw Melanie Aurora “Not-Anonymous” Knight for the first time. She was peering down at me with her dark eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. Her arms were crossed against her chest, which was restrained by a tight leather jacket, and the hilt of a katana peeked over her shoulder. The ninetales with the pearl necklace that Mossimo had failed to amuse on the ferry stood at one side of her, a houndoom that looked identical to the one that had ambushed us in the jungle, but he stood with a more serious continence and had no glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

“That is correct,” she said with a smirk. “Although anyone who actually read that trash you wrote could’ve found it to be an appropriate nickname and adopted it for you.”

“Are you familiar with satire?” I asked, hoping my dripping distaste didn’t evade her notice.

“Very. I’m also familiar with getting stuck in a sinkhole in the middle of a sudden sandstorm at the start of a race on a tropical island with a minor typhoon brewing.”
“Sounds like quite the story,” I replied coyly.

Not-Anonymous Ninja Lady lowered her eyelids even more, showing that she was even MORE not impressed with me. “Yes, one that I’m sure you know much about.”

“I might know a little. I’m sure you’re familiar with the story about me and my homies other there getting a tree dropped on us then suddenly being attacked by the World’s Ugliest Pokemon Championship winner,” I said while I glared at that houndoom and tried to figure out why it wasn’t leering and jeering at us. It didn’t even flinch when I called it the world’s ugliest pokemon.

Melanie paused her expression for a few moments to let me know she still wasn’t impressed with me, then her lips cracked into a smirk. “Sounds like someone’s a big pussy, since I’m sure there was certain someone else on stand-by to catch the tree in case your ‘homies’ were unable to simply get out of the way. I’m starting to think you need a new nickname.”
“You can call me Sex God. Most people do,” I quipped. Dee snickered.

Melanie’s smirk dropped and her expression flew past Unimpressed right into Mildly Disgusted. “I was going to say that our future interactions might be interesting, but now I’m not so sure. I’m not even sure I want to give you a new nickname now. I am definitely not going to refer to as…what did you say…’Sex God’?”

I shrugged. “Suit yourself. But you don’t know what you’re missing,” I teased. I really had no idea she was such a prude. This was awesome. I slapped Dee the high-five she had been waited for.

Her eye twitched and she turned to leave. “Unfortunately, we most likely will see eachother in the future, whether on this island or one of the nearby ones. Until then, nín shì máo lìlǜ hé yúchǔn de. Zàijiàn.”

She and her pokemon entourage started to walk away, but I couldn’t just let her (probably) insult me in her ninja language without saying something back.

“I’m happy to see you and your ninetales are working out! You make such a cuuuute couple!” I referenced my answer to her inquiry from my column.

She stopped, turned around just enough to be able to see me and Dee flutter our eyelashes in mock-innocence. Her face at first looked like it was in an orgy (haha) of horror, rage, and disgust, but the orgy quickly broke up and her mouth twisted into a sadistic grin.

“Ah, I see now why you consider yourself such an expert on human-pokemon relationships. I can see that you and your floatzel have a very healthy, loving relationship built on trust and daily sexual intercourse.”

Anything I would’ve said to refute that would’ve been discredited by the fact that as I mentioned, I had a floatzel straddling me. Arceus-dammit, Dee.

So Melanie actually walked away this time, but next time I’d serve her a burn so bad she’d think I’d fuckin’ Inferno’d her.

“Was…that a friend of yours?” Andrea asked and I was reminded that she was still there.
“No,” I replied. But I wasn’t necessarily in need of more friends, I had plenty of awesome friends already. Whatever Melanie was going to turn out to be was probably something different, and undoubtedly interesting.


Later that day I sat alone on the edge of the cliff, cradling a bottle of 50 Swift. The stuff ended up being pretty good, and since I’d bought a liter the night I’d decided to join this tournament, I had purchased some from Emilio for good luck. The bottle had been in my backpack all day so it was hot and tasted like flat shit, but I couldn’t think of a better way to end the day.