Kerosene, as it turned out, was not very good at flying, and nobody was going to saving him as he fell. That tiny little body hit the ground like a rag doll, skidding over the damp, newly-green grass.
It took him a while to get back up again. The impact had left him dazed and hurting, had pushed the breath out of him. Charmanders really weren't built to fly, especially when they had already been born on the delicate, wimpy side.
This wouldn't be happening if he'd been the Charizard Aiden wanted.
The Blastoise was right. He was weak. It was a hopeless situation. A runty little Charmander couldn't possibly beat a Blastoise. He should have been running, crying, pleading for his life.
If he couldn't be a Charizard, then he could at least try to die like one.Again, he was standing. Again, his eyes were locked on his enemy. "I'm not afraid of you," he told her. It was true, though there wasn't any courage in that; he was simply taking shelter behind the listless indifference of giving up hope. Fear existed because there was the
( ... )
She might have been large, but a Blastoise knew how to move fast if the situation called for it.
"You've got guts kid. Stupid, but you've got guts. You know what I'm feeling generous tonight. How about if I just really you real fast so you don't have to suffer or anything? Considering it a--"
Suddenly the Blastoise stopped in her tracks, the figure of the Charmander still clasped in her hand. Frozen. Trying to find the right words, but the same insanity that had taken over her was in the eye of the storm, and all that was was now quiet.
Something was wrong.
Something was really wrong.
As if this shouldn't be happening.
A strange sense that there was something odd about this.
Well, that worked out rather nicely. The pupils in the Blastoise shrank so much they looked like tiny little black dots lost in a sea of white. Why had she hesitated? Eh eh eh eh... For now, the voice that had called out seemed to be quiet. But she was starting to have a headache. Better to get this over as quickly as possible. But now without having her fun. Fun was important! She loved fun!
With a primitive roar, it held up the Charmander so they could be face to face, the maddening grin spreading across her face.
"Save that again. Come on. Say it. Tell me I'm afraid."
And the minute the Charmander's lips parted, she sent out a hot blast of water from her own. You thought flames could be hot little one? So could water. You'd learn. And then you wouldn't be able to talk anymore.
A fire-type's mouth was a very heat-resistant place. Even so, the simple fact that it was water Jessie was attacking with made it plenty dangerous. Kerosene recoiled in her grasp, retching up scalding-hot water and thick white clouds of steam. The fit worsened until he was coughing up a thin, oily substance, the steam finally fading to faint little wisps.
Shuddering and gasping for breath, he raised his head again. Opened his mouth again. Tried to spit fire at her.
Nothing more than another painful round of feeble coughing, another spatter of that oily stuff, this time tinged a faint rusty red.
Tried to scream at her.
Only a strained, agonized rasp.
She had taken his fire, and she had taken his voice. Tiny hands clenched around the sturdy fingers that held him, claws digging in. An attempt to convey the same silent message that glimmered fiercely in his eyes: he was still burning! Was that the worst she could do?
Comments 18
It took him a while to get back up again. The impact had left him dazed and hurting, had pushed the breath out of him. Charmanders really weren't built to fly, especially when they had already been born on the delicate, wimpy side.
This wouldn't be happening if he'd been the Charizard Aiden wanted.
The Blastoise was right. He was weak. It was a hopeless situation. A runty little Charmander couldn't possibly beat a Blastoise. He should have been running, crying, pleading for his life.
If he couldn't be a Charizard, then he could at least try to die like one.Again, he was standing. Again, his eyes were locked on his enemy. "I'm not afraid of you," he told her. It was true, though there wasn't any courage in that; he was simply taking shelter behind the listless indifference of giving up hope. Fear existed because there was the ( ... )
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"You've got guts kid. Stupid, but you've got guts. You know what I'm feeling generous tonight. How about if I just really you real fast so you don't have to suffer or anything? Considering it a--"
Suddenly the Blastoise stopped in her tracks, the figure of the Charmander still clasped in her hand. Frozen. Trying to find the right words, but the same insanity that had taken over her was in the eye of the storm, and all that was was now quiet.
Something was wrong.
Something was really wrong.
As if this shouldn't be happening.
A strange sense that there was something odd about this.
"I...."
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With a primitive roar, it held up the Charmander so they could be face to face, the maddening grin spreading across her face.
"Save that again. Come on. Say it. Tell me I'm afraid."
And the minute the Charmander's lips parted, she sent out a hot blast of water from her own. You thought flames could be hot little one? So could water. You'd learn. And then you wouldn't be able to talk anymore.
And that's why you'd die weak.
....no don't do this!
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Shuddering and gasping for breath, he raised his head again. Opened his mouth again. Tried to spit fire at her.
Nothing more than another painful round of feeble coughing, another spatter of that oily stuff, this time tinged a faint rusty red.
Tried to scream at her.
Only a strained, agonized rasp.
She had taken his fire, and she had taken his voice. Tiny hands clenched around the sturdy fingers that held him, claws digging in. An attempt to convey the same silent message that glimmered fiercely in his eyes: he was still burning! Was that the worst she could do?
Reply
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