★ —
it’s quite far from the south beach of akala — heahea city, in all its glass window-glory and citrine glow of shops and street lamps that slice through the deepening indigo of dusk. hano beach, they call it; and it’s the island’s token tourist attraction ( irresistible to travelers of all regions! and even those thrust upon the coastline, forceful and against their will. the ocean is beautifully, tragically cruel . )
The kick feels like a knife in his ribs, fringes of pain echoing down from the bones in his face to the synapses in his fingertips. Intermingled with the fresh, bloodied wounds on the bottom of his feet and the undeniable soreness (the more he thinks, the more Archie can sense the plethora of bruises underneath his familiar wetsuit) just makes him groan out in pain. He begins the agonizing process of hefting himself onto his side, so he can get a look at the man standing over him.
The stranger’s face swims into view.
And he remembers something.
There had been a storm.
The sky had been black that day. The ocean had been dark, but placid. And then mere moments later, waves had formed – large waves, capable of sweeping away even the strongest of land dwellers. But he had done the unthinkable and cast himself into the ocean on the back of something. He remembers being determined, not scared…
Swimming in the ocean in the middle of a storm is a fool’s errand. An easy way to have fishermen find your corpse days later, smashed against an island’s formation. He’d seen it too many times – or least – he thought he’d seen it –??
And then, nothing.
Rough night, mate?
Archie manages a rough laugh as the words finally register in his mind. He flashes his smile, a hint of white before saying,” Ya have no idea, kiddo.”
Even I don’t. But that ain’t a priority right now.
He swallows. “Now get me to a damn hospital. Ain’t no medical expert, but I know what broken ribs feel like and it ain’t good. And maybe get me a beer. If it ain’t too much trouble.”
Welcome ladies and gentleman to today’s match! I hope you’re all excited because we have a special treat for you! Not only is the crowd favorite ready to rumble, he’s going up against one of the strongest Pokemon in the circuit!
Here he comes from the red corner! It’s the roughest and toughest four armed wrestling machine, Machamp! And from the green corner, it’s the masked man with multiple wins under his belt, from Battle Royals to straight up battlin’, give it up for the Masked Royal!
With a wide smile affixed on his lips, the Masked Royal stepped out of the gate, raising his fist when the crowd roared at his appearance. He then swung it to his chest, just over his heart, which his fans saw as a silent promise to win this match. His gaze then fell onto his opponent, all knuckle cracking and dangerous smiles. This will be one of his toughest matches he’d have in a long while but regardless of the apparent disadvantage, he was pumped. He’d show to everyone that having extra arms doesn’t necessary result in a win.
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The roar of the crowd makes him feel alive.
For once, Archie is not the center of attention in a fight – today, is a mere spectator in a foreign land. (How he got here was another story entirely.) He whistles and whoops when the announcer introduces the match’s key players ––
–– A man and a Pokémon.
Coming here was an impulsive move on Archie’s part. No sooner than when he had recovered his memories did Archie feel the desire to return to Hoenn. Surely, Team Aqua (his second family) was gravely worried about him. He had purchased a plane ticket immediately, phoned Shelly, and was in the process of leaving when a gaudy poster on the window of a Thrifty Megamart beckoned to him.
‘Come see THE MASKED ROYAL, the THE BATTLE ROYAL’S ELITE take on MACHAMP, MASTER OF THE RING!! TONIGHT ONLY – seats are LIMITED!!’
Shelly hadn’t been too pleased, but there was no stopping Archie from doing what he wanted.
And it had been all worth it.
The crowd ultimately loses it when the Machamp holds the Masked Royal in a bind that seems inescapable. And then, by sheer force of will and technique, the Masked Royal breaks free. From there, Archie knows that the match has been set. The Machamp is tired, having expended all of its strength in the prior minutes. The Masked Royal traps the Machamp in a nelson, and from there, gravity takes care of the rest.
Again, the crowd erupts into applause and screams. Archie does as well.
Moments after, with their appetites for fighting satisfied, the audience begins to disperse. They will talk about this match for months to come; Archie as well. He thinks of the Masked Royal, and his powerful but alluring presence. He couldn’t have been much younger than Archie, could he? Seemed like a fine young man, and for a moment, Archie entertains the thought of that muscle being pinned against his own (could a man who wrestles with Machamps be outdone by a man who wrestles Sharpedo?).
As he leaves the dome, he spies none other than the man of the hour (alone) himself.
Archie doesn’t hesitate to approach him with a wide smile, speaking in an overt tone that seems to suggest that he’s known the Masked Royal all his life –
“Gwa ha ha! Nice job out there tonight, showin’ that four-armed fellow who’s th’ toughest! Almost thought ya were out when ya got held in a vice, man!”
The seaside city, resting above the hills, is an empire of clustered lights. From it, even Archie can hear life – music, the chatter of people, the sounds of idle traffic. Sounds that don’t seem to grow in volume the farther he walks along the designated route into the city. He should find it strange, but this is but a minor concern; Archie takes more concern in that fact that he doesn’t know where he is.
And the world keeps spinning, and spinning, AND SPINNING…
Normally nimble Archie has been reduced to an almost drunken teeter. He is soaked, suit torn and in general disarray. No open wounds ail him, but his skin has been washed raw – a result of floating aimlessly in the sea for hours and hours. But perhaps the kicker is the pain in his temples. Thankfully, there is no bruising, but Archie knows that it’s been struck hard.
The resulting blow has disoriented him. Scrambled his thoughts and memories. He finds it utterly ridiculous that even his own name alludes him – he has a name, doesn’t he? Everybody has a name! He’s sure that it will come to him any minute now. Just like the memory of how he came to be here, among flora and fauna that is most certainly not home. ( Wherever home is. )
His bare feet scrape against something sharp. The bottoms of his feet grow slick with blood. And then another misstep causes the ground beneath him to shift (damn inclines !! ) and give way. He tumbles backward and watches the earth disappear as his body careens off the side of the path.
There is nothing to grip. Nothing to catch him. Archie doesn’t cry out and merely closes his eyes, welcoming the inevitable unconsciousness. He feels his body roll down the hill, arms and legs hitting something hard twice, before coming to an abrupt rest at the very bottom. Back to where he began – the beach’s bank.
Archie decides not to get up this time. But he does open his eyes. Sand is in his eyes. It sucks.
He blinks. Even in the dim light of the moon, he makes out the silhouette of someone in the distance. ( A lifeguard? A ranger? ) His fingers twitch as he struggles to reach for them, voice low and pained as he calls out for:
No offense but can my brain just like … Shut the fuck up for like 14 seconds … Like I know I need this thing for like higher functions or whatever but like still …. Quiet the hell down you scream engine
