The Dark Type

1 Reception

I hate rain.

          I’m not really the only one in my party of two, either.  Of course, I don’t have the luxury of being put in the dry pokeball, like my partner.  Even though this is probably the only time my Houndoom would ever ask to be put in his ball. 

          Maybe you wouldn’t mind the rain so much right now if you’d thought to get an umbrella or coat before you left.  Of course, my brain couldn’t be this practical on my way out the door seven hours ago.  It had been raining for six, and dark for two.  And here I was in a tank top and capris.  But finally I could see lights in the distance.  I let out a sigh of relief, my cold-numbed legs inspired to move a little faster.  Only a little longer and I could find somewhere to rest, and leave Ilex Forest far behind me.

          As I reached the suburbs of the city, I noticed smugly that even the bored trainers that usually loitered at the outskirts had retreated to dry land in the face of the downpour.  Even when your pokemon was tired and miserable in its pokeball, it never failed that another trainer was determined to battle.  I’d learned the hard way that some of the most intent would go so far as set their pokemon on a trainer with her back turned, as I discovered with some bitchy little lass passing through Violet City. 

          Too bad for that little skank that Houndoom really doesn’t like Persians.

          My tennis shoes let out that one certain satisfying squelch that only occurs on a paved road, though I would much rather my shoes weren’t in squelching condition at all.  Even so, I was immensely relieved to finally be within city limits. 

          I wandered the streets for several minutes, trying to find a sign pointing visitors to some place to stay, but the rain obscured my vision like a glittery black veil, and even the well-lit signs weren’t showing anything helpful.  I let a gust of air out my nose, and it snagged—just my luck to start getting a stuffy nose, but what could I expect?

          Another footstep splashed nearby, and I lifted my head quickly to see that distinctive belly pattern that only showed itself on Poliwag evolutions.  It wasn’t a Poliwag, but damned if I could tell if it was a Poliwhirl or a Poliwrath in this light.  It shuffled up to me, wide eyed, and reached out a white hand.  The other, I saw, was holding a grocery bag with milk, eggs, and cocoa.

          “You probably love it out here, huh?” I stuttered through my chattering teeth.  It extended its hand farther, so I decided that it might be best to just go with it.

          By the time I started paying attention again, I was under the awning of somebody’s front porch, and the Poli-whatsit was poking at the doorbell for a little old woman to answer.

          It took all of one look for her wrinkled eyes to widen, and she ushered me in with a “Ho-oh’s ashes, what are you doing out in the wet, dressed like that?”

          Standing in the threshold of such a nice, well kept house in my soaking clothes embarrassed me considerably, so I started taking off my shoes and socks almost immediately, not even flustered at the Jigglypuffs dancing a pattern on the cloth.  I hadn’t realized the woman had left before she reappeared and threw a towel over my head.

          “You’re soaking wet,” she chided, scrubbing me like something furry fresh out of the bath.  Over her shoulder, I could see a sleepy Arcanine lazily watching the fireplace and breathing flames on it every so often.  My hand went to the ball at my hip—Houndoom didn’t like other canids. 

          “Here, it’s just me, dear,” the woman said.  “I’ve a warm robe you can wear if you like, and I’ll see to getting those clothes dried.”