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 Walking the Razor's Edge

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Pen Wielder
Pen Wielder

Posts : 199
Likes : 4
Join date : 2013-06-18
Location : Somewhere between sanity and reality
Humor : Of course. A humor section. After all, everyone knows that the best way to tell a joke is to have no context, and just improv on the fly *rolls eyes*

Walking the Razor's Edge Empty
PostSubject: Walking the Razor's Edge   Walking the Razor's Edge Icon_minitimeWed Nov 13, 2013 11:19 pm

“People don't just live one life. They keep coming back until they get it right.”
― C.R. Strahan


My name is Connor Hawthorne.  Or perhaps I should say my current name is Connor Hawthorne.

You see, I wasn’t always named Connor.  Heck, at one point I wasn’t Connor Hawthorne at all.  The thing is, nobody around me knows it.  If you asked any person who has been around me for more than a few days, they’d all say ‘yes, that’s Connor Hawthorne’ and move on.  If you asked my parents, they’d tell you I was born Connor Hawthorne on November 8th in Sunnyshore General Hospital.  ‘I should know,’ my mother would add wryly.  ‘I was there.’

And it’s all true.  I am Connor Hawthorne, and I was born to Miranda and Garrett Hawthorne on the 8th of November in Sunnyshore General Hospital.

The thing is… I was somebody else before that.

At risk of sounding like a nutcase, I’m pretty sure I was reincarnated.  Even today, I’m not sure whether or not that’s true, mainly because I recognize this world, and not as my own.

This world is, as you’ve probably worked out, the Pokemon universe.

Yeah.  Imagine my surprise when I figured out that little conundrum.

As much as people would probably tend to think of the Pokemon world as a step up from my previous existence, I can’t really say for sure.  You see, as much as it’s more interesting, it’s also far more dangerous.  In this world, people live side-by-side with creatures who can breathe fire as easily as they do air, or have bodies composed of horrifically deadly poisons, and some people delude themselves into believing that we can control them.

Fact is, if most Pokemon ever decided that they didn’t like us, we’d all be dust.  For example, Pidgeot is apparently capable of outpacing most fighter jets in level flight.  Charizard’s flame breath can roughly match the temperature of burning thermite.  And a single Sharpedo is capable of sinking an oil tanker by ripping apart the hull with its teeth.  And that’s not even getting into the Legendary Pokemon.  A single trio-level Legendary could probably nuke an entire country if they got really hacked off.  

Compared to that, we humans are pretty dang close to the bottom of the food chain.  The main (and some say only) reason that we aren’t on the menu is because we have this inexplicable ability to connect with Pokemon.  It’s the sort of thing that professors have been agonizing over for years, and they’re still no closer to finding the answers.  Even the most unlikeable people are capable of forging a bond with a Pokemon given enough time and effort.  That bond protects us, and it makes the Pokemon we have a bond with want to protect us as well.  It’s the only reason the people we call “Pokemon trainers” exist.

I grew up as the son of two trainers, neither one superbly accomplished or exceptionally intelligent.  However, they both passed their potential to form bonds with Pokemon to me.  

In other words, I got lucky.  I could’ve been reincarnated as somebody will very little potential to have a bond with Pokemon, or as just a regular animal (what, did you think Pokemon were the only non-human creatures that lived in this world?).  I shudder to think that I might’ve wound up like a bad person in a story about karma from my first childhood, reincarnated as an ant and destined to be stepped on.

Anyway, as I said earlier, I was born to Miranda and Garrett Hawthorne in Sunnyshore City, an only child.  I was raised around my parents’ Pokemon, and grew up cultivating a close friendship with both my mother’s Arcanine and my father’s Luxray.  I seemed to bond more easily with canine, feline, and vulpine Pokemon than any others, so my friendship with those two came naturally.  Maybe it was a holdover from my previous life; I’d always gotten along well with cats and dogs both before I’d died, though I’d never had the opportunity to test it out on foxes.  My parents both loved and cared for me dearly, though they seemed somewhat put-off by the fact that I “learned” and “matured” so quickly.  I guess they didn’t want me to grow up too fast.  I loved them back, as any son would love his parents, but there was always this unexplainable sense of disconnect between them and me.  Maybe it was just that I already knew and understood almost everything they had experienced… and a few things they hadn’t.  Namely death.

Still, I enjoyed all the perks of a “normal” childhood, at least as far as this world went.  I occupied my adult mind by learning everything I possibly could about Pokemon, from their biology and ecology to their sociology and the theory behind how they learned moves.  My parents must’ve thought I wanted to be a Pokemon Professor like Rowan or Oak with how much information I devoured.  I was insatiable, and it was all so fascinating.  I mean, who would have guessed that Mightyena’s pack dynamics are more like those of timber wolves than their hyena namesake?  Or that their common label is almost a total misclass because Mightyena are canines while hyenas are more closely related to cats?  Or that certain subspecies of Azumarill have an adrenal gland more than double the size of their kin and are capable of voluntarily controlling their adrenaline responses, giving them incredible physical strength for short bursts?  Each new fact that I learned opened up dozens more questions that I wanted to answer, and I couldn’t get enough.

In a more mainstream vein, I was surprised to find out (when I was five) that most people did not go on journeys when they turned ten years old.  Of course, looking back and thinking logically, it made perfect sense.  Like I said earlier, Pokemon can be really dangerous.  Sending ten year-olds out into the world with a starter Pokemon and a prayer would be like trusting a toddler with matches and not expecting them to get burned.

No, people started their journeys at sixteen, which is a good benchmark in my opinion.  The ones who were too inept or too reckless would be unable to go far enough for things to get really dangerous, while the competent ones would be able to handle themselves.  Of course, people were legally allowed to own Pokemon at ten, but they couldn’t take them outside of the general area of their hometown without parental supervision.  

I never owned a Pokemon of my own when I was a kid.  I enjoyed my friendship with my parents’ Pokemon well enough, but I wanted to wait until I either got my starter Pokemon or made a connection with a Pokemon on my own.  I took the bonds that humans share with Pokemon very seriously, as most of my studies indicated that it was one of the few things that would keep me safe from harm.  Apparently, the power of friendship was very real in this world, and that made it all the more important that I choose Pokemon that I could truly trust and care for.

Still, that never stopped me from dreaming of finding a team of my favorite Pokemon.  I sometimes spent hours in my room, planning out what team I would have and how I would find them.  Since we lived in Sinnoh, I stuck mostly to Pokemon native to the region.  However, all of those plans were suddenly pushed aside from one conversation with my mother, only a month from my sixteenth birthday.

“We’re moving to Littleroot Town, in Hoenn. Your father has a new job there.”

Little did I know at the time that this would drag me into events well beyond anything I could have ever expected.


So, prologue is done. Thoughts? I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but it'll probably be a while. School is really bad lately.

Also, the info on Pidgeot, Charizard, and Sharpedo is mostly from their Pokedex entries. Charizard's flame breath is capable of melting "almost anything", but an exact temperature is not specified. So I went with 2,000 degrees Celsius, which is about the temperature of a thermite reaction. That's capable of melting most heat-resistant metals. Pidgeot and Sharpedo's strengths are explicitly stated, however.
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