Spoon: 5.10 Entree

Aaron’s Pokemon

- Artoria (Kirlia)
- Jeanne (Flaaffy)
- Durvasa (Mankey)
- Skånsk Aggakaga (Egg)
- Magellan (Chikorita)

Entree 5.10

Aaron Fulan
Rusturf Mountains

I promised Jeanne that I’d teach her a song on the thoramin if she worked hard to fully integrate Fire Punch into her fighting style. I should’ve done that earlier because that motivated her like nothing else.

I wasn’t the biggest music buff, but I did remember attending a few concerts with friends. Some of the more iconic songs from my last life were still stuck in my head, especially the ones I used to sing for Tate and Liza when they were wee, lil tots, so it wasn’t like I lacked material.

A mere two days since, she was throwing hands with Durvasa. Not evenly of course, my martial mankey had too many advantages in close quarters, but Jeanne made up for lack of natural talent with an enthusiasm that rivaled the sun. She was learning to properly bob and weave while using her tail to balance and strike from unconventional angles. At this point, I was sure the raw hand-to-hand experience was just as valuable as learning to maintain Fire Punch mid-combat.

So, I naturally taught her “Eye of the Tiger” by Survivor. It was iconic, the single most recognizable “gym bro music” I could think of. It also helped that there were only four chords to recreate. Most of the song’s complexity came from the repeated pulsing of a chord, something that was easy to replicate with Jeanne’s Electro Balls.

It was a work in progress. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure how we’d go about performing it in a contest. Even if I wanted to sing with her, I couldn’t. I’d been told, charitably, that I “sang at a natural harmony.” It was the nicest way anyone ever called me tone deaf before. I was just hoping that learning to play different songs would give her ideas to compose her own riffs.

We’d seated ourselves on a ledge for lunch. The mountain loomed behind us but we were high up enough to enjoy a commanding view of the forest below.

Here, Jeanne took to practicing her music. She held three Electro Balls, one in each hand and the third built around her tail bulb. The tail thumped against a preset Electric Terrain, keeping tempo with a simple pattern. Her left hand was the bass, a harmonic foundation for her right hand.

The orb in her right hand was the meat of the music, the melody. We found that she could hit different pitches by adjusting the orb’s distance from the ground. And, if she altered its size and concentration, she could hit different chords. It still sounded very rough, but a recognizable song was forming.

Our practice was disturbed by the bellowing roar of a loudred. Turning, I spotted two of them coming out of the nearby woods, a trail of whismur hopping behind them. The deep shade of tranquil blue and sunny yellow told me that there was nothing to worry about. The lead loudred skipped over to Jeanne.

I would have said it looked like a private conversation, but that wasn’t actually possible where they were concerned. Between Jeanne’s enthusiasm and the loudred’s lack of anything resembling an indoor voice, they were far from subtle.

From what I gathered, the loudred had heard the music and gotten curious. He and his pals had broken from their herd to find the source. They’d never seen any other pokemon so enthused with the art of noise-making as they were.

Jeanne, thrilled to have someone else who loved singing as much as she did, hopped to me with pleading eyes. “Flaaf? Flaaffy flaaf!”

I booped her nose and waved her along. “Go ahead. Who knows? The whismur line is famous for their sound manipulation. You might be able to learn a thing or two from them.”

What followed was the strangest concert I’d ever attended.

The loudred could alter the pitch and frequency of their voices by adjusting their ears. They could go from bone-rattling bass to a full soprano with a single twitch of their bunny-like ears, while simultaneously keeping rhythm with stomping dances.

The whismur, there were four of them, weren’t as versatile in vocal range, but they certainly made up for it with volume and harmony. They took up positions with the loudred and Jeanne in the middle, as if to project their music in all directions. It got loud enough for Durvasa and Artoria to quietly hop down the ledge and into the brush so they could practice in peace.

Jeanne was having the time of her life. She stood at the center of a glowing, golden stage that sparked with static. Her thumping tail set the beat for the loudreds’ stomps. Every once in a while, she’d adjust the Electro Balls in her hands at the recommendation of the loudred, mixing the droning buzz of static into their song.

What really amazed me was that after a while, I stopped being able to recognize the melody. She’d started by playing the melodies I’d shared with her, but she and the loudred had quickly moved on to an original composition. It was a little rough, but not unpleasant to listen to. If I had to compare it, it sounded like an odd cross between throat music and electro-synthetic.

That was how my little lamb experienced her first musical collaboration, and got herself her very own groupies. The whismur herd followed us for four days, right up to the edge of the Rusturf Mountain Range.. The ranger stations we’d passed had already heard of “the crazy flaaffy and her musical misfits” by the time we arrived.

They probably would have accompanied us until Lavaridge, but the head honcho of their herd, a big, honkin’ exploud with a voice like thunder, dropped by to drag them back. That was for the best. I had a feeling a sleepy town like Lavaridge wouldn’t have appreciated a band of whismur and loudred singing their hearts out.

X

Durvasa

Once upon a time, I’d thought that there was nothing louder than a troupe of mankey. We mankey argued. We fought over everything from food to the best branch to rest in. We fought for fun. And naturally, absolutely none of this was done quietly.

But I was wrong. My sister and her new friends easily managed to surpass my old troupe in volume, and with only seven pokemon to the troupe’s twenty-eight. I had no idea why she was so interested in music, but she was. She grew in leaps and bounds, this experience teaching her more than our trainer’s lectures ever could.

When they started collaborating together, they sang mostly about berries. One of the loudred began a nonsense rhyme about berry types and flavors. Jeanne picked up the beat and sang about how she liked to cook berries by electrocuting them.

I listened for a bit. The music was loud and grating, but it was the topic that caught my interest. My trainer had once said that humans and pokemon retained information better when it was presented in the form of stories. Humans had a word for it, something about schemes or schemas. I knew from experience that this was true.

What I was seeing was something similar. Jeanne, a completely foreign species, was passing on cooking lessons to the local whismur population. And, when we stopped for lunch, I heard the whismur talking about the song. That led to questions about electric moves, and Aaron confirming that normal types could learn moves like Thunder Wave quite easily.

It was fascinating to see… for a day or so. Then, their music became too grating to my ears. How Magellan could stand that much noise, I had no idea. Then again, grass types had always been at peace with their surroundings. I could not focus on my own training so I accompanied Artoria deep into the woods.

The two of us quickly fell into a rhythm. Each morning, we awoke with the dawn and spent several hours on conditioning our bodies. Then, our troupe leader worked with Magellan while Jeanne began to learn and play with her fellow musicians.

As for Artoria and I…

I whirled without warning, my fist curled in an uppercut that shot for her floating rib. I knew that if it landed, her relatively fragile body would shatter. The bone would become a shiv, embedding itself into her lung.

I also knew it would never reach her. It didn’t matter what kind of surprise attack or “unchivalrous” tactic I employed. She always knew, and always dodged with the barest of margins. And if she was particularly offended, I could expect a harsher swat with her spoon for my cheek.

She rolled her eyes, parrying my uppercut with the end of her spoon. She allowed my fist to turn her weapon like a lever and I suddenly found the bowl crashing down towards my face. “How impatient, little brother. If you keep launching surprise attacks, they cease to become surprises.”

“They never worked, anyway,” I replied as I ducked the blow. She was taller than me and I’d long since learned to use my diminutive size against my opponents. “You always see them coming.”

“Perhaps I would not if you did not broadcast your emotions so.”

“As if anyone can simply stop feeling, cheater.”

“I cannot help what I am.”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing,” I smirked.

She caught her spoon on the downward arc, right as it was parallel with the ground, and stepped into a thrust. It glowed blue before growing in her hands, a psychic construct with more than enough force to crater the ground. I had learned many lessons since I joined my new troupe, chief among them that spoons were deadly weapons.

I stoked my rage, my ever-present friend, into a flame. My fists ignited and I used this new shell of aura to catch her thrust. Fire had a neutral relationship against the psychic arts, but the force launched me across the forest anyway.

That was exactly what I wanted.

Artoria swore an oath to never use her abundance of talent for any form of ranged combat. I didn’t get it. It sounded foolish, especially when her species excelled at ranged combat. All I knew was that this oath meant much to her, and that I could take advantage of it.

Distance was my friend. I wasn’t great at range either, but something was better than nothing. I threw out a Swift. Four, golden stars curved along invisible tracks towards her.

She let out a dainty scoff. It was like watching a dance. Her footsteps were light. Her sword wove in perfect harmony with her body. She did not parry the projectiles; she guided them aside, ever so slightly nudging them so they’d whistle past her, but never quite touch her.

My go-to tactic was to infuriate her, then lock her into a vulnerable position with Encore. I’d perfected it with Aaron’s help and it had caught several opponents by surprise already. That worked on Artoria exactly once. 

Then, she simply stopped using what Aaron called utility moves. Or rather, utility moves were themselves attacks where she was concerned.

Light Screen? Reflect? Artoria didn’t make barriers; she only ever made a bigger sword for herself. I learned through painful experience that convincing her to make her sword longer was a horrible idea.

I swore, but kept using Swift. There wasn’t much choice. Either I closed with her, or I tried to tire her out at range. I flipped her off and scurried up a tree. It was a distinctly human action, but that was exactly why I did it. It couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else and Artoria knew what it meant.

“What a rude little brother I have,” Artoria mused placidly. Though her voice remained calm, I could almost feel the air hum with power and promised retribution.

I whirled, placing myself with my back flat against the tree trunk. It worked. A second later, Artoria teleported to me, sword already poised to strike overhead.

As I’d expected.

My elder sister was no coward, which was a prettier, “knightlier” way of saying she thought like a mankey. I’d never say that to her face, of course, I liked breathing, but she did. Which was to say, she was a straightforward person. When given the option, she tended to confront most opponents head on, face-to-face.

It was the knightly thing to do, the noble thing. It showed that she was honorable and fearless, but it also made her predictable. And without Aaron to moderate that habit for her, she appeared exactly where I expected her to, on top of our shared branch, sword mid-swing in a perfect kenjutsu cut.

But I was a mankey. I was literally born on a tree. My earliest memory was of clinging to my mother’s back as she raced through the canopy, evading a hungry pidgeotto. In this, one thing, I could claim to be her better.

I dropped like a stone, just barely avoiding the overhead swing with Detect. But rather than fall off the branch, my toes curled around its girth. The world flipped and I was suddenly hanging upside down.

Artoria’s surprise didn’t last long, but it was just barely enough. I curled my tail around her ankle, so many forgot that I had a fifth limb, and yanked her off the branch. She let out an indignant squawk that I knew I’d treasure for a long time.

Then, gravity did the work for me. She swung like a pendulum and slammed headfirst into the tree trunk. It dazed her and I continued the attack. I did not let go. I couldn’t afford to. I fell with her, tail still wrapped around her ankle, and swiped at her face, arms, and anything else I could reach.

So surprised was she that she lost hold of her beloved spoon. If I was lucky, she’d also forget to teleport away before we hit the ground.

This was the most I’d ever managed against her. For a moment, I dared to believe that today would be the day, my first victory. And then, reality struck me like a meteor, shortly followed by an explosive palm.

Artoria had teleported up, with me still attached at her ankle, so that we floated over the canopy. Except, she’d repositioned us. Now, she was on top and I was looking up at her. The sun shone brightly behind her, blinding me with its brilliance.

I was reminded that though my sister favored the blade, kirlia were not innately gifted swordsmen. There was no reason she couldn’t use any technique without her spoon. Nor was she inept at trickery, merely reluctant. Ever since she began to hone her fae aura, she’d been “getting in touch” with her more devious instincts.

“Well done, little brother, but victory is mine today,” I heard, her proud smile easily audible. Her palm crashed into my chest. Slower than my own strikes perhaps, but practically invisible beneath the glaring sun. “Mana Burst!”

I crashed to the ground below like a golem racing downhill. My whole body screamed in pain. Her lessons were always harsh, not that I’d have it any other way. Groaning, I stood on shaky legs, just in time to see her alight daintily in front of me.

“Ow.” I grunted, deadpan. “You hit like an ursaring.”

“And you’re as devious as ever,” she replied primly. “Well done.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Oh?”

“I’m close. I’m so close to evolving that I can feel it.”

“You likely are. Our lord also thinks the same,” she agreed. “You mean for me to trigger your evolution.”

“Yes. While Jeanne is busy making that racket, wouldn’t it be funny if we returned one day and I evolved?” I sniggered, imagining the look on Aaron’s face.

“Perhaps, but you will evolve eventually. There is no need to trigger it via combat, is there?”

“I’m a mankey,” I said dryly. Really, she should know me by now. Whoever heard of a mankey choosing the peaceful option?

“Yes, I suppose you are.” She shook her head with rueful fondness. Then, her sword leapt from the ground into her hand. Not using ranged attacks did not extend to fetching her weapon apparently. “Very well, little brother. I will spar with you until either you evolve, or you break.”

The air hummed with power. Eight clones of her shimmered into being. She’d learned to copy even the shadows, knowing that tended to be the biggest tell. Her eyes, normally so warm and loving, glinted with the promise of battle. She wasn’t holding back anymore, and I knew her to be as fierce as any primeape.

Her spoon extended itself. Psychic energy was so concentrated that it looked like a solid, opaque object. This was Reflect, a move normally used to blunt physical attacks. I knew that the same defensive force, in her hands, would reflect my own strength back at me, a sword and shield in perfect harmony.

I felt a bloodthirsty grin spread across my face. My fangs revealed themselves, glinting brightly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

X

Aaron Fulan

I spent most of our trip to Lavaridge working with Jeanne and Magellan. In that time, I adjusted our appeal routine a bit.

Rather than trying to forcibly translate a song from my world, I decided that it’d be better if Jeanne performed with an original composition of her own. Neither of us had much in the way of musical talent, but we had perfectly good tutors and songwriters who were happy to follow us around. And since Jeanne and her new buddies made an original composition, we decided to practice using that, instead.

That turned out to be much harder on me. Unlike the songs that stuck with me through two lifetimes, I had no idea what these guys were singing about so I had no way to anticipate their music. And because Jeanne was making things up as she went, she could sling her Electro Balls faster than if she was trying to learn a song.

I slashed the orbs of electricity that came my way with a blade coated in aura. My blade cut through effortlessly, releasing a wave of sparks that scattered like fireworks behind me. The sound was hard to describe, at once the thumping of a mic and the crackling of static. Done in a specific pattern, it created a harmonizing effect that followed Jeanne’s primary melody.

“Lou-loudred!” one of our two tutors called. He stomped forward, stubby arms waving excitedly. “Loudred! Loudred! Loud!”

I winced. He was a tad too close and he really didn’t have an indoor voice. Still, I got the gist of what he was saying. Thanks to my connection with Artoria, my knowledge of pokespeak was improving. “You want me to step up at this part?”

“Loud. Loudred.” He nudged me aside and stood where I’d been. He took two steps forward in a sloppy imitation of my footwork.

“Ah, I get it. You think that if I step forward, I can cut the orbs faster, increasing the background tempo. Won’t suddenly raising the tempo sound weird?”

“Loudred-loud. Loudred.”

“Fine, you’re the expert. Let’s try it your way.”

That was how our practices went. The loudred and whismur had been thrilled when they realized I too was part of the performance. For them, it was like getting to experiment with a pair of instruments they’d never even considered before, electricity and swordsmanship.

Jeanne and her new friends made the primary melody. Her tail thumped a steady drum beat into the Electric Terrain. I provided a crackling harmony that followed her melody. And by stepping forward or backward, adjusting the speed of my cuts, or simply not cutting at all, I could add little flourishes to the song.

This whole thing proved to be an excellent way to hone my swordsmanship. My ability to reinforce my sword with aura had improved by leaps and bounds. By forming a telekinetic shell around my sword, I could avoid shocking myself even when I cut through her Electro Balls, at least, the weaker ones.

But the greatest improvement I saw was in my ability to anticipate, not just react. Jeanne was an enthusiastic soul. This same enthusiasm would have made her a horrible partner for anyone else who wanted to play discount Beat Saber in my place.

Sometimes, she’d do something different from the song they’d composed. In a bout of creative inspiration, she’d launch into a new pattern of Electro Balls and Thunder Shocks to see if it would fit in with the rest of the melody. And given how much of a quickdraw I’d trained her to be, any normal person would have been left with severe electrical burns. As it was, I only barely managed to fend for myself thanks to my empathic sight.

I saw emotions as colors. In this case, it was a bit like having a “combo meter” in one of those Guitar Hero-style games. She’d get going, dance her little heart out, and hype herself up until she forgot herself and did something unwise… like fire a full salvo of Thunder Shocks at seemingly random patterns for me to cut down or dodge.

I chided her a few times, but it really was great training for me. The funny part of this was that when she hyped herself up into a fervor like this, she often forgot the notes she was meant to play. Meaning, improv was what kept her going.

I had a feeling I’d be spending quite a bit of our monthly budget on cheri berry extract.

Then, when my poor, human stamina ran out, I sat down with Magellan. Durvasa and Artoria were fine. My kirlia was hiding something from me, but she assured me it’d be a neat surprise so I left them to their independent training in the woods. No, my oversized, possibly alpha-gene dinosaur needed the most counsel.

By about halfway through our trip to Lavaridge, he’d almost fully recovered. I could push him further, and he was eager to be pushed. In a word, he was strong, in a way that no other pokemon on my team was.

As a rule, my team was full of maestros. Whether Artoria’s skill, Durvasa’s cunning, or Jeanne’s sheer volume of attacks, they preferred finesse and technique over brute force. Not so with Magellan. He was big. He was tough. He could heal. And that was exactly the kind of fighter he wanted to be, a bruiser who could tank the hits and respond with punishing force.

When I heard that he received some tips from the aged bellossom at the Berry Punny orchard, I got an idea. The bellossom said that one way to learn to nourish other plants was to compact the photosynthesized energy into a seed. This seed could then be buried along a plant’s roots, nourishing it directly. The bellossom’s explanation led me to workshopping the very first doubles-exclusive move for my team. 

What if someone else ate the seed? It didn’t have to be a plant, right? Grassy Terrain worked for everyone so long as they remained on the ground. The type’s nourishing qualities didn’t give a damn about biology. 

Grassy Terrain was a wide-area move. But what if we focused all that restorative aura into a singular seed? Could the overabundance of grass type aura be used to simulate Synthesis? What if we made the technique usable at range?

Which led me back to Bullet Seed. It was one of the most basic grass type moves available, but perfect for the task. Instead of launching a barrage of seeds with enough force to dent steel, Magellan would fire a single seed, jam-packed with nourishing aura.

“We’re calling it Stim Shot,” I told him.

“Chiko!” he agreed eagerly. The idea that he could fight with his new herd, that he might one day be the central rock of a formation, made him vibrate with joy.

“That’s the spirit. Synthesis. Inverted Leech Seed. Bullet Seed. Got it?”

“Chiko. Chikorita.”

“Then let’s get started.”

Author’s Note

Can you tell I know nothing about music? Lol I remember running out of a piano hagwon crying when I was a kid. I’m legally blind and couldn’t read sheet music to save my life. I was… six…? seven…? 

I’m going to eyeball the distance between Verdanturf and Lavaridge and say it takes about a week. Most of that is walking along the Rusturf Mountain Range before cutting east a bit. This chapter follows their trek twice because Durvasa and Artoria split from the group to have their own training session.

Animal Fact: Male honeybees do not have a father. They are born from unfertilized eggs and receive 100% of their genetic material from the queen. Their sole purpose is to mate with a foreign queen, thus spreading the genetic material of their mother.