ACL: 44. Growing Strong

Chapter 44: Growing Strong

Brockton Bay, NH, USA
Friday, February 12, 2011
Type: Grass

The two major gangs were finished. The Empire members had been shipped off to different prisons to avoid collusion several days ago and Lung and Oni Lee would undoubtedly receive the the heroes’ full attention. The city was now at peace. Or at least, as peaceful as a city could be expected to be.

I looked out over the setting sun and took pride in a job well done. I was exhausted, all but tapped out on both aura and stamina. But I took a major step forward. I pushed myself to the limit and broke through. I forced a shift, something I’d never been able to do before.

I went to sleep with a self-satisfied smile. If there was anyone in Brockton Bay who earned his rest, that was surely me.

And yet, in defiance of alpaca and man, the sweet lure of Cresselia’s dance was denied me. I was roused from slumber at the shit-stained asscrack of dawn by the cruel, soggy finger of the most rambunctious of my little brothers.

My eyes opened with the barely suppressed rage of a grumpy ursaluna. I would know; I’d raised one since she was a fucking teddy bear.

I glowered up at Keith, ten years old, as he pulled his wet finger from my ear with an uncomfortable squelch. His hair was wet, which meant he’d just gotten out of the shower. And, judging by the mischievous grin on his face, he decided that the first thing to do was to lick his finger and give me a wet willie.

I took a deep breath. I glanced out the window, at the sun poking out beyond the skyline, and was sorely tempted to toss the little shit outside. Alas, despite jokes to the contrary, violence wasn’t always the answer… unfortunately.

Instead, I raised my gaze towards the true culprits, Mark and Cherie. They were the real monsters here, the devious bitch who would manipulate a child and the filthy simp who stood by and allowed this corruption of the bro code. Truly, some people would sink to any depths of depravity with a gleeful smile. And if I heard the echoing laughter of a divine pastry-addict in my mind, I gamely ignored it.

“Haven’t you heard, ‘Let sleeping dogs lie?’” I glared at the two ne'er do wells.

Mark, that rat bastard, gave me a sheepish grin. I could see the flickering guilt in his eyes. “Hey, it’s morning anyway. And breakfast is ready.”

He said that, but this wasn’t about breakfast. I could tell by how his eyes flickered towards the true mastermind. “You’re a traitor to the brotherhood and there will be consequences for this betrayal.”

“Hehe, truce?”

“Hmm… Nah.”

I could guess what happened. Cherie wasn’t fooling me with that cute giggle. Master power or no, she was a really hot, older girl and Mark was a teenage boy. I knew what he was into and Cherie ticked pretty much all the boxes… except sanity… I doubted she had to try very hard to twist him around her little finger.

This was a change in the Egg House. I wasn’t sure if it was a good change, but it was a change.

More pranks had been popping up lately, each facilitated by the runaway master. They were innocent things: whoopie cushions, packs of fake gum that shocked you, wet willies, those sorts of things, not really anything I could get truly upset at.

I suspected that was precisely what she was aiming for. Cherie had found her little means of rebellion, which was to use the other residents to poke at me while she played the innocent, indulgent big sister. Naturally, the boys loved her.

I sighed and got up. I’d planned to sleep in until at least ten, but that wasn’t happening. I snagged my toothbrush and shuffled past them. As annoying as being woken up at the crack of dawn was, I chose to see it as a sign of progress on her part. Or, at the very least, adaptation. 

Cherie was taking to aura with the kind of innocent wonder usually reserved for children on Christmas morning. It was something foreign yet deeply personal, a completely new way to explore the emotions that she’d once manipulated without care or regard for others.

Now, she didn’t just pluck at the strings of an instrument, she felt them. She experienced those emotions, the highs and the lows. And because she could no longer pluck the strings, she experienced them with the complete certainty of their genuineness.

Yes, Mark and Derek kept staring at her tits. Yes, the children fought and bickered like only children could. And yes, Mrs. Wells was always tired and happy to offload chores onto a set of helping hands. She felt the way we stressed over all the bumps and hurdles of everyday life.

But she also felt the satisfaction bubbling up in Mrs. Wells as she prepared simple, filling meals for us. She felt how happy Leah was at having an older sister figure, someone she could talk to about hairstyles and tampons and concerts. She saw the way the children’s eyes lit up when she read them stories and knew those feelings were more authentic than any grand orchestra she’d ever composed.

She was learning to appreciate positive emotions in a way she’d never had before. Hell, I was pretty sure she was facilitating this harmless prank war to nurture more of such emotions for herself. Though she lacked her original power, it wasn’t like her years of experience at social manipulation went forgotten.

She tugged at my family’s heartstrings with the finesse of an expert, coaxing laughter from them just as a farmer might harvest his cows. Like a newly of-age frat boy at a bar, she was experimenting with different flavors and cocktails to find blends of emotions she enjoyed feeling by proxy.

Her actions reminded me of ralts or misdreavus. Because ralts fed on positive emotions, they were drawn to bright, cheerful optimists. They often went out of their way to inspire joy in others. Misdreavus, and some other ghost types, played pranks for similar reasons. Having raised a gardevoir myself, I couldn’t call her emotion-farming wrong without being a hypocrite.

I shook my head with exasperated bemusement. Cherie Vasil was a product of her environment, powers or no powers. My annoyance with this prank war was probably just a bonus to her, a tiny spot of rebellion that she knew I wouldn’t retaliate over.

That was fine. I knew this wasn’t perfect, but it was a good step in the right direction. Her antics allowed her to feel as if she wasn’t completely helpless and at my mercy. And, if my frustration was what it took to grant her a bit of relief alongside a chance for growth, I bore it with stoic patience.

‘Truly, you are a saint among men,’ Victini drawled sarcastically.

‘I’ve got the patience of a xatu,’ I agreed wholeheartedly as I shaved the wisps of chin hair on my face.

I couldn’t wait til my facial hair became thick enough. I hadn’t had a beard in my past life, teleporting to a pokemon center for a warm shower and razor was too easy with Titania, but I liked having the option.

‘More like a darmanitan.’

‘The statues near Relic Castle?’

‘You wish.’

X

I grabbed breakfast with my siblings but didn’t stick around. After a mug of coffee brought me back to the land of the living, I checked and found that my aura type today was grass. That sounded perfect; a type with famously mellow pokemon for what I hoped would be a mellow day.

First things first, I had work to do at the Camacho Clinic. I didn’t always appreciate the time sink, especially because it was school-mandated, but I couldn’t deny that the spot of normalcy sounded wonderful. Besides, there were worse ways to spend my Saturday morning than being surrounded by puppies and kittens.

I spent the morning clipping toenails. There was a peculiar technique to it, especially where cats were concerned. Because their nerve endings extended into the claws, clipping too close to the toes could cause a lot of pain for the animal. Thankfully, I was a fast learner.

Once I did that, Dr. Camacho had me feed the animals and take inventory before signing my timesheet. He was cool like that; so long as I put in the work, he didn’t mind letting me go early.

After buying myself a Reuben sandwich at a nearby deli, I changed into my armor. Grass types being what they were, it would have been a shame to do nothing. So, I decided to revisit each of the community gardens I’d made in January and spruce them up a bit.

I reached for my power and smiled. Every type had limitless potential, but grass just felt so alive.

Not every grass type could grow plantlife quickly, but there were plenty of options nonetheless. I considered meganium, then discarded the choice. I wouldn’t want Brockton Bay to think I was running out of ideas, after all. 

In the end, I settled for the flower dino’s Hoenn counterpart. “Shift, sceptile.”

I giggled as small, sturdy scales grew in overlapping patterns over my body. Six seed pods sprouted from my back, each filled with highly nutritious seeds and condensed grass type energy. Long, blade-like leaves ejected from my wrists, each the length of shortswords.

I could feel the now familiar sensation of my tailbone lengthening. Except, the tail of a sceptile was unlike the tails of salamence, tyrantrum, or any other reptilian. There were literal pine needles growing along the length of my tail. Though the appendage remained flexible and whiplike, I knew these needles could become razor-sharp at will.

And yet, despite being a jungle-themed Swiss army knife, there wasn’t a hint of hostility or territorial aggression I’d experienced as a dragon type yesterday. Though they had a fierce countenance, and a reputation as unmatched arboreal duelists, sceptile were gentle creatures.

Wild sceptile could be found both in Petalburg Forest and the jungles near Fortree City. They claimed vast swaths of territory, but seldom came into conflict with others. Their lifestyle revolved around revitalizing the plantlife with the grass type energy stored in their seed pods so almost every pokemon left them be.

This also made them largely migratory. Some did settle down in mating pairs and inevitably attracted a lounge of treecko, but most were solitary protectors. They zipped from one end of the forest to the other, often covering a hundred miles or more each day, perfect for moving about the city.

I shook my scales playfully and winked at a nearby child. Loose pine needles, constructs of grass type aura, fell from my scales, filling the street with a refreshing aroma.

Then, I placed a hand onto the glass walls of a nearby office building. The pads of my fingers and toes, like a gecko’s, could attack to most things, glass included. It was called the van der Waals force, something about the distance between atoms and the electron cloud.

I snorted at that. And Mrs. Rothelby said I never paid attention in physics.

I scaled the building and leapt towards my nearest target. It was a small garden in the back lot of a community center. There, berry bushes grew in neat rows, alongside plots of land set aside for hearty produce like carrots, potatoes, and onions.

I landed with nary a sound, something that should have been impossible for a lizard of my size.

“H-Hello, are you Menagerie?” an older gentleman said. He was dressed comfortably in a sweatshirt and pants, and leaned against a walker.

I waved with a toothy smile. “Hey, old timer. How’s your Saturday going?”

“Oh, not too bad. Are you here to pick some vegetables?”

“No, I’m just here to make sure everything’s growing okay. I helped revitalize the plants here a while back and I figured a checkup wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“Heh, a plant doctor, eh? Go on, then. How are they doing?”

I looked around. The berry bushes were doing great. Their branches looked sturdy and their leaves were a vibrant green. February in New Hampshire could get quite windy, but someone had been thoughtful enough to add wooden stakes to the soil to act as additional support.

It wasn’t just their appearances that I was examining. As a sceptile, the flora spoke to me, almost literally. There was a sixth sense for the wellness of nature that a human could never process. In essence, I likened it to the emotion-tasting sense of a kirlia, something that was natural and intrinsic to the forest guardian, but couldn’t be easily described.

“They’re doing well,” I told the old man. “The branches have been picked clean, but the plants as a whole are healthy. Were you the one who added the stakes?”

“My grandson did that,” he said with a weathered smile. “It gave him and his buddies something to do over a weekend.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“The soil isn’t the best quality though. I’m afraid the berries won’t grow back nearly as plump as the first time.”

I plucked one of the seed pods on my back. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, like plucking a hair, and the pod almost instantly began to grow back. “That won’t be a problem. I can provide all the nourishment these bushes need. I do suggest you start composting though.”

“We do, yes, but it’s messy work so not everyone wants to do it. Don’t worry too much, Menagerie. I’ll see it done one way or another.”

I nodded and pressed the seed into the soil. It burst open and thin roots spread out all across the small plot of land, not unlike a Leech Seed. Except, rather than draw energy into the seed, these roots poured nutrients and grass type aura outward.

This was what made sceptile so vital for Hoenn’s jungle ecosystem. They weren’t just protectors and guardians, but nurturers as well. With their immense rate of photosynthesis and omnivorous diet, they could store up large quantities of energy and efficiently redistribute it all to the forest at large.

The leaves perked up visibly. New flowers began to bud as we watched. It was as if time flowed faster as the bushes absorbed my aura.

“There, that should get these plants started,” I said, tail swishing happily.

“Thank you for this, Menagerie,” he said. “I’m Roy, by the way.”

“No problem. I do have other gardens I want to visit though, so I’ll see you around, Roy.”

X

That’s what I did for a while, but even a sceptile couldn’t give of himself forever. Eventually, my own energy reserves dipped low so I found a nice rooftop to sunbathe on.

Photosynthesis was amazing. I now understood why so many grass types were so mellow. There was little need for competition and rivalry when most of their nutritional needs were met by the sun alone.

I stretched out and let out a contented hiss. Every cell in my body rejoiced as the noonday sun hit my scales and leaves. It made me wonder: Were a sceptile’s scales alive? I was no biologist, but I was pretty sure scales were supposed to be like fingernails. Then again, surely the few leaves I now sported weren’t enough to fuel this rate of photosynthesis.

Then, I rolled over and found an especially warm section of the roof, right on top of an aluminum vent. The metal’s heat covered me like a cozy blanket. My questions and worries faded to nothing before the glory of the sun. There would be time for musings later. For now, the light beckoned.

My eyes drooped closed with every passing minute. This was peace. This was tranquility. The only way this could be better was if I had a nice, fragrant sprig of herbs to crowd out the general stench of the city.

And then, as if to prove that I existed solely to entertain the fucking alpaca, my sleep was interrupted yet again.

“Hey, you!” Vicky yelled as she set down on the rooftop. The aluminum creaked under our combined weight. “Menagerie!”

I opened one lazy eye, and replied with a posh, British accent, “Who? I’m… uh… Geicoman…”

“What? No you’re not!”

“I am. I can get you fifteen percent or more off on your car insurance.”

“I don’t even own a car!”

“Well, maybe you should go bug your mom until she gets you one. Come back when you can drive and I’d be happy to set something up for you.”

“No! You’re Menagerie!”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You can’t prove it.”

“You asked who he was,” she said smugly, arms crossed over her chest. “There isn’t anyone who doesn’t know him.”

“I’m… a Case-53. Yeah, that’s it,” I drawled. My tail came around to nudge her tummy, making her squeal and hop back. Finally, the warm aluminum stopped creaking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re disturbing my sunbathing time.”

“You wouldn’t know what Geico is if you were a Case-53. Stop lying, Menagerie.”

I groaned and spread out like a starfish. The warm metal was my sole comfort in this cold, cruel world. “Fine… What do you want, Victoria?”

“You ditched Amy yesterday!”

“Are you forgetting the part where I had to go beat up Lung?”

“You couldn’t have chosen any other day? We prepared a lot for the dance, you know.”

“You prepared a lot for the dance,” I pointed out with a lazy yawn. “Amy doesn’t give a damn. Hell, she thanked me for getting her out of it.”

“Okay, fine, I prepared for the dance. It was a lot of work,” she said with an admittedly adorable pout.

“I made it up to you.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, didn’t you see all the apples I left you?”

“Well, okay, they do taste good, but mom ended up giving most of them away because she can’t cook to save her life. Aunt Sarah’s got apple cobbler if you want a slice, by the way.”

I perked up at that. Dessert was always nice and I had a bit of a sweet tooth. Sarah Pelham was a great cook. “Maybe… So? Did you need something? Or did you just drop by to disturb my nap?”

“Por que no los dos?”

“You’re not Mexican.”

“People speak Spanish in other parts of the world.”

“And do you?”

“Un poco.”

I gazed up towards the cruel, unfeeling sky. “Why am I being punished, Arceus?”

“Hey! Stop treating me like a divine judgment!”

“Fine, you troublesome woman. Out with it.”

“Amy says she wants to talk to you. You can’t access your phone as a gecko so she had me track you down.”

“How’d you do that?”

She rolled her eyes and held out her phone. “You’re Menagerie. Practically everything you do is on PHO.”

“Fair enough. Did the great grumpy one say what she wanted?”

“Yeah. Dragon got back to her.” She nudged me with her boot like the rude girl she was. “Come on, Geicoman. Let’s go to the mall first.”

“Why would we go to the mall?”

“Delphi’s inauguration ceremony as a Ward? Amy said you’d want to attend that, something about helping her out when she was a new trigger.”

I blinked in surprise. Dinah Alcott joined the Wards a few weeks ago, but I supposed the PRT hadn’t wanted to make their acquisition of a new thinker public during the chaos, too tempting a target. “Was that today? It completely slipped my mind.”

“Well, let’s go. You can chat with Amy and Dragon afterwards.”

I stood with a spine-popping stretch. “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

Author’s Note

Cherie is complicated.

A group of lizards is called a lounge.

Animal Fact: Pangolins are the most trafficked animal in the world because their scales have both ornamental and medicinal value according to Chinese traditional medicine. I’m pretty sure I’ve used that before.

A few more facts about their scales: They crack. Pangolins need to take regular mud baths. If the scales get too dry, they can crack like broken fingernails.

And that’s because they are fingernails. Both your nails and their scales are made of keratin. However, a pangolin’s scales are so strong that not even a lion can bite through them.