Last Dance in Pallet Town

– Pokemon Mafia AU / crime noir thriller pt 1–
series content: extreme violence, foul language, sexual content, smoking, alcohol, adult situations, criminal behavior

Pallet Town, 1922

By the time Ash Ketchum was 18 years old he’d been working at the canning factory for three years. It was a rank, stinking business that left him covered in magikarp and goldeen guts day in and day out, painted up to his elbows in ichor and with small scales stuck painfully in the edges of his fingernails.

That night he came off shift out of the dank factory building into the buzzing electric lights under a black, moonless sky which hung low and sullen with heavy threatening clouds. He leaned against a lamp post, watching his fellow workers shuffle dead eyed out into the street, metal lunch pails in hand toward their homes. 

Ash fished his battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and the heavy, tarnished lighter along with him. He lit up, and took a long pull of tingling nicotine, blowing it out through his nose. The filter of his cigarette tasted like the slick of residues that clung to his fingers.

In each of his fellow workers he saw the ghost of his future self. Thick and pallid with weathered, lined faces and dull, dead eyes. Men who had been going through the motions for most of the decades of their lives.

Some men died in the factory. It didn’t happen every day, but it had happened often enough in the three years that Ash had been working there for him to become numb to it. Men died to feed the great machine of civilization the same way as magikarp and goldeen. It was just the processing afterward that was different.

He left the glowing cherry of his finished cigarette butt hot on the cement as he walked home.

It would probably be put out by the rain.

Maybe it would burn the whole place down.

–

His mother was still up when he got home, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on one of Ash’s shirt collars. There was a plate of bacon and a cup of formerly hot tea on the table waiting for him. He sat down in his shirt sleeves and suspenders, and dug into his meal without bothering to wash his hands.

“The Professor came by today, Ash,” his mother said. She turned around, his wet shirt collar in her hands as she leaned against the sink. There were bags under her eyes, and her hands were cracked and calloused.

“No kidding?” Ash looked up, tin mug in hand. There were dark streaks on it from his fingers.

“He asked me if you could come by the lab in the morning.”

“No kidding,” Ash repeated even more incredulously. The Pallet Town Pokemon Research Center was the small town’s singular point of interest on the map– a little operation sucking on the teat of government grants to assess, study, and train pokemon for economic and military use. There were plenty of rumors that the g-men were not the only ones that the lab supplied with pokemon, of course.

“No kidding.” His mom nodded and gave him a wan smile as she wiped her hand off on her apron. “He said something about a job, why don’t you go see him in the morning?”

“A job? What like with the lab? Ma, I’m not exactly a whiz with science." 

"Please, Ash?” she said softly. “I know you hate it at that factory.”

“Sure, but the pay’s good, ma. You told me you only gotta do half the piece work you were doing before I started…” His gaze was drawn once again to his mother’s cracked and rough hands. He dug a fresh cigarette out of his pack, hoping to dull the sting of anger that rose in the back of his throat.

Ash had never met his father, but if he ever did, he owed the fucker more than a few sharp words for abandoning a good woman the way he did.

“You’re sweet, Ash.” She grabbed a kettle and wrapped the handle with a towel, putting it on the stove to heat up fresh tea. “Maybe the professor’s got something even better, don’t you think?”

“Can’t imagine how much it pays to be a government mankey, but if you want me to go see him, ma, I’ll do it. I’ll get up and make a special trip.”

As the kettle heated, she came over by the table and kissed her son on the temple against his dark, brushed back hair.

“You’re a good boy, Ash. You’ve got a good heart, and I don’t want you to lose that.”

He put his hand on his mother’s arm and tried to return her smile.

“Thanks, ma. Heh. Better get to bed if I’m getting up early, eh?”

“Have a cup of tea with me before you go?”

Outside, there was a low, growling rumble of thunder that rose to a sharp crack. Pouring rain began a rushing beat against the thin roof of the house.

Ash hunched against the table and nodded.

“Sure, ma.”

–

Last Dance in Pallet Town

– Pokemon Mafia AU / crime noir thriller pt 1–
series content: extreme violence, foul language, sexual content, smoking, alcohol, adult situations, criminal behavior

Pallet Town, 1922

By the time Ash Ketchum was 18 years old he’d been working at the canning factory for three years. It was a rank, stinking business that left him covered in magikarp and goldeen guts day in and day out, painted up to his elbows in ichor and with small scales stuck painfully in the edges of his fingernails.

That night he came off shift out of the dank factory building into the buzzing electric lights under a black, moonless sky which hung low and sullen with heavy threatening clouds. He leaned against a lamp post, watching his fellow workers shuffle dead eyed out into the street, metal lunch pails in hand toward their homes. 

Ash fished his battered pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and the heavy, tarnished lighter along with him. He lit up, and took a long pull of tingling nicotine, blowing it out through his nose. The filter of his cigarette tasted like the slick of residues that clung to his fingers.

In each of his fellow workers he saw the ghost of his future self. Thick and pallid with weathered, lined faces and dull, dead eyes. Men who had been going through the motions for most of the decades of their lives.

Some men died in the factory. It didn’t happen every day, but it had happened often enough in the three years that Ash had been working there for him to become numb to it. Men died to feed the great machine of civilization the same way as magikarp and goldeen. It was just the processing afterward that was different.

He left the glowing cherry of his finished cigarette butt hot on the cement as he walked home.

It would probably be put out by the rain.

Maybe it would burn the whole place down.

–

His mother was still up when he got home, scrubbing at a stubborn stain on one of Ash’s shirt collars. There was a plate of bacon and a cup of formerly hot tea on the table waiting for him. He sat down in his shirt sleeves and suspenders, and dug into his meal without bothering to wash his hands.

“The Professor came by today, Ash,” his mother said. She turned around, his wet shirt collar in her hands as she leaned against the sink. There were bags under her eyes, and her hands were cracked and calloused.

“No kidding?” Ash looked up, tin mug in hand. There were dark streaks on it from his fingers.

“He asked me if you could come by the lab in the morning.”

“No kidding,” Ash repeated even more incredulously. The Pallet Town Pokemon Research Center was the small town’s singular point of interest on the map– a little operation sucking on the teat of government grants to assess, study, and train pokemon for economic and military use. There were plenty of rumors that the g-men were not the only ones that the lab supplied with pokemon, of course.

“No kidding.” His mom nodded and gave him a wan smile as she wiped her hand off on her apron. “He said something about a job, why don’t you go see him in the morning?”

“A job? What like with the lab? Ma, I’m not exactly a whiz with science." 

"Please, Ash?” she said softly. “I know you hate it at that factory.”

“Sure, but the pay’s good, ma. You told me you only gotta do half the piece work you were doing before I started…” His gaze was drawn once again to his mother’s cracked and rough hands. He dug a fresh cigarette out of his pack, hoping to dull the sting of anger that rose in the back of his throat.

Ash had never met his father, but if he ever did, he owed the fucker more than a few sharp words for abandoning a good woman the way he did.

“You’re sweet, Ash.” She grabbed a kettle and wrapped the handle with a towel, putting it on the stove to heat up fresh tea. “Maybe the professor’s got something even better, don’t you think?”

“Can’t imagine how much it pays to be a government mankey, but if you want me to go see him, ma, I’ll do it. I’ll get up and make a special trip.”

As the kettle heated, she came over by the table and kissed her son on the temple against his dark, brushed back hair.

“You’re a good boy, Ash. You’ve got a good heart, and I don’t want you to lose that.”

He put his hand on his mother’s arm and tried to return her smile.

“Thanks, ma. Heh. Better get to bed if I’m getting up early, eh?”

“Have a cup of tea with me before you go?”

Outside, there was a low, growling rumble of thunder that rose to a sharp crack. Pouring rain began a rushing beat against the thin roof of the house.

Ash hunched against the table and nodded.

“Sure, ma.”

–