Young Writers Society

Miles had been in New York for New Year's Eve, he'd seen fireworks from bridges in DC, and he'd even taken a tour of Atlanta during Gay Pride Week, but never, and really, he meant never, had he seen so many colors, so many lights. The smell of cotton candy (and the sweet scent of Sweet Scent) was packed in the air like a nest of Combee after a rainstorm. So Miles stood still and leaned the small of his back against a railing that separated the public from a giant mechanical Octillery teacup ride.

A Patrat sat on his hat.

"Juice," he said, eyes darting to every light, "I think this is some kind of Heaven or something." A few blinks. "Or maybe an Epileptic's hell."

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he picked it out, checking the icons. Lots of icons. A message from Annie.

I just got hit on by a guy who said his name was Mr. Ekans. That means come here. Now. I'm near the dance hall with the spinning hitmontop on top.

Jasmine watched the boy across from her stare at his console in utter disbelief, the score clearly displayed on the screen between them.

Princess Jasmine- 4
Fire Dragon Lord- 2

"You used your ghost Pokemon to cheat!"

She rolled her eyes. "Think that all you want." Jasmine turned around, skirt bouncing with the movement, before turning to look over her shoulder. "Ariel, leave the poor boy's hair alone."

The boy turned pale and jumped to the side, revealing a misdreavus poised to yank on his relatively short hair. She shook her head at the pokemon and pointed to the space beside her, waiting for the ghost to hover over. Ariel huffed and slumped her shoulders forward, sulking as she did as she was told.

"He's had enough humiliation for the day without you teasing him."

She giggled at his reddening face and gave him a wiggly-fingered wave before skipping off into the crowds.

Malcolm scrolled quickly through the “London” page on Poke-Tropes, at his side were three items, a leather jacket, a deerhunter and a pair of round wire-rims. His thumb worked tirelessly as he read every last word, finally muttering a “Fantastic” and throwing two of the items into his pack.

At his side a Cyndaquil yawned a puff of smoke and nuzzled closer to Malcolm’s leg. “Just give me a sec Marty, I gotta get my list together.” Mal swiped up his phone again and started typing.

Badass Armfold-
Badass Boast-
Death Seeker-*
Hell-Bent for Leather-
Morality Chain-*
Stepford Smiler-
Tranquil Fury-
When He Smiles-

“Well guys,” Mal bent down and patted Marty on the head, nodding towards the Riolu sparring with a tree in the corner. “Better run!”

Annie | 16 | American
Dance Hall, PokéFest, London

"Here you go, lollipop," Annie said, handing her larvitar a newly-purchased lollipop. Larvitar looked at it with a quizzical look before taking it from her hand. "Lick it!" She made the gesture.

He licked it.

And it was good.

"Here, Peanut," Annie said with a giggle as larvitar curled into her chest with his favorite treat ever. "I got one for you, too. It's a festival for everyone!"

"Phan!"

"And none for you? I could get you a lollipop if you'd like."

Annie froze, exchanged looks with Peanut, and turned around. It was some man she's never seen, most likely a passerby. He wore a purple and black suit with a top hat. He winked at her.

Laughing awkwardly, "I'm saving room for dinner." Or something like that, I guess.

He held out his hand with a smile. "I'm Mr. Ekans."

Annie looked at his hand, shook it slowly, then said very quickly, "I gotta go meet up with a friend now. Running late! Nice to meet you!"

And she pulled out her phone. "We never should have split up."

Peanut nodded. "Phan phan."

Sometimes, Miles liked to think of nicknames for himself. Things that the kids back home hadn't bothered with. There ain't much to call a guy who draws Magikarp on his sneakers, or keeps his face in a DS all day. Though, there was that one girl who called him Miley...but he digresses.

Miles weaved through the crowd at a pace suitable for the head-surfing Patrat on his hat, all while desperately clicking away at his DS. He'd spent the last few weeks EV training his Gardevoir, and now suddenly she had a new type? Fairy. Miles didn't know what to think.

"Pat pat!"

Miles stopped and looked up, seeing a giant Hitmontop perpetually spinning. "Juice, d'ya think he gets dizzy up there?"

"Trat, patrat rat..."

"You're right." Miles stowed his DS in his back pocket. "Mechanical Hitmontop are probably good at not getting dizzy."

It was when Miles opened the door to the night club that he was met with the dubstep's answer to his I wonder what kind of music they play he--



He closed the door and blinked, straightening his Ray Bans. Patrat had crawled into his backpack, only his tail sticking out. Deciding to try again, Miles opened the



He took out his phone.

I don't like this song. Can we get a smoothie instead?

"Haaaaaunt."

Jasmine stopped dead in her tracks, checking her pokeball and casting a sidelong glance at Ariel. "You did not..."

"Mis mis."

She continued glaring at the oh-so-innocent pokemon and reached for her single remaining one. "Roy, help me find Murtle."

"Grow-lith!"

The growlithe put his nose to the ground and began sniffing for the elusive scent of ghost. The crowd didn't make things any easier. There were many people whose toes were stepped on.

"Hey, girl! Watch your growlit— Aren't you a little young for this?"

Jasmine sighed, snapping her fingers to get Roy to sit. "If you wanna take me, let's find an open spot."

The guy snorted and walked away. She rolled her eyes and set Roy on the scent again. Shortly thereafter, he barked.

Jasmine looked around and spotted the thinnest outline of a Haunter, standing behind a guy who was leaning just a little too close to a girl and her two pokemon. She was halfway gone and he was standing there, as if figuring out whether or not he should follow.

"Good job, Roy," she whispered, getting him back in his ball.

"Vus?"

Jasmine nodded, watching the little ghost join her friend. Murtle was now in front of the man, but he didn't know it. Yet.

His scream at having two ghost types appear at once was priceless.

Annie jumped at the sound of the scream behind her. She spun around, wide-eyed, to see Mr. Ekans staring wildly at the Haunter spawned in front of him. The Haunter, however, cackled with laughter before fading out again.

"Why do I even..." Mr. Ekans grumbled as he scrambled to his feet. He brushed himself off, straightened his hat, and walked casually away--

Oh, hello, Misdreavus.

"Ahhh! Holy--!"

Annie giggled.

"Lar? Lar! Larvitar!"

"No, no! Shhh," Annie soothed as Larvitar scrambled in her arms, apparently confused as to whether to run or hide. She hugged him tight. "They're just having fun. And scaring that man away, thank goodness!"

Quite abruptly, Miles bounded out of the dance hall. Annie's brow shot up at the sight of him.

"Heya, squirt," he told larvitar, giving him a noogie. Larvitar braced himself beneath the playful gesture, eyes closed tightly.

Annie giggled. "Say hi to Mr. Ekans!" She pointed to the man.

He watched the man run off, holding his hat to his head. The ghost pokemon kept phasing in and out, causing him to turn left, right, back, front--basically all directions and failing to run too far away. The crowd gathered was a mix of laughter and horror.

"Well, that'll teach 'im," Miles said with a casual salute as Mr. Ekans was finally allowed to run away.

"My hero," Annie mocked with a laugh.

"Before I forget!" Miles whipped out his phone and pulled up the Pokédex app, snapping pictures of the two ghosts.

Haunter, the Mischievous Gas Pokemon. This trickster lurks in the shadows, readying a gaseous grasp for any unsuspecting passerby.

"That'd make a good horror movie," Annie said, head poked over Miles' shoulder to look at his phone. "I don't think I'd pay money for it, but it'd still be good. Maybe on Netflix."

Misdreavus, the screech Pokemon. Misdreavus hides in the shadows and shrieks at horrified victims. Misdreavus is believed to feed on the fear of humans.

Miles turned his head to Annie. "Those two together in 3D would be a blockbuster."

"Wouldn't the audience run in fear?"

"And it'd be worth every freaking cent."

Patrat jumped to the table beside Miles and scanned the crowd, watching the ghosts return to their trainer. Tapping his tail on Miles' shoulder, he pointed down the dock to a girl in an oddly Victorian grey dress.

"Juice says that's their owner," Miles murmured. "Maybe if she likes playing pranks so much, we can play one of our own."

"Right. Because nothing strikes fear into the heart of men more than a yellow-eyed squirrel and a baby dinosaur."

Miles shrugged. "Larvitar could be scary if he wanted to."

In response, Larvitar opened his mouth wide, his baby teeth bared menacingly. "Laaaaaarrrrrr..."

"Either way, I don't like pokemon being used as tools."

"Tools...of fear?"

"It's blatant terrorism, you know."

"Literal terrorism!"

"Larvi larvitar!"

"So, Mr. Justice...what will you do about this lolitari terrorist?"

There was dead silence.

"That's what I thought," with a pat on his bony shoulder. "You're looking pale. Let's get you a coffee before you go full hipster vampire on me."

Jasmine watched as the man ran off screaming, letting her pokemon have some fun. He deserved it, anyway.

They floated back and he pulled out Murtle's pokeball, only to see the haunter lower her hands and shake her head.

Jasmine eyed the pokemon, then sighed. "Okay, you can stay out."

Murtle grinned in the terrifyingly adorable way that only ghost pokemon could manage, which just made the girl smile back. No real point in trying to stop those two from pulling pranks when they decided to team up.

'Sides. It was fun to watch.

Just as she was walking away to find another match— either to play in or watch— both pokemon made an abrupt wooshing noise and went as high as they could over the crowd. Before Jasmine could even register what was going on, somebody slammed into her, sending both into the ground.

Malcolm doesn't know how he got on the ground, all he knows is that for some reason there is a very adorable Ghost nibbling on his head, a thin wire of purple and pink seeping out of his noggin. Next to him are his Pokemon, Marty currently being restrained by Chan the Riolu from attacking a nearby Growlithe, and some girl. For some weird reason she’s dressed in an old Victorian get up, maybe she’s a kindred spirit, a fellow man of the pretend, but he doesn't focus on that, not yet.

Slowly it comes back to him, he was running through the crowd when suddenly he just stopped, no yawn, no dizziness, no sign of anything, just a giant black screen and a numb feeling that he had hit something.

With that out of the way Mal reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out his reference sheet and reading it quickly, leaving the helpful oddly placed girl and her ghost to watch in silence, trying to decide what he would do next. The answer is not to hesitate.

“Ah, well, um...I- Name’s The Mac,” Oh what kind of name is that, stupid, Malcolm thought to himself. “Eh-Thank you for your kind service…”

“...Jasmine, you’re welcome-” Good, he was weirding her out, Mal smiled to himself, muttering a fantastic.

“Oh no need for that, you shouldn't be offering me something like that, trust me you’ll regret it. So, answer me something, Jasmine, mind helping me up? I believe your ghostly friend may have drained a bit too much earlier.” Good, Mal thought to himself, so far so good. He just needed to find some sort of adventure to ring this might-be companion into.

Jasmine held out her hand, allowing Mal to raise himself without passing out again. “The Mac? Do you have an actual name?” Yes, his first “Who” he couldn't ask for anything better.

“The Mac does me just fine, but if you need to you can call me Mal, but we have something far more serious to discuss right now.” Mal brushed the dirt and grass from his jacket, checking to make sure the banana in his pocket was still in good condition, it wasn't.

“Serious matters?” Mal could sense that she wasn't taking him seriously, which was perfect, maybe he wasn't doing so bad at this one.

“Yes, very serious matters. There are adventures to be had here, Jasmine, let me show you the world,” Crud that was the wrong regeneration. “Um-What I mean is, look around us, we’re at a fantastic massive carnival with more Pokemon than I can name,” he grabbed her by the arm. “Jasmine, let’s have some serious fun.” Without hesitating he ran forward, pulling the Victorian girl with him, the Pokemon rushing in confusion after them.

Well, he was missing a magic carpet and it wasn't the middle of the night, but it seemed that this man— who appeared to be the Doctor— was set on dragging her off to adventure.

"How shining and shimmering will it be?"

"Oh, very!" he said. Irish accent. Shame he wasn't Scottish. "It'll be, um... a fantastic adventure!"

Jasmine grinned. "Wonderful! But shouldn't it be splendid?"

He paused a moment, getting his bearings as if trying to remember the reference. Once he did, his face lit up in a grin. "Yes, splendid! Now, where shall we go first?"

She paused, still holding onto his hand, deciding to keep playing along. "Wonder by wonder."

"--over, sideways, and under. I'm surprised the haunter doesn't get dizzy!" Annie laughed, recalling the story of the ghost pokemon vs Mr. Ekans.

Miles was breaking pieces of Annie's cookie and tossing them at phanpy, who tried catching each piece with his trunk. Every time phanpy caught one, he did a small jig of excitement (shaking the ground slightly) before running after the next piece.

"Have you found anything about the tournament yet?" Annie asked. "I haven't really seen much passed the festivities. Oh! Is he trying to take your lollipop?" Annie cooed as patrat snuck on all fours across the table toward them, crazy eyes zeroed in on the treat.

" 'Ey," Miles said. " 'Eyou."

The patrat stopped onto his back feet and looked at Miles.

He threw a piece of cookie at him.

Patrat winced and brushed at his face before snatching the piece right back up.

"There was a dueling gig starting on the hour in the center arena," he said as he checked his phone. His thumb flipped around until the park app appeared on the screen. "I guess there's something this evening at the same place, but that's a few hours off. PokeWars: A New Hope is at 3pm."

"Oh, we should start heading to the arena! You clearly have to participate."

"Noooo, you clearly have to participate."

"Yes, lollipop's gonna squeak at them to death," Annie said with a nod. "I think we should make this happen."

"Lar!"

"It says here," Miles mumbled, lollipop sucked into his cheek, "that the winner of last year's tournament had a trio of fully-evolved pokemon: Arthas the Empoleon, Illidan the Gengar, and Deathwing, the Salamence." He switched the sucker to his other cheek. "I don't want to fight something named Deathwing. Reminds me too much of Country of Crimecraft."

"Well I think you can do it. After all, it's just a silly video game."

Those moments you see on TV when an anime character trips comically into a trashcan as a deadpan joke? Those happen in real life, and one happened just now.

Miles landed face-first in a smushed banana, legs flailing in the air. Patrat flailed in mimicry.

"Miles!" Annie's eyes darted back and forth, more embarrassed than Miles was, and grabbed a hold of his pants leg.

She leaned back, pulled with all her might...

...and off flew Miles' pants, into the breeze. He fumbled out of the trashcan, banana peel on face, and blushed madly.

Of all days to wear Jigglypuff underwear.

Annie ran up behind him, victoriously waving his jeans in the air. "Now, should your new name be Mr. Jiggly or--"

"GIVE ME MY PANTS"

Annie threw them into his arm, puffing out her lips abhoringly. "Normal men would say thank you for such an act of heroinism."

"Technically speaking in all forms and fashions in the language of your liking, your mate here can't justifiably be called a man until the ceremonious christening of his eighteenth coincidental rendezvous with the twenty-four hour bracket commemorating the star date on which he was expelled from," he took a rather needed breath, "his mother's uterus. I'm The Doctor."

"Doctor Who?" asked Annie, necessarily.

He wagged a rusty screwdriver in her face with a sly grin. "And what a Who indeed!" He pulled a piece of plastic paper with the word

psychic

written all over it in different colors of crayon.

"Your friend here is suffering from what I'd like to call hypersocietal hypotrouser...itis." He handed the plastic paper to a girl standing beside him, a girl who looked strangely familiar, like a ghost or something.

Miles, who'd finally re-pantsed himself, coughed abruptly. Suddenly, he knew who she was - not because of the Victorian dress or the unforgettably smooth...caramel...skin...

...

...but for the fact that there happened to be a Haunter nibbling on Annie's hair.

"You," he accused, pointing (accidentally, he swears) at her chest, "are the girl who won the earlier tournament!"

She took a step back, hand clutched to the skin exposed on her chest. "Yes," she retorted.

"Guys, my hair feels all gooey--"

"And I'm the girl who will sweep the competition like a magically enchanted broom, for which the only cure to return to humanity is for its master to find true love before the last petal falls from an enchanted rose." She humphed and took her Doctor by the arm. "Come, Nine, we have a carousel to examine."

The boy waggled his eyebrows. "She called me Nine!" And they were off.

Swishing invisible gunk from her hair, Annie deadpanned; "You're going to kick her milk chocolate ass, aren't you."

Miles was floating. "Uh huh."

"You're an idiot."

"Uh huh."

Eric knew that inviting Jean-Baptiste along was a terrible idea.

"Mais," Jean-Baptiste said, "Le temps! Il fait horrible!"

"It's charming," Eric said, rolling his eyes. "It's England."

"Mais oui, Angleterre..." And there was Jean-Baptiste, groaning again about the English and how much he despised them, how the Festival was full of les enfants and the food was abonimable and that it was surely going to rain and he had left his parapluie at home in Marseilles. Inwardly, Eric groaned- why on earth had Maman insisted he meet his younger cousin at the EuroStar? He could be off now, fighting in a tournament or perhaps catching a screening of a vintage Pokéwars movie. But instead, he was here, with Jean-Baptiste and his rather sad looking Squirtle. And he wasn't bothered to try out his English (which had been Maman's reason for sending him, clearly Jean-Baptiste was never going to be a good trainer but perhaps he could be a linguist with some help from Eric who, he had to admit, was rather wonderful at both Pokémon training and languages).

"I'm going to go get us some candyfloss," Eric said, jumping up.

"Reeeeeeeep," said Claude, clearly happy to be moving back into the throng of people and Pokémon and away from Jean-Baptiste's cloud of misery.

"Mais je deteste..."

"Oh shut up," Eric muttered, moving into the crowd. "How are you, Claude? Happy?"

"Reep," Claude said, bouncing at Eric's heels. Eric craned his neck, wondering if there was an Ampharos in the cloud. The Mareep always got excited at seeing its future evolution. So did Eric. That was when he caught a glimpse of the sign.

"Hey, regarde-la, Claude, a tournament is starting soon! How about we watch that?"

"Mareep." Claude gave him a disapproving look.

"Oh, I'll send Jean-Baptiste a message. If he's going to be miserable he can at least be miserable inside the arena." Eric took out his phone- slick, shiny, black and brand new, to send a message to his brat of a younger cousin.

"Mareep!" Claude seemed excited about something, and Eric turned and looked to see the source of this. Mareep was staring longingly at another Pokémon and Eric knew- just knew- that this was another of Claude's Pokécrushes that lasted five minutes but always ended in embarrassment for Eric.

"Mareep!" said Claude and out of nothing but adoration and love, charged straight into the unsuspecting Larvitar.

"Lar! Lar! Larvitar lar lar! Lar..." Flailing, larvitar couldn't escape the mareep's embrace until it properly let him go. Larvitar continued panicking and mumbling as he ran behind Annie's legs, his face dug into her jeans and his head shook.

"Mareep! Mareep!"

"What the--" Miles looked around for the owner as Annie scooped up her frigid larvitar. The mareep continued jumping around Annie's feet before parking itself right in front of her, eyes glued to the larvitar.

"I can't tell if it's rabid or not..." Annie said.

Miles pushed her away from the mareep. "Definitely rabid."

"Not so," said the well-dressed boy approaching them. "Just friendly to other pokemon." A smile.

dat smile.

He held out his hand. Annie wondered if he intentionally held it out to her. "Name's Eric."