Set 13 of 17 of the 807 mini drabble collection. I'll update the page as I finish more pokémon that fall into this number range. In general these drabbles will cover a wide range of genres/subjects/etc., hence the vague summary below; if anything warrants a special note, however, it will be mentioned here.
Note: 617 (Accelgor) is technically part of a set with 589 (Escavalier), found here. They should stand on their own well enough that the order doesn’t matter, but you may want to read Accelgor's drabble afterward anyway.
Genre: Varies, usually General
Rating: Varies, usually K
Approx. Wordcount: 100 words each (900 total)
Newest Additions: 610 Axew, 612 Haxorus, 623 Golurk, 626 Bouffalant, 627 Rufflet, 628 Braviary on 12/03/2016
"Axew!" Victor checked under the bushes, behind the trees... where'd his new axew go? Why'd she have to wander off now?
Diggersby and Politoed relaxed on the blanket, only half paying attention to their trainer as he dashed back and forth. "Axew! Axew!"
Victor stopped long enough to chide them. "C'mon, you guys, help me out here!"
Diggersby glanced at Politoed and shrugged.
"Help him with what? Finding a tissue?"
"See, this is what happens when you spend more time fussing over that new baby dragon thing than your allergy meds. He knows the pollen out here makes him sneezy!"
"So, Haxorus," Rattata asked. "What do you use those tusks for?"
"Lots of things!" said Haxorus, counting on her claws. "Let's see... Big tusks are good for impressing mates, first off. I can use them to attack anyone who trespasses on my territory. And if something comes after my hatchlings, I can chop it up!"
"That's, uh..." Rattata frowned.
"Most importantly," Haxorus continued, "they're great for slicing up food!"
She swung her head. Her tusk-blades whistled through the air. Rattata squealed and dove under a bush.
Haxorus stopped munching her tree branch and glanced around, confused. "Hey, where'd he go?"
She didn't care what Mother said. Her shelmet was a darling—those wide, bright eyes, those precious puckered lips—and a gentleman to boot, perfectly capable of comporting himself during parties. Last family dinner Shelmet had sat placidly at the table, sweet and silent as all the other pokémon, and hadn't bothered a soul who hadn't bothered him.
That was the entire problem, of course—Cousin Gracie had bothered him. If you reach blindly for the gravy boat while a shelmet's at the table you have no right to complain when it panics and squirts acid all over your plate.
No sooner had the trade machine finished its whirring and flashing than Accelgor was off, dashing between legs and leaping over furniture and weaving around the pokémon center's PC terminals. Now this was moving—this was living! He'd waited far too long to be free of that tiny tin can his trainer called a shell. Protection was great and all, but what fun was battling when you had to waddle around the field with your limbs pinned to your body?
Accelgor backflipped over his restrictive old shell and the new occupant crammed inside. He didn't envy that karrablast one bit.
"Found one!" Bernard shouted. Before the other boys could run to him, the pidgeotto started and flew away.
"This stinks," Vince sighed. "How are we supposed to fly to the mountaintop if we can't catch any birds?"
"Hey, guys," a voice called from somewhere above. The boys looked up to see Alisha sitting on a golurk's shoulders. "Look what I just caught!"
Bernard rolled his eyes. "Not now, Alisha," he snapped. "We've gotta find a bird pokémon, we can't talk now!"
Alisha shrugged. "Okay. I guess I'll see you guys later!"
And she and her golurk rocketed into the sky.
This was it: Bouffalant's first battle after taking Furfrou's advice and "trying something different". Her trainer had argued with Friseur Furfrou's stylists for an hour before wearing them down into making an exception. It had taken her another hour to choose a look she liked. It had taken six hours, twenty combs, two chainsaws and untold gallons of conditioner to tame her ornery afro and style it just so. She'd been cautiously optimistic about the results, but...
The fraxure across the arena stared, pointed, and laughed.
Seconds later it was on the ground, floored by a beehive to the breadbasket.
The partiers stumbled through the park, cheering, chugging beers and launching fireworks into the night.
One rocket crashed into a tree with a shower of sparks, narrowly missing a nest. A rufflet jumped out, squawkng and glaring at them.
"Heeeey, a rufflet!" one man crowed. "The shymbol of our prooooud region! These fireworks're fer your honor, Ruffy! Happy Fourthday!"
The rufflet bristled. Honored? By this racket? If these humans wouldn't stop on their own, he'd just have to shut them up himself. He dove from the tree, shot straight for the revelers—
—and took a Roman candle to the face.
The party in the park was even louder than last years'. Fireworks screamed through the night sky, casting rainbow colors on the faces of the drunken revelers below.
A braviary swooped in, deftly weaving between the rockets and explosions. He landed on the partiers' car with a fearsome screech.
The partiers cheered. "Hell yeah! This is th' most Unovaest Fourthday ever!"
The flashes of multicolored light revealed a scar across the braviary's face. With a sweep of his wings and the crunch of buckling metal, he lifted their car high into the air—
—and dropped it right into the lake.
Genesect smiled inwardly as it tested the weight of its armor. It had been plenty deadly millions of years ago, and now the humans had given it a brand new metal exoskeleton and a mounted blaster to match? So this was what being invincible felt like.
It eyed its sparring partner with disdain. Team Plasma thought that would be a challenge? What little it had feared before was of no consequence any longer, with its indestructible steel plating and—
The chandelure hissed and fire rushed out, merrily roasting Genesect right inside its invincible armor.
Back to the drawing board, then.