Set 14 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.
Genre: Varies, usually General
Rating: Varies, usually K
Approx. Wordcount: 100 words each (1500 total)
Newest Additions: 659 Bunnelby, 660 Diggersby, 684 Swirlix, 695 Heliolisk, 697 Tyrantrum on 12/03/2016
"That's Mama's magic stick," Newt said, frowning. "You can't eat it or you'll get hexed."
Trouble kept right on chewing. "The magic's in Mama, not the stick. I can eat it if I want, and she can find another one."
Ten minutes later all four fennekin sat before their mother, fidgeting nervously as she scrutinized them. "I'll give you each one chance," she said at last, "to tell me the truth about what happened to my wand."
"I don't know," said the first two.
"Wasn't me," said Newt.
Trouble tried hard to cover his bright green ear fur. "No idea."
Braixen's mind wandered as her trainer discussed the benefits of psyshock's physical damage versus psychic's greater power. All he talked about was practicing her burgeoning telekinetic abilities and how best to focus them through her wand; she'd grown to find just flicking her wrist and setting things alight too dull and simple. She closed her eyes and imagined fire starters in faraway places, pictured monferno leaping about and pignite putting themselves right in the thick of the battles and excitement...
She sighed, stole a longing glance at the power-up punch disc in his TM case, and refocused on the lecture.
The thunder punch came two seconds too late. The electricity fizzled out uselessly as Machoke's fist met Frogadier's side, suddenly dry and dusty as she burrowed into the ground. Machoke glared at the trail of dirt that marked her every twist and turn. He stomped the trail with all his might and shook the earth, collapsing the tunnel on top of her...
She sprang up behind him, totally unharmed, and did an acrobatic flip straight into his back. Machoke could see Frogadier laughing through the stars in his eyes.
A second thunder punch knocked the laughter right off her face.
"Easter egg hunt!" Alice cheered, swinging her basket and skipping toward the backyard. Her sisters watched from the kitchen table.
"You hid all the eggs last night, right?" Adelaide asked.
"I let Bunnelby hide them!" Andrea said. "It seemed appropriate, and it gave her something fun to do!"
The girls sprang up and dashed to the back door. Deep, dark holes of all shapes and sizes dotted the lawn. Bunnelby sat proudly by one, dusting off her ears. They couldn't see Alice.
A voice echoed up from one of the holes, a little rattled but triumphant. "Found one!"
"I don't wanna watch battles!" Bobby pouted and stomped. "I wanna go to a fun park!"
"Bobby," his father began, "there are fun parks back in Johto. We came to Ferrum to see—"
"Fun park! Fun paaaaaaark!"
So they canvassed the hotel lobby, hunting down theme park recommendations.
The car pulled into a parking lot. "Okay, Bobby," his mother said, grimacing. "We're here! All the nice people said you'd love Diggersby Land!"
"What's a 'diggersby', anyway?" his father whispered.
A costumed man bounced up to them. "Hey there, friends!"
Bobby looked up at the scruffy, puffy, squinting face, and screamed.
"There're two kinds of fletchling," said the leader of the flock. "There are flighty featherbrains, good for nothin' but dreamin' and flittin' away... and there's us." He puffed himself up and glared. "We are tough, fearless defenders of our food and territory, and we've got the big pecks to prove it. We—"
"—oughta work on that 'defending' one a bit more," chirped a voice. A fletchling darted out of the crowd, plucked a cluster of berries from right under the leader's beak, then took off with an acrobatic twirl and a laugh before the leader could so much as blink.
Flames leaped from the pyroar's mouth, twisting in on themselves until a blazing tornado hurtled toward his opponent. No good—the second pyroar cleared the fire spin with a single leap and landed next to the first with a bone-quaking roar that nearly knocked him off his feet. Claws raked across flanks, fangs tore into manes and fire surged all around, all but consuming the two furious combatants.
Not that the female pyroar could see them anyway. She walked straight past the whirlwind of teeth and flame, her eyes only for the pidgeot perched nearby and his fabulous feathery crest.
Two hours and too much money later, Marcie watched Furfrou scrutinize his new haircut in the salon's mirror. The correct shade of lavender dye, a bouncy flourish on his tail... He seemed satisfied, at least. He'd better be after the price tag on that custom clip. What was wrong with a diamond cut, or regular, unstyled fur? Regular old fur was free.
Marcie led Furfrou outside, pleased to see that the rain had finally let up. Furfrou's fancy 'do looked absolutely fantastic on such a lovely day... until he let out a joyous bark and jumped straight into a puddle.
Ghosts drifted through the wreckage of the pokémon center, past the fires and the bodies they no longer were. Trainer ghosts hovered over ruined storage system terminals; nurse ghosts floated away from patients they were too late to treat; chespin ghosts and noivern ghosts found themselves resting permanently, their upcoming battles abruptly called off.
All the ghosts turned their hollow eyes toward the blast's lone survivor—a small espurr, puffed up with annoyance but otherwise unscathed—and the shadow of its former owner, who glared back at them with an indignant frown. "...What? I thought he liked being scratched there!"
Get a male meowstic, they'd said. The females are much too aggressive, they'd said. Your grandmother needs a quiet pet who'll just sit and keep her company, they'd said.
You listened to them, fool that you are. You got a special meowstic from the breeder and handed him off to Gramma with a loving smile and the promise that he'd be the perfect companion. And now you're taking him back, because if this little prankster directs Gramma into one more invisible barrier or dizzies her with one more trick room she'll end up in the ER.
Screw them, you say.
He turned when he heard metal scrape pavement and saw that, yes, the aegislash was still there. Three whole hours ago he'd discovered the thing while admiring Parfum Palace's gardens, and it had been following him everywhere he went since then. It bowed low, gestured regally with a flowing sash, gave him a grave, expectant look with its single eye. The sash flicked toward him, waiting for him to reach out and accept his divine right.
He sighed. "Look, pal. I'm flattered you think I'd make a good leader, really, but... you know Kalos is a democracy these days, right?"
The more Cubchoo squirmed, the tighter Swirlix's threads wrapped around him. Swirlix flashed him a fanged grin, then sent even more string flying towards his foe.
"Struggle all you want," he cackled, "but this battle is mine! You'll never escape my sticky, gooey, sugary... sweet..."
Swirlix trailed off and tried to stop himself from salivating. He'd never really thought about how his sticky cotton thread was... an awful lot like...
"L-look, I can already smell victory..." Wow... the thread sure smelled delicious...
Ten seconds later Cubchoo was free and scurrying away, leaving Swirlix to enjoy his mouthful of cotton candy.
Buttercream slammed the door behind him and threw his hat to the ground, disgusted. This time he meant it—this time he was really quitting, and no amount of begging or wheedling or promises of enough strawberry syrup to bathe in would win him back.
Leaving Restaurant Le Wow did sting, the slurpuff had to admit. It had been his dream to work in such an upscale eatery, assisting the best pâtissiers in all of Lumiose City... but dammit, his coworkers could only take bites out of his ears so many times before he had to put his paw down.
Tessa put the HM away and beamed at Heliolisk. "There! Surf! And everyone else kept telling me I'd need some boring old water-type to get around." Heliolisk croaked her agreement.
"Exactly." Tessa nodded. "Now I don't need to catch a type I'm not interested in, and you get a new move to spice up your battles. Let's hit the beach and try it out!"
Things seemed much less straightforward when they arrived. "Okay... you're too small for me to sit on, so... how...?"
Uncertain, she touched Heliolisk's tail. Heliolisk shot forward, sprinting across the water's surface, dragging Tessa behind her.
Furret froze as Emperor Tyrantrum rounded on her. "Where is my music, Furret?"
She gulped. "I'm... not sure, Your Grace," she said carefully. "Kricketune is usually quite punctual—"
"Well, now he's late! Find him! I want my violin music!" Green flames licked around Tyrantrum's massive jaws.
Furret knew what came next. She ran for the hills, not bothering to wait for dismissal.
Tyrantrum flew into an outrage, lashing his heavy tail, screaming fire, leveling rocks and trees and everything around him.
The emperor sat alone in the smoldering forest, watching it all burn.
"...I want my violin music," he grumbled.