Set 3 of 18 of the 890 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: 106 and 107 (Hitmonlee and Hitmonchan) are technically part of a set with 236 and 237, found here. They should stand on their own well enough that the order doesn't matter, but you may want to read Tyrogue's drabble first anyway.
Genre: Varies, usually General
Rating: Varies, usually K
Approx. Wordcount: 100 words each (1100 total)
Newest Additions: 104 Cubone (updated), 122 Mr. Mime, 129 Magikarp, 133 Eevee on 12/03/2016
"C'mon, Arcanine, hurry up!" Elaina cried, her fingernails digging into her palms as she tried to follow the electrode's rolling. Her arcanine chased it this way and that, struggling to catch up and blast it with a flamethrower before it could paralyze him, before it could—
"Finish it off!" pleaded Elaina. "Don't let it explode on you! Finish it off now, please, now!"
The idea struck like lightning and suddenly Arcanine was an orange blur moving at an impossible speed. Elaina relaxed as Arcanine's extreme speed knocked the electrode senseless, too stunned to detonate.
Three seconds later it exploded anyway.
Cubone sat alone in the strange room. A human took him and the other humans took Mother and he didn't even have a helmet or club to remember her by.
The human walked back in. Cubone backed into the wall. The human smiled gently.
"It's okay," it said. "I just wanted to tell you that I found your mother and laid her to rest. And..."
It placed a skull and femur on the floor.
Cubone inched forward, eyed them warily, touched them. Mother?
He sniffled, then wailed, then hugged the bones tight. Mr. Fuji smiled. Cubone tried to smile back.
"I want to be just like you," she says, smiling.
"You're strong and wise and a good mama. When I grow up I want to be a good mama, too."
I look down at her, admire the smooth face and the wide, cheerful eyes that haven't yet known tears. How much longer before that face disappears forever beneath my mask, I wonder? How much longer before she smiles down at her own daughter, as sweet, as beautiful, as terrible to lose?
"My dear," I say, "if you never become a good mama that will be fine by me."
He supposed he should've appreciated what the extensible legs had done for his reach and, once he'd gotten used to it, his aim. As a tyrogue he'd never been able to kick a clefable in the face from across the battlefield, and there was something to be said for that.
What he could not adjust to was how it looked, how it might work. Once-logical legs now bounced and flopped and stretched and twisted as though of their own volition; it made him queasy to imagine what was happening under the skin.
Sometimes he wished he'd become a hitmonchan instead.
Usually the speed was a blessing. Battling used to be slow; now he only had to wait for a single opening and let fly with a volley of punches so fast he could drop an onix before it knew what'd hit its ugly mug how many times.
Stopping, that was the problem. You couldn't build up that kind of momentum and expect to stop swinging whenever you pleased. Certainly his owner hadn't been thrilled when he'd powered right past a fallen rhydon and knocked the teeth out of a seventh innocent trainer.
Sometimes he wished he'd become a hitmontop instead.
Putting Koffing in the concert had seemed like an awesome idea at the time. One of Roxie's favorite pokémon, the star of her latest hit single, center stage for all the world to see. Roxie had even taught her how to spew clouds of gas to the rhythm of the music and the pulsing lights, which was about as badass as it got.
So there they were—Roxie thrashing her guitar, Koffing blasting jets of smog into the air like fireworks. The crowd went nuts! Up until the orchestra section passed out, that is.
Koffing wasn't allowed at concerts anymore.
"I think you're missing the point," he said, frowning at his little sister as she turned her pokémon's chair toward the mirror.
"No, I'm not," she sniffed. "Because the point is that now he looks fantastic."
"But that's not how they work! There's a reason it's called a tangela and not a 'straightela', you know!"
The tangela side-eyed the colorful scrunchie and perky ponytail in his reflection, imagining how hard it would be to hunt like this. But... he'd never realized how long his vines were until she'd combed them out... and he did, he had to admit, look fantastic.
122 Mr. Mime
Mr. Mime tugged her invisible rope. The ursaring at the other end stumbled back.
A voice rose above the scattered applause. "No way that ursaring's a 'random audience volunteer'. He's a plant! He knows to move when you do that!"
Mr. Mime sighed. Electabuzz again?
She lifted her hands, then grunted and nearly fell to one knee. Her arms trembled beneath an invisible weight.
"That's not even as 'impressive' as 'leaning' on a 'wall'," scoffed Electabuzz. "Anyone could—"
Mr. Mime threw the invisible weight. Electabuzz was flattened with an earth-shaking thud.
She returned to the stage to much heartier applause.
"I want my money back!" Darlene thrust the magikarp back toward the salesman. "This is useless!"
"It's a fine magikarp!" he protested. "You were perfectly eager to buy it before!"
"Yeah! I wanted to evolve it!"
"Okay, so evolve it!"
Darlene scowled. "It only knows splash! How do I train that? How could you sell a pokémon that can't even battle?"
The man shrugged. "Sorry, kid, no refunds. You wanna be a good trainer, you gotta learn to improvise!"
Darlene swung the magikarp and sent the salesman crumpling to the floor. "I wonder if that's worth any experience," she grumbled.
She danced to the beat of crunching metal and crumbling stone, drummed her tail against a telephone pole until it fell with a crack and the hiss of snapping wires. She sang along to howling sirens, echoed a chorus of screams with window-shattering roars. A hyper beam burned like a supernova in her mouth until she fired it at a storefront and lit up the street like the sun. The building collapsed into a heap with a satisfying rumble that shook her body and made her smile.
Mindless thrashing was for amateurs—she much preferred the art of raging gracefully.
Eevee settled into Reina's lap to watch the glaceon battling on TV. He wondered what being a glaceon felt like. Cold, probably. Did cold even bother ice pokémon?
Would he feel all prickly as a jolteon? What was it like to have flowing ribbon feelers? He could evolve and find out, but then he'd never get to experience the others...
Eevee nudged Reina's arm. She scratched his neck, just like he'd trained her.
...and he'd lose the feeling of Reina's fingers running through his mane and tickling his chest. Maybe it was best for him to stay just like this.