Set 12 of the pokédex 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: 589 (Escavalier) is technically part of a set with 617 (Accelgor), 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 (1400 total)
Newest Additions: 569 Garbodor, 582 Vanillite, 583 Vanillish, 584 Vanilluxe, 588 Karrablast, 593 Jellicent on 12/03/2016
The sea of scorching desert stretched in all directions. He cursed the sun and scanned the horizon, then cursed again when nothing, not even a mirage, appeared.
He heard a rattle and sighed as another maractus gave him a cheerful wave. Honestly, didn't they have anything better to do than say hello? Their constant, infernal cha-cha-cha would probably be the last sound he ever heard as he dried up and shriveled away.
He groaned, chose a direction at random and stumbled off. The maractus shrugged and waved goodbye, the water stored in its arms sloshing merrily along with every rattle.
"I can't tell you how grateful I am, sweetheart." The woman took the proffered glass of lemonade and handed it to her ralts. "Those wild scraggy came out of nowhere! The local vending machines are all out, so your freshly squeezed lemonade is just what we needed!" She beamed down at the little girl, left her some change and continued down the route.
The girl smiled after her, unperturbed even as several scraggy crept up to her lemonade stand. "Good work, boys," she said, nodding. "Business is booming. Now get back out there—man with a skiddo, twelve o' clock."
He'd cried over his old face for the last time, he decided. He didn't want to be that face anymore. His old face was a frightened, cowardly face, always peeking around corners and eating itself away with worry.
He drifted through the empty costume shop, sorting through screaming faces and ugly faces and bloody faces and silly faces, until he saw its strong, fearless smile from atop a blue suit and red cape. He snatched the face and tossed his old one away, courage rising inside.
With a face this bold and confident, he knew, he would never cry again.
Margrave leaned against a sarcophagus, dusted off a golden necklace and admired the way it shone beneath his flashlight. Treasure was the only real reason to explore the Relic Castle. Those museum eggheads didn't understand that—they'd cordoned the place off for "preservation" and "documentation"—so after their director took an unfortunate fatal tumble down the stairs Margrave had simply smiled and let himself in.
Four spectral arms, barely visible in the necklace's reflection, snaked out of the sarcophagus and wrapped around Margrave's throat. The director's voice whispered to him as the lid slammed shut.
"We haven't finished documenting that."
"I think I've almost got this new gunk shot cocktail down!" Garbodor beamed at Infernape, who returned the smile while pinching his nose. "The secret seems to be moldy artichokes and used motor oil..."
"Seems like a lot of work," said Infernape. "I don't need to gather trash when I use gunk shot."
"Without garbage? How on earth do you manage that?"
Infernape shrugged. "I think cat pokémon manage it by spitting up hairballs, for example. Me... well..."
Sheepishly, he whispered into Garbodor's ear, them mimed throwing something.
Garbodor almost gagged. "Seriously? You throw that? Oh, don't be so revolting!"
Cleaning day! The children grumbled whenever Grandma announced it; Minccino nearly burst with joy. Toys to pack away neat and tidy, sparklies to dust so they glittered under Grandma's lamps again... once Grandma had even let her help with the windows!
Today, she decided, they'd enjoy cleaning as much as she did. Today she'd keep their spirits up with a song! She trilled a little ditty as her tail brushed the floor, cheerful and bouncy with a good rhythm to sweep to.
Minccino turned around and saw she was sweeping by herself, all three children snoring gently on the floor.
"Let's go!" the girl cheered, bounding back toward Icirrus with Vanillite in her arms. "I've always wanted a vanilluxe, and you're gonna be the best ever! We'll travel Unova, win lots of battles, meet awesome pokémon..."
Vanillite trilled his agreement. Evolution! Adventure! New friends! This was going to be amazing!
"We'll be the best in the league!" she continued. "I can taste victory already!"
She licked the back of his head, frowned, and set Vanillite down with a sigh.
"Bleh. Victory tastes like plain ol' snow. Never mind." And she went off alone, leaving a confused Vanillite in her wake.
Vanillish had never been so happy to see dirt and melted snow. Of course! Heck if she knew why those humans were obsessed with tasting her—didn't they realize she was covered in ice, not food?—but this might just repel them.
She coated herself in sticky brown sludge, then set off again at a leisurely pace. No need to waste her energy running anymore. So what if they saw her now? Surely humans didn't eat mud.
The children caught up just in time to see her sauntering away. One of them grinned.
"Oh, man... is that a chocolate vanillish?"
Vanilluxe spun left and dipped right, struggling to dodge the blasts of energy and spoons that hurtled toward him. Alakazam hovered behind him in slow but steady pursuit, drawing ever closer to his prize: a taste.
Cornered, Vanilluxe sighed and faced his aggressor. "Fine. You win. But could you at least use the straw instead of those spoons?"
Alakazam nodded eagerly, let the spoons drop, and leaned toward Vanilluxe's straw with his mouth wide open.
A blizzard erupted from the straw as soon as Alakazam's lips touched it. Vanilluxe slipped away, leaving him to deal with his nasty brain freeze.
Sometimes, as she watched them pass her window on cold March mornings, she fancied she could see the sawsbuck bringing spring along with them. Every hoofstep brought life back to the tired, frosty grass, and for every flower budding on their heads she saw a leaf poking through the empty branches of the trees. Shed tufts of white fur and sloughed-off antler velvet fell to the ground, and she imagined it all dissolving with the melting snow and revealing bright new wildflowers underneath.
She hoped the actual return of spring was half as beautiful as the one the sawsbuck brought.
The shelmet impaled on Karrablast's horn squealed, then went limp. Karrablast nodded. He'd attacked a shelmet; now he just had to wait for evolution to give him armor.
"That's not how it works," tutted Deerling. "Otherwise you'd have evolved while hunting shelmet before. You need some kind of weird electricity from humans, or something."
Karrablast didn't have time to wait for any humans. He looked at the motionless shelmet, frowned, then prised the shell apart with his horn. He stuck his feet into the bottom half and adjusted the visor so it fit around his horn.
There. Armor. Close enough.
Escavalier tested the weight of her new lances as soon the trade machine settled into silence. Heavy, yes, but heavy was good. Heavy was strong. Now these were some points worth stabbing with. Forget her twiggy old horns and light, crunchy exoskeleton; forget running and hiding from the shadows of bird pokémon circling overhead. Couple these vicious stingers with her sturdy shell and absolutely nothing would be able to take her down.
Her eyes followed the former shelmet as he turned somersaults in midair, all squishy and exposed and defenseless, and knew she'd gotten the better end of the deal.
The Imperatrix glides through the ocean on her maiden voyage, lights twinkling, decks full of waltzing revelers. She is a floating palace fit for a king and queen.
The engines gutter to a halt. The lights go out. Red and blue spheres illuminate the water as the waves twist and churn into a hungry, roaring whirlpool.
The Imperatrix settles on the ocean floor with a groan.
The glowing spheres shift into an entourage of frillish that parts to let two jellicent drift through. They circle the ship, stop at her bow, nod solemnly.
Yes. This new palace will do nicely.
The spiritomb laughed as Ursaring's attacks merely tickled it. Even the pink light sputtering around his paws was precious little help—it just waited for him to catch his breath in between bouts of playing rough, then split their pain between them. Spiritomb came out snickering every time, while Ursaring looked steadily worse for wear.
"Do something, Alomomola!" Ursaring snarled. "Help me hit harder!"
"I said I'm trying!" wailed his partner. Oh, he could complain, but he had limbs and breathed air. Maybe next time he should try applauding with no real arms and while flopping uselessly on dry land.