A Prankster in the Woods

The sun was shining brightly overhead in the Pecha Forest as an unfamiliar nuisance swung through the trees, chittering away with laughter while an angry Patrat gave chase. Jumping acrobatically from branch to branch, the highly amused Aipom stayed just ahead of his pursuer, his arms full of the berries he’d swiped from the scouting Pokemon.

He hadn’t exactly stolen them, of course. Cracker had every intention of returning every last one of the little fruits. His hope was to befriend the squirrely rodent, although snatching the Pokemon’s hard-earned meal probably wasn’t the best way of going about it. The error of his way didn’t cross the Aipom’s mind even once, however. To him, it was a fun game of tag, and if the Patrat caught up, he’d gladly hand over the berries and offer to be friends. In fact, even if it failed to reach him, he’d still eventually give them back.

Of course, with the Patrat chasing him in his domain, it was a struggle just for it to keep Cracker in sight as the Aipom swung left and right, utilizing his tail against tree-trunks to double back and drop down a branch then back up. It was a miracle he didn’t make the Pokemon dizzy with his display of athletic prowess.

Quickly realizing his quarry was unable to keep up, Cracker had taken to dancing elaborate circles around the Pokemon, but in doing so he opened himself up for a very unpleasant attack. Clearly at the end of its tolerance for this rude behavior, the Patrat utilized its egg move Iron Tail and summarily struck every branch in the vicinity until eventually the branch the Aipom was landing on became the next victim.

Squealing in surprise, Cracker dumped his ill-gotten treasure in favor of saving himself from an unwanted trip to the forest floor. The berries flew up into the air as the Aipom’s tail whipped out to wrap around a nearby branch and swing him back onto a solid footing. Patting his chest, he waited for his heart to stop racing while overhead the Patrat snatched up what few berries hadn’t fallen to the ground and stuffed them into its mouth for safe keeping.

Once the Patrat had stuffed its face full, it turned to Cracker with a glare. Sitting on the branch, the long-tailed Pokemon waved in a friendly manner. Rather than attack or show a similar kindness, it huffed in irritation and leapt down into the bushes below, no doubt to reclaim the remaining berries it had lost.

Cracker frowned, watching it go. Oh well, he thought sullenly. It was worth a try.

Hopping back to his feet, the Aipom was just about to carry on his own way when a rustling nearby drew his attention. It came from the direction opposite of where the Patrat had disappeared. Maybe it’s a new friend! Cracker thought excitedly. Bouncing onto his tail, the Pokemon sprang from the branch to another, closer to the sounds of movement. This time he was going to do it right; this time he was going to make a new friend properly.

Once more this enchanted woodland, filled to its capacity with a whimsical and soothing aura, had coaxed the young drake forth into its sanctity. Its beckoning was quite persuasive in persuading him to venture forth once more within its safe haven, and the pink aura that shimmered about in the dapple-lit leaves created a dazzling display of a primordial earth in its childlike, innocent state. Everything was ripe - fruit, flowers, vegetation - with life, and such was most likely the effect upon those creatures that took shelter amongst the swaying grass and the sighing trees. A rustle, akin to a whisper, echoed through the leaves as the gale rushed through them.

The sound followed the Charmander as he wandered through the woods, as if the leaves observed his characteristics and semblance and hurriedly reported to their neighbor. A slight murmur, though faint, indicated a gushing stream or brook babbled away somewhere in the distance. The water undoubtedly skipped and tumbled like toddlers over the rocks and stones that haphazardly barricaded their path, laughing all the way to wherever their destination was. It was merry and mirth that filled the oxygen with a sensation of youth and joy; it was a day that caused Ares's heart to feel as if it had been pumped with helium and set free to float about.

His feet were heavy and proud as he marched through the undergrowth. Trudging through ensnaring vegetation and foliage as if it were nothing more than murky swamp water, his clawed-feet squashed anything that threatened to trap him. Little stood in his way as he boldly blazed a new trail through naturally occurring barriers, and there was a sense of satisfaction as he carved it. The sensation of influencing trail occurrences and determining where they might be laid in the future titillated his musings, and all the while filled his disposition with a rather cheery outlook. Sure, this place had attempted to make him lazy prior and he apparently had a natural affinity for encountering things here, but certainly such inklings had been extinguished with his last sojourn here! Correct?

A pregnant silence seemed to bubble up quite ominously, allowing all but the wind to speak clearly. There was such an unnatural air to it that it caused even the headstrong and hearty lizard to stop in his tracks. The murmuring brook was now more audible, but not because he had encroached upon its proximity: it simply had no other rivaling decibels to mute its influence on the atmosphere's ambiance. The wind stirred the leaves several times over prior to an interruption developing. A sound had expertly penetrated the quiet, slicing through it clearly as enraged sounds were met with tittering laughter.

Ares was by no means a curious fellow - he liked what he knew, and preferred to stick with what he knew - but there was an adventurous side that occasionally reared its ugly head to spark a pursuit. This was one such occurrence, for he was prompt to bulldozing through the undergrowth. Peril and intrigue, panic and bravery, were all filtered through his brain as he attempted to identify the appropriate reaction he should have once he discovered the noise's source. It would naturally all depend upon the situation that he was presented.

Bursting through the foliage and unto a clearing, he slightly tripped before catching himself and skidding to a satisfactorily dramatic stop. Dirt flew up as his claws dragged across the loose surface, and the lizard gazed about with predatory eyes to identify the situation. Certainly he should have heard the trees' branches rustling as an Aipom approached, but he was a visual hunter and his ears often played tricks upon him.

When the Charmander came rushing out of the bushes like a hero coming to the rescue, Cracker ducked out of sight behind the trunk of the very tree he resided in. Always cautious before initial encounters, the Aipom sized up the small fire-type Pokemon. He didn’t look much stronger than himself, but he would have to be careful nonetheless, lest he get burned. In his observation he spied a red ribbon tied neatly around his throat which looked prime for plucking, but it might have sentimental value. The last time he snagged something dear to someone, he found himself in a pretty bad way.

Already the multitudes of methods to garner this Pokemon’s attention were racing through Cracker’s mind. All he could think about were the games he could play, but trying to think of what he could say, the Aipom came up empty. Perhaps this was why he resorted to pulling pranks or otherwise causing trouble for others. Nah, this is just more fun!

With as much stealth as he could manage, Cracker jumped from the higher branch he roosted on, to a lower one directly behind the Charmander, grinning giddily with a bright idea to get the fire-type’s attention. He probably should’ve felt bad for what he was preparing to do, but all he could muster was joy at the prospect of seeing the lizard’s reaction.

In one paw, Cracker had acquired several nuts from the tree he currently sat in, tossing one of them up and down to get a good feel for its weight. Nice and light, but with enough heft to go far. Ironically, this sort of thing had been a primary pass-time for the long-tailed Pokemon back in his home village before he was ostracized. Many long days had honed his aim to pin-point accuracy, and all of that experience wasn’t about to fail him now.

Positioning himself like he had so many times before, the Aipom threw one of the nuts straight up into the air above him. It hovered for just a moment before plummeting back down, and as it did, Cracker leapt into the air with expert balance and choreography, performing a perfect front-flip that spun his long tail around him like a whip.

When the nut finally came into range, it was pelted harshly by the hand-like appendage of his tail, sending the little object in a ballistic trajectory, straight at the back of the Charmander’s head. Not even waiting for it to connect, the Aipom burst into a fit of laughter the instant he landed back on his feet.

There was something uncanny as the woods whispered behind him and the wind stirred the leaves' rattling, shaking voices. It was akin to the way in which excited party guests, fueled by the excitement and anticipation of a surprise, gathered about and hid behind furniture in wait for the guest of honor to arrive. Ares's anticipation was the direct opposite of that of the woodland's: his heart hammered thunderously within his ribcage as adrenaline was produced from his adrenal glands in preparation for fight or flight. Naturally the Charmander would elect fight as the most viable option should an unsavory encounter come his way, yet logic and rational thinking would allow a hasty and self-preserving retreat should the numbers of such company were quite extreme.

Time seemed to slow and grow sluggish as the seconds ambled on, and the predator - still searching for his quarry - grew anxious and nervous with the anticipation. His hands wielded his trusty, curled claws on each stubby, reptilian digit, and his tail's flame roared on in eager excitement. Naturally the tail provided a direct link to the deity of war's instinct and battle experience: while his body responded with cowardly and timid reactions, his mind and fire were in sync. They listened to the beat of his internal fighting prowess, and proudly paraded about to its beat. Once his mind and blazing fire were attuned to the other's sensation, the Charmander's body would be forced to comply. Each ligament and tendon, down to the tiniest scrap of tissue within the deep recesses of his body, would follow the warrior spirit that whipped him onward. Such an experience was like achieving nirvana for a long disciplined monk.

Like an oblivious guard that commonly frequents spy movies of subpar quality, he remained aloof and ignorant of the threat that now applied stealth and ginger caution to its movements. His eyes, still sweeping the location that he had found himself occupying, darted to and fro in vain effort. What could Ares expect from such a situation that he had delivered himself into? It would be silly not to anticipate that he would be the subject of some harmless tomfoolery! Standing out in the open and aimlessly directing one's superior sense without applying the other was simply asking for trouble.

The tumbling of leaves that flittered and twisted as they were shaken free of their stems from a mischievous Aipom had finally caught his attention. Such side effects could not be ignored as the sight-based creature jerked his head toward the brief opening in the ethereal canopy to discover what was the source of this rather uncanny phenomena. Poor Ares had been trained to be oblivious by this woodland, and would be sourly - and thoroughly - rewarded for his aloof disposition. A fit of laughter heralded the arrival of his reward, allowing his head to turn sharply in the loud noise's direction.

Zip!

Ping!

His thick skull rung violently as he released a grunt of anger and surprise. The lizard's eyes instinctively shut tight as his clawed hands flew up to the place of contact to shield it from further harm. What aim! It had nailed him squarely on the section of flesh located between his two orb-shaped sensory organs. He would not be toppled, however, and was prompt to returning fire towards where the laughter had originated. His body, forced once more into union with his mind and fire, fired a Dragon Pulse towards the whispering leaves, attempting to hit this forest denizen that had attacked first.

Direct hit! Cracker cheered inwardly, too busy chittering away with mirth to speak. He danced atop the branch in victory, but it was a dreadfully short-lived experience. Before he could fully appreciate that he still had that perfect accuracy often boasted about back home, his new friend unleashed a very undiplomatic assault in response to what the Aipom considered to be a harmless greeting.

Perhaps it was a bit foolish to think his airborne introduction wouldn’t be met with a fiery retaliation. He wasn’t prepared to back down, though. This was his domain, his lair. In essence this whole forest was his playground; a giant jungle-gym for his own personal pleasure. A Dragon Pulse attack, as frightening to witness as it was, was easy to dodge.

Leaping extra high into the air the sizzling ball of energy roared by beneath him, punching through branches and foliage until exiting the treeline and promptly erupting in a hellish fire. Cracker couldn’t deny the attack was very intimidating, making him wonder if perhaps he’d under-estimated the Charmander’s power, but he wasn’t going to be outdone just yet.

Poised in mid-flight, the Aipom released another projectile, spinning like a ballerina such that his tail sailed in a tight circle around him. The second shot, launched by his tail’s beefy hand, was another sure hit, allowing Cracker to land with confidence on his undisturbed branch.

“Missed meeee!” the long-tailed Pokemon giggled melodically.

Before another assault could be locked onto his location, he swiftly jumped to another tree, collecting more nuts so he could unleash a torrent of cheeky assaults. Although it looked to anyone else like he’d just targeted the Charmander for kicks, it was all part of his bizarre ritual to befriend him. After his first two direct hits, he was no longer throwing the nuts with what had looked like intent to harm; he'd actually just been showing off.

Now though, Cracker just tossed nuts normally, still highly accurate, but with much less force. He also wasn’t staying put. The Aipom circled the grounded Charmander, tossing nuts left and right, giggling the entire time like it was all just one big game.

The pearl-like sphere that pulsated and throbbed with draconian energy sheered through the tree as it zoomed past its intended target. Its ebony shell, which would have shattered against the flesh of the purple monkey like breaking a bottle upon one's skull, splintered into separate pieces as it made impact upon the toughened layer of bark of a rather old, gnarled tree. Perhaps it had sentience in a different fashion, perhaps this living obelisk could feel the burning singe and painful sensation as the orb careened into its integument: such would be personification to a medium degree, but could nonetheless conjure pity into the reckless behavior of Ares's initial counterattack. It should be considered, however, that the young drake had taken on the persona of a young demigod attempting to achieve godhood, vying to prove himself a worthy heir of a living, breathing avatar of a god of war.

He would not wait passively as his attacker dodged his attack in a clean, beautiful mannerism - to do so would merely allow the other another chance to attack. A snarl was given as the predator honed in upon his prey, analyzing the sporadic and often random movements of his adversary in an attempt to anticipate his movements. His tail blazed on and smoldered behind his body, quivering in the wind and from the intense heat of battle like a warbanner upon a besieged battlefield. It was his insignia: a supple representation of his health, mood, and strength. Of course it would burn its brightest and most intensely during battle. It was a method of intimidation amongst members of his own kind that was fueled by the thrill of the possibility of cracking skulls.

Once more, he would unleash a Dragon Pulse after intense, yet cursory concentration. As the Aipom waltzed about like the living representation of divine, immaculate grace, the young drake would position his sphere for the location in which his opponent would "fall". That spin, though delicate and intricate, was honestly a waste of the most important resource in a battle: time. Dawdling or meticulous work could not cause a creature to succeed upon the plains of war or survive an onslaught - such was how the world worked. His attack was born from hastened planning and improvised strategy. As he could not anticipate the other's movements and was a mere sitting Ducklett in this clearing, his best strategy was to predict as best he could. This would result in the aforementioned attempt assault.

As the purple monkey wound up and released his nut towards Ares's skull, gravity would dictate that it would have to land in a close proximity in order to finalize its initial leap. Since his hand was busy, it would be rendered momentarily unavailable for swift maneuvering. This rational left Ares with an attack that relied upon such rules and logic. The Dragon Pulse would not be aimed directly at the Aipom, but instead at where he would land. As soon as the sphere left his lips, he would promptly be rewarded with a stinging sensation between his eyeballs.

Ping!

He recoiled momentarily, the pain more intense as the first injury had not fully recovered. The Charmander's eyes would not shut entirely, although a single hand would be lifted to shield the afflicted site momentarily. Should Ares's attack hit its mark, then further missiles might be prevented from bombarding his cranium. If it did not, then the bombing would continue as mentioned - although he would note its decreased "potency". Damn, this guy was agile!

When the nut had struck Cracker’s target, another fierce-looking Dragon Pulse was launched in an attempt to obliterate the branch the Aipom was going to land on, but speed was on the long-tailed Pokemon’s side and he’d narrowly avoided the raging orb as it demolished his previous perch. This Charmander really was amazing. Even for not being much more powerful, his abilities were potent and honed by what he could only assume was an intense training regimen.

He was all but certain that this Pokemon would make an excellent friend, perhaps even a strong ally and maybe a body-guard—if he could get the fire-type to call off his attack at some point, anyway. All this thought was buried at the back of the Aipom’s mind though, as he was focused on the task of being a bloody annoyance.

Outward appearances suggested Cracker was being extremely efficient at his task, as the Charmander’s flaming tail was burning bigger and brighter and angrier, a sure sign that the Pokemon he was unconsciously tormenting was extremely unhappy. Unfortunately, the Aipom’s antics weren’t quite finished yet. He still had one idea up his sleeve that was almost certainly going to resign him to an early grave if he wasn’t careful.

With all the grace of a martial artist, yet none of the tact, training or understanding, the long-tailed Pokemon raced around behind the Charmander’s position and sprang from a branch, tumbling through the air with his tail poised for a landing which hit its mark square of the back of the lizard’s head. The weight of the Aipom forced the Pokemon’s head down just long enough for him to snatch the ribbon right off his neck.

Unfortunately, the action caused Cracker to lose all of his momentum, so after springing off his target, he couldn’t return to the trees. Instead, he landed on the ground in the clearing, balancing perfectly on his tail as he dangled the ribbon from one paw. The Aipom had a huge grin plastered on his face, showing no animosity or ill-will, but he couldn’t really say that of the Charmander whose possession he’d just swiped.

“Pretty ribbon!” he said admiringly, looking at it closely before shifting his gaze back to the Pokemon and holding it out in a friendly manner. “Wanna be friends?”

Another miss, and the Charmander's accuracy was rewarded with being peppered by nuts. This bombardment upon his exterior might as well have been an assault upon his interior, for being unable to hit his mark and his opponent left him with a rather shaky opinion of his abilities. Sure, the cocky and self-confident lizard was adept at tackling opponent's twice his size and strength and living to tell the tale, but situations like these were quite the opposite. Handling an agile adversary in a "guerrilla" situation was something he would need to hone for future encounters akin to this one, and thus this encounter was a good reminder as to how inexperienced he was - not all opponents would charge him head on and bulldoze through his attacks as if they were mere paper-thin barriers.

Ping!

Ping!

Ping!

Nuts continued to wallop against his scaled hide and, at this point, Ares simply resigned himself to this constant bombing. His hands would fly up to shield the uppermost point of his thick skull as his eyes desperately scanned for some sort of shelter. As to be expected from such a clearing, nary a hollow log nor snag lingered and rotted within its encompassment. Lush foliage, that usually decorated the ground in haphazard patches, was absent, leaving only dirt and thin air to desecrate this locale. The wind blew through the trees, causing their leaves to chatter and rustle restlessly as they observed this brawl. What did they think? Were they mocking the lizard that had walked so confidently beneath them prior?

Then, there appeared to be a ceasefire. The lizard, still wary, would gingerly relieve his hands of their duty to protectively cradle his skull, but once more he would be punished for expecting the perpetrator to have found more interesting subjects to pester. A meat, three-fingered hand would make brutal contact with the occipital region of his skull with enough force and inertia to jam his head down. His legs begrudgingly held him upright as they bent from the added weight, and the sound of unfurling fabric caught his attention. Ah hell no.

There was no need for examination to identify that his scarf had been pilfered. He would not look foolish in an attempt to double check that it still was slung across his neck. As Ares allowed his skull to once more be placed in its upright position, a draconic fury plagued his vision. The other's comment and inquiry were but mere inaudible murmurs as the lizard's vision focused itself upon the dangling red fabric that swayed sadly in the wind. It was his damsel in distress, his maiden that needed liberating: he would save his lady in waiting!

Where an offer of friendship had been extended, it would be met with blazing anger. Perhaps the formation of new bonds would be a possibility, but not when a prized possession was held hostage. Ares was no actor. He would not feign happiness or pleasure, nor admiration and optimism, in order to gain the upper edge. The moment the other stopped speaking was the moment he would reply with a Dragon Pulse attack. It would be aimed at the other's body, and would race through the air towards him, attempting to hit him squarely. Perhaps a sphere of that size was easy to dodge, but Ares was not in a diplomatic mood at the moment. Big, dramatic movements were all he could do to comfort and subdue his temper.

After everything the annoying Aipom had just done to the Charmander, it wasn’t clear exactly what he was expecting in response, but from the expression on his surprised face when another Dragon Pulse was charged and fired directly at him in close range, it certainly wasn’t this. He had it coming of course, bit if one were to tell him that, he would’ve thought it totally uncalled for. This was all just a game after all, not a battle. Cracker just wanted to show off and make a fantastic first impression.

Instead what he had just done was rile up an already intense Pokemon with an assault of nuts, just before stealing something very important from him. A direct assault was the least he should’ve expected. Of course, though, the Aipom was completely caught off guard. In the short time it took for the attack to power up and be launched, he only had enough wherewithal to raise his arms in defense and squeak out the words “Hey, wait—!”, before he was struck by the angry orb.

Cracker was still holding the ribbon, which had been held directly in front of him when he tried to defend against the Dragon Pulse, so when it finally struck the nice clean fabric took the brunt of the blast. The only other thing the Aipom could do, still being poised on his tail, was to fall off. The orb detonated on impact, making the long-tailed Pokemon much like a ball himself as he was punted off his perch and launched backwards into the underbrush, punching through several bushes before stopping at the base of the same tree that had been struck previously by the Charmander’s powers.

There was no contest on whether that was a one-hitter. Cracker sat dazed and confused at the foot of the tree, sizzling and smelling of toasted fur, still holding up the ribbon he’d acquired, although the nice clean fabric was now singed in several places and very sooty.

It took the Aipom almost a solid minute before he recovered enough sense to say, “Wow… What was that for?”

No warning would have stopped Ares from exacting vengeance. It was inherit in the nature and disposition of his culture, and laced within their rituals and varied interactions with each other. They were Klingon like in behavior and manner, yet more brutal: a loss of life on the "victim's" side would result in a series of massacres upon the "guilty's" party. Naturally, such extremes that were stated to be required by their ancestors would snowball out of control; generations might be obliterated or effaced from memory and existence simply from the death of a lowly warrior. Those who spoke against such practices were annexed or purged - though the latter was used most often and considered the most civil, for enemy clans would have no possible way of knowing of such a severance.

There the Charmander was, exacting his known code of revenge that was microscopic in comparison to that within his homeland. The sheer thrill and pleasure from battling had dumbed his logic and rational thinking to the pleads of an opponent turned friendly. He was so set upon winning back his Plain Scarf that he had become ignorant and blind to the potential that it, too, would be affected by such a blast. The maiden that he was attempting to liberate from a rogue Aipom would another affected party of his search for getting even. It would be akin to the generation obliterated simply from being at the wrong place at the wrong time: a casualty for something that it had never been truly involved in or truly understood.

Perhaps there was sentience and understanding in that treasured, coarse fabric that had traveled miles from its origin. Though Spartan in comparison - what with its pattern-less fabric and coarse, straw-like texture - to things from this region of the world, it had been the smallest sliver of hope that he would have the ability to return home. It was memory link, something that would help him conjure forth fondness of a mother's embrace and the sweltering heat of a rocky, barren landscape. Home was home, and it was about to be damaged and singed.

It was possibly moments later that he came to his senses, relieved of the intoxicating effects of battle and war. Smoke was puffed forth in a single plume from the lizard's slit shaped nostrils as he christened this victory as his own, claiming it for his ego when in reality it could have been seen as an unethical, cheap sucker punch. His pupils, previously mere needles in a lake of sapphire-hued blue, returned to their original size. His tail's flame flickered back down to its standby heat and position, leaving the Charmander with more diplomatic processes. What was the first thing he did?

His jaw tightened, fangs crunching down upon each other as he spotted the damaged piece of fabric that had once been as immaculate as a newborn child. Blackened, sooty, torn: what little market value there had been in it prior was all but devastated now. The lizard took a hesitant step forward, his eyes narrowing as the realization of his incompetence smacked him right upside the head, and merely stood erect like a statue. While the Aipom was collecting himself at the base of the tree, the Charmander was attempting to kindle some sort of visible indifference to conceal his afflicted status. The result was the quintessence of stoic, solemn anguish. The corners of his lips twitched downwards as his clawed-hands slumped to his sides. Undoubtedly, he was regretting firing point-blank.

Silence would greet the monkey's words.

The reprieve from further assaults by the Charmander gave Cracker more than enough time to recover some energy lost by the explosive response to his bid for friendship. Once he managed to shake off the last dregs of dizziness and return to his feet, the first thing he noticed was the grass between his toes. This was the first time his feet felt the forest floor in days. Being such a lover of the trees, his species rarely if ever stood upon the ground, and this Aipom was no exception.

The sensation of the cool grass felt weird against the bottoms of his feet, causing him to do an awkward balancing act from one foot to the other to shake the feeling from each one individually. How do people do this every single day? he thought with a shudder. All this green stuff makes my feet so itchy!

The Aipom got so involved in his bizarre little dance that he almost completely forgot about his aggressor, still standing in the clearing looking completely and utterly crestfallen after having attacked his own possession. When Cracker finally made eye-contact again, he didn’t make the connection until he stared the Charmander down, then abruptly looked down at the singed and sooty ribbon in his grubby little paw.

“Uh-oh,” Cracker yipped, eyes widening as he looked between the Pokemon and the ribbon a few more times. “OH—OH no, I’m sorry—so-so-soooo sorry. I-I’ll—I’ll fix it just—just give me a sec!”

Looking around frantically, the Aipom’s ears quickly picked up the sound of a stream running somewhere nearby. His eyes quickly lit up with an idea. Turning to the Charmander he held up his paws and waggled the ribbon around.

“I’ll fix it, don’t worry! I’m just gonna go—stay right here, kay?”

Without waiting for an answer the Aipom leapt back into the trees via the burnt trunk next to him and made a bee-line towards the river. The entire trip he berated himself mentally. Why did I do that? I shouldn’t have taken the stupid ribbon. Of COURSE he was gonna attack me! Naturally, the error of his ways made sense now, after the fact, but even then he still felt perfectly in the right right up until he took the ribbon.

Thanks to Cracker’s impeccable speed, he was on top of the slow-moving river in no time. He didn’t even waste a second before leaping out of the tree to dive into the cool water. After all, he’d taken a beating himself too, and the fresh cool liquid felt wonderful on his singed body. There were more important things of course, though.

Shortly after entering the water, the Aipom came up for air and began working diligently to correct the error he made as best he could. The majority of the ribbon’s damage was superficial; tons of soot that washed away with relative ease. Beneath all that was damage he couldn’t fix, but he tried his best to remove the bits of burnt fabric around the spots where the fabric had been roasted away with heat. As he worked, Cracker swam into the shallows so he could stand and finish, with his back to the woods.

Ares's eyes darted back and forth as the Aipom performed a rather peculiar dance in the clearing. Though one might assume his eyes were following the purple monkey's rather peculiar display, his pupils were actually tracking the rather sad flopping movements that were being produced by the sorry piece of fabric that had once been his ribbon. Its usual bright, cherry-red color was tarnished and turned impure by the streaks of varying shades of grey that dashed about its creases and folds. This was ignoring the fact that it appeared tattered and torn in many subsections of its main body, leaving it to resemble more of a battle-wearied cape than a clean, sharp piece of fabric that had once been. His thoughts skipped around frantically as they attempted to help him make sense of the situation that he was now in.

Yes, the destruction of a rather cherished and prized possession had been his fault.

Yes, he should not have been so dumb to believe that it would not be unharmed from the ensuing destruction that he had plotted against the Aipom.

No, he would not take the blame for it; at least, not verbally that is.

The male's peculiar dancing seemed to have subsided as eye-contact was made, and verbal recognition was given at the sight of the fabric's seemingly destroyed state. Where Ares remained silent, pensive, and solemn, the other was quite excellent at vocalizing his emotions. Through the genuinely apologetic nature of the tone that was used to address the situation, the Charmander was left stunned and dour. It was soon just him in that clearing, absentmindedly listening to the near silent mumbling of the stream and whispering leaves in the trees.

While the Aipom was off who-knows-where doing who-knows-what, the lizard stood erect and still. Nature bubbled back into its original volume as its main contender vanished into the vastness that was the woods, and soon the world itself presented its substitute. The sun seemed to have finally achieved its apex height, allowing the trees to cast dark shadows directly beneath their leaves. A whistling breeze seemed to have replaced the whispering wind, and the bright, youthful leaves were dappled splendidly with white light. There certainly was an optimistic nature that wavered through the air.

A few more minutes of dunking, squeezing and shaking the ribbon in the wind and Cracker had the ribbon looking bright and clean again, void of any damage beyond the tattered threads in various spots along the fabric’s edges, and notably a sizeable hole in the center itself. It wasn’t perfectly new anymore, unfortunately, but it didn’t look like a miserable little rag either.

Staring at it for a long moment, the Aipom let out a long heavy sigh. This wasn’t what he had intended at all. It was never his plan to tarnish the Charmander’s personal belonging, which was why he was prepared to hand it back immediately after swiping it. But that Dragon Pulse attack was impossible to avoid and in his panic he chose to defend himself with the red ribbon, like it had some special, protective powers he was unaware of.

The best he could hope for now was that the fire-type Pokemon accepted this attempt at a peace-offering and apology instead of just roasting him on the spot again for having dared to take it in the first place. Man, why is it so hard to make friends? he grumbled inwardly. Everybody always gets so angry first. What happened to all the friendly Pokemon in the world?

Well, there was little else Cracker could do to make amends, so he quickly hurried back into the woods, springing off his tail into the nearest tree before taking off like a shot towards the clearing, its location still imprinted in his mind. Will he even still be there? he wondered. Maybe he got fed up and left; I wouldn’t blame him.

By the time the Aipom returned he was feeling rather sullen about the turn of events he’d been responsible for, fully expecting the Charmander to be long gone, or worse, waiting in hiding to beat him into the ground and take his ribbon back. Much to his surprise though, when his eyes came upon the clearing once more, he spied to Pokemon immediately, still standing in the same position he had been in when Cracker left. He still didn’t look happy at all, but rather, too stunned to move.

Lighting up again, a big grin spread across Cracker’s face as he jumped down from the tree, landing gingerly on his tail before hopping over to the Pokemon and dangling himself upside-down in front of the sour-faced Charmander.

“I’m so sorry about before,” Cracker said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to ruin your ribbon. Here, I tried to fix it as best I could, see?”

The Aipom held out the ribbon to the Charmander in as friendly a manner as possible.

“My name’s Cracker. I just wanna be friends.”

There, among the swaying of the patchy, long grass and the soft breathing of the forest as the gale blew air into its lungs. It was not a simple movement anymore, but an exaggerated sound that was amplified by the rather separate peace that had been formed. A blistering gale was allowed to slack off and grow tired and still, and a ferocious predator was allowed to bathe in the sun. In this annexed little section of the forest, where an originally hostile force was now attempting to charm and cease hostilities, there was a snippet of what the forest had once been: quiet. That was how it had all been at one point, when no creature of a decent size tromped through the woods and devastated its virgin like state. The creatures that did linger and take refuge among the giant trees were, perhaps, small and silent.

Ares was not typically the philosophical type, nor one to take any heed of the environment or scenery present around him. He understood his place as being a prop upon a living, breathing stage that often shuffled everything around to benefit the other props or backdrops. Sometimes the stage would be unfair to some, while other times it was unfair to others: it simply did as it pleased and saw fit. The main goal was to provide some entertainment for itself, and the toys that it had been presented were nothing more than objects to be used as it saw fit. It was blissfully ignorant to the fact that its decisions affected lives smaller than itself. This stage, wide and big, did what it could because it simply had the ability to.

In conclusion, Ares believed that he had absolutely no control over the rest of this encounter would go. His actions, his thoughts, his movements had already been choreographed by a being beyond himself.

When the Aipom did return, the Charmander's blue eyes quickly redirected themselves from the cloudless, blue sky towards him. They first fixated themselves upon his face, but slowly his pupils would swim down towards the ribbon that had been damaged. The soot had undoubtedly been the major source of concern and had given it a look of irreparable injury. Cleaned up, it actually looked rather interesting; certainly more Spartan and useful than it had been prior. Its ragged edges provided a harsh edge that was commonly seen upon Western outlaws, and would give him an aura of rugged and steadfast determination. All in all, it was passable.

He would gingerly reach out and take it, his claws hooking lightly into the fabric in an attempt to validate that it was not going to fall apart the moment his hot flesh made contact with it. The fabric seemed to weather his touch well, and he promptly seized it and tied it about his throat once more. Wasn't he quite dapper? Ares would lighten up considerably with his possession once more securely worn on his body, enough to even manage an awkward, uncomfortable smile.

"Yeah," he would acknowledge, tugging slightly on the ribbon to ensure it would stick, "I guess it's fine; nothing that can't be fixed with a needle and Spinarark thread." His gaze would once more focus upon the Aipom's face, and he would listen intently to the other's desire. Friendship? This was an awfully peculiar way of doing it. The Charmander would forcefully extend forth a clawed hand, as if inviting the other to shake it, "Mine's Ares. Nice to meet you, Cracker."

The entire time Cracker held the rugged ribbon out to what he hoped would be a new friend, he struggled to contain himself, evident by an incessant twitch in his big grin. For the long moment while the Charmander examined the item for quality, the Aipom half-expected to get another Dragon Pulse directly in the face. He’d only just recovered from the last one, so another would deplete his health completely, which was the last thing he needed right now.

Fortunately for the long-tailed Pokemon, the Charmander reached out and gingerly accepted the ribbon back without so much as a hint of hostility. In fact, the fire-type seemed to be somewhat impressed with the new look his possession had obtained from being nearly decimated in a fiery blast. And watching him put it on, Cracker had to admit, it added to the Pokemon’s whole mysterioso. It even made him a little scarier to look at, which made the Aipom’s grin falter slightly.

When he finally spoke, the first words Cracker had ever heard the Pokemon even say, it was to assure the Aipom that he was satisfied with the condition of the ribbon. More importantly, he accepted the long-tail’s offer of friendship. Well, with that, he could do longer contain himself. Letting out a joyous cheer, Cracker bounced into the air, landed on his feet and clapped both paws around Ares’ outstretched arm to shake it up and down vigorously.

“Ares—Ares! He has a name!” he squealed, still shaking the Charmander’s paw. “I’m soooo glad we’re friends! You won’t regret it, I promise! I won’t letcha down—in fact, maybe to make it up to yah, I could find you another ribbon. An even BETTER one!”

Eventually releasing Ares’ hand, Cracker jumped back onto his tail and started bouncing around ecstatically, unable to contain his joy. Of course, this was a somewhat typical routine for the Aipom whenever he made new friends, but this time it felt more special than usual, perhaps due to the nature of the situation.

Still dancing around the Charmander, Cracker stared at him, slowing to a stop as a look of awe came over him.

“Wow, you know you look even cooler now,” he said. “Like a cowboy or an outlaw or something. So rugged! It really suits you!”