Pokemon : An Unexpected Journey

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In the aftermath of war, the local pub in Vermilion City had become a shadow of its former self. The once bustling establishment, known for its lively atmosphere and crowded tables, now stood mostly empty, a silent testament to the war's toll. The walls, once adorned with colorful posters and memorabilia, were now faded and peeling, while the dim lighting added a somber tone to the room.

Red, Blue, and Miyamoto entered this subdued space, finding a quiet corner in the nearly deserted pub. The wooden chairs creaked under their weight, and the air smelled faintly of stale beer and old wood.

A waitress, her apron stained and her expression weary, approached their table with a tentative smile. 

"A-Are you three with the Kanto army?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of respect and hope.

"Yep," Red replied succinctly, noticing the faint lines of strain on her face.

"T-Then the meal is on the house," she offered quickly, a gesture of gratitude for their service.

"We'll pay," Red insisted gently. He understood the hardship the war had brought upon businesses like this pub and didn't want to add to their burden.

"No, No, how could..." the waitress began to protest, but Red cut her off.

"We'll pay," he repeated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The waitress sighed, a look of reluctant acceptance crossing her face. 

"Thank you, but how could we charge our heroes?"

"Lady, we can see that your business is already struggling. Just let us pay. If you want to repay us, just make us some good food," Blue interjected, his voice calm and reasonable.

"What can I get you three?" the waitress asked, resigned but visibly relieved.

"Soup, some bread, and a couple of beers," Red ordered, trying to choose something simple.

"I'll have some ramen," Blue added.

"And you, little lady?" the waitress turned to Miyamoto.

"I'll have the some ramen," Miyamoto replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll be right back with your meals," the waitress said before turning to leave.

As soon as she was gone, Blue turned to Red with a wry smile. 

"You're paying," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Red complained, his eyebrows knitting together in mild annoyance.

"Who was the one who denied a free meal?" Blue retorted.

"Fine," Red conceded, though he couldn't help but feel a slight pinch at the prospect of parting with his coins.

Just then, Miyamoto stood up, her movements hesitant. "I-I have to go powder my nose," she said shyly, excusing herself from the table.

Blue leaned in, his eyes narrowing playfully as he teased Red. 

"Don't tell me you have a crush on her," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

"N-No," Red stammered, his face turning a shade of crimson that would make a Charizard envious.

"Red, I'm serious," Blue continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "There are many women out there that would be good for you. Don't try to get with her; we don't even know if she's mentally stable."

"What do you mean?" Red asked, his curiosity piqued despite the awkwardness of the conversation.

"Let's just say you ask her out in the next few minutes and she agrees. Do you think she agreed because she likes you back, or she couldn't deny her life savior?" Blue prodded, his words laced with a wisdom that seemed beyond the chaos of their current situation.

"W-Well, it's not like I would ask her to have sex with me," Red mumbled, his blush deepening.

"The day you get in bed with a woman is the day rats fly," Blue quipped, unable to resist the jab.

"You know Pikachu can learn Fly, right?" Red shot back, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Blue raised an eyebrow, impressed by Red's comeback. "Maybe there's hope for you yet, Romeo."

...

As Miyamoto slipped away from Red and Blue's view, her demeanor shifted dramatically. Gone was the shy, reticent woman. In her place stood someone with a purpose, her movements quick and assured.

She made her way to the kitchen, a small, cramped space that bore the marks of the war's impact. The once gleaming surfaces were now dull and worn, and the array of utensils had dwindled to just the essentials. A single, flickering lightbulb cast a weak glow over the room, adding to the somber ambiance.

Inside, Miyamoto found the waitress, who was also the cook, busying herself with their order. 

"You're the cook?" Miyamoto asked, feigning surprise.

"I don't get enough customers to hire one," the waitress replied, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and pride.

"Can I get a glass of water?" Miyamoto requested, her tone casual. She knew the waitress would oblige, given her perceived status as a hero.

"Of course," the waitress responded, turning towards the cupboard to fetch a glass.

In that brief moment, Miyamoto swiftly pulled out a vial and poured its colorless contents into Red's soup. She concealed the vial just as the waitress turned back, offering a smile that hid her true intentions.

"Thank you," Miyamoto said graciously, taking the glass of water and leaving the kitchen with the same composed air.

...

As they sat at the table, Red, Blue, and Miyamoto began to eat their meal. But suddenly, Red paused, his spoon hovering in mid-air. His expression changed, confusion and discomfort apparent on his face.

"Is something wrong?" the waitress, Rose, asked with concern, noticing Red's sudden halt.

Miyamoto acted quickly, her hand gently touching Red's forehead, feigning concern. "Oh, no, he's burning up. I'll take him back to the camp, so he can get checked out," she said with a convincingly worried tone.

Without waiting for a response, Miyamoto grasped Red's hand, ready to lead him out of the pub. But Blue, his eyes sharp and observant, called out, "Don't try anything stupid."

"I-I am just taking him to the medical camp," Miyamoto stammered, her voice shaky as she hurriedly pulled Red away.

Blue watched them leave, his gaze returning to the unfinished meal. 

A suspicion nagged at him, but his attention was soon drawn back to the waitress. 

"Let's not waste some perfectly good food, why don't you eat?" he suggested, his tone casual yet inviting.

The waitress blushed at the suggestion, a small smile appearing on her face. 

"My name is Rose," she introduced herself, accepting the invitation.

"Blue... Blue Oak."

•••••••••

[Author's Note: Ok, so Miyamoto is obviously going to try and have sex with, and then murder, Red.

Also, tomorrow's chapter will be the end of this whole Miyamoto and Red flashback.

The day after tomorrow wraps up Miyamoto's arc. 

So, there are 2 chapters left before we return to Austin.

My questions to the readers are as follows: 

1- Why didn't Miyamoto just poison Red's soup with cyanide? 

2- Should I write the entire sex scene between Red and Miyamoto, or should I just mention that Red woke up naked in bed and then continue the story?

3- How do you think Orre is defeated in this war? ]

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[Omake Paragraph]

A single question has always vexed those who attempted to battle against Masquerain: how do you fight what you're too afraid to see? Masquerain have only been depicted in art from certain angles, their wings half-eyeballs, not full ones, for their true appearance is said to drive men and pokemon to madness if viewed directly, so all avert their eye-patterned wings as though they were locked in combat with the Sun. Photographs and videos are typically safe to view, but the cameramen always insist in between babbling horrific nonsense that what they captured looks little like the real thing.

The strategies used to fight Masquerain are manifold but ineffective. Mammalian pokemon attempt to fight by scent, but the various spores these pokemon unleash not only cripple their foes but make scent no more reliable than sight. Other pokemon use wide-range or homing attacks to increase their odds of a clean hit, but these attacks are rarely the most powerful moves possessed by their users. Pokemon unable to fall back on either of these tactics simply rely on peripheral vision and careful, deliberate attacks, and regain a surprising level of accuracy at the cost of power. Whatever strategy they use, however, pokemon must grapple with the fact that their equally blinded trainer is unable to judge the health of their target.

The best way to defeat a Masquerain is to make it defeat itself. A Masquerain's true eyes are so remarkably sharp that they can see their own reflection wherever rain falls. To avoid going mad, they fold up their wings and descend to the ground instantly, where they attempt in vain to fight by skating on the water like Surskit. It is for this reason that Masquerain alone can not fly through storms, but are grounded by a drizzle.