Greetings to one and all on The PokéMasters! My name is Matt Morwell, and a long time ago I wrote a fanfic called Against All Odds. You can find it in a few places around the Internet these days, but I first posted the story, with great trepidation, on the previous incarnation of TPM - and I've always remembered and been grateful that the administrators and readers welcomed me with open arms. I hope that there are a few lurkers here and there who still remember the tale... but for those who aren't familiar with it, so much the better!
In the very long interim between then and now, I've had time to review and revise the tale of Jason Creight. I've always enjoyed the basic premises from the original story but it has nagged at me for a long time that the story was a bit stale, and the writing wasn't all it could have been. I've taken the opportunity to begin a lengthy (and slightly torturous) process of true revision, restarting from square one and refining the tapestry of Jason's life. Fans of the original tale will recognize and recall a lot that happens here... but will also be treated to a vast array of new experiences that never made it the first time around. Newcomers are naturally just as welcome as the veterans, and I do hope fans of all stripes will take the time to read and enjoy.
It's been ten years since I began to write Against All Odds... please indulge me as I share this story with you, one more time.
-Matt
Jason Creight awoke to the sound of his alarm going off.
Seven seconds later, a hand slapped at the clock and found the “Off” switch. The hand retreated beneath the covers for a long moment; then the entire blanket was thrown aside, revealing a teenaged boy with dark, bushy hair, a wiry build, and a grimace to suggest that he had wanted to do anything but what he’d just done.
“Yuck. Cold,” he muttered. But the damage was done. The covers had landed on the floor beside him and the only way to reach them now was to roll over and off the bed – which risked exposing his one warm spot to the cool air all around him.
He yawned into his fist and sat up, then threw his legs over the edge of the bed and willed himself to stand. Under his breath he grumbled cynically. “Another day.”
And indeed, he wasn’t looking forward to it. The fourteen-year-old had a test to take for his algebra class... a test for which he had forgotten to study last night. Or the night before, or the night previous. Not to mention, there was the paper for his literature class which was due today, a paper which he had not even bothered to research until two nights ago – and hadn’t bothered to write until just last night. Hence the lack of studying for algebra.
If classes were all he had to worry about, he might not have thought the day would go that badly. After all, there was the sense of freedom once school let out... or so his classmates kept saying. He never quite felt privy to that particular freedom. Once he was home from school, it was pretty much directly to the shop for him, to help stock items on the racks and shelves, and to assist customers. During hours, of course. Then came after hours, when he got the dubious honor of taking inventory, a task that usually required forty-five minutes for someone experienced in it. For him, it took an hour and a half.
He knew better than to ask his parents why they wouldn’t show him preferential treatment – they’d already answered that question any number of times. He needed to understand the work even the lowliest employee was doing so that he would have a better understanding of how the overall company worked. His father liked to refer to their business as “a well-oiled machine”. One of the man’s favorite adages was, “If you can take care of the small things, the big things will take care of themselves.”
Jason had heard the phrase over and over again through the course of his short life, enough that it had seemed to lose much of its meaning. His father liked to apply it to any situation, really. The man was gung-ho to the point of irritating... but there had, as yet, been argument with the results he gleaned. Ninety-nine percent of the time, everybody did exactly as they were expected to do. It was the remaining one percent that caused him to spout the aphorism that got so many of his employees – and even sometimes his own family – to roll their eyes.
He knew he wasn’t likely to hear it today, anyway, and he was trying to consider that a blessing in and of itself as he willed himself to stand up and get dressed. He pulled a hanger bearing a standard school uniform from his closet and climbed into the vestments with relative haste. If there was anything he hated more than writing up an inventory count, it was spending more time than he had to with his clothing. For that, he supposed he was thankful for the uniform code – it meant he didn’t have to spend time worrying about his appearance. As long as his hair was combed and the sparse number of whiskers he might one day like to call a beard stayed trimmed, there was nothing for him to worry about.
Just as with the tired phrase his father liked to declare, Jason didn’t want to hear another gripe from his classmates about the business his family was doing. He’d heard any number of people refer to the Creight Breeding Center as a place of moral ambiguity – a phrase whose meaning he had to look up, and even then, hadn’t fully understood on the first pass through the dictionary – and now some of the kids at school had decided they were starting to agree. It was a subject he wasn’t at all interested in broaching with them. It wasn’t like he spent his days criticizing the work their families did in order to make a living. He only did it if they started it. Jason was inclined to agree with his parents on this one – they were jealous of the Creight family’s success.
He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, trying to rub the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he approached the cereal cabinet. Sunlight was filtering in from every direction through windows surrounding the room and studding the ceiling. His parents had spared no expense in remodeling the kitchen, nor in redecorating it – as evidenced by the giant mahogany table, polished to perfection. In Jason’s opinion, that was nothing short of extravagant for a family of four. For each time they had company over, there were a hundred more occasions that saw barely even two people sitting at it.
He noticed that there was a pot of oatmeal on the stove, so he scooped out a generous helping and brought with him a bottle of honey to the table, at which – for once – sat the other three members of his family. His father, Carson, was the type to wear clothing that suited whatever mood he was in. If he wanted to “lord over the minions”, as Jason’s brother liked to say, he would don a suit and tie... whereas if he wanted to “mingle with the commoners and be one of the guys” – both descriptions hailing from Jason’s mother – he’d wear khakis and a polo shirt. Today was evidently of the former persuasion, because Carson was in a black two-piece with a red silk tie. Jason was split down the middle on seeing his father wear clothing that ostentatious... if he were in the wrong place, surely it would invite hoodlums to rob him. Maybe those goons from that weird “Team Rocket” gang, or whatever they called themselves.
Jason’s mother, Amelia, was somewhat more modest in her attire. Her long brown hair was drawn back into a tight ponytail, and he was wearing a loose flower-print shirt and a pair of blue jeans – which was what she usually wore when she wanted to work with Grass- and Ground-Type Pokémon for the day. In Jason’s experience, she held to certain clothing for certain areas of work and stuck with it until it was dinnertime. Even then, she would usually just wash her hands. The cook could complain all he wanted, but he was on the Creights’ payroll, and that meant they got to do pretty much whatever they wanted.
Well... as long as Mom and Dad approve, Jason silently amended. His glance shifted to the third member of the family, in whom most of his parents’ approval anymore seemed to reside. Daniel Creight was an almost devilishly handsome young man. His face was narrow, his nose almost perfect – if slightly hawkish – and his hair, more closely shorn than Jason’s, was so black that whenever sunshine cast upon it, it almost looked blue. His skin was a healthy tan and his build was that of an all-around athlete. Perhaps most striking about his appearance were his eyes, each of which was a different color; his left was a bright blue while the right was an almost metallic gray. If his looks weren’t apt to attract young women, certainly his eyes were, since both seemed to sparkle whenever he smiled. Most people would peg him as at least in his twenties for how handsome and mature he looked. But they would be shocked to discover he had already completed his own private education and was working his way up the ladder for the CBC at a mere seventeen years old.
“Good morning, son,” said Carson Creight. The family’s paternal leader spoke with an unusually chipper tone which made Jason tilt his head.
He wasn’t the only one. Daniel also perked at the sound of their father’s voice. “You’re sounding in good spirits, Dad. Something up?”
“Quite a bit is up,” Mr. Creight responded. Though there was little expression on his face, what was there – minuscule curve at the corner of his lips, an excited wrinkle in the middle of his forehead – spoke volumes. Getting him to actually smile was something of a small miracle so they had to do with the slightest quirks of his mouth or eyebrows. “Annuals just came in – we’re right on track to become the fastest growing company in the Orange Islands, on any and every level.”
“Just shows that people are responding well to the services we offer,” his wife replied. She smiled at the three males surrounding her. “And I’d hope so, too – I like doing what I do. Truth be told, I always have. I think I’d always wanted to when I was a kid.”
“A midwife for Pokémon?” Daniel aimed a raised eyebrow at his mother. “C’mon, Mom, don’t tell me that’s what you had in mind. Last time I checked, the law and Pokémon breeding didn’t really have that much in common.”
She shrugged. “Well, I’ll admit it’s not exactly what I first thought of as a career path. But it’s dynamic. You always have to come up with solutions specific to certain problems that might only come around once in a lifetime, or hundreds of times. I got my law degree before I met your father because I wanted a job like that – being able to ferret out solutions to problems that are never exactly the same from day to day.”
“So what, you’d have been a hotshot lawyer one day and then a budding breeder the next?” Daniel snickered. “I’m looking at you in the clothes now but I don’t think I could see you permanently hanging up a pantsuit for that.”
“Danny!” Jason suddenly protested.
The elder Creight boy cocked his head at Jason, an impish grin on his face. “What?”
“You’re making Mom sound like a clothes horse! Don’t insult her!”
“C’mon, lighten up, short stuff.” Daniel ruffled Jason’s hair. “I’m just poking fun, I don’t mean anything by it.”
“It’s all right, Jason,” Mrs. Creight assured her younger son. “I know he’s joking.” Then she leveled her gaze on Daniel. “But your point is well-taken – I’m not quite that shallow, Danny.”
“No, not quite,” Daniel agreed. The grin stayed on his face as he forked a section of French toast into his mouth.
“Now, Daniel,” said Mr. Creight, a note of disapproval in his voice. But then he brightened again. “We received an order this morning. Very large. The client wants us to specially produce a wide variety of Pokémon... the basic stage of every kind we breed.”
“Who’s the client?” Jason asked.
“Viridian City Gym.” Mr. Creight chuckled at the expressions everyone around the table exchanged. “Yes, indeed. Word about us has spread to the Kanto mainland. It makes me wonder if too many trainers have been running roughshod over their resident gym leader.”
“Who’s the gym leader?” Daniel inquired.
“Not sure these days. I heard something about a shakeup there not too long ago. The order simply came from the Viridian City Gym itself, no specific name attached.”
Jason’s elder brother frowned and leaned his elbows on the table. Jason noted the movement earned a slightly disapproving glance from their mother but she evidently elected not to say anything. “Seems a little strange. If they’ve heard of us, they know we’re a hundred percent confidential. We’re not interested in telling anyone who they are... and come to think of it, why such a large order? I thought gyms were in the business of constructing themes for trainers to be challenged by.”
“And I thought gym leaders didn’t make that much money to begin with,” Jason interjected. “How is it this guy has the cash to buy one of every kind we’ve got?”
Mr. Creight directed his first answer to Jason. “There’s no telling just how affluent any particular gym leader is. It’s true that by and large, they don’t earn much money as gym leaders, which is why in places like Kanto and Johto, you’ll find gym leaders have work to do on the side. Some of them, you’ll hardly ever find at their gyms, until and unless a challenger arrives.”
Then he looked to Daniel. “As for your questions, we don’t really need to know who the individual in charge is. As long as there’s something or someone accountable for the purchase, even if that party wants to stay anonymous, we’ll get the job done. They’ve already sent the good faith payment of fifty percent. The check cleared, so now it’s up to us to make sure we give them what they want.”
Then he looked around the table. “That means starting today, we’re all going to have to kick into overdrive. Boys, your mother and I will be overseeing about eighty percent of the breeding effort for this customer – Daniel, you’ll be taking care of the other twenty.” The patriarch looked at his older son. “We’ll be counting on you to be as diligent as your mother and I would be. You know how to breed and you know how much an art form it can be... don’t be afraid to get as far into it as you need to.”
Jason had a difficult time restraining the scowl that threatened to overtake his features. It didn’t seem exactly a fair designation of resources... and it certainly wasn’t the first time his parents had shown blatant favoritism for his older brother. Just because the man had been their only child for all of three years...!
He held up a hand. “Hang on, Dad? Don’t let me rain on Danny’s parade or anything, but... what about me?”
Mr. Creight held up his hands in a slightly exaggerated shrug. “Jason, you know my policies on young workers. You’ve been doing exactly the jobs I need you to do right now and I need you to keep to the regimen I’ve assigned for you. You still have another six months before your fifteenth birthday.”
“I’m ready to help right now, though!” he protested. “I’ve seen Pokémon trainers younger than me running around this island! If they’re ready enough to handle Pokémon...”
His father shook his head. “Look, Jason, we’ve had this conversation – much more civilly, too. You know the rules I’ve set for the company, and look where those rules have gotten us. Look where we’re living, where you’re going to school.”
Perhaps sensing his displeasure, his mother laid a hand on his arm and leaned close to his ear. “Jason, don’t worry. Your chance to prove yourself will come soon enough.”
He shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, hoping to overwhelm the bitter taste there with the honey drizzled over his food. But even as he chewed, he couldn’t stop himself from muttering under his breath, “It hasn’t yet.”
—
School was much as Jason had always found it to be... full of the same people, opportunities, and disappointments that one could find perhaps even more easily out in real life than in the confines of perhaps the most ostentatious educational facility in the Orange Islands. He couldn’t understand how his older brother had managed to pull off such effortless A’s and B’s throughout his scholastic career. After the unhappy C- he’d earned on his biology pop quiz and the mediocre B- he’d just barely managed to pull off for his algebra test, he was coming close to accusing Daniel of cheating somehow. Or perhaps simply having less difficult material to cover.
The conclusion of his history class brought finality to his school hours. But in his own mind, it could very well bring finality to his life in general – the history paper on which a bright red “D-” had been scrawled and circled was all he needed for his vision to start tunneling. He sat at his desk for several moments after the teacher and most of the other students had already cleared out of the classroom.
There was still one remaining, though – a blond loudmouth named Rocky Lancaster. One of Jason’s least favorite classmates, Rocky was from a family that came into their wealth from the bloated life insurance policy of a recently deceased relative. Some of that money had gone into putting him here in Tangelo Hall, but getting in the door had not been enough to prevent some of the snottier kids from pushing him around for being the “poor kid”.
But that hadn’t been the case since the beginning of this school year. Rocky had apparently been hitting the gym during the summer, and the first time someone tossed an insult his direction upon commencement of the school year, the unfortunate idiot had gotten a bloody nose and a black eye. It was possibly even less fortunate that Rocky chose to take advantage of the fear that display had generated, and was now into pestering the “rich kids” the way he’d been harassed.
Lancaster paced to the front of the room and passed Jason’s desk, where the paper with the bad grade still lay prone on the surface. Jason was staring at it intently, as if willing it to change. Lancaster snorted. “What, your dad couldn’t buy you a better grade?”
Jason was fairly sure he couldn’t match Rocky in a fistfight, but he refused to let that slide. “Ask yours to buy you a personality.”
He knew that would probably earn him a shot in the mouth, but he also knew that for him, it was worth it just to see Rocky’s mouth open and close like a Magikarp out of water. When no strike seemed forthcoming for a long moment, Jason scoffed, then picked up his paper and put it atop his stack of books.
Rocky finally seemed to catch up to what was happening at that point, though, because he slammed a hand down on Jason’s book stack and leaned down over him. The look on his face was almost feral, much like a predator peering at what it believed was an easy target. “C’mon, Creight. The jokes about me being poor are a little old... or hadn’t you heard?”
Jason sighed; he knew trying to wrestle his books from the other kid’s grasp would be a futile attempt. “Didn’t say you were poor.”
“Sure sounded like it to me.”
“I know. Because you’re stupid.”
Rocky loomed even larger over him and his face turned red. “Why, you little–!”
“Hey!”
Both Jason and Rocky turned to face the classroom’s doorway. In it stood Daniel, who was aiming a pointed glower at both of them – but more scathingly at Rocky, which Jason found at least slightly comforting. The elder Creight brother leveled his gaze at Rocky. “Go find yourself something better to do, man, or I’ll help you find something.”
Jason glanced up at Rocky, whose face was twisting this way and that. Clearly he didn’t want to back down, but he also didn’t look terribly interested in escalating the conflict. Daniel’s build was far superior to Rocky’s, and Jason knew Daniel’s muscles weren’t for show – he worked regularly with Fighting-, Rock-, and Ground-Type Pokémon on their respective breeding and training grounds.
The Lancaster boy apparently decided to err on the side of caution and stepped away, then gathered his books and made for the door. Daniel still stood there and he directed a dark scowl at Rocky. “You make trouble for my brother, you better be ready for trouble back. You get me?”
Rocky scoffed. “Whatever.” He shoved past and out into the hallway.
Jason raised his eyebrows at Daniel. “What’re you doing here?”
“What, no ‘thanks for the save’? He was ready to cream you.”
“I wasn’t being ungrateful, I just didn’t expect you.”
“Mom wanted me to drop by the greenhouse, deliver a couple Sunkerns. I had some time to kill after my lunch break.”
“You’re insane with that 3 p.m. lunch break.”
“I had other work to do first. See, there’s this big order that came in.”
Jason sighed again and picked up his books. Belatedly, he reached on top to slip the graded paper in between the pages of his history book. His brother caught the movement, though. “What was that?”
Jason shrugged. “Just some homework.”
“How’d you do?”
“Not bad.”
“Yeah, right,” Daniel snorted. “If it had a good grade, you’d flaunt it. You know Mom keeps track, though, so you’re gonna have to show her.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“It is if you want Mom and Dad to give you a Pokémon on the big fifteen.” Daniel crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “They don’t have to. They didn’t have to give me one.”
“Yeah, but you asked them, might’ve had something to do with it,” Jason grumbled. He got up and moved to the door.
“Hey, c’mon, small fry. You always make it sound like they love me more. I worked hard, okay? They didn’t give me a free pass on my first one, my second, or my third.”
Jason scoffed. “‘Worked hard’? How hard is hard for you? A full night’s worth of ninth grade homework for me only ever took you an hour. It all just comes so easily to you.”
“Don’t blame me, squirt, I never put off my homework until the last minute.”
“No, you always did it ‘cause you knew all the answers off the bat. I don’t understand how you always seemed to have the right thing to say right at your fingertips. It’s pretty irritating to have teachers always comparing me to you.”
“Jason...”
“It’s hard for me. It’s not for you,” Jason insisted.
“Hey, maybe it does come easily, but that still doesn’t mean I didn’t have to work for what I wanted. You act like Mom and Dad give me everything on a silver platter. Where do you think I was working when I was fourteen? I was stocking shelves and doing shop inventory, same as you, and I saw all those same trainers out there, the ones younger than us with Pokémon of their own. Think I thought that was fair?”
Jason rolled his eyes and tried to push past Daniel, but was blocked by a strong hand on his shoulder. Daniel raised his eyebrows and locked gazes with his younger brother. “Hey, listen to me for a sec. I know what it’s like. Watching all those kids... not even the rich ones, like us, just the regular scrappers, out on the beach, challenging each other left and right, being hotshots. For all that Dad’s given us, he wouldn’t give me that until I was fifteen. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“Maybe, but you weren’t here for long.”
Daniel wrapped an arm about Jason’s shoulders and walked with him into the hallway. “Work hard, squirt, and you won’t be, either.”
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© Matt Morwell, 2011
Against All Odds - From old TPM ;)
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