lieutenantantichrist | [21] Video/Action for Goldenrod

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[21] Video/Action for Goldenrod - "I'm gonna rule this world."

[In a square in the center of Goldenrod City, a small crowd has gathered. A show is about to start.

There's a crude stage that's been freshly hammered together. Near the back, a little Snubbull is tapping in the last few nails. The platform wobbles but holds as a man climbs up it, then takes a place at a podium in the center. He's wearing a white button-up shirt and, in concession to his ambitions, a tie. He looks toward the camera.] Hey, Newt. You got that thing running?

[The camera's view nods up and down.]

All right.

[He holds his arms up for silence. Then, when no one quite pays attention, he barks,] Hey! All of you! Shut up!

[That's much more effective. When the eyes of the curious onlookers are on him, he plants his hands on the sides of the podium and clears his throat.]

All of you. Locals, people from the real world, people from the fuckin' moon. You know me. See, I've been here a long, long time. Two damn years, and I know some of you have been here longer. I was thinking about that, and you know what I realized?

[His voice gets louder and clearer as he finds his rhythm.]

I realized I'm not a fuckin' tourist. None of us are. This is our world as much as it is theirs-- and nobody is doing dick to run it.

Look around. Everybody does whatever they damn well please, and that's real nice right up until the minute some idiot starts planting bombs around. The closest thing to somebody in charge is the police, and they're a goddamn joke who give terrorists a week picking up garbage and then set them loose again. There's nobody calling the shots.

That changes today.

[His boots thud on plywood as he tramps back and forth along the stage, and his speech takes a turn toward harangue.]

When bees and sharks came crashing through people's windows, who smacked them right back out? Me. When some moron went around shooting lasers at the city, who knocked him out of the sky? Me. When a couple armies of fire and water idiots tried to wreck up the place with giant monsters, who went out to stop them? [He jerks his thumb to his chest.] Me.

[His voice is getting louder and louder. The cords stand out on his neck.]

And I'm not some jumped-up fourteen-year-old who thinks he's magic. I've been around the block in the real world. I have decades on the front lines. I haven't just lead people, I've lead them into tenements full of crackheads with shotguns. That has to mean something, even here.

Somebody around here has to get shit in order, and I'm done waiting.

[His tread takes him back to the podium. He grips the sides with his coarse-knuckled hands and leans over it to look straight into the Gear.]

I'm not asking you. I'm telling you.

From now on, I'm the head honcho around here.

[He jabs his finger at the camera.]

Stand with me or get out of my way.

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Yeah, knowing that poison beats plant isn't going to help you make the trains run on time.

Experience, that's important. I'd bet you my giant bat that I have more of that than anybody here.

[Blake grunts with some amusement, though it's tinged with an odd feeling, a faint memory of something with white fur and calm eyes that knew more than it should. The impression is gone fast.]

You know they'd let one be in charge if it asked. They almost worship the damn things.

Hell, who'd leave that out? The ugly stuff's the only interesting part.

[Not as though his own records back home have a lot of ugly things conveniently elided...]

It's not just interesting, it's important. People who forget their past screw up their future.

[If there's one thing to learn from that fiasco the Earth Federation caused, it's that.]

[Welp, Yusuke thinks, grimacing. That sure answers the question of whether or not Steve knows what she's getting into. Blake's right, though: he can't come out all this way and not follow through with what he'd planned to do here, even if following through with it means he might alienate a little pink dog. There's too much riding on this for him to get hung up on that.

So, with all the practice of someone who's used to repressing the hell out of things in order to get shit done, Yusuke shoves the last of his melancholy thoughts to the back of his mind, gets back up to his feet, and meets Blake's gaze with a sneer, his eyes steely.]

Yeah, you look real busy. Must be hard, walkin' around harassing strangers and shovin' fliers in their faces.

[He pauses and rubs his chin, looking thoughtful.]

Come to think of it, you kinda remind me of those Doomsday prophets I'd see stumblin' around at the park back home sometimes. They were crazy, too.

[Something in his expression sobers.] Then again, there's the real ugly shit. People get weird about that.

Admitting it happened is one thing, but all the talk shows, the re-enactments, the books - what good does that do anybody?

And I'd believe that. After all, many of the people here seem to be rather young. I myself walk the line between youth and adulthood, and amnesia isn't all that conductive to political experience.

[This guy seems to at least have some experience, as he stated. It's a step up from, oh, appointing ten year olds to positions of power.

He certainly hopes that isn't a common practice.]

I wonder why it is they revere them so extensively. They're remarkable creatures, to be sure, but their entire culture is strangely focused on them and little else.

[It's not a hot day but Blake's been out in the sun working the crowd for a while, and sweat has gathered on his forehead. His sleeves are rolled up to show hairy, burly forearms.

He's feeling good, and he doesn't need some punk bringing up ugly memories and raining on his parade.

As Yusuke stands, Steve tilts her head and makes a Snub? She doesn't see what's causing the sharp, angry scent that makes her nose twitch.]

It's called legwork. Something you wouldn't know about.

[Then Blake's eyes go narrow and cold. That is exactly the wrong thing to say. It calls up the picture of cabinets full of bottles that rattle with pills when you shake them, a ceiling hung with crosses like stalactites in a cave. The bitter smell of old candles.

His voice is low and dangerous.]

I'm not a fucking nut.

Depends on the goal and quality of talk shows and books, doesn't it? A lot of people won't even hear about the bad parts without those, so they're needed.

[All that glorifying propaganda can go, though.]

[There's bitterness in Blake's voice.] Hah. That's what they always say, they're informing the public. All they really want to do is rubberneck and get all the dirty details. Knowing all the grimy shit about exactly how somebody died, what good does that do anybody?

Friends and relatives can't truly grieve and move on without knowing all the details, sometimes. ...But I guess there usually are twenty vultures for each mourner out there.

Amnesia? Did somebody hit you on the head, or do you live in some kind of soap opera?

[Experience has made Blake very skeptical about any protests of "I can't remember."]

It's the national goddamn pastime here. Life must be rough for any native who doesn't like animals. Maybe they gt shoved off on an islan somewhere.

There's details nobody outside the investigation needs to know. Nobody needs a damn camera crew in their faces when they're trying to get their lives back together.

[He snorts humorlessly to himself.] The shit they call "journalism" today, is that what they're gonna call "history" tomorrow?

[Ash's answering laugh is bitter, bitter, bitter.]

No. What they call history is pretending billions of people died at once, to avoid admitting that they were abandoned and cut off from any potential support. Two sides demonizing each other to the point that children dream of a successful genocide, a glorious victory.

I'm not entirely sure what a soap opera is, but I honestly don't have an answer for you. I simply woke one day without a single memory and only a journal to fill in the blanks.

[Here, he'll even hold up a black, leather-bound journal with a silver D on the front cover.]

Are there no occupations that don't require them? Librarians, tailors, chefs, and the like...

.... Are you KIDDING me?!

_{[SHE WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT AT ALL.]}

TOBIAS?!

Kid's like-- like FOURTEEN are you literally for REAL right now?!

[Blake is unfazed.] You should know better than anybody not to underestimate kids. You're still a squirt yourself.

He's plenty old enough to handle purse snatchers and magic rat thieves. The mad bombers, now...

[His brows draw down.]

I'll handle those myself.

[Blake's heard plenty of things in his time, but that's a new one.]

Holy shit. You must have some fucked up grade schools.

That's the thing: they're not. But when adults around you casually talk about the Vagan or Earther enemies and how they all deserve to die, well... And it's been going on for over sixty years, with no hope for peace until about two hours before I showed up here. That doesn't help.

Oh, definitely! It's all about going for the goal, you know?

So brain damage.

[That can't be good.]

That book yours, at least?

[He shrugs.] Sure, there's plenty of things you don't need a little animal for, but you can train them to help with about anything. Good labor.

I don't underestimate kids.

I just don't believe in assigning them roles in attempted government takeovers.

[Blake points out with his finely-honed, relentless logic] It's not a government takeover if there was nobody there to take it from. It's just a government...over.

Anyway, look around you. We don't exactly have a surplus of adults in the area.

Christ, even Israel and Pakistan take a break every once in a while.

So you know what can go wrong. You figure that gives you a handle on how to make it go right?

[It's a genuine question.]

I don't know if I'd go so far as to call it brain damage!

[That's so... harsh, really. It makes it sound as though there's something wrong with him.]

The book is technically mine, as of now. It was with me when I woke, and I've made use of it, at any rate. As for the Pokémon, I can't imagine they'd be of much use for, say, cooking or writing books. Their fur and wool may be useful for creating clothes, but they don't strike me as the sorts to use a needle and thread.

...I have a decent idea, but the problem is that you already don't have what I'd consider some of the basics. If you'd waited another six months or so...

[Then again, even those six months wouldn't have been the same as twenty-seven to build up a reputation.]

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[21] Video/Action for Goldenrod - "I'm gonna rule this world."

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