Once upon a time, there was a young man. His name was of little importance to most, himself included. Nonetheless, he was a well liked and amicable person. He lived a quiet life, a simple life, and most importantly, a content life, all in relative happiness. Another word which would apply to his lifestyle was unfortunately enough, fragile.
Now, due to the fragile nature of his life, he had been caught unawares by a rather sudden transition some time ago and was now no longer a man, but a bellossom. It was a strange time. Though it certainly felt wrong, there was a peculiar nuance that pervaded the situation. In addition, unbeknownst to all, the man had wished to be a pokemon. Being a kind of person whose imagination sufficed for reality, he had never had any pokemon himself, though he had done so in his daydreams.
But now, as was stated before, he was a pokemon. The possibilities had at first intrigued him marginally, but it seemed little more than a transient novelty. He had also been beset by the problem of location. His whereabouts were quite the mystery, not a recognizable landmark in sight. Luckily, that was when he had met Mahogany. Mahogany was quite strange himself. He had stringently denied being a pokemon instead asserting he was a pony. This assertion only came after a heated debacle. The two were separated by a linguistics barrier, which aggravated both sides to no end. Eventually, Mahogany rectified the situation with a nifty all purpose universal translation spell.
“It’s so convenient having a horn. Anyways, hello? Do you understand me you mud encrusted hippy?” Mahogany looked expectantly at the bellossom.
“How insipid. Put more backbone into your insults.” The bellossom crossed his short arms.
“So I’ll need some context” Mahogany ignored him: “I don’t know what a pokemon is predictably enough, and I don’t know who you are either” as he said this however, he sidled up to the bellossom’s side: “though I might as well be intrigued.”
The bellossom thought for some time on what Mahogany should call him, considering a host of nature related terminology. “You can call me Hawthorne, with an e.”
“Hawthorne as in the shrub? You certainly fit the part.” Mahogany was quite pleased with his little crack, Hawthorne was unimpressed. Seeing this, he shot the flowery midget a grin, “The only thing I can say is that I’m the first. I’m Mahogany by the way”.
Hawthorne knew that was the truth to some extent, albeit he wasn’t particularly upset. “To answer your question, pokemon are creatures. Since you don’t know what they are in the first place, that’s all I can really tell you.”
“So I can assume all pokemon are just like you” Mahogany responded dryly.
“You might as well, I don’t see any other pokemon around here.” Hawthorne shrugged.
Their first conversation ended smoothly and they parted ways. Or at least Mahogany thought so. Having no particular recourse, Hawthorne decided to follow Mahogany back to his home. Situated in a certainly out of the way field, it was a humble two story house. Painted a disgusting shade of yellow, shutters hung askew from every window save for one which had its shutters closed. Hawthorne took up residence in Mahogany’s garden which stretched in a circular radius around the house. It was easy to pretend to be a simple flower in the large garden, which was what Hawthorne decided to do. For some time, he remained completely undetected, surviving on dirt and flowers which were surprisingly good.
Some time passed. Hawthorne had settled into a bizarre, yet idyllic existence in Mahogany’s garden. He had taken to eating the parsnips, as they of all the vegetables were the most tolerable. Having no company, Hawthorne had taken to talking to the flowers in hopes that they would tell him a good way to pass the time. He was disheartened to hear the general agreement was that he would inevitably spend the rest of his life eating parsnips.
Unfortunately, his luck, so to say, soon ran out. Mahogany found Hawthorne lying facedown in the dirt one morning after a particularly mean celery stick had disagreed with him.
“You know, I had resigned myself to never seeing you again; funny how these things work out,” Mahogany said, looking down at Hawthorne.
Hawthorne rolled over to look at Mahogany: “The pleasure is all mine. And while I’m at it, you’re a pretty good gardener”.
“Eating my parsnips huh? I feel life is too short to be confrontational about these sort of things so I don’t care that much,” Mahogany looked pleased, “And thank you for your compliment, supposedly earth ponies are only good at this kind of thing; I guess do it yourself guides actually do have merit”.
Hawthorne was slightly confused, “So, you’re not an earth pony I take it?”
Mahogany shook his head, “I would imagine it somewhat similar to your eloquent description of what pokemon are; I assumed there are simply a lot of different kinds. For us, there are unicorns like me; you can see the horn I have”.
Hawthorne was wide eyed, “Fascinating, so I can call you a monocorn then”.
“Sure, whatever you want. Anyway, so there are unicorns and earth ponies” Mahogany smiled at Hawthorne: “Is that what you want to know?”
Hawthorne was aghast, “I hardly think two variations is comparable to pokemon,” he frowned and shook his head: “Although to be fair I didn’t tell you much either”.
Mahogany seemed to remember something: “Oh yes, there’s more. Sometimes earth ponies have wings”.
“I would ask, but we have been standing here for a while” Hawthorne said, “So, can I actually join you in your house?”
Mahogany gave Hawthorne a grand tour. By trade, Mahogany was a carpenter, which explained his namesake to some extent.
“So if you’re a carpenter, why is your house in the state it’s in?” Hawthorne was genuinely curious.
“No one pays me to repair my own house” responded Mahogany rather wistfully, “I suppose I really just don’t mind it either”.
“Well aren’t you just laid back”, Hawthorne shot a smile at Mahogany: “And I thought you were tougher with that gang tattoo and all”.
Mahogany raised an eyebrow: “Oh yes, this is actually a cutie mark. I could imagine myself as a gangster though, if only I were younger”.
Hawthorne sighed, “I suppose I’ll know what that is too given enough time”.
As it seemed, there was much time to be had. Hawthorne decided to upgrade his spot in the garden into a permanent fixture, a small wooden box made by Mahogany who had been skeptical that a house made out of parsnips could actually hold its own. It was eventually agreed upon that Hawthorne was undoubtedly a long term resident, a fact that strangely didn’t seem unappealing to either of them.
It remained to be seen if it was a bad thing.
