Spoon: 6.4 Palate Cleanser (Patreon)

Aaron’s Pokemon

- Artoria (Kirlia)- Jeanne (Flaaffy)- Durvasa (Primeape)- Magellan (Chikorita)- Cursed Enchilada (Larvesta)

Palate Cleanser 6.4

Aaron FulanUnnamed Route

I sat across from my teacher as Junjie waxed poetic about the nature of the spirit. Originally, I thought the monks of Sprout Tower were the Buddhist analogs here in the pokemon world. This was true aesthetically, but I learned some key differences as he spoke.

For one, gods were real here. Well, they weren’t always worshiped as gods, but some Legendaries certainly had godlike power. In the Johto region, there were Ho-Oh and Lugia, Celebi, and the Ruins of Alph had connections to the Mystri Stage and Arceus himself. As one of the most ancient orders in Indigo, the monks had several, credible firsthand accounts of said Legends.

That put a damper on the whole nirvana thing as my old world’s Buddhists knew it. Buddhists, at least the ones I’d been familiar with in Japan, believed in rebirth. They believed that one’s deeds generated karma, which would go on to cause events in one’s present and future lives, but through meditation and wisdom one could could escape the karmic cycle of rebirth and achieve enlightenment 

That… wasn’t what Junjie believed. He told me, full stop, that he had no idea if rebirth was possible at all. It was refreshing, receiving a simple “I don’t know” from a religious person. The realities of this world presented mixed answers.

The Distortion was a known quantity. He had a hundred and eight ghosts on his belt as we spoke. Whether the river of souls looped on itself was impossible to tell. There was some back and forth, as humans could sometimes turn into ghost pokemon, but whether a ghost could transition back to a being of flesh and blood was unknown.

What he did know was that karma played no role in the transition process. When I told him about “karma” as a transcendental account of good and evil deeds, he flat out laughed and said I’d been reading too many novels.

No, the monks of his order didn’t recognize nor concern themselves a “cycle” of rebirth. They held to what they knew, a singular transition from material to spiritual, and didn’t claim expertise about what came after that.

That said, the general impetus to do good deeds and seek personal enlightenment was shockingly similar. Maybe there wasn’t a karmic debt that followed a person across multiple lifetimes, but a pure and unburdened soul made the transition easier. He needed only to point to countless tortured spirits to demonstrate why a life without burdens or regrets was favorable.

“Can you show me?” I asked. I sat cross-legged, comfy on my rolled up sleeping bag. I tried meditating in seiza like I’d seen a Buddhist monk do in Japan but gave up when my knees felt like death. Fortunately, my teacher wasn’t so strict. “The spiritomb. I want to feel what their full presence is like.”

He scratched his bald head at that. “Eh? You sure, kid? You ever been around a ghost?”

I nodded easily. “I have. One of the teachers at the trainer school had a mismagius. She liked switching the kids’ lunchboxes around. Although, I think that stopped when one of the kids opened his to find a tamato berry salsa? He turned out to be allergic to the berry and spent a night in the hospital. She wasn’t malicious, just… unrestrained.”

“Aye, that sounds like a ghost, alright. And that’s about as kind as you’re likely to find. Probably very well-trained, given she’s with a teacher at a trainer school. No negative reactions? Natural psychics like you don’t do well with ghost type energy sometimes.”

“I’m not that sensitive. There are some advantages to being a mediocre psychic. For one, I see other people’s emotions; I don’t share them. There’s a divide there that ghosts can’t easily manipulate.”

“That’s good. You sure about this?”

“I am. I doubt I’ll get many opportunities to train against a powerful ghost or dark type aura,” I said. I called Artoria over. Her mind slotted into my own like two peas in a pod.

“That’s true… Alright, fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he grunted.

With that, Junjie set the spiritomb’s keystone on the ground. There was no visible tell that anything had changed. The world didn’t lose its color and Giratina didn’t play peekaboo at the edges of my vision.

Yet, the ominous feeling that always surrounded the keystone magnified. As a psychic, I was aware of the state of my own mind. But the soul, that wasn’t something I naturally had any affinity for. It was as nebulous and intangible a concept to me as it was to everyone else.

For the first time, I felt it. I became aware of the soul, not just aura, and it was a truly awful feeling. One hundred and eight spirits, each perished in a grisly manner, had a lot of pent up resentment. Their collective Distortion was so great that they projected that resentment upon the world. 

It all crashed down on me like a physical force, sending me to my knees. Next to me, Artoria had it worse. She didn’t just see emotions; she ate them. That was a degree of intimacy that I didn’t have. Through her, I began to experience all the things the spiritomb felt. 

There was a thick, cloying scent of blood in the air. The phantom sounds of clanging steel and crackling flames rang in our ears. Smoke and soot stung our eyes even as the world around us remained unchanged.

She tried to cut the connection to spare me, but I held on. Leaving her to suffer this alone would defeat the purpose of this training. I allowed her to use my mind as an anchor, drawing her out of the hallucination.

With agonizing slowness, we sat up straight. We bore the onslaught of ghostly energy with gritted teeth. I tried the meditation technique Junjie showed me, but it wasn’t anything more than a breathing exercise when I did it so I had no choice but to rely on my connection to Artoria alone.

Then, I felt another take a seat next to me. Durvasa had come over from where he’d been training with Rage Candy Bar. Without a word, he sat and closed his eyes, allowing the spiritomb to wash over him as well. I understood; it wasn’t every day he could expose himself to this much ghost type aura.

Compared to this, Artoria’s Shadow Sneak was like a candle before the sun. It sucked, but there was nothing for it. Powerful ghost types were rare outside of Mount Pyre and I really didn’t want us to miss this chance to expose ourselves to ghost type aura.

We stayed there for as long as we could. Eventually, we fell into a near trance-like state in which all that mattered was that we resisted the spiritomb’s influence through sheer stubbornness.

Before we knew it, the pressure abated as Junjie wrapped the keystone back onto his sash. He clapped his hands, a sound that brought us back to our senses like a gong. “That’s enough of that. You won’t benefit from pushing past exhaustion. I’d say you’re pretty spent already.”

I wanted to argue but found myself slumping forward. Without the spiritomb’s presence for us to brace against, I felt a wave of mental and spiritual fatigue like I’d never felt before. Next to me, my two pokemon were much the same.

“Yeah… That’s probably a good idea,” I panted. “Thanks for this. I didn’t think a ghost type could be this intense.”

“Most aren’t. Spiritomb are unique, after all. You three held out a lot longer than I expected you to.”

“Heh, we’re pretty stubborn.”

“So I see. Let me guess, you’ll want to do this again every day until we get to Fallarbor Town,” he said knowingly.

I looked at Durvasa, then Artoria. They were just as worn out as me, but there was a palpable hunger in their eyes. “If you don’t mind.”

“So be it. Go ahead and spend a few minutes collecting yourselves. Think happy thoughts. If you can, share happy memories. I’m told that helps, too.”

“It’s about time for dinner. I need to–”

“You need to rest. I’ll make dinner. You can make breakfast each morning from now on,” he said. He clapped his rotund belly with an easygoing grin. “Besides, you don’t think I got like this without knowing how to cook, do you?”

“Much obliged, Junjie. Please let us do the dishes at least.”

So, we watched the monk cook.

And holy shit, the fat monk could cook.

He took out a large cutting board from his own bag and began dicing ingredients. Peppers, onions, mushrooms, and leeks seemed to blend together into chunks almost as fast as he set them on his board.

The rhythmic tok-tok of his knife clacking against wood drew in all pokemon as he prepped enough to feed everyone. It made me wonder if this was what traveling with Brock would have been like. Right away, I could tell that the simple fares I preferred were lacking compared to the monk’s cooking.

He then set two fires and borrowed Larvesta’s bed as well as his own, much larger wok. Rage Candy Bar and Cherry Blossom Mochi took their places with the ease of long familiarity. Whereas the darmanitan held the flames in check and focused their hottest spots with psychic barriers, the machamp held a paper fan in each hand. He swung with sharp, precise flicks of his wrist, sending the flames licking towards the sky.

In went a knob of lard, followed by his pile of vegetables split evenly into each wok. He took the woks in hand and flicked them with great skill. Each time, a gout of flames licked up from below, bathing each diced ingredient with a searing kiss.

“Lar… Larvesta…?” I heard. Turning, I found my moth-to-be staring transfixed at the dance of flame and food.

“Heh, you’ve got a fan, Junjie,” I called.

He laughed, then flipped both woks with a steady rhythm that made the ingredients form breaking waves. “So I do. Mochi, add the rice!”

The machamp complied, tossing in two piles of day-old rice into the woks even as his other two hands never stopped fanning the flames. Junjie never stopped moving the woks and each grain of rice quickly became coated in the oil from the lard and the vegetable juices.

Then came the eggs, soy sauce, scallions, black pepper, and a hit of cumin and smoked paprika he swore made a world of difference. Given his obvious mastery of the dish, I didn’t doubt him.

“I didn’t expect you to be this good at cooking,” I said as I pulled up a chair. I scooped up my little bug and set her on my lap. “Where did you learn?”

“Believe it or not, Blackthorn,” he said as he gave the fried rice one, final flick. He set the two woks aside and took out another, large frying pan where he squeezed in several pre-beaten eggs. “You wouldn’t think so with how stuffy those guys are, but some of them can really cook.”

“This looks incredible. You could go pro.”

“How do you think I’ve been paying my way? Offering to help out around the farm or cook dinner opens a surprising number of doors, Aaron.”

“What are you making now? Omurice?”

“Yup. That Larvesta of yours likes eggs, right? I figure we have enough for it.”

“We do. Thanks for this.”

“Bah, don’t mention it. Kids should eat good food and you can’t get more comfortable than good ol’ fried rice.”

We watched as he carefully wrapped each portion of fried rice in a thin omelet. It looked simple on the surface, but I knew that doing this without ripping the omelet wasn’t easy.

Even more so because he used a second pan to make a quick pan sauce out of a brown roux, gelatinized chicken stock, and some herbs he’d picked during our meditation. There was probably a name for a quick-n-dirty demi-glace, but I didn’t know it.

We ate well that night. The fried rice was slightly unevenly cooked, with some bits that were charred crisp while other parts remained soft. The sauce wasn’t as rich as I remembered from some Japanese restaurants I’d been to. And personally, I liked my omelet a little bit runnier, with a bit of the yolk dribbling from the sides of the omurice.

Even so, all those little imperfections added a homemade character that made it all taste more genuine. I sure as shit couldn’t do better on two campfires. The monk had a bombastic charisma that brought it all together. He reminded me a little of a teppanyaki chef in one of those American hibachi restaurants, plenty of showmanship to go with the tasty food.

X

Larvesta

I ran around as Magellan tossed little Seed Bombs my way. They exploded lightly, but they still hurt if I was too close. Once, I was sent rolling into the campfire; that had been kind of nice, actually.

Dodging practice was the worst, though. Aaron and Artoria said it needed to be done, but it was my least favorite exercise. No webs. No blowing things up with Ember. Just run, dodge, and try to get close to Magellan without getting blown up. They also said I could use Flame Charge, but that made me tired really fast.

I got distracted and tripped. A Seed Bomb landed on my head and exploded, sending me rolling away.

“Ow! That hurt!” I yelped. I flipped right side up again and pouted. “My legs aren’t made for this, you know. They’re too short.”

“You were closer this time,” Magellan said soothingly. He was always nice, and smelled really tasty. “Come on, one more time. You’ll touch me eventually.”

“But I’m tired…”

“Aaron says you can have one of the tasty eggs if you can touch me.”

Grumbling, I got to my feet and got ready to charge. My horns heated up. Fire cloaked around me as I began to run. “Why do you think I’m trying so hard?”

“Hehe, you really like the ajitama, huh?”

“They’re great! Soft and gooey on the inside and sweet and salty on the outside. They go great with every food and Aaron is a stingy meanie!”

“I believe he called this ‘positive reinforcement.’”

“That’s just being stingy with a plan!”

“Ah, but think about how tasty it will be once you earn the prize through hard work?”

“It’ll taste just as good right now!”

Still, Magellan did not budge. 

I charged again and again, only to be blown back by low-powered Seed Bombs. The closest I got was when I forced myself to use Flame Charge one last time, catching him by surprise. Except, I got blown up again anyway because it was really hard to turn when I was moving like that.

That night, Junjie cooked again because Aaron, Artoria, and Durvasa were too tired. They barely sat up and preferred to stare blankly at the fire as Junjie worked his magic.

It. Was. Awesome.

He was making some kind of noodle dish that Cherry Blossom Mochi stretched out with super strength. Apparently, it tasted better when it was fresh and cut by hand with a knife. It was served in a warm puddle that Artoria said was broth. There was corn, green onions, bamboo, and rolls of pork.

The flavor was… okay. I carefully nibbled on the noodles, then the corn. The pork was nice and fatty but I thought the broth could be hotter. I was the only one who wanted that, though. Aaron said that this was ramen, and what the ajitama were supposed to be eaten with normally.

I left the egg for last, because it was the best and tastiest. He made bad jokes but tasty eggs. The best part was when Magellan gave me his, because he said he liked the vegetables. He got to have all my bamboo. It was only fair.

I liked ramen, but there weren’t enough eggs, not like omurice. And omurice looked even cooler when Junjie made it. All the fire, and golden omelet that glistened with the brown glaze? Perfection.

A pink, fuzzy paw reached for the egg that I’d been saving.

“No!” I yelped as I hastily interposed myself between Jeanne and my treasure. “Mine! Get your own!”

She pat me on the head with a cheery bleat. “I’m joking. I don’t even like meat anyway. Eggs count.”

“Mine…”

“Yes, yours. You really like eggs, huh?”

“They’re great. Aaron makes the best eggs, but Junjie’s omurice is great, too. And that flippy thing where he makes the rice look like it’s dancing? I want to do that!” I said as I pushed and pulled against the flames.

“My lord did say Junjie was like an Iron Chef,” Artoria said as she ate her ramen primly, with those long sticks that the humans used. I didn’t know why she knew how to do that.

“What’s an Iron Chef?”

She shared a psychic conversation with Aaron before our trainer spoke. “Iron Chef was the name of a competition in which skilled chefs compete to be crowned the ‘Iron Chef.’ Basically, two chefs see who can make the best dish in a set time. Usually, they have a theme to the dish, like rice, or egg. It’s one part cooking, one part performance.”

“So it’s like a contest, but for humans who make food?” Jeanne asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

“That’s right, a contest for humans who possess a very specific skillset.”

I stared at the flames. Jeanne loved contests. She kept saying how I would do amazing because fire looked pretty and I was good at making threads. It was… nice. She loved to sing and dance and I loved watching her. It was like she was in her own world, like she really believed she could be brighter than the sun one day.

Aaron said that everyone had something they loved in our family. He said that the journey towards our dreams, taken together, was what made us a family. Not tied by blood, but by the journey itself. And so, we were all to find a dream worth chasing.

He and Artoria loved swords. Magellan loved plants and the place called Johto. He wanted to greet the guardian of his ancestral home one day. Durvasa loved to sit still and think confusing thoughts. But Jeanne, her love was the easiest to understand.

Her love was loud and bright. It was in every step and spark and song and dance. It was a love that didn’t need to be explained. And seeing Junjie made me think that maybe, just maybe, I could share that love.

“Could… Could we try that?” I asked shyly.

“Cook something?” Aaron asked. He laughed warmly. “I don’t see why not, Larvesta. Food is… In some ways, it is the most important thing in the world. It’s what connects everyone, a universal shared experience that, at the same time, manages to be unique.”

“Then that is what I want. I want to taste all the tasty things out there,” I said. My voice became surer as the dream took shape in my mind. There was no doubt in my mind that he could understand every word. “And, I want to cook. Like Junjie. Like an Iron Chef.”

“Now that sounds like an interesting use for fire.”

“Yes! My fire will make tasty things.”

“And eggs?”

“Definitely eggs. I will make all the tasty eggs.”

He picked me up and stroked my mane lovingly. “Is that your dream? Will you follow it even if it’s hard?”

“I will,” I chirped. “I’ll be an Iron Chef and cook for other people. I’ll show everyone a fire that creates.”

“Then I think it is a fantastic dream, little one. And that means you deserve a name.”

“A… A name?”

“How about Amaterasu? The goddess of the sun, who is worshiped and adored by all.”

I considered it, then shook my head. “Too long.”

“Uzume? She is the dawn, and the one who dances beautifully.”

“I want to cook, not dance.”

He gave me a few more names, but none of them sounded right. Until finally, Artoria chimed in, “My lord, since she was inspired by Junjie, perhaps we should name her according to the customs of his team?”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s not a bad idea. How about it, Larvesta? What is your favorite food? Ajitama?”

I loved ajitama. They were so rich and savory and I still wanted another one even though I had Magellan’s, too.

But… But as I stared into the fire, I was reminded of Junjie’s cooking. He, Cherry Blossom Mochi, and Rage Candy Bar made the fire dance. Jeanne called it flair. I wanted that, too.

“I want to cook with fire, just like Junjie,” I said as I stared up at the moon. “I want to be the greatest chef in the world.”

“I understand. I name you Omurice. It may not be your favorite, but it’s the food that inspired you.”

Jeanne giggled from her spot by the fire. “Hehe, do you remember when you said you didn’t like egg puns?”

“Omurice is no joke,” I said with all the dignity I could muster. “It is eggy, fluffy deliciousness.”

“Indeed. Our youngest understands,” Artoria nodded solemnly. “Hunger is the enemy.”

Author’s Note

*Thanks to Prognostic Hanya for correcting some things about Buddhism.

I’m running out of food-related things Larvesta could look like so I guess it’s time for her to get a proper name, lol.

What? You thought I’d name her something epic?

Animal Fact: What is the midpoint between a caterpillar and a butterfly or moth? The chrysalis or cocoon, right? But… no. The chrysalis is the thing that encases the caterpillar as it undergoes metamorphosis, but it isn’t the thing that changes, just the wrapper. So, what do you get when you cut open a chrysalis mid-change?

If you answered anything but “soup,” you’re wrong. When a caterpillar forms its chrysalis, it dies. Its entire body turns into a liquid soup that, by every reasonable metric, can’t be considered a coherent organism. At that time, a cluster of cells called imaginal discs activate. Imaginal cells rebuild the butterfly or moth’s body from information stored within themselves, using the nutrient soup of their former lives as fuel.

Usually, as a caterpillar, these imaginal discs are kept inactive. Juvenile hormones suppress the cells while the caterpillar’s own immune system treats them as foreign invaders. It is only when the caterpillar dies that the cells can finally do their job. Meaning, it wouldn’t be wrong to say the butterfly or moth isn’t the caterpillar, but the rebirth.