Disclaimer: I do not own pokemon, or the lyrics to the song "Sword and Shield" by Sister Hazel. This was made purely for entertainment purposes, not for money.

Author's Note: And here we are with yet another one-shot. I'm certain I've rather annoyed my readers by this point, but try to cut me some (more) slack: three and a half years of working on series fics has made me need to take a bit of vacation time into the realm of the non-commitment works. In short: come on, you know I'll get things done, but I'm easily distracted! At any rate, you all saw the startling genre: what we have here is a non-romantic humor piece. (Four Horseman ride across the stage WA's standing on.) What? Oh come on, I can do this! I might be lame at it, but I can sure as hell try! Though if you want to know the absolute truth on the matter, I was forced into this - this fic is my end of a writing challenge DMG Aeris and I are having. In retrospect, I should have just challenged her, blackmailed her, and not put myself up for forfeit…but I guess that'll be the technique next time, eh? Though of course, I've now ruined that method since the chick will be the first to read this, XD.

Anyhow, for anyone who cares, you'll be happy to know I got her back in the evilest of ways. Well, sort of…I actually ended up unleashing a fan-girl monster since she's writing a…nah, I won't say it. She has "a reputation to uphold" (snorts – so glad I screwed mine right off the bat!).

Basically, Aeris told me what she wanted, and I had to provide. I suppose this is also my excuse to do something I've always wanted to try out: have an all-guy cast. Now that's been bugging me for quite some time, seeing as how I have no real male OC's, and don't even have much of a focus on the gender (except the obvious one). I suppose it's inevitable due to my genre of choice, since I'm not particularly comfortable with writing yaoi. At any rate, be warned that there are some private jokes in this that result from rather…well, let's just saying interesting conversations I've had with certain other female Mewtwo writers. The title is one of those jokes. Regardless, the story should be amusing enough whether you catch those bits or not.

So, that said, enjoy!

P.S. – I'm not forgiving Aeris for a long while: I channel philosophical/science fiction/religious psycho-blabber damn it! NOT HUMOR! I'm not a funny person! Furthermore, I have no life experience…how the heck…? Never mind, the post script was completely pointless. If I know her, she'll make me do it again (cries). Anyhow, on with the show!

- Crème de Limon –

Frankly put, Pikatwo and Meowthtwo had never had any luck getting lucky. Despite the fact that they'd known some rather wicked vixens within the clone gang, any form of suggestive entertainment with those girls had only gone so far: those females had enjoyed teasing them and leaving them aching and cold. After the dispersal of their group, Mewtwo's companions had, unfortunately, stumbled upon no better fortune – not even when nearly tripping over some poor bitch passed out in the woods. On a related note to that, their timing also never seemed quite right: just when they'd gathered enough courage from their drunken stupor to approach anyone, nothing other than their mouths worked right (and while that had led to some interesting incidences they couldn't fully recall clearly, it hadn't been the type of fun they'd been yearning for). To be utterly honest, they didn't understand what the problem was. They were cute, weren't they? Furthermore, weren't their thoughtful personalities what the opposite sex craved nowadays?

Apparently not…or maybe Fate just hated their guts. At any rate, in the rare chance a female did express the interest to even sit with them, they were willing to do anything to keep her there for a time. Ignoring the fact that the said individual seated at their table happened to be an older Marill - with a heavy foreign accent they could barely understand - the two wanted to give her a reason to stay awhile. Yet by the time the small talk had passed and the conversation began to have more meat on its bones, the two came to the wretched realization that the female was getting bored. She made it clear in the direction of her mangled questions that she wasn't interested in them. No; she wanted to hear the story behind the small riot in the club not a few weeks ago: and who better to hear it from but from the friends of the male who had caused it?

So, for the sake of a few hours more in her company, the clones were willing to spill the wretched tale. They had nothing else to do but get wasted on their fermented Oran Berries, and conversation was by far more amusing to them than silence - even if the night in question had scarred them for life.

"Alright…but just for the record, we didn't tell you this, okay? Mewtwo would skin us alive if he heard we broke the 'sacred vow of silence.'"

The water-mouse smirked, promising that she wouldn't tell a soul.

Meowthtwo, the better orator of the pair, began the story….

A few years after the New Island Incident, most of the members of the clone race had gone their own separate ways. Within weeks of having obtained their leader's reluctant consent, they'd scattered to regions he'd never even come across in reading (which made him wonder where in the world they got their information). He'd heard from some anonymous sources that Nidoqueentwo and Rhyhorntwo had shacked up together and were now the proud parents of nine children who were driving them mad. He'd heard that Ninetalestwo was now quite a successful celebrity within the acting business: she had her own shampoo brand as proof (but strangely no conditioner). He'd heard that a number of the others had formed their own entertainment group and were touring the planet, showing off their extraordinary skills. He'd even heard from someone that Scythertwo had painted himself red and was acting as a vigilante in Saffron City, but he wasn't certain if that was a valid rumor. Still, the cropping up of slash-ridden criminals left little room to seriously doubt its plausibility.

All the same, he had somehow found himself settling in the very capital he had fled in the first place: Viridian City. Or rather, he had a dugout in the forests nearby, away from the Routes. The Digletts in the area could get a little irking, with their constant popping up uninvited around his den, but all it took was a good strong mallet (or a whack from his tail) and they didn't come around again. He made a game of it at times when he was direly bored: hit the damn moles and you get ten points each. Hit the Dugtrios who end up pissed off in response (and who then try to start an earthquake to destroy your territory), you get thirty more points. His record for one day was somewhere around '420.' He'd lost track after growling at the first dozen to get the hell away from him and stop clawing at his toes.

Yet beyond the trouble with the neighbors, he enjoyed himself there. He could startle trainers out of pursuing their professions early on, and it wasn't as if he was the only clone in the region: Pikatwo and Meowthtwo were roomies in a glen nearby, and Mew was a constant visitor, making sure his "little brother" didn't get into too much trouble (as if he could top the almost-destroying-the-world-and-mass-genocide thing). So he wasn't alone, and more often than not he found himself spending a few hours every Friday at the Crème de Limon nightclub in Viridian City's Pokemontown (a spilling of buildings strictly reserved for adult non-humans of all sorts). The psychic found it ironically amusing that pokemon-kind had derived so much from the humans' culture, and even a little disturbing to add. However, that club was where his friends decided to entertain themselves, so for the sake of their dwindling dignity and his delight, he went with them and watched them become increasingly eccentric as they got hammered.

At the very least, the blackmail pictures were beginning to fill up the walls of his den, and sold for nice prices on EBay, which earned him a little extra cash and a lot of evil laughter. He wasn't the victim of this abuse of friendship, after all; and he got them home every night, did he not, so what right did they have to complain? He was the designated herder that managed to make sure they never made it to the front page with their antics, and he stopped rumors from forming about their sexuality and singing habits. No; without him, they'd have been tossed into an asylum for several nights in a row: they rambled enough to pass as clinically insane when they were intoxicated!

Of course, after a time (and too late to stop the wave of slideshows on YouTube concerning their pictures), his friends began to notice this behavior – he was never the one they guided home! And like all friends bent on A.) Revenge, B.) Making sure Mewtwo got a life and C.) Downright curiosity, they wanted him to have a go at Crème de Limon's special Lemon Cream (fermented Oran Berries with lemon extract and a dash of other odds and ends that made it chew acid holes in your enamel). One mug of it would knock you out cold, no matter what your species was! As a side note, there is a specific reason humans don't make wine or beer out of wild berries, and the Oran Berries were it – because even humans put a limit on their vices: they'd happily stick to grapes and hops. Pokemon, on the other hand, needed something a little stronger, and unlike humans, they didn't know how to 'hold their liquor.' After all, their metabolisms were caught in a hazy zone that no scientist had downright figured out completely. Yet when the smaller clones suggested to Mewtwo that he should try it out, he had scoffed and laughed, saying that it wouldn't matter even if they did force it down his throat: he apparently couldn't get drunk. His body would render the alcohol impotent.

The others were not convinced. He had never had a shot of the specialty drink, or any drink for that matter, so how the hell would he know? Case and point, he didn't, and they wanted to find out what would happen! In the end, it took a hefty bribe for them to convince him, but persuade him they did. Mew was not pleased at all to find this out. The morning before the scheduled night, the Legendary flew about his brother's head, ranting and cursing his viewpoints of this accursed venture, which he KNEW could only end in misery.

"I'm warning you, Mewtwo – that drink will be the end of whatever reputation you have the moment you chug it down! I'm ALL for having fun and making mischief, but trust me, it's not worth it when you wake up the next day: I remember my youth quite well - hell, I'm still living it - and I'm telling you, you're making a HUGE mistake by-!"

"Relax, Mew. It will have no effect on me: my body can handle whatever vices are thrown at it."

The pink kitten stared, and then snorted. "You are SO incredibly naïve that it's not even funny. You'll see! By god, I hope you're getting something good out of this, I really do!"

The clone leader flicked his heavy, violet-toned tail, and gave the Legendary the smirk of a Cheshire cat. "I am. I take it from this reaction that you do not plan on coming along?"

"I am having NO PART whatsoever in my brother's corruption. Nope, I'll leave that in the hands of your peers, since they seem so very eager to do it!"

Ranting with anger the older feline flew off, muttering obscenities as he went. Several hours later Mewtwo entered through the wide doors of Crème de Limon in his traveling cloak, and allowed his eyes to sweep the interior. For the purpose of easier cleaning and overall less damage from its customers, the building had been constructed out of rose granite, with a horizontal bank near the entranceway slopping down to the mingling level. There metal tables were bolted to the floor, which was incidentally covered in a comfortable layer of artificial forest debris made of soft, recyclable rubber scraps. Beyond those tables was the stage where dancers, singers, and poets all gathered for a few minutes in the spotlight. To the left far side of the rectangular room was the bar; with the far right being an area in which trusted regulars were allowed to play 'Rikaton' (a rather traditional pokemon gambling game concerning wit, dice, and a few charm pieces, and various elemental attacks). Concerning the game itself, Mewtwo had yet to figure out the rules and frankly the point of the thing. At any rate, he passed by the players, nodded to the Charizard bartender (a.k.a. "Charlie"), and found his friends as a Wigglytuff announced the next event.

Upon sitting down in the extra chair, he immediately noticed the device on Meowthtwo's head: it seemed to be a mechanical headband with a swiveling eye. "And here I thought you were upset that you were unable to attract any females to you; that cannot be helping your cause. What is that ridiculous device?"

His friend adjusted the eye to point at the white demon. "It's a video recorder: I figure this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, seeing the mighty Mewtwo getting hammered. I might as well document it! Just think: two good friends go to Crème De Limon intending to film their third friend getting knocked off his sober ass – they are never heard from again, but the equipment gets found a year later in-."

"He watched The Blair Witch Project last night Mewtwo – he kept making these creepy-ass dolls out of sticks and putting them in the flock's trees. You should have heard how Fearow the Fearless shrieked when he woke up and saw the things dangling off his b-."

One of the servers (an Ivysaur) trotted up and placed the already ordered specialty drink and two waters in front of them. "Here are your poisons – enjoy!"

Plant types have very crude senses of humor. After shaking off the creature's words, the trio sat down and glanced to the stage: the Kirlia troupe was doing elaborate maneuvers together, around poles and bars, all across the stage. The music playing was an upbeat piece, resembling a blend of jazz and country. The sound was refreshing after wandering through the streets and hearing the heavy, urban riffs tearing out from the radios of passing vehicles. The smaller two pokemon sipped their waters and watched as Mewtwo picked up and sniffed at his drink. They smothered laughter as he grimaced at the sharp scents of citrus and alcohol. The plan was for them to remain clear-headed throughout the ordeal. With luck, they would manage to keep Mewtwo out of too much trouble. As the Ivysaur came back with a small dish of ripe Oran Berries to go with the drink, they wondered vaguely to what extent they'd be able to succeed. Surely even Mewtwo couldn't stand the amount he was being given…?

Meowthtwo accidentally swallowed an ice cube, feeling it slip cold and hard down his esophagus. Ugh…! "So…Mew…," he wrinkled his nose as the sensation moved to the inside of his stomach and faded away. "…He won't be present to keep things under control?"

"No, he will not. He wanted no part in this. I would not worry so if I were you: you will not need his aid."

Pikachu smirked, "Ever the confident one, eh, Mewtwo? Well, go on - drink up. If you don't, no free poses for your nasty little photography business."

Mewtwo murmured something coarse under his breath, and reluctantly raised the mug to his lips. Then, slowly, he sipped some of the ambrosia of his kind. It was slightly fizzy, and heady, with a sour bite to it that made his teeth ache and the acid in his stomach seem mild. He wanted to spit it out at his friends, but he resisted, watching instead how their eyes locked onto him. Their wide pupils followed the movements of his throat as he gulped down the first swig. The aftertaste was not so horrible – it actually seemed clean, in a strange way, cool and refreshing. It didn't sit all too well with him, but he got used to it after awhile. Likewise, he dealt with the light-headed sensation that came once he had downed the initial half of the mug. Once done with that, he gave his friends a smug look: he felt no different than before, at least not in any way that mattered. Perhaps his thinking processes were a tad slower, but that only brought him down to near their level. He still had a long way to go before hitting bottom, and he doubted things would possibly go so far. After all, by this point the other clones would have already been singing into their drinks, convinced they were sucking liquid gold that would make them, in their own words, "purr-tiful!"

Vaguely, he heard Meowthtwo comment, "And so the journey begins – Mewtwo has now downed half a mug of Crème De Limon's infamous slam-substance. We'll see how long it takes before the effects begin to sink in!"

Mewtwo snorted. "I feel fine, Meowthtwo. That you and Pikatwo manage to make fools of yourself under the influence of this substance is laughable. Where is the kick you always described?"

Pikatwo didn't respond. He just watched as Mewtwo took another sip…and another…and another…. They got him a refill while he was munching on the berries. For someone as observant as their leader, he surprised them by not noticing; or if he did, he chose not to comment on it. About twenty minutes passed in this manner, and Mewtwo - to their frustration - seemed impervious to the drink, just as he had speculated he would be. His speech remained crisp, he continued to express his opinions coherently, and his physical movements were as graceful as ever. After awhile Pikatwo began to wonder, simmering, if his fellow might have been correct: maybe he really was incapable of getting drunk! Perhaps his metabolism really could work through the toxins thoroughly, and keep itself properly hydrated through the abuse of alcohol!

What Meowthtwo and he were unaware of was that Mewtwo was indeed feeling the effects of the specialty drink. He just didn't allow himself to show it: his pride was on the line, and cats by nature are loath to do anything that would threaten their dignity. By the time he let up his act, well, it would be far too late for them to do anything about the matter.

Presently, the Wigglytuff from earlier returned to the stage, making another announcement as the group of Kirlia left. "Well everyone, it's time for the main event! Please give a hearty welcome to our lovely Miss-!"

"If it's Limon, someone please bite me," muttered Pikatwo. Meowthtwo snickered.

"-Vima to the stage!"

"So they are not that unoriginal: the name of the specialty drink made me wonder-," Mewtwo began.

"The place was named after the drink, not vice versa," Meowthtwo explained; adjusting the settings of his recorder as the Magnetons around the room dimmed the lighting.

And with considerable more grace than the younger members of her race had shown, Miss Vima waltzed onto the stage, hooking a paw to one of the vertical bars and swinging herself down along it in quite the suggestive manner. Her voice began to sing out to her loyal fans, asking them to pick her a nice tune. From somewhere off stage came the plucking of an electric guitar, the notes shifting in a rhythmic pattern. The Gardevoir Vima smirked widely, for it was one she knew quite well, and began to call out the lyrics in a sweet, low voice:

"Just when the sky runs out of rain
Just when the sun runs out of light
Just when the earth is ill with pain
Just when your body is out of fight
I will be there
I will be the smallest piece in everything
And I would give my life before I break this promise to you…!"

Percussion joined in the score, causing the level of energy to pump as she went into the chorus.

"Melt into me
don't you want to be the ones that last forever?
I'll be your everlasting
and enemies they take your will but they won't last forever
I'll be your sword and shield and
I'll be your sword
I'll be your shield!"

As the clones listened, the notes of the guitar began to repeat in a stalling loop. Miss Vima's smile broadened, which was eerie in a puzzling manner when coming from such a tiny set of lips. That matter aside, she came to the edge of the stage, her microphone in hand. Evidently enjoying herself and the cheers rising from the various creatures in the room, she called out: "Okay; now all of you check underneath your glasses: each of you have a number. Right now we're going to pull slots to see who comes up here and joins me to finish the song! So fortunately (or unfortunately), one of you is going to be able to show us all how good you are at karaoke! Don't worry – I'll help with the lyrics." The matter explained fully, she winked cheerfully at her audience, and her eyes began to scan the crowd fleetly.

"Oh, shit," Pikachu cursed, "It's a Saturday, isn't it? I completely forgot they did this!"

The members of the trio each checked beneath their cups for their numbers: Meowthtwo's was '12,' Pikatwo's was '34,' and Mewtwo had a '17.' The humanoid cat did a quick mental count of how many people were in the room: about thirty-eight total. Before he could properly explain the odds of their being chosen when you combined the A.) Time depositing of each numbered slip, with B.) The rate of the spinning rotations in the bubble that held the whirling white flurry of papers, the number was selected.

"And we have…!"

A drum-roll came from a table where a Chikorita was seated. Pikachu and Meowth sunk in their seats, whimpering for their numbers not to be called. If they were, one clone would be mortified to face the public light, while the other couldn't keen out a tune to save his claws. Mewtwo himself was unconcerned: it was never an odd number that was picked. Plus, he had a prime number: it was completely against the wills of the gods of irony and fate to allow such an atrocity to-.

"Number 17, will you please come to the stage?"

Mewtwo's friends had never heard their companion sputter out such a raw stream of vulgar swearing before. He clung to his seat when the spotlight found him, hissing slightly at the very suggestion of his going up to the stage and singing with the dancer. He had never crooned out a melody even once in his rather short life, nor had he a harmony or anything else that even resembled a hum or pretty tone. Music was not supposed to come from his vocal (or rather, mental) cords! He was supposed to growl, to hiss, to snarl, and perhaps even purr with pleasure…but singing? Well fuck no; no matter that his telepathic voice was of the smoothest baritone, he was not going to-!

"Get up there you pussy-cat! Go knock 'em dead!"

His fellows simultaneously used their lightest attacks on him, shocking him with static and digging claws into his thigh. The results of this treatment were twofold: their ex-leader yelped out a very un-masculine cry at the sharp pains, and also bolted from his seat. As the other pokemon pushed him to the stairs that would allow him to mount the stage, he glared back murderously at the creatures who he had given life. "You will not wake up tomorrow morning: I vow to kill you when I return to that table!"

"Yeah, yeah, sing us the pretty song first and give our last moments some joy, you emo kitty!"

Mewtwo grimaced at them and roughly swiped up the microphone Miss Vima offered him. As he muttered venomously that he did not know the song, the dancer delightedly explained that she would give him cues where it was necessary. He should try to follow her lead, and glance at the screen in front of them whenever he could (the words of the verses were scrawled along its surface). Before he could properly regain his bearings, the guitar plucking ceased looping; crucial introductory measures passed, and the Gardevoir sucked in a deep breath and urged him to do the same-.

"Just when the ocean starts to dry-"

Mewtwo's voice came out low and raspy: his throat was horribly parched! He had faced so many levels of hell in the past, but they had been nothing compared to having a bunch of red-and-gold-eyed pokemon staring at you, snickering beneath their paws as you mangled the words you were meant to sing, with yourself so utterly exposed to everyone and unable to do anything about it! Mewtwo hated the entire ordeal he'd been forced into with a passion. As his voice grew stronger, and he managed to catch the next few lines, he comforted himself by pondering on what methods of torture would be the most painful and lasting make his so-called "friends" endure for this grave insult to his pride.

"Just when the air is sick with smoke
just when the statues start to cry
and fallen angels they lay broken
I will be there
I will be the smallest piece in everything
and I would lose my life before I break this promise to you!"

Vima was grinning at him widely as he began to take up few lines on his own; and she smirked even wider at the panicked look he gave her when she eventually fell silent and let him go on all alone.

"Melt in to me
don't you want to be the ones that last forever?
I'll be your everlasting
and enemies they take your peace but they won't last forever
I'll be your sword and shield and
I'll be your sword
I'll be your shield!"

"I'll be your gracious angel
I'll be your favorite stranger
I'll be the mortar holding your walls
I'll be your army."

Pikatwo smirked at Meowthtwo from across the table. "Aw, it's so cute: Mewtwo's serenading her! Maybe she'll make him hers afterwards - she looks excited enough."

"If we get that on tape, Mewtwo can maim me afterwards all he wants; I'll die a happy cat! He'll never live it down: 'Mewtwo, the romantic white knight!' Think we can bribe her?"

If looks could kill, they'd have been buried six feet under before they could fully sound off their death-rattles. Laughing, Vima joined back into the karaoke, this time coming closer to Mewtwo at the quieter, slower tones, placing a paw on his forearm; the way the clone's amethyst eyes widened was priceless.

"Just when the sky runs out of rain
Just when the sun runs out of light
Just when the earth is ill with pain
Just when your body is out of fight
I will be there
I will be the smallest piece in everything
And I would give my life before I break this promise to you!"

They both took in deep breaths and let the cheering spur them on, going on strongly into the last chorus.

"Melt in to me
don't you want to be the ones that last forever?
I'll be your everlasting
and enemies they take your peace but they won't last forever
I'll be your sword and shield and
I'll be your sword
I'll be your shield
I'll be your sword
I'll be your shield
I'll be your army!"

And before the last word and notes were even finished, Mewtwo leapt from the stage with murder in his eyes. "Now you two die!"

He never made it to them; Miss Vima teleported in front of him, catching him with her telekinesis, and giggled at his dismayed expression. As she lowered him down onto his feet, she turned him around to face the rest of the crowd, who were whistling and calling for him to try out another song. He gaped, speechless at their requests - they could not be serious, could they? Noting his horrified expression, the Gardevoir took pity on him, shouting out that there would be a ten-minute interlude before the next round to let them recharge their voices…not that Mewtwo had used his actual vocal cords to sing, but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Determinedly, Vima took his paw and dragged him through the door to the backstage area. Pikatwo and Meowthtwo stared after the pair in shock - neither of them had missed the way Vima had murmured to Mewtwo to go with her and meet her friends: with a husky and suggestive tone that only a thick-headed moron like Mewtwo would miss when it came to members of the opposite sex.

"NO! Why does he get to have all the fun? What do they like about him so damn much? It's not fair!" Meowthtwo lamented.

Pikatwo snorted. "I could think of a few things: the deep voice, the big paws, the long tongue…the broody, dramatic nature…he's a fricken Beast with a Frankenstein dilemma - and those huge thighs – based on those, I bet they think he's big everywhere else-."

Meowthtwo stared at his companion in reproachful shock. "…Oh my god…you're gay and you never told me! No wonder you looked so dreamy when we were hiking up in those mountains with those Flaffy-!" Meowthtwo would have never before guessed his friend swung that way, especially for a cat that would be eating him - er, consuming…shit, bad train of thought – well, in another life!

"No; that's not what I meant-!"


Before Pikatwo could properly explain himself, a series of feminine squeals erupted from backstage, followed by several loud thumps that sounded as if things - or people - were falling over. The guys' worst fear had come to pass: Mewtwo was getting some rear without even trying! Cursing God for His sick sense of humor, and for never blessing them with such desirable fortune, the clones blotted out drinking water from their plans and ordered themselves a couple of beer-equivalents. The substances weren't strong, but they would keep the couple of pokemon occupied…! After a few more minutes – in which most of everyone came to stare towards the ruckus coming from the hidden set of rooms - the backstage door swung open with a resounding 'bang!' From its depths a very frenzied Mewtwo darted out, his face hot and red, and charged to their table in a matter of three seconds. He grabbed both of his friends by the scruffs of the necks, dragging them out of their seats, and kept throwing panicked glances back at the door, which he was barricading with his powers. The rodent and the kitten squirmed out of his hold, rubbing the back of their cricked necks, and cursed him from the floor.

"Mewtwo, what the hell are you-?"

"We are leaving! Now, before they get through!"

Meowthtwo peered up at him with a wrinkled brow. "Whoa, slow down! What's going on? We thought you were having fun back there."

It should have told them something that Mewtwo began to laugh in genuine ill humor, mocking them as if they were horribly naïve. "Those are NOT entertaining females! Well, they are, but – they are FANGIRLS! They started brushing my fur, and mewling at me, and-."

Pikatwo gave Meowthtwo a wry glance. "Why doesn't that sound bad to me?"

"You don't understand!" Mewtwo continued, "They are insane – they have been stalking me for years if the pictures they have are any indication – god damn you two, stop laughing! This is a serious threat! They-they wanted me to…."

In a quiet voice he quickly explained the dirty things that, contrary to sounding quite appealing to the two, made them go pale and begin to choke. Pikatwo's eyebrow twitched, and he muttered out, "Well…if they catch you, you're…well, excuse the pun, 'screwed.' But we can stay here and finish our drinks; they only want to scar you for life, not-."

Mewtwo only chuckled again, this time even more wickedly, and pointed at the two of them, rambling: "You…an electric mouse with red, pinch-able cheeks who goes 'pika!' when startled…and you, Meowthtwo, with your pretty little charm and cuddly appearance…! You both are mirror images of the main pokemon stars in that popular anime show. Oh yes, you two will get away unscathed if they capture you!"

His friends looked at each other…and suddenly they saw his point. The banging from the door became by far more frightening and ominous; and the shouts of the gleeful females turned into something far more alike to the menacing cries of dreaded she-demons in heat. Meowthtwo shook his head violently. "To-to hell with this; let's get out of here!"

On their way out, the traumatized Mewtwo stole a bottle of the cure-all lemon alcohol: there was no way he wanted to recall even a single moment of what had gone on backstage. Under the wary eyes of the other clones, he guzzled down the sour liquid without regard to how they stared at him, feeling a delightful sense of lightness come over him, which eased away his residual fears. Thankfully, they managed to escape the confines of Crème De Limon before the shrieking girls broke through Mewtwo's barricade.

Upon entering the nearest packing lot, the large feline quickly chose one of the cars and hotwired it; the trio piled into the vehicle without a word. Pikatwo and Meowthtwo, not able to reach the steering wheel, buckled up in the foremost passenger seat. This, they both mused, could be nothing less than suicidal: you do not let friends who have been drinking drive; it's one of the biggest no-no's you can achieve on a night out with the gang. However, since their height was, as said, inadequate, they merely strapped themselves in tight. The imagined imagery of their brains splattered on the front dashboard did not appeal to them in the least.

Suddenly, Mewtwo appeared to stiffen in his seat, and they noted how shaky his paws were as he shifted gears quickly. Then, with rising terror, his companions detected the eerie sounds of what seemed to be phantom wailing.

"Mewtwo, what is THAT?" Meowthtwo keened, digging his claws into the leather seat beneath him.

Mewtwo's face darkened with dread. "I am afraid we have quite angered them…they are coming after us!"

Pikatwo was still calm enough to look incredulous. "How can you - we can't smell anyone coming-."

"One of Miss Vima's group is a powerful telepath," Their once leader explained in a rush. "Now hold on fast; I will make certain that we lose them!"

The sadistic drive that ensued would doubtlessly haunt the two smaller creatures for the rest of their miserable lives: they lost their dinner from the jerky swerves, heard multiple police cars pursuing them with sirens blaring, and in general gave the local 'drifters' quite a run for their illegal-racing earnings. The couple of now-hostage passengers stopped counting how many speed bumps the vehicle crashed into and consequently flew over. At some points they were certain their tires ran over spikes; and they heard numerous bouts of threatening shouts from each street they raced down. There arose nerve-wracking popping noises at times that they HOPED TO GOD was rocks against the bottom of the car; and a sickening thump as they hit something-.

"Is the old lady you probably just ran down still alive?"

"I only hit her cane-!"

Pikatwo promptly began to shriek, "What? What the FUCK do you mean you 'hit her cane'? You hit-and-run someone's grandmother! I DISOWN YOU – if we survive this, I'm never going to call you my friend again! You're nuts - this is the suicide ride you always wanted to go out with-!"



Somehow they managed to shake the angry mob trailing after them as they pulled out into the Routes. Mewtwo promptly slammed down on the brakes, which jerked the three forward, making them lose all the air in their lungs in the wretched jolt. The psychic driver had come within a foot of twisting their stolen car around the mighty trunk of a stoic oak tree. As his mostly sober friends bolted out of the vehicle, they kissed the ground beneath their feet and swore never to participate in anything having to do with things on wheels again. Oh, thank the heavens they were out in the forests! They could get Mewtwo home, and then go to a psychotherapist in the morning to recover from the trauma of almost dying at least five different times under the course of a fifteen-minute-ride!

For someone who had nearly been responsible for sending the lot of them into the next world, Mewtwo was surprisingly calm as he said: "Well, let us never do that again. Now, the night is still young – what do you both want to do?"

Was he KIDDING? Oh, now would be the worst time for him to grow a sense of humor (since he apparently had never understood the concept of self-preservation). The two, in unison, declared that they wanted to go home (to safety, where they could fight away the nightmares that were certain to stalk them). Mewtwo looked vaguely disappointed, but then smirked: they were on the wrong side of the city. They would have to skirt around the edges of Viridian to arrive back to their dens, as he dared not use his teleportation skills now: there was no telling where they would end up with his mind as fuzzy as it was. It would be instant death to reappear within a rock or an otherwise inanimate object. No; they had no other choice but to walk home. On the way, there were certain to be plenty of tamer things to do in the hours before sunrise. With a quiet sigh he agreed with them, and the unnatural trio began to trot along the outskirts of the city. After about twenty minutes the younger two grew calm, began to stop shaking, and even joked about their near-death experiences (and of course avoided more than one police-car surveying the area). About that time they reached along their rounded path the northern region of Viridian, a.k.a. the neighborhoods of the ridiculously wealthy. They walked across well-manicured lawns that smelled of roses; in the shadows of giant mansions; and took quick drinks from the marble, always-running water fountains (because the rich could afford to waste the valuable resource when those in third-world countries were dying from contaminated drinking water – oh, the hypocrisy!). When they came to one specific house, styled with Roman pillars and archways, Mewtwo stopped and contemplated its locked gates. He could easily levitate the group over the pathetic barrier.

Upon spying the nameplate on the security panel, Meowthtwo shook his head. "No. Mewtwo, NO! I'm all for mischief, but we're not going to pull pranks on Giovanni Rocketto! No way are we going to-."

"Come now – this is a wonderful opportunity! It is three in the morning…the security guards are doubtlessly napping…I can shut the electronic feeds off in an instant. We will never be caught; and it is about time I make that man pay for his role in trying to enslave me…!"

And only then, when his mind was clearly made up, and he was going to drag them along for yet another disastrous ride, did Meowthtwo and Pikatwo finally realize that their friend had lost the bet: for all his fancy speech and proper motor function, their friend was completely and utterly wasted. Worse, there was not a thing they could do to stop him from causing havoc now that he was unleashed in such a dire state onto the helpless world. All they truly could do was tag along, and hope that they wouldn't be destroyed in the process.

Oh, Fate had a wretched sense of humor!

Bracing themselves for whatever came next, the companions felt Mewtwo scoop them up with his telekinesis, the azure glow of his powers encasing the three of them in its icy light. The invisible force lifted them over the razor tips of the ornamental, metal gate. The smaller rodent and cat had no difficulty landing in the boughs of the nearby maples, and scrambled to keep up with Mewtwo, who was busy launching himself from tree-to-tree. His paws reached out to take hold of the intertwining branches before him, which were thick enough to bear the weight of his 267 pound frame. At times he somersaulted in midair, causing a rain of leaves to strike them in their faces. The plant wafers tasted like rotting cardboard…so what if they were omnivores: they didn't eat green salads unless they were starving! They spat them out, swiped the annoying things from their eyes, and tried not to voice their dismay at all the noise Mewtwo was making, as slight as it was. Hopefully, no one was awake enough to hear the crashing in the thin canopy; or to see the shadow of a bipedal cat jumping over them…or spot the long gashes he was leaving in the bark with his unsheathed claws. Those claws glittered like alabaster in the moonlight, wickedly barbed. His companions prayed fervently that he wasn't planning on using them on any of the furless chimps that inhabited the mansion they were approaching.

As they came to the maple trees nearest to the grand structure, they spied into the windows, searching for anyone still awake. The guards were not asleep as Mewtwo had believed - though what they were doing, admittedly, wasn't much better. While Meowthtwo and Pikatwo doubted Giovanni was paying the men considerable sums to play poker, they had to admit a certain amount of relief that the intimidating-looking humans were relaxing…until they saw the well-oiled guns strapped to their waists. They both looked up at Mewtwo slowly, only to see him smirking his evil, tell-tale, Cheshire grin.

Pikatwo hissed out, "I don't like that smile, Mewtwo! What are you going to do-?"

His friend's eyes flashed deep blue, and the guards began to walk - quite like zombies - to the other side of the house, leaving the right wing empty of human defense. With a quick flick of his wrist, the security cameras began to issue a pale-grey smoke, and the electrical locks turned off, leaving the area in silence. You could actually hear the crickets chirping, the cicadas buzzing, and the gnats committing mass suicide as they hit their bodies against the glass of the lit lamp-posts. In near soundlessness, Mewtwo motioned for the other clones to follow him around to the far side, where the bedrooms were. Upon spying the room their ex-leader targeted, Pikatwo and Meowthtwo came to an abrupt halt and looked ready to hurl. It was Giovanni's master bedroom. The horrible man himself was asleep in his king-sized bed with a petite, blonde woman who probably wasn't legal, and he was decked in burnt-orange pajamas and a nightcap of the same color. Pink Mew slippers were at the end of the bed; they hoped to god they belonged to the young lady. At first, they seriously wondered if Mewtwo was going to be insane enough to attack the crime lord, or do something even less tasteful. Instead, Mewtwo's eyes locked onto a certain Persian who was curled up in its own nest on the other side of its master's personal quarters. With a wave of a paw, Mewtwo unlocked the balcony doors and swung them open – the Persian, hearing the noise, began to stir awake. Giovanni and the woman slept on peacefully, unaware that they were now exposed to Mewtwo's wrath. Yet he wasn't aiming for them: with a quick tug of telekinesis, he yanked the shocked Persian from its covers, grasping its mouth shut psychically to keep it from yowling in alarm. Giovanni's cell phone followed the struggling creature out into the night. As his prey came within reach, Mewtwo grasped the pet with a firm arm about its waist, took the calling device from midair with his free paw, and closed the balcony doors with an unconcerned thought, relocking them. The white thoroughbred struggled in his hold, it cries muffled, its eyes shot wide and darting back and forth between the members of the group. Mewtwo casually checked the cell phone's number and setting, and then returned it to its place on the nightstand with a quick, albeit risky, teleportation. Within the next two minutes, the gang had made it a few blocks away undetected. In one of the local parks, in a cluster of brush, they stopped and prepared for their next moves.

As soon as Mewtwo released the Persian, it began to yowl loudly. "You sick fucks! Let me go; I'm too beautiful to be ass-raped!"

Pikatwo snorted. "Right, because abducting you automatically means we're going to try to have your way with you. Give me a break-!"

The Persian snorted, rolling its (his) eyes. "Why would I feel worried about you two? You don't seem like you're of any size to worry about! It's the monster who grabbed me I'd be terrified of – I don't want to be violated by his-."

Mewtwo spoke up in an almost bored tone: "We have no intention of harming you. Your master is the only one we wish to see suffer."

The Persian flicked his ears forward. "Really…by taking me? Because if that's what you want, you all are royally screwed: he'll turn you all into steaks and feed them to his subordinates. I'm his first pokemon; he may be an egotistic bastard, but he does care about his team-."

"Yes; I am counting on it. Now be quiet – someone is coming."

The said individual was one of the clinically insane early-morning joggers, who apparently do not understand the meaning of the word 'slumber.' Mewtwo swiftly committed yet another felony by mugging the poor man: knocking the guy out with a blow to the head with his thick tail, and stealing the man's cell phone. The others, even the Persian, dragged the unconscious fellow over onto the closest bench, and watched helplessly as Mewtwo darted off towards the local shopping district. After they had a lengthy bout of wincing from the noise of security alarms going off, their fearless companion returned to them with a voice garbler in his paws. He set it to the dreaded, tell-tale serial killer voice. With a couple more thefts and subsequent fiddling with the shoplifted merchandise, Mewtwo had rigged up a device that would A.) Speak whatever words he typed into the program and B.) Run it through the garbler device. Just hearing him say 'hello' made the others shiver: he was going to perform the act way too convincingly for their tastes; they had no doubts about that! The Persian, at any rate, figured he'd better not run off: he wanted to keep his tail, and besides, the idea of bearing witness to a few idiots pulling pranks on his master? That would be priceless!

In the cover of the foliage, Mewtwo dialed the memorized number. Giovanni, after a spattering of sour curses, asked who had the nerve to call him at such a godforsaken hour in the morning.

Mewtwo was all too eager to respond. "We have your Persian. Unless you meet our demands, he will be butchered and his hide sold at the local carpet store."

It is never a good thing to hear that cold, garbled voice; and Mewtwo just made it all the creepier with his natural freakiness.

There was silence on the other line…and then the sound of covers ruffling as the Gym Leader sat up and saw that his prized pokemon was not in his quarters. There came the sound of a robe being pulled on and a door opening and closing quietly. There came the noise of a barely functioning computer surveillance system flicking through channels and searching rooms, buzzing angrily as it did so. Upon discovering that his favorite cat was not in his home or on the mansion grounds (as Giovanni had guessed was the case, but had needed to check anyhow), and cursing the guards in several languages, Giovanni spoke into the cell phone, his voice coarse with fury. "How did you get this number – this is a private line! I warn you, when I find your group you will all suffer very painful, gruesome deaths. At the very lightest, I will rip your organs out through your ears-."

Mewtwo laughed. They others shuddered at how that came out across the feed: god…damn…creepy! "I doubt that. Now stop threatening us; your feline may pay the price for you insolence if you continue to insult us."

That shut the man up…but he spoke again after a few more seconds. "If you harm my pokemon, you will regret it. Now what do you want in order to ensure his safe return?"

Mewtwo almost looked disappointed that his once master was giving in so easily. "What, no attempts to resist giving us what we want? No; I suppose you are used to being the one with hostages, so you know how these things work. First, I want you to come alone to Onix Park – we will continue our discussion there."

The clone of Mew hung up on the Team Rocket head, looking as if he was having the most fun in the world; and his friends suddenly felt their hopes of surviving the night die. Meowthtwo made sure his recording device was still working: at the very least, he wanted a record of his last minutes alive to make it clear to everyone who grieved over his corpse whose fault it was: namely Mewtwo, though he refused to ponder on just who had encouraged the humanoid cat to drink. The small felinewould entertain being innocent in this situation as long as he could, regardless of the hypocrisy in doing so. Pikatwo, in contrast, said a mournful goodbye to everyone in his mind, especially to Miss Vima: he was going to miss her singing and dancing around that nice straight and shiny pole….

Soon enough Giovanni arrived, and from their cover Mewtwo called and picked up the conversation where they'd left off. "Are you ready to hear and obey our three demands?"

"Get on with it already," the Italian man snarled.

Mewtwo paused from his typing and looked over to them suddenly. "Any of you have some suggestions?"

The Persian voiced their opinions aptly: "You set up all this shit and have nothing in mind for it? You're a moron!"

"Do not be insulting - I have ideas. Yet as his slave, is there anything you would like to see him inflicted to?"

"Beyond public humiliation? Nah, I'm good."

"Fine then…I shall make my demands promptly," Mewtwo said, and returned to his work. "First, Giovanni Rocketto, you must begin the creation of a female of the Mewtwo race. Have her created by the end of the year…you have enough money and the resources to-."

"Uh, Mewtwo, that's not a-."

"Do what - are you mad? A male of that species was a wretched enough mistake; and I couldn't do what you want in a year if I hired on the entire staff of cloners that are making those sheep in Europe-!"

"Never thought I'd say it, but I agree with Satan on this one! Mewtwo, you were bad enough when you woke up! We won't live to see the New Year if you combine menses with apocalypse-worthy powers! You're a bastard, but she'll be bitch Shiva and kill us all when she gets pissed! Think of it, Mewtwo: the mood swings, the drama – what would you want a female so badly for that you'd risk the entire world over? You could get laid with any girl you grin at, so what's the big-?"

"I would like to have another of my kind to talk to; that is all! You all have your own races to spend time with, unlike me!"

"Oh, get over it: consider the greater good before yourself, you psychopath! She'd probably castrate you if you got too close. You think you know violence - HA! You'd be more screwed than we would, and not in the fun way!"

Mewtwo contemplated that…gritted his teeth…and then spat out: "…Point. Damn you all." Then to Giovanni he said, "Scratch the first demand. Our second demand is that you undress from that hideous suit and run across the town square ass naked."

No reply was given. From their vantage point, they saw that the Gym Leader was staring blankly at the space in front of him, his jaws unhinged.

"Giovanni, answer us, or we skin your cat."

"…You little punks! You're not real hostage-takers are you? You're just some kids who want to make a bloody fool out of me-!"

"But we have your Persian, and I have nothing against gutting animals."

"Damn you! Damn you all! I will murder you as soon as I find you-!"

Yet he still began taking off his clothes all the same.

Ten minutes later they had on digital film an invaluable, full-on, excellent shot of him running in his bare skin between taxis on Main Street and ducking into the nearby alley to get dressed. The crime lord counted his blessings that there was no one but a bunch of truckers and druggies out this late at night. Meanwhile, all four pokemon were rolling on the grass beneath them, laughing themselves silly. As Giovanni stomped through the shadows of the backstreets in utter humiliation, his face red from disgust and embarrassment, he growled into his cell phone, "What's your last demand? Make it quick so I can begin tracking you down and seeing that you meet a fitting demise!"

"Giovanni Rocketto, you deserve far worse punishment than we do: admit it. As the leader of Team Rocket, you have committed unspeakable evils; why do you complain about being the victim of a few harmless pranks?"

"You dare insult me? I am a powerful man…this is preposterous-!"

"Be quiet and go around the next corner: a flightless Pidgey is there for you to catch. We will make our final demand when you do, and after it has been executed we shall return your pokemon to you."

And so they watched, in much amusement, as the evil human chased about the small bird whose wings had been clipped. The image of Giovanni trying to capture a metaphorical chicken in urban barn was too entertaining to pass up. Obviously, he'd never lived in the country: by the time he'd finally managed to snap up the avian by the tail feathers, he had tripped over several garbage cans, ruined his black shoes with gutter grim, and had dirtied his tailored outfit in irreparable ways. No dry cleaners stood a chance in being able to get out the white feces stains that had been left on the expensive orange fabric from the distressed pokemon. Still, Giovanni was determined that his sacrifices would not to be in vain, and so grabbed the creature roughly and tried to keep a hold on it. Bits of down from its feathers became caught in what remained of his dark hair. He took a fleeting look at his appearance in a nearby window, grimaced, and shouted for what to do next.

Mewtwo happily told him to kiss the Pidgey's filthy rear.

Maroon with fury, Giovanni did not even argue. He began to bring the bird's bottom closer…puckered up…clenched his eyes tight…and did as told.

He released the violated Pidgey afterwards and promptly began to spit and gag, wiping his mouth of grim. When his Persian suddenly jumped out from behind the dumpster bins (where the group had been observing and holding back howls of mirth) his dance of revulsion ceased. As the feline rejoined his master, the Team Rocket leader shocked them all by going down on his knees and embracing the white kitty. He was nearly crying, definitely cursing, and pecked at the feline's facial fur with his dirty mouth. Pikatwo, unable to remain quiet about the unexpected display of affection, jumped out and screamed: "I KNEW it! I knew he was into bestiality! Giovanni's an animal-fucker!"

It was the completely wrong move. Giovanni took one look at the Pikachu, and his eyes flashed hot with murder. He'd brought along his prized pistol, and now he aimed it at the electric mouse, wanting just to kill something, anything, and the critter would do well enough! Meowthtwo and Mewtwo quickly sprang to their feet, snagged their foolish, rodent friend, and ran for their lives. Behind them they heard Giovanni roaring cusses at their backs, and within seconds had bullets striking the ground beneath their winged paws.

"Oh my god, take a fricken joke! Don't SHOOT at us, you trigger-happy American!"

Giovanni could not understand what the yellow mouse screeched back at him, and so he continued to charge after them and kept on firing. Within a few minutes though, they began to leave him in the dust: buff and fit as the man may be, he was getting old, and they were pokemon - inured to endurance-running and swift sprints. They darted through alleyways, down empty streets, missed becoming road kill several times by the cars they dodged, and finally, finally made it back into their forests. Incidentally, they found the trees where Meowthtwo had hung the stick dolls and had built up piles of rocks – a good marker to lead the weary wanderers back to their dens. Eventually they found their own glen, ate some wild berries for energy without realizing their accursed type (as the grey light of false dawn fooled their eyes), and then at last collapsed into blissful unconsciousness.

The next morning, Mew's voice awoke them. "Well, I never thought any of you were into threesomes, but I guess with enough alcohol in your systems even friends look sexy."

Mortified at their states and terribly self-conscious, the trio of clones staggered out of each other's holds and made their way to the edges of the glen. Mewtwo especially stumbled around, barely capable of staying on his feet, and bitched in a low, coarse voice about having a massive headache and a nauseous stomach. He unceremoniously chucked up the slushy contents of his belly; and proceeded to complain about the disgusting taste of the specialty drink. The others - having mostly remained sober throughout the previous night - slowly went through their stock of hazy memories of the hours before. They just about kneeled over with horror. Oh yes, they would almost certainly need some serious memory repression or expensive therapy! At least Meowthtwo's recording device had remained intact throughout the episode: they now a clear record they could use in court against Mewtwo for the life-threatening insanity of his drunken endeavors. Never before had they so clearly grasped what an evil, evil substance alcohol was!

Although, speaking of Mewtwo's antics….

"So how was it, Mewtwo? Remember anything?" Mew asked. He may not have approved of the idea of his sibling getting hammered, but he sure as hell found the result funny!

"Vaguely," Mewtwo muttered, "It's quite a shaky recollection…there a Pidgey…a car ride…Giovanni? Oh, and a Gardevoir – did I sing with her…?"

That last part perked Meowthtwo up. "Oh, that's right! So what exactly happened between Miss Vima and you, Mewtwo?"

The older clone contemplated that for a second, flinching at the pain the process invoked, and then seemed to recall something. "…It was very limey."

And that was all Mewtwo would ever say about that matter. Right there before Mew, he made a vow to himself: never, ever, again! Getting drunk was downright dangerous in the context of the drunkard being him…! After they had watched the movie Meowthtwo had managed to record, the three cats and the mouse agreed with that notion enthusiastically.

"Well you can't say I didn't warn you, Mewtwo – so for the record, I told you so, little brother!"

Yet the adventure was not all to waste: they could definitely make some use of the material they'd captured. Namely, the bits towards the end with Giovanni Rocketto streaking between taxis – the clips were sent to the local news channel and the tabloids for their delight. After the crime lord was ridiculed out of town, the clones were able to once again travel along the streets freely…though Mewtwo never again went into Crème de Limon, for he recalled - at least in part - the chaos the nightclub had irrevocably caused….

Pikatwo was the one who finished up the story with a gulp of his fiery drink. He delighted in the giggling of the hearty Marill, at how her round, blue body tilted in her seat, the spherical end of her tail swinging wildly in her mirth. The clone pair wondered whether she might fall out of her chair from these motions, but no, her balance was adequate enough to avoid such toppling. Wiping tears of laughter from her dark eyes, she came to focus on the doorway behind them, smiling further with delight: some new customers had entered, and apparently had captured her gaze. Spying their water-type friend, a female Pikachu and a female Meowth (both smelling potently of raspberries) clambered down from the entranceway and joined the Marill. They chatted with her excitedly in some language neither of the males could comprehend. Not that what the girls were discussing mattered much to them: the new comrades were just as attractive as the river mouse! Their sleek, glossy fur…their bright eyes…their happy grins…their very subtle feminine features; they knew better than to stare, but still, good god the ache!

The Marill introduced them all, and for a time, they talked and watched the show together, enjoying the music and their drinks, occasionally pairing up to share the pokemon versions of dances between the tables. Hope began to stir inside the clones: the newcomers were warm, friendly, and had interesting tales to tell. Perhaps these creatures could put an end to their wretched luck…? But no; after a time they sauntered away from the males' table, looking more beautiful than ever before, and giggled at some private female joke between them as they did so. The clones stared after them, ready to yowl in dismay, but opted not to voice their misery. Instead they slammed down the rest of their drinks and prepared to depart as well. For it seemed that Fate - just as it had done every time prior - had the cruelest sense of humor.

Author's Note: I think I lost some inspiration towards the end, but this seems complete enough despite that. For the record I'd like to state that I don't believe in any of the stereotypes concerning genders in here. As a female, my views on the matter of my sex are obvious; as for guys…I really don't believe that they're all about trying to get some. Honestly, I find the notion ludicrous.

At any rate, I hope you enjoyed this piece. I won't do another like it for what, say a year or so? Yeah, that should be enough time to recover from it. Anyhow, review if you would be so kind (as my birthday is on the 7th, it would be a nice gift)!

- WiseAbsol