Author's Note: So I'm in this class called "(Dis)playing Bodies: Art, Politics, and Censorship" at my school. Which, though I love it and find it very interesting, sometimes feels like Porn on Parade. In any case, today we were talking about hysteria. This is the result.
Enjoy your brief pokeshipping!crack.
Ages: Ash- 18 / Misty- 20 / Brock- 25
The screech of pure terror echoed incessantly through the dense forest, ricocheting off of the evergreens and resounding over the grassy knolls. Even the plant life trembled as the scream reverberated; pokémon of all shapes and sizes scrambled from their homes, soaring into the sky or racing from their burrows in a misguided sense of self-preservation.
Unfortunately, this only made things worse.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! There's another one!" Misty shrieked, leaping into Ash's arms as a little Weedle inched across her path, frightened from its home by her previous exclamation. "Ughughughughugh! Get it away, away, away from meeeeeeeeeeee!"
Quivering like a leaf, the water pokémon trainer burst into deafening sobs, her arms wrapped tightly around her boyfriend's neck and legs flailing with disgust.
Wincing in pain as her yelps rang in his ears, her hands nearly choked him, and her feet left bruises on his outer thigh, Ash leveled Misty a flat stare, trying his very best to be patient. "Misty," he droned, though not unkind in his monotonous drawl, "they're just pokémon. Bug pokémon, yes. But pokémon all the same. There's no need to get so hysterical about this."
The young woman retched, pallid in her revulsion. "But they're groooosssssssss!" she whimpered, untamable tears rolling down her pasty face. "And— IEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"
Her panic increased; Ash's disbelief grew.
"Oh, c'mon, Misty—that's not even a pokémon, that's a stick!"
"You know, the Greeks were the first the label hysteria," Brock suddenly announced, causing Ash to stop and snap the pokémon breeder a dry glance.
"…and why does that matter?" the youngest of the three wryly inquired. He had good reason to be feeling sardonic; the girl in his arms was nearing convulsions.
Unfazed, Brock offered a vague roll of his shoulders, turning the page of his book. The Pewter City Gym Leader had taken to reading while the little group walked; he said it helped pass the time. He'd also mentioned something about drowning out the noise of their arguing, but Ash and Misty had chosen to ignore that. "Just thought you might find it interesting, taking the situation into account," Brock then verbalized, still reading from the pink-covered text. Its title proclaimed: History of Psychoanalytic Diseases and Their Supposed Cures. "It was named after the Greek word for 'uterus.' See, the Greeks believed that the cause of hysteria was that a woman's uterus had dried up. Because of this, the uterus became much lighter, detached itself from the woman's lower body, and floated upward to disturb her heart and lungs."
"…right." In the back of his mind, Ash replayed his last argument with Misty; surely it hadn't been so bad that a text that bizarre was more pleasurable than their company. But he was brought back to reality by another yelp from his girlfriend, now curled in a ball and crying pathetically in his embrace. "Well, Brock, unless you can offer me some sort of cure, I'm gonna have to say that I don't give a flying f—"
"It was decided by the Greeks," Brock continued, nose still pressed into the binding of the book, "that women who suffered this were severely under-sexed. It was the lack of semen and other sexual juices in their uterus that caused it to dry out and float. Therefore, to cure hysteria, someone merely had to have sex with the hysterical woman."
And, oblivious, Brock amended: "Well, have sex with them a lot, actually. Doctors were supposed to pleasure their patients multiple times, until their symptoms disappeared. That's why they invented dildos, you know."
Ash's face morphed into sort of a goofy looking grin.
"Weird how the ancient minds worked, huh?" the older of the two then snorted, grinning widely to himself as he looked up from the text's yellowed pages. "I wouldn't have minded a hysterical Jenny or Joy, if you know what I mean. But seriously, let's just get out of this woods as soon as we can… even I'm starting to get sick of bug pokémon. Right, Ash?"
Brock's beam faded a bit in confusion. "Ash?" he repeated, turning to look behind him. "Misty?"
But there was no one else around.
There was, however, a freshly-trampled path through the brush that plunged straight into the denser half of the forest, and a baffled Pikachu who stood beside some discarded backpacks that marked where their traveling companions had once been.
…perhaps it would be wisest not to follow.
And so, with an exchanging of shrugs between human and pokémon, Brock settled down beneath a nearby tree and allowed himself to get sucked back into his book. It really was a fantastic tool for passing an hour… not to mention a wonderful way to mentally drown out all of the noise that Ash and Misty made.
And they did, as always, make an awful lot of noise.