Dragonfree's Nominations

A few nights later, an elderly lady walked down the tranquil street towards her new modest two storey home. A large shopping bag hung from the crook of her left arm as she marched briskly on, the large brown trench coat masking her short frame effectively.

A couple of thickset thugs stepped out of a side street and barred her way onward. One of the thugs, with a shiny pate and a large yellow heart-shaped tattoo stepped forward, his many heavy chains clinking and gleaming in the lamp light.

"Good evening, Mum, " the second one leered in a northern city accent not unlike cockney, revealing a glint of silver as he moved his lips. "How's about a fiver for 'e pub, eh?"

"I'm sorry, " the woman replied haltingly, her pale blue eyes flashing dangerously. "But I must be getting home-"

"Aw, don't say that, Granny, " the first thug wheedled, grabbing her by the crook of her arm tightly. "We jus' wanna afiver…"

"Please unhand me at once, " the old lady said with a grizzled smile, "or I'm afraid I will have to harm you."

"Wot was 'zat?" The first thug yelled, evidently angered by the elderly lady's spunk, his bright green punk mohawk seemingly standing straighter than usual in his rage. Pulling out a solitary pokeball, he threw it forward and yelled, "Go, Charmeleon!"

A medium sized (by which I mean a three foot plus) reptile appeared before their victim, its long dirty claws and vicious fangs bared as the flame on its long tail burned with great intensity. a single horn grew out from in between and above its indigo-shaded irises, which were narrowed in anger or bloodlust, its crimson complexion made it hard to tell.

"Well, so much for playin' nice, " the cueball sighed. "Come out, Wombeal!"

A small, dirty grey creature appeared on the ground in a flash of light, rubbing its thick blue knuckles menacingly as it leered at the old woman. It knew what it had to do, and was rather looking forward to it.

"Oh, dear, " the seemingly defenseless woman sighed. Fishing in her shopping bag, she puled out a red and white or and splitting it open with the press of a button, commanded, "Petal, be a dear and use Petal Dance, would you?"

A whirl of petals, a series of loud smacks and yells later, all four assailants were tied to the lamp post by a number of thick, thorny green vines, out cold. Picking up her broad-rimmed hat, she dusted it off and said scoldingly, "Youth of today. So ill-mannered, most of them. Come along, Petal, " she called to her Bouquet Pokemon, retracting it in a fash of red light. "We must get home now."

And without a backwards glance, Rosa Saunders moved off towards the corner amidst a shower of sapphire rose petals, muttering, "Let that be a lesson to you punks. Nobody messes with G."

"What's wrong with the story?" the incredibly handsome narrator asked incredulously.

"There you go again! Will you PLEASE stop praising yourself in your own narration?!" yelled Jack, clearly at his wit's end. "And what's wrong with the story?! Did you not see that story?! It STUNK, that's what's wrong with it! Two lines! Two lines of text! I go down the road, I catch a shiny Rayquaza with a Master Ball that seems to appear out of nowhere?! Where's the plot?! Where's the depth?! The description! For all the readers know, I could be a two-headed cheeseburger with a hundred-and-seven tentacles!"