So after that beating I and my Pokemon got from Giovanni and Deadshot, morale was a bit low for us. I think Grace and Kalini sensed it when we got back, but they didn't say anything. They weren't really close enough to us to really press us about that.
It was fine. We had each other.
A heavy dose of Giovanni's updated potion healed all the regular wounds that Tyrunt, Mudkip, Gurdurr, and I got at least. Emotionally, Alakazam was the only one really unfazed by it. Slugma and Mimikyu didn't seem to be able to look at me the same way. Tyrunt had woken up in a fury, and was now just sitting in a corner staring at the wall. His teeth were grit, and his eyes kept flickering from side to side.
Gurdurr wasn't as prideful as Tyrunt was. Still, when I decided to work out, he was in the gym he'd built, furiously pumping weights. We didn't talk, just worked out in silence.
Mudkip went for a swim. When he came back, he had several breeds of large fish being dragged behind him, all dead. He simply laid them in the fridge, blasted them with Ice Beam, then went back into the ocean. I let him go.
Like I'd told Roxy. Acknowledging a loss isn't the same as liking it.
Still, feelings aside, I knew we could come back from this. We hadn't exactly lost to a chump. We'd lost to Giovanni. Even if you ignored his memetic status as a badass in my universe and his, which was at least a bit inflated, he was someone who had his rep for good reason. Getting beat to hell by Lawton was something I could accept as well. In many universes, Deadshot had taken on people like Deathstroke, Green Arrow, and Superman himself. I wasn't going to win a fight with him any time soon.
Didn't mean either of them was going to be out of range forever.
Whatever. If I kept thinking and rethinking everything, I would just end up running my brain in circles.
I had to move on. Not because I didn't want to deal with the current lowered morale, but that I couldn't let my Pokemon wallow in their sorrow. We needed to grow, not stagnate. The Silicon Dragons were still out there. So we couldn't just sit on our laurels.
Back to work.
Work, of course, meant a lot of things. We all had something to do.
First, we picked up essentials from Giovanni. The former/current/future criminal, apply whichever works best, had an eye for what resources a lair needed. He got us the sorts of things we'd need for Alakazam to do his research, for Grace to continue her practice and get into online schooling, for Gurdurr to start doing his more sophisticated construction projects.
With that, we started getting into it.
Two days after we got beat up, I was standing in my favorite ghost-girls room, watching her sketch at the computer she'd gotten. She had gotten a drawing tablet as part of the stuff Giovanni had sent, and had fallen in love with the little device. A single extended hand of pure shadow was poking out from beneath the Superman costume she'd made, the classic curl of hair on 'his' face bouncing as she drew.
"Kyu?" Mimikyu lifted a drawing for me to look at. I took her pad and looked over what she'd drawn.
"Oh wow," I blinked. "Mimikyu, this looks fun. I really like the scarf."
She'd apparently taken the looks of more old school heroes as inspiration, while still adding some modern aesthetics. Like she'd gotten advice from both the Justice Society and Justice League on making it. I'd likely have taken anything she offered, because I'm a massive softy, but I really did like it.
"Mimikyu!" she bounced slightly in her chair, Superman's head bouncing with her. Then she stopped and cocked her head to the side. "Kyu?"
"I don't know if I can think of anything to add," I frowned thoughtfully. "Well… We're going to get shot at a lot. And I might be bullet resistant, but maybe-"
"Mi!" she grabbed the tablet out of my hand and turned back to her computer. After a search, she seemed to find the right reference material. She sketched for a moment, doing some small adjustments. She eventually had a rough sketch. Very rough, but I could see what she was planning.
"All of them, huh?" I thought about that. "Well, I like it. And it'll be fun seeing people try to figure out what they mean."
"Kyu, kyu!" Superman's head bounced back and forth, his tiny cape waving.
In the section we'd carved out for her laboratory, Grace was wearing a giant labcoat. Whoever had picked out her clothes had a real eye for sizes, because it all fit her really well. She was typing slowly at a keyboard as I sat in my underwear next to her, waiting for her to finish her assessment. After a bit, she turned to look at me.
"So, can I put my clothes back on?" I asked casually. It was pretty warm, but hanging out in a room in my boxers in front of people was always weird.
"Yes, you can," Grace flashed her sharp teeth. "And congrats. You're more human than I am."
"But I'm not human?"
"Well, you are. As much as any of us, really. Actually, in terms of DNA, you're further than I am, but that's not important-"
"Wait, what does that mean!?" My voice might have cracked a bit.
She gave me a weird look. "Well. I'm technically .9 percent more human than you are?"
"Oh," What the fuck. "Fine. So what is different about me besides that?"
"Denser skin, for one," she said quickly. "If you hadn't told me about it I still would have believed you could take a bullet or two. The best way I could dumb it down is that your entire body is built like someone was trying to make a superhuman and just barely got there. You won't be tossing cars, but you're a lot stronger than a kid your age should be. But your durability is the most obvious thing. You'd need to stress test it to really find out your limits though."
I finished putting my shirt on. "Well, at least this superhero gig will give me plenty of chances to do that. Get my ass kicked enough times and I'll find out what breaks me."
"You are far too cavalier about getting beat up," Grace said with a sigh. "I'm terrified about going out and fighting people."
"You don't have to go out and fight anyone," I looked at her, confused. "Why do you need to fight anyone?"
"I…" she looked as befuddled as I was. "Shouldn't I? I mean, look at me," she waved at herself. "I can lift boulders!"
"So can Gurdurr and Mudkip. And they have actual fighting experience. You don't have to fight anyone. Kalini isn't going to."
"Kalini isn't 8 feet of whale muscle," she pointed out, though there wasn't any heat to it. She rubbed her hands together, fidgeting. "I just… I kind of thought that, with all this... I'd have to fight. That I would be helping you take on the Dragons."
"You are helping. We need your knowledge, your intelligence. I never really considered you having to fight someone," I cocked my head to the side. "Grace. We might have to kill someone."
She flinched. I continued.
"I doubt it'll pop up, but it's a possibility. We might have to. Or, one of us will die. Maybe someone innocent will. But my Pokemon and I got into the mindset where that possibility didn't scare us off. It's why we're training, equipping ourselves, getting ready for this. I'm not going to keep you from this fight, and you can get on the battlefield if you want."
"But it isn't necessary. We don't need another fighter as much as we need a scientist, a doctor. You want to train, get your head in the right space so you can be out with my dumb ass taking and giving punches? Okay, wonderful. But it's not necessary. You have a new body, your entire life has changed. Just take your time first. Okay?"
She looked me over for a moment, not saying anything. Finally, she sighed, a loud and wheezing sound that exited her mouth and blowhole at the same time. "I'll… think about it."
Well, that was fine. As long as the damn universe didn't try to force shit. The DC Universe hates it when superhumans aren't in the middle of some sort of drama.
Just then, a little grunt came from a table on the other side of Grace's lab. We looked over.
Poor Tyrunt had woken up. He was covered in some kind of medical instruments. Grace had explained they took temperature, measured minute changes in his physiology, all sorts of things I didn't understand. They looked like silver stickers with wires attached trailing to different machines around him.
He looked blearily around before noticing us. "...Runt."
Grace looked at me for a translation. "He wants to know if we're done."
"We should be," Grace turned and leaned over to look Tyrunt in the eyes. "Thank you for being so patient. This is going to help me a lot!"
He grinned proudly. Tiny primadonna, that's what he was, always happy when praised.
Tyrunt was the second of my Pokemon to get this treatment, Gurdurr being first. Grace may have been a doctor, but it was hard for her to be able to do her job if she didn't understand the biology of her subjects.
"I just need one more thing," Grace lifted a chisel. Not a scalpel. A chisel. "A skin sample.
He stared at the chisel, wide-eyed. "...Tyyyyyy."
Then he leaped off the bed, sending machines flying, and ran for the door.
"Tyrunt?" I followed after him as he screamed. "Dude, you took bullets less than a week ago, how does a chisel scare you!?"
"It's just a small sample!" Grace yelled in agreement.
So yeah. Turns out chisels are the rock-Pokemon equivalent to syringes. Who knew?
Slugma approached me later on about something important. Her room was actually the simplest overall. Just an empty space with lava in the center of the room ringed in a fence made of solid concrete.
I sat in a chair in front of the pool of lava while she talked. "Slugma, Slug, Slug. Ma, Slugma."
"I…" I hesitated. "Slugma, you aren't weak. Why would you think that?"
She gave me a look. "Slugma."
"Giovanni would have rolled us over no matter what," I shook my head. "Or are you going to say Alakazam and Mimikyu are weak and that is why I stopped the fight?"
"..." she sank briefly into the lava, then came back up, a sad smile on her face. She didn't have to say it.
"You've been comparing yourself to someone a lot stronger than you?" That was a surprise. "Who?"
"Slug," she sighed.
"Slugma, you haven't evolved yet. You shouldn't be comparing yourself to anyone even then. Be better than the Pokemon you were yesterday, not better than someone else."
She huffed, giving me a skeptical look. "Slug."
"Giovanni and Deadshot aren't people I compare myself too," I sighed. "Slugma, I'm not training because they beat me. I'm training because I know I can get stronger. Strong enough to keep you all safe. To keep people who matter safe. Learning from them will help me do that."
I scratched my cheek, thinking. "Slugma, just think of our training as that. Don't try to compare yourself to someone. Just focus on getting better everyday. Hell, we're getting training from the ones you're comparing yourself to, right?"
"..." she smiled slowly. "Slugma. Sluuuuma."
Before I could say anything, she spun around, splashing as she slinked off, leaving me with more questions.
"What does that mean?" I mumbled. 'Not yet. But I will!' Who was she comparing herself to?
"Your training regimen will need to be carefully calculated," Giovanni said as we stood in his gym. While he was dressed in his normal clothes, I was wearing workout gear as we waited for my new teacher. "Diet, exercise, rest. All in balance. I've hired a nutritionist to make you a meal plan. As for your exercise, I expect you to take it seriously. I wouldn't want your new teacher to spend every moment simply forcing you out of bed."
"Giovanni," I sighed. "I'm not going to be a lazy asshole about this."
"You are a teenager," he pointed out.
"I'm not. Besides that, I'm a superhero. If I don't train, I die. That's facts."
"That is a fact," Giovanni smirked. "Always love how eager young ones are to grow up."
"It's the lack of hair on my chest, the cold just constantly annoys me."
"You should be grateful for your youth," Giovanni said.
"I don't know about that," before I could say anything else, the doors to the gym opened. The man of the hour had arrived.
He was a large Hawaiian man, with silver hair that shone in the light. He was wearing a black uniform, and carrying a bag over one shoulder. He was built like the Hawaiian version of how I always pictured Batman would be in his seventies. Heavier set, muscles worn with age. But carrying himself with a certain sort of edge to him. Giovanni had it. Deadshot had it. But this guy was a hell of a lot more badass looking. The handlebar mustache on his face helped that. No man with facial hair that savage could be less than badass.
"Vanni," the man said as he walked into the room. "This the kid?"
"...Vanni?" I looked over at Giovanni.
"It's a nickname," he said with a smirk. "And yes Amos, this is indeed the 'kid'."
"Jesus, Vanni, he looks like he should be trying to stare at girls tits in high school," the man, Amos Kameāloha, looked me up and down, wrinkles around his steel-gray eyes crinkling with annoyance. "Shouldn't you be in school you little shit?"
"Wow, you just come out of the gate cantankerous, huh?" I asked, blinking. "And no. I've got other stuff on my plate."
"Not today," he tossed his bag at me. As I caught it, he smirked. "I'm just here because Giovanni paid me a stupid amount of money. You need to prove to me you are worth a damn. And if you don't, I'm going to walk out that door. If you get lazy, or give me any bullshit, I'm going to beat the hell out of you, then walk away."
I thought about that. Then I nodded. "Yeah, all right."
"Oh goodie, he's pretending to be brave," he cocked an eyebrow at me. "Get in the ring, shitstain. Time to learn Kapu Kuialua."
Well. At least my new teacher wasn't afraid to speak his mind.
Kapu Kuialua was a Hawaiian martial art. Which made it perfect for Kahu Kiaʻi to learn. My secret identity was getting adopted by Hawaii's population after all. Leaning into it a bit would make that better.
After a quick session, I learned a couple of things. First, my wrestling experience in High School was useful, but Lua was a lot more brutal. It was like jiu jitsu if it was designed by a shark. All about not just subduing an opponent, but beating the shit out of them while you did it.
Amos was a master of it. He was built like a tank, for one thing, his muscles taking any punch I gave him with only a grunt. He would grab my arm, pull me out of position, then smash me with punch after punch while controlling my movements.
I liked it. The art was brutal, fast, and way fun. I felt like a kid again.
Granted, I also ended up with some extra bruises, but they weren't as bad as the ones I got from Deadshot. Mostly Amos spent his time training me, hitting me for the purpose of showing where I shouldn't get hit. And cussing. A lot of cussing. He seemed to have learned his insults from a combination of sailors, gangsters, and European tough guys.
"Bitch!" he took a punch on his arm and smashed me with a right hook. "If you're gonna hit me, put some weight behind it! Don't try to smack someone's cheeks with a limp dick, you pupule fuck!"
I managed to get him in a grapple, but while I tried squeezing him with all my strength, he would hit me across my face and neck. "There you go, babooz, keep that grip! You wanna take me down, you better have the conviction to keep the hold! I'm lolo you fuck, you can't expect me to go down any easier than your bitch ass!"
I had a lot of fun with that, but soon enough he called it. Giovanni had long since left, so it was just me and Amos when we finished.
"This'll work," Amos said while I sipped at some water, dripping sweat. "You've got what you need. Lua isn't some froofy acrobatic art or some shit. It's Paakikî. You gotta be strong and durable. Speed is good, but lua the way I teach it is meant for big motherfuckers who hit hard and take hits."
"I'm not that big," I pointed out. I would be later. While I never got above 5 feet 8 inches in height, I tended to get thick when I built muscle.
"Not yet. But you're a durable fucking hûpô o nâ hûpô," while he was still insulting me, Amos was also grinning. "We'll build you up, don't you worry… Who are you, anyways?"
The question confused me. "What do you mean?"
"I'm getting paid a lot," Amos was looking me up and down. "Last time a haole gave me anywhere close to this much was some brat out of Gotham," I hid my reaction to that. "But you ain't a rich fuck. I can tell. You've got a stick up your okole, but you ain't rich. So why is Vanni asking me to train you?"
"Maybe I'm sleeping with him for his money," I snarked.
"Ha!" Amos chuckled. "Nah. That ain't it. Still. You must be something. What is it?"
I thought about that. Then I took a sip of water. "I can't tell you. It's a secret. And I'm not going to break a promise."
Granted, the promise was to myself. Amos still grunted and nodded. "All righty. Well. Here's the plan. We work out five days a week, four hours a day. We'll trade those times between technique and conditioning. I want you to be strong, hûpô. And like I said. If you give up at any point, I'm going to leave."
"Yeah, I don't have a problem with that," I said. "See you tomorrow then."
Lua, huh. This was going to be fun!
Author's Note: Yeah, Amos is a sweary bastard. Good at his job though.
So yeah, decided to lean into the Hawaiian angle by having Kahu learn an ancient Hawaiian martial art. It helps that the martial art in question is DOPE. Any description of it seems to describe how absolutely vicious it can be. I've seen it get described as 'jujitsu made by sharks' more than once. Combine that with Polynesian weapons, and you have a dope art to include in the story.
As for what the Hawaiian words Amos was saying were, here you go.
Hûpô! [HOO' POH'] or Hûpô o nâ hûpô [HOO' POH' oh NAH' HOO' POH'] Fool! Stupid! Literally, swelling darkness.
Okole - Asshole, butt, or bottom
Pupule [poo poo' leh] Sometimes pûpule [POO' poo leh] for emphasis. Crazy! Pupule means crazy, insane, reckless, wild.
Paakikî [pah' ah kee KEE'] Hardhead! Stubborn! Difficult! Paakikî means hard, tough, unyielding, arbitrary, inflexible, difficult, stubborn, obstinate.
Babooz - idiot
Lolo -crazy, stupid
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