Rude Club

[11.30.00] » by Negative Creep

The bald headed man strolled purposefully across the busy avenues and sidewalks of Junon. Dark navy suit spotless, wraparound shades concealing his eyes and emotions, he made for an intimidating figure, and people got out of his path as fast as their legs could carry them. You didn't mess with the Turks, and especially not Rude. If you got in his way, he'd either help you up or stomp on your hands, depending on his mood.

Today he was in an especially businesslike mode. Glancing from side to side, sun flashing off his bald head, Rude strode towards a small line of brightly lit shops on the other side of the street. Almost running over a small child playing with toy soldiers on the sidewalk, he totally ignored the stores and their loud mouthed vendors, opting to slink into a dank alleyway that twisted in-between two of the small shops. It seemed strange that he kept his sunglasses on in the dim passage, but once again, noone was going to come up and ask him why.

The interior of the backroom he pushed his way into was even darker. Down an even darker flight of stairs, past a weapon vendor who had seen plenty of him before and knew when to keep his mouth shut, and into the subterranean basement of the store he went, still wearing his dark glasses. How he could see was anyone's guess, but it didn't seem to bother the tall man; he kept up his fast pace all the way down.

At last he reached his destination : a small bar, remarkably tidy despite the darkness and the cigar smoke that was all but permeable. A small, circular table sat in the corner of the dive, and around it sat several well-dressed men. They too looked like the kind that you wouldn't question, and the kind that played for keeps. Rude fit right in with the Junon mobsters, except for one detail: he got his paycheck from the government, and, except for on certain occasions, the mobsters didn't. Other than that, their jobs usually curtailed the same type of work. The other men barely looked up as Rude nodded to the barkeep and pulled up a chair at the table, settling down for what looked to be a die hard game. The other men looked grim; a few smoked cigars, but most seemed to be too intent on the cards for that.

Rude pulled out his own pack and shuffled them onto the table. Finally seeming to take notice of him, one especially ugly looking customer with a large scar across his temple glared at the Turk, and then spat out a query.

"Got a Charmander in there?"

Rude looked over at the grizzled man though his glasses.

"First Edition."

And the dealing was on. All in all, things went pretty smooth. Until........

"What's that card you're hiding there, Franky?" asked Rude, for the first time since he entered pushing his sunglasses back onto his head. "Something you don't want me to see?"

Franky, a chubby, nervous looking man, put out his cigar and glanced apprehensively at the bald man seated across from him. "No," he mumbled, reluctantly setting out a mint Mewtwo for all to see. Rude carefully picked the coveted card up, examined it, and very slowly turned to face Franky again.


"What izzit Rude?" asked one of the other traders, peering suspiciously at the card. "Somethin' up?" Rude very calmly sat the card down, eyes still locked on Franky. "Yeah, it's fine.........." and at this Franky sighed with relief....

"...............Except all his cards are freakin' COUNTERFEITS."

The entire table erupted in chaos. The terrified Franky leapt up and made a dash for the door, but was tackled to the ground by three heavy set Junonites. Rude approached him with the card, and very carefully shoved the counterfeit in the chubby man's mouth, choking him. "You like this card, eh Franky? Well, you can take it with you." Turning to his companions, he nodded at the staircase going back up aboveground. "Teach him a lesson for me, eh guys?" The three burly men nodded and dragged the struggling man out of the room, to whatever fate his Pokemon counterfeits had led him. Rude turned back to the remaining players and glanced around the table.

"So, who's got a mint Meowth?"


Several hours later Rude came out of the basement with bulging pockets and a self-satisfied smile. He met Reno standing at the corner of the alleyway and the two matched strides as they walked down the bustling sidewalks.

Reno grinned at his partner jovially. "Another good session?"


The red haired Turk snickered at his solemn partner. "Honestly Rude, I don't know why the hell you collect those things. When I said you needed a hobby I didn't mean THIS."

Rude's face never changed expression as he replied to his friend's taunts. "I could say the same thing about your cosplay group, Sailor Reno." The smile promptly fled from Reno's face and a scowl replaced it. Now both men were silent.

Rude let a small smirk creep onto his features and continued staring straight ahead, glasses once again pulled down despite the now complete darkness that blanketed the area. He didn't even bother to look at the chalk-outlined sketch of an unfortunate who had fallen from one of the surrounding buildings to the pavement below. But his smirk grew by an inch as he passed the outlined figure.

It was a tough game. But hey -- No one tried to swindle Rude out of a Raichu and got away with it.


Yes, remarkably silly, and not funny in the least, despite my efforts. But I tried, and it's my first non-serious fic, so there. Props to Princess Artemis for the "First Edition" line. All e-mails should be sent as usual to G' wan, I dare you.

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