Lavender Town. There were days he dipped his nose fondly to the flowers that lined the tombstones where his party of six were buried, and breathed deeply the memories of heated rival battles, winding Graveler-camouflaged caves, and surging Lapras seas; and, afterward, he remembered, when they were simply resting in the Pokecenter, and how he looked on them in awe, prideful of their accomplishments. Happy but tired, they continued on their adventure over crag and volcanic ash where even Brock with all his rugged rockiness could not traverse. When skies were stormed or night was deep and void of light, his Venusaur would open up its supple bloom and cast a Sunny Day on their adventures from sea to Seafoam Island to distant lands. The old man's white-brimmed red cap fell from his balding head to the grassy loam. He reached for it, old arm straining under years of throwing Pokeballs, sweat falling from his wrinkled temple like Rain Dance. He picked the heavy hat gently from the flowerbed and swept it clean of dust. He lifted his eyes to meet the hollow stare of the six Gengar hovering before him. "I'm sorry," he said, pausing to catch his breath. "I'm sorry." The Gengar hovered, cackling.
