That depends. In most regions, dex entries are vetted by a researcher before submission to the Pokémon Symposium.
In Alola, however, pokédexes are possessed by notoriously mischievous yet knowledgeable ghost-type pokémon, so it’s anyone’s guess, honestly.
Of these, deoxys technically is from space but not from another world. It’s simply an extraterrestrial virus that mutated after exposure to certain types of radiation in space. (We know this via computer simulations and a digital analysis of samples taken from an inactive deoxys core.) Of course, the specific origins of said virus aren’t known, but it’s likely it simply came to be on the surface of an asteroid.
As for the others, that entirely depends on which theories you follow, as this is actually a matter of heated debate among scientists—particularly when it comes to the cleffa line. The most popular theory states that the elgyem line is indeed extraterrestrial in nature, as its appearance in Unova was abrupt and confined to one area.
Regarding cleffa, if it had indeed been extraterrestrial, it came here thousands if not millions of years ago, as clefairy colonies are well-established and often ancient (albeit extremely difficult to find). And lunatone and solrock are thought to either be sentient meteorites or mutated (and thus inactive) evolution stones, depending on whom you ask in the scientific community.
Personally, though, and in regards to your last question, I believe that even if these pokémon didn’t actually come from space (although I also admit that I believe they did), statistically speaking, there’s no doubt there are inhabitable worlds out there—and, perhaps, extraterrestrial pokémon. It simply wouldn’t make sense for there to be a great vastness that only developed one instance of life, to be frank.
It depends. For the most part, the two are actually unrelated. Comfey, for example, simply likes to collect flowers and does so in the way that’s most efficient for its species. Leis, meanwhile, come from a rich cultural background that has less to do with comfey and more to do with the tapu.
On the other hand, sometimes, objects are indeed tied to pokémon or vice-versa. For example, punching bags were absolutely inspired by the wobbuffet line (right down to their general shape), and if you believe in certain ancient legends, many languages were based on unown shapes. (The modern-day language of Common also based its writing system on unown markings, which is why many of our letters seem blocky and thick.) Conversely, sometimes, objects come before the pokémon, especially in the case of many ghost-types, which tend to inhabit objects. (Banette, the honedge line, and dhelmise are all examples of this.) Then of course, you have the voltorb line, which looks the way it does because of an object, but it’s more because an accident or other strange happening involving said object led to the creation of the pokémon.
Alternatively, some pokémon appeared much later in time, and scientists theorize that these pokémon actually adapted themselves to look like inanimate objects in order to better interact with humans. The drifloon line, for example. Or the trubbish line for an example that doesn’t involve consuming the souls of the living.
Yes, actually. Legendary pokémon are well documented in a region’s history, and generally speaking, there are more sightings of them than mythicals. Mythical pokémon, meanwhile, are often only vaguely mentioned in a region’s folklore, and sightings of them are so rare there can be debate about their existence. The line between these two categories is fuzzy, though, and many researchers consider the latter to be a subset of the former.
Coincidence.
That may sound like I’m being facetious, but there have been a number of studies on this point, all of which came to this exact conclusion.
The same could be said in response to your question concerning jellicent. Jellicent simply evolved to look like that on their own, and human concepts of gendered fashion just happened to mirror the jellicent through a completely unconnected (to the jellicent, that is) series of cultural shifts. It’s quite fascinating, really.
I admit my knowledge of contests is limited (that’s more Lanette’s wheelhouse than mine—she was a coordinator whereas I was a trainer), but from what I understand of the way she described it, you only need five ribbons of one type for the main contest circuit—that is, the one that ends with the grand festivals. There are themed contests as well (beauty, cute, tough, and so forth), which are considered to be the closest equivalent to the Elite Four gauntlet that coordinators undertake, but these only have four ribbons, with the master rank contest ribbon being the ultimate goal. (That is to say, the themed circuits don’t end with a grand festival; they end with a master rank contest.)
Battles are only a part of the general circuit. Themed contests focus purely on highlighting a pokémon’s appearance and skills, so they’re structured to showcase both off the battlefield. The general contests, meanwhile, highlight not only the pokémon but also the skills of the coordinator, so they’re divided into the stage round (a performance showcasing a pokémon’s aesthetic and skills) and the battle round (which emphasizes the coordinator’s bond with their pokémon as well as their creativity under pressure). To put the battle round in short, there are two possible goals: knock your opponent out or survive with the highest amount of points. You lose points if you either execute a poorly thought-out strategy (usually defined as a move used in a way that doesn’t highlight your pokémon at the same time—or in other words, brute force) or if your opponent executes a brilliant strategy against you. It’s actually easier to lose points and be disqualified that way than it is to knock out your opponent, so it’s in a coordinator’s best interest to be strategic, rather than strong.
(As challenging as this is, themed contests are still considered harder because of the lack of this round. It’s simpler to work with your pokémon during a contest than it is to rely solely on their aesthetic to fit with the contest’s theme. Apparently, anyway.)
Finally, water-types. While a pool can be made available on request, most coordinators opt for using energy nets to suspend their water-types above the ground. This is considered to be more aesthetically interesting, especially in the Sinnoh circuit, where coordinators combine this with poké ball capsule seals for dramatic effect.
At the risk of driving people away from the idea of owning a larger pokémon to begin with, it’s not going to be easy, no. For one thing, housing tends to be difficult. Many apartment buildings don’t allow pokémon outside of their poké balls at all, or there may be very strict rules on what you can and can’t own. If you don’t live in an apartment, in some regions, the size of available housing may be restrictive as well. City housing in Johto, for example, is typically cramped and barely large enough to fit a group of humans and smaller pokémon, so larger pokémon may be confined to a small garden in the back of the house, if at all.
With that in mind, as sad as it may be to force your pokémon into their balls for most hours of the day, their poké balls will likely be vital. Luckily, a pokémon doesn’t need to be released and fed regularly, as modern poké balls can keep them in stasis for long periods of time, which means you may only need to take them out once a day. However, that once a day is a must, and it would be a good idea to plan on at least two hours daily for exercising and generally caring for your team. Parks are often set up for exactly this purpose, and they’re great places to meet other trainers who might also be facing the same struggles in caring for their pokémon (which in turn means you may have access to resources such as pokémon sitters, who can take your pokémon out while you’re at work or school).
If your pokémon is more noivern-sized than, say, onix-sized, you might still be able to keep your pokémon at home, depending on the size of your space, the diligence in your training, and your creativity with interior design. It’s not exactly an ideal solution (noivern especially require ample amounts of space to spread their wings … if you’ll forgive the pun), but you may be able to make do with a large enough loft-style apartment, if you avoid decorating your home with, say, tall floor lamps or wall decorations. Alternatively, balconies are wonderful places to let flying-type pokémon roost or come and go as they please, but be warned: some species of flying-types may be disruptive to the local ecosystem. Only give your flying-types the balcony if they’re well-trained enough to come back at the end of the day (or night) and to avoid unnecessary hunting and flying. Noivern and other dragon-types may be intelligent enough to be taught this. Fearow, mandibuzz, and certain other larger birds might not, and either way (although these aren’t flying-types), never give a balcony to a larger feline pokémon. Feline pokémon should be kept indoors as much as possible (or within their poké balls, in the cases of larger cats, such as pyroar and incineroar), as felines will hunt and decimate wild pokémon populations if left to their own devices outdoors.
One final tip: water. As tempting as this may be, do thorough research before allowing your water-type to swim in a lake or river running through your city. Some waterways are more polluted than others, so they may be ill-suited to pokémon that aren’t partially poison, ghost, or magikarp. Ponds in parks tend to be cleaner, and as tempting as this may be, use these bodies of water and not your bathtub. A bathtub is not a suitable replacement for adequate water sources when it comes to water-types.
In short, it’s difficult, but quite honestly, the biggest challenge is where to keep them. Space is your biggest finite resource in a city, and unfortunately, space tends to be vital for a pokémon’s physical and mental health. Once you figure out that part of the puzzle, the rest should be pretty standard from there on out.
Best of luck!
Well, if we’re talking about tournaments anyone can participate in, you can get no bigger than the annual league conferences, anonymous. You may already know this, but each year, participants in every region’s Pokémon League who have earned a minimum of eight badges gather together to battle and determine who’s the best of the best for that particular year. While each of these tournaments are equally challenging, I must say I’m a little partial to Johto’s Silver Conference and Kanto’s Indigo Plateau Conference myself. (Then again, I am also horrendously biased, so take this opinion with a grain of salt. My partner, who is slightly less biased, considers both to be dull and finds the Lumiose Conference far more interesting for reasons I believe have to do with the fact that Professor Sycamore is often in attendance.)
[That would be your reason for watching it with me. —LH]
Outside of the conferences, there are also annual exhibition matches in every region between members of the Elite Four, plus the world-famous Pokémon World Tournament of Unova, which pits gym leaders against one another and the champion of Unova. Additionally, under very special circumstances, a trainer who’s earned eight badges may go up against a region’s Elite Four and champion in the Elite Four Gauntlet, which is frequently a televised event as well (mostly because the winner of the gauntlet is traditionally crowned the next regional champion).
Additionally, if you’re willing to stretch the definition of “battling,” coordinators also get their own version of conferences with the grand festivals, such as the Hoenn Grand Festival, which is the oldest (although it’s commonly thought that the Wallace Cup is both bigger and more exciting than any grand festival in existence).
As for requirements, practically anyone can participate in the league conferences and grand festivals. All you need is the appropriate number of badges or ribbons from officially sanctioned gyms and contest halls to enter. Traditionally, this means eight badges or five ribbons, but there are exceptions. (Competing in the Orange Islands’ Champion Battle, for example, only requires that a trainer earn four badges before arriving at Pummelo Island. The Wallace Cup, meanwhile, has no such requirement at all, as its ribbon instead counts towards any circuit’s requirements for entry into the regional grand festival.) Meanwhile, the exhibition matches are obviously not open for the public and are instead performed between select groups of trainers, usually Elite Four or gym leaders. There was only one recorded instance of a regular trainer participating in the Pokémon World Tournament, but this was more of an extenuating circumstance.
The gauntlet, meanwhile, is a bit trickier to get into. While in theory, anyone can join, in practice, it involves not only earning the eight badges but also clearing the Victory Road challenge and then … arranging a battle with all five members of the gauntlet. Yes, I realize that sounds anticlimactic, but when it comes to the Pokémon League, there is no bigger challenge to a trainer than utter bureaucracy.
(On a serious note, Victory Road is traditionally the most dangerous place in each region, so by the time you’ve gotten through to the end, you’ve more than proven yourself worthy of a battle with the gauntlet. This is why the next step is pretty much getting them to agree to battle you.)
Besides those, there are of course local tournaments, such as Johto’s Whirl Cup (a tournament for water-type specialists that takes place around the Whirl Islands), but these tend to have fanbases that are confined to their respective regions, even if some of them (such as the Whirl Cup) are almost as large as the regional conference. Practically anyone can participate in these tournaments, but oftentimes, they’ll have certain rules that restrict trainers to specific types or specific kinds of pokémon. For example, the Whirl Cup, as a tournament exclusively for water-type specialists, only allows you to battle with water-types, although you only need a minimum of two to participate. (The first round involves a one-on-one match, whereas the second is two-on-two. Of course, it’s best to have a full team of six to choose from when you register for the tournament, but you could quite literally get away with the minimum number of two and still win.) Other tournaments, of course, vary rather wildly, so chances are if you’ve heard of it on your travels through each region, it may be worth it to look into—and even then, be sure to check the rules thoroughly before entering.
Best of luck!
One thing to keep in mind about this question is that there are several types of Johtonian traditional dances that encompass a pretty large spectrum of purposes, traditions, and tones. While one might assume that “slower” would narrow down the field a bit, in truth, what’s more important to traditional dance is the intent, rather than the reputation of the pokémon involved; it’s possible, for example, to teach a scizor, a pokémon known for its speed, a slower dance if that’s necessary.
Just about the only true, consistent rule among all Johtonian dances is that the pokémon involved must have been obtainable among the entertainment and religious classes during our feudal era. That of course doesn’t restrict dancers to just pokémon listed in the Johto Regional Dex; rather, it restricts them to what was actually either native or easily imported at the time. (Eevee had been a common domestic pokémon since recorded history. The going theory is that they arrived here with merchants back when we traded with China, before our isolationist period.) Well, that and the pokémon must fit and dance on a stage in the first place, which means gyarados and members of the onix line are right out, as are some of the less nimble pokémon, such as forretress and meganium. Chikorita and bayleef are still fine, however.
With that lengthy preamble in mind, I’ll just quickly say that practically every pokémon has been used within the entertainment classes—that is, within the Jouto kabuki and Noh theaters. Of the two, Jouto Noh tended (and still tends) to employ more humanoid pokémon such as jynx, as the dance style of Noh theater requires participants to move in very precise, often synchronized fashions. Jouto kabuki, by contrast, is a little less rigid in nature (not saying that Noh is unenjoyable to watch, of course), and as such, there’s more creative freedom when it comes to choreography.
There is, of course, a third general type of dance for entertainment purposes—the Jouto buyo—which differs from the above in that whereas Noh and kabuki use dance to tell a story, the point of Jouto buyo is entertainment derived from the dance itself. (To give you a better idea of what this is, it’s often the form of dance foreigners associate with our form of geisha. Kimono girls, when not participating in ritualistic dance, often perform this as well.) Nonetheless, there is often a point or underlying meaning to each dance, usually associated with nature, and a dancer will often choose a pokémon that closely relates to such a meaning. For example, one of the most famous of these dances, the Sakura Dance, is often performed with bellossom, vileplume, or sunflora, due to their abilities to use Petal Dance and Petal Blizzard to enhance the performance while still keeping up with the dancer herself.
Outside the theater, though, dance takes on an entirely different and perhaps far more intimate meaning to Johtonian culture. You see, a lot of our art is derived from our belief system, and by extent, dance and music is often considered our means of communication with our gods, the spirits, the natural world, or some combination thereof. In other words, most Johtonian dances have meanings to them, and what message you wish to convey to the natural or spiritual worlds will often dictate which pokémon you can incorporate into your routine.
For example, the reason why the kimono girls of Ecruteak City, my mother included, relied on eevee and its evolutions is because those pokémon are closely tied with Ho-oh. It’s said that eevee can evolve into “a different color of the rainbow” (that is, a form that matches Ho-oh’s seven colors), so dances meant to communicate directly to Ho-oh are either done by eevee trainers or performed alongside eevee and its evolutions to evoke Ho-oh’s rainbow—and only by either of these. (There are other rules, of course. For example, men can’t perform the dance because it’s said men angered the gods enough to drive them to destroy Lugia’s roost and chase both birds from Ecruteak City, so if you’re male and you don’t have an eevee … you’ll have to be content with prayers at a shrine.)
The other gods, of course, are less strict about what you can and can’t use. For example, dances meant to honor or pray to Celebi can be performed with any pokémon that can normally be caught in Ilex Forest, although butterfree, beedrill, and golduck tend to be the most popular for their grace. Additionally, Celebi is said to be fond of “baby” pokémon, so some dancers employ pichu, smoochum, or togepi instead. As another example, dances dedicated to the legendary trio are often done with pokémon of matching elements to the specific legendary being honored (water-types such as starmie for Suicune, fire-types such as magmar for Entei, and electric-types such as ampharos for Raikou—with those three being particularly popular), and Lugia is often honored with dances that incorporate flying-type pokémon’s wind-based techniques (with many dancers choosing noctowl or xatu as partners).
Our festivals, too, often involve pokémon dancers that are closely linked to the dance’s purpose. Take our agricultural festivals, for example. (That is, take any one of them. Many Johtonian cities have more than one, with the exception being the coastal cities of Goldenrod, Cianwood, and Olivine, all of which were originally merchant or fishing settlements closely tied to seafaring festivals.) The agricultural festivals were often designed to either pray for rain and fertile grounds or give thanks for bountiful harvest thanks to these two things, so dances often called for either water- or ground-type pokémon—often both. As such, members of the wooper line are often vital to the more agricultural cities of Johto. Some towns also use grass-types, such as and especially bellossom and bellsprout, to encourage healthy crops. Poison-types are absolutely never used (with the exception of bellsprout, of course)—even if they’re partially grass-types—nor are fire-types, as using either is said to curse the crop to either never grow or to grow withered and inedible.
On the other hand, fishing and seafaring dances (as you would see in Cianwood, for example) may employ flying-type pokémon (such as noctowl again) to pray for good winds, water-type pokémon (usually golduck or starmie) for smooth sailing and bountiful seas, or simply normal-types (such as meowth) for luck. It’s taboo in those cases to use ground-, grass-, or rock-type pokémon, as these are thought to instill bad luck on a village’s fleet (because using these pokémon is asking for a ship to be “sent to the earth”—or, in other words, to sink).
With both types of dances, fighting- and psychic-types are often also employed to represent either humans (the fighting-types) or Lugia and Celebi (the psychics). Fairy-types are rarely if ever used because it’s said their fairy magic is volatile and unpredictable and thus could interfere with the meaning of the dance. They are used, however, in winter festivals, festivals to honor children, or festivals that are, in general, meant to celebrate life or bless a village with good luck. (Thus, they’re especially popular during new year festivals. Togepi and clefairy especially so, due to their supposed abilities to grant happiness upon those who see or care for them.)
Otherwise, many of the other festivals employ a vast array of different pokémon. Ice-types such as jynx and sneasel for winter dances (although dark-types are never used during the new year festivals to avoid inviting bad luck or evil spirits to a settlement), electric-types for summer dances, and so on and so forth. Just about the only type that’s universally considered to be taboo to use is the ghost-type, as these are only to be used for funerals and in festivals dedicated to the dead (because dancing with ghost-types traditionally represents dancing with actual spirits). It should be noted, of course, that for us, this isn’t exactly a somber event; rather, honoring our ancestors or the spirits of the dead in general is considered to be a celebration due to our culture’s emphasis on celebrating the good things done in life and the meaning of life itself. Thus, these dances can be a bit more colorful than Westerners may imagine, and the pokémon themselves tend to feel honored to participate.
So in short, it really depends on which dance you’re referring to or what you need to convey through dance. For the most part, pretty much anything that’s small enough to fit on stage and nimble enough to keep up with a dancer is fair game.
They’re not exactly common, but they’re not unheard of, either. This world is a vast place, and while humans have been fairly ambitious in the past, in recent years, one could say we’ve done an excellent job at not colonizing every strip of land we’ve ever come across. That is to say, these sorts of villages do indeed exist in the plural, in the most remote parts of the world. These are places such as the Amazon rainforest or some parts of the Orange Islands that are typically too difficult for a person to reach, even with the assistance of a pokémon.
That is to say, it’s rather impressive that you’ve found these people, anonymous.
The Pokédex According to Bill 