Since I’ve been hearing a lot about Alola forms of Pokémon I was wondering, if we were to somehow check on the Alola Region in about thousands and thousands years from now (or however long it would take) would it be possible for Alola forms Pokémon to be completely different species? Like a split is forming right now and if we were to check in later they wouldn’t even be consider the same Pokémon. And are there any Pokémon species that something like that might have happened with in the past?

It’s entirely possible.

To be a bit more specific for the sake of clearing any confusion on the matter, when a pokémonologist refers to evolution, they could be referring to one of two things. There is, of course, metamorphic evolution, which is the process by which one pokémon transforms from a juvenile form to a more adult form—such as, for example, the transformation from a bulbasaur to its ivysaur stage.

However, there is also Darwinistic evolution, which is, of course, the transition from one species to another by way of millions of years of adaptation. Pokémon are the only beings on Earth capable of both, and as such, present-day pokémon are actually descended from long evolutionary trees dating back to prehistoric ancestors of completely different species. For example, every vulpix is actually related to growlithe, poochyena, and more by way of a common ancestor. (There are, of course, plenty of others. Even pokémon such as ponyta and rhyhorn, which one would think are not related at all, branched off a common ancestor in the very distant past.) Each species simply diverged from one another by way of differing adaptations according to their needs and habitats.

That’s why vulpix and other pokémon with “Alolan variations” are so fascinating to pokémonologists, actually. It stands to reason that, just as rockruff and growlithe diverged from a common ancestor, vulpix will someday diverge enough that its ice-and-fairy-type form and fire-type form will create entirely new species. This will perhaps not occur in thousands of years but rather millions, as Darwinistic evolution is slow, but it will happen someday.

So I suppose the final answer to all of your questions is … yes.

Can pokemon eat people food? My Zorua loves to steal my waffles and loves chocolate especially. I’m just wondering if it’s okay for her

Unlike animals, many pokémon are indeed capable of consuming a diet very similar to that of humans, which means many things that would be toxic to their “animal counterparts” are actually not toxic to them. Chocolate is probably the most noteworthy example; while it may be extremely dangerous for canine animals to consume, it’s perfectly harmless for the riolu line, the zorua line, and many others.

Of course, just because a pokémon species can eat it doesn’t mean it should or that every member of the species can. Zorua, for example, are primarily carnivores, so while waffles are fine as an occasional treat, they need a healthy diet of meat and leaner grains and vegetables to survive. If one consumes nothing but waffles for several of its meals a week, it won’t necessarily kill them, but it will be the equivalent of a human being surviving on nothing but candy and instant ramen—which, no, one cannot do. I may or may not know this from experience.

Likewise, while many species have no problems mixing human food into their diets, other species absolutely cannot. These tend to be the more delicate species or species that rely on diets of items that aren’t edible to a human at all. Sableye, many rock-types, most steel-types, and the sunkern line, for example.

Additionally, it’s entirely possible for members of certain species to acquire the inability to consume certain foods. Cat-like pokémon, for example, may become lactose intolerant after weaning (contrary to popular belief). Not all cat-like pokémon become incapable of consuming dairy, however, so knowing whether or not yours can requires keen observation on your part.

That is perhaps the main thing to keep in mind concerning pokémon nutrition, actually: always observe your team members and take note of their habits, their physiology, and their pokédex entries. While it’s true that larvitar may not consume entire mountains, it’s still sound advice to feed yours a diet rich in minerals. The more you study your own pokémon and information about their species, the better armed you’ll be when it comes to taking care of them.

As for your zorua, in the end, it’s all right to feed her waffles now and then but don’t make it a habit unless you’d like a pudgy zorua with a whole list of regrets.

Why don’t some people name their pokemon? No one gets a cat or a dog and then just calls them cat/dog. Am I the only one who thinks that’s weird?

I’m afraid I can’t speak for everyone, anonymous, but I do know that there are a few popular reasons.

First and foremost, calling a pokémon by its species name discourages some trainers from catching more than one. You can’t very well keep multiple raticate and call them all raticate, after all.

Second—and sometimes in addition to the first—other trainers view giving pokémon names as being equivalent to treating them like pets. Obviously, not everyone shares this viewpoint (either because they don’t feel that a nickname reduces a pokémon to being a pet or because pokémon are pets for some people), but to the trainers who fall under this school of thought, naming something not only marks that pokémon as property but also implies that the pokémon is not sentient enough to choose a name for itself.

Third (or perhaps an extension of the second), some people believe that pokémon are perfectly capable of choosing their own names—and, in fact, have in their own languages—but they prefer for us to refer to them by their species name, rather than their true names. This seems to be the case with some psychic-types and humanoid pokémon.

Fourth and finally, some trainers are fully aware of the fact that they’re not particularly good at naming things.

As for myself, I choose not to name my pokémon because I agree with the third school of thought. Out of respect to them, I’ve chosen to allow them to name themselves, and they’ve opted to stick with their species names.

I’m hesitant to tell you this, but from what your kadabra has told my sister’s claydol, it’s because they believe you’re in the fourth category of trainer. —LH

They think I’m terrible at naming things? What would give them that idea? —Bill

Considering the fact that you live in a cottage by the sea called the Sea Cottage, you’ve invented a machine that teleports things that you call the teleporter, and your first major invention was a means to store pokémon digitally that you call the storage system, I haven’t the faintest idea. —LH

Bill, why is it that trainers can access their pokemon from your PC in pokemon centers but but not from our own PCs at home?

They can, but most people don’t have the hardware for it. Specifically, every pokémon center has a pokémon transport unit consisting of a miniature teleporter hooked up to one or more PCs. Without that unit and a PC capable of connecting to it, there’s no link between the digital cloud and the physical world. It’s possible to have one of these units in your home as well, but unfortunately, teleporters tend to be ridiculously expensive.

And for that, I have to apologize. I wish it wasn’t like that, but there are costs involved. As in, it’s entirely possible to create open source box management software; the tools needed to do so are largely free or things I would own anyway. It’s far more complicated to create something tangible, and thus, I admit I had to seek funding via the Pokémon Cutting-Edge Technology Research Center. Thus, because the hardware was technically built on their premises and funded by their research facility, they own the patent, and I’m only allowed to produce it by consenting to a rather inconvenient clause stating any hardware I invent must be mass-produced on a for-profit basis.

Thus, for perhaps obvious reasons, this contract also stipulates that I’m barred from informing you that if one emails Cassius Cassine, the Kalos administrator, he can provide you with a link through which you can download a PDF of full and clear instructions on building a safe teleporter using cheaper materials than the ones used in the construction of mass-produced transportation units. I am also not allowed to specify that this PDF also includes thorough notes on maintaining such a unit, as home-built units are naturally less durable than mass-produced ones. Likewise, I cannot say that an easy way to get hired as a storage system administrator is showing me proof that you’ve successfully built and maintained for at least a year one such unit. Because pirating is bad, and I am a responsible, law-abiding scientist. Do not email Cassius. You cannot find his email address by Googling it, either.

How accurate are “official” pokedex descriptions? Pokemon are incredible creatures, but I seriously doubt Larvitar can eat an entire mountain, and even if it could, I doubt every single Larvitar has done that just so it can grow.

Yes, admittedly, some of the pokédex entries in the official Regional Dexes are … questionable at best. In some cases, this is because many researchers use aides who are rather young and imaginative. The minimum age for becoming a research assistant in the field of pokémonology is actually about ten due to … odd circumstances a few years ago. That may or may not have involved myself.

In any case, the consequence of this is that older researchers such as Professor Rowan may rely on younger aides to do fieldwork and write up initial observations. This isn’t to say that Professor Rowan never does any work himself; rather, it’s to say that sometimes, the help that he receives to manage otherwise unmanageable amounts of work are, well, students. The Symposium does its best to verify information before approving it for the National Dex, but now and then, odd details can slip by us, unfortunately. That’s why we constantly update the National Dex to the best of our collective abilities.

The other reason why pokédex entries may seem a little off is because the field of pokémonology is well-stocked with rather colorful professors. Take Professor Westwood V, co-inventor of the original Kanto Dex, for example.

…

…I’m not quite sure how one would describe Professor Westwood V, actually.

In other words, yes, if it seems a little unlikely, it probably is, but I can at the very least assure you that all of the information in this pokédex is highly accurate.

Disclaimer: Note that my partner said “highly,” not “completely.” —LH

What causes a pokemon to evolve with an evolution stone I mean like do they have to be touching it for a certain amount of time or something? Say a Pikachu doesn’t want to evolve and comes into contact with a Thunder stone, would it still evolve?

Evolution is a bit of a complicated subject. For the most part, you can’t actually force a pokémon to evolve, even if all conditions are otherwise met. The pokémon must also wish to evolve in order to initiate the process.

Before I say anything more, allow me to clarify that evolution stones contain a form of radiation or energy that can trigger pokémon evolution by physical contact. However, evolution is ultimately a matter of will. A pokémon that does not wish to evolve can actually touch an evolution stone without consequence if they will themselves to remain in one form. Likewise, other pokémon may evolve immediately if they wish to by letting their internal guards down, so to speak.

However, it should be noted that resisting evolution for long periods of time may be stressful to a pokémon, so if yours is clearly attempting to resist, it’s highly recommended that one removes the evolution stone as soon as possible and, if necessary, apply an everstone to absorb the evolutionary energy.

Hey Bill, I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the history of the Ransei region, and I’m wondering what your thoughts on that whole mess are. Any insights? Your editor is naturally free to weigh in.

As a native Johtonian and the son of a kimono girl at that, my thoughts on the Ransei period of our history are … complicated at best. On the one hand, Nobunaga unified the seventeen kingdoms and established the basis for the modern regional boundaries within Kanto, Johto, Sinnoh, Hoenn, and the outlying regions of Japan. On the other, doing so also ushered in a century of war that was only stopped by the burning of the Brass Tower and the departure of Ho-oh. Never mind, of course, his notoriously extreme methods to achieve military success. (It was not unusual for him to desecrate shrines to Ho-oh itself, for example, and this is not something one would ever want to do if they valued their souls.)

Then again, given the fact that the regions of Johto and Kanto both had the unfortunate tendency to erupt into bloody wars every hundred years or so up until that point, Nobunaga wasn’t entirely the worst thing that had ever happened to us. Not only that, but I don’t deny that it was an important part of our history, as well as an important stepping stone towards the interregional harmony our country experiences now.

How did the pokemon numbering system come about? I mean, why are the different pokemon numbered in the first place and why are some evolutionary lines sometimes split by hundreds of entries in between?

For the most part, the number system actually reflects a pokémon’s registration to the International Pokédex, a vast index composed and maintained by a joint effort between the Pokémon League and the Pokémon Symposium. (You may know it better as the National Dex.)

However, it’s certainly not a perfect system, no, and it certainly gets complicated from there.

First, allow me to establish the cardinal rule of register pokémon to the National Dex: in order to register a pokémon with the National Dex, one must come up with definitive proof that a pokémon exists. In some cases, an evolution or a pre-evolution of a pokémon may be harder to obtain than the rest of the line, so the rest of the line ends up getting registered first, and the straggling member or members of the line are registered later, after the link is proven and established beyond a reasonable doubt.

Take the chansey line, for example. While everyone knew about the existence of chansey, blissey, and happiny, it was less understood how they were related. Chansey that breed on their own with compatible partners, without the aid of any external item, only produce more chansey. It was only within the past fifty years that it was discovered that giving the chansey that had gotten their hands on a luck incense before mating would produce a happiny, and only in the extremely recent past has this been done in a controlled environment to prove that a link between the two existed.

Blissey, meanwhile, was connected to the second, unwritten rule of registration to the National Dex: all of them followed a certain order. Putting it another way, the National Dex is the overall pokémon index, but every region has its own Regional Dex, consisting of pokémon either native to the area or that are known to be obtainable using methods best achieved in that region. So, while blissey had always been a known fact, for whatever reason, Kantonians have never been quite as skilled at achieving happiness-based evolutions as Johtonians, and thus, Kanto-raised chansey generally do not evolve into blissey. (Johtonians are, of course, completely unashamed of any comment they make towards Kantonians regarding this matter. Especially in light of everything else Kantonians say about us.) Thus, blissey is registered to Johto’s Regional Dex, but it is not registered to Kanto’s, despite the fact that its previous evolution is considered a Kantonian native.

Here is where the story gets a bit complicated. As I’ve mentioned a moment ago, Regional Dexes get indexed to the National Dex in a certain order, and that order depends on the establishment of the regional Pokémon League. The National Dex, after all, is a joint effort between the League and the Symposium, so without a League present, only a Regional Dex can be maintained for the sake of the scientific community. (Of course, we still know about the pokémon that live in each region. It would be rather preposterous to assume that we don’t. We simply can’t archive them in the official database that trainers rely upon, but they are indeed recognized by the scientific community regardless.) Once a League is established, the region’s own pokédex is added to the list, right where the National Dex left off. Thus, because the National Dex was originally established in Kanto, Kanto’s Regional Dex was archived first, followed closely by Johto’s because Johto shares many of its League resources with its sister region. Thus, blissey, despite being a known evolution of chansey, wound up being indexed over 100 places away from its predecessor.

As for why pokémon are numbered in the first place, it’s essentially for organizational purposes and for the sake of trainers. The pokédex, after all, comes in two modes. The first mode is the full pokédex, and the second is a notes mode, where all of the entries are blank. One of the unspoken duties trainers have is to assist the pokémon research community with their own observations (as battling and training are essential parts of a pokémon’s lifecycle that researchers, unfortunately, often cannot observe for themselves), and thus, the notes mode exists to allow trainers to record their own thoughts on their catches. Numbering each pokémon allows them to get a visual understanding of which pokémon they have and haven’t yet observed.

So I have to wonder, what’s the difference between the naturally occurring elements and the stuff generated by pokemon when battling? For example, Rhydon, as a ground/rock type, is easily defeated by water type attacks, but some of them can swim and ferry trainers on their backs while doing so?? And I can wash my Fennekin just as well as any other pokemon, but a water gun hurts it a lot. Is it just the velocity or is there something inherently different about pokemon moves and the natural stuff?

Well, it depends on the attack and the defending pokémon, really, but for many of the water attacks you’ve described, it quite literally is a matter of pressure. For example, Surf, when used on the battlefield, is the literal raising of a tidal wave and driving it to crash down upon one’s opponent, and Water Gun is a high-powered jet of water, equivalent to being blasted by a fire hose. By contrast, when swimming or bathing, a pokémon is not enduring high amounts of pressure slamming down on it, and thus, its hide is able to withstand contact with it so long as the pokémon in question isn’t exposed to water for days on end.

Putting it another way, a rhydon’s hide is still being eroded by contact with water; it’s just that when it swims, this process happens at a much, much slower pace than when it’s being slammed with a literal tidal wave. Thus, it’s not necessarily hurt by swimming unless its hide is already severely damaged.

Additionally, some attacks make use of elemental energies linked to the pokémon’s unique aura. For example, any attack that glows or causes a pokémon’s body to glow (except for those of the psychic element, which glow as a natural result of exercising one’s own psi abilities) simply involves the channeling of a user’s inner energies in order to generate the attack. Thus, the attack in question is not only composed of literal water but also the essence thereof to create a rather potent combination of elemental force.

So people eat pokemon, I get it, but something bothers me. How do we decide what pokemon to eat? If you come across say a wild Miltank, how do you decide whether it would be better as a partner/team member or as a tasty cheeseburger?

Oh, the answer’s quite simple, anonymous. It’s the same way you would decide whether or not to eat a wild animal. I would presume that every time you come across a deer or a cow, you wouldn’t instantly attempt to slaughter it for its meat, and you wouldn’t cut down every tree you come across for its wood, either. In much the same way, humans look at pokémon and decide for themselves whether to catch it, eat it, or leave it alone for the most part.

Of course, most people eat domesticated pokémon anyway, rather than pokémon found in the wild—meaning you would eat farm-raised miltank or torchic instead of those you encounter in a field. After all, farm-produced pokémon meat (including those from grass-types, which I suppose would be more vegetable-like than meat-like) is typically raised specifically for consumption. Thus, it goes through an approval process to ensure that it’s safe to eat and obtained in a humane manner. Meat you slaughter yourself or obtain from sources that haven’t been officially sanctioned by your country’s agricultural department could be contaminated with any number of diseases or otherwise unfit for human consumption, not to mention you can’t simply slaughter a pokémon and call it humane.

In short, I suppose the answer is even simpler than previously stated: you don’t choose at all unless you’re involved with the pokémon food industry. I suppose you could if you’re a hunter, but although I am not one myself, I would assume that those who go out hunting for pokémon are doing so specifically to find and kill pokémon, rather than to catch them for their teams.