Aaron’s Pokemon
- Artoria (Kirlia)- Jeanne (Flaaffy)- Durvasa (Primeape)- Magellan (Chikorita)- Larvesta!!! (Larvesta)
Entree 5.14
Aaron FulanLavaridge Town
Lavaridge Gym used to be a ground type gym. The gym leader before Marcus Moore was an unremarkable man whose sole lasting contribution to the town had been the digging of new onsens. He was, as they liked to say, “as steady as the earth,” which really meant that he was about as noteworthy as well.
It showed in the way the gym had been set up. From the outside, it looked exactly like any other Japanese compound, a modern building built with traditional aesthetics in mind. The expansive front lawn had been converted into a hot sand bath, where several camerupt lounged around lazily. Clearly, Leader Moore hadn’t seen fit to renovate much.
Rather than head inside, Artoria and I hung out in their front yard for a bit. Larvesta, name still pending, had a blast wallowing in the heated sand. Judging from my limited understanding of pokespeak and the flares of emotional aura from the nearby numel, our littlest baby had made friends.
I scheduled the battle online so this was the first time I’d set foot here. The front yard led into a small waiting area that reminded me of the lobby of a Japanese bathhouse. It was manned by a young girl, about a year or two my senior.
She was quite pretty. She had large, expressive, brown eyes and crimson hair darker than any natural ginger in my old world. She kept her bangs swept to her right and the rest of her hair in a messy ponytail that fanned out in every direction. With an athletic figure and a black crop-top that didn’t match the traditional decor, I knew immediately who I was looking at.
Flannery, Marcus Moore’s granddaughter, had been doodling on a notebook in front of her, her head cradled on one hand. The sliding door clacked shut behind me, alerting her to my presence.
It was like watching a demonic possession, if the victim was possessed by the spirit of a pop princess cheerleader. The bored, apathetic look on her face was gone in an instant, replaced by a beaming smile as bright as the sun.
“Hi there! Are you here for the pokemon onsen or the–Is that a larvesta?” Flannery shouted, cutting herself off. She didn’t wait for an answer. She vaulted over the counter with a cooing smile. “Ooh You’re so cute”
I palmed her face and held her at arm’s length. “Yes, and you’re making her uncomfortable. Please stop that.”
“Sorry! I get so excited when I see rare fire types. She’s really small.”
“That’s because she was literally born yesterday.”
“Aww~ Can I hold her?”
I clutched Larvesta tighter. “Absolutely not. You can cuddle the kirlia instead. She’s cute, right?”
‘Please do not use me to distract teenage girls,’ Artoria said flatly.
Flannery looked at my starter as if seeing her for the first time. Given her fixation on fire types, that might really have been the case. “Ooh, you have a kirlia? Will she be the one battling? I hope you’re not planning on putting a newborn into a gym battle.”
“Of course not. Pokemon grow fast, but not that fast. I was hoping I could pick Leader Moore’s brain about a training regimen for my larvesta. It’s why I decided to make Lavaridge my next stop, because I knew she was close to hatching.”
“Great plan. Grandpa will have loads to tell you. I’m Flannery, by the way.”
“Aaron Fulan. I’m his nine o’clock.”
I heard the sound of a sliding door behind the counter. An elderly man, short with age, stepped through. Though his hair was gray, he had an inner strength that made Artoria perk up. “Ah, you must be Sharon’s boy, the swordsman.”
I bowed politely. There were very few people who could claim to have taught mom a thing or two and he was on that list. “Hello, Leader Moore. I’m here for my fourth badge.”
“So formal. Just call me Marcus, boyo; everyone else does,” he said with a jovial laugh. “And yes, I’d be happy to talk to you about that larvesta of yours.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
He eyed me with a sharp, discerning gaze. “Hmm… How old are you, Aaron?”
“Thirteen, sir. I’ll be fourteen in a month.”
“Ah, and Flannery only just turned fifteen. I’m getting on in years and it’s about time for her to take on more duties around here.”
“You’re still a spry old man, gramps,” she said dryly.
“Hmm? And here I thought you wanted to battle? The ‘fun part of being a gym leader,’ you called it.”
“Wait, me? Now? But I’ve never done it before.”
“Why not? You’re about the same age. If that kirlia is anything to go by, I reckon your pokemon should be about the same strength as well. How about it, Aaron? Would you mind letting my granddaughter oversee your challenge?”
I grinned eagerly. The chance to learn from a man like Marcus Moore was great, but so was the chance to battle a new rival. “That sounds perfect, sir.”
“Excellent, follow me, then.”
Flannery and I followed him inside. The main hall separated into several corridors but we were led straight and back outside. Here, the compound formed a ring of patios that surrounded a regulation-sized battlefield.
Marcus took a seat at the halfway point between the two trainer boxes on a comfy-looking lawn chair. He released two pokemon, a gorgeous ninetales and a brawny magmortar. Together, they worked to forge the customary psychic barrier. They weren’t psychics, but given they were some of his oldest and most powerful pokemon, their exact typing was a moot point.
“U-Um… Good luck,” Flannery said. Gone was the chipper girl I’d just met, replaced by a timid bundle of nerves. She fiddled with the pokeballs on her hips, obviously not sure about what to do.
“You’ve got this,” I coached her. I’d been there before, during my first kendo tournament. “Treat this like you’re already a full-fledged gym leader. Be bold, you’re the boss here.”
“R-Right!” She took a deep breath. “W-Welcome! No, wait! I mean… You’ve arrived, puny trainer!”
I eyed her with amusement. She was a year older than me, and girls did grow faster than boys, but she had maybe half an inch on me. Two, if you counted her high ponytail. “Really? You’re not very tall, either. Try again. A declaration like that is only cool if it’s true.”
Her face flushed red and stammered. “I-I’m in charge here.”
I placed a hand on her shoulder and shook my head in mock disappointment. “That was weak. Pathetic, even. Like a bowl of melted ice cream. Again!”
“I’m in charge here!”
“Are you? I’m not sure anyone would put you in charge of a pet rock. Again! Like you mean it!”
“I’m in charge here!!”
“Did I walk into Steven Stone’s rock museum? Boring~ I thought this was a fire type gym! Not good enough! More gumption! More spirit! Who are you?”
“I’m Flannery Moore and I’m the gym leader!”
“I don’t believe you~ Show me the Will of Fire! Like you fucking mean it!”
“I-I’m not–I don’t think I–”
I curled my arms in front of me and flexed like Shia LaBeouf. “Just! Do! It!”
“I’M FLANNERY MOORE AND I’M THE GYM LEADER!”
“OOH-RAH!”
“OOH-RAH!” she shouted from her core, loud enough to make any crayon-munching marine proud. “I’M THE LAVARIDGE GYM LEADER AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE BURNED!”
She wasn’t even looking at me anymore, just pumping her fist and shouting at the sky. Her face was beet red from exertion, so much so that her hair blended perfectly with her skin. If I hyped her up anymore, I might win via a burst artery.
I couldn’t help it. I cracked up. “Hahahaha!!!”
She froze as if an articuno had personally dropped a loogie down her shirt. Her face was red before. Now, it was atomic. Her arms fell to her sides like a machine that lost power. “Y-You! You’re making fun of me!”
“A little, but you were so into it,” I chuckled. “You’re the type to get sucked into the flow of things, huh?”
“You… You’re a jerk!”
“You’re not nervous anymore, right?”
“W-Well… You’re still a jerk!”
“Of course.” I turned to Marcus, who’d been happy to watch my little pep talk. “There are cameras here, right?”
His eyes took on a teasing glint. “Of course. All gym challengers are free to request a recording of their battle to improve themselves.”
“No!” Flannery gasped in horror. “Grandpa!”
“Hmm? I thought it was lovely. You were so excited. The ‘Will of Fire’ was it?”
“Nope. No. I’m the gym leader now. New policy. Recordings begin only after the match starts.”
“But pre-game banter is important,” I pointed out. “You can learn a lot about a person by how they approach a challenge.”
“And I learned that I want to set you on fire,” she glared. It was somewhat ruined by her tomato-red blush.
“Hehe, alright, fine. I’m sorry for teasing you. But really. Relax and enjoy the battle, yeah?”
She blew a raspberry, filled with the dignity of a gym leader of course. With a huff of annoyance, she stomped to her end of the battlefield.
“Well, you’ve certainly lit a fire under her,” Marcus said with a jovial grin. “I hope you’re ready, Aaron. She doesn’t look like she’s going to hold back much.”
I nodded happily. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
I tossed Magellan’s ball and he emerged to the side. He was technically battle-ready, but I didn’t want to toss him into the deep end so soon. We hadn’t had the chance to mesh together and his first battle really shouldn’t be against a fire type expert like Flannery. Besides, the fourth badge was conventionally three-on-three.
He accepted Larvesta with two vines and placed her atop his head. He began to croon softly as his leaf wafted soothing aromas around her. For all his size and fierceness, I’d found that he was actually quite good at being the nurturing older brother.
My mini-dino ambled off towards the stands. Larvesta had learned that the tasty-smelling leaf wasn’t food but happily wove a silk harness for herself so she wouldn’t fall off. I planned to turn it into an effective String Shot in the near future.
With a mental nudge, Artoria stepped onto the field. “Be careful. She does have a year on us.”
‘Of course, my lord. I will make you proud.’
‘You already do.’
“Kirlia, huh?” Flannery mumbled, just loud enough for us to hear. She pitched her pokeball as if she stood on a baseball mound. “Come on out, Volk!”
I blinked in surprise as a magmar took the field. That was a cut above what I’d expected. I’d expected a numel, or maybe a slugma. My plan had been for Artoria to clean house with the weakest of Flannery’s team, leaving her ace for Duravasa so he could get his time to shine.
A magmar was not a pokemon to take lightly. Though it was a mid-stage pokemon, rangers considered it a one-’mon environmental disaster when one wandered from their usual haunts. Unlike most fire types that had to breathe or conjure fire, their entire bodies were perpetually shrouded in flames. Ranged assault was just about the only reliable way to take one down.
Needless to say, that was the exact opposite of Artoria’s fighting style. I could switch out. As the challenger, I had the freebie. ‘You sure you want this one? Jeanne would be better for a magmar.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ she replied, aura burning with resolve. ‘If I only pick battles that favor me, how will I ever match up to my father?’
‘Well said. Give them hell.’
‘I intend to.’
Marcus Moore recited the expected rules with a genial smile. There was no need for true formality, not when both Flannery and I had grown up around gyms.
The battle began without a word from either of us. Both Volk and Artoria were prime examples of their species, skilled enough to have a clear opener. Volk immediately breathed out a plume of smoke, covering his side of the field in a thick layer of smog.
At the same time, Artoria’s spoon filled with psychic energy until it reflected the sunlight with an unearthly gleam. She burst forward, the ground cratering beneath the explosive Mana Burst.
At a guess, Flannery’s magmar preferred to fight at range and planned to snipe Artoria from afar using Smokescreen. Good plan, there wasn’t much that wanted to trade fire with a magmar. She’d forgotten to account for Artoria’s natural empathy, though.
My little knight zeroed in on her quarry like a pastel-green missile, her face locked in an adorable mask of concentration. She brought her spoon down unerringly towards Volk’s head. The psychic shell around the spoon erupted like a miniature grenade. The noise was halfway between a shattered window and a pistol shot.
“Mag!” it, he, yelped in pain as he was sent ass over teakettle. No matter how durable he was, he’d be nursing a hell of a goose egg.
She made to follow up but fell into a coughing fit as she breathed in a lungful of smoke. ‘P-Poison! How ignoble!’
‘No such thing. Make yourself a facemask and get out of there,’ I ordered. Flannery was grinning like a loon, way too comfortable for someone whose pokemon just got beaned on the head with a bomb on a stick.
Before she could respond, Volk had already recovered. His blunted claw dug into the ground, righting him in an instant. He breathed out a burst of flame that reminded me of a crossbow bolt.
The mini fire bolt was weak. Bolt-shaped or not, it was still fire; it simply couldn’t be condensed to pack proper, penetrative mass, at least not at our level. But it was also blisteringly fast, faster than a fireball had any right to be. If anything, its speed rivaled Jeanne’s Thundershocks.
Artoria teleported away just in time. The bolt met the smoke and the smoke blew up in a massive conflagration. Fighting spirit be damned, had Artoria been inside that cloud, the battle would have ended then and there.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked with my jaw dropped. It wasn’t often someone my age surprised me.
“Firebolt,” Flannery said. Her usual, cheerful grin had a distinctly malicious lean. “Like it?”
“That… That had to be methane gas laced into the Smokescreen.”
“Clever. Yeah, it was. What about it? Volk, let’s set the stage! Flare Mines!”
Volk the magmar pursed his lips and began to make spitting motions. Yet, he spat nothing. Or rather, he appeared to spit nothing. Last I checked, pure methane wasn’t visible to the naked eye.
‘Keep on guard. Evade and look for an opportunity,’ I told Artoria, projecting a brief mental image of what I wanted from her.
She wordlessly divided herself into six copies, each with a perfect replica of her glowing spoon. As one, they split off to dance around the edges of the battlefield.
They moved in concert but Volk fired multiple darts in rapid succession, dispelling the clones one by one. Flannery’s magmar reminded me a lot of Jeanne. Smokescreen instead of Electric Terrain. Firebolt instead of Shock Wave. His fire rate was lower, but those invisible pockets of explosive gas made sure each bolt hit like a grenade.
Artoria dealt with Volk the same way she dealt with Jeanne. The moment he finished off the clones, she teleported behind him, sword poised to strike. That was exactly what Flannery wanted.
“Volk! Burst!” she shouted.
“Mag-mar!” he roared.
He brought his hands together in a dull clap. A single cinder erupted from his hand. At the same time, he breathed out heavily, shrouding himself in methane. For an instant, I wondered how much practice it’d taken to be able to toggle between fire and gas so swiftly.
Then, the predictable happened. The cinder ignited the gas that draped over the magmar like an invisible raincoat. I watched, mouth agape as the crazy bastard literally chose to blow himself up before Artoria’s spoon could land.
The result was an explosion that launched both pokemon like ragdolls. Though they both looked bruised, I had a feeling my knight had come off the worse in that exchange. Volk could easily ignore the thermal aspect of the explosion so he’d only been a bit bittered rather than singed.
He recovered first. And, still on his hands and knees, he pursed his lips and shot out a single Firebolt towards Artoria.
Her sword shimmered with the telltale glimmer of Light Screen, perfect for slapping the bolt aside. Except, that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to hit her, just the Flare Mine that he’d seeded earlier.
She blew up again, bouncing like a stone skipped across a lake.
‘I have found someone more frustrating than Jeanne,’ Artoria grumbled in my mind. She was far from finished, but only Norman’s zangoose had pressed her this hard before.
‘Again. Clear the field,’ I replied, sending my instructions directly into her mind. ‘Bait and switch.’
‘Deceit has its place sometimes. Durvasa taught me that.’
‘Good. Let’s do this, Artoria.’
‘As one, my lord.’
She nodded and split with Double Team once more.
“That trick again? It didn’t work the first time,” Flannery called.
Still, we persisted. My vision blurred. I still saw the field from the trainer box, but another part of me, a fragment of my consciousness, was housed in Artoria. I saw as she saw, stepped as she stepped.
Artoria and her clones used Mana Burst to bounce like a crack-addled lopunny as Volk rained Firebolts across the battlefield. The zigzag pattern helped her cover a lot of horizontal area and we quickly learned the downside of her Flare Mines: Volk couldn’t decide when to pop them. Holding the mines in condensed shape rather than flooding the field with methane was already the limit of his minor psychic affinity.
When an open flame came into contact with the gas, it exploded, even if the bolt barely grazed the gas pockets. That gave her the chance to dodge, or to discern where the mines were based on Volk’s firing patterns. And if he wanted to replenish them, he’d have to stop firing to breathe more methane.
Slowly, the two of us worked out where the mines were. This time, we had two extra clones alongside Artoria. They broke into a sprint towards the magmar, only for the air to explode near two clones, dispelling them in a burst of sound and flame.
“Did you think we wouldn’t know what you’re doing? It’s obvious!” the fiery ginger shouted.
“You’ll just lie about the route, eh?” I laughed. I was really enjoying this, an opponent with real strategy. She was head and shoulders above most trainers I’d met so far.
We watched as first one, then the other clones were dispelled. I gasped in shock as the last kirlia blew up.
Then, I allowed a wicked smirk to spread over my face. The smoke cleared, revealing only one pokemon on the field. Volk turned around, wary of a blow via Teleport. Yet, no strike came.
“W-What? Where did she go?” Flannery asked.
“Sorry, she’s taking a potty break,” I shrugged ambivalently. “You know how it is. When a gal’s gotta tinkle, a gal’s gotta tinkle.”
“You’re gross. Kirlia can’t dig, so where… Whatever. Don’t waste a moment, Volk. Gas up and flood the field. We’re going to make them regret giving us this time!”
Her magmar took in a deep breath to do just that. Then, just as he began to breathe out, Artoria leapt from his shadow with a defiant shout.
He reeled in surprise, only for my kirlia to plug his mouth with her sword. It looked patently ridiculous, a four foot tall magmar literally being spoonfed by a kirlia half his size. But silliness aside, it placed her in the prime position to abuse his gimmick.
“Now, detonate!” I shouted, laughing.
Artoria’s smile was all teeth. For someone whose species fed off positive emotions, she had as much battlelust as a primeape. A single spark raced along the edge of her spoon, directly into her opponent’s mouth.
The spark ignited the methane before he could breathe out. With the gas contained as it was, Volk took the full brunt of the resulting explosion. He was blasted off the bowl of her spoon like a rocket. He slammed into the psychic barrier in front of Leader Moore’s magmortar before slumping to the ground.
I supposed that was to be expected. Fireproof or not, that much concussive force from directly in the head had to have rocked his brainbox something fierce.
“That… What the hell was that?” Flannery gawked. It felt nice. This time, it was her turn to be surprised.
“Shadow Sneak. Like it?” I threw her words back at her with a smug smirk.
“She can teleport! Why would she learn a second movement technique?”
“So she can do this, duh.”
“You did great, Volk,” she said. Grumbling, she returned her magmar. She palmed her second pokeball. “Alright, I’ll give it to you; that was clever. But let’s see how you deal with this! Go, Dribble!”
I wanted to laugh at the name, but I couldn’t. “Dribble” wasn’t some unknown fire-water hybrid. No, she was a fucking houndoom, curling ram horns and rib-like protrusions all.
“Why Dribble?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“She used to dribble spit everywhere when she was a houndour,” Flannery chirped happily. “She ruined so many of my clothes.”
“Ah… Fair enough.” Then, in my mind, I addressed Artoria. ‘We still have a switch, you know.’
‘I would like to continue, my lord,’ she said, voice unwavering despite her obvious exhaustion. ‘I know that this is not the tactically sound decision, but if you would allow it, I wish to test myself before a powerful dark type.’
‘You’re likely not going to win this.’
‘A knight does not fight because she is assured of victory. She fights because her resolve carries her forward.’
I shook my head with wan acceptance. ‘Fine, acquit yourself well, my knight.’
‘Thank you, my lord. I intend to.’
“Are both trainers ready?” her grandfather called. At our nod, he gave a leisurely wave. “Then begin!”
Flannery pumped her fist, or rather her whole body. She was grinning ear-to-ear. “Let’s go, Dribble! Flamethrower!”
The houndoom snarled and let loose a torrent of flame that spread wide. Unlike Volk the magmar, it seemed Dribble preferred the “spray ‘n’ pray” method. And, to her credit, it was highly effective as an area denial technique.
‘Houndoom fire will leave burns that last,’ I cautioned as Artoria leapt out of the way. ‘You can’t afford to take even one hit.’
‘Understood, my lord,’ Artoria said.
The battle devolved into a game of cat and mouse. Artoria couldn’t afford to keep teleporting around so she stuck to minor uses of Mana Burst to propel herself around the field. Meanwhile, Dribble bathed the field in flames that sent stinging smoke into the air.
I wracked my mind for a path forward. Artoria could make psychic type blades using Reflect or Light Screen. She had Shadow Sneak and Fire Punch. She also knew Magical Leaf, not that she’d ever use the ranged attack even if it could earn her a win.
Contesting a houndoom with a kirlia’s Fire Punch was madness. Ghost type energy was of little use here. Of course, psychic energy fizzled out against the dark type’s fur. And unlike the poochyena we’d faced in Sootopolis so many months ago, this wasn’t an opponent she could club silly with raw force and good technique alone.
No. In the first place, there was only one course of action. It wasn’t quite ready to debut, but… ‘You’re going to have to do it.’
‘So I’ve gathered,’ she replied dryly. Her sword shimmered, not with psychic aura, but that of the eldritch fae.
Psychics were structured and ordered. The mind was a bastion and sanctuary in equal measure. Even emotions were things that were intimately familiar building blocks of one’s psyche.
Not so with fairy type aura. It was the embodiment of mystery. It was the myriad possibilities, and the changes they brought forth.
This was perhaps why fairies favored the moon so much. On one hand, it was just a hunk of rock, no different than any other. On the other hand, it was the illuminator of mysteries and the catalyst for change, the celestial body that perfectly encapsulated everything the fae held dear.
For a long time, Artoria distanced herself from this aspect of her natural typing. The whimsy and chaos were anathema to the rigid code of chivalry she followed. It was only recently that she’d come to accept this part of her. The Gardevoirite helped, certainly, but in my opinion, it was Durvasa and Jeanne who pushed her towards this state.
My chest burst with pride as her sword glimmered like spun moonlight. Lunar Edge, we’d chosen to call it, an equal and opposite to the Mana Edge she favored. It wasn’t perfect; I could see the fluctuations that told of shaky control, but it was here.
The houndoom met her charge with Fire Fang, no doubt confident in her ability. She was right to be; she had every advantage, including physical strength and size.
My little knight did not stagger. Just as the houndoom’s jaws closed on her, she took a half-step to the right, ever so slightly out of the line of attack. The houndoom’s flames licked at her and her fangs singed her hair, but Artoria guided the trajectory of the attack with the bowl of her spoon.
Then, the moment she was out of the line of attack, her spoon lashed out with a vicious strike to the joint of her opponent’s forelimb. The burst of fae aura sent the massive hound sprawling with a satisfying crack.
I beamed with the delight only a teacher could feel. What Artoria did was an adaptation of uchiotoshi, a risky counterattack seldom performed in kendo, followed immediately by kote, a strike to the hand. Well, elbow in this case. Both techniques had to be modified against a quadrupedal opponent, especially one that was twice her height, but she’d executed it flawlessly.
She didn’t let up. Spirit burning bright, she gave chase and forced the houndoom in close quarters. It was a risky proposition, but this was ultimately all we knew how to do. As Chaz said, we were sword-idiots. There was only one way we solved problems: by cutting through them.
Several minutes later, Artoria fell, completely gassed from the exertion. In the end, Dribble the houndoom had been too much for her to bear.
But damn it, she’d made her presence felt. Poisonous smog was stepped over on platforms of psychic energy. Every bite was met with a Lunar Edge to the snout. Every painful burn was repaid with an equally vicious strike to the joints.
Halfway through the battle, Flannery had simply stopped giving orders, awed by a kirlia who danced circles around a houndoom through skill and elegant footwork alone. Even Marcus leaned in to watch more closely.
Dribble panted in exhaustion as my kirlia finally slumped unconscious. She favored one side and her face and forelimbs were covered in weeping cuts that ached with eldritch aura. Her horn had been chipped. Her bone growths were cracked from the force of Artoria’s retribution.
I returned Artoria with a proud smile. Nothing else needed to be said. This was my knight, my bullheaded, sword-idiot knight whose idea of a good time was clubbing a hellhound silly.
Author’s Note
If you’ve never played Omega Ruby/Alpha Sapphire, the MC is the first challenger Flannery ever takes on as a gym leader. This chapter is a callback to that.
Flannery has a magmortar in the Pokemon World Tournament in BW2. This is that magmortar. I said this when I discussed my headcanon for how Toxic Boost works with Norman’s zangoose, but it’s a little silly to expect every poison type move to behave the same across species.
In the case of magmar, I decided that one thing it can do differently is breathe out methane gas. Methane is a natural gas released by geothermal events, though a minor component. It is flammable, odorless, and colorless. Magmar have a pretty decent psychic ability and can learn things like Psychic, or even Teleport, though Volk can’t tele-frag people (yet).
Animal Fact: Orchid mantis nymphs do not look like flowers. They are actually born looking reddish brown, kind of like an assassin bug. They only start to gain their floral colors and distinct, petal-shaped bulges on their legs after the first molt. The funny part is that the color isn't the big deal because insects see the world differently than we do.
Insects can see in UV light. Bees know, for example, that flowers absorb UV light. And yes, so does the pigment of an orchid mantis. Coupled with chemical cues, the mantis is sometimes more favored by pollinators than real flowers. They aren't trying to blend into the background as much as stand out so much that there is no distinction between them and a flower.
Oh, and they smell like sex. Apparently, juvenile orchid mantises exude the sexual pheromones of oriental honeybees.