worldisyours | IC Inbox

[The sun rises. The fog rolls in.

A few hours later, the staghorn fern in the backyard starts to wobble and bump around. Silvally, in its little shelter, is immediately alert; it darts outside and jumps up, resting its talons on the edge of the roof to watch Gladion, hopefully, emerge.

Again.

Hopefully for good this time.

It also whistles sharply, an excited rising note.]

[Rindo, meanwhile, has been laying awake on his guest room bed in a state of frustrated unease for the past few hours—not well-rested, but far too full of nervous energy to get any extra sleep. Slumber hadn't come easy, knowing the fog would roll in the next day. By pure coincidence, he woke up at sunrise, just in time to watch it happen. This time the fog wasn't brown, at least. This tiny comfort had not been nearly enough to keep his stomach from twisting itself into knots.

Part of him wanted to pack up his few belongings and head back so he could do at least something if Swallow or the others were in danger, but the other was unwilling to leave Gladion unattended. Honestly, though, he doubts he'd be able to make a meaningful difference regardless of where he is, so maybe it's just a moot point. And now that the fog's here, it may be safer to stay put…

His ruminations are interrupted when a familiar cry rises from outside, his ears twitching towards its origin. He's been around Silvally enough by now to have a rudimentary idea of how to decipher its various moods through the noises it makes and… that sounded excited, he's pretty sure.

He wants to hope that means something good is happening for once, but it's all too easy to shut down the feeling. Still, he gets up and walks to the window, opening it and… yup, heading right out. (It's honestly easier and faster to clamber down the side of the house aided by his vines, claws, and grippy roots than to go through the inside and walk down the stairs…)

In no time, he's reached Silvally's shelter, upon which the pod is resting. Or, well, was resting, because right now it looks pretty agitated. Rindo makes sure to greet Silvally before he casts his Nymph senses out at the pod, as he's done so many times in the past few days. And for once, he gets a different reading—what's inside is moving.

Much as he'd like to do something to help somehow, his fear that he'll ruin whatever is going on prevails. His tail vine almost vibrating with anticipation, he stands shock-still by Silvally's side, eyes trained on the pod and hands gripping the edge of the roof. Come on, come out…!]

[Wobble wobble. Wobble wobble.

...

Scratch scratch scratch scratch scratch.

There's noise from inside now too: no voice, but something scraping and slapping insistently at the inner surface of the pod. The pod itself is no longer reinforced by plant control; it's just a fern. With an occupant.

Silvally wiggles anxiously, and tilts its head. Slides a talon closer to the pod, and casts Rindo a glance. Should it...help slice it open, or...?]

[In response to Silvally's silent question, Rindo hisses under his breath, as if too much noise would disturb the pod:]

I-I dunno! Don't ask me!

[Then he puts forward a hesitant claw of his own, but pauses as the pod jolts. He's not going to risk scraping Gladion with that. He really should have clipped them, but… ugh.

…Wait, something's… changed, hasn't it?]

Um, let me try something first…

[Very, very cautiously, Rindo reaches out, but with his plant control this time. He finds the pod far more receptive than during his previous attempts, to his surprise. So he begins to gently, slowly, pry it open, peering into the thin opening as he does…]

[As Rindo starts to peel the pod apart, the movement from within stops.

Through the gap, he'll see...well. It's Gladion, lying on his side on the floor of the pod, one hand propped against the wall of it, as if he was struggling to scratch through the fronds but froze in place to watch a hole open up above him.

The light glints off of his eyes. He squints, winces, and blinks.]

[Rindo's eyes go wide at the sight of the creature inside the pod. Is that really…?]

Gladion…?

[Emboldened by the fact that, seemingly, nothing horrible has happened (…yet?), Rindo continues to carefully part the walls of the pod. By now, the opening is large enough for Gladion to stick either his head or an arm out.]

[Those eyes widen.]

Rindo—

[He scrabbles upright. The motion is unsteady; his head is spinning, lurching, and that strip of light is the only sense he has of the difference between up and down. His limbs feel—wrong.

More wrong. This is already not normal, even though it's—even though he's been here before. In this shape.]

—Hey.

[His tail coils restlessly behind him, writhing like a snake. But ignoring that, staying focused—Gladion reaches an arm up through the gap and clumsily grasps the edge of a frond, pulling himself up.]

[That voice is unmistakably Gladion's. Then it's really as Ingo said—he's changed into some kind of small plant creature… for some reason.

But that doesn't matter right now, because he's finally emerging. Rindo may have slept through most of Gladion's… situation, but even just those few days since his own awakening were more than enough to miss him terribly. Seeing him again, even in this state, is basically the one good thing that's happened since then.]

…H-Hey.

[Rindo returns the greeting, his voice a little wobbly with emotion. As he does, now certain that what he's been doing isn't actually harming his fellow Nymph, he widens the gap even further, such that Gladion has plenty of room to just step out. He'll even extend out a hand for Gladion to grab onto, if he needs help steadying himself. (…Can he even grab things with those weird arms, though?)]

[He can sort of grab things. A hand and a wrist is no problem. It's probably the least of a problem that anything in Gladion's world is right now, honestly, between the urgency and discomfort of his scattered memories and the haze of his interrupted sleep and the horrible, hollow, feeble feeling that's only clawing at him harder once he's turned upright.

He doesn't make it out cleanly or gracefully. His grip on Rindo's hand is tight, but faintly trembling. Silvally leans in to help too, taking his other hand in its beak, and he doesn't step out of the pod so much as let himself be pulled from it. His feet drag over the edge, and fold under him on the roof of the shelter.

His tail does not move with the same feebleness as the rest of him. While he's sitting there, head bowed and eyes closed for a moment, it climbs out of the pod behind him and pours itself down the wall, surging to plant its ends in the soil.]

[Rindo watches as the small creature stumbles out of the pod at last, and he doesn't like what he sees. Gladion can't even stand, and it's hard to tell whether that's due to his feet being roots or sheer exhaustion. The trembling seems to indicate the latter, as does his tail, reaching for sustenance below in a motion that reads as… instinctive to Rindo.

It's easy to draw conclusions from here. Should he really just come out with it right away, though? He knows he wouldn't have taken it well if the first words out of Swallow's mouth upon his awakening had been about feeding, however justified it may have been.

But Gladion looks weak—alarmingly so. Even though he had somehow been on the move in pod form, surely he couldn't have fed like that, right? Which would mean he's way overdue. And in this state, there's no way he makes it to the patch on his own, let alone manages to go through the necessary preparations.

…

So, Rindo has to do it, then. He'd hoped he would not have to go back to that wretched place again so soon. He can at least take meager comfort in the fact that this is just about the most direct way to replay Gladion for his help. Still, he's not going to just… pick him up and go. He's pretty sure Gladion would hate that.

Rindo sighs. He forces calm into his voice when he finally speaks.]

You've been stuck inside that pod for a whole month. ["I was worried," he doesn't say. A short pause, then:] Are you… hungry? If you are, I can prepare the patch for you.

[His hand isn't going anywhere, not as long as Gladion doesn't let go.]

[The last time he crawled out of the pod—the last two times, even—Gladion wasn't really aware enough of himself to really think about the form he'd fallen into. (The first time he looked like this, he thought it was a fleeting joke.)

It's not comfortable.

The itch doesn't distract; it only makes it worse. He feels foolish. Scrutinized. Unable to spare the attention to collect himself up. Haunted by lingering mortification anyways, from what he thinks must have happened just before he fell asleep again.

Incredibly alarmed about a whole month. (His eyes open again, huge, staring at the edge of the roof in front of him.) (Wait, wait—)

And. Oh. Hungry. The question makes him think about feeding, and it hits him so hard he physically shivers. He's hungry. He's very hungry. He must be dangerously hungry, to feel like—

—like, like this.

The fronds along Gladion's head and back flatten down in cold alarm. Part of him starts to spin off in panic as if Rindo hadn't offered anything. Silvally's beak squeezes his other hand gently, reminding the other part what to do.]

I'm hungry. [His voice is thin, like he can only muster a sliver of himself to speak.] Very.

[The answer is expected, but it feels like a punch to the gut all the same. Rindo's ears flatten against his head, mirroring Gladion's fronds, as dread grips his whole body all at once, a merciless vice.

The implication is obvious. This form looks like it could be easily subdued if the worst happened, but appearances can be deceiving and Rindo doesn't trust himself with something this critical.

…It doesn't matter anyway. There's no time to hesitate, and no reason to not at least try to prevent the worst-case scenario.]

I'll be right back.

[He knows he doesn't need to ask Silvally to look after Gladion. He takes off running as fast as he can in the direction of the outdoors freezer, where Ingo had the foresight to store some meat for just such an eventuality. The tools are there, too. Once he reaches his destination, vines and clawed hands gather everything up. In just under two minutes, he's made his way back to the little shelter, his heart racing.]

[Once he starts thinking, he can't stop. Feeding feels good—it's as simple as that. The texture. The chemical composition. He wants to do it again, on conscious and unconscious levels. There's something very wrong with him right now. Is this what it's like? Would he be dangerous to a human in this state?

If he saw a living human right now, what would he do?

...

The thought is bad enough alone (he knows what he would do.) but there's something else at the edge of that thought, and he isn't sure if it's imagination or memory.

Did.

Did he already hurt someone?

Silvally presses its chin down over him. It's his cue to—it's permission to—stay right where he is.

He's in roughly the same position he was before, when Rindo returns. Just folded over himself more tightly, head nearly tucked into his arms, with Silvally practically standing on tiptoe to lay its neck against him.

His tail is still slithering back and forth against the wall like a separate living thing. It's restless, as if trying to scratch an unscratchable itch; its tips claw at the ground over and over without ever properly digging down in.]

[Rindo announces his return in a soft, somewhat out-of-breath voice.]

I'm back. I got everything.

[That tail's movement makes Rindo feels sick because he knows what it's looking for. Not digging down in, because there isn't anything of interest in this soil.

…

…He does not want to have to say this. Well, tough luck.]

Do you think we have time to make it to the patch, or should I set things up here?

[…In his head, it had sounded like a fair thing to ask. Give Gladion some agency (as if he has any), gauge just how dire the situation is (very, he suspects). But now that the words are out, floating on the fog, they feel like some pathetic attempt at dodging responsibility instead. He's really good at that, isn't he?]

[It's not a question Gladion is expecting to hear. It introduces into his head the possibility of feeding sooner, hell maybe even now, and...he can't say no. He's hungry. He could probably make the trip, but he wants it badly enough to shove aside all the very good reasons he set up the patch in the first place. He'll regret it later, but later isn't now.

This is what he's (barely) thinking when his head pops up, his wide eyes fix on what Rindo is carrying, and he starts to shiver visibly. His tail—

—snaps back up and coils around his own body, in one last cringe away from the inevitable. He grabs the end and clutches it tightly to his chest.]

I could—but I'm not certain, I— [Nasty, frantic guilt bubbles up. The trust he's cultivated for Rindo doesn't reach quite far enough to make leaving this to him acceptable. There is nothing noble about this type of camaraderie. Gladion's gaze yanks away from that and scrambles for anything else to focus on. The ground. The sky. Silvally's worried face.] Not—not in the yard. Not in the yard.

[That's the minimum. Saying it, saying that much.]

[And that's all Rindo will ask of Gladion. It's… already too much. With the decision made, he nods grimly. He cannot judge him for it either way. At least Gladion is still in control of himself.

(Privately, Rindo tells himself they'll stop partway if things escalate before they can make it.)

He temporarily places the parcels on the ground to free up his hands so he can pick up Gladion and place him on Silvally's back. Somehow, he's even lighter than he looks.

It's almost funny, how much he doesn't fear Gladion frenzying. It's certainly not due to trust in his own abilities. Perhaps it's Gladion's current form. Perhaps it's because Rindo's mind is too saturated with other things right now-sympathy at the way Gladion's clutching his tail, guilt for ever asking that question, a suffocating sense of responsibility. Or perhaps because he finds it hard to muster a reason why he should care about himself getting hurt anymore.

At any rate, they have to hurry. He picks up the parcels again and gets on Silvally. The weight of his burden makes that a difficult task, and his balance is precarious, but he'll manage… though with his vines busy holding the tools, he can't use them as reins. He's not going to waste precious time fetching the Pokémon's bags.

…He'll just have to hang on with his roots, then. They sprawl across Silvally's underside, gripping its body tight, not digging in (never digging in)—a mesh network, each fractal end a weapon, like holding so many knives to an innocent's neck.

He thinks uneasily back to a past conversation. "We're stronger than it." He can only hope to be worthy of Silvally's trust.

When it looks like Gladion's ready to go, Rindo will ask Silvally to run to the patch at full speed.]

[And so it does, sides heaving with exertion under his roots.

Gladion has his face buried in Silvally's feathers the whole way, arms slung around its neck, tail looped tightly around himself. It's relatively easy to endure, in silence and stillness. To have no other option. He can't want what doesn't exist yet.

He doesn't move from the spot once they arrive, either. As long as he stays still, his hunger will keep its shape inside him. Once he remembers he can reach for things, there's no telling what he'll do.]

[Rindo does his best to hang on, and finds that he has a surprisingly easy time staying upright and stable despite the burden he's carrying. Maybe it's the roots putting his body into "tree mode", or the extra weight ensuring he doesn't fly off when Silvally passes over rough terrain. Perhaps both.

The whole time, he keeps watch over Gladion's small, prostrated form, looking for any signs of movement, especially from his tail—but he stays near perfectly still. If Rindo didn't know better, he might have assumed Gladion was asleep. Wouldn't that be nice.

The moment they arrive at the patch, Rindo goes into action. He retracts his roots and slides off the Pokémon, then runs toward the bramble wall and parts it in the same breath. Once he's on the other side, he tosses the parcels unceremoniously to the ground and hands himself the gloves and the shovel.

Time is of the essence. He should probably make a smaller ring than usual. The remains won't be as spread out, but Gladion's smaller… as long as his roots can do their thing, surely it'll be fine?

Rindo lets out a frustrated grunt. Just… just start digging. Stop waffling over pointless details.

His handiwork is very much rushed. He spares only a few worried glances at Silvally and its quarry throughout. A few minutes later, only vaguely satisfied with the results of his digging, he rushes over to the parcels, opening them and spreading their contents around as evenly as he can manage. …Hard to tell whether this feels better or worse than doing it when you're hungry. They're both terrible, anyway. Then, finally, he covers everything back up. It's sloppy work, but he can't make Gladion wait any longer.

He heads back out of the patch, where Silvally is waiting. He gives it a grateful nod before stepping around to its side to address its rider.]

It's ready.

[His voice sounds too loud in his ears.

He doesn't wait for a response. He picks up Gladion again, then carries him gently into the patch before placing him in the center and stepping back, clear of the ring. It's all up to him now…]

[The moment Gladion touches the ground, he explodes into motion.

Frantic, twitching, scrabbling motion. He unfurls and dives at the ground, hands scratching up the loose dirt, tail lashing like a whip until it strikes and pierces the soil. And then it jerks, spasmodically, sinking into the earth; ahead of it he crouches low and kneads at the dirt like a cat until black and brown and red and pink flecks dot his arms and his face and he's buried up to his (now unsheathed) thorns.

He calms after that. There's a few errant twitches from his tail, pulling back against the ground's grip as if it will draw up his meal faster. Nymph feeding is as slow as ever. Every few minutes, a pale little rootlet will surface somewhere along the ring and burrow right back down again. Every few more minutes, Gladion stirs, pushing his hands through the dirt before him in a sort of gently dutiful manner, until he unearths some wet pink scrap. These he plants one paw on directly, leans his weight onto it, and sways faintly back and forth.

And so it goes.

The first sign of a return to normal is a sigh. He's not quite done yet, but he's already exhausted his supply of pieces in front of him to paw morbidly at. And there's an intentionality to the sigh, a lucid emotion that doesn't need words.]

[The flurry of movement half-startles Rindo. He can't say it's a surprise, though. He stares, transfixed, slow-moving thoughts colliding against each other as the inertia of urgency wears off.

Part of him is glad that he made it in time, that the ring is at least decent enough for Gladion to feed, that his friend has returned and will—presumably—be okay. (Don't take your eyes off him, lest he disappear again.)

Another part finds this a voyeuristic spectacle. He should look away.

A yet more distant part takes satisfaction in watching a fellow Nymph feast to their heart's content. Like caring for a plant, ensuring its safe growth.

It's that last thought, ultimately, which drags Rindo away from the patch to hug Silvally, whispering words of gratitude into its neck.

…

By the time Gladion comes to, Rindo has sat down outside the patch by the still-open bramble wall, leaning on Silvally. He's spent most of the time with his awareness half tuned into the plant signals around him—as usual, a convenient way to while away the time detached from… unpleasant feelings.

His ears twitch when they pick up on the little sigh. Break time over, then. He stands up, gives Silvally a parting pat, then reenters the patch, each step slow and heavy. He pauses some distance away from Gladion, far enough that he doesn't need to look down to have him in his field of vision.]

…Hey.

[It's a quiet greeting, one that doesn't demand any immediate answer.]

Hey.

[Just as quiet right back. He's tired. (Emotionally, not physically.) Coming back up from half-consciousness, reattaching meaning to memories, feelings to actions. There's no room for horror when he's been perfectly aware of what he's doing, and is only just remembering now that it's unusual. It's the kind of resignation with which you remember you left your laundry in the dryer three hours ago.

...It was good. He feels nourished.]

Thanks for taking care of things.

[Tired, tired, tired.]

[Maybe it should feel good to hear that—to have repaid Gladion. It doesn't, not really. At best it makes Rindo feel… less bad.]

…Had to repay the favor.

[…]

…Let me know when you're good to go back. There's… a lot I need to catch you up on.

[Tired. Resigned. As if he's come through the other side of revulsion already, so completely transformed in body and mind that there's just no point resisting anymore. And that's disgusting. But it's true. And to survive as a monster, you have to face reality.]

I'm... [Ugh. He's a mess, isn't he? When he looks himself over to check, he barely knows what he's looking at. Feet? Hands? His weight is all wrong; he's not even sure what shape his head is, just that his field of vision is strangely broad. Gladion squints down at his hands and slowly, clumsily withdraws from the soil.] I don't need to hang around. You weren't...?

[Hungry. He just figures, since they're here, Rindo might have wanted to get himself set. Or maybe he already did? Or, on second thought, maybe they're offset because of Gladion's absence. That would make sense. He closes his eyes and gives his head a little clearing shake.]

[It's funny. Gladion's been in this form for a month, but Rindo, who's only even been aware of it for days, is more used to it than he is. Had plenty of time to stare at it while Gladion was attending to his needs. It kind of reminds him of a travel form, but… Who gets stuck in a travel form? Not that he would know how those actually work…

…Anyway.]

I'm good. I took care of it a few days ago.

[Truth be told, he had considered feeding again to top himself off after all his plant control practice, but… Without hunger or adrenaline to get him through the setup process for himself, he'd ended up giving up.]

Can you walk?

[He's peering at Gladion's small roots now, extracted from the soil. No longer having feet to stand on… Rindo's quite familiar with that particular issue.]

I can walk. [Easy answer. He has. Just...] Not well, but.

[Well enough. He just lifts his arms, leans a little, and...it's a little wobbly, and not fast, but he can walk. And his plant sense is keener than ever, pointing the way to the exit.

On the way there—he looks up at Rindo. And he has to crane his neck back to look up that far. The blank surprise, the confusion over how different the space between them is, is bright on even his new, alien face.]

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, RINDO KANADE. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 4.28.13.9 * rindragon** has joined 4.28.13.9