worldisyours | IC Inbox

[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.]

[Rindo walks slowly alongside, watching Gladion's movements with obvious, sympathetic concern. He does at least seem fine to move, but that look he gives him is… Well. This has to be horribly disorienting. Maybe a higher vantage point would help…?]

Um… Didn't wanna just pick you up without asking, but you can ride on my shoulder if you want. I don't mind.

[He stops to meet Gladion's gaze as he speaks. Everything about this is weird, but what else is new? At least Gladion's back now—that's Rindo's primary concern. Call it a habit or an assumption from his time living with Swallow and her housemates, but form changes always did strike him as temporary. It's not like he has faith in it—certainly not enough to make any hollow unprompted attempts at reassuring Gladion that he'll go back to normal soon enough—it's just that, whatever the hell may be going on in this particular instance, the alternative is hard to imagine.]

[Ride on his—?

Like some kid's Fomantis or something. He can't be that small, though.]

I don't even know how heavy I am, [he snorts, mildly taken aback—but only mildly, because he crouches as if to jump up. It's a false start. Like he said, he has no clue how heavy he is, even if he thought he could jump that high on these weird little legs. So instead, he reaches up with a hand, trusting that Rindo will test his weight and perhaps get him up there in some semi-reasonable fashion.]

Really light, actually.

[Does Gladion not remember Rindo picking him up earlier? He wouldn't be surprised, given how weak he was.]

Also… monster strength, remember?

[Anyway. Rindo bends forward and reaches for Gladion's hand at first, hesitates for a moment, and goes for grabbing him under both arms instead. He lifts him up then brings him to his right shoulder, setting him down, leaving his left hand near Gladion's chest until Gladion finds his balance at least. Everything good up here?

…Hm. Maybe he can make this more comfortable? He uses plant control on the long leaf that covers his shoulder, willing it to tense up. A little leafy seat, or a perch, perhaps. Surprise! Rindo can do this now.]

[Mainly I forgot but also he forgot. Everything was such a blur.]

Doesn't necessarily mean it's— [upsie daisie.] —mean it's comfortable to do. [It's a weak protest. He's not going to seriously accuse Rindo of being that uncaring. It does help him not think about what it must look like to be picked up under the arms like this, though. He can imagine it as if he were a Pokemon, it's not that absurd, but it's just...strange to think that that's what he looks like.

Even as he settles down up here. His tail loops down around Rindo's side; it and his feet are very grippy, without applying much pressure.

The both of them are just a regular pair of oddities now, aren't they.]

Between me and Silvally, you could pass for our trainer. As long as I kept quiet.

[His other thought was I feel like some kind of toy and being like a Pokemon is a way way way way way better thought.]

[The Nymph part of Rindo's brain is quite content with Gladion's roots wrapping themselves around him, for some reason. Nice and stable, not going anywhere… No, maybe it's the human part, actually.]

I don't mind it at all.

[Sure, let's go with that. He actually sounds a little pleased. It's really good to be able to talk again like this—a balm to Rindo's heart. He lets out a little laugh at Gladion's analogy.]

Big responsibility. Kinda doubt I'd be up to the task if it was for real.

[He shoots Gladion a sideway glance as they pass through the bramble ring. He closes it back up without even sparing it a look. The sooner they leave, the better. All the tools are already gathered near Silvally—he'd had plenty of time for it.]

…You do kinda look like a Pokémon.

[He guesses, at least. He's only seen three, but it's enough to get a sense of what looks Pokémon-like. Maybe. And he had thought this from the start, but he figures saying it out loud would please Gladion, with how much respect he has for Pokémon.]

[Gladion scoffs at the idea of Rindo not being up to the task. There's a flaw in that reasoning! He'll point it out shortly. For now, Silvally is here, jumping to its feet to get right up in their faces and bonk Gladion with its nose.]

Oomph. [But his arms come right up and give its head a hug, no protest needed. (And no risk of falling off Rindo's shoulder. Grippy!)] Thanks, buddy. [His voice is colored with relief. Silvally is eep peep peeping, having had to contain its relief until Gladion was out of danger. It licks Rindo's temple, too, and plops its butt back down and leans against both of them.]

I need a mirror. What I can see doesn't look like any species I've ever seen, but still...sort of familiar. Somehow. [Scratching Silvally's ears, slightly squished against Rindo's head by the beaft's affection.] Which makes it something I can live with if I have to, I guess. It could be a lot worse.

[Although as he thinks through all the practical implications of being this size and shape every day...the cons are racking up fast.

God he's glad to be back though.]

[No hair eating this time, huh? Rindo wraps an arm loosely around Silvally, welcoming its display of affection with a smile and returning it in kind by way of some well-deserved praise.]

Silvally did amazing. It was watching over you while you were in that pod. It warned me as soon as it noticed you were moving in there, then it took us to the patch way faster than I could have on my own. [Pat, pat.] When I had to go the other day, it went with me.

[Even if Rindo had been trying to hide his gratitude for that last part, he wouldn't have been able to. He owes Silvally and Gladion so, so much, and though his happiness isn't nearly as effusive as the Pokémon's, dulled as it is by Ryslig's constant blows, it's still evident in his expression. Frankly, he would hug Gladion, but with the size difference now it might feel more like trapping him, and he's not going to do that to him of all people. …The current arrangement is close enough anyway!

It sounds a bit like Gladion's trying to convince himself, there, but perhaps that's just Rindo's pessimistic streak speaking. Still, maybe that's the right attitude to have here. Just roll with the punches. What else can you do?

A mirror…]

We could stop by the stream for that.

[Gladion's hands slow as he listens.

If he had his own face right now, the warmth in his chest would show. The warmth isn't without bitterness, but...he's proud. Proud of them both, for stepping up, for staying together.

He pets Silvally between the ears again, with obvious tenderness.]

I can wait until we get back to the house.

[The thought of which ungently returns a memory to him, of an altercation with Ingo.

Suddenly, as if it's just occurred to him:]

Are the twins there? Or—out. Are they alright?

Sure, no problem. I was gonna ask if you wouldn't mind a quick detour for something else. It's not urgent or anything, so it's up to you.

[Then comes the question. It's no surprise, of course, but it makes Rindo's mood tank instantly. Not because the twins aren't all right, but, well. You know.]

I don't think they're home right now, but they're fine.

[No thanks to Rindo. He continues, his voice clearly strained and heavy with baggage. His eyes are fixed on Silvally as he idly scratches the side of its neck.]

A lot happened that I wasn't there to see, but everyone caught me up to speed.

[He lets out a huge sigh. He's not looking forward to it, but he isn't about to leave Gladion in the dark. He knows full well just how disorienting it is to wake up and get told you've missed an entire month, after all.]

…I'll tell you everything on the way back.

[Once both trainer and Pokémon are ready to go, he'll prepare for departure, picking up the tools and motioning to Silvally to let him get on its back.]

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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