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…Trying to. I don't think it's working.

[Or if it is, he's not paying attention to the right thing.

…]

How did it feel? The first time, I mean. Like, did you have to do it on purpose or did it just… happen?

[He's being very vague but he doesn't exactly have a frame of reference for this stuff, and Gladion seems to have figured out what he was attempting to do, so…]

The first time...

[He has to think about that for a second. He remembers experimenting with it clearly, but what happened before that, to clue him into it...]

We were living in town then. Our very first fog after coming back from Felfri...with all the talk about how changes worked, I was on edge all day waiting for something to happen. And in the middle of it, it just...switched on. [He kind of lifts a hand to gesture? Or tap lightly sort of? at his temple, but, like, it's not important tbh.] No other changes before that, so I didn't know what I was...hearing, at first. It wasn't actually sound, it was a different sense entirely, but it was like hearing. Eventually I realized it would get louder whenever I got close to a tree or a garden bed...which narrowed the options right down.

[Rindo takes in the explanation, a thoughtful look on his face. It's good to know it can work even in a city. Surely the house garden will do? That way he can test if he has… it, whenever.]

Must've been weird, having that as your first change… […Is it any weirder than getting the physical stuff first, actually?] Well… Probably. [Worries he's said something wrong, somehow. Transforming is…

It's a lot. The scariest thing he's ever experienced, even. So it's hard to discuss it with someone else without feeling like an elephant in a china shop, even the most innocent word holding the potential to remind someone of something they'd rather not think about. (…Like Joshua, bringing up murder and feeding like he's talking about the weather.)

As an out, both for himself and for Gladion, Rindo quickly adds:]

What are you… "hearing" right now? Maybe I can pick it out if I know what to look for.

[Gladion hums noncommittally, mentally orbiting the memory of Ingo exploding into blood on that very day. And the thought that he should say something about that. But it's hard to pick one thing to say about it.]

Could have been worse.

[But. You know. Anyways. His ears flick very slightly, as if to listen, at the cue.]

Hmm. That's the biggest problem with it—it's hard to describe exactly what I'm sensing. They don't make words for this. [...] Every plant has its own...signal, you could say. And that signal changes when something happens, like...someone walks past, or a storm rolls in. But—for me, anyways—I never automatically knew what those changes meant. Some things are obviously good, or bad, and the rest have just been a matter of paying attention over time.

[He looks up at the canopy, and then off towards the downward slope.] Right now it's all just...about the rain. Living out here for a while, I got used to all the background noise. You tune out what's normal.

[Gladion's description sounds like learning a language by trial and error, with no point of reference. Or something close to a language, because Rindo just can't imagine that plants "communicate" anything like humans do. …Indeed, they don't make words for this.

Rindo makes a quiet noise of acknowledgement before trying once again to focus on the nature surrounding them. Still nothing. Except, well…]

…All I'm getting is "this rain's annoying". And I'm pretty sure that's just from me.

[There's the unceasing noise, of course, but also the fact that the ground is thoroughly soaked, making it impossible for him to walk around without his roots absorbing so much water that he ends up queasy. He casts a brief, bitter glance at them, resting somewhat limply against Silvally's sides. When will they stop feeling like foreign appendages? If they ever do, is that even a good thing?]

[Heh, Gladion chuckles dryly.]

Well. It'll...it'll happen sooner or later.

[For better or worse. It's...he thinks it's a silver lining of sorts, far easier to accept than what they're doing now, but just as inevitable.

He follows Rindo's gaze to his roots, and considers them a little more deliberately. Shoes are now out, clearly. Running has to be difficult. He hadn't planned to have Silvally make the trip to and from the patch, but it might be a good idea after all. If there's blood...they'll just wash it off.]

[The road winds around the hill. And then, there on the downhill side, there's a cabin with one boarded-up upstairs window, crowned with a tangle of ivy.]

Here we are.

[Silvally turns and takes them around the side, carefully down the steep slope into the backyard, and under the balcony out of the rain. Gladion retracts his vines and slips off to set Rindo's bags down and give the Pokemon a scratch on the neck.]

Alright. [Alright indeed. He's looking up at Silvally, not quite at Rindo. Running through the list in his head.] Let's take a quick breather first. Then I just have to grab some things. [And then they head out again.]

Edited 2023-05-07 16:40 (UTC)

…Yeah.

[It's one aspect of the Nymph transformation that Rindo doesn't know how to feel about. …Well, he'll find out soon enough. At least from the way Gladion talked about it, it sounded like he doesn't dislike it.

Rindo spots the cabin just a second before Gladion points it out. He watches quietly as they approach. It's very different from the apartment he used to live in back in Shibuya, and from the house he's settled into in Bavan. It looks like a nice place, especially for a Nymph, though being so far from the city probably gets inconvenient.

With the first leg of their journey complete, Rindo's anxiety is starting to build up into a knot in his stomach. Seeing the cabin just cements it. There's no going back after this… and it's only the beginning.

Gladion gets off Silvally, and Rindo's grateful that he seems more focused on the creature than him. Scrutiny is the last thing he wants right now.]

…Okay.

[Rindo brings his tail vine in front of him, takes the umbrella from it, then closes it. He then slides off Silvally, and goes to set the umbrella against the house's outer wall.

He doesn't want to meet Gladion's gaze. All of this is already too much. He's imposing. It's all he's been doing since he got to Ryslig.

…He would make some attempt at small talk here, if only to distract himself, but quite frankly he does not have it in him. The upcoming ordeal looms so large in his mind that it's all he can do to keep himself together. He's fighting the urge to simply… leave. Walk back to the house, somehow. Pretend he's not still feeling that nagging hunger, that he hasn't been made into something that's meant to kill as an instrument for petty revenge, that he can still be—normal. Human.

Instead he turns to Silvally, petting it, rubbing circular shapes into its flank. The motion is little more than an attempt to give his mind something to focus on besides his own thoughts.

…It's warm. Does it have any clue what's going through his head right now? Does it care?

…

It's sad, really. The way everyone else deals with it, and the way he doesn't.]

[Gladion sees Silvally's eyes flick back towards Rindo. It's an immediate reminder of the last and least achievable item on his list of duties, constantly striking itself out and scrawling itself back in with every minute passed and word spoken.

He's really at a loss as to how to help Rindo, under every other, more tangible thing that needs doing. Surely not as much as Rindo is at a loss to be doing any of this, though.

He steps back from Silvally. And wanders towards the wall, leaning his shoulder up against it. It's a few moments before he starts talking again, steadily but without enthusiasm.]

Silvally will go to and from the grove with us, but not in. There's a bramble wall I can open and close.

[The Pokemon is watching Rindo, expressionlessly.

...It backs up a little and sits down with a little umph, so that its shoulder is now right under where his hand was petting.

Scratch there instead?]

We could be there for a while. It's not a fast...process. The first thing we do is bury the remains. Then you put down roots, and you wait to be done.

[Rindo follows Silvally's lead as it sits. Shoulder scratches (or the closest approximation to scratches you can safely give when you have claws instead of fingernails) it is.

Of course feeding takes a while. Plenty of time to think about what it is you're doing, exactly. Can't have any even the scavenging monsters get away with having an easy time of it. Perhaps it's only fair.

…A deep breath, then a shaky exhale. If not resolve, it's something like resignation. Rindo does not turn toward Gladion when he replies. The steadiness of his voice sounds forced.]

I… haven't tried to use my roots before, because of the rain. And… I thought I'd have more time.

[And that just sounds like excuses.]

[Gladion receives this silently, grimacing at an angle to the wall. It's really just confirmation of what he suspected, because it makes sense. A very normal pair of assumptions that both turned out poorly - he can hear the hindsight in Rindo's voice.

Good old Ryslig.

His urge is to just keep talking at the wall, but Gladion turns in place as if taking himself by the shoulders to do it. Leans back against the wall again, taking a slow breath in through his nose. Last-minute deliberations over the elephant in his room, as if thinking about it further will change anything.]

Feeding was the first time I used mine. It was more or less automatic. After some settling in.

[Just say it. Just...warn him and get it over with.

He's staring at Silvally's tailfin for lack of anywhere better to look.]

...The first time, I wasn't fully— fully conscious for the whole duration. It wasn't a frenzy, but it was a type of—dissociative state. Something to do with the roots. Every time I use them—

[Running through Fugo's interpretation in his head holds the shame just behind the line. He can pretend this isn't a horrible thing to admit, that he's just doing his due diligence as a monster. But he still runs up against the sheer indescribability of what happens, and how does he finish that sentence when he needs to describe some part of it?

In the gap, Gladion chances a glance up at Rindo. A short one.]

—it's like being in...two places at once. [It's not enough like that to explain it that way, but it's something and better than just freezing up about it. Whatever. The tension in Gladion's chest settles in, just heavy instead of actively straining.] And it ends when it ends.

[...]

I don't know exactly how common that is. But instincts, of some kind, come along with a lot of this.

[Focused as he was on his own fears and inadequacies, Rindo forgot to consider for a moment that Gladion, too, must be struggling. The halting cadence of his voice makes it obvious. Having the one he looks to for guidance show this kind of vulnerability feels like it ought to be scary. But… maybe it's easier, actually, to be lost with someone else. Easier than to watch another's back, so far away, failing to catch up no matter how many times they turn back to offer their hand to hold.

Gladion's experience with his own roots may not be exactly the same, but…

…it really helps, to hear it.

Rindo's done nothing but take and take some more. From Gladion. From everyone. If there's even a small chance to finally give back… If all it takes is talking…]

I… When I got my roots…

[He starts on impulse, but pauses. She really doesn't bother to make it easy to talk about, does she? How do you explain something like this? Even with the similarities, it's still up to him to build the bridge.

He has to try.

Rindo turns toward Gladion, one motionless hand still on Silvally's shoulder. Looks at him, with new eyes. And when he speaks again, it's not with confidence—not quite. It's something else. Resolve, perhaps, like he's found a path to follow.]

At first it was just… pain in my feet. Just pain… dull, constant. There was no other sensation, at all. And I couldn't even move them anymore.

[He frowns.]

Then one of them… split, into this shape. And it was still— it was the same exact pain as before. No… blood. I didn't even realize what happened until I saw it, after the fact.

[Deep breath, uneven exhale.]

So I paid attention to the other one, and I was able to catch the split. It was— …surreal. I thought… it should hurt more, or— or differently, or something. But the sensation didn't match what I was seeing.

The pain went away when they turned into actual roots, but even now, I still don't feel anything in them. I know where they are without looking and… I can move them, I think. But they don't feel like a part of me.

[The next part is wrapped in shame.]

One time, I got upset at someone and… the roots grew, just a little. For a split second. I wasn't doing that. That might be… another reason why I haven't tried to use them. [Because I'm scared.]

…So… I think I kinda get what you mean. […Presumptuous?] Maybe.

[Rindo's gaze falls to the ground. It's done, for better or for worse.]

[Once again, Rindo surprises him.

Gladion looks up again, and looks slightly caught. Not wide-eyed, but not truly as calm as he clearly wants to; his ears pin out to the sides just a little, shouting tension and attention, whatever else his posture might suggest.

He wouldn't dare interrupt. Out of respect, or else just out of desperate curiosity.

It was— …surreal.

Gladion nods absently. And finds that, at the end, he wants to nod again and again instead of saying anything. His gaze jumps up to Silvally, who's watching the back of Rindo's head with a somber sort of contemplativeness.]

[Heavily:] ...Yeah. [He draws in a deep breath, thinking in circles. Reaches up to his shoulder and over it, and touches a spot right under the back of his neck, where the stem along his spine starts. Yeah. "Maybe". He can agree to that.

. . . ]

I've done it three times. [He shouldn't be spacing it out so far.] Plus...once just for water. It was less. Of an effect.

[But that's beside the point. Gladion presses his lips together in a thin frown, mind visibly racing, trying to find a way around the natural place to take that. Failing to.] ...I got some advice about how to handle it that, [wry whoof of breath that would be a snort of laughter if it were a couple steps to the left,] I haven't taken. [Eyes dart up to Silvally again. It looks away from him and back down at Rindo when their eyes meet.] Part of it was just to take someone along. Another was to focus the senses on something.

[...He feels as if he's getting too far down one train of thought. Trying to find a single, simple problem to solve. Flinching away from the point. He shakes his head, mentally shakes himself out.] Something else I was told— by a reliable source— is that if you...go under, you can expect to come back up. Instincts aren't...irreversible.

[There is a certain lack of steel in the way Gladion says this. It is still something he has been promised, more than something he can promise.]

[Having been this open leaves Rindo feeling raw, exposed. He wants to shrink into himself, hide somehow. Battles the urge, because it seems that he's hit his mark… so as far as he's concerned, it's been worth it.

Three times is so little. He hadn't expected Gladion to have much experience with it, given the timeline of his changes as he understood it, but hearing an actual number goes a long way to explain Gladion's reaction. Now Rindo has that much more respect for him going so far out of his way to help.

So, Gladion's received advice from someone. It shouldn't be a surprise—it isn't, really. But that, too, puts them on a more even playing field. They're both figuring it out. Gladion may have a head start, but it's not an unbridgeable gulf.

As for the actual advice, Rindo has no trouble guessing why Gladion hasn't followed it—the part about bringing someone along, at least. Rindo… may be doing that, but the thought of being watched, or even just seen during the actual process, fills him with shame. If it's by Gladion, who looks like he feels the same, then… it may be tolerable. May.

Finally, the thing about instincts… puts words to the fears he's been carrying at arm's length. With them so named—described—he can face them. Confident reassurance would be easiest, but he suspects that such a thing is not possible in Ryslig.

Well. He'll take what he can get.]

That's… good to know. It helps.

[The hunger, of course, remains. He hates it, and everything that it represents. Satisfying it is giving in, but… stripped of other choices, it's the best option available. He's made sure of that.

There's something about the way he's standing now, just a little straighter, less like he's trying to sink into the ground and disappear. He's turned more fully toward Gladion, his hand no longer on Silvally but hanging by his side, his gaze on his fellow Nymph, though not making direct eye contact. As ready as he can be.]

[If it helps...

Gladion looks up after that, with a too-firm expression. The resolve in it isn't quite genuine, but there's a current of energy behind it that is; he's heartened enough to pretend he's prepared for this, if not to actually be prepared.

Rindo looks a little less like a Pokemon that Gladion wouldn't consider letting onto the field. A little more like what he imagined Null would look like under the helmet when it all came down to one final, do-or-die showdown, back when he told himself those stories. Out here in reality, instead of being vindicating, it just kind of hurts to see.

Gladion nods once more.]

Okay. [Steps away from the wall, and towards the corner of the house.] I'll be right back.

[And around it. After a few seconds, the sound of the back door sliding open and then closed follows him.

Silvally heaves a long sigh and stands up again, moving around Rindo and ducking its head to peer at him on eye level. Its face is pretty close to him.]

[Rindo watches Gladion pass the corner, and echoes Silvally's sigh. When the creature moves into his line of sight, he stares at it for a moment.

He wonders again what it is, exactly. Clearly not any animal that exists on Earth, and not a monster either. He still can't shake the feeling that it may be the same kind of creature as Junior. And the way it's eyeing him seems very deliberate. Does it… understand what's going on?]

…What's up?

[He watches its strange, metallic face, as if trying to read its expression somehow.]

[That metallic face doesn't give it too much room for facial expressions. They're mostly in the eyes. Which, after a few seconds, it slowly, deliberately closes.

...As if to signal gentle intentions, because then it drifts its head towards Rindo. If he doesn't move, it'll softly bunt its face against his temple, leave it there for a few seconds, then pull back and open its eyes to watch him again.]

[Rindo allows it. After all, he has no reason to think Silvally means him any harm.

The coolness of the metal against his temple startles him, just a little, as do the droplets of rainwater now sliding down his cheek and the warm breath brushing against his skin. Silvally stays like this for a moment, gently pressing its face against his, in a gesture that Rindo can only interpret as… comfort.

When it pulls back, he's almost surprised to find that he's blinking back tears. In reaching underneath the fragile shell of resolve Rindo's built around his heart, it appears Silvally has hit the soft center of emotions inside, the part of him that desperately craves and misses… so much—the familiarity of home, the welcoming warmth of his parents' voices, their shielding him against the world.

An impulse overtakes him as Silvally pulls back, and with it the certainty that it understands, somehow. He wraps his arms around the creature's neck, loosely, and buries his face in it, eyes shut tight.

…Sometimes, you just need a hug.]

[It makes a little clucking noise in the back of its throat, without surprise, and tucks its chin over the top of Rindo's head.

And perhaps nibbles at his hair a little.

(Crunch.)

They have about two minutes like that before the back door audibly slides open again. Whether still being hugged or not, Silvally makes a buzzing pssshh sort of noise, and Gladion's footsteps stop.

It bumps Rindo with its nose. Stares down at him again. Ready?]

[The weight of Silvally's head resting on his is pleasant; the crunching, less so. The slight vibration as his hay hair gets nibbled on is reminiscent of a haircut. Rindo makes a weird little sort of sob-laugh about that, shaking his head slightly to dissuade Silvally from giving him a bald spot. No more chewing, please. Or if you must, spread it out.

He does in fact keep hugging Silvally until he hears the door open, at which point he lets go of it with a sniffle, wiping his face. His hair looks somewhat ruffled where Silvally messed with it, and his eyes are shining just a little too bright.

…Did it just… tell Gladion to wait? It sure sounded like it. Normally he'd wonder if he was reading into things too much, but… a weirdly intelligent creature wouldn't be the least believable thing he's seen in Ryslig. (Gladion had called it a friend.)

The nose bump directs Rindo's attention back to Silvally, a question in its eyes. He nods at it with a grim sort of determination.

Can't turn back now.]

[It nods up at the corner of the house. Lead the way, then.

Gladion is crouched by the door, what he retrieved at his sides: a small cooler and two tools, a shovel and a cultivator.

He can guess why Silvally had him hang back. There's a pang there. Pride, aching. Guilt, prodding. It can do what he can't, and that's something to be in awe of, always.

At movement around the corner, he stands, gathering the tools up as he goes. He gives both of them a short, utilitarian glance, now steeled for the next step.]

Climb on and move out?

[This time, with unwieldy cargo in hand, he really won't be riding.]

[Rindo's blood runs cold at the sight of what Gladion's brought out. He'd not expected anything different, of course, but it's evocative in a way that makes his skin crawl.

He merely nods in response, not confident that his voice won't betray him. He climbs onto Silvally's back once more, readying his vines (slightly faster this time), then glances back at his fellow Nymph.

Rindo doesn't look okay, exactly, but that hug helped to vent out some of his emotions. It'll take a moment to rebuild his veneer of resolve, which had felt so much more genuine before Silvally nudged its way through the armor he'd unknowingly put up. Perhaps there is no being prepared for this—not truly. Leaving only one thing: getting it done in spite of that.

Nothing left to do but wait for Silvally to depart.]

[A nod in return.

Gladion takes point, leading Silvally down the hill behind the house and across the tree line. The woods very quickly become thick and wild, mounded roots hiding long drops into ravines that he veers around without a second glance.

They take a gentler path than that down into the stream between hills. Gladion hops up onto a fallen tree trunk to cross over it; Silvally simply walks through, water splashing around its ankles.

Then they pick their way up another slope, past lichen-streaked rock faces. There, where the slope levels out, the underbrush surges up into a wall of tangles and thorns. Gladion turns to follow the length of the wall, and slows his pace, looking for something.

Finds it, and pauses. Silvally stops too, a few paces behind him.

When he raises a hand, there's a chorus of answering creaks. The wall sighs; canes of brambles arch away and clear a path, as if pushing back a tent flap.

Gladion glances back, then enters. Silvally sighs, doesn't move further, and twists its head to squint back at Rindo. This is as far as it goes.]

[Rindo sits in silence as they depart. There's nothing more to be said.

On the way to their destination, his mind flitters unfocused between thoughts of home, of Swallow, of Nanami, of the person—or people—he's about to feed on. They all hurt.

The trip to the patch feels at once like an eternity and like it's over in the blink of an eye. He watches, awed, as Gladion parts the foreboding wall of brambles with seeming ease. Wonders briefly if that's something he will be able to do, at some point.

When Silvally turns its head, he leans forward, giving it a brief but firm hug. For courage. (Mutters a quiet "thanks" into its neck, too.)

He slides off Silvally, wincing as his roots sink into the mud. Is it just his imagination, or are they sucking up the moisture in the ground with… eagerness?

…

He casts Silvally one last glance before he enters the patch, very slowly. Though it's clear he has difficulty walking, lifting his knees high with each step to free his roots from the mud, it isn't enough to justify his downright reluctant pace.

But, nonetheless, he catches up with Gladion eventually.]

[The brambles fold themselves up again behind Rindo.

The patch is maybe twenty feet from end to end, and nearly circular. The bramble walls climb high overhead, draped from tree to tree; there's a round patch of sky overhead, dappled with branches.

Between the cloud cover and the canopy, the grove is dimly lit. And in that dim light...it's unassuming. The earth has been recently disturbed in spots and streaks, but there's nothing else on the surface to indicate what this place is for.

Gladion has planted the tools in the mud and set down his cooler, crouching by it with a grim expression. He turns that expression on Rindo once he catches up, peering up at him...sort of searchingly. Wanting to see how he responds, for both their sakes.]

...This doesn't need too much explaining. [They're here to bury human remains. Gladion is keeping his gaze from darting back and forth for the most part, but his isn't the face of someone who really wants to be doing or saying this. He opens the cooler and takes something out of the top, stands back up slowly, grabs the shovel, and offers it over.] It works best to spread it out horizontally, but it doesn't have to be too...precise. A few spots in a ring is fine. [And handing over the something from the cooler...it's a pair of garden gloves. There's a faint stain on the left wrist.]

[Rindo's eyes are practically burning a hole in the ground. Or in his roots, perhaps? It's hard to tell. (It's both.) The sound of Gladion's voice reaches his ears, but he doesn't process his words. Restless worry is crawling around his brain like so many skittering bugs. Eventually he blinks up at Gladion, who's handing him… a shovel and some gloves. They're stained.

He does not like this.

Even not having heard what Gladion said, it's not difficult to imagine. Formless fears congeal into one nagging thought.

Are there… remains here? From Gladion's past feedings? If yes, can his roots sense them? Will they…

Reactively, he clamps down on his roots with a mental iron grip. They haven't so much as twitched, motionless as ever, but he can't risk it. Especially not here. Even then, he's not confident that they won't just stop listening and spread and—

One strained word spills out.]

I-If… [Finishing the thought is a visible struggle.] …I lose control. Would you and Silvally be able to get away?

[He's not meeting Gladion's eyes, nor taking the offered tools.]

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cw: freaky transformation stuff

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