victory_road | 004. Video

_{[The entire screen is black and white as it pans across a backyard. Everything's buried under a good foot of snow, and big fat flakes are whirling past the camera so fast that they straight-up pixelate.]}

So... for those just tuning in...

_{[The camera's view jerks very suddenly to a massively fluffy Growlithe, who is very carefully sniffing the base of a completely snow-covered shrub.]}

... We're going for the fifteen-minute mark on Cooj TAKING HIS SWEET-ASS TIME FIGURING OUT WHERE TO PEE.

For the love of GOD, Cujo.

_{[He looks back at the camera, big pink tongue lolling out, and shakes off, spraying half-melted snow everywhere. Then he moves on to one of the patio chairs, along with the lumpy, weird-looking snowman from earlier that afternoon cheekily posed to be sitting in it-- to give that the once-over with his nose instead. And the trainer behind the camera lets out a melodramatic sigh.]}

What crime did I commit in a past life to deserve thi--

_{[and right then and there the video turns to a blur, because the snowman in the patio chair just stood up and Heather is LEAVING RIGHT NOW BECAUSE FUCK THAT COOJ YOU CAN PEE ON YOUR OWN]}

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_{[That gives her pause.]

[Because to be honest... Envy would do that sort of thing if he could get away with it. And he is a makeup artist.]

[She squints harder at the snowman.]}

... I'm not sure an actual person could fit inside that.

... Cujo, use Ember!

_{[If one of her housemates were in there, that would be the moment at which they'd DEFINITELY nope right out of there.]

[But no one emerges from the snowtrocity, and the Growlithe's attack melts its legs right off. It collapses into a pile of steaming slush.]}

[Cecil watches the proceedings with curiosity, frowning slightly at the results.]

...Neither a person nor a Pokémon, then. I hope. Are you certain you've no secret talent for magic? Or that the rest of your team has none?

[Animating snow is not a very Growlithe-like skill, but perhaps a Psychic-type...]

_{[Even if Growlithes were Psychic-types, Heather's pretty sure that Cujo doesn't actually have enough brain activity going on to allow psychic abilities to happen. He's now wallowing in the slush like a degenerate, panting happily.]}

Even if I did, that wouldn't be doing jack shit in this world, would it? And I think my only Psychic-type is my Espeon, and she is... not the type to do this.

_{[Maybe the others... or hell, maybe SLIGHTLY, but that Gengar is a giant purple weiner and hates the cold.]}

Funnily enough, that's also what snowmen should be doing, as far as I'm aware.

[At this point, he's both willing to accept any explanation and completely certain there'll never be one.]

One Psychic-type out of thousands in the city crossed off the suspects list, then. That's better than nothing.

_{[Heather herself is someone who's always openly declared that this world has a never-ending number of tricks up its sleeve to keep everybody on their toes... but even that awareness never quite seems to give her an edge on this place.]}

Well, really, all our neighbors are milquetoast Goldenrod yuppies-- we're the creepiest people on the block.

If they wanted to get back at us for something, they're more likely to call the Jennies on us again than come up with some elabroate scheme revolving around Psychic-types and snowmen!

[Cecil thinks about that for a moment. A very long moment.]

...I think we can safely dismiss the possibility of a new law enforcement technique to keep an eye on problematic citizens, no matter how amuzing it would be. Perhaps a snowman Ice-type legendary is currently active in the region and empowering its non-sentient cousins.

... Ugh, I hope not.

I thought the giant robot things that stomped the countryside into a fine powder that one time were bad...

Giant robots are never good news, but this seems more... mischievous than actively dangerous, for now. Almost harmless, even. Until someone has the bright idea to build a giant robot snowman.

I don't know, 'mischief' is usually funny.

As far as I'm concerned, there's nothing funny about living snowmen.

_{[Even The Snowman had a sad ending, for crying out loud.]}

I've no doubt the source of this finds our reactions hilarious. Why bother, otherwise? It serves no practical use.

[That he can tell, at least.]

... If it's that space cat thing from the moon base, I don't really appreciate its sense of humor.

I doubt he was responsible, but you could offer him a salmon offering to be safe. He likes fish and little party canapés.

... Yeah, point.

If it was the cat, I feel like it would have involved more things getting mysteriously knocked off the counters in the middle of the night.

Or scratch marks on every closed door in your house. Unconscious Rattatas left under the couch. Strategically placed hairballs.

The sensation of a paw shoved up your nose at six in the morning but when you wake up nothing is there.

Any and all freshly washed and dried clothing suddenly resembling a fuzzy sweater, even though you only stepped away from your folding for a minute.

Cosmic cat litter.

[Cecil cannot quite hide his shudder.]

It had better come with a cosmic broom, or better yet a cosmic vacuum cleaner.

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