Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
uber_marionettist) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
victory_road2019-11-10 06:44 pm
uber_marionettist) wrote in victory_road2019-11-10 06:44 pm
Entry tags:
[Saitama Voice] OK
Who: Dirk Strider and anyone on the Sevii Islands
Where: The... the Sevii Islands
When: Post-Aether
Summary: [Pigeon Meme Voice] Is This A Vacation?
Rating: PG-13 for swears and whatever else falls out of Dirk's mouth
Dirk's relationship with the ocean is the subject of such elaborate metaphor that it more than qualifies as a uniquely expansive personal conceit. He can read the ocean better than he can other human beings, and (assuming one is not taking into consideration his cumulative and increasingly fractal selfhood) has spent twice as much of his life with it than he has humanity as a whole.
And yet in all the bullshit context I just typed, he's barely ever experienced the actual seashore.
So.
After rejecting the ferry as too crowded and unwilling to turn his back on an opprtunity he wouldn't otherwise have, Dirk Strider Hits The Beach (TM).
One Island:
So many ocean Pokemon resemble parts of the world he grew up with; the primary difference is that none of them are stark white or actively want to eat him. They're still basically the same, though. Wingull, for example, are loud, innumerable, and bold to the point of being obnoxious. Fish are... fish, and a lot of the same ones that live in fresh water are also present in the sea, which is.... just how it goes around here, really. It'd almost be nostalgic if he had any fondness for all the ways the postapocalypse was prepared to kill him.
This 'safe' ocean is almost precious. Twee.
He doesn't have a fishing rod, but he doesn't need one. Catching fish with his bare hands is one of those skills he has very little use for these days, but he is fully confident he still has it. He doesn't take off his shades before he dives in, still near enough to shore that his feet touch the bottom.
There's one particular kind of fish darting in the shallows, little ones that consistently zip off into deeper water or curve away from his human legs as he wades in. They all look ready to burst into tears. No weirder than anything else so far.
It doesn't matter what his motives are for catching them. Not because he doesn't catch any, but because he does. Just one.
A small, silvery-blue body that wriggles frantically in his grasp, its huge, plaintive eyes lighting up like headlights.
Suddenly he's surrounded, covered in them--engulfed, briefly, metaphorically drowning in literally hundreds of sardine-like bodies, converging around him and closing over him like a swarm of insects. The fish in his hands breaks free and disappears somewhere into the whole, a whole that breaks the surface, breaching skyward as one. A massive fish-shaped leviathan, the adumbration of 'fish' as a concept, shimmering and shifting like the visual likeness of seasickness, like the feeling of one's stomach just before you throw up.
Still cradled by the warm familiarity of seawater, Dirk stares up at the beast as its shadow eclipses his form, his face impassive. Sopping, stoic, and one (1) second fromdisaster impact.
"Hm."
Four Island: Vacation Daze
Taking this archipelago one island at a time is practical from a certain point of view, but the longer Dirk spends island-hopping, the more he feels himself unspooling from whatever central concept of his physical body he generally adheres to, travelling across the surface of the sun-speckled sea and on towards the vast horizon as--okay, do we really need to go over the infinite self ocean metaphors again?
Suffice to say he's getting lost while staring out over the ocean more and more frequently and for longer periods each time.
He can probably be found standing or sitting or just lying the fuck down somewhere in the sand, staring out over the ocean and totally checked the fuck out. He also last slept about 50 hours ago, but while he doesn't feel tired in the slightest, would anyone really be surprised if he just.... fell asleep?
Asleep or just Gone (TM), if he's been there for long enough, the local Pokemon have probably started to wonder what the fuck he's doing.
Where: The... the Sevii Islands
When: Post-Aether
Summary: [Pigeon Meme Voice] Is This A Vacation?
Rating: PG-13 for swears and whatever else falls out of Dirk's mouth
Dirk's relationship with the ocean is the subject of such elaborate metaphor that it more than qualifies as a uniquely expansive personal conceit. He can read the ocean better than he can other human beings, and (assuming one is not taking into consideration his cumulative and increasingly fractal selfhood) has spent twice as much of his life with it than he has humanity as a whole.
And yet in all the bullshit context I just typed, he's barely ever experienced the actual seashore.
So.
After rejecting the ferry as too crowded and unwilling to turn his back on an opprtunity he wouldn't otherwise have, Dirk Strider Hits The Beach (TM).
One Island:
So many ocean Pokemon resemble parts of the world he grew up with; the primary difference is that none of them are stark white or actively want to eat him. They're still basically the same, though. Wingull, for example, are loud, innumerable, and bold to the point of being obnoxious. Fish are... fish, and a lot of the same ones that live in fresh water are also present in the sea, which is.... just how it goes around here, really. It'd almost be nostalgic if he had any fondness for all the ways the postapocalypse was prepared to kill him.
This 'safe' ocean is almost precious. Twee.
He doesn't have a fishing rod, but he doesn't need one. Catching fish with his bare hands is one of those skills he has very little use for these days, but he is fully confident he still has it. He doesn't take off his shades before he dives in, still near enough to shore that his feet touch the bottom.
There's one particular kind of fish darting in the shallows, little ones that consistently zip off into deeper water or curve away from his human legs as he wades in. They all look ready to burst into tears. No weirder than anything else so far.
It doesn't matter what his motives are for catching them. Not because he doesn't catch any, but because he does. Just one.
A small, silvery-blue body that wriggles frantically in his grasp, its huge, plaintive eyes lighting up like headlights.
Suddenly he's surrounded, covered in them--engulfed, briefly, metaphorically drowning in literally hundreds of sardine-like bodies, converging around him and closing over him like a swarm of insects. The fish in his hands breaks free and disappears somewhere into the whole, a whole that breaks the surface, breaching skyward as one. A massive fish-shaped leviathan, the adumbration of 'fish' as a concept, shimmering and shifting like the visual likeness of seasickness, like the feeling of one's stomach just before you throw up.
Still cradled by the warm familiarity of seawater, Dirk stares up at the beast as its shadow eclipses his form, his face impassive. Sopping, stoic, and one (1) second from
"Hm."
Four Island: Vacation Daze
Taking this archipelago one island at a time is practical from a certain point of view, but the longer Dirk spends island-hopping, the more he feels himself unspooling from whatever central concept of his physical body he generally adheres to, travelling across the surface of the sun-speckled sea and on towards the vast horizon as--okay, do we really need to go over the infinite self ocean metaphors again?
Suffice to say he's getting lost while staring out over the ocean more and more frequently and for longer periods each time.
He can probably be found standing or sitting or just lying the fuck down somewhere in the sand, staring out over the ocean and totally checked the fuck out. He also last slept about 50 hours ago, but while he doesn't feel tired in the slightest, would anyone really be surprised if he just.... fell asleep?
Asleep or just Gone (TM), if he's been there for long enough, the local Pokemon have probably started to wonder what the fuck he's doing.
no subject
"I guess you're just bad at answers."
no subject
Dirk has answered far more questions from John than he has anyone in recent memory. It's not something he's proud of. He's been desperate, and he can see that all too clearly, whether or not John can. But with that in mind, he won't stand here and take being told those answers were inadequate when he's given John almost everything he's asked for.
no subject
Adagio finally makes her way to the two of them and looks between them uneasily for a moment before wandering over and sticking her chin on top of John's head.
no subject
It's no small thing to say that the deadpan of his voice is even less deliberate, but he's gotten comfortable with that part of himself too.
"John. Don't be a bitch."
no subject
"Take your own advice, dude!" He reaches up to rest both his hands around the top of Adagio's snout and she huffs and leans in a bit more. "I don't see why everything has to be such a big stupid secret."
no subject
This cannot be that hard to grasp. It can't. It's so fucking simple. He feels like--
--feels like he's talking to Jake. Round and round the point they fucking go, when it will stop, nobody knows.
"If I explained it to you, it wouldn't be a secret any more."
no subject
"Or at least super convenient for you! What would happen if it wasn't a secret? Or am I not even allowed to ask why I can't ask why you're keeping so many secrets?" He smirks in a way that tilts the corners of his mouth down, like he's trying to hide a smile. "If that is the case can I ask why I can't ask why I can't ask why you are keeping these secrets secret?" He chuckles after, completely incapable of maintaining a straight face for a single joke.