victory_road | This road is going nowhere [Closed]

"Very well," he says, making eye-contact with a couple cutieflies before flicking his gaze down to the cup. They make swift work of retrieving it. It seems he's been training them well.

"The sfougato will be ready soon."

He leaves with his swarm, allowing the stragglers to very cutely pull the door closed behind them.

"Incredible," Dirk remarks without affect as the door closes.

It's not clear whether he means Hythlodaeus, Hades, or some combination of the two in interaction during that entire minute or so that just passed with him playing bystander and observer (and not much else.)

It's also not clear whether he meant for that to be clear.

There's a lot to unpack in what just went down.

Hades' fake grace and slightly frustrating attempt at amelioration following the predictable level of ridicule. (Dirk did not miss that Hades was appeasing him, but that would have been sufficient for now.)

Hythlodaeus' absolute fucking nerve--though Dirk will grant him that it was very smoothly executed. It was just so transparently premeditated that it fit perfectly in Hythlodaeus' MO.

And then Hades' sharp correction, which is where things really got interesting.

Hythlodaeus' departure was so simple that he's left tense and uncertain if he's supposed to step in somehow at this point.

He really didn't want a(nother) fucking fight right now.

As the door closes and Dirk makes his remark, Hades lets his eyes close for a moment as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He just needs a moment, a moment to try and fight back this headache that is pressing at the back of his eyes (a migraine, actually?), a moment to collect himself.

A moment to breathe.

Indeed, he was trying to appease Dirk in a sense, but really he merely did not want a fight anymore than Dirk did. He just left a fight, literally stabbed himself through during a fight that had far heavier stakes than this, and maybe he was hoping for some semblance of peace.

Perhaps that was too selfish of him to ask for.

Finally, after a slow, long, and controlled breath taking in and breathed out through his nose, he lowers his hand and looks up at Dirk. His expression tired, and doing little to hide this fact.

"I hope you are not too upset—that was egregious of him, even if I know he meant to do right by me. It changes not that he did wrong by you. Surely we can put this matter to rest for the time being and enjoy one another's company?"

Maybe it's foolish, but he certainly hopes so. Really, having a peaceful meal with the two of them is a small comfort he wants to indulge in, a simple concession.

Dirk is observant enough--aware enough of himself and his level of intrusion--to stand aside while Hades re-composes himself, while he closes his eyes and breathes and recovers.

He knows that he just caused a great deal of discord in the household--and he won't apologise for that, at least not in any way that recants his position or purpose. If Hades really wants him--the way he claims he does, the way he pushed for and proposed to him back at the very beginning--then Dirk has nothing to apologise for.

This is what he wanted.

But....

This isn't what Dirk meant to happen. He didn't anticipate and he doesn't understand Hythlodaeus.

"....don't worry about that." He prsses his lips together, turns his head aside slightly now that he's out of sight of any but Hades. "I think I might have provoked him somehow, but I'm really not sure."

A low bar it may be, but the fact that Dirk can allow him that moment is enough for now. That, and the fact he admits that he might have been part of the problem, even unwittingly. Even if such admittance is a rather pitiful display of taking responsibility, at the very least of it he's aware that something went wrong, and he might have had a hand in it.

He could have denied it outright, and he didn't.

"Indeed." He says a little flatter than intended, but then his tone shifts to something a little more empathetic, "it would seem the two of you have a talent for miscommunication with one another, at the very least."

Something he's certain he will be a key part in fixing, if not for their sake, for the sake of his sanity. He needs to mitigate Hythlodaeus' goading, if nothing else.

"'Tis a matter for another time. For now we should eat, little did we get around to such ere our intimate reunion of sorts, and starving ourselves further will hardly serve us." With that said, he'll be rising out of bed and...well, before he goes out into the kitchen, he'll be needing to get dressed. Or, at the very least put on his house robe, which if Dirk continues to stand there awkwardly, he will be aiming to do just that.

Once Hades has fully risen, Dirk... sits, actually, more or less taking up residence in the same spot that his partner just vacated. It's still warm, making it a comfortably real space to inhabit.

Dirk could spend hours just watching his lover in the nude, basking in his presence and the appreciation of his physical form. The casual, efficient artistry of his muscular grace is breathtaking in a way that Hades himself renders mundane.

But from this vantage, he can finally see the size of that scar on Hades' back. It's beautiful, the aesthetic proof of his suffering and the willingness to endure any pain for his purpose. The altar of responsibility demands that much and more--and Hades offers himself as sacrifice to it time and again as an act of devotion. To Dirk, there is little more powerful, moving, or understandable than that.

"I think it'll go better if I keep my mouth shut." There's a kind of grim resignation to his tone, though no demonstrable sense of guilt. What Hades overheard is one thing, but Hythlodaeus is the one who fetched the subject directly back to Hades' bedroom and dropped it in his lap like some kind of fucked up dog.

He wouldn't blush if he knew the exact measure of Dirk's appreciation for his body, but were he one to be flustered over such perhaps he would. At the very least, he'd be moved by it. It isn't that he cannot or does not appreciate the physical, he certainly does, but being an eternal being that can sculpt his vessels in any likeness he so desires, the usual appreciation behind such is lost on him. However, he has been rediscovering it, what with his loss of such a power, and the work and effort he has since put in to maintain this ideal form for himself.

That Dirk appreciates it so is certainly an added bonus. That, and the level of appreciation Dirk has towards the scar that adorns his body. If it was merely the shallow admiration of the aesthetics of it, that would mean little to him, but that Dirk views it as some kind of trophy or award for his sacrifice? His willingness to allow himself to be destroy bit by bit for those he would save, those he would resurrect, for the world he would make whole again...well, it simply proves that Dirk understands his toiling.

Values it unlike so many others.

It isn't till he's pulling his arms through the sleeves of the robe that he turns and notices Dirk watching him—settled in the spot he vacated mere moments ago. He pauses to stare down at him for a single beat, before his mouth curls into an affectionate smirk. His own appreciation of Dirk's subtle but genuine gestures of affectionate attachment to Hades' very presence. His existence, and what traces of such he leaves behind—even if its fleeting warmth, or the indent his weight left in his bedding.

Pulling his robe closed around himself he approaches again. Tying the sash loosely in the front, but enough to hide that scar, he finally speaks, "come now, if you offer him silence, he may very well take that as a victory, ill-won as it would be. He is already rather incurably smug, do you not agree? Little should we encourage him."

There's a beat of seriousness.

"Oh, he hasn't won. Trust me."

But the corner of Dirk's mouth twitches up just briefly; to some extent, it's like he and Hades sharing a secret through the short-lived presence of even that much smile.

"... I can't tell whether you mean that 'we' or if you just want me to do it so you don't have to."

That smile, or rather a ghost of it, is always a treat when he sees it, and the way his expression brightens upon seeing it broadcasts his delight. At Dirk's question, he lets out a soft, nearly inaudible huff, shrugging with his arms out at his sides, palms facing upward.

"We are in this together, yes? What sort of lover would I be if I were to abandon you to shoulder this burden alone?" Offering his own smile down at Dirk, he extends his hand to him—not that he needs help getting to his feet, but perhaps it's a more symbolic gesture, than anything else.

Dirk responds with a facsimile of laughter, a soft snort of breath out his nose, but he does take Hades by the gloved hand--and though he pushes up off the bed himself, he lets Hades guide him upright.

"The kind who wanted more sleep, probably."

Thank fuck. He really did mean it when he said he didn't want another fucking fight, but as of just a couple minutes ago, he was more than ready to have one.

Just because Hades didn't rebuke him in front of Hythlodaeus didn't mean that wasn't going to happen once the door was closed, and he was nowhere near deluded enough to believe it wouldn't... not until this very second, when Hades offered him a hand and a smile.

They were definitely going to need to revisit some of these topics, of that he had no doubt... but it's still nice to be wrong once in a while.

In the kitchen, there is thankfully no more coffee, merely washed mugs on the drying rack. It seems that Hythlodaeus did bake some of that fresh bread along with the egg dish, and it does smell heavenly in the kitchen.

Even from here, the garden is visible. Hythlodaeus does love to keep that door open, and why wouldn't he? It does allow the Tropius and the Cutieflies to come and go as they please. Hopefully winter wasn't too cold—

The Yamask are finishing up setting the table, including a much smaller one with yellow eyes. Hythlodaeus signs to him before giving him a what looks like a truffle. He eats it gleefully before floating off. The books and such have all thankfully been neatly stacked against the wall. Once he notices their arrival, Hythlodaeus turns towards them and offers the briefest smile of acknowledgement.

To those not in the know, it looks like a very terse expression. He unties his apron and hangs it before taking his own seat at the table.

The tomato-adorned sfougato, baked into a round and sliced into six pieces, makes quite the pretty picture in the middle of the table. There's a pitcher of grapefruit juice and little ramekins of butter, honey, and olive oil. It's all enough to make any grandmother proud.

"Come, it's all ready," he says softly, gesturing as cutieflies bring napkins over, waiting for each of them to sit.

Edited 2020-08-27 05:26 (UTC)

Dirk's quip earns him Hades' own low chuckle as he helps him to his feet. With a quick kiss planted on Dirk's forehead and a soft moment of a lingering and affectionate gaze at the other man, he breaks the moment with a nod towards the door as he turns to lead him along. Not quite releasing his hand until they're at the door.

Prolonging that gesture of love, but ending it before it can turn into a source of embarrassment.

The smell is the first to hit him, and the food's aroma is enough to bring peace and comfort to even the most tumultuous of souls. Truly, it feels as though he's returned home, like he's been whisked straight out of this reality and transported back to those halcyon days in Amaurot. The familiarity is quite the balm his contentious soul needed.

So too the sight: Hythlodaeus in the kitchen readying the meal, all these small creatures assisting him—it's enough to make his long since cold heart burst with warmth. While the beasts they've made in Amaurot did not quite serve such domestic labors, there's something reminiscent all the same. The food itself is a sight to behold too, another grounding familiarity that sets his tired heart at ease.

He's so caught up in the contrast of this moment compared to that which they had just endured mere minutes before, that he nearly doesn't notice the strange looking Yamask.

In fact, he nearly makes it to the table before he freezes in place, eyes fixed on the Yamask in question. Looking to Hythlodaeus as he raises a hand to point at it, he tilts his head a little curiously, "now then, where did this Yamask come from—and why does it look distinct from the others—wait, is this a 'shiny'?"

Edited 2020-08-27 17:46 (UTC)

The curvature of the lines representing Dirk's wishes and his boundaries may approach each other infinitely, but the two have never successfully connected.

In some ways, for some wishes, this is a definite good thing.

In others... it's simply appreciated that Emet both sees the gap and respects it.

He bears the kiss stoically, only acknowledging it by tightening his grip on Emet's hand for a moment, then releasing that hold easily at the door. Their paths diverge before they've reached the kitchen, and Dirk jerks his head upwards just slightly to cue Emet to go on ahead of him, that he'll be there in just a moment.

So he misses, mostly, the sentimental comfort of a false homecoming, and mars not the moment that nostalgia and warmth roost in Emet's breast. If either of the others look for him, he's on his way into the garden, looking up--for Salome, left circling far, far overhead.

"He hatched while you were indisposed," he says with a growing smile. "I would love to understand the soul cycle here. My current theory... Is that these creatures act as the underworld itself, so brimming with vitality as they are. Though I don't believe that souls are released from this type as they are from the others."

Hythlodaeus had long moved past contending with the bafflement that a ghost hatching from an egg had brought him. "It is apparently quite the rare trait, yet I have managed to hatch four of them this month."

Of course he would be unnaturally lucky. Things seemed to just fall into his lap at times, didn't they? Right time, right place...

"Afanis," he calls to it. "Come meet your master." He signs the words as he speaks them, giving the little ghost a moment to parse it. Hythlodaeus hands a poffin to Hades as he beckons.

The little ghost does as it is bidden, floating until Hades can reach out and touch it if he wants.

"He has beautiful eyes, does he not? A familiar hue, truly." His smile grows as he begins to laugh. He settles down to pour himself a glass of juice and takes a sip. He had been doing an awful lot of talking, hadn't he?

"...Will he be joining us?" Hythldaeus asks softly as he watches Dirk go further back into the house out of the corner of his eye. "...Forgive me if I upset him too much."

In the garden, Banania stirs from his nap with Dirk's approach. He immediately presses his head into Dirk's stomach and nuzzles, fishing for pets and affection. The cutieflies give Dirk a little more space— it seems the story of his vertical feat had already been communicated through the congregation.

The subtleties of Dirk's affections are something that Hades adores, and in a sense, is more his general pace. He has gotten used to more public displays of love and affection due to being with Hythlodaeus, and his years living among mortals, but he is not quite the sort that would otherwise flaunt earnest affections. The more he genuinely feels something, the more subtle he might act, the more private he might keep those genuine gestures of love.

However, his mind is far from that train of thought by now, his focus on the small ghost that floats his way. The name does not escape his notice, and it earns Hythlodaeus a momentary glance, before returning to the Yamask. He does offer his hand, palm turned upward watching what it might do.

To the eye comment, he gives a shrug, bypassing it otherwise to talk about something much more interesting to him than the similarities he might share with this creature.

"Not all Pokémon become ghosts, and not all dead men become them, either. Yet, most seem to either hold the souls of man or their fellow Pokémon. However, I believe their typing is a bit of a misnomer. They are more akin to the spectral than they are truly such, even if death might bring forth their existence. They are indeed living: they eat, they sleep, they breed. All markers of life."

Ironically, all the things he can't really do without hijacking someone else's body, but it's also an oversimplification of life for the sake of being concise. For a moment, he almost considers not answering Hythlodaeus about Dirk, but he glances to the garden, and what he can see of Dirk, before looking back to Afanis.

"He will be. If you are truly sorry, you will be agreeable as we share a meal together for the first time. I would have peace, Hythlodaeus."

The smell of food is strong even here, where the sunlight streams down and particles float in the air from the open sky. In a way, it's disorientating. Not that he's unused to it; he's not a fucking animal, and a world constantly filled with potent and unexpected smells of food cooking stopped being any kind of novelty years ago.

This is just the first time that the combination of Hythlodaeus' character, Emet's presence, and a meal of any kind have existed in the same space. He has a feeling like he should be nervous, or at least on his guard, but in practise, he's just impatient to get past the sun-dappled sauropod that's benignly assaulting him at the moment.

He's surprised enough by the headbunt to his midsection that it actually stops him; he pats its head a bit indifferentluy, more focused on his destination than his obstacle.

"Sup. You're kinda in the way, you know that?"

"It is still a terribly peculiar detour these souls make. Not that I believe that it needs to make sense, as the rules of this universe are merely enforced yet not explainable..."

But now the topic was changing to one a little more relevant here. "...Very well. He seems ill-inclined to stir up trouble either right now. The conversation must have been very tiring for him, and I hadn't realized he was quite so sensitive. No matter, I do have table manners. I will allow you two peace."

Hythlodaeus then turns his attention to the food and serves each of them a slice.

Back in the garden, Banania makes a throaty warble with the petting. And in response, he grabs a mouthful of the back of Dirk's shirt, bananas softly bapping him in the back of the head as he swings him onto his back and takes flight with a few beats of his leafy wings.

For now, he'll let the discussion of Pokémon souls slip to the wayside, particularly when Afanis puts his little ghostly hands, both of them, onto Hades' palm. Looking up at him with those yellow eyes of his. This earns him a smirk, but then his attention is grabbed by Hythlodaeus. Turning his hand, he pats the ghost on his head, before making his way over to take a seat at the table properly.

"See that you do. I will not hesitate to remind you of this allowance should I find you slipping." He gripes as he looks over his slice, before looking out towards the garden a moment later when he hears—is that the beating of wings?

"...Say, Hythlodaeus, what exactly is your creature doing?" He cannot see that the tree-fused-reptile is making off with Dirk, what with the quick ascent, so he's a little less concerned than he probably should be.

Actually, with the large creature out of the way, he notices something else! He springs from his seat, nearly knocking into Afanis who chose to linger behind Hades with idle curiosity. Jabbing a finger at the offensive sight, he scowls.

"Nevermind your creature, what pray tell happened to my maple!?"

So much for peace...

In the past year (and some change) he's spent trapped in this world, Dirk has been aggressed, assaulted, and attacked by Psychic types of all shapes and sizes, but has not often been threatened by its reigning masters otherwise. To some extent, he's become habituated to their presence as something largely innocuous, a relatively banal part of his temporary stay in mortal instability.

Which is all to say, he wasn't watching his back.

He wasn't watching his back, and then it was too late--his feet had already left the ground, the chance to try and divest himself of his top had passed, and he was astride a deciduous-scented dinosaur, with the thrum of its banana-leaf wings blowing wind into his eyes and the ground rapidly receding.

He really only has seconds to make a decision, and the decision he makes is this:

He is not going to be abducted by a flying banana tree-cum-dinosaur battle pet.

Waiting for a downbeat of those leafy 'wings,' he grits his teeth and takes a flying leap off the Tropius' back, tucking and rolling directly onto the roof of his boyfriend's two-storey house.

His first impression, upon impact, is of the hard edges of the scute-like clay shingles. They don't feel great, as landing materials go. His second is how hot they are. Which is a problem he'll worry about later, because right now, he's not sticking around--he's already up and running for the streetside edge.

"...in the Hall of Halmarut, they call it interspecific competition. Proper sunlight is awfully hard to come by in a city, after all."

He's not even trying to be an asshole.

"Speaking of, where did Banania go? I saw him sunbathing just a moment ago..."

"...And in the Hall of Halmarut, you will also find that it is the duty of the gardener to ensure the survival of all plants within their care. With your experience in horticulture, I would have suspected you would not be so sloppy!"

There's that irritated squeak to his tone as he rambles at Hythlodaeus, but his agitated scowl is interrupted when he hears that thump from above. Did the—

"It took to the air, and it may very well be on the roof. Really. With how much you covet for control, you certainly have very little of it over your monster." Instead of taking his seat again, Hades starts for the garden, after all, Dirk was out there. Maybe he knows what's going on.

A few things happen at approximately the same time.

First, Dirk hops down from the roof. This is performed much less dramatically than his descent to said roof, since it's only two storeys--and pretty much a direct drop.

The pavement isn't any less searing under his bare feet, nor the asphalt less texturally unforgiving, but the degree to which he's cultivated his stoicism purposefully is motivated partially by the need to take inconvenient afflictions like that--more specifically, the need to take them and keep going without breaking a sweat (proverbial or otherwise.)

But in the seconds between reaching the front door and beginning to open, a streak of violent white and black blurred to grey occurs overhead, and he steps back just in time to watch Hythlodaeus' errant Tropius...

Drop.

Like a stone.

Directly back down into the garden.

And Salome, vindictive and victorious, spreads her dark vulturine wings wide before starting the spiralling flight back up to soaring altitude.

Fuck.

She doesn't get all that far; instead, she's dissolved into a beam of red incandescence as she's returned to her Ball.

Then he opens the front door to walk quickly back inside, his face like a stone.

Whatever Hythlodaeus is about to say is cut off by the sound of Tropius K.O.ing 126 cutiefly simultaneously. Hythlodaeus' jaw drops as he pats himself down for Tropius' Pokéball. Which is thankfully actually on his person. He recalls his fainted Tropius, and just regards the adorable carnage for a moment.

"... I don't believe we have enough grocery bags. Strip the bedding of the pillow cases, would you?"

Edited 2020-08-28 06:29 (UTC)

Hades stops in his tracks when he hears the impact of the Pokémon, and then he stares on in disbelief as he sees Tropius smash into the garden—and apparently 126 Cutiefly. What a pitiful cacophony of cries.

Then Dirk walks in. Hades knows not what to even do at the moment he is struck with such utter disbelief. So, instead of doing as Hythlodaeus asks, he merely looks at Dirk, his expression otherwise blank if not for how tired it looks.

Then, he walks to the table. Takes a seat. Rests his elbows on the table, and braces his forehead against his hands.

He needs a moment.

Edited 2020-08-28 06:34 (UTC)

There really was no 'good' version of this scene to enter, and no 'good' way to enter it.

Knowing this does not make Dirk feel better about walking into it, nor does it make him any less hyper-aware of himself while he does so. This isn't his fucking fault. Absolutely no part of the past handful of nightmare minutes was premeditated or authorised by him in any way. Considering the circumstances, in fact, he was more than within his rights to take a rolling dive off Banania's back and onto the roof, and he broke not a single clay shingle in the process.

On the other hand, Emet very explicitly demanded peace and the cascading series of disasters he just took part in also took biggest, smelliest possible shit on that he objectively could have. Flipping the breakfast table and calling Hythlodaeus the vilest slurs he knew could have done less damage.

And he knows some real hair-curling invectives, so that wouldn't have been for lack of trying.

So he does not do as Hythlodaeus requests, does not go searching for pillowcases to strip from the beds. No, instead he walks--one of the more excruciatingly long short-distance walks in his life, though nowhere near the longest--past the garden and to the table where Emet is seated, head placed directly against his hands, clearly in the silent throes of a final breakdown of patience and goodwill.

"Sorry. It's going to be tough, what with the way knives around here dull instantly, but I don't see any way around it. You're going to have to cut my head off."

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