victory_road | This road is going nowhere [Closed]

Entry tags:

This road is going nowhere [Closed]

Who: Dirk Strider and Hythlodaeus.... Emet-Selch shows up around comment #80
Where: Goldenrod, XIVhaus Garden
When: August 15th shhh this is forward dated
Summary: Can't believe Dirk is the one cornering someone else for acting weird for once tbh
Rating: PG except for swears? [EDIT] ....convo got nsfw around comment #70

Hours after Dirk finally slept (and then woke up again) while Emet did not, Emet himself falls asleep (the natural way) and Dirk is left... free. Free to wander the house on his own. Free to track down some answers. Or rather, to lie in wait for the source of his questions and then ambush him for said answers.

Hythlodaeus has generously yielded all the clues he needs to establish the location; a sad, dead excuse for a withered 'garden,' comprised though it is of a single dead tree and an open sky, with sunlight streaming from overhead and soft, gently buzzing fuzzbugs by the dozens. No special preparations are required for this--though he does take the time to let Salome out of her Pokeball to circle the sky overhead, it's for his convenience and not out of any desire to threaten the eight-foot neurotic with a jealous magical bird. (In fact, it's for the lack of that desire that he sends her spiralling up and out of human line of sight.)

Then, he just has to wait.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Hythlodaeus sighs as he walks towards the bedroom to get a sheet, overhearing Dirk in the process of course. The corner of his mouth pulls into a smirk.

He walks over the to the knife block and pulls out the cleaver.

"Luckily for you, I don't tolerate poorly made materials." He spins the cleaver to catch it by the flat of the blade and offers it to Hades.

"Should only take three passes, maybe two with Hades' shoulders. One if you're lucky!"

Edited 2020-08-29 03:20 (UTC)

Hades barely gets the chance to fully process what Dirk's said before Hythlodaeus is offering him a knife, and his own commentary. Really, what is even going on? Did he leave and come back to some distorted version of the world he was already trapped within?

It's...ridiculous. Utterly. Completely. Thoroughly.

Yet, this absurdity as he regards the cleaver in his hand, his eyes trailing along its blade as his expression wears his bafflement for both to behold, tickles his brain just right or something. Because after a moment, he laughs. Bringing his free hand to cover his mouth as he does so, shaking with laughter. It's...not entirely humorless, in fact, there's something genuine to it, but it is tired.

Placing the cleaver down on the table, as he shakes his head and looks between Dirk and Hythlodaeus, there's something grateful about his expression. For all the chaos that has happened within the span of minutes, their fatuity complement each other so well, that it nearly makes up for the tension ere all of this.

Makes him...appreciate their presence all the more, even if they were driving him to the edge of sanity.

"...Little do I think making more of a mess will help aught, but I do so appreciate the offer, and your assistance Hythlodaeus. I am afraid I will have to decline, perhaps joining me properly will have to do." He says pleasantly enough, before looking to Hythlodaeus. "How are your vilekin? Do they need immediate attention? These beasts are rather resilient, and I would hate for our food to get cold."

Honestly, he knows they can't die. Knows they'll probably be fine, and he just wants to enjoy a meal with the two of them and not worry about those chaotic beasts for a few minutes.

Edited 2020-08-29 04:09 (UTC)

When Emet first starts laughing, it's not clear if Dirk's just solved everything (again) or if he's about to find out just how much damage a blunted blade can do his neck.

"Damn," Dirk deadpans, faking only a little disappointment for it.

"Well, if you're sure."

His subsequent glance towards Hythlodaeus comes with a slight turn of his head just to make it more externally evident, at which point he shrugs helplessly.

Which would have been fine, really. Dirk would have filed this incident away as one more reason to rip himself to fucking shreds at night, when he needs a little something extra. But then Emet says something more, and--uh.

What?

What the fuck does that mean. Vilekin?

Obviously Dirk can guess what Emet's referring to based on context, but he's literally never heard either of them use that term before. God. Fuck.

Hythlodaeus can't see it, but Dirk's stare... were it only possible for him to push Hythlodaeus through the narrative in this moment.

Say they're fine. Please just say they're fine. Say they're fucking fine. C'mon. Say it.

"Well, there's nothing broken. No blood or any such. They're all unconscious, of course..."

It was a normal enough thing in this world for these creatures to be unconscious for quite a while at a time, wasn't it?

"... I suppose I could go to the corner store for revives rather than transporting all of them. It should only take me a few minutes." He turns to Dirk.

"...Though it may be a bit more than I have on me."

.... is that all.

Dirk pulls out his Gear wordlessly. In a short couple of minutes, Hythlodaeus's Gear notifies him of a transfer for P210,000... which is to say, every cent Dirk earned against the Elite Four.

Then he pockets his own Gear again.

"Done."

Hythlodaeus' poker face would be more impressive if he had a true concept of what earning money around here is like, or what things that aren't inexpensive cotton clothes or cups of tea at the café cost.

"Ah, this should certainly cover the expense. Thank you, Dirk," he gives him a smile slight enough to be genuine. "I'll hurry back before it gets cold."

And with a quick shuffling of his sandals onto his feet, he ducks out into the world. The shop is thankfully just down the street, an inconsequential distance, especially for a man with his stride. He may purchase their entire stock, but he isn't too worried about that.

As that exchange happened, Hades was content in merely watching the two interact...peacefully. Honestly, it was like night and day, and he could not be more glad for it. Watching as Hythlodaeus leaves, his eyes flick over to Dirk as he gives him a soft and curious smile.

"Come, have a seat." He says as he gestures to the chair besides him, where a plate is set. "Though, I cannot help but wonder: how much did you bequeath him with? Awful kind of you, really."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject