Dirk Strider (Ultimate) (
uber_marionettist) wrote in
victory_road2020-08-10 12:35 am
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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.
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.
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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.
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"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...
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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.
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He's not even trying to be an asshole.
"Speaking of, where did Banania go? I saw him sunbathing just a moment ago..."
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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.
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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.
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"... I don't believe we have enough grocery bags. Strip the bedding of the pillow cases, would you?"
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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.
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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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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!"
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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.
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"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.
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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."
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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."
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"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.
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"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."
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"This was basically my fault, whether or not it was on purpose. So I just sent him my winnings from the Elite Four."
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"...That is quite a sum of money, is it not?" There's clear disbelief in his tone, but he doesn't seem upset or anything. As he's looking Dirk over, he does notice at least a little bit of redness to his shoulder, and how he's leaning quite a bit on his elbow. Perhaps he'll wait a moment to ask about it.
In the meantime, he'll busy himself with serving Dirk some of the breakfast that Hythlodaeus has prepared for them, though keeping an eye on him all the same.
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"Two-hundred and ten thousand," Dirk confirms.
Sure, it's more than necessary. It could even be called excessive. Maybe. Depending on who you are.
But--
"I mean, it would have been pretty inappropriate to calculate the needed sum to the penny and send exactly that." He frowns.
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"Nay, you are not wrong. You need not be stingy in such a manner, however..." he pours himself a glass as well, picking it up once he places the pitcher back down. Settling his gaze at Dirk as he takes a drink. The act almost like a punctuation for his thinking.
As he pulls the glass away, swallowing, he opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Squints for a moment. Then smiles affectionately.
"It does seem a touch excessive. There is such a thing as being too generous, but little do I want you to think I'm criticizing you. More...Hythlodaeus is not quite skilled with handling money. But it is no matter, I will handle it once he returns. You have my gratitude all the same, my dear."
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Fine. Okay. Maybe it was 'excessive.'
Emet can keep going as smoothly as he likes, that pause was still noticed. The dramatic bit with the glass was definitely overkill.
"I don't exactly pay rent," Dirk sighs, knowing full well he risks now sounding indifferent to the damages. He isn't mad about the performance or the platitude, it's just... okay, maybe he feels like that was its own kind of excess.
His mouth tightens into a grim line.
"Might as well make it a point to demonstrate my sincerity."
If the amount he sent Hythlodaeus was about sincerity, the expression on his face is one of seriousness. He's fucking trying, all right?
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"Well, your sincerity is ever appreciated, truly, pray do not think otherwise. Mayhap it was uncouth of me to air my concern, forgive me. I suppose I may be a little off from...well, everything."
He does really appreciate Dirk trying, and he does not wish to diminish his efforts. However, he also doesn't want Dirk to be taken advantage of in his attempts, either.
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...Was this a true hearted apology? Done without pomp or parade.
He smiles at it before he loads himself up and maneuvers very carefully out of the shop.
He wasn’t kidding about how quick it would be, even with the absurd quantity. With five boxes stacked on top of one another and needing to stoop over just to enter, he is the picture of absurdity. He sets down the enormous haul in the plain view of the kitchen and whistles.
Twenty or so yamask wake from their slumber, pulling their masks off the walls and lining up. He explains their task in quick, efficient sign. They sign back in unison before they get to it. It is adorable. Hythlodaeus releases a breath as he rejoins his companions.
“There’s quite a bit of change,” he starts. “I’ve never sent currency before... where might I find the option?”
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"Whatever. Don't worry about it."
He only removes it when the door opens, and he sits back just in time to watch the score or more of masks that he had kind of hoped were decorative prove themselves anything but.
'Adorable' is not the word he would have used to describe the affair.
"Nowhere," he tells Hythlodaeus when that elaborate procedure is over. "Keep it. Convert it all to pennies and make yourself a sick bed out of it. Commission a sculpture, buy out every ticket at a sports event. Spend it all on eggs and make the biggest sfougato breakfast this world has ever seen. Whatever gets you hard, it's yours."
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Really, Dirk draws out his more nurturing and affectionate side just with how he is.
He's about to contest the notion of not worrying about it, but then Hythlodaeus comes in. Dirk pulls his hand away. The platoon of Yamask set off to work, and the moment is lost. Silently he watches Hythlodaeus and Dirk interact, settling in his seat and taking to his juice to keep himself busy as he mulls over the interaction prior, relieved that Hythlodaeus intended to return the unused amount—but he nearly chokes on his drink when Dirk starts making suggestions for what to do with the money.
Partially because it's all rather absurd and humor in that regard, but also because Hythlodaeus might very well do exactly that. Of course, the comment about 'whatever gets you hard' does little to help the situation, either! Roughly swallowing his drink down in lieu of spitting it on Dirk, he raises his eyebrows as he looks between the both of them with bewildered amusement.
"Or, perchance, we could come up with a far more practical use for it." Really, he hopes Hythlodaeus will let that ending comment from Dirk go, but he knows he is not one to be so lucky.
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cw 'gay and homophobic'
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