hythlodaeus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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victory_road2020-09-25 04:56 pm
hythlodaeus) wrote in victory_road2020-09-25 04:56 pm
[closed] Time to Rock his World
Who: Hythlodaeus, Dirk Strider, John Egbert
Where: Goldenrod Department Store
When: 10am, around September 25th
Summary: Ambushing Dirk Strider with a rock
Rating: Nothing depicted, but. It's Dirk Strider talking.
Hythlodaues did his due diligence, sort of. He has an idea, and it is quite the gambit, yet he knows the payoff could be worth it. Even if this goes absolutely abysmally, it will ensure future conversations between Dirk and Emet-Selch. Or ensure a restraining order. He trusted in Emet-Selch, but not so much that he didn't feel the need to interfere.
Hythlodaeus, seeming to still be taking Dirk's fashion advice to heart, is dressed for the slightly chillier weather, though even more so than the people around him. Perhaps he doesn't tolerate it well. His hair, braided and under-shaved, is shorter than it was before, but he he did cut it for his performance art, didn't he?
Speaking of that, there's still a visible pink line marking his skin. It looks fine, though. The effect of his clothes and hair together make him look even a little more "modern" than he is. He has spent the last several hours laying in wait for Dirk Strider, a bag of his purchases sitting untouched between his feet. He's rather conspicuous, but as the crowds seem to die down, he finds somewhere to sit sort of hunched. He holds the little orange stone tight in his hand. He has a few pokéballs in his pocket that he can use as leverage or bribes. Not all of them, though. That would defeat part of the purpose.
He's lucky, he thinks, that he didn't spoil the John well any earlier than this. He would have to offer his thanks and apology later, depending on how this all unfurled right in his workspace.
Though he is distinct in his height, Dirk is also very easy to spot in the crowd. He moves quietly out of his periphery, down behind some shelves and to the elevator. He releases the shiny ponyta to do as they rehearsed and steps into wait with his back against the front wall, body in front of the buttons. He presses the button to keep the door open as the ponyta trots around making little whines as if pitifully lost.
Where: Goldenrod Department Store
When: 10am, around September 25th
Summary: Ambushing Dirk Strider with a rock
Rating: Nothing depicted, but. It's Dirk Strider talking.
Hythlodaues did his due diligence, sort of. He has an idea, and it is quite the gambit, yet he knows the payoff could be worth it. Even if this goes absolutely abysmally, it will ensure future conversations between Dirk and Emet-Selch. Or ensure a restraining order. He trusted in Emet-Selch, but not so much that he didn't feel the need to interfere.
Hythlodaeus, seeming to still be taking Dirk's fashion advice to heart, is dressed for the slightly chillier weather, though even more so than the people around him. Perhaps he doesn't tolerate it well. His hair, braided and under-shaved, is shorter than it was before, but he he did cut it for his performance art, didn't he?
Speaking of that, there's still a visible pink line marking his skin. It looks fine, though. The effect of his clothes and hair together make him look even a little more "modern" than he is. He has spent the last several hours laying in wait for Dirk Strider, a bag of his purchases sitting untouched between his feet. He's rather conspicuous, but as the crowds seem to die down, he finds somewhere to sit sort of hunched. He holds the little orange stone tight in his hand. He has a few pokéballs in his pocket that he can use as leverage or bribes. Not all of them, though. That would defeat part of the purpose.
He's lucky, he thinks, that he didn't spoil the John well any earlier than this. He would have to offer his thanks and apology later, depending on how this all unfurled right in his workspace.
Though he is distinct in his height, Dirk is also very easy to spot in the crowd. He moves quietly out of his periphery, down behind some shelves and to the elevator. He releases the shiny ponyta to do as they rehearsed and steps into wait with his back against the front wall, body in front of the buttons. He presses the button to keep the door open as the ponyta trots around making little whines as if pitifully lost.
no subject
The leather sole of his boot makes contact with the floor and his path wanders, searching between the racks of novelty-flavoured potato chips and chance-to-win dried seaweed snacks. Following the tinny cries and the distinctly beating clatter of tiny hooves on tile, he makes it past the refrigerated case of shrink-wrapped onigiri and cold sandwiches via a shortcut through the brightly-labelled, individually-wrapped chocolate bars before he sights the first flicker of fire.
Dirk's 'pursuit,' if one can call it that, is somewhat underwhelming; if it weren't for his slight forward lean as he weaves through the store, there'd be no clue anything was amiss at all.
Once he finds the source of the small, shrill whinnying, he pauses at the end of the aisle he's in, taking in the blue flames and shimmering cream of its coat, as well as... the obvious lack of any human that isn't manning a register. What the fuck.
.....
No, really.
Is it just him? What is this?
Hythlodaeus will have to wait for an entire agonising minute, and then suffer a second sixty seconds of unmoving silence before Dirk finally takes a single cautious step forward.
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This ponyta is an absolute natural actor. His tail is drooped, his ears flat with the openings down. For part of the time that Dirk watches him he only pretends not to notice in turn. The shiny ponta blinks his big eyes, ceasing his noises as he finally turns his head towards Dirk. He takes a step towards Dirk, then nickers and walks in a slow circle away, tail raising.
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Is this.... is this actually happening? No one else is here. John is--somewhere, not fucking here, that's for sure.
He knows it's not exactly peak hours, he'd timed his arrival accordinly, but there's got to be someone besides John, right? This is someone's lost Ponyta?
He takes a step towards it, then another, and then he's just walking towards it at a normal, steady walking pace, like this is totally normal except he's still unsure if this is some kind of dream sequence or if he's about to be punked or--
no subject
The ponyta's ears prick, then lower. He allows Dirk to steadily gain on him until they're just a ninja-hop from the elevator. It pretends to spook and hops into the elevator with a whiny and cowers into the far corner as the doors are already closing, offering Dirk little time to react.
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Shit. He picks up his pace when the Ponyta spooks and darts into the elevator after it, a decision he tries to salvage by jamming his foot between the closing doors.
Whether or not he succeeds, he's ready to punch himself in the goddamn face for taking the suspicious-from-the-start live bait mere seconds later.
Not because of the doors.
No, it's because it only takes him that second or two to recognise Hythlodaeus; the haircut is new, and so is the societally normative clothing choice, but there is no mistaking an 8-foot tall figure with long, straight white hair and a pallor to match.
"...."
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"έκκληση," he prompts softly. The ponyta grabs Dirk's shirt front with his teeth and tugs him inside as the doors finally shudder closed.
"...Funny meeting you here. You have a moment to speak, surely."
The pony-cum-actor whinnies as his body language readjusts to something a little more outright friendly as he presses his head against Dirk's middle for a nuzzle.
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He lets gravity and the Ponyta pull him back in, his expression unreadable. It occurs to him as he's doing all this--or having it done to him, it's not all that clear yet--that this must be one of Acorn's foals. Incredible, really. That's two self-satisfied immortals now who have yanked him around using foals bred from his own stock.
".....yeah, real funny." His deadpan is a pretty accurate reflection of his feelings here.
"What is it you want?"
no subject
"I wanted to speak with you, well... More importantly, I had an item I wanted to give you... Yet not one I wanted to entrust to another to deliver. Yet before I do, I would like to give just a touch of background information on it. Forgive me my exposition, it is not quite an elevator pitch, and it will take a bit more than the time we have until we reach the top floor."
Ekklisi nudges under Dirk's hand. Hythlodaeus glances down at the creature with a small smile. He wanted to give Dirk the chance to say anything he wanted to as well, though he knew better than to invite it. He trusted that he would speak his mind.
no subject
"No. I mean, you went to all this trouble, and I didn't even have the opportunity to prepare a few words in advance. I could have, if you'd warned me ahead of time."
He's already trying to imagine what kind of additional 'item' Hythlodaeus could intend for him, and even (or especially) with the information that it has a fucking backstory, he's coming up short.
"Wouldn't really go with your obviously highly-elaborate and well-planned entrapment scheme, unless maybe you stitched a second note into one those--hm, snuffets, I guess? And I just missed it. In which case, my bad."
He ignores the nosy Ponyta right up until the end, when he can't seem to help but scratch its warm, furry brow a bit, however idly.
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He smiles, just a subtle thing with the tilt of his head and a finger pressed to his lips for barely a moment.
"There's a folded letter inside one of them, but you would only find it if you destroyed it... Though not with fire. That would have also incinerated the message. I did act more hurriedly than I might otherwise—"
The elevator passes the floor just below the top now.
"I've had better schemes, I'll admit... Can I convince you to come speak with me somewhere more comfortable?"
The Ponyta snuffles, pressing his head against him and looking at Dirk with his big brown eyes.
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It's not that he is or isn't mad at Hythlodaeus, really; it's the things he's mad about in regards to Emet's brain ghost and the reasons he's mad at Emet and the things he's mad about in regards to Emet's brain ghost are discrete subjects.
Also, decapitation is his personal meme. You have to earn that shit.
"No."
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The ponyta startles into Dirk’s arms.
Hythlodaues takes a seat on the floor, legs crossed, with his purchases in his lap. He pulls out a couple bottles of juice and rolled oat bars, setting them to the side in a way that suggests they are to share.
"Ah, to see your colors in juxtaposition just so... Well. Your color isn't so visible to me right this moment, yet I do not need to see it to remember quite easily its hue. It reminds me of... Someone, something as well, but we shall make our way there."
He reaches into an inside pocket to his woolen jacket and removes the item, though holding it in his closed hand.
"I would be surprised if Hades hadn't mentioned him, though I doubt he has told you this. There was someone important to us a long, long time ago who has since passed as I have. Sundered, split into fourteen, and left bereft of the memory of Amaurot," he opens one of the drinks, anticipating needing to wet his throat for the coming tale.
"Yet before that cataclysmic series of events that pitted us against one another, in the days when our only foes were the elements, there was a fourteenth member of the Convocation."
Hythlodaeus smiles to himself, undoubtedly recounting tales of fond specificity as his fist tightens ever so slightly.
"Unparalleled in his bravery, strength... and his talent for the unorthodox, he held an unusual role. As each of the Convocation members holds a seat represented by the stars, he was the guiding light itself..."
He unclasps his fingers, revealing the crystal in his palm. He traces the symbol with his index finger in a circle, smoothly flicking his wrist to point at Dirk, prompting him to answer the world's easiest riddle.
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He's not actually surprised.
He knew, or at least expected, that Hythlodaeus would have a contingency ready for when he turned down the 'reasonable' choice. There was always a chance that he would not, of course; Hythlodaeus has proven himself 'quirky' enough, in Dirk's experience, to instead let the elevator reach the top and see Dirk off with a wave and a smile. But 'earn it' can mean many things, and Dirk's refusal was predicated in part on the assumption that this would be the outcome--well, not this specifically, but something. It just so happens that Hythlodaeus has chosen to define it as inconveniencing absolutely everyone in the department store so that he might have a captive audience.
Dirk plans to challenge that, but not right this second.
He already knows about the convocation and its number. And he's capable of solving Hythlodaeus' riddle just fine. But what he notices first when the softly calloused hand opens up isn't the symbol etched onto the stone but its hue.
Which answers a very different riddle.
"Oh, now I get it." And then, just because he's feeling charitable, he continues the thought aloud.
"So that's why he was so weird about my eyes."
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And as if confirming for himself what he already knew, he reaches over to lift his shades up with a fingerpad under a point. If he gets that far, that is. Whether he allows him or stops him he will proceed as normal.
“I want you to have it. Azem’s stone. As you should understand, that is not a name— but a title, and Hades’ love of Azem has spanned centuries, and it has brought him to you.”
He reaches into his jacket and takes out a pokeball. He taps it to the ponyta and offers it to Dirk along with the Crystal.
“I know he sees a man worthy of that seat in you, as do I. I would like you to consider that you truly belong among us.”
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Which leaves him fairly unprepared--shades down on the end of his prominent nose, attention on Hythlodaeus' face instead of his hands--for the absurpt tap-and-switch of Pokeball and Ponyta; he doesn't lose balance over it, but it's a bit of a shift, and he has a lot to process in those seconds that has nothing to do with what's being physically done inches from his face.
He just kind of stares at Hythlodaeus while all of that lands--and though he does belatedly think to reach for the offered items, he hesitates to actually do so. After another few moments of absolute silence in the stalled elevator, he reaches cautiously for the Pokeball, but his eyes don't leave Hythlodaeus' face for a second.
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“You should come by later, for dinner. Acorn misses you,” he says softly. “...And I would like to spend some time with you of your own volition.”
He reaches forward to readjust his glasses back up on his nose, then places his hand underneath his chin.
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He stands up swiftly, an action hopefully to be read as brisk and efficient.
"Acorn can come home any time," Dirk replies simply, holding the Pokeball in one hand for an added second before tapping it to his Gear--it glows a soft crimson and dissolves apparently into red light, an amorphous glow that lingers for a moment longer before disappearing into the Gear.
He leaves the orange crystal in Hythlodaeus' palm. With their relative positions, it's easier than ever to achieve a detached, condescending angle.
"........ does Emet know?"
Caution horniness or violence or both ahead
He watches the ponyta zorp away and thinks of the little horseman he wove from aether months ago.
“...I wasn’t going to take it back. Not then, not now.”
He meets his gaze, or what he assumes is that through those shades. He holds the Crystal between two fingers and tucks it away, though surreptitiously into his sleeve and not a pocket.
“He knows me well enough to know, I’d think. As an extension of himself and as myself,” he says with a quirk to his lip.
“I come bearing yet more gifts. ...An opportunity for a cleansing moment, let us say.”
He places a hand on his thigh and gazes up at him as if he’s about to ask something else. “Would you like to hit me?”
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"So, that'd be a no. Got it."
'Gifts' is such a loaded word coming from Hythlodaeus' mouth that Dirk is frankly underwhelmed by the coming revelation on offer. Which, given the close quarters and lack of anything else to infer from, loops back into simple confusion.
"You want me to what?"
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He pats his thigh consolingly, his face really quite close to Dirk's belt line. He shrugs to his question.
"Hit me. Strike me. Kick me if you like. Inflict whatever lingering pain in your heart upon me. I shan't tell a soul and no one is watching," he tilts his head to the side as he places his other hand on Dirk's corresponding thigh.
"I know those muscles aren't mere panoply."
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"Look. I don't know what Emet told you, bro, but I'm not interested in entertaining your fetishes."
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"...All he's told me is when I asked about how you look beneath your clothes—" He stops himself as he's about to paraphrase. "Yet who could say it better than he?"
His timbre and cadence take on Hades' own, his expression melting into a recreation of that gooey, wistful look.
"He is rather breathtaking. His body is sculpted rather beautifully, and while it has its fair share of scars, they do not detract from his allure.
Rather, they inspire curiosity, whisper hints of tales he does not share—even in moments of intimacy. Allowing the mind to wander, to fill in the gaps of their origin, of the life he's lived, the struggles he's endured. A visual splendor of his unique existence."
He squeezes one of Dirk's thighs in his large hand, using the distractions to sleight the crystal into his pocket with the other as he takes his hands back, placing them on his own thighs.
"I do wish to look upon you. Yet... That is not this. This, in this moment, is an invitation to restitution. You may take it when you wish. Bid me to your side and I shall receive your anger. After all, this must be dealt with if we are to move towards our goal."
CW nsfw again
He steps back out of Hythlodaeus' reach quickly, his jaw tight.
"No!"
Nevermind the grotesque duplication of Emet's character, the adulatory reverence of his language, the heat and pressure of Hythlodaeus' brazen palm, fingers spread--
"Nothing doing. I mean it. Absolutely not."
He doesn't leave it there, lest Hythlodaeus get any ideas about controverting that (because he has learned not to leave Hythlodaeus with simple absolutes he can re-engineer, redefine, or exploit to his favour.)
"I don't know what your plan is, but I don't work like that. No one's catching these hands today, least of all you. I don't lay it on anyone who doesn't need it, and I'm getting the distinct impression that the last thing you need is what you're asking me for."
At least Hythlodaeus has distracted him thoroughly from discovering the crystal in his pocket until it will be much too late.
"Every single thing about what you just said is absolutely warped, up to and including the part where you've been asking after my nudes."
CW nsfw again
“See, as an Amaurotine, I sought only that oral construction from him,” he says with a shrug. “It is not as if I asked him to describe your phallus in detail. There should be some mystery yet.”
He absorbs what Dirk says all about that, a little surprised. “... Is that the last thing you believe I need? What, pray tell, would your advice be, then?”
CW nsfw again
Dirk's brow furrows, just a hair.
"Is that an actual question?"
He means to ask it sincerely, but before Hythlodaeus can open his mouth, he's answering it himself anyway. It just flows out of him, one word after another.
"Because if it is, I'm thinking it's a reality check. You're a sadist trying to get beaten up to solve your relationship problems. That's just not right."
He is pointedly ignoring the (not very quiet) implications--the eventuality of Hythlodaeus' knowing his dick's shape and dimensions, the suggestion of a nowhere-near-platonic mystique--in favour of the fact that he seems to have, however briefly, genuinely thrown Hythlodaeus off-balance.
CW nsfw again
“And to what purpose, to what end? To live in misery in these final moments I have with my own sapience and my departed friends?”
He stands then, shrugging.
“But we shall humor each other. What do you think the nature of this reality check should be?”
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It does not, however, grant him even one iota of self awareness when he opens his mouth and starts to speak his answer aloud.
"I don't think the problem lies in your base comprehension of reality. It's your intransigence when it comes to accepting your place in it, or the places of people around you."
If Hythlodaeus were actually within arms' reach of Dirk, his decision to stand would be inconvenient, but Dirk has put enough distance between himself and Hythlodaeus to minimise the necessary adjustments. He just lifts his head enough to present an impassive wall behind mirrorlike black leses under Hythlodaeus' delusively benign gaze.
"I don't know what happened in your canon after your clairvoyantly timed attempt to appropriate my personal meme, but you've just spent the past few minutes trying to fuck me in an elevator after inducting me into your convocation. I'm not your dead friend, so what's my relationship to your misery? That question is rhetorical, because I think this is about Emet again."
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“One, my so-called intransigence is one of my better qualities. It would behoove you to understand that I am right so frequently that to struggle against my current is as fatiguing as it is futile. You will eventually understand that I am inevitable, yet until then I am patient enough to wait for you to come to this on your own—“
He takes a breath.
“Two. Several absolutely fascinating events. It would be a disservice to them to recount them here and now. I will explain them at my home to you over tea and cake. Three,” he hits the wall above Dirk’s head and leans in, the kabedon of it all undermined by their height difference.
“You will know it when I’m trying to fuck you.” He smiles sweetly as he blocks out the overhead fluorescent lighting.
“Four. Of course this is about Emet. It always was and it always will be.”
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The tension presses down on him in a way Hythlodaeus and his presence does not; the awkwardness, on the other hand, seems to congeal around them, viscous and sticky and not a little suffocating. And that's not even accounting for the explicit sexuality permeating the implicit threat of Hythlodaeus' position over him. Or is it the implicit sexuality in the explicit threat? His heart's hammering isn't making it very clear. It's an adrenaline rush either way, and the still elevator air does little to cool him even when he recognises he's begun to sweat.
"Which brings me to Four. That horse is already dead, beaten, sliced, lacquered, and suspended from the ceiling. I thought 'the world ended before Yandere Simulator finished development' was the finish line for that joke, but I guess there's always someone ready to stage a resurrection. Even cultural appropriation is just another transformation of the memetic unit."
But whatever else the feeble veneer of 'canon' in this world may say about Dirk Strider when he leaves it, it will not deny his experience when it comes to maintaining a chill exterior when things start heating up.
Even if that 'chill' occasionally takes the form of slightly unfocused rambling.
"Put another way: it's not so much that you're an artist painting me a picture right now so much as you're an example of exceptionalism proving exactly how basic and multiversal some essential malfunctions are to the mechanisms of reality. It just makes sense that there would be consistency in the evolution of players and games. Bugs as features. Features as bugs. The nebulous patterns of individual neuropathology become tangible blueprints necessitated by the system itself. But you could have stopped him from coming back to me. And you didn't."
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"Oh, forgive me. Just a bit of flirting, really. If I wanted to take you, well... I'm not really convinced that you would reject me. ...But that will come later. Some items must be attended in order."
He takes a step back with his hands still on the wall, sliding and bending down to move closer to his ear, sliding that little scar into his line of sight. Speaking of taking his shtick.
"Your line, is it? Forgive me for reading over your shoulder. I really will be more careful to keep my eyes on my own lines. Though perhaps that cannot be helped! As you say, I abide by my code, inherited as it is..."
He gives Dirk smug little smile, blinking at him slowly from behind those long, white lashes.
"I could have stopped him, yes. It would have been easy, even if I now occupy the space betwixt ghost and imaginary friend for him. But that simply does not serve my purposes. You believe that you understand a great deal, do you not? If you understand that the proverbial horse is more salmagundi-as-vandalism than animal, then you should be able to understand why without me saying so."
"...But I know you hate that. I wanted the two of you to have one another again. He likes it. I suspect you do, too. I fear that without you, his heart would have never ceased aching from this particular wound."
NSFW but also it's for a gag
If he wanted to take him?
That will come later?
Some items must be attended to in order?
Dirk is staggered by this man's balls. Not... not literally. Figuratively. Very much figuratively. Though the unfortunate fact is that Dirk knows pretty damn well what Hythlodaeus' package looks like, and he knows entirely because the generosity of his endowment is rivalled only by the generosity of license with which he eschews underwear of any kind.
Hythlodaeus leans in, and Dirk can't fucking take it. He can't. It would be trite--not to mention biologically false--to claim his heart skips a beat. Or that it freezes in his chest along with his breath inside his lungs. But the thing about Dirk's heart is that has always been both fire and ice in him; he cannot be frozen and he cannot be burned. He is always frozen, freezing out. He is always burning, being burned, is already burnt.
"What makes you so fucking sure," Dirk starts, realising as he does that Hythlodaeus is not going to follow that as contesting the first half of what he said without follow-through. But he doesn't want to follow that one through. Anything he says on the matter will just encourage the eight-foot Amaurotine. The threat and promise are very explicitly part and parcel to Hythlodaeus' long game.
There's power play (inside the bedroom or out) and then there's this.
A small crease appears between his heavy brows, and deepens quickly.
".... we don't share a single goddamn line of code, you profligate freak."
NSFW dialogue
“Well. That simply isn’t possible... we both share at least a portion of our code with the fruit that hangs from Banania’s chin,” he makes a grab for Dirk’s jaw again, yet with closer quarters.
“...Nor is it true! After all, I have already taken a gander at your genetic sequence. Yet if we speak purely from a behavioral stand-point...? Well. We’ve spent some time inside the same man. We share hobbies and proclivities. You cannot say that taste accounts for naught.”
He lets his knee touch the ground again as he continues to keep himself directly the sexual harassment zone.
And then there’s a mechanical whirring and clunking sound as the elevator begins to move again, whatever emergency system unclicking from place. The elevator goes up, the doors open, and Hythlodaeus turns to look at the people on the other side.
“...It seems our time is up.”
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One of those staff members is John, who has to grit his jaw and take a slow breath in and out to avoid rolling his eyes when he sees who's in the elevator. He's supposed to be facing the customers anyway, that's a decent excuse to not get involved at all.
"I certainly hope you have a good reason for pressing the emergency button," says the manager. Her name badge says Margaret because apparently people in Pokemon don't have last names unless they're a Professor or the main character. Maybe you're rewarded with a last name for going to Pokemon University.
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Needless to say, any cracks in his stoic visage are covered immediately, so that his expression is an impassive, stony mask. There is very little salvaging the compromising position Hythlodaeus has him in, so rather than waste time and humiliate himself any further in trying, he simply lifts his head to match his squared shoulders and refuses to lie.
"Nope."
In a closed space like the elevator, Hythlodaeus' eight-foot frame is oppressive and inescapable, but once the doors are open, the math changes considerably.
His back still to the wall, Dirk drops to the floor and springs forward, rolling between Hytho's legs to freedom. Well. 'Freedom.' It's about to be freedom, though, as it's followed immediately by some genuine fucking bullshit to the ceiling of the elevator, before he jumps forward, snagging the top of its doorway with one hand and swinging out into a tucked spin that takes him over the heads of every single employee, customer, and Pokemon clustered at the doorway.
He lands on his feet and immediately breaks into a sprint, at which point it's really up to Department Store Security or John Egbert whether or not they care to stop him.
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He runs to the edge, eyes darting as he does a few quick calculations. He lets Banania out sticks Acorn's Pokéball into his mouth.
"On my signal! Go!" Hythlodaeus slaps his side and Tropius takes off with all the grace of a fat, smoked out bumblebee.
Tropius circles the building as Hythlodaeus scans the likely exits, watching and waiting for the first flash of blond hair and pointy glasses—
Hythlodaeus lets out a sharp whistle and Tropius flaps as quickly as he can before the Pokéball drops from his mouth like a prize from the world's laziest claw machine high over Dirk. Tropius flaps back to the roof in quick order, his feet just touching the roof as Hythlodaeus hops on and holds his hand out to John.
"Let's go!"
no subject
What is a surprise is being scooped up from behind, and John goes "oof!" and tenses up as he's whisked away up the stairs. What the fuck? What's happening?! His instinct is to turn into the breeze and slip away but that obviously doesn't work out for him, and he's not really in a position to escape by the time he's realised. As the stairwell zooms past, he tries to scroll back through the events that just occurred and comes to the conclusion that he's been inexplicably brought along by Hythlodaeus, with whom he thought he'd made himself quite clear about his motive here. He wanted Hythlo to divert Dirk! Not to even more directly involve John in Dirk-based shenanigans!
Man, though, maybe Dirk did steal his Pokemon?
By the time John's reached this point in his thoughts, he's been slung, stumbling, onto the roof of the building. Straightening out his shirt, he tries to catch his breath as some sort of adorable banana brontosaurus flies around overhead. Ok. Wow. John needs some questions answered. Approaching Hythlodaeus, he's managed to get out "What--" when the bronto lands and Hythlo jumps on and holds out his hand.
"Go--what? What do you need me for?!"
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Banania leans his big stupid head over John, licking a stripe up his forehead and into his hair, mussing it.
Hythlodaeus has at least a decent idea about what his next steps are, and they're way more effective if he manages to pull this off. That exchange in the elevator did get a touch out of hand, but he has an idea with how to curry a but more of Dirk's favor.
no subject
Only...hang on. Why did he block the door in the first place? Jeez, Hythlodaeus is a suspicious and weird person. What's this all for? At least there's a big doofy dinosaur involved in the situation. Banania is really uplifting this entire situation for John.
OK so he's really only got two choices: wait on the roof for a less suspicious rescue, or get mixed up in whatever it is Hythlodaeus is doing and hope it gets him on the ground. Ugh, whatever, he doesn't want to be up here all day.
"Oh, right, thanks!" he agrees, and takes Hythlodaeus' hand.
no subject
Tropius takes off, big enough not to be bothered by the additional weight as he flaps further and further from Goldenrod Department Store. Hythlodaeus doesn’t even draw attention to this fact as Banania seems to lock onto a target several blocks away.
“A touch early for lunch... Well. I could make tea.”