victory_road | [closed log] There's a Skitty on the other side of the country and she NEEDS to be rescued

...Huh.

Scar would pause in his tracks, were it not for the shambling stragglers in their wake. Instead, his surprise is contained to a stare down the winding forest path ahead.

"Not for the tea, I presume."

He isn't inclined to take the lead, here. He waits for Heather to form whatever it is she wants to say.

WALKING MORE IS GOOD. She can keep her gaze on the path and not have to crane her neck skywards to hold awkward eye contact with him while she explains herself.

"Pfft, no, not the tea... I, uh... back when you were here the first time..."

She sucks in a big breath and then lets it out in a big sigh as she weighs her words.

"... I judged you without all the facts and... wound up making a real ass of myself."

I CHALLENGED YOU TO A POKEMON BATTLE OVER MY GAY CRUSH AND THAT WAS SUPER NO BUENO.

The trees give way to a slow, babbling stream. Scar shuffles toward the gently running water and tests the soles of his hikers on the pebbles in the shallows.

The sound of his footfalls in the water is pleasant.

What an odd thing to notice.

His newly recovered curiosity for the world around him serves more than one purpose, here. A little noise goes a great distance for privacy. Heather also won't have to worry about his abnormally intense eye contact; he's more interested in watching the ground, right now.

A blond twerp?? Fessing up to being??? Wrong????

"I'm aware that our..."

Your what, Scar?

"...is difficult to parse."

Fucking crushed it.

Edited 2023-10-07 06:19 (UTC)

YOUR MUMBLEMUMBLE IS DIFFICULT TO PARSE, YEAH.

But Heather doesn't make a snotty remark about that like she might have a few years ago. SHE HAS GROWN, SOMEWHAT.

Pausing at the stream, herself, she looks back down the path for a second. This time, the sound of the river flows over any faint ~~complaining~~ voices that might be floating their way from the stragglers.

~~TIME TO THROW ENVY UNDER THE BUS~~

"... It's probably worth mentioning that Envy forgot to tell us that you were coming. So I..."

Ugh. She can't help but cringe. She's been mulling this over for weeks, but in the actual, awkward moment, mental preparation goes out the window. Still, she keeps talking anyway-- it's now or never.

"It's not an excuse. But... in- ... in my world, probably a lot of worlds, when a relationship ends badly, sometimes men can get..."

If he turns to look at her, he'll catch her miming holding a knife and making stabby motions until she can think of a tactful way to put it.

"... Unpredictable."

She'd been about to say 'Psycho violins', but wisely guessed that Scar was not the ideal audience for pop culture references.

Though his eyes are still fixed on the brook at his feet, Scar's chin tilts up ever so slightly in defiance.

"I am aware," he says, giving the same answer for a different point. It had never dawned on him to care what any of her friends thought. To an extent, it still doesn't right now. Heather's conclusion had been so far beyond the pale that it wasn't worthy even grappling with. Mulling it over leaves an ugly taste in his mouth.

He's had nightmares about steel talons and vicious grins.

Sometimes, he still does.

"My life has been in her hands many times," he says, the grim slideshow of a time they had both been unrecognizable playing on his eyelids whether he likes it or not, "I would have sooner died."

Than lay a finger on her is the unspoken sentiment that Scar prefers to leave in the air. His wrongs couldn't possibly be recounted in a single day, but she had never numbered among them.

This time, Scar's unspoken sentiment-- or at least, part of it, passes completely over Heather's head.

Because she has no idea that Scar is referring to Lust quite literally trying to kill him.

It's funny, the biases you pick up even when you have no idea that they're biases. Heather has never actually witnessed Lust being violent. Angry, yes-- but never violent. Even though she consciously knows that Lust was part of the same Murder Squad (tm) that Envy was...

The wicked women in Heather's life had rarely been so literal in their brutality.

So when she says, sheepishly, "I know that now," she's referring to a conclusion just slightly to the left of what Scar was actually implying. But hey... it'll do.

"At the time... all I knew was, you guys had a bad breakup, Lust was inconsolable... and then you showed up. And... and I'm used to bad things happening when guys follow girls like that. So I was ready to crack skulls. Or... or at least do what this world wants people to do when they have beef with each other, which is have a Pokemon battle. ... But I didn't actually have any right to have beef with you and it was actually none of my freakin' business."

As Lust had made abundantly clear after the fact, of course. And oh, that had stung.

But if nothing else, it had been enough to drill into Heather's head that she'd royally messed up, and then the revelation that Scar had been TOLD to come find them had tied it all together.

"So... I'm sorry."

Mybad.jpg.

OH, HEATHER, THE STORIES HE COULD TELL,

if he were, maybe, six or seven steps more inclined to self-preservative pettiness.

Scar is aware that he's gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to his relationship's weird, bad optics in the eyes of those who have only known them in this world. It had only been a matter of days between his death and hers, but how could he have known the extent to which his own passing had been the last domino to fall in her finally waking up? That he had to die for a year's worth of chipping away at her walls to break through?

But he had tried. He had tried the only ways he knew how, his safety and his peace of mind be damned.

And he hadn't cared how bad it looked. Their opinions hadn't mattered.

But now, if he wants to meaningfully participate in living in this world, Scar is going to have to learn to navigate the importance of people who are close to those he loves. That his connections don't exist in a void.

"You acted rashly because you cared," he says, completely unaware of just how close to home he's striking. Of just how Relatable™ this little oopsie actually is. His understanding is that women protect each other, and that he would actually prefer to be in the good grace of Lust's friends who would throw a flaming horse at an immediate threat.

"You resisted beating me over the head with a lamp when I broke into your bedroom. It's in the past."

Because he is genuinely grateful that they had all tolerated his antics when he had woken up a complete and total train wreck of a man.

Scar, Heather cared so much.

So much more, in fact, than she is going to admit.

But she does crack a wan smile. He could be lording her past foolishness over her and he wasn't. Which was nice of him. She'll gratefully accept the change of subject.

"That's true-- though I think we have Henry to thank for that."

Had her adopted brother not come bursting into the room simultaneously, she almost certainly would have put a dent in Scar's head with that thing before conscious thought even had a chance to manifest.

"... Actually, I have really been wanting to ask... why the window?"

WHAT DO YOU HAVE AGAINST DOORS, SCAR????

SHE'S NOT MAD SHE'S JUST REALLY PERPLEXED.

For a moment, Scar's feet stop dead in the shallow riverbed.

The thinking process of that decision is one, big...

?

Scar stares down at the significantly smaller woman for a moment, does his damnedest to process the honest, surprisingly lighthearted question, and draws the same blank he always does when someone inevitably asks him What the fuck? every couple of weeks or so.

"I didn't think I would be let in," is what eventually comes out of his mouth. It's as close to a concrete answer as he can conjure right now. He had to talk to Lust, to hell with everyone else.

You know, that sentiment that has worked so well for him in the past.

OH, SCAR...

"So... Envy's window seemed like the best option, huh?"

HER TONE ALMOST HOLDS A HINT OF THE KIND OF AFFECTIONATE RIBBING SHE MIGHT SUBJECT SOMEONE WHO IS NOT SCAR TO. But, uh, she holds it back.

He's not ready for that.

Nor would he be ready for the OTHER thing that could have come out of her mouth if she was as shameless as her goth zombie boyfriend, which was 'You're lucky we were watching a movie and not doing something else'.

SO.

Instead, she offers an awkward but genuine: "It was weird, but it worked out."

Being Ribbed is Scar's primary state of being in social situations, so he barely minds.

"I wouldn't have chosen it, had I known you would also be in there."

That's honest, too. The opportunity presented itself, so he had taken it. Even Scar has limits. He will happily invade Envy's private space, but not

[pause for drama]

a woman's.

A WOMAN'S.

Heather snorts slightly. She can't blame him for that, honestly-- she and Envy hadn't gotten together too long before Scar had vanished... and they hadn't started being open about it to anybody else until MONTHS after that.

"Inconveniencing people by being in unexpected places is a hobby of mine."

"Apparently we have that alike," he says, tone just as flat as it would be if he wasn't leaning into Heather's bit. Which he totally is, given the amount of time he's spent being Generally Inconvenient for the dead people currently complaining about rocks and hills in their wake. Then, of course, the phrase can also summarize his entire relationship with this befreckled woman thus far.

Scar glances over his shoulder once again. The Party is still a ways back and not subtly playing in the water as they make their way upstream.

"You weren't inconvenient. I was in your window."

The apology is implicit.

Heather hasn't entered the water herself-- although honestly, she's sorely tempted to chuck her boots off let the stream ease the ache from her feet for a bit, until the rest catch up. But, Scar's still walking, and she doesn't really wanna tackle the rocky riverbed barefoot.

His glance back does catch a genuinely-amused-- but not jeering-- smile on her face, though.

"Maybe just knock next time."

A GENTLE SUGGESTION. Assuming that he ever feels the need to enter the house via That Window Specifically ever again.

"Might still scare the crap out of us, but you'll be further out of lamp-range."

AND, PRESUMABLY, SPARED ANY PSYCHIC DAMAGE.

"There will not be a next time." Of that, he is. Emphatically certain.

Because he has also not dodged the consideration of What If.

How do they--?

No.

No!

:)

~No~

"I have a key. And my own window."

THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS SCAR! FEEL FREE TO CONTINUE NOT. :)

"Juuuuuuuust a suggestion, that's all."

But no, really, she's happy to hear that he doesn't plan on popping through the window again. Because all jokes aside, she's pretty sure she lost a good couple years off her lifespan that night.

ANYWAY. You know what, fuck it. She bends down to yank her boots off and start rolling her pants up to her knees. SHE WANTS TO WADE IN THE WATER. If she steps on a jagged stone and dies instantly, so be it.

HE WILL HAPPILY, PEACEFULLY, CONTINUE NOT.

:)

Scar watches in manly silence as Heather peels off her boots and socks to splash in the shallow water.

Hm.

His head turns back to the group, which has all but collapsed and seems to be passing around various boxes of pre-packaged snacks. Then back to his shoes. Heather. Group. Shoes.

Scar gently rests his two-people's-worth-of-camping-shit-sized bag on dry ground, unlaces his boots, and lets his feet rest in the cool stream, feels the water running against his ankles. There isn't much novelty in it; he's bathed in streams like this more than once. But the feeling is pleasant, his tired, sweaty feet cooling off after being in boots all day. He even lets out his Zangoose, the one Pokemon he does still have, on the shoreline.

The Dodritos have been torn into and they're not even at the planned campsite point yet. Shameful.

It isn't until Heather's goose-stepped awkwardly in up to her ankles that she realizes Scar has stopped-- a pleasant surprise, because even her new and improved base of knowledge surrounding this man knew him to have no chill whatsoever. But he's even letting his Pokemon out to play. That's good!

And she doesn't need any further urging to toss her own pack over to the shore, along with her boots (she'd been going to do that old thing where you knot the laces and let them hang around your neck, but NO NEED if they're going to take a break!). The THWOMP of them hitting the gravel is accompanied by a flash of light as Heather releases one of her own Pokemon into the slightly-deeper waters in the center of the river.

The Lanturn-- one of Heather's few Water-types-- swims in a small circle with a gentle trill, stretching her fins and tail before bobbing along the surface.

Chill? He has chill. He has infinite measures of chill.

Truth be told, for him, this is chill. There's no reason to have taken his shoes off, but the cool, smooth pebbles on the bottoms of his feet are one of many sensations that feels new, in spite of it not being so. The pressure of the rocks, the gentle pull of the current, the refreshing chill of the water. His toes curl in the rocks.

Amit ambles over to a patch of grass in the shade. Scar watches the water roll past his legs for another moment.

A thought occurs to him, as he stares at the water.

The from deep left field nature of bringing it up, however, does not.

"Does your world have fish chimera as well?"

That still sounds so fucked up, Heather.

You gotta appreciate the little things in life, Scar.

Sometimes that means stopping and smelling the roses, sometimes it means wading in a river with no socks and shoes.

Heather certainly is an advocate of little thing appreciation-- there's been too many times in her life (~~lives~~) where that was all that kept her going. She is, in fact, so deeply absorbed in that appreciation that Scar's question catches her completely off-guard and for a moment her only reply is a befuddled "Eh?"

Only the quantities of time spent in Envy's company allow her to eventually parse Scar's actual question, because Envy's referred to chimeras enough that Heather's at least gleaned that they refer to different species smashed together.

"You mean mermaids?"

Right. Mermaids.

Scar offers little more than a stilted nod. He's from the desert of a landlocked nation. Myths surrounding the sea are completely nonexistent. The concept of Humans, But Kinda Not carries charged connotations, too. So, he's curious. This is another relatively new thing. Passing curiosity.

"Are they real?"

Because he really isn't sure if that part was clarified at any point. He wriggles his toes under the rocks in the riverbed.

"No. They're just fairytales in my world. Like unicorns and dragons."

If she were a pedantic nerd, she could get into narwhals and the whole 'grain of truth' thing, but she's pretty sure Scar's not asking about those.

"Definitely had a phase around age seven or so where I was determined to grow up into one, though."

She reaches out to run a hand along Dayglo's smooth flank as she swims past-- the Lanturn is circling in Scar's general direction with an inquisitive trill, but maintaining a respectful distance.

In fairness, Scar would likely also diagnose narwhals with Chimera. Poor things.

"Inadvisable," he rumbles, loud enough to be audible above the brook, but not in any sense that clarifies if he's going along in the spirit of Heather's joke or truly concerned about the possibility of Heather, aged seven, thinking she may like to be a fish chimera.

"There was a brief time, before I began school, when I thought I was a dinosaur."

Scar wades closer to Dayglo, gives her the subtle cue that her presence isn't minded. Then, in this same, steady tone it would likely take an interpreter to read,

"I don't recall how much sand I had managed to eat by the time Brother plucked me inside."

It had been a life choice that her father had gently advised against, to be fair.

So before Scar elaborates, even the monotonous one-word response is enough to prompt a nostalgic chuckle on Heather's part. She might have even brought up her father's shared opinion on that front, just for fun-- but then he keeps going.

Heather's grin at the mental picture being painted is as bright as her Lanturn's little glowy angler-thing, and she pumps one fist in a show of enthusiasm and Unexpected Cross-Dimensional Dino Kid Solidarity (tm) as she turns in the water to face him.

"No. Way. Me too! Which kind? Were you a Brontosaurus kid?"

Heather was not a Brontosaurus kid. You can probably guess what kind of kid she was.

Scar stands still in the shallows for a moment, brows rising at Heather's show of enthusiasm. Just as quickly, he's frowning again.

"I haven't the faintest clue." In his defense, it's much harder to become a full-blown Dinosaur Kid when your books all come from the early 20'th century. "It was tall. It ate leaves."

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