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

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."

"Sounds close enough."

And, weirdly fitting?

He's looking serious again, so she'll refrain from being too obnoxious about it, but... truly, the mental image of SCAR as a chubby toddler determinedly shoveling handfuls of sand into his mouth is pretty much making her whole day. Not to mention, it's a lot more endearing than Heather's own Dino Kid identity, which to probably nobody's surprise had mostly been an excuse to bite other children and roar.

"I'm sure your childhood self would be happy to know that you got the 'tall' part accomplished."

POSSIBLY ALSO THE 'EATS LEAVES' PART?

What an odd way to put it. He hasn't thought of himself being so young in such a long time that it almost feels like the first time remembering it. The thought had simply risen like a bubble, unprompted.

He hasn't actively thought about being tall, either, which is too abstract for his mind to fully wrap around, right now.

A great many things have been different. Feel different. Louder, brighter, in clearer definition.

"I am also known to eat a leaf."

It's weird isn't it, Scar? When you've been through enough of something, childhood feels like a completely different lifetime... even without working literal death into the mix.

Scar has surprised Heather several times already in this conversation, but this statement is what finally gets open, full-throated laughter.

Because YOU KNOW WHAT? HELL YEAH YOU ARE KNOWN TO EAT A LEAF. YOU'RE ALL RIGHT, SCAR.

"Well, there you go! That's more than some people can claim!"

She has definitely witnessed Henry subsist entirely on cheese doodles for a 48-hour period at least once.

~~She may or may not have also subsisted on cheese doodles for a 48-hour period at least once. Probably the same one.~~

Scar makes a pensive rumble in agreement.

A beat.

The pleasant trickle of the stream.

Then, a namedrop.

"Henry."

The statement about his friend isn't judgemental in the same way he hadn't thought his comment about leaves to be particularly funny. He lets Heather have her fun, though.

Sorry Scar, that one's funny too. Heather fends off a playful splash from her Lanturn as the big fish swooshes past her in the water, laughing.

"Bang in one."

BECAUSE YEAH. HONESTLY. WHO ELSE WOULD SHE BE TALKING ABOUT.

"He gives off malnourished vibes, doesn't he."

Silence reigns for two seconds too long.

The river continues its blurbling.

"What are vibes?"

A brief puzzled glance is all that question gets at first-- but Heather is rapidly cottoning onto Scar's specific brand of being out of the loop.

And she knows exactly how to explain this.

"You know how if you walk into a room where Lust is, and she's mad about something, you can just feel it?"

"Wet cat," he says sagely, folding his arms. That particular sixth sense is older than his time in this world.

Yes, he can conclude to himself with this descriptor. Henry does give off malnourished vibes. Scar wonders, briefly, if he would ever consider coming to the gym with him...

That particular comparison wouldn't have occurred to Heather on its own, but now that he's said it, it's VERY apt.

"Wet cat," she agrees. "And that's what vibes are."

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

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