ohmyarceus | JULY - AUGUST TEST DRIVE MEME

[Noa's gaze finally focuses when Dimitri moves the cloak over them and her eyes move upwards to watch it. Apparently feeling some type of way about this, her Stufful makes a loud sound like a bark, and, when Noa ignores it, one more. Without looking at it, Noa stomps in the mud once, and the Stufful flops down into the dirt again with no further comment.

Her stare doesn't linger. Looking towards more than at the Tepig again, she shifts the cape over her forearms and takes the Tepig into it with a very quiet little,] Hi, [and sets to work.

Her arm—it gently whirs and grinds under its own wrappings with the deft, rapid motions of her tying the cape around the Tepig—doesn't like the cold or snow or rain, and Noa doesn't like being limited. One learns to adapt. It's nothing like the thick furs above them, but the cape's material makes for an excellent shield from this particular element, at least. Imperfect on its own, but enough for now, and lightweight enough that Noa can wrap a tail end around the Tepig's head and tie it in a bow at its chin to give it a little hood that presses down its ears but keeps its head dry, too. Knots and wrappings are easy to practice, and Noa likes anything she can do with her hands.

Still a girl of few words, she holds her arms out again, this time presenting Dimitri's bundled-up companion back to him.]

[That... is an interesting sound, one Dimitri cannot recall ever hearing back in Faerghus, and not even in this place. At least, not often. There are so many strange sounds here in this country, in Johto, and all of them man-made. Yet still, they tend to sound smoother, most of the time. Not so.... constant and noisy.]

[Yet whatever it is does not seem relevant to the action at hand, and he watches as his Tepig is wrapped up securely, including the little hood. As he is handed back to Dimitri, Tepig looks around with the lumps that are his flappy ears nudging upwards against the cloth.]

...Is this good enough? [Dimitri makes sure to ask, but not to Noa. His attention is on his Tepig, who wiggles a little bit as Dimitri accepts him back. The pokemon considers it for a moment before nodding, in a much more chipper mood now that he's slightly more covered.]

[...Well, he guesses that answers that. Dimitri's gaze drifts up to this woman, this stranger.]

...I will repay you.

[Don't ask him how]

I didn't ask for repayment.

[is this better or worse than asking how?? It's not intended to be rude, so much as a statement of fact, like she's reminding him of events that transpired just long ago enough that there's no need to blame him for having forgotten. Of course, she's just as likely to cash in the favor weeks from now when something occurs to her...]

It isn't perfect, but it ought to do right now. The big stores everyone goes to have little clothing for them.

[When her Stufful yips and flattens its ears against its head, Noa adds,] Not for you, [which rather quickly settles the creature.]

And I did not ask for your clothing.

[So here they are]

[Tepig, well aware that his trainer will be a passive aggressive asshole who starts fights, makes a few small snorting noises. It's probably a thank you.]

[Well, that certainly is also a statement of fact. As such, Noa doesn't have anything to say about it. They have exchanged words about completely true things. This is how one has a conversation.

But the the soft noise from the Tepig gets her eyes to focus on it, and she smiles.]

Does it have a name?

...Should one name a fragment or reflection of their soul?

[Which is sure! a response!]

[It hasn't escaped Dimitri's notice, granted, that plenty of people here in Johto have given nicknames to their companions - their pokemon. It just... somehow slipped by Dimitri that he should do it, even for as much that he clearly cares about his Tepig.]

[He's.... been having a lot of a day. Of a time. Things happen.]

[.....................................]

How else are you going to call for it?

[Silence is probably the best response for that particular view right now. Still, Dimitri considers that.]

...It has not been an issue thus far. We have not left each other's sides often. Still... [That is not a guarantee.]

[While he's thinking about this, the Tepig gives a small pat his hoof to Dimitri's arm, and he slowly looks back down.]

...Of course. It is still wet... Names are meaningless if you are not well and alive for it.

If I'm going to catch cold then I certainly already have.

[But, ughhhhh, he's right; if she stays out much longer then all her layers will stop doing her all this good and the rain will get to her arm and it will be a great and terrible hassle.]

The Pokémon Center isn't too far off, though, I think. Are you done?

[Her Stufful is currently on its back in the mud. At Noa's beckon, though, it rolls over onto its side and flails its way back to its feet while Noa watches. A deeply minimal effort to shake any of the mud off is made before it trots to Noa's heels.]

That's Violet.

[Honestly, Dimitri is probably in the same boat, but, you know. He's been in worse situations before he's pretty sure he died, and it lasted him, like... five years.]

[So he doesn't see much reason to bring it up now.]

[Instead, he starts up his trek again, a little less slow now that his Tepig's comfort and health has been secured. He leaves his cloak just... hanging over his head as he does so, and it somehow doesn't slip when he nods at Violet.]

....I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. My companion is.... yet to have a name I have given him.

[Do pigs of the soul have names in their own language? Dimitri isn't sure.]

My name's Noa. Do you have a part of that name you like best? Because it is very, very long.

[There's only so many hours in the day, buddy. She doesn't follow exactly beside him—she likes her space, and he's so much taller than her that it would be a struggle to keep up anyway, but keeps more distance at her side than her front. Violet scurries along at Noa's side, and here and there Noa falls back so she can keep up, but makes no effort to lift her.]

You should come up with a name for him. Even if he's... [????????] ...a piece of your soul?

Edited 2020-08-30 23:32 (UTC)

[Listen, don't blame him, blame royalty naming conventions.]

....Dimitri.

[And it is still... very strange for people to call him by his name, now. It makes sense, he knows that. They are in a purgatory, and his royal title means nothing now that they are all dead. What is he but one more prince in a line of princes? So it shouldn't mean anything.]

[But it still does, funnily enough.]

[While Dimitri does not slow his own pace, he does turn his head to watch hers, and her companion.]

...Why did you name yours that?

[Listen she's got a shitload of names too, all right, she gets it, but she has adapted. Figure it out, Dimitri!!!]

My name is short for a flower. [It feels strange to say—he could solve it without any effort, certainly, but she's no one here even with her full name (all three of them). This is far away from home and her secrets are trivial here. Still, she's kept it so close to her chest for so long.] So her and I match.

[So she named her companion so that they matched... Dimitri stays silent for a moment, just trudging along, lost in his own thoughts. He knows he used to name horses, back when he had any to his name, but this feels... different, somehow.]

[When the light of the Pokecenter is finally shining down upon them, he finally stirs.]

...Dean, then. If he cares for it.

[The newly christened Tepig gives a pleased snort. So that answers that.]

I think he must, so it's a good choice.

[No effort is made to shake off the mud or otherwise clean herself up before she enters the Pokécenter upon their arrival. Instead she sweeps the overcloak up so she can sit down without sitting on it (and flings more mud around in the process), and moves to undo the clasp around her neck with her flesh-hand while Violet hops up into the immediately adjacent seat. Both of them are tracking dirt everywhere. There's another chair next to the Stufful and across from them both, though, if Dimitri wants to settle in, or otherwise answer the question Noa asks as she wriggles out of her first layer:] What did you mean when you called your pig a...part of your soul?

[In contrast, Dimitri pauses right outside the Pokecenter and wildly shakes his head to free his hair of most of its wetness. He grinds his feet against the mat outside, and takes care to hang his cloak somewhere so that it can drip clean. The cloak is just a matter of good care, something he's had to keep in mind a lot when it was just him on his own in Faerghus. He has so little... so what he did have, he had to make sure it lasted.]

[But the hair, the boots? That's because.... At this point, he's run into at least a couple of Nurse Joys, now. They tend to his Tepig when they've had to fight their way free, and they give him that strange device whenever he accidentally breaks one. Additionally, they fuss over him, sometimes. They worry at the lack of sleep he shows, his general sorry state.]

[....He thinks of Mercedes, sometimes, when they act like that. Mercedes who hadn't known what to do with the war either, who had felt the church did so much good that she wanted to carry on. Mercedes, who had weathered his snarling and snapping so that she could at least be sure he was in good health when they reunited after so long. The Nurse Joys are similar, calmly dealing with all manner of beasts and monsters and people.]

[He is also a beast, one that was finally put down after so long... but he won't make their work any harder than it needs to be. Not when he thinks of Mercedes, and hopes she is finding better than some monster of a would-be king.]

[That's the only extent he offers, however, slouching over to the other chair in wet clothing that sticks to him. Dean sits calmly on his lap in turn, seeming to recuperate now that they're out of the rain. Dimitri stares down at him for a moment, and is belated in answering Noa's question.]

...There is no other explanation for such a creature.

[Noa quirks an eyebrow, the most change her expression's seen this whole conversation. It doesn't slow her folding the cloak up, though, and setting it—mud and all—in her lap. The next cape laces down the front, more clumsily than her captain would truss it up for her at home, and she pulls at the knots with one hand.]

I think it's just a somewhat strange pig.

[Like? There's definitely some other way to explain its existence??????]

[No, he thinks he's pretty sure he's nailed the only explanation ever, Noa.]

In any other life, perhaps. And yet we all arrive here, with no understanding how, and with a creature already matched to our sides.

We are dead. They match us as mirror images.

[Dean just settles in Dimitri's lap, with the tired expression of a pig who has heard a lot of this all before.]

What do you know of that particular breed of creature that accompanies you?

[Congratulations, Dimitri, you've gotten one entire obvious bafflement out of Noa's face. A rare occasion, not because she's infrequently confused but because she infrequently deigns to show it.]

We're obviously not dead.

[bruh?? bruh?????????]

She doesn't like to be touched and her favorite food is the blue berries and she likes to be dirty.

[Those are more facts about Violet than facts about the breed, so she adds, casually:] She's very strong, and I'm told when she gets big she'll give her prey hugs so its spine will shatter.

[COOL STUFFUL FACTS]

Edited (changed some pronouns for clarity SORRY TO DO THIS HOURS AFTER THE FACT) 2020-08-31 18:58 (UTC)

[Oh cool, him and the not-a-stuffed bear have something in common - but more importantly: ]

You do not know that you are dead. That we are dead.

Yet that is a common thing of the deceased: to either not know the nature of their own existence, or to be so engulfed in regret and rage that they torment the living over it.

[Dimitri is obviously neither of those things... but he feels this must be a purgatory of a kind for him. A strange sort of - punishment, maybe? A task he must complete in his afterlife? He cannot be certain, yet. He feels aimless, confused... but, in a strange way, grateful as well.]

[His parents, and Glenn, and so many servants and knights... They haunted him for so many years, tore at his sleep and never let him forget their deaths. That he is not like that, not tormenting Felix, or Ingrid, or Sylvain, or Dedue... He knows he was never what any of them deserved, so he is grateful that he no longer makes their lives worse.]

For example... Do you find some similarity with Violet, then? In an appealing appearance, or in strength, or in her distaste for touch?

The lattermost, I suppose, but I am not strong enough to snap anything's spine.

[Stronger here, where she can run farther before her breath gets past her and she has to stop and sit and catch it—maybe it's all the fresh air. She can't just expect that she isn't sick anymore, because proving it means using her powers, and probably gone isn’t good enough to risk a test.

Violet, as Noa speaks, acquiesces to some contact as Noa holds out her unlaced cape. With a little harrumph, Violet steps forward and Noa uses it to clean off the worst of the mud. The next layer, Violet steps into when Noa undoes it and sets it out, and Noa bundles her up like a little pink present, too. All this leaves is her dress and fabric tied around her arm with one clumsily done bow after another. Noa starts pulling at the ribbons with her teeth.]

I am quite sure I'd remember dying, though, and if I could torment the living I would be doing that instead of playing in the mud.

[BOY would it be funny to ghost-harass her family!!!]

[Dimitri is also strong enough to snap anything's spine, or at least he was. He's strong, here, but it doesn't seem as strong.... Is this what they mean when they say the flesh is willing but the spirit is weak?]

[...He suspects he's gotten that mixed up somehow.]

[Slumping in his seat, posture atrocious, Dimitri lets out a slow breath.]

That is not true... Not necessarily. Death, and pain... are miserable things. We might forget.

And in my experience... The living you torment are often the ones you love the most.

[Mouth full of ribbon, Noa doesn't answer right away. When she pulls apart the last she pulls off the wrappings around her arm, too, and the glove, and there it is: metal and bulky and creaking as she extends it out in front of her and grinding as she flexes the joints at her elbow and wrist and finger to make sure everything feels as it ought to instead of gummed up by the rain.]

I very nearly died once, [she says and sounds no different than she has this whole conversation, musing and unfocused,] and I remember it very well. I think I would remember if the job were finished.

Also, it seems terribly unfair that I don't have an arm and you don't have an eye if we're dead. Also, I checked and I still have a pulse, though I suppose I shouldn't assume you do as well. Also, if that is the case, maybe you should be nicer to your friends.

[swing and a miss you horrible child]

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