bottlecaplogs | mist on the grass

Quite true. I was very lost when it came to wilderness survival, initially.

[Some common knowledge, at least for Clan members, just wasn't there. It's possible he learned and then forgot, but Ingo has come to suspect that much of those skills just weren't necessary in the future. That's...well, it's probably a good ting, isn't it? For peoples' lives to be easier?]

But one can always learn! All it takes is a bit of -

[Ingo has been paying attention. The fog makes it difficult to see, of course, but it's not like he wasn't looking where he was going at all. Still, he doesn't see the drop-off until he's already stepped off of it.

Instinct has him curling into himself, shielding his head and trying to roll. It's a good instinct! But he's only ever practiced falling with a human body. He lands a little awkwardly, and from the sudden flash of pain in his ribs, possibly on a stone.]

We didn't really need it—?!

[ Emmet hastily lunges forward when Ingo starts to fall, of course he does, but he's not quick enough for his claws to close around anything more than empty air as the trailing ends of his words pick up into a sharp yelp, a whine through the click of his teeth as his mouth audibly snaps shut on the final word.

The rushed movement means he overbalances, of course, but he's prepared for that, a split second's forewarning about the cliff's edge still counts— his shadow stretches, and as he goes over the edge as well Emmet lets go of whatever innate instinct it is that keeps him in a mostly tangible, solid form, slipping into the myriad shadows across the cliff face and forest floor. Not here, not here, he needs to be down there—

It's not that far a distance, it turns out. A puddle of intent dark darts its way across the heavily shaded bottom of the drop-off and then back. Can barely see anything in this mist... ]

Ingo? Ingo, are you— how are you doing?

Edited 2025-05-07 03:16 (UTC)

[His flames guttered out in the fall. It's dark now. For a second or two, Ingo lays where he is, taking stock. His paws flex without issue, and he can move his limbs. There's no head pain, and though he feels rather jarred, he's fairly sure his vision's normal. All good signs!]

I'm alright!

[He rises gingerly to his feet, pain flaring somewhere in his torso. He did land rather heavily on his side, he thinks. There may be a small cut, but twisting to try and see makes him hiss a little. It's not broken-ribs pain, but there will most certainly be a serious bruise.]

[ He's responsive, okay! That's good. Not that far a drop. Also good is how hearing Ingo makes it easy to find him, the Zoroark beelining in the direction of the Typhlosion's voice. In clear view of the other, Emmet hauls himself up out of his shadow, hovering nearby and practically vibrating as he looks Ingo over, especially around the ribs, but holds himself back from getting too close. ]

... Accident-prone. [ he tries, smile fixed and teasing. ] Shouldn't scare me like that. Didn't I already say?

[ But, more seriously: ]

That cliff wasn't ... there until we fell off it. Was it?

I apologize!

[Though it wasn't too bad a fall, as things go! Not his fault either, he's fairly sure.]

I don't...believe it was. I feel we ought to have noticed something before walking right off it!

So perceptions again.

[ Uuuuuughhhhhh. Nothing for it, though, unless they, what, somehow get on the forest's good side? ]

Well. That will be fun. You are doing okay, though? Continue on this track, or should we try to find a way back up?

Ah, well.

[Ingo sighs. He doesn't want to be the reason they turn back after so little progress. Certainly, he has pushed through worse than this! But...if they get in a battle now, he won't be the trainer; he'll be one of the Pokemon battling. He cannot support Emmet as well if he's hurt.

Besides. He is starting to feel a little strange. Cold, or...dreamlike, maybe. Like a memory scratching at the other side of that locked door in his mind, except that this time he cannot even see why.]

Perhaps I could eat a berry or something like that...

[One of his ears flicks, and he turns to glance off into the fog.]

[ He's already going through their packs for an Oran Berry as Ingo suggests it, but ...

...? Did Ingo hear something? Hearing, Emmet's found, is one of his better senses now...

But if there's something out there that's caught Ingo's attention, Emmet hasn't noticed it at all. Even glancing towards the same direction, pitching his ears every which way to try to get a better idea of what might be lurking in the fog doesn't net anything of note. Either the uncanny, clinging fog has stifled Emmet's own senses, or. ]

What is it? Did you hear something?

Oh...yes, didn't you?

[The answer is slow and a little distracted; Ingo doesn't turn to look at Emmet. He's starting to feel...strange. All over again, he's becoming aware of the alien sensations of his paws on the ground, the slight movements of air over his fur, the strange new shape of his mouth. But unlike the first few days of being here, those changes feel like they're...receding. He's starting to feel a little more like himself again.

The fog too, is receding. It takes the oppressive sense of danger with it, and Ingo unthinkingly takes a few steps in the direction it seems to have gone.]

Ah, that must be a good sign.

[In reality - literally nothing has happened!]

I am Emmet. I did not.

[ Direct, to the point. The notion of berries is set aside for now, mentally boxed away the same way the satchels are as Emmet moves forward too, coming up to Ingo's side. One of them hearing something the other can't— they know the probable answer for that. Should. It's just a matter of which of them is the one who's wrong.

Or maybe even both. Ingo, lured away by a false promise of safety in the mist; Emmet, blind and deaf to a very real threat that might be lurking just out of sight. These both can be true.

(But Ingo should know better. Even Emmet's own illusions unsettle him. Why is this different? What is he seeing?) ]

What...—?

[ The question catches. The words are sticking. ]

In-go. [ He forces out anyway. ] Ingo. You need to explain what it is you are hearing. Or seeing. What is a good sign? Where are you going?

Hm - oh, the fog lifting.

[Ingo really ought to know better. They were only just talking about checking in with one another. But now, it doesn't occur to him to question what he's seeing; there's an innate feeling of certainty. This is true, just like he can feel something like his true human self returning to him.

His manner's still distracted. The second question is ignored entirely as he starts to move forward. There's other Pokemon out there - maybe even other people. He knows he heard them, almost more clearly than he can hear Emmet.]

The fog hasn't gone anywhere. And— where are you going?

[ For a moment it's like watching his waking daymares from a few months ago again. Emmet hesitates, lagging behind for the space of half a beat, two— what if the ground shifts itself and gives away again due to his haste, what if by barreling forward he springs some other trap laid along whatever path it is Ingo is following— before darting forward to put himself in front of Ingo. ]

Ingo, please. I need you to look at me. I am Emmet. I know that here, it is hard to trust what we perceive. But I have been here with you the entire way. I have not heard or seen anything that you are talking about. And that is concerning me.

[ At least one of them has to be wrong, and of the two— if the fog truly has lifted, then shouldn't they be seeing and hearing the same things? Therefore, ]

I do not believe it is a good idea to progress further down this track.

[The others are calling him. They need his help. They need him, Ingo realizes, and his steps quicken until he walks headlong into Emmet. There's no force behind the gesture, not like he's trying to tackle him out of the way; indeed, even after doing so, it takes several sentences before his eyes focus on Emmet.]

Oh - Emmet. Just a moment, please...

[Trying, in a vague strange sort of way, to walk around him.]

[ There's a whine, somewhere in the back of his throat. The disquiet and concern has blossomed into a very pressing fear. Is that all him, or another effect of the fog? He can't tell. The forest has proven hazardous both now and previously; if he lets Ingo go like this, what happens? He opens his mouth not knowing what he can say and nothing comes out before he shuts it again.

Fine. Talking— talking isn't working anyway. Better, then, for him to do. Hesitantly at first, and then more insistently, the Zoroark takes hold of and tugs at the Typhlosion, trying to pull him along in a direction that isn't deeper into the fog. Emmet doesn't know what lies at the end of theose tracks but he has decided it's time for a different route. ]

Please do not become uncoupled from me.

[Ingo absently allows himself to be tugged along, stumbling a little. The sensation is distant, almost as if it's happening in a dream, or to someone else entirely. Of course that makes sense. It can't be him. How can someone be pulling at his fur if he doesn't have fur? After a moment, his focus seems to drift back into the mist.]

Lost - lost passengers in the station. I need to...

[He needs to call for Gliscor to help. He needs to radio 𝐀⃥⃒̸𝐠⃥⃒̸𝐞⃥⃒̸𝐧⃥⃒̸𝐭⃥⃒̸ ██████ to make a stationwide announcement over...over -

He needs to do something. He can hear them crying out for help! Why is he going in the wrong direction? He starts pulling away, back towards the deeper parts of the fog, though not quite in the exact same direction as before. There's so many of them, they're everywhere.]

[ Why is he remembering something like that at a time like this? (Or maybe he doesn't, and it's just more of the things he says because they're familiar?) For a fleeting moment, it's tempting— so tempting— to let Ingo do what he wants, see if that jars anything else loose—

Ingo pulls back. Emmet firms his grip, growls lowly in his throat at himself, and tugs harder, again in the opposite direction of the deeper parts of the fog. His collar and mane are both lashing around restlessly with his agitation despite his attempts otherwise, making him a flickering apparition of red and white. With nothing else to say, he falls back on oft-repeated words, chopped up and rearranged lines meant for a much different context than this. ]

Please stay behind the yellow line. You cannot assist any lost passengers if you become one of them yourself.

[ Rote repetition, steady as they come. What he does, what he says, always the same. ]

Let's— let's find a safe place to guide them to first. If there are passengers in need of help out there. We can go back for them. Okay?

[Ingo continues to pull towards the fog, but he doesn't seem able to do it with much strength. His legs don't feel as if they're attached to him. It's like he's already in the fog, almost, and he just needs to get that last little way towards the others. So Emmet is able to drag him along for the most part, though he stumbles over his feet quite a bit.]

They...they need help - !

[ That sense of urgency laps insistently at the edges of Emmet's thoughts again, which, yes, thank you, he is aware, he knows. There is something very wrong here. He knows! The woods are uncanny and dangerous and don't want them here (except in the ways that they do, apparently). Emmet is paying less attention to exactly where they are going at this point than he is tracking the concentration of fog, all but dragging his brother these last few stretches through what looks like and what he hopes is actually thinner fog. His aim is that, removed from the thickest part of the mist, whatever's hypnotized Ingo will relinquish its grasp. It's clumsy, stumbling going, and Emmet is just about ready to head to Ingo's other side and start shoving, regardless of the Typhlosion's ribs, or maybe he can try to cast an illusion of nothing, no sound to block out whatever it is that's calling from the fog,

—there's a break in the trees. The air is clear of any fog or mist.

It's fairly dark still. Even to Emmet's hearing, ears pitched in alert, their surroundings are quiet. His fur billows harshly in the nonexistent wind. The sudden absence of the sense of danger prior is as unsettling as the presence of it. ]

... What you were hearing before. Do you still hear it.

[As they stumble into the clearing, it's as if a soap bubble encasing him suddenly pops. Ingo sags down onto the ground and lays there silently for several seconds, chest heaving. His paws and snout are his own again; for another few moments, he can feel them, alien and strange, and then they are simply the body he's grown used to. He can feel where Emmet was holding onto him.]

- what - was that?

[As he's registering what just happened, he rises suddenly and scrambles back away from the fog.]

[ Alarm spikes in Emmet as Ingo moves to scramble away (because he absolutely has not let go yet, though his grip has loosened)—

but it's fine. Ingo's just going further into the clearing they've found themselves in, away from the fog. That's fine. That's verrrry good, even. ]

You tell me.

[ Has Emmet's voice ever sounded quite so flat. An ear twitches as he turns his head to glance back at where they'd just come from. The shaded wood looks almost innocuous, despite the oppressive sense of danger they've just escaped.

Whatever happened there, Emmet doesn't know anything about it, but he absolutely does not like it. ]

[Oh. Emmet's upset.

Well, of course. He has every right to be - what was that? Ingo clears his throat and shudders, shaking all over like a wet Growlithe.]

I apologize. I - that was...quite strange.

[ Emmet—

huffs a quietly chagrined laugh. It's more of a long, shaky and broken exhalation of breath than anything, but calling it a laugh works better than any of the other options. ]

Too polite. Why are you apologizing. You did not ask for that.

[ Whatever 'that' even was.

He sounds— and looks— slightly distracted as he says it, though, attention split between Ingo and glancing around to get a better look at where they've found themselves. ]

I - I felt as if I were outside of myself. Like this were all a dream. I thought I had my hands back.

[His tone is still a little strange, if in a different way than before. Now, Ingo's simply shaken by the realization of what happened, how easily and quickly it overcame him.]

There's...people out there. Pokemon. I think...

[Looking back, the fog fading away and the effects to his conception of himself feel...vague, foggy in themselves. But not the voices. Those memories are far more concrete.]

In the fog? [ But he didn't see or hear anything that would have made him think that. ] But they did not mention anyone missing or in need of rescue in this part of the forest.

[ Emmet glances back at Ingo, as if to confirm he's still there, before looking back the way they came again. Strains to make out anything of note. That, and...

There's ... something about this clearing. Isn't there? ]

... we know this place. Don't we?

Do we?

[The question catches Ingo somewhat off guard. He hadn’t noticed anything like that! Anyway, "we"...there isn't a "we", is there? Not when it comes to matters such as this, at least.

Still, now that he looks around again...]

It does seem a bit familiar...but that is impossible, surely? We have not come to this part of the forest before!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject