bottlecaplogs | mist on the grass

Entry tags:

mist on the grass

Who: Ingo and Emmet
What: Exploration of the Middle Forest
When: Late April
Where: Middle Forest
Warnings: Hallucinations, dissociation, minor injury

[The middle forest, much like the time they explored the northern end, is blanketed with fog almost as soon as they enter the shadows of the trees. Ingo ignites his flames, as usual, but it's little use. Purple light refracts off the thick mist, as well as the faint red glow of Emmet's eyes and markings.

It's a little spooky. Ingo tries to keep his eyes off them. Telling Emmet about his experiences with Zoroark was probably, overall, a good thing to do. He's not longer lying to him, even if only by omission. But it probably makes some of his less-than-kind responses a little more obvious...]

I am sure any marks we leave will simply change again, but we could make an attempt anyhow.

[Today's another scouting mission, more than anything. Ingo's more relaxed about that than about rescue missions, but their strange experience in the forest last time still has him keeping a sharp eye out, as well as he can.]

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[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!

Doesn't make sense. I know. We have never gone this way before. But...

[ He can't shake the feeling. That this part of the forest is familiar in some intrinsic way, that they've been here before regardless if he can just figure out how and when.

... Emmet also gives into the full body shudder that's been creeping up on him since the fog started affecting Ingo. Shaking like a wet Growlithe or Lillipup sounds about right. Doesn't really make it feel any less like his fur's standing on end, but it helps as Emmet turns away from where they just were and redirects his attention back onto Ingo. ]

How's your side? I was not ... very careful or delicate earlier. Sorry. Still want an Oran Berry, you think?

[Ingo watches that shake, his frown deepening further. He’s far from the authority on his own history, but...it really doesn’t make sense. Is this the fog trying a new tactic? The last one only failed because Emmet was unaffected, but now they are both feeling something.

He just shakes his head at the apology, looking around warily.]

Oh...ah, yes, but perhaps I ought to eat it as we go.

[ It's the forests near Anville, ancient and dark, the ones they were warned against going too deep into and getting lost within as children. It's the Entree Forest, where the tangled wood of the forest's heart grows in twisting black and white spirals around each other in a place where dreams become reality and vice versa...

No, it isn't. None of that makes sense. They aren't even the same place. It's an empty clearing free of fog (is it?), in the central portion of the forests surrounding the city here. And he (they?) has somehow been here before. ]

Back the way we came, then? Or a different route?

The...way we came, I think. If we can.

[Ingo's tone is a little dour. He hates having to give up so quickly into their mission! But it isn't as though they were really doing anything in particular - there's no lost Pokemon to rescue, not even a misplaced item to retrieve. It was only an exploration. Right now, it seems as if they can report back very well with a warning about where not to go.]

I'm afraid I'm not...sure how we got here, exactly.

[ And Emmet picks up on that unhappiness, but ... yeah. Even with the clarity of thought granted by the absence of that sense of oppressive danger and fear earlier, pushing further into unknown territory at this time is, probably, definitely unadvised. Any excursions they make into this forest are inherently risky, sure, but given how quickly the fog can become debilitating and the fact that there's no pressure on them to continue otherwise... ]

That's okay. I remember ... most of it. [ He'll respond, breaking eye contact and instead turning his attention to the supplies they've brought. ] General direction anyway. Maybe not exactly the landmarks or how far. Level ground, mostly. Other than that drop-off I mean.

And then you also remember the rest.

We shall have to either climb back up or go around.

[He barely remembers the shape and grade of the incline. He'd been distracted, by the fall and his injury, and then by the Fog. But Ingo imagines he can scramble back up if he has to; he's climbed worse, and in worse condition.

He watches Emmet as the Zoroark digs in his bag. It feels a little strange to be talking about which path to take again, very nearly casual. His mind is now firmly rooted in the here and now, yet he still feels...off. Shaken. He's not sure what he ought to say, or if he ought to say anything at all.]

...thank you for dragging me out of there like that.

I am Emmet. There is no way I would ever leave you behind.

[ Stated plainly. Up is up, down is down, the sky is blue, and Emmet won't leave Ingo alone. Eventually he manages to find the berries they'd packed, coming closer to offer one to the Typhlosion. His ears swivel a bit in continued alert. ]

... Go around if we can, maybe. Wasn't too far of a drop, but I wonder. If it was hidden from us by the mist maybe there's other things we didn't see there either.

[ Or maybe they'll see things that aren't, like footholds that don't actually exist. No guarantee that anywhere else won't be more of the same either, but, you know.

(It's a dense and dark forest, a clearing, a shrine said to grant luck to passing travelers, and he's been here before...?)

Emmet shakes his head a little with a huff. ]

Biggest problem I see is. I was following where the fog was thinner to get here. No matter what, we'll have to go back deeper into the fog.

[Ingo reaches out to delicately snag the berry with his claws. He's learned to do that much, but he can't really walk and hold objects well; he pops it into his mouth, chews and swallows before he replies.]

That's...certainly true. Perhaps we should try to prepare ourselves...if only we had a Pokeball to place me in!

[Though that's still not a perfect solution. It would leave Emmet largely alone. The fog didn't affect him in the same way, but that doesn't necessarily mean it can't.]

I wonder if they've even invented them here. Modern Pokeballs were invented in 1925 but took a while to get to Unova... I don't know how far back Johto's Apricorn Balls go. [ Pause. ] Don't think the Pokémon here would like them, either way.

[ They're so wary of humans here, after all. ]

Maybe if you know to expect it this time. It won't work as well?

[ Emmet's relatively even tone leaves most of his dubiousness out of it; it's worn on his face and in the slant of his smile instead. ]

We have only just discovered those - Apricorn balls. The Galaxy Team brought the technique when they traveled north from Johto. I could make them, if we found the right materials, but I think you're correct that it would not be a good idea.

[Ingo fully believes they're useful. He wouldn't have started using them otherwise! Still, that was with his own Pokemon's agreement, and the ones here seem like they would certainly take it amiss.

Regardless - though his expression doesn't shift, his tone is clearly dubious.]

Mmmm...perhaps. But I knew perfectly well that I should not wander into the fog before!

[It just...ceased to matter. Or he forgot? He's not sure, exactly, only that the reality of the situation was no longer in his mind at all. He stretches, moving his legs on the side he fell upon. His ribs are feeling better. Not entirely healed, but breathing aches less.]

Maybe that berry was not a good idea after all. I was probably easier to drag along like that.

Arrrre you saying you think I should just knock you out and drag you through the forest if it happens again.

[ They can keep that as a plan. E? E for emergency. E seems like a good letter. It's a step after D. Implies they've gone through at least four other plans first. ]

I am pretty sure you are heavier than me. It will be easier for us both if you are not deadweight. You resisting is a concern yes but if it comes down to it I am still immune to ghost.

No! Not right away, at least! It is probably just easier if I am injured!

[Emmet is, after all, quite correct that Ingo outweighs him. If he were a smaller Pokemon, this whole question would be far easier. But he's sidetracked entirely by that last comment.]

I...didn't fight you, did I?

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