dogarsdude

[dogarsdude]

No.

YOU.

COME C͈ L̜̺ O̬̙̱ S͖̼͙͙ E̪̠͈̙̹ R̘̤͇̭̹̳ .

[dogarsdude]

"Hey guys, back from the hospital after breaking every bone in my body, what'd I miss while I was—"

". . ."

He's turning and walking out at a brisk pace. His strides are long and his arms are swinging. Good luck out there Proton and Archer, this is not his business.

[dogarsdude]

...Yeah, he wasn't exactly surprised by this outcome. He'd hoped that in all of the shocking evidence he'd managed to dig up, the brat would comply in a moment of confusion. But alas, much like Bruno of the Elite Four, he was set up for constant endless disappointment.

The trickery only elicited a slow, dull blink. The man's 28, he knows nobody's gonna take the hard way out. Quite frankly, the ex-prodigy played his hand way too early by making Petrel realize the boy was still the brat through and through, rather than some sort of demon. The good guys don't kill, yadda yadda.

"Sure, whatever. Don't really care. I've seen unspeakable horrors today, and I promise I'm gonna fold from smoker's lung before your teeth hit bone." Was... was he talking directly to the Typhlosion?

"Stay mad about the Selfdestruct."

Okay yeah, he was talking to her. Quickly, his attention turned back to Gold.

"I'm off to go continue my starring role in Brycen-Man: Turn off the Dark. Enjoy the existential crisis or whatever. Oh, and one more thing..."

Popping open a Pokeball to summon his Weezing, he awkwardly gripped onto the tops of its heads, preparing to float away from the oncoming travesty.

"Have fun questioning why your Pokemon haven't tried to tell you."

His Fog Badge! Gold's eye sockets widened as he scooped the badge in his sleeve. That's right, it had gotten dislodged from his badge case at some point leading up to his death. He chalked it up to having been lost forever, but if Petrel had found it so easily...

What truly caught his attention, though, was the manila folder. Several paperclips lined the edges, probably holding the images within and preventing them from bursting out of the folder. Petrel had done it. He'd kept his word, and Gold would soon have all the answers he needed... but. Ah. There was always a catch to these things, wasn't it.

And here it was.

Gold pressed his lips together, anxious. Why was he the one apologizing here? He wasn't the one whose organization gave him secondhand smoke from the amount of lung pollutants they consumed, or wasted his time on a constant basis with stupid nonsense, or caused him to become vegetarian after seeing unethical Slowpoke tail farming practices firsthand, or... the whole Radio Tower thing. Or the Red Gyarados stuff.

But... it would be worth getting the truth. And with a brief glance behind Petrel, Gold knew what he had to do.

"T... thank you, Petrel." He has NOT earned the uncle title. "I- I'm so sorry- so sorry that..."

Without warning, Gold's adorable little face suddenly shifts into a grotesque skull-like grimace. "So sorry that you think I'm an idiot who's gonna fall for saying any of that. Please, get his ass."

Hey, Petrel? Remember when he glanced behind you? That's because there was a big-ass Mama Typhlosion waiting to snatch the folder from your twiggy little hands as soon as her trainer gave her the go-ahead. Which she does now, grasping it tightly in her claws and giving Petrel a dangerous warning snarl.

And yes, her boss music IS playing.

[dogarsdude]

He wasn't going to humor the sneaker response. This kid sucked the fun out of everything nearly as much as Giovanni's anklebiter. Wilbur, or whatever his name was.

"Well, I scanned the place you mentioned. BIG-ass crater right in the deepest spot, I found that shoe there. And what's more..." Fishing around in one of his pockets, he managed to produce something that wasn't a box of cigarettes for once. Unceremoniously, he flipped the small piece of metal toward the boy.

"I also give you… the Fog Badge!" Ah. He was impersonating Morty. "With this defeat... I will go back to... I don't know, selling weed to middle schoolers. I don't have much going for me... other than seeing dead people..." "Congrats, kid. You can use Surf."

Reaching behind his back, he pulled out a folder that was tucked under his belt. "I also got this." A few taps for emphasis. "The feds blanked out a lot of info in this file, but I KNOW it's got enough for you to understand."

He wasn't even going to BEGIN to get into the contents. Between the war crimes that made Team Rocket look saintly, and that THING in the images. "Don't open it until I leave. On account that I'm not about to give you an awkward hug and pat on the back for what you're gonna see. Arguably still good news though, considering this file is EXACTLY what you wanted."

"But FIRST... I need to hear your sincerest, most heartfelt 'Thank you Uncle Petrel, I'm so sorry I was a big dumb baby that ruined your plans. You're so cool.'"

Ah.

@dogarsdude asked:

With a gentle toss as not to earn the undead kid's full ire again, a singular running shoe would lightly bounce off of Gold's head, landing on the ground in front of him. It seemed... old. Tattered, partially-disintegrated, and covered in moss.

"Bad news kid, your sneakers are fake as hell. Logo ain't even close. Now, you want the good news?"

Gold's face scrunches up as the sneaker makes contact with his head, a sleeve running to rub the spot it hit and brush away any dirt or moss that ended up in his hair. "W-what do you mean they're fake?" he asks, confused, "They were my size. Comfortable. I... think it's a real sneaker you can wear?"

Look. Petrel. He doesn't understand sneakerhead culture. He's the ghost of a 13-year-old autistic kid, you're gonna have to be patient with him.

Forever trots up to the sneaker and gives it a quick sniff before picking it up in his mouth. He takes it to a shady spot, where he lays down and happily chews on the absolutely disgusting shoe like it's his new favorite toy. Gold frowns at this, but he can't really stop him. It's not like he can still wear shoes.

Instead, he turns back to Petrel.

"There's... good news? What is it?"

[dogarsdude]

"What? You're wondering how that took me several months? Listen, YOU try ignoring one of the BIGGEST CHANCES of your life as the understudy of someone who mysteriously broke both of their legs and an arm right before the big show at Goldenrod Theatre."

[dogarsdude]

"Fuckin' hell..."

That was all he could muster up while looking at the ominous scene. A Butterfree sure as hell didn't put this MASSIVE CRATER deep in what once was the darkest parts of Ilex forest. The ground had clearly been blasted away, only recently overgrown by grass and smaller plants. The trees in the immediate radius had either been pushed over into growing at an odd angle, or flat-out uprooted and taken over by moss and fungus.

A handful of rapid taps on his phone point to a rampaging Tyranitar being to blame, but... are you kidding me? The Champion of Johto, unable to take on a Tyranitar? This was utter Tauros shit.

Circling the area, he'd made sure to snap as many photos of the destruction as he possibly could, being thorough with his angles. That is, until something caught his eye. Something shiny... something...

A badge. The Fog Badge.

He let out a concerned hum that could only translate to one thing. That thing being 'I don't like this anymore, and I am VERY SWIFTLY LEAVING.'

Taking another quick (and I do mean QUICK) circle, in the event that he'd found something else in the wreckage, he'd found himself back at the path leading out, the sight of another object on the wayside getting an even deeper, more thorough frown from the Executive.

Great. He had a massive lead now. Wonderful. So much for going home and watching his Nimbasa Theatre bootlegs. The ones with the PEOPLE, not the Pokemon. What was he, a Pokefan?

Instead of that, well... he had some sneaking to do.

He hated government buildings. SO much.

[dogarsdude]

...This kid annihilated the Pokemon League singlehandedly... This kid annihilated Lance... What the FUCK. How. Genuinely, how? He'd opened his mouth as though to respond to the hand-holding comment, but decided it just wasn't worth it. Instead, he decided to focus on the next thing, an eyebrow raising at the newly-formed sleeve.

"Take it? First of all, if we're talking about the damn onion, NO THANKS. That thing ain't worth the trouble. Second of all, ya really think I'm in charge of stealing with my team? I'm the communications guy. The computer guy. The guy that does funny voices. I was literally just wasting your time way back when."

He still remembers the look of disdain on the kid's face when he'd realized ALL of Petrel's Koffing knew Selfdestruct. It was the look of a kid getting cheaped-out by the same move over and over in a video game. It was a completely degenerate strategy, one that no respectable trainer used.

"Anyways... right. Ilex Forest. Route 34 side. The route where Pokemon f—" A second to buffer. "—make friends at the Daycare."

You have to admit, he was really doing a stellar job for someone who was wanted for literal terrorism.

"I'll check it out. If I get murked out there though, make sure Proton doesn't piss on my grave."

...nevermind, so much for decency. With a small salute, he sauntered off, now with a newly-reignited disdain for both children, and the paranormal.

"I can't... hold... hands." Gold? Sweetie? I don't think that was the overgrown theater kid's point. He wiggles his stumpy arms as two oversized sleeves materialize back into existence over them. See Petrel, he can do magic tricks too. Don't ask him to explain them to you though, he likely doesn't even know himself.

Right, okay, he can get him some leads. He hated being unable to go to Lance, the Professor, or even Silver for help, but help was help. Besides, he didn't think Silver would want to see him in his current state anyway. That was fine though, because none of those parties would really be of any help considering what little he did know. Petrel couldn't talk to Pokémon, so Please wouldn't be of any help either.

...Hm.

"When I woke up... I was in the Ilex Forest." He frowns as he wrings the edges of his sleeves, still struggling to fully remember the details. "Route 34 side, near the shrine. My Pokémon were there... and... another one-"

Gold knew very well what the Pokémon in question was. And probably, so did Petrel. "It's not there. You can't take it. It's hurt. It did something and it got... hurt. Bad."

[dogarsdude]

Oh goddammit he DID just offer to help, didn't he.

"'Help' is a strong word here, kid." Don't expect a good substitute though, as he was, by definition, helping. "I'm not about to step down from my job to go hold hands and skip through flower fields. I got allergies."

Recalling his now-annoyed Koffing, he clipped the ball back to his belt. Absentmindedly, he pulled a compact mirror from his belt, checking that his foundation and concealer was still in order. Had to keep those dark circles under his eyes in check somehow.

"Dunno how much you know about this, but hurting a kid trainer is a pretty big no-no on an international level. If one of us just pulled a gun on you and blasted, there is not a SINGLE region we can run to. So whatever happened was either a freak accident, or something that could spell trouble for the ol' Big R if people start assuming."

"Get me some leads. Y'know, maybe some people or places I can check here in the land of the living. ...Just, uh, no Pokemon League people. They'll beat my ass."

H. Huh?

As Petrel starts monologuing at Gold, the wayward spectre's stunned enough by the answer to give pause. He stops expelling blooding tears from his sockets, and two little white pinpricks of light blink themselves into view. The gears in his head begin turning as he listens to what appears to be... logic?

The way he laid everything out, it made sense that Team Rocket would, perhaps, raise some alarm upon finding out what happened to Gold. After the stunt at the Radio Tower, they'd be the prime suspects of Gold's demise -- and as bumbling as certain members were, they didn't become effective criminals through blind stupidity. Petrel's reasoning actually checked out.

...Come to think of it, Gold would have remembered seeing giant red Rs as he lay dying.

"You... want to help me?" He blinks the eyelids that he very clearly didn't have moments before. If he weren't so stunned, he'd probably balk at the self-appointed 'Uncle' title or snort at his imitation of Lance.

"Is this a joke? Or-?"

[dogarsdude]

"Yeah, thanks for askin'." What was he cooking.

He made an active effort to shove the cigarette butt back into its packaging for later disposal, in case this was the 'Humans are parasites' brand of cryptid. Like whatever the hell that Fuji guy was cookin'. He'd only heard rumors from his at-the-time position as admin, but he sure didn't want to find out if this was another project.

Don't get him wrong. He wanted to scream and beg for his life again. But twice in one day? No, he had to try a better approach here. Especially against something that was already preparing to attack.

...It could talk, good. That meant HE could talk.

"Ya ever see Brycen's films?" Wh. What. "His early work was a little too 'traditional' for my tastes, but when Brycen-Man hit the silver screens, I REALLY think he came into his own, commercially and artistically."

"But THEN, when he tried his hand at stage theatre? Mwah." Chef's kiss. "He REALLY found his calling there. Personally, I think it's a bit of a loss for him to go back to those bogus Pokestar Studios sequels, but then again, what do I know? I dropped outta college after havin' it out with a snobby filmbro."

He could do this. He could bullshit his way out of this by filibustering the other's attack. He KNEW he could. But he better switch gears before he gets killed for 'talking too much'...

"Say, do you know where the nearest Pokemart is? One of my Koffing seems to be fallin' behind a bit in battle, so I was gonna pick up some vitamins for 'em. Picky eater an' all."

Her claw, outstretched threateningly, and the low-droning growl, abruptly paused at his finger raising. To her credit, she did pause! Mostly out of shock. No one else had ever done that.

Shitno kind of just… watches him take his really long drag. She wasn’t in full-on attack mode anymore, probably because that angry energy was redirected into vague confusion. Her white-ringed pupils stare him directly in his fucking eyes, seeming to want to know where this was going.

She had plenty of time to wait, after all. And when he finally finishes, she resumes her threatening posture. How polite to wait!

“ Are you done with your little cigarette break, sir? " She said, totally not wanting to attack him with psychic blasts already.

[dogarsdude]

As one might imagine, his eyes certainly widened at the display. He briefly considered going into a panic attack again, but to be honest? The whole 'dead' thing was quickly losing its impact once he realized it's still the same ol' brat.

Not to mention, this time... he seemed distressed? Not angry?

Jeez, kid. whatever they did sure fucked you up. Of all things that could have POSSIBLY happened today, speaking with the dead was not something in his day planner. Let alone the spirit of that bratty little kid that stormed the Radio Tower and thwarted their plans.

"Alright, let's say I don't care." A finger tapped the ashes from his death stick. "But, I'm sure conversing's a bit hard when any weaker man would just turn tail and run." Nice humble brag, Petrel. "So I'm sure you're itchin' for even Uncle Petrel to hear ya out."

"If you WANNA think it's for self-gain, well, whaddya think happens if people start thinkin' WE killed Johto's little ol' prodigy son?" He paused for a second, nixing the comment he was going to make about Lance being 'so far up their asses' while talking to a child.

"Ooh, look at me! I'm so big, and scary! I'm a GROWN ADULT MAN wearing a cape! Dragonite, Hyper Beam anything that breathes at me the wrong way!"

He wasn't even TRYING to copy the man's actual demeanor, obviously. But you had to admit the voice was thoroughly flawless.

Well now, that was just rude and completely uncalled for. To be fair, though, he probably should have expected it from one of Team Rocket's Pokémon. They'd have to be pretty complicit in whatever their trainers were up to anyway.

Speaking of things that were rude and completely uncalled for, Petrel had apparently switched from begging for his life to straight-up mocking Gold's current predicament. The voice imitation was one thing, given Petrel's usual MO, but seriously? You don't get the way Gold looked through being shivved on the playground.

Not that he went to playgrounds these days. He was waaaaay too old and too cool for that stuff. At least that's what he said to Silver last time before-- never mind.

"I was---" His ears began ringing. "I was-" A sharp pain drilled into his skull, just like being stabbed in the brain. "I-" The ringing grew. The pain doubled. It did this any time he tried to muster up the memories of what happened. His Pokémon had warned him not to push back against this happening, that it was better he forgot-

"DOES IT EVEN MATTER?!"

Gold doubles back, coughing again - partially from shouting, partially from Petrel's cigarette smoke. He really needed to go easier on his throat.

"I didn't think you'd even... care 'bout what happened."

[dogarsdude]

He immediately held up an index finger, silently telling the terror to just hang on for one sec.

Taking a long draw from he cigarette, he—wow, uh. He's still going. He's, uh. Inhaling that ENTIRE thing. Wow. This man is speedrunning YEARS off of his life right in front of us. Turning slightly toward the opposite direction, he let out a similarly long exhale, being sure not to aggro this one too.

Finally, he lowered his finger, eyes locking with the fucked-up scrunkly Hypno.

"Just once. Just ONCE, can this shit happen to Proton instead?"

Petrel.

[dogarsdude]

The Koffing stared through Gold as the screaming continued on in the background, before quickly coming to the conclusion that yes, this is a Pokemon if it could talk to her. A bratty-sounding 'voice' seemed to shoot back at Gold.

"[Hey, don't look at me, sockets.]" Was that necessary? "[I just work here.]"

Luckily, Petrel's voice seemed to slowly fade to silence upon noticing the Unown, squinting and audibly muttering to himself as a pointed finger tried to follow the letters. He never learned this for educational reasons mind you, he just watched a play once that utilized these weird symbols. Something about an Entei being daddy. Realizing the other wasn't exactly rearing up to attack him, he attempted to restore some of his prior bravado.

"Oh, SURE." He'd clear his throat (or un-clear it...?), before shooting back an identically-strained voice. "What... do you want... from me?" Quickly returning to his normal speaking voice, a gloved hand would dismiss Gold's general existence.

"Don't give me that! I was just passin' through, and I saw YOUR ugly mug. How's a shady guy like me not gonna assume you were here for a victory lap on my troupe?" He referred to the row of Pokeballs affixed to the back of his utility belt.

Okay, whatever. He was willing to accept the ghostly figure floating before him. After all, he'd heard about the Lavender Town incident back when he was an Admin. That doesn't make this any less weird. He frowned at the cigarette that fell to the floor in his panic, gently pushing his Koffing out of combustion distance before lighting another.

"I don't watch the news. Or pay attention to Archer's bitching. You get shivved on the playground or something, kid? Didn't know we were in Unova."

Okay, fun time was over. Gold's expression returns to a blank, albeit still leaking blood from his mouth and eyes. The corner of his mouth twitch slightly at Petrel's screaming, but he manages not to flinch from the noise -- if only because the Koffing's looking just as confused as everyone else.

"Hey." He tilts his head at Koffing curiously, spine clicking as he moved. The one benefit of his situation was from the limited amount of psychic abilities he had on loan from Celebi, including talking to Pokémon. "Can you... make him stop? Please? 'S too loud."

He waits for Petrel to calm down, a lot more patient than he really should have been. A flock of Unown fan out from behind him. Were Petrel to stop pleading for his life and pay attention, he might notice that they're rapidly spelling things out as a form of communication. As effective as the I'm Dead display was in getting Petrel to behave, it really did a number on Gold's throat.

NOT DEMON. NOT COSTUME. YES GHOST. I AM IN FACT DEAD.

Gold coughs out one last glob of blood before affixing his sockets back onto Petrel. Clearly if he was around, this was more than just a courtesy visit.

"What... do you want... from me?"

[dogarsdude]

"...A G-G-G-G-GHOST!?"

He didn't have the time to question why, how, who, or what. With a swift motion, he'd already sent out one of his Koffing with a voice-cracked cry of "PETUNIA, HELP ME!", and practically LEAPT behind it for protection. As one might imagine, the Koffing was perplexed.

Its blank stare seemed to be attempting to discern whether or not it was even staring down a Pokemon. Luckily for Petrel, it didn't seem to understand the concept of body horror, because, y'know, it's a Koffing. If anything, Gold just seemed like some sort of long-lost kin to it. More panicked shouting ensued from behind Petrel's perplexed poisonous purple protection.

"STAY BACK, DEMON! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!! I SWEAR ON MY MA'S LIFE. GODDAMNIT MA, WHY DID YOU TELL ME TO DROP OUT OF MY THEATRE ARTS MAJOR!?"

@dogarsdude asked:

Ah, there's a familiar face. Granted, it probably wasn't the familiar face that Gold (or Vetra) was expecting any time soon. Taking a draw from his cigarette, he'd blow a puff of smoke at the undead boy.

That was for the Radio Tower, ya little ankle-biting prick.

"So like, what's your deal, kid? Halloween ain't even here yet. ...Or it ended a long time ago? Take your pick."

Oh. Ohhh. Oh good going Vincent Petrel, now you've really gotten his attention. As soon as the cigarette smoke hits Gold's face, he doubles over, coughing his lungs out. Almost literally, considering the sludge he's expelling. Sweet merciful Ho-Oh, what was IN that death stick?

So. Petrel wants to know his deal, huh.

Alright then.

He's already unlocked Gold's hidden unhinged goblin tendencies, might as well give the man what he wants.

Gold's tiny body shudders as disconcerting child-like laughter escapes from his body, his sleeves disintegrating in order to fully demonstrate to Petrel what he's dealing with. He lifts his head up, his face twisted in a horribly grotesque mockery of itself.

The black, tar-like blood he coughed up earlier pours out of his eye sockets and mouth as he declares--

"I ' M D E A D !"

[dogarsdude]

Petrel.