What's up with the square?
"What's up with the square?" Ash asks, almost transparent. He's pale enough to blind a cat in the dark, and his eyes stare off into the distant with such a disconnect that you could argue they're not really looking at anything, despite being open. His voice, disjointed, like the cries of a ghost in the dressing room of a shopping mall. You wouldn't notice if you didn't already believe in it.
"I'll as the questions, manboy," the strange fella in the labcoat says.
Ash notices him, the first thing he notices besides the square that took him away to that fuzzy place. Fuzzy like vicodin, not so much Eevee. He stares in wonder at his figure - it is, how you might describe, highly irregular.
He's curvy and purple, different shades of purple, and doesn't have the correct amount of fingers Ash might assume of a doctor or a scientist.
And something about his crotch - his crotch is massive, but not in the bulge or genitals sense. Rather, it's as smooth as an egg, and it sticks out like a pregnant woman's belly.
"Doctor...?"
"Call me... mother, manboy. Call me mother."
"Okay, mother manboy," Ash says, dumbly. She doesn't sound like a mother, but Ash isn't one to misgender a vessel of science. Is it a she? He should probably default to they. Ash doesn't want to offend anybody.
"Just mother is fine."
"Okay mother is fine," Ash repeats. He can't help but wonder about that square. The one his eyes keep darting to from the confusing shape in the labcoat. The square that fills his head with static, like off a CRT from the 90's, which he isn't sure he understands. "What's up with that square?"
Pulsating. Calling to him.
The void humming like a pokeref droid with bad wiring.
Sparks flying from his head brain and scorching the inside of his head. Something he might want to address. To point out to the doctor, or scientist or... lab technician?
The one without the appropriate amount of fingers.
"To which square do you refer, human?" The figure in the coat leaves focus as Ash is drawn to the pulsating, screaming darkness. But he notices their mouth isn't moving before he does. He wonders what amount of fingers is truly appropriate for anyone, or anything.
Mother's voice is but a fading echo. "You've lost a lot of humanjuice, manboy. We'll try and fix that as soon as we can. Lucario, bring the meatbag."
A screaming gets paradoxically louder and more distant. It's almost as if there is no square.
