Munchie: Starry, what happens to Ashley after we save the world?
Me: ewe I never said you do save the world. What if I kill everyone off first.
Munchie: … y-yeah... but, like... if we live and save the world—wh-what happens to her after? -looks really, genuinely concerned-
Me: awwwwwwwww ;w; Well—
Ashley: HEY DON'T TELL HIM YOU BITCH
Me: … o^o yesma'am
Munchie: owo
Ashley: ...I'll... tellhimeventually... maybe...
Munchie: wi-will you stay with me..?
Ashley: … Iwantto—iMEAN HEY STARRY WHAT'S THE NAME OF THE CHAPTER START WRITING ALREADY GEEZ owo;;
A Deaf Flame's Flicker
Chapter Nine: Scenarios Sure to Make you Sad Cry
Reality set in and seized his shoulders once their meager group set foot on the first patch of whispering, cool grass. Grass, for crying out loud. Bright green bunches of hair sticking out of the head called earth: grass. Munchie even had a few set reasons on why he was so excited to see said grass, and why it had become so important to him. In one glance, it was simplistic, green shrubbery that mushed around underneath his feet with the emit of odd, crunching noises, but it sprung with one's step and usually associated flowers in its tangled mix. In another, it was color. It was texture. It was feel. It was life, and at the moment, life wasn't looking as happy as those fronds of grass. Nope. Life was kind of scary, actually. Kind of really scary. Really... really scary. Like a lot of it. A lot of scary.
Itching his returned blue-shaded head that felt scruffy to the touch instead of listless, dull nothing, Munchie blinked his dark-and-light orbs that now held their own set of blues, which were different than his fur, and it weirdly felt great to blink them repeatedly. Were they supposed to itch this badly after being without value change for some time? Sure, it hadn't been that long, but they still messed with him. His own eyes were rebelling. Oh, Munchie, you sad, sad scoundrel. Snorting at that, he glanced over and—yep—found the girl and the boy he expected to find sauntering on up to him, their own colors returning as they moved onward. Neither of them had a very dashing step, but still he found their presences required and... somewhat charming anyways? That was kinda sad. The pokemon on their own were pretty sad in their walk—why was Munchie even commemorating this in the first place? Why was he getting so into his partners' walks? Why did it matter? No wait, it didn't. Nope. Right. Didn't. He tried to stop thinking about how cute Ashley's hobble was and anything like that for the time being, watching her bipedal form, hands and feet each sifting into the soil and grass, come up, orange fur shimmering with vivid colors once more, where they belonged, and the flame on her tail and the ones in her eyes setting to sparks again. Pretty, he would have said, like he'd once called clouds.
Back before he knew her. Back before he knew her or the deranged tree next to her: sorry, it'd kind of become an inside joke to him. So ol' tree hobbled up alongside Ashley, his long-necked head held high and green skin filling with depth and squish. He couldn't help it that his plant-like skin was so squishy. The long, dark leaf draping from his head to the small in his back flipped with his face, and his eyes glittered harmlessly. As somewhat scary as the lanky biped looked, the only really disturbing thing about him was his red belly and that same color winding up to his neck, flickering like a tongue. It was morbid to him. To Munchie, that was. He didn't think Influence would find himself very morbid. Well, maybe. Munchie used to call his own self a disease, so it was readily possible. Though the grovyle in question really didn't look like the type to drop everything and insult himself. He was kind of mellow, pretty raspy, didn't care much about a lot of things, never hoisted a strong opinion. Gosh, why were all of Munchie's friends—even including himself—so drastically different? He'd never known how truly different every soul was until he started getting to know them. But... there were always similarities hidden in there, too. He had to remember that or he'd go insane or something.
Watching over his friends, Munchie quietly thought about the past. Only bits and pieces came shooting, though they strung quite well as one and outfitted the main outline of what he'd gone through relatively smooth enough. Buttoning up notions, he recalled back when he knew no one and wandered like a sad hobo which he practically was, only finding joy in the sunset, until he met Ashley who wanted to see the guild for reasons he didn't know yet, and then he knew Ashley and the guild, which led to meeting her mate and her dad and somehow included a pichu into the mix that was pretty soft and quiet, and then he saw the horrors of the future from that dad and heard from the grovyle and Ashley and a lot more junk happened that led to him becoming a... a... Spit it out, he reprimanded himself, you deserve it. He was becoming a—a—a hero. The word clicked in place, chiming a hollow sound, and truth was proven. He... practically had consecrated the path of a hero, in a way. He was saving the world and everything, for crying out loud. It felt weird, to think he'd gone from a disease to an upcoming good guy or something dumb and irrational like that, but supposedly that was that. Supposedly, that was that. He quietly applauded himself, feeling like an idiot.
Seriously, Munchie, had it been that long since he was still in the marvelous interior of Fyshyngtyn Palace with the great lapras King Antonium and, as he'd said, his sweet little wife, Suddiu the mudkip, who kind of reminded him of Mystic-her-daughter but Mystic was not calm and thoughtful but—he idly wondered where Majestic's and Mystic's oddball selves had come from, as they were similar enough to be siblings, but their parents didn't quite match as Antonium was somewhat like a surfer version of Byrender and Suddiu was the sweetest, cutest little thing, but he wasn't too concerned. There was always hope for a crazy uncle. Moving on, the scent of the sea still permeated his nostrils, and oh, Munchie began to miss it. He hoped one day he could return to that beautiful, glorious kingdom. Thinking about it: whenever he and Ashley saved the world and all that—oh, and Influence, too—where would he choose to live after..? He didn't know. He'd figure it out; he had bigger problems like a gigantic, terrifying dad to worry about, at the moment.
Kind of the King to allow Munchie and friends to ride him on their gateway to these Hidden Lands—as Ashley called them—that they had to hunt through in order to get to the spoke point. King Antonium floated through the clean air plenty of times as his blue fins, sometimes all the same gray in certain points, and helped provide them a speedy passage through some mucky territory that looked otherwise unappetizing. Like Dusknoir... was already up to something... and the world was turning to grimy food underneath his strawberry-eyed watch. Why was it the guy with the pretty, red eye that had become the monster? Or always been one? Ashley had explained a few tidbits to him, but truly: why? What made a pokemon that creepy, or psycho, or whatever term fit that thing named Ashley's Dad in the long run?
They hiked the rest of it to where they were now. Shadows already began to spring, and color had receded far into the depths of one's soul until Munchie couldn't tell the difference betwixt very many ideals and his heart had practically lost its beat in his chest but they were there in the Hidden Lands where color returned, and so did the feeling under his toes. Munchie didn't understand very much about what was going to happen, but the whole can't-feel-heart-in-chest thing was new. It didn't seem particularly bad, and Ashley had already explained about how pokemon of the future were immortal until they withered into those messed up dark type or ghost type pokemon: what Dusknoir was, which... made a lot of sense. Obviously. He did happen to be the leader of this hot mess as it was. The more Munchie thought of it, the more he sought about those dark creatures, those ghost ones... and he deliberated there may have been regular pokemon with those types or something out there in the other islands—he could still name each of them by heart—but in Zundentun: he didn't know, but it was messed up. Zundentun had a lot of beach-like qualities to it, what with all of the water to it: Treasure Town's bluffs and shores, the entire existence of Fyshyngtyn, and a multifarious assortment of Mystery Dungeons, including but not limited to the Beach Cave, Drenched Bluff, Waterfall Cave, and Brine Cave. Also the sisterly Northern and Southern Deserts. So much sand. He remembered those ones well, since he's gone there a lot. Probably, more were included somewhere, but those stuck best in his mind. Shadows weren't unnatural, and there were surely some creepy creeps hanging out deep below the ocean, but... those things from the future...
Those things looked ready to dominate Zundentun, then dominate everything. Dominate Truught, dominate Uytee, dominate Venturus, dominate Warldo, dominate Xendrandentus, dominate Yoctta. And... dominate Zundentun, of course. That, too. That, always. It'd be the start of it, with the time gears, and then all heck would break loose. Munchie didn't feel like stating which word Ashley would have used, because all heck breaking loose was just as traumatizing as... the word she preferred. Still didn't say it. Nope. He wasn't one to cuss. Munchie absently wondered what was out there on the other islands, what kinds of troubles they might face, and perchance if they had their own screwed futures. Nah, Zundentun must have started with the strange badness of Mystery Dungeons, for their screwed future was the only thing he saw. And that screwed future, it had to be stopped. Munchie didn't know how such palpable fear and darkness had come to taint the world and how Dusknoir himself was created, and frankly, he wasn't sure he had the time to figure it out. All that mattered was what Ashley and even Influence had come to do for their desperate lair full of loss, and... that was use her father's portals and escape to the past and stop it all before he came to play, before any of it did. He idly wondered: if Dusknoir was stopped and never came into existence, what happened to everyone else? Didn't know... didn't know. Didn't want to think about it. He was talking of how much longer Ashley had left to live, and he didn't want to limit her stay. He... he... honestly, Munchie wanted to just keep her with him. No limits or anything. It'd probably be a little bit nice maybe...
Thoughts of atrocities that were to come and a treasure chest of monsters that would soon begin to trickle open a crack more sicced Munchie's entity, and he stayed engrossed within the topics of fate and the screwed future and monsters just as strange and terrifying as Dusknoir who could make portals and had one for a stomach and liked to hurt pokemon like Munchie: more like everyone, because he seemed capable of hurting everyone, of wanting to harm all. And it sort of kind of... freaked him out. A lot, though. A whole lot. Ashley's hand must have found his at some point because the reason he was moving onward in the Hidden Lands was by the gentle, caressing tug of such hand. Strange, mystifying green grass crunched with satisfying noise he could practically taste from the sheer feel of it. He hadn't seen those sorts of sights, heard those sorts of sounds, since their finding of this place.
"It's a little more shitted down than the rest of Zundentun," the girl he entrusted his life with murmured helpfully. "It gets... worse... but as you can see, for now and for some time later it'll be pretty damn fantastic." So this was like... a safe zone, of sorts. And something else. Not sure how to respond, his ears buzzing somewhat, Munchie idly nodded with glassy orbs. Just happy to be in this hallow with her was good enough for him. Munchie didn't think he was all that needy. He hadn't tried to be, in the least. He hoped. H-he hoped.
As they ambled along, Influence somewhere in front of them as winding winds and the soft call of bells tangled with their ears and sent them onward, those questions couldn't help but silently plea and rattle inside of Munchie's head, and the more he wanted to send them away, the more the nagging grew, and grew, and grew, until it was practically as gigantic as Dusknoir and his inflated ego combined. His wonders of the future and whispers of the present and the strange, nature-like calls from the Hidden Lands all tangled up until they bunched up far further masses than a large, gaseous wisp that gave nightmares to anyone that either wasn't as dull as Influence and Majestic or happened to live in Treasure Town—not the guild but like the whole Treasure Town getup, the whole stereotype all set up and everything, which was everyone else—and also his ego, which was hysterically large as well. Being a hysterical creature stuffed with emotion, Munchie could assure you that Dusknoir was not a guy to be messed with. He was scary, man. He was scary. Still, the questions rattled like grit from the sand—lots of sand and lots of beach in Zundentun, couldn't forget the deserts and all that as well—that must have been studded in his fur if the places offering them hadn't already frozen up. He couldn't tell much more, felt a little tipsy, glassy, confused. Munchie's complete reliance—really his life—had gone onto the shoulders of the girl with him. He didn't know it quite yet, but she relied on him just as much: funny, how they both felt ready to quit and thought the other one was hanging on. They both weren't, but they were weaving together and it seemed alright in the end.
They were somewhere in the Hidden Lands, on the grass, under the sky, perhaps nearing the spoke, perhaps not, nobody knew where Influence was, when Munchie's lips parted and he asked her softly in that tone of his, the husk capturing its presence, making its gentle self better known—"Why... do they do this to such beauty? Why do they want to wilt it?" He asked her gently, as that was what he was—gentle—and Ashley, understanding, nodded to herself slowly. The flames in her eyes dimmed somewhat. She seemed to enjoy fingering it, though, knowing she had a chance to speak privately with him. That... made Munchie happier, too, honestly. He felt a blush creeping in and ended up submitting to it.
"They shit on beauty because they don't understand it," was her first response, but as she thought more, raised undulating odds, compared close synonyms and stopped, she shook her head gently, and Munchie just really freaking wanted to cup it and smile down at her for some bizarre reason. "They think it's... evil. They feast on magic and those beauties. It's like how they kill what they hate... they have some voracious appetite or fucking nonsense like that, and they take it all in and they turn it into sad things that it doesn't deserve to be. They truly don't understand it, and they fear it, and they hate it." Curious, he softly asked if her dad was the same, and she readily obliged, as if expecting that question. "Most pokemon are like that, where I live. Most pokemon are like that period. Everywhere. I'm just one of the special bitches or some damn reason like that." A shrug with her cute little shoulders ended conversation, and Munchie was left to his own devices for the moment as they walked on.
He raised his head again, since she seemed to like it more than not, and softly asked another question: "Where did... he come from? Where did—where did your dad originate?" Seeing his gentle, curious orbs centered in on her, Ashley seemed to waver for a moment. Did she like it?—did she want him to stop? He'd let it go if she wanted him to. Just say the word, he silently added on. Ashley didn't seem to notice all that much. Then again, he was probably overreacting. Ashley had to look at him to understand him, since she was deaf, so maybe she was taking a moment to digest the words and then she had to think them out, too, figure what was going on with her life and lay it out. Next, he deliberated he'd ask her why she didn't mind talking about it with him.
Ashley's orange hair shivered as she spoke. "He... he came from the stopping of the time gears. His existence, is, hell, yeah, because the fucked future, when it was the past, it fucked up good. Enter Dusknoir and a few other fucks and... yeah. Home." She stopped, then unraveled and picked up back at the beginning of the thread; whether she meant to at first or not, she'd started seeping into the story, and it seemed like she couldn't stop. "I doubt we'll ever figure out the whole start of how my home came to be the hell it is, but there's a few things we can tell, especially now that I've been to this lovely... lovely present." A slight sniff, covered by a cough. "We're nearing the drop off to it. I'm sure that our buddies from the guild will stop by our home at some point what with all the darkness, as they can't stay awake forever... and they'll be ambushed. It's coming up, whatever happened in the past to cause this shit, it started near now..." A pause. It seemed right to stop there, when glancing around the predicted deaths of their near entities, close to them in spirit alright. "I think it's because of a few things. First of all, nobody knew about it until Dusknoir was... born... And Treasure Town didn't give a shit. Those sorry asses seem to like him as it is. There's some few other places like Fyshyngtyn, a few stray homes like Jalendalynne's. But all of them together don't mean shit to the fucking masses in Treasure Town. They got bad feelings... they were the first to be devoured. But backing up a little—the time gears, their loss... Munchie, you and Jalendalynne couldn't find your corpses or anything in the future, maybe because you visited there and your fates are messed up, hell if I know, but it probably had something to do with you guys."
It was plain eerie that there was a past self of Munchie, a sort of spirit that touched the earth before him and was a part of the future somehow, the one that was screwed. And here he was now, too, truly here now, meaning this was his era or something like that. He didn't know everything. "Personally, I feel like it was you specifically, but... we don't know. We just don't. I've lived in this shitty place forever, and seeing your realm makes me want to cry, it's so fucking amazing. My dad... since he's so fucking messed up, I of course gained a lot of his attributes. I can't really hear. I use those fucking words a lot more, and it makes me look so filthy. I'm fucking terrible in general... Sometimes I interpret shit from the future and past, even, you know like with the vision of Influence and all, and damn, does it squeeze my head. All of this mental shit shoved on top of me because my dad is this messed up monster who was created by the loss of gentle caring for the time gears, the loss of our guardians, and the overall unhealthiness of citizens. I'm pretty sure some ancestor of my mom or another was part of Treasure Town, because I can't see guys like the pokemon of Fyshyngtyn living with that hell." Not sure what else to do, for the moment, Munchie silently agreed.
The world was messed up. The present was about to become what the future was, and did that final step lock in, they'd have Dusknoir and he'd take over and—where would Munchie be? His heart seized. He had no idea what would become of him. Jalendalynne could easily be one of those corpses, but he... where would he go? Whatever... happened to him... when the present became the future Ashley was in... He took a drastic change in this world at some point, he felt that, whether Ashley was there to fall on top of him when she lightning-bolt-zapped into the present... something would have become of him at some point, and how that connected to the time gears, how that connected to the demise of the future, this purgatory that the Hidden Lands would become: he didn't know. As a growing sense of dread threatened to weight him down and force him over on the fact of he didn't know where he'd go if they failed and that scared him, Munchie tried to shake off his fears. It didn't work all that well.
He remembered wanting to ask a kinder question, but being frozen up with dread and staring at the crunchy grass of the Hidden Lands dusted with daisies and other delightful flowers with a petal or so dancing in the wind, being so slick with emotion he could hardly choke past it, Munchie couldn't help but mumble, "What's it... like? The future?" He knew she didn't want to show him it, felt a desire to spare him from it, from what she said had made her horrible, why she was horrible—oh, he digressed—but if there was something she could let his curious self gnaw on a little, anything she did want him to know... He felt like that somehow had to do with the exceptionally gentle question he'd wanted to ask, but dang it, Munchie didn't remember much about that question in the first place so he continued on numbly, watching over the chimchar whether he realized it or not.
Already, stiffening, she looked hesitant. "Nn... Oh... Oh hell. I can tell you a couple of things. I know you're a curious one, Munchie, and I know you're really fucking concerned about whatever happened to you after the past went bonkers and all that..." Another pause. Must have been sorting out what was safe enough, what was maybe if she didn't come up with enough and he became greedy—which was a pretty safe bet he wouldn't, but who knew, maybe she did make a maybe section—and of course the outright noes he would never be allowed to know about. "Okay, okay, I'm caving. No caveats, please thanks, but... damn, Munchie..." She blinked slowly up at him. "There's a lot of spirits calling out... and there's the screaming. I think he accidentally made that white trail, but thank hell it was there with you when we were fucked in there. Perhaps it was some thing or another from the present leading you guys out, Munchie, but whatever fucking praise. What else—well, everyone's fucking horrible. Like more horrible than the usual talents-and-flaws every soul gets stuck with. There's... random platforms and traps he'll set up, he and some other spirits that are like him, but not quite him. The ground is made of... there's corpses and stones and spikes and blood and shit, but there's stuff I don't even know where to begin with, too. Since I get those fucking visions sometimes, I know that there's lots of sticky, red fingerprints and mush everywhere...
"Ugh... I'm fucking horrible..." Honestly, she seemed incredibly keen to leave it off there, let it end with how terrible Ashley was—when she—she—no, she wasn't! Munchie didn't feel so passionate about all that many things, but Ashley was one of those things he felt passionate about. He wasn't quite sure what that led to, but passion shoved up in his face and he squeaked out at her, "No you're n-not!"
A petty spat spread out between them. Softhearted, taken without punishment or pain, just hefty whispers with meanings adorned on them.
"But... Dammit, I am."
"You never could be. You're—you're amazing, Ashley. Way better than me."
"Not... not really... I don't want you to feel so happy around me—because of..."
"I know, but... but I can't stop how I feel about you, you're super cool..."
"Stop..." she moaned quietly. "Stop... I'm not super cool..."
"Believe what you want," he mumbled in response, "but to me, you're outstanding." He ended it with that, and Ashley, seeing that she wouldn't win this one, didn't respond for a little bit. They ensconced in their calm silence that somehow just happened to work with the both of them, and simply adapted as they went on together. Maybe one day he'd be able to convince the girl that she was super cool, and by then he'd be able to explain whatever the heck was going on with his heart, too. Maybe. Maybe not. He sure hoped he wasn't dead by then. Somehow, Munchie had the feeling that no matter what happened, Ashley wanted to be there for him: and he clung onto the fragment of a thought gratefully, because as stupid as it might have sounded to anyone else, he believed it and clung to it fitfully.
Genuinely smiling to himself for her, Munchie nodded his head slowly in the warmth of this gentle, grassy area, beginning to pick up a slope. They were... nearing the start of the spoke of a point, weren't they? Getting closer... nearing destiny... It reminded Munchie that he had to ask Ashley about their exact plan all over again. Then he remembered, oh yeah, his other question and the thing. He decided to say the new thing he devised first, because it was a little more important. "I—sorry, Ashley, that I got upset with you... I'm sorry..." Then he linked it with, "I trust I haven't aggravated you. Why do you... why do you talk so freely about it now..?"
"It's okay, Munchie." One of her somewhat-bashful shrugs. Every time she did that the urge to hug her surged through his chest: his heart, to be exact. Why his heart, man, why his heart. "And... I dunno, it's easier to talk around you. It just is. I feel pretty comfortable around you... but I still distress you and upset you, and I wish I didn't. But I do... Ugh. Makes me think that if I hadn't been born in that hellhole, maybe, you know..." He nodded at her to go on, suddenly very intrigued but also worried as usual because that was what he did. "...maybe... I'dfeelgoodenoughforyou?" She coughed rudely at the last part and dented her words, so Munchie didn't quite catch it on his own, but the hurt displayed on the cute little chimchar's face and the blush and pain stained upon it told him enough. She looked... upset. A wreck. In pain, even... It brought him sadness to see her like that. He didn't quite understand what she'd said, but just the face alone made him want to grab her hands and will away whatever was ailing her, as it was so plainly seen. He really felt like there was something wrong with him if these kinds of thoughts kept popping up in his head, but... what else was there to it, he supposed?
Like a dream, his fingers twitched and spread out, one closing in on one of Ashley's hands, the other reaching for her other. Maybe they'd match and that would be kind of cool, but he just really really wanted to hold them for some reason. Would holding her hands fix him..? Without a clue, his scruffy blue fingers, not particularly large or small, seemed ready to latch out and make that final move, and still his eyes locked up and he did that thing as he froze and he wanted to but he wasn't sure if he could and wasn't sure if he'd do it right or like if Ashley'd hate him or something? Munchie didn't know. His mind went numb as he tried to reach out to her and penultimately, as it always went: failed. Stupidly, lamely, numbly: failed. Then a sudden flash hit the primate's fiery orbs and her fingers did that snatch for his idiotic self, and then it was like bam they were holding hands and her eyes were on his eyes and it was... Munchie couldn't stop himself. Yeah, it was cool. It was.
Something or another held back, though, because Ashley broke her brittle hands from his and slanted her gaze away and mumbled words he didn't quite catch. Munchie wished he could ask for her to repeat what she'd said, because duh of course he wanted to hear it, but the deaf girl's eyes strayed and she didn't look ready to face him anytime soon. Geez... Girls were confusing. Nah, he was probably just too stupid to read her. Ashley didn't seem all... all that confusing. Munchie had still been the eavesdropper he was for a long time, always was, and she still gave off small points of secrecy, heavy burdens she balanced on her own silently, willing for not a soul to see them. When he'd first ran into her—more like she fell on top of him—Munchie recalled seeing how much she easily would slink around a question and slyly hold it back, slyly didn't give much away. But as she did, points of interest that were obviously avoided became profound: what her home was truly like. Stuff like that would never leave her lips. And then these... burdens, that she didn't look ready to spill about to anyone. And it looked rather painful to see her in such a state. Again, Munchie just wanted to hug her. Awkward as he was, it poured a stream of longing into him.
He wished he could ask her what was going on, but the silence pursued silence and he didn't know what to say. Yet the longer he watched her long, sad expression plainly out for him to notice, easy to see her distress that he didn't even know how to wipe away, as much as his heart could desire, and she didn't open up anymore to him. Munchie felt lost, stuck, trapped, unable to communicate with this freaking deaf chimchar that he kept jumping to, kept wanting to converse with as was. He obviously wasn't going to crack the girl open and make her speak for him, that was rude and seriously, he'd stated it so many times: Ashley was a lady. Sure, one that cussed and spat and didn't act so prim and proper or whatever, but chivalry always won, and Ashley was a lady. Plus he didn't like treating her wrong it made him sad. Munchie didn't know what to say, but the songs in his head, the shuffling from the wind and the strange, yearning chime of bells spoke to him, and he wanted to stick with Ashley. They moved on as the land beneath their feet convulsed and churned upward, spouting rocks and intricate patterns on the ground, as well as the ever-present grasses.
Because he didn't know what else to say, Munchie asked, "So... what about the plan?" After Dusknoir dispersed like that after both obtaining the location of the final time gear he was missing—how he realized he didn't have one was quite the mystery, but then again he was Dusknoir and he was terrifying as it was—and also accomplishing the feat of nearly screwing Munchie over and then saving his life all in one: they probably had to figure out something else. All the munchlax knew was that he and Ashley and Influence too, wherever he'd wandered off to, had to reach that spoke point, which he'd heard was a miraculously tall tower that stood strong for the most part and was made of dark, cool stone with patterns and spirals stamped along its every edge. Also they had to climb to the top of it or something?
It seemed a dense, black fog had dampened Ashley's mood. Glancing over, Munchie caught her dimmed orbs and slumped composure. Something was surely getting to her. She caught his glance and, sensing he'd said something, locked eyes until Munchie repeated his question and the chimchar, chewing on her pale-faced lip thoughtfully, nodded to herself. She seemed ready to speak, too. "Ugh, I can just feel the fucking darkness coming out. I'm sure Influence feels this damnation, too. It... feels like home..." With that, the small, sparky girl let out a shudder. "Yuck. Dammit, I..." Another shudder. Instinctively, face lighting up, Munchie offered his body like a sort of huddle to her, and her hands wrapped about his arm and she stuck close to him. "That... helps..." Shaking her head, she abruptly let go and took some paces to the side. She seemed to have a thing against getting all cuddly to him. Feeling a hot ball of embarrassment stuffing down his throat, Munchie had no idea how to react to that. Thinking of the deaf chimchar in question: maybe she just didn't want her horrible self with him, but Munchie couldn't care less about that. She wasn't horrible and if he wanted to hug her—well, she had to want to too. Right. Darn it. He sighed to himself.
"The plan...Oh, fuck it. I might as well tell you. I don't now how much longer we've got until—" Ashley didn't finish the sentence, just abruptly stopped and caught herself. Munchie felt grateful for that. He didn't know why. He just did. Draping something like that in mystery made it look less traumatizing. "So... we travel through the top of the spoke, first off. That tower... We'll have to get to the top without the dark shit coming and killing us off. It's gonna try to, I think. We've been here for some time, and hell, this is where Dusknoir himself originated, along with everything else." Ooh, Munchie wasn't looking forward to that. "That's... the first step." She paused, not quite content, knowing she left him off, and blinked to herself, sighing gently. Ashley appeared much older than she looked, for a moment, before shaking herself off and trying again. "I... I'll tell you it all... but it's just... It's fucked, man. It's fucking fucked. Give me a moment..."
Guilt sucked into him for having her tell all of these annoying things to him that ate at her, but she still bunched herself up, still held strong. Wasn't much else she could do, and Ashley looked as if she really did want to let this out, let him know. Without mentioning anything, admittedly Munchie did sort of kind of deserve to know—d-didn't he..? Maybe a little. Munchie blinked softly to himself, as Ashley had done prior. At some point, they both had stopped walking up the churning, grassy slope studded with rocks and as Munchie stared at his full-moon feet, he soon saw why. Black sludge trickled up from roots and grappled at his toes, and his nonchalant walk had been slowed to nothing and it'd been so carefree he hadn't the brains to notice. Munchie raised a hand and slapped himself across the cheek. He then went "ow," but it woke him up a little. Ashley'd seen his spine snap up and ready after the slap, so her gaze flecked over to him again. "Uh... Ashley, what's up with the—the ground?" he squeaked.
"Oh." Her face upturned and the inky blackness swam in her eyes as she stared down into it. "Ew. The fuck. It's a swamp." That—that was a swamp? Oh man ew he never wanted to go to the beach in the future. Not even on vacation or anything. Wait—if that was what vacation looked like in the future..? Oh yeah no. Ew. How about no. "We just keep walking, Munchie. Lift up your feet and keep on strolling. If you move on, it won't get to you." She lifted a tedious finger, flicking a bit of black matter that had randomly crawled up to Munchie's face. "You are fucking terrible at this, Munchie." Dumbstruck, he rubbed at the spot she'd touched.
Not knowing what else to say, his soft voice tittered out, "Thank you..?"
She laughed at that quietly, and didn't speak otherwise. Just smiled to herself, before idly reminding Munchie to lift his feet before the swamp consumed him, which got him up and running, freakishly raising his legs and churning up the black goo in his walk as he began squeaking with each plop and tossing back his arms and sprinting and madly hopping the rest of his way up until he reached the peak of a gentle hillock, beside the brave cloves of a bright, fiery dandelion, and stared down at the strange goo calling out to him, its oily confines reeking with an emotion he'd... never felt before. Moist, sticky, disgusting turmoil clawing up his mouth and dying inside of him, clogging his entire body with sewer-like fluids that rotted and decayed his innards. It hurt. It ached. It tore him up on the inside and sent his heart spinning in a mad, pumping tizzy that leaped up and down his throat until it landed in the pit of his stomach and cried. Cried. Simple tears filled him up on the inside, these emotions getting the best of him like they always did, and Munchie felt weak and stupid and unable to do much of anything. This bleak, black cloud: it was a small figment of the future wriggling through his ears and clouding his thoughts with this strange illness. Was it even that? Was it even... what was it? Munchie... couldn't tell. He coughed, and black fluid erupted in a scramble of spittle.
Bleakly, staring with dark, enchanted orbs, Ashley sneezed and plopped to the ground beside him, digging her fingers into his arm and forcibly moving him away from that swamp thingy. It didn't quite feel right, a swamp, didn't quite smell like it, didn't quite look like it, didn't match up with the marshy scum of a swamp, but quite an inky, oily trap nevertheless. Because it—a future swamp, it happened to be. A future swamp. One that wanted to eat away at beauty because it feared and disproved and reproached beauty and magic and found it much more enticing as a short snippet for appetite. What had... what had the wonderful world he'd become so charmed by become? Ashley, he squeaked to himself, what had become of them? What was this—this thing that ate away not only out but in him? Why did it... why was it—
"It's fucking horrible, Munchie," she whispered. Her eyes still shone, but with an underwhelming lackluster that put out the flames she usually carried. "Munchie, this is the hell that created me." Her voice had gone soft, a sort of tender he'd never heard from her, and catching the tune she sang from it with her voice—he yearned to hear more. "I'm not good enough... I can't like you like that... I can't like you like anything—because of the monster I am. This is who everyone at home is. That swamp... it's, them, you know," she crooned it, her voice hinted in malice, "and it's me, too." When she sighed so quietly, his heart split right open at the seams and Munchie nigh fell to his knees and began crying there and then. She didn't deserve this, she, out of everyone, out of the future, out of any soul living in that screwed land: she, most of all, did not deserve that. She was so close to understanding, but she couldn't because of that. But—but even past that—Munchie loved—oh. Oh. OH. He saw how it was. He saw those emotions in his heart now. Oh yes he did. Yeah he did. He snorted at himself for his stupidity and raised his hand as if to slap himself but Ashley yanked at it and the scruffy blue arm fell to their sides. She didn't say anything, and neither did he, and their silence was welcome.
Nothing left to do, nothing better to do, only hope stirring in their bones, teeming in their minds, racing them on, rushing through them and crying out to them, shouting in holy might, they had to, they had to. Magic arced and sprung like sparks: they had to. He couldn't believe where he was, he, Munchie, that scrawny, skinny, scruffy munchlax with the crooked pair of teeth forever to be shown off to all around him, this was him. What a strange sight that must have been for everyone else, to see the crazy munchlax rise to the call. But honestly, who else would..? The guild depended on each other and would choose to save a friend before saving the world and they'd die together rather than split off, they'd let it happen. Jalendalynne was small and couldn't hold up those big things: she despised it. Ashley and Influence... they were from the future. Neither of them understood. Munchie... he couldn't believe it, but he was the present, and he was welcoming himself into a place of his own where he went out and he... he could change the future. Munchie, welcome to a world... where the present could change the future. He had no idea what was going on in his head, but it went and he felt strength in himself for once in his life, and he felt Ashley with him, and he wanted to do this for multiple reasons. For the world, for the magic, for his feelings, for himself: for her. "Munchie—oh... let me continue."
All was calm as the chimchar raised her voice, once again filled with its metallic future tang, and she explained their next step. "The spoke is sticking out like a really damn tall tree, just out there." He could see what appeared to be a massive twig scrawled in beige swirls only just betwixt the cusp of horizon and there. "We have to climb it, next, and we have to be careful. Inside of the spoke... fucking ironic, but there's not exactly magic in there." Oh no. Oh no. It dawned on him. Oh no. "The magic connects there, it's started there, but the spoke itself is risen with a bunch of shit that once out of control, oh you know what the hell happens next." Oh. Oh no. Oh he did, oh he did. Ohhhh no. "Fuckdad won't be there... but... some stuff will. Shit, this will be gross." She snorted and spat, as she always did.
"What's... the rest of them?"
She paused, melancholic, reflecting, sad at the notion. It somewhat put a damper on him, too, but the focus was to stop this from happening. Strange little Munchie would stop this from happening... What had the world come to? Well, he supposed... he cared. And that was what mattered in the end. He was pathetic, he was awkward, he was frail, he was feeble, he was terrified out of his wits, he was shaking with emotion, he wasn't particularly attractive, he wasn't good with other pokemon, heck, he was skinny. He was the skinny munchlax. But it turned out there was one thing good about him, and it seemed that was the fact that he cared. He cared so deeply for Ashley and for the friends he'd made—he maybe sort of okay yeah a little cared about Influence, too—he cared about the magic, about its beauty, about the world. He cared... He cared. Funny. Who knew. Munchie cared, man. Looked like all of his flaws and his lack of self-esteem, all that good stuff, made up in the end, because he was about to save everyones' sorry bums. And... Munchie—well, he wasn't like proud of it, but he was happy he supposed? Yeah, sure. He was happy. Okay. Now Munchie wanted to kiss the girl beside him. He spluttered.
Then Ashley was alive again, head raising and herself somewhat gleaming. "We've got a little bit to go before we reach the spoke. What the hell, let me get the rest of the boring middle stuff. We'll reach the top and... we'll have to... Okay, this part gets fucking twisted, but deal with me. The middle of the spoke is kind of like the heart of magic in a way, and anyway, we'll have to talk... with it. Sort of. Again, bear with me. We get new time gears only after fuckdad's held the old ones for long enough they're decomposing—and they're practically there, so we're good." She ended it there and sealed herself shut. Munchie cocked his head to the side in question, but she wouldn't go on. Munchie pressed into her shoulder. Nope, nothing but her face suddenly went red and she shoved him back and scowled a little.
Ashley suddenly shoved against him, so Munchie pressed his head to the side and his eyes caught something he didn't expect to see. Tentacles: you heard him right: tentacles, sucking, pointed, wriggling prune things that smelled like the ocean after it became the future ocean. The screwed future ocean, whatever. It was just the future until Ashley and everything was saved. Then, he didn't know what it'd be. A distant memory? Proof that the world was okay? Again, he didn't know. Suddenly Munchie was reminded of Influence and stared again at the tentacles that sprung magically from the grass that was still green and still crunched and had begun to take in the distinct scent of inky blackness. It was this rancid, lukewarm stench Munchie couldn't escape. Ashley, seeing the thing on him, blew flames and it strangely attracted to those red-hot bursts—oh yeah, like called to like or something—and she tugged him back and out. Munchie again wanted her to stay right there with him, but Ashley again slid away and he lost it. Sighing softly, he lumbered after her and nearly ran into another plant-like extension of tentacles, squealing and dropping back, then dashing drastically straight past it. Long fingers extended, Ashley enabled herself as a beacon to the tentacles and as her hands held high she could somersault down and under and past them like some crazy contortionist. Interesting, cool, but frightening. Nearly sent Munchie down a hole and into tears.
More of the swamp-like crevices seeped through, the closer they came to the cool, dark brown stone. Its patterns shimmered, beckoned the thin munchlax closer, who lifted the scruff about his feet and ran onward. Ashley continued plucking her hands and feet from the grass and crunching along, biding her time and ducking around the strange things Munchie had never seen before surrounding, surmounting, forcing them into a claustrophobic setting. Thank goodness that out of all his flaws, Munchie had nothing wrong with tight, closed spaces. That'd make the guild kind of difficult, now that he thought of it. Their own home was practically a claustrophobic nightmare, and then adding the Mystery Dungeons—oh. No. Nope. Thank goodness that wasn't one of his numerous failures in himself. Munchie sucked in a grateful breath just as a hand yanked into his mouth and grabbed something sticky and squeezed it of... of saliva. His tongue. The thing had his tongue.
He couldn't scream, could hardly funnel air, just began outrageously, ostentatiously thrashing in such a way that made him look strong but penultimately did nothing. He was a magikarp out of water, now, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, hanging onto both life and death and feeling his tongue being lolled and pulled about, flickering where it could which was only through the gaps betwixt the filthy, horrendous paw's fingers, and Munchie could feel his body being slung in directions that went back and the slime encased his spine and he didn't know what was going on until a screech echoed and suddenly a long, dark green leaf had cut off the hand, and wispy smoke poured out. His gagging episode ended. "Oh, hey, I found a bitch! Where's the other bitch?" Munchie wanted to praise Influence with all his might, but his tongue felt stringy and a little loose too. He suddenly couldn't trust his own mouth and began squeaking erratic sounds with no idea what was going on or what to do. Eventually he must have spat either smoke, blood, or a conglomeration of each, because Munchie blinked his flailing eyes and soon regained control of himself. "Damn, boy, you look wrecked." He felt wrecked, thanks Influence.
"Well... we've still got s'more to get through. Come on, Munchie. This isn't even the start." Sadly, he was just about ready to toss himself on the crazy pseudo grass and cry himself out of orbit until emotions stopped making sense after that little episode. Someone had begun dragging him by the tongue and he didn't even know what filthy scum that thing was. Please, spare him, he wanted to scream. But he didn't, for he had a mess of saving to do. Also if he kept stopping and moping something was gonna come up from behind and grab his tongue again. Having one's tongue grabbed had to be one of the most scream-worthy emotions he'd ever gone through, feeling as if his entire body was being yanked on a cord, morphing into a puppet for the monster of a master that had him by the string, the tongue, and wouldn't let go until he was put of whatever use became required and served. He wanted to weep at the thought of going through that horror again. Oh geez no how about not.
Something pinched at the nape of his neck. Cold, slick fingers. Wheezing, gasping, sucking breath. Munchie squealed and ran, flinging himself up the rocky and grassy plains as they dove upwards and he bowled over Ashley and their heads cracked into one another then into the great creature looming and practically breathing all over them. Ashley mumbled a few choice words about what she thought on the matter, then played the deaf card and sounding annoyed and innocent, then straightened her neck, which cracked again, and shook her head, her lone ear flopping a little sideways. Munchie hoisted her up and they stared at the stepping stones of stairs in front of them. Feeling terrified and knowing that if he said the wrong thing Ashley would let go of his hand and shove back, Munchie groped for reason and mumbled, "What's the last step?" All he could think of saying without scaring her away. He so desperately desired to keep her with him for at least another moment longer because it was warm and he felt much better around Ashley than he did anyone else. He could trust her because even though she was alike to those monsters that made him choke on his own tongue, she didn't threaten, she'd spit. And that was it. And he... dang it, the emotions jumbled: he something. Something powerful.
"The last step? Oh... after you get the time gears." Ashley—what about her? What about... she'd said after you, not after we. Fear singed him worse than that dark fire in her belly. "Well, after that, everything's pretty much fucking secured. Don't get me wrong, we have quite the trail to blaze, but after all that..." And yet again, she paused, left a cliffhanger, and scurried up the steps, leaving Munchie behind only to turn around and catch a whiff of his face, and the emotion breathing off of it. "After... that..." Her face went stony and gray and she didn't look like she wanted to tell him. As much as he wanted to see her badly, she kept tossing in that detour and wouldn't say, wouldn't say. Finally, jumping her faith down a leap into cold, dark, boiling fear—her eyes lit right up and broiled with something heavy—she said it:
"I stop existing."
She turned around, scampering back up and ducking her head from sight. For a moment, all Munchie could do was look up and stare as the orange blur receded and fell back into the coiling road leading only up. His heart forgot how to beat and he felt a cold rush shiver down his spine. Irritably, he furled his stubby fingers into fists and grit his teeth; in the end it all fell back in slush and it mattered not. What mattered was seeing Ashley off and realizing a time bomb now dominated whatever relationship he shared with her. Their time was ticking, now, and after—after the world was saved... He saw it. Dawning, golden sunshine gleamed in and he saw it: after the world was saved, Dusknoir would never come, and nothing from the screwed future would last. Not even the best of its albeit scorched morsels. None of the ashes would remain standing. Not even Ashley... not even the best of those horrors that he only wanted to stay with him. Something tapped him in the small of his back and pulled away, like taffy, the spines that had stuck into him. "Come on, Munchie, get a move on."
His voice cracked and melted into a pule worse than Influence's scrabbling sigh. "Then you all die."
"Yep." A cheery deadpan. Oh, Influence. Only you could do that. "That's why I kept questioning what was going on in her fucking skull. But I reasoned that your world must somehow be better than the future, so whatever." A prodding on that dark blue spot. It reminded Munchie of the burned fur on his chest, where the time gear had left its imprint: almost like a prophecy, an assurance that he'd be here now and this was what would happen. "Munchie." Prod, prod. "Move." Poke. Poke poke poke poke. "Come on, man." He said that a lot. Another prodding ensued. "Dammit, Munchie. Do you want the world to go to waste or—no. You would've moved by now." He stopped, thought about it long and hard.
He felt the plantlike grovyle straighten with certainty as he poked the back of his scruffy head. "Would you rather see Ashley cry, or Ashley happy, when you lose her? Either way, we'll be lost. We can't really stay here in this time snafu forever. If you guys get fucked over, we'll just... I dunno. It won't matter. Do you want her happy or not." That—did he have to? Influence—did he have to play that card? Really? Sighing dryly, Munchie stirred and he moved. Of course he wanted the stupid girl happy more than anything else. His life had crumbled into ashes and mess, so Munchie just blinked his tired eyes and ambled upward. A hollowness crept up on him like the shadow slinking behind his feet, and he knew the monsters would return, but suddenly, none of it mattered. He moved because Ashley would cry if he didn't. Slow, numb footsteps etched up the trail. Thak, thak. Thak thak thak.
They repeated. On and on and on. Munchie's feet were slowly inching up platforms that began to ooze a hefty, salty odor and stick slick to his wriggling toes, captives in the creeping jellies of strawberry-red color coding. It made sickening lunges and slurrrrrrrccchh noises, moving with its own mind and crafting little waves with each pouf of a step Munchie managed to produce. Influence grumbled a few ugly words that settled on the munchlax's coat of twilight blue fur. He shuffled in it, slumped over, walked through it with himself hunched and his stomach beginning to groan pensively. Well, it sounded like his stomach. It soon came to Munchie's attention that he was nary capable of sound on his own as the winds and the bells howled at him, shrieking and crying out and ripping through his ears like pins and needles bounced down through him. Weakly, he shivered. The sensation passed though and Munchie took his swooping steps up the ladder of what began to look a lot more like bones—finger bones, leg bones, skull bones.
Something made a low, assertive moan that shackled and took hold of the entire tower, which thus made a nauseating swing as if wobbling out of its own perch. Head reeling, Munchie blinked at the ground and counted the bubbles in the red, gel-like substance casually inching its way up his leg. Shaking out his toes, it fell down like a collapsed tower. The bells whooping and hollering inside of him began a slow climb up in tangs and clanged violently inside of him. Influence took a mad grasp at Munchie's arm and the plantlike gel that made up his fingers let out a ssssssskwurrunncchhh. He plucked what looked like sharp but common pebbles from his body. Munchie saw that Ashley was in a bad position, up there on her own. He didn't know how his mind could focus on something besides the terrain, but it did: her. That... might have been a little powerful. He blinked blearily and continued up, heart leaping in his chest. Something cold and gooey splattered on his head and momentarily blinded him and seemed to slurch on top of Influence too until the both of them were squeaking and hopping madly, their voices churning with anguish and pure what-the-heck-or-hell-if-you-were-Influence that rapidly engrossed their situation into a hysterical situation burning with nausea.
Prying off the goo, it stuck in hairy, web-like lines to Munchie's hands. He just casually looked at it, coughed up a stream of fog, and went on. Influence grumbled something under his breath and sounded ready to punch something or someone. Munchie hoped that wasn't him and squealed as he hobbled onward, emotion somewhat attracting to his fulsomely assorted character before the goo stumbled into his face and pretty soon he was coughing up sharp and sticky objects alike. "Damn, what did you do?" Munchie wasn't in the position to argue, so he attempted to run and not hurl altogether. It... kind of worked. Gloppy, red streaks landed on his fur in messy pulps and traced the ground. Hey, if they got lost they could find the way down again.
Thick in his throat, a long, thin, metallic object splurted from his lips.
The moan punctured the air again with a raspy, sloshing sound, and it came banging down on Munchie as the flaming orbs caught his and he saw what it was. A kindly mess of black and red had drizzled over a bipedal creature that was cramming its arm into those flaming-colored girl's maw and spluttering at her. Oozing strips of black leaked off and puffy clouds stuffed with strawberry-red dots like sesame seeds sprinkled over with strange, erratic coloring that pinched Munchie somewhere. Squeaking at the sight of it, so high up in their demise already, the girl hurled words from her gut and smacked the creature back away from her, seeming ready to jump at Munchie—oh yeah that had to be Ashley definitely—which brought in a ray of joy that was soon stained with black. Those streaks morphed and bubbled and reigned upon him and his buddies, dripping with rancid breaths and smells and it felt like a monster was about to swallow him up whole. Vivid memories of how he'd felt prior about such situations trickled down the back of Munchie's mind and sat cold in him. He felt threatened to say hello, but coughed up what appeared to be a ball of liquid black hair, and more entrails tickled down his throat, thus Munchie didn't greet anybody anytime soon.
The hot mess sniffed the air in thick, throaty snorts, then raised a hairy, speckled arm to drape Influence and Ashley with its coloring and swat them on. Staring upward, Munchie caught the sight of whirling air and the sound of bells. He didn't think he was getting there anytime soon. As the ground moved up from beneath him and he was further engrossed with the red, chunky liquid and the shadowy, black stripes, the creature's eye raised up from the earth and slithered toward him. Strawberry coloring, speckled with black and even given a leafy outcropping that tickled in the wind. But Munchie was sheltered as he was closed in on, and bits and pieces of hair and black and red and liquid and goop and white bones shattered in on him and he didn't feel the cold wind but thick, heavy, lacerated air that choked down his gut and soon he had swallowed the hair. Staring into the strawberry eye as it swiveled on its own with slick sssssloinks, balancing up arms and what could have been a cavernous maw studded with rocky tooth holes, Munchie soon saw his life flashing before him and understood something he didn't prior.
Fate had slithered across his path. Was this his... demise... that he saw through the speckled pupil? His failure? His loss? Was this where his—where the present came to an end and the future would be born anew? Was he—what was he going to do with himself now? Munchie stared, dazed and awkward, as hot fluids poured down upon him and grunted as his ability to breathe was slackened and the time gear imprint on his chest burned. He felt as if Dusknoir must have been nearby, flaunting his beauty with some old wisp buddies. Munchie thought about his life then, and about what was going to happen to him. He thought of Ashley and regretted that he'd never gotten to telling her that he loved her. He thought about his friends back home and hoped they weren't going to die. He thought of the time gears and pleaded that Ashley and Influence could do something good. He thought of the space-time continuum and he thought about... life, in general. Also he thought about the sunset he'd never see again. It had been awhile since he'd stared up into the sky with the staining colors, just him and nobody else, and he didn't regret leaving it behind. He was... he looked like a thin, scraggly, awkward nobody, but understood he was a weirdo really. And apparently he was special.
"DAMN YOU, DUSKNOIR! GIVE UP THOSE TIME GEARS!" Ears crawling with ooze, Munchie could hardly tell and even less believe Influence had just screamed. And then tackled the guy, and then aforementioned time gears fell into that vat of a stomach and something holy shattered and suddenly the monster was tangled up with Influence and Munchie was safe and the present—whatever he represented—wasn't all that bad. He rubbed at his eyes and noticed the strange accumulation of wind had blown off all of his ailments. He didn't feel all that bad but now was most definitely shivering and had to dig in both his feet and arms to keep himself from falling off the podium at the top. "AW, SHIT," was the last thing he heard from the grovyle.
"HOLY DAMN TURD," was the last thing he heard from the dusknoir. So he did curse. Okay then. Pulsating meshes of strange conglomerates melded and fell and soon he had no idea what was going on and Munchie nearly crashed from the height, from the top of the tower, from the dizziness rushing through his head, as something long, thin, and red attempted to latch onto him, but Ashley sneered, spat, and pulled back. When he looked back, it kind of looked like an arm. Or a tongue. Severed tongue with the esophagus attached—why did it look so awkward? What was that all about? He may have stumbled back into its sinewy grip did Ashley's hand not sit so tightly.
Their words flashed by one another like grating screams. The wind practically carried them away with their cries.
"THE HELL, MUNCHIE!? WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED BACK THERE!?"
"I THINK IT WAS GOING TO KILL ME! I FELT LIKE FATE WAS THERE WITH ME!"
"WHAT THE FUCK!"
It morphed into a spat he didn't want to have, but Ashley's words simply drew it in.
"DAMMIT, MUNCHIE, THAT CORRUPTION—DAMMIT! DON'T LET IT DO THAT!"
Confusion. "I—I DIDN'T TRY TO, ASHLEY!"
"DON'T YOU FUCKING DIE ON ME, DAMMIT! I'M THE WORTHLESS ONE!"
It flared into anger so quickly. "WORTHLESS!? YOU!? YOU—NO! NO NO NO!"
"YES!"
"ASHLEY, STOP IT! NO! YOU'RE NOT!"
Red-hot words splattered against each other, twisted and heated and they screeched—he was worse—no she was worse—no he was—in various sets of sentence structure that in the end caved through as the tower shook and the gooey, red fingerprints of creatures he didn't want to meet would splat, splat, splAT against the narrow edges of the pedestal of a top. One tickled beneath the hairs on his foot, and when Munchie stumbled backward, the girl in front of him let out a true scream and pulled him back and began whispering as if in a chant to please not die on her, please not die on her. He took this moment to cup her face and pull it up to his a little, and he didn't muster the courage to do anything like that, but he did whisper to her so she could read him, "Hush. You're still wonderful to me."
"But I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved," came her rattled, shaken, broken reply, "I can't do the things you want me to... I can't whisper softly, I can't stop fucking cussing and looking like a trashy mess, I can't be gentle and kind and soft and how you deserve me to be." The last words traced over him: and how you deserve me to be. They... he felt he'd reached an understanding, and his heart cracked as he realized she never would, seeing who she was. They each wanted the better of the other and they had these feelings and it honestly... he wasn't used to it, but it was nice to see her look up at him and him, in his own sense, look up at her, too. But she... She was still a figment of a screwed future—a cursed, malevolent, ugly future she didn't deserve—and she never would be able to see it. Never would be able to cross that gap, as close as she could come. And she was there, on that ledge, crying out for reason to come and take her and show her to the other side... a side she would never reach.
As if sensing the mutual emotions spilling out upon it, an old, cranking tone burst up and rubbed against the top of the tower, giving metallic click—click-clicks as it came and went. A pattern submerged, and as Ashley's head lowered and her sobs went soft and quiet, so did reason for the munchlax. Tears began to eke from the emotional thunderstorm inside of him. Somehow, the tower must have really liked that light show of feelings it just got, and especially after the time gears came and went via Dusknoir and he and Influence both went plummeting to an accidental situation. Munchie felt hot, steamy guilt knowing that certainly, Influence hadn't meant to basically kill himself, certainly not to save Munchie. But he had, and the guilt built up within him. As if thriving off of this display of pure feelings, the clicks sped up in their pattern and gave off the occasional steam-powered clik-whirrrrrr like it was talking or something. Well, Munchie and Ashley were too exhausted to care to talk to the machine or whatever, but it seemed pleased enough in its placated show, and accepted the appeasement or whatever it was in the end. All in all, time gears were being cut and restored to their new holy selves. What were they, children of the last sextuplets? Something like that.
As he waited, his grip on this girl began to float and weave and he realized that his arms were sinking and he was losing it.
It crashed down on him.
He was losing Ashley.
I stop existing.
He would never see her again.
I stop existing.
He would lose all connection with her whatsoever and nothing—nothing—would remain. Would he even... r-remember... her..? That couldn't be. Dang it, that wasn't fair! And it—it wasn't. Ashley's flaming orbs stuck with a sudden notice that the present would be preserved and the future would be reborn, rebuilt, and she was wearing away now. "Ah..." was all that came to her at first. Then, struggling, she murmured in a voice that nary flitted any higher, and didn't even instinctively curse or she'd run out of time, slip from her words. "I'm going... away, now..." Yes that was obvious she couldn't leave him Ashley stop going away Munchie's heart surged she was leaving him she was leaving him she wasn't coming back ever—never. Not even a grave would mark it. She'd be like... she never existed.
Oh. Oh no.
Munchie couldn't live in a world like that. He couldn't go back to how he was at the beginning without her, without her swanky strangeness, without the guild and Jalendalynne and Fyshyngtyn and for crying out loud, kids into occults, even freaking Influence. Dusknoir. He couldn't lose that and become who he was all that time ago... could he? Would he? His mind spaced out and cooled. It didn't matter. He couldn't lose her. N-not... not Ashley. Munchie couldn't lose her because he... he... "Munchie, can you look at me... one last time?" As if under mind control he did exactly that with no question. "This is the part when I stop existing, when everything stops existing, the next step is for you to seal the time gears—you know there's no getting out of that one—and... the last step is for you to forget this ever happened." She said it. The tears had come before she'd even started her soft, angelic whisper with that hagiolatric soul of hers, sparkling and shining with rainbows practically popping out of her... He couldn't look away, and he couldn't bear it. She was in an essence of sorts and it was obvious this form of hers was... it was practically perfect. Minus the fact one of her ears was still missing.
"But I... don't want you to forget, Munchie. I don't want anyone to forget, but most of all you... And it seems I'm here with you now... as I lose everything about me... and will cease to exist at all. I... I dunno if I should do this, but whatever." Then she said it. "Fuck the rules. This part never happened. I'm writing the end of the story." Both of her hands lashed out; one dressed across his eyes and the other tapped his chest. He couldn't tell what happened to those orbs of his, but on his chest, that imprint of the time gear strengthened and moved so that it was actually perfectly aligned with his chest. He had no idea how that was supposed to work, but screw it, like Ashley, he cringed and: fuck the rules. It burned a little and churned like orange flame until satisfied.
With popping noises, time gears came studded from a number of directions and their green, gem-like embodiments landed neatly in the stack in his arms. A couple soared through Ashley's head, another her stomach. It was painful to watch as her head lowered and those flaming orbs checked out for... for what had to be the last time. And she whispered it again. "Fuck the rules." And she went on.
"Fuck fate, too. Fuck them all, for putting us where we are. If I could have anything, I'd want a quiet life with you without any of this shit coming back at all. Dammit... I only wish I could have told you that I love you before this happened."
He squeaked. "I love you, Ashley!" And she smiled.
"I know."
But she didn't know, they could never fit together, never understand: and either way, she was leaving him: forever.
As if she knew her time had come, and she really didn't want those to be her last words, Ashley quickly blurted out a couple other phrases of her own creation.
"Well that was one fucking ride I hope I'll get shitted into again." A glimmer of amusement. "Woo, hell.
"I hope one day my ass will start burning again. That's bound to be a good sign."
Of what, the innocent bystander may ask? Life. But of course this life was not granted, and before his eyes, the only creature he'd ever wanted to love for, and ever would want to love for, to share that connection and bond with: she was gone. And he was supposed to forget about her and never, never see her again. A numb sense overtook Munchie as he stayed there, sitting splayed out, on the tower, and stared into nothing for a great deal of time.
Then he stood up and sauntered down the trail to the tower's top. Nothing strayed in his path, and nothing intercepted him.
He was alone again, and if one looked close enough and understood him well enough, they saw that in his glassy, hope-blue eyes, he didn't like it at all.
Me: :3 So how was that?
Munchie: My eyes are not hope-rimmed anymore.
Me: Heck yeah. They're just plain old hope now.
Munchie: I don't know how to feel.
Me: Good. For all people who didn't want this to be the ending, GUESS WHAT, WE HAVE EXACTLY ONE CHAPTER LEFT! THE EPILOOGGUEEEE! x3
Munchie: … I just don't know how to feel, man...