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action | post Jellyfish Prom Explosion
[He's leaning on his Incineroar, but still making his way through the remaining tents and resort, looking for Ford in particular.]
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Hold still, I can't heal you if you don't. [He turns away from it to swap out the depleted potion for a fresh one and notices Shiro.]
You look like you got hit by a truck.
[Subtle and thoughtful as always.]
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[That. Is a big pokemon. Can she wrestle?? Please say yes!]
You should see the jellyfish. [Ford gets a weak grin.] They don't tell you the ... big fancy evolution takes it out of you.
So does throwing pokeballs at aliens. Don't do that, by the way.
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[He'd gone right past 'Pokémon' mode and back into 'fighting for his life against unknown alien beings' mode, and the latter never included Pokéballs. Maybe that's for the best, if it turned out to be a bad idea.]
I imagine they were resistant?
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[What could it hurt, they'd figured. What did they have to lose?]
[A lot of pokeballs and their pride. And some bruises.]
If we hit them, they swatted the balls right back at us. Hard.
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[He doesn't quite understand all the theory behind how Pokéballs work, though he'd like to. That's a little more hard science than he tends toward, and he hasn't had the chance to do any real in-depth digging to try and expand his knowledge base. Still it follows simple logic that creatures that may not even be Pokémon wouldn't enjoy being pelted with Pokéballs.]
What I'd like to know is why they came here in the first place.
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[Also excuse him while he just. Sits down. Right where he was standing. The Incineroar helps -- holding an arm for him to lower himself to the ground with. He really should take a goddamn nap.]
Don't try asking our new friends about it. If they know, they're not telling.
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[That's the most worrying part. He doesn't think those things are Pokémon, or at least they're not like Pokémon he's ever encountered, but then why didn't this world's natural normalcy self-preservation principle kick in?]
So either they are Pokémon, or they are something this universe is simply unable to parse at all.
[Oh there goes the dorito, sitting down. It's so wild that one of his closest friends now is a dorito, considering his bad dorito experiences.]
Mmm. That's discouraging, because I've been meaning to stay here specifically to talk to them about it.
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[Sorry, man, he might be a little... gun-shy there. Or hopeful. In that familiar faces could have turned up, for better or worse.]
If this is a whole other planet... could they be aliens to this world? Coming through some kind of wormhole?
[But they hadn't seemed all that intelligent. Not any more than the pokemon did. Which ... is usually fairly bright, but not tech-building and operating bright. Unless you counted Blue stealing peoples' game systems.]
[His dorito ass is parking itself on the ground, leaning back against the Incineroar.]
They said they were studying events like this, but "it was too new" to give out information. I get the feeling that's not entirely true.
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[He knows how protective scientists get of their research. They don't want to cause a panic by giving out incomplete information and they also likely don't want to give out any information at all and risk it being stolen out from under them. Ah, to be young and cutthroat again.]
The others I have spoken to have been primarily 'trolls'. [He's spoken to two, total.] Not the sort I'm familiar with, either.
It's very possible that rather than coming from another dimension these beings arrived from a far-away part of this one, which is why their forms weren't altered. They are only locally alien.
[He finishes patching the last of Cyclops' injuries. Seaweed good as new, no tears or uneven patches. Still, he doesn't seem pleased. In fact he's a little disgruntled.]
Anything is possible at this point.
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[Cover-ups by otherwise trusted organizations never end well for anyone, after all. Just look at his life.]
... So I'm guessing they weren't, "live under a bridge scaring goats" trolls. Right?
[That's where his brain went, too.]
They're from here. But not here. Instead of the rest of us -- who came from other places entirely?
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[What if he just sits himself down on the sand too. What if that. It's fine, they don't have to vacate the tents immediately just because it's the last morning. They've got some downtime to puzzle over this.]
You and I are used to dealing with this kind of thing. The common man is not.
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[Except he can't really think of who that would be.]
I just... I don't know how I feel about an organization keeping their secrets to themselves. When it might be a threat we can combat.
[See: Garrison. See: Galra. See: his whole terrible life.]
That's why we can help. There's more of us who are used to this, who have dealt with this before. Why... not let us help.
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[Ford is no stranger to paranoia. He was voted 'most paranoid' in high-school and everything. Much as he'd like to bully his way into one of those white vans and Fordsplain everything about interdimensional travel to Lusamine herself, he knows exactly why he isn't being invited to do that. That doesn't mean he isn't going to try. He's staying on the islands specifically to try, but he's expecting to not get too far.]
There isn't any proof that what happened last night has anything to do with how visitors like us arrive. A wormhole has never opened over "Mom's" house. [He absolutely does scarequotes when he says Mom.] It's frustrating precisely because so little is clear at this point.
[He draws a meaningless squiggle in the sand with one hand, eyebrows drawn down low as he frowns.]
I wish we could have spoken with even just one of the creatures. It could have shed so much light on the situation.
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[He pushes his hands through his hair. Clearly struggling with this. Trying not to think about being the one yelling for help, pleading for it. But everyone just stood there. Everyone just ignored him and strapped him down and ... ]
[... and Ford is still talking. Ford is saying words and he knows they're important. But the world started flickering to blinding lights overhead and why won't they listen, he needs help, the Holts need help, they're coming and ...]
[And his Incineroar growls something, butting her head into his shoulder, nipping at it. Not hard enough to hurt. But hard enough to jar him back into reality.]
... Sorry. Ford -- You said something about wormholes? Talking to... things?
[Ignore the way his real hand is curling into Red's fur.]
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[It's one of the unfortunate things about Ford that he doesn't immediately intuit what just went on in Shiro's head there. He isn't so good at subtlety, at reading the small signs other people give him. He's even worse at it when his mind is occupied with another problem. It's not malicious, and it's not because of a lack of care, it's simply not a skill he's ever practiced and even now that he wants to get better at it he has a long way to go. Hell, he can barely recognize that kind of thing in himself properly, let alone someone else.]
I was saying that I would have liked to have spoken to them. If it was a concentrated attack I feel as though it would have gone very differently. Something else was going on.
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[But for now, he's fine with ignoring it. Makes it seem less real.]
Do you really think they could speak? None of the pokemon seemed like they understood anything more than "get away".
... If it wasn't an attack then...? An accident?
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Let me put it this way: I spent the past thirty years of my life accidentally falling into unknown dimensions. I find it very, very easy to accept that it could happen to lifeforms other than me.
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[I wish I could say the same thing. I wish I knew I could say the same thing.]
I understand. We can try, I guess. I don't see why it's not something to try. If we knew how to do it.
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This, the here and now, is a problem that actively needs solving. And he is very firmly of the mind that it can be solved without bloodshed-- or without shedding of whatever those creatures have in place of blood, if they have anything like blood at all.]
If they are sentient beings then it's likely they have a language and can be reasoned with long enough for us to make at least rudimentary overtures toward understanding it.
[He just... you know, he's been in that position. He remembers accidentally getting himself stuck in that 2D dimension, bisected through a flat world, unable to speak or move or communicate. Unable to do anything as hundreds of razor sharp two-dimensional beings cut into him because he couldn't tell them he wasn't a threat. It is not difficult for him to sympathize with the squids.]
If their incursion here really was accidental and my interpretation of their behavior as more defensive and confused than aggressive was correct, it would be a very sad thing indeed to destroy them for an honest mistake. This is a world whose very foundation is built upon the relationship between humans and extra-human beings. If there is any world in which a breakthrough in understanding can be made it's this one.
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[Did it count if it was for survival? Does that count as "for a good reason"? He'd had to live. He'd had to get through it. Was that... a good reason?]
Can anyone speak to pokemon that aren't their own? Everything was afraid of them... we might not be able to get a translator.
[And even then, if they didn't speak the same pokemon language... that might not work either. Getting them to communicate. That's going to be difficult.]
And what if it isn't?
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[He isn't the kind of man that needs to have a contingency for every possible outcome all the way down to the end of time. He doesn't see any point in talking about what-ifs instead of just doing.]
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That's a hard idea for me to accept. If they come back, and they're hostile, then... we need to know how to defend ourselves.
Maybe you focus on the communication portion. I'll see if we can handle the other angle.
[Because he needs that kind of planning. That process.]
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