Unknowinglegion
He/Him, the eldritch in human facade
Vasily "Vasya" Molchalin
River's Crown Medieval Festival / August 4th
Interactions: Deaucalion (
Cresion Breezes
)The sambocade was far richer than Vasya anticipated. Not sweet and light like its Unovan cheesecake cousin, but brought to life by its rich, authentic Kalosian cheeses with a hint of elderflower to add dimension. It honestly didn’t need the splash of color provided by the Bluk and Razz berries adorning the top, but Vasya’s massive sweet tooth appreciated their inclusion nonetheless.
When Seelie was presented with his piece, his calm, professional health worker’s facade crumbled in seconds. The piece of sambocade lasted even less. If Vasya hadn’t seen his partner pokemon inhale every treat he was given with the vigor of a starving victorian child, he’d have wondered if the Sylveon even tasted his food. When he was finished, Seelie rubbed up against his trainer’s side and loudly purred his thanks.
Once the two were finished, Vasya turned to Grimalkin’s pokeball, anticipating the headache he was about to incur when his companion emerged. But as much as he dreaded the conversation, broaching the subject of performing was the least he could offer Grimalkin. The Meowscarada had endured Vasya’s trial and (myriad) error methods of raising a pokemon foreign to him, stuck by his side throughout the most brutal periods of his enslavement, and all without a taste of the spotlight he so hungered for. Steeling his nerves and anticipating a flurry of snappy jibes, Vasya released his partner pokemon in a flash of green light.
Grimalkin materialized with his arms folded and head tilted dramatically to the side, as if awaiting the spotlight. When the light of the Friend Ball’s beam dispersed, he punctuated it with a flourish of his paws, a flare of his sparkling violet collar, and a radiant showman’s smile. That was, until he caught sight of his trainer. Grimalkin’s grin faded swiftly when he eyed Vasya, an arrogant, half-lidded gaze and the whisper of a smirk in its place. Vasya could feel the judgement radiating off of his partner pokemon as the feline proceeded to exaggeratedly look him up and down.
Grimalkin found himself disappointed, yet not surprised. His trainer was not clad in shining cosplay armors, adorned with faux gold and glass jewels, nor even representing the commonman’s best, most vibrant reds that even other casual festival guests donned. Here Vasya was, wearing the same dull red mage’s hat, undyed lightweight summer cloak, and the same simple work clothes he seemed to own dozens of duplicates of. At this rate, the border of intricate, hand-stitched flowers trimming the hem and collar of his cloak was more like an apology for his trainer’s utter lack of pizzazz.
“Really?” Grimalkin broke the silence, with a pointed glare and an even more pointed jab on the way. “You come all the way out to Kalos for one of the largest, most elaborate renaissance fairs of our day, and yet you still dress like the Pokemart version of Siffrin In Stars and Time?”
“I haven’t the slightest clue who you’re talking about.” Vasya replied dryly. “You know I have more worthwhile pursuits than binging Mewtube, or wherever it is you seem to uncover these obscure characters. However, I haven’t dragged you out of your pokeball for the sole sake of starting a quarrel.”
“Oh, have you now?” Grimalkin purred, the most aggravatingly smug grin plastered across his face.
“Yes.” His trainer tersely replied. “And it would do you good to listen well. One of the festival’s ongoing events is an open theatre stage, available to all guests. To my understanding, it is primarily aimed at humans, yet… it wouldn’t surprise me if it allowed unaccompanied pokemon as Nimbasa’s does.”
Grimalkin’s eyes went wide, gleaming like twin stars.
“Goodness, why didn’t you start with that?” He exclaimed. “You and Seelie have been fooling about for gods know how long when the stage is finally right before my eyes? Oh, and I must bring Ghillie with me! It’d be a waste to deny the young apprentice performer his first real taste of action!”
“Do curb your enthusiasm for a just moment.” Vasya cut in. “I’m merely making an inference based on what I’ve seen from a distance. We’ll have to see for ourselves whether or not they allow pokemon alone. If that isn’t the case, I’m likely to have to swallow my own displeasure and endure playing villager number three… or whichever role happens to require the least reading. And beyond that, I won’t allow you to participate if you can’t behave among others.”
Grimalkin let out an indignant huff and a few rrreows of complaint.
“And what makes you think that? I play just fine with the likes of Lorelei, and now little Ghillie. Oh how could my terrible trainer wound me so?”
“The two of them are not but hatchlings.” Vasya retorted. “Of course they’re more likely to simply go along with their elder’s wishes. I merely expect you to act like their elder in the presence of pokemon more experienced in the field of performance than you are. Theatre is both a deeply competitive field and community-centric one. Should you lose out on your desired role to another performer, it is not yours by right. Most of all, I expect you to be sportsmanlike and respectful even of those in the ensemble cast.”
“Fine then.” Grimalkin grumbled begrudgingly. “But you have to do a few things for me as well. First order of business- I simply cannot have my trainer walking about in his same old plainclothes. If you must perform with me, I won’t have you looking like a piece of the set background. Whether you buy some of those artisan clothes you’ve been eye-balling or visit the cosplay castle I could care less. Just don’t embarrass me, alright?”
“If it gets you to finally shut up, I’ve no qualms.” Vasya cheekily bit back.
The little party increased from two to four, Grimalkin trotting several steps in front of his trainer with a timid Ghillie chasing after his shadow. The little Pumpkaboo was like a lost Lilipup, eyes wide and watery as he indecisively darted between Grimalkin’s enthusiastic lead and hiding beneath the trails of Vasya’s cloak.
“Hmph, I think that’s foolishness.” Grimalkin complained mid-stride. “Why restrict a performance so grand and unique to only one gender? I don’t understand these “Kalosian Showcases” in the least.”
“I don’t think you’re always meant to.” Vasya replied. “There’s likely more Kalosian history behind it than at first glance to a foreigner. Even then, do let me know if you change your mind on pouting over it. I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself… so long as no one is in a sour mood.”
"Hey, hey you there! Yes you, sir!... Have you ever seen a Pokemon like this before?"
It took a moment for Vasya to realize the call was directed at him. Even if the boy hadn’t said anything harmful, instinct kicked in and Vasya tensed up into a state of heightened alertness. He scanned Deaucalion’s countenance for lingering cracks of a threat. But instead he found himself faced with a boy dressed in the simple, yet practical garb of a modern traveler, displaying a crude hand-made drawing. He was no lordling, no young prince one must walk on eggshells to speak with; Vasya reminded himself. Just an earnest and well meaning, if extremely eccentric, boy. There was no need to keep up his guard.
The top hat-clad Clodsire at the boy’s side emitted a low, bellowing noise that Vasya could neither translate nor telepathically catch the full meaning of. Given the sheer speed of thought the outwardly dopey pokemon processed at, Vasya discerned he must be exceptionally intelligent.
"Oh, well, you see, my Pokemon here feel like you got this...atmosphere? Are you a scholar or a professor? You seem like you know a lot about legendary Pokemon and the likes. My Pokemon thinks so too, and he's really good at reading people."
“Just like how he loves reading.”
Vasya thought he’d become numb to all manner of bullshit, what with the absurdity of the tasks his most out of touch masters demanded of their servants. He couldn’t have been more wrong in that moment. In what world could a Clodsire not only read, but comprehend a book at a significantly more challenging literary level than Vasya had ever read? Vasya decided the best course of action was to ignore that thread before it spiraled into madness, focusing on the question at hand.
“My apologies, lad. I was a bit caught up in conversation with my own pokemon.” Vasya replied. “And yes, your Clodsire isn’t too far off the mark. While I would never be as presumptuous as to call myself a scholar or professor, I am very well versed in the myths and legends I’ve collected across my lifetime. As for this ‘mystery pokemon’ of yours…”
He peered again at the boy’s drawing, scanning for any subtleties in the rather… abstract image. At the least, Vasya appreciated that it was labeled simply enough for him and his borderline lack of literacy to glean all of the intended meaning from.
“Based on my current knowledge and what I can discern from your sketch, I doubt it is of legendary or mythical origin.” He concluded. “I’m aware of plenty that have serpentine bodies or exhibit pink coloration, but none documented with both. The only pokemon your image reminds me of is a sort of worm-like beast that lives in Paldea. “Orthworm” if my memory serves me correctly, and even then, I’ve heard it’s rather common in arid areas. That’s also assuming what you’re looking for is a real pokemon at all. There’ve been a fair few people who’ve mistaken non-native, unusually colored, or visibly ill pokemon as the creatures of rumors and wives’ tales when there was a perfectly logical explanation for them.”
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