sayitwithpocky | (no subject)

[Under the cover of the clouded evening skies and absent of witnesses, a lone shape crawls over the deserted beach. Something far from human or animal struggles across the sand, the wretched stuff sticking to its smooth, dampened orange body as the creature painfully progresses forward. Deoxys sinks down onto the sand, forced to stop and lean on his tentacles for support as his body is wracked by another agonised shudder. The lights from the town in the distance glint off of the cracked jewel in his chest, highlighting the dark, jagged split running straight through it. A tentacle flicks instinctively up to it as snatches of memory return; there had been a bright light, then pain and the feeling of being dragged under...the ocean, it must have been the ocean... But that's all he remembers.

He doesn't like to be this close to human settlements, but he's out of options. The dock ahead is free from people, at least. Deoxys looks around frantically, until...yes, that would do. It feels like it takes almost forever for him to drag himself to the huddle of storage containers on the far side, but it's worth it. The huge boxes are derelict and rusted; they can't have been used in years. Deoxys pulls himself up and stumbles into the one that faces out to sea, pointed away from the town and the rest of the dock.

The insides are dank and dark, the clang of Deoxys' footsteps against the metal floor reverberating through the gloom. But it's just what he'd have prayed for, if aliens did pray; he'll be safe here, at least, he hopes. The darkness spins around him as Deoxys makes his way towards the back of the container, one tiny, agonised step at a time. He leans heavily against the wall, advancing slowly with shaky steps as he uses his tentacles to guide his way; just the effort to keep moving and not fall is exhausting for him, his vision full of static and his body screaming. Finally he reaches the far corner, pressing his back against the metal and allowing himself to sink to the floor. Unconsciousness comes almost immediately.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Under most circumstances, letting a child play around near the shore would be completely unthinkable. But Yako wasn't exactly the most normal of children. She had been fishing with her father quite frequently in this area, and the two of them had made many friends among the workers. When her father was locked up in his studio, sketching away at new building designs and conversing with different contractors or clients, and her mother was busy at the office piecing together the next month's issue, it had become second nature for her to take the trolley down to the shore and explore.

There are enough eyes to make sure she doesn't wander anywhere dangerous, so she's more or less given free reign of the area. After some careful bargaining, she's finally given permission to clamber around the old storage units, under the express promise that she'll be careful and find an adult right away if she get's scratched up. The first few yield a scant selections of treasures: an old shell, a few cracked marbles, several broken bottles that she carefully avoids.

The fourth, however, is different. In there, in the shadows, something glints.}

[How long has he been here for? Deoxys doesn't know. He doesn't care to know, either. But for — days? Maybe even weeks — he's slept. He doesn't care if he ever wakes up again. Even though his dreams are plagued with sea monsters and raging waves and blinding flashes of light, being awake means hurting more. For all this time he's been slipping between the deepest sleep and being in that hazy state that sits directly between the sleeping and waking worlds. These periods of semi-wakefulness are full of the hazy sounds of machinery, the sea, and male voices shouting to one another. At first he become restless at the noise, but it's always been so far away, he'd soon begun to feel safe.

Until now.

Footsteps. The crushing, dull pain in his chest starts ebbing back as Deoxys becomes more aware. He heard them, he knows he did; the corporeal sound coming from in his own hiding place. Deoxys becomes rigid with terror, suddenly aware that he's no longer alone. An attempt to sense who or what is there just makes the pain in his chest spike and he stops, his head lulling forward. His powers, they're all...]

[At first, Yako takes the slumped silhouette to be that of a man, and prepares to bolt as she has been instructed too. Strange men hiding in old containers, she knows, are very rarely good news and her parents have given her many, many warnings on the subject of strangers. However, before she can skitter off and tell one of the dockhands, she realizes that the figure isn't quite what she thought.

She shuffles forward a bit, and as her eyes adjust to the poor lighting she can't help a small gasp. It isn't human at all, she knows that. It's too smooth and entirely the wrong color. Her eyes focus on the source of the glint, something like a large jewel in the center of its chest. For all that it looks bizarre, there's something almost pretty about the strange creature.

Twisting her fingers together a bit self-consciously, she calls out softly.}

Um...excuse me...?

[He edges away, feebly pushing himself over the metal floor with weak nudges against it from his tentacles and legs. He can only get a couple of inches before he feels the cold resistance of the back wall of the container pressing behind him (trapped). His almost featureless face shows no emotion, but his eyes are fearfully wide.

Deoxys knows about humans. They're the enemy of anything from outside their little blue-green planet, he's seen their atrocities in the "dreams" he had while still up there. Even if this human is only a small one, he knows that small humans must mean the eventual presence of full-grown humans, and he doesn't know if even this one is safe just because it's a child. All he can tell himself is that it's kill or be killed, but he's powerless, and barely strong enough to have pushed himself this far, let alone attack. He can do nothing but stare at it, his back pressed flat to the wall, terrified and pathetic.]