Scene #5292: Queer Lodgings

Owner	Pose
Mortimer Balman	It is a dark and stormy night.. Well more like really early morning, not quite halfway to dawn. Rain falls hard upon the quaint and beautiful little town of Ponyville. And out past the town, in a house built into a hill between the edge of town and the Everfree Forest, there lives.. A badger. Not a slimy, grimy, wet hole. Nor a dry, bare, sandy hole. It is a hob- wait wrong script BEGIN ANEW. It is a Groudan's home. Two acres well fenced in, a small barn that houses chocobos. An acre is dedicated to growing what looks like.. Meat plants of some sort, along with a small tree that has bacon growing in. The house would be two stories tall were it not built partially into the hill. Along the uncovered side a wolf of truly colossal proportions- at least as big as an Abrams battle tank, maybe bigger- is sleeping despite the storm. A delibird can be seen sleeping on top of its head, completely unphased by the rainfall and thunder. Smoke drifts from the chimney and one of the opened windows by the giant wolf. Lights are seen inside. The sound of music- something kinda like 70s hippie rock- can be heard once one approaches the door. Inside Mortimer is busy typing at a holographic keyboard and looking over records and files from a thousand different places across the Multiverse, trying to make sense of things. His faithful butlerfree Switchbait is busy making more coffee and baking some tea cakes, while reading a book with his mind. His wartortle Reder lazily lounges on the couch, half asleep while watching Good Times reruns on their internet cable account. There is a ghostly presence that haunts the house and its fields, flitting back and forth. So a standard Saturday night for them, really. The only thing out of place is that Mort isn't drinking copious amounts of hard liquor.
Count Kord	One moment, lightning flashes. The next, there is a figure dropping in front of the doorway to Mortimer's home. This figure is drenched to the bone, wearing a skull-like helmet and a cape dyed black by the rainwater soaking into it. It looks like the specter of death itself and it showed up without a single peep, from a direction concealed by the weather. Its hollow eyes have bright blue irises within that focus on the door that, presumably, belongs to the creature that accepted the invitation of an audience. A deathly chill creeps in to the edges of perception, not quite cold but ever-present like a looming predator. Kord knocks on the front door, and then stands out there in the rain waiting for someone to answer.
Mortimer Balman	Switchbait begins fluttering toward the door. Reder's eyes snap open though, "<I'll get it, man.>" "<You certain?>" "<Yeah I need to get my lazy ass up anyway. You're doin' chores 'n shit.>" "<Very well. Do be polite, please.>" "<Yeah yeah yeah..>" The meter-tall amphibian hops up to the door, stretching up to reach the handle. When the door opens, he just kinda stares for a few moments. Then he turns his head down the hall and shouts out, "<HEY SARGE! I think a bill collector's here!>" Mortimer can be heard trudging that way, "Oh what is it now, we paid all the bills /and/ our taxes and yes hello welcome!"
Count Kord	The first thing that Kord has to process is that the Pokemon is talking. He isn't used to that, and just stares back at Reder silently even as Mortimer approaches. The six foot tall walking bad omen lifts his gaze to focus it on Mortimer, and then steps inside very carefully, just enough so the rain isn't beating down on his head. Then he lifts both arms, and reveals he's wearing some combo of light metal and leather armor that covers his whole body when the cape parts, of a black and red coloration. He pulls his helmet right off and there's the pale man's face, a youthful twenty-something with eyebrows as red as the stubble accompanying it. He pulls the mask that normally accompanies the helmet down so he can breathe a little. "This... Wartortle is mistaken," the baritone, vaguely Romanian-accented man points out, with a calm, even tired, visage as he speaks up.
Mortimer Balman	Mortimer lifts a brow and stares at the stranger for a few moments. "Yeah I think Reder.. Huhn, wait a tic." Ears flick a little as he thinks. "Ah, yer Kord, then. ...Fancy stuff yer wearin' there. I think you mentioned bein' a count at one point.. Not a bill collector at any rate." Reder's earfins tilt a little, staring up at the strange humanoid intently. Eyes narrow for a moment, but he hops away without a word back to his spot on the couch. Another episode of Good Times is coming on and damned if he's going to miss it. Mortimer closes the door behind Kord. "Well, welcome, y'can put yer coat an' helmet an' such on the rack over there-" Pointing at a hallway wall, "An' follow me into the study. My butler will have coffee an' cakes ready in a few more minutes if ya care fer refreshments." Mortimer does /not/ sound like the kind of person who warrants a butler, honestly. He sounds like some kind of small town-grown type. Commoner for certain. "Hey! Switch! Company's here, bring out extra plates!" Free'ing can be heard in the distance, "<Of course, sah! Half a moment!>" The old Typhlosionmorph- who is a good foot taller than Kord and built like someone who's spent a lifetime shifting bodies- guides his guest into the study, kicking back in a comfortably large chair and lighting up an ornate pipe full of apple-scented tobacco. "So what brings y'round here at this ungodsly hour?"
Count Kord	Kord gives a placid look down at Reder. The Wartortle's apparent scrutiny gets no rise out of the strange man with the long hair. Kord reaches up to unbuckle his cape and set it with his helmet on the provided rack, where it might creak under the weight of all the water soaked into the cape. The red-haired oddity would then reveal his other trait at this point: He has a tail. It's a long, flat tail with a claw-like formation on the end with five points, of black and red coloration. He just... he has a Yveltal tail. Kord seeks out a place to sit down and furrows his brow, looking aside in mild confusion as he hears a Pokemon call back, but in coherent speech. "All of your Pokemon talk," he observes, as if this were incredibly odd to him. "I came to see the peculiarities that stem from your world, Mortimer," he explains, "In particular, yourself. Only the god-touched in my world exhibit Pokemon traits." He gestures to Mort himself with one claw gauntlet covered hand. "I understand what it feels like to be the subject of dumbfounded staring," he adds, with some odd level of empathy on his part, "I will only stay as long as you allow it." He is staring a little. Mortimer's appearance is incredibly unusual and eerily familiar to him. He doesn't have the most vibrant reactions, though, he seems pretty mellow overall. At least, so far.
Mortimer Balman	Mort's ears flick again, aiming directly at Kord like tiny radar dishes. "God-touched, eh?" He looks past Kord's shoulder at that tail for a few moments. The hair, even the eyes, are given little attention. Only the tail gets that. "Meh. The only thing odd t'me is how yer dressed. And that you.. Look human but have a /tail/. Only saw stuff like that in my era when people felt like gettin' fancy, an' /expensive/, cyber-prosthetics." Mortimer, for his part, very blatantly does /not/ have a tail. Which might seem odd, because he probably should. "Ain't much else outta place s'far as I'm concerned. So g'head, make yerself comfy." A few nickel platters would float into the room, carrying a teapot, cups, and cakes. Held aloft in the air by the psychic powers of an odd looking Butterfree which.. Has a moustache, for some reason or another. An extremely /English/ one, no less. "<Coffee and cakes, Master Balman. And the gentleman here is..?>" "Kord. /Count/ Kord, yea." "<Oh! Dear me, nobody told me that we would have such esteemed guests! Do forgive me for not having the place more tidied up, Sir. I am called Switchbait should you need anything more.>" Compared to the rest, 'Switchbait' is extremely well mannered. Almost offensively so. "<I shall be in the kitchen if I am needed.>" And away he flutters, stopping only to pick up a tiny dustpan and broom in his little Butterfree hands. "By all means Kord, pour yerself a cup. I don't get cheap coffee. I've been gettin' more indulgent as age creeps up on me.." He starts pouring himself a cup and cutting one of the cakes into pieces, offering a plate to Kord while trailing smoke from his nostrils.. But oddly enough, not from his fiery mane. Which is literal fire, btw. Like his head is /on fire/. "Not all of my Pokemon talk, well.. ...Falstaff didn't, but he's passed on.." A brief, sad sigh. "Switch, Reder, an' Roll do.. Which y'know, back in my era? That'd mark me as some kinda lucky son of a bitch. Pokemon don't /usually/ develop talk that we can unnerstand. They gotta go through special trainin' or unusual circumstances to be capable of talkin' to us.."
Count Kord	"I was born with this tail. It was seen as an omen of Death returning to the lands of Bayern," Kord explains to Mortimer, just so he doesn't have to concentrate on the fact that it's there too much. He reaches down to pull it around his waist and lay it across his lap, both hands coming to rest atop it. Switchbait's reaction to him is not... normal, as far as his experiences with Pokemon go, and it's then that he makes a steadily growing frown as Switchbait continues to speak to him formally like a trained servant. Kord is apparently having a hard time processing that the Pokemon is even speaking to him, let alone imagining how it came to have such mannerisms. He leans in his seat to watch the Butterfree leave. "Huh?" He looks up, remembering Mortimer is here. He gets some coffee for himself, and accepts the cake with ease. "Carried home on dark wings," he mumbles as if on reflex when Falstaff is mentioned, the same way someone might if they had a religious well-wish drilled into them. His equivilant of 'sorry for your loss.' "Only Psychic, Ghost and Fairy Pokemon are known to speak where I am from, with a handful of exceptions when the Pokemon closely resembles a human being. The god-pokemon can speak as well..." He looks aside and adds with a narrow of his eyes, perhaps a bit spitefully, "To my unending annoyance." He then taps a gemstone hanging off his neck like a brooch, and a soft red glow shines in the room, manifesting a Murkrow. The Murkrow flutters her wings aggressively and makes a loud half-strangled '--AAAAAW!!!' noise, and then finds a place in Kord's lap with some awkward bird walking. He starts sharing the cake with her, while he drinks his coffee.
Mortimer Balman	Mortimer notices the apparent.. Annoyance, with Switchbait. "Try not to mind Switch too much. He was born an' bred to serve those of high blood. Used to belong to the daughter of Duke Wellesley, back in Ginseng.. ..Till he came into my service, at least. It's still second nature, all these ages later.." He puffs on his pipe a bit while watching the Murkrow pop out of a gem. "Well now ain't that somethin'? Hey there little 'krow." He holds out a hand for her to study- cautiously, he knows how hard Murkrow can peck, ready to pull back if she acts like she's being threatened. "Only those three? Curious, but hardly surprisin'." Not long after the Murkrow has made her loud announcement, a massive wolf's head pokes in as much as it can through the window beside them. It makes an enormous wurf'ing sort of sound and its nose twitches. "Yes, Ulbrecht, I know. Strange birdy. Go back to sleep." Whine. "...Alright, alright, hang on.. Open up." The beast's mouth opens slightly, straining against the window frame. Mortimer tosses a cake into the opened maw, and is rewarded with a nuzzle from the beast before its head pulls back out, an eye leveling itself with the window to stare inside curiously. The eye has an.. /Almost/ human intelligence shining in it. "This is Ulbrecht by the by, my Thunderwolf."
Count Kord	The Murkrow is VICIOUSLY DESTROYING the tiny piece of cake it received when Mort reaches over to say hello. It freezes and its feathers all puff up, and she makes a little 'rrrrrrr' noise at it. Trilling at him like a parrot. But then she leans over and taps his finger with her beak very gently. Just the once. Beep. Kord chuckles warmly at the friendly sight, and reaches to try to pet the Murkrow, but she responds with a CAW and promptly bites his gauntlet-covered finger. Kord doesn't seem surprised and lets her grab the finger in her little bird foot so she can peck and gnaw at the metal plating of the gauntlet. "I saw it when I flew in. Ulbrecht..." He turns his head to observe the wolf in return. He maintains eye contact for several seconds, before returning his gaze to Mortimer. "Aas, this Murkrow, is my only Pokemon. The first I caught, decades ago." Which is longer than one might expect a Murkrow to live... And he looks too young to say 'decades ago.' That's an oddity.
Mortimer Balman	A brow lifts at the word 'decades' but he shrugs it off. Perhaps being god-touched means longer lifespan- that'd make sense. The beep from the Murkrow is given a small smile. The wolf merely blinks a few times at Kord before the giant eye closes, and soft- gigantic- snoring can be heard just over the rain. "Yea.. I'll tell ya the story behind Ulbrecht later. I think you were more curious about our respective worlds an' Pokemon fer now.. Where were we on that discussion, d'ya recall?"
Count Kord	"A comparison of gods. You did not give me the full explanation of the pantheon residing in your world," Kord replies, after a moment to recall the exact topic with a distracted turn of his head. He sips on his coffee, making something of a mild crinkling of his face because his world doesn't actually have coffee. It's not really a drink he's grown used to. Yet he makes no verbal complaint about drinking it, since it was offered to him. "There is information open on both sides. I may explain my take on my gods, and you talk at length about yours..." His Murkrow distracts him briefly by making soft 'rrrr' noises at him until he provides more cake to her. He isn't eating any himself.
Mortimer Balman	Mort notices the face that Kord makes at the coffee. "Hnn... Here, son, try adding a little of this.." He reaches for the coffee tray, nudging two little ceramic containers toward his guest. "Add a little of this non-dairy creamer, it helps take the edge off the bitterness. If y'want Switch can bring out some chocolate syrup an' that adds a pretty sweet, chocolatey flavor to it. Or there's plain sugar." One container holds a pale powder, the creamer. The other is sugar. "Gods. Right. Let's see.." He takes a moment to clear his throat, and then a thoughtful look appears. "First an' foremost, amongst my people- the Groudans- there is Mew, the All-Mother. It was Mew that birthed all life on Poqmori. The firstborn of every species began within Mew, an' Her love for Her children knows no bounds. There is also Celebi, Guardian of Eternity. She is the keeper of all the Doors, and She holds all the Keys. Then there is Jirachi, The Joy of Being. Our origin mythos say that the first of each race and evolution of Pokemon was granted one Wish by Jirachi, and from these wishes stem our powers. These three are the most important gods of my era, because several of the others were lost to Space and Time. There is also the Monsoon King, Manaphy- His touch can heal all wounds, raise islands, or drown them. Shaymin, the Gracious Lord of Clouds, drawing all corruption into Itself and Purifying. Yveltal, the Incarnate of Fury; He knows no joy beyond War and Destruction. There are also the Triplet Gods Mesprit, Uxie, and Azelf- they came when Mew began to birth Pokemorphs, and brought with them Knowledge, Will, and Emotion. There were others... But they perished in the Wars of Celestine Rage, in the earliest known stages of world history." Mortimer finally pauses to have a long drag off of his pipe, blowing the smoke out the window. "There are also the High Gods- they are beyond all Mortal concerns, save fer Cressalia an' Victini, an' fer the most part they are embodiments of Cosmic Constants an' higher functions of existence itself. Palkia is Space- like /literally/, it IS Space, just as Dialga IS Time. Giratina is- dependin' on who ya ask- either Entropy or Antimatter or Chaos. Darkrai is the embodiment of Dreams. Cressalia is one of the only High Gods what will interact with Mortals. She is the Spirit Queen of the Moon, an' carries Prayers to the Heavens- She represents some of the fundamental forces that bind the universe together. Then there is Victini, who is said to reside in the core of the Sun itself. Victini chooses those who are Worthy and gives them the power to achieve Victory. One of my countrymen managed to earn Victini's favor only a couple thousand years afore I was born, actually." Another long pause, and a deep breath, and another drag off of the pipe. "Beyond that.. A series of Divine Beasts who served various functions around the world. Demigodal but not truly deific."
Count Kord	Kord spends some time experimenting with sugar and cream to reach the right balance, pausing to sip here and there to get it to his liking. He pays attention to Mortimer as he speaks, and knits his brow in thought as the roles are explained to him in detail. The emphasis that Mortimer puts into all of it isn't missed, and the dark Count puffs a little sigh when Yveltal is described the way it is, as if disappointed in the role it plays there. "Far more complex than the few found in my world. I understand they are separate creatures as well, and so that is to be expected. Yveltal, the one I know of, is not a joyless marauder, but the epitome of the adversary in my world. It represents Death, and Destruction, as the forces that all life strives to combat but inevitably succumbs to. It exists not as an evil but as a reminder that life is limited and that the world is unforgiving. It is..." "... the Grim Reaper, if I am pronouncing that correctly," he says, as he's speaking pseudo-Romanian and almost butchered the words. "It is also the bloodied mother, defending its eggs to its last breath. It is the fury of life and the struggle of death."
Mortimer Balman	Mortimer nods a bit at what Kord says, taking note of his apparent disappointment. "I did not mean to imply a /marauder/, only that Yveltal is /conflict/. That is His purpose- this does not make Him evil, anymore than conflict itself. The Reaper, now.. That's different, fer us. That role is played by the Dusknoir. The Dusknoir takes the souls of the Dead and guides them across the Gray Wastes, to a place where the Gods may judge those souls. But... Every soul has the option of trying to escape the Dusknoir. If you can outrun his grasp.. You can return to the lands of the Living, and become a Ghost-type. Ain't that right, Nettle?" A small smirk at what appears to be empty space beside him. Phasing into the corporeal, a sock puppet-like body of a Shuppet materializes. "<Hee.. Indeed, Master~>" Her voice is a sing-song tone with a hint of malice behind it. "<You have had so many brushes with him that I suspect he begins to think of interactions with you as a Near-Mortimer experience. Heeehee~>"
Count Kord	Kord turns his head to regard Nettle with a certain curiosity. The ghost's presence doesn't seem to alarm him, but the way it phases into sight makes him frown slightly in thought. "Ghost-types in my world are said to be the spirits of Pokemon and men that yet carry purpose in the physical realms. Yveltal can smell it on their souls, and so it sends them back." He gently rubs the Murkrow's beak and sips at his coffee. "The War, as I stated before, ended in the demise or grave injury of most of the gods, so I believe those that remain are only trying their best to pick up the responsibilities left behind. Xerneas and Yveltal, being the strongest survivors and those integral to victory over Regigigas, received the most godly expectations of all of them." "And for some unearthly reason, they decided they needed mortal champions, and created bloodlines to be those champions. As if we would ever be able to reach the strength they had during the primordial battle."
Mortimer Balman	Mortimer rubs his chin a little bit while Nettle settles her body on his shoulder, a rictus grin on her sock-like face. "Xerneas was /long/ dead by my era. Most interesting.. With us it's a simple matter of /desire/ to stay on this mortal plane. You hafta have the /Will/ to outrun the Dusknoir." Nettle shuppets, "<Or a very strong desire to avoid Hell as long as you can~>" A brief nod from Mort to agree with what she said, "Aye.. More than a few wicked souls have outrun Death so they can stay and 'play' as it were. But there are just as many who sought to redeem themselves fer crimes committed in life, an' those who were oath-bound to return to this plane so that they could fight fer Livin' masters. The Eternals of Peth are a fine example of that- elite soldiers who swear to try and come back so their souls can be bound into Honedge, Doublades, or Aegislash an' continue defending the realm. Or those who inhabited Golurks an' Golettes to continue protecting the ancient tombs that vanished into Grouda's vast deserts. Or any number'a things."