[The tables have turned on this terrible goblin at long last, as Guzma's voice rouses her from her afternoon nap. It's not difficult to wake her-she's pretty accustomed to rising abruptly to most noises, since it can sometimes be a matter of life and death. Other times it's a matter of life and whoever is shifting in the covers a bit too rough. The point is, she finally knows what's like to disturb someone's beepo time and it's-
Well, it's whatever, because she'd rather be with Guzma anyway.
But she's sitting up at the darlin and rubbing her eyes, letting her cats comfortably stretch on her lap around the Please and she's suddenly very aware of how strange this is. He doesn't request things of her and the gentle tone in his voice is typically reserved for far different situations, usually after he's made some cocoa and during the quieter times on the island.
And they've met up enough at this point to know the beach is probably the same area of ocean and sand they always meet up-a safer area, away from wandering centipuppies and blackholes. She knows where to go and her groggy voice responds immediately.]
[There's no response to that, he's already hung up, waiting for Ren regardless of if she shows or doesn't. Even if she decides no, or didn't get his message, the atmosphere is calm...quiet. It's peaceful, and gives him time to think of how best to word all that he has to say. All that he has to confess. It's...terrifying. It's terrifying, because it's the ugly truth that he knows Ren doesn't really know, or understand. The truth that she denies, and it--
...It reminds him of his mother. Guzma's eyes squeeze shut, brows creasing together as his muscles tense and he has to exhale slowly. Out o the two, she was the one he actually cared about, but she was...so, so disillusioned to the truth.
He's not hard to spot, Guzma is a big guy, and he tends to stick out with his monochromatic style against the colorful backdrop the island presents, especially at this time of day. The rushing water lapping at the beach masks Ren's approach slightly, and Guzma definitely seems distracted by his thoughts, and the music coming from his headphones and boombox. Headphones, Ren will be delighted to see, resembling cat ears.
[The cat ears are a Guzma attachement she doesn't expect. Island DLC is weird sometimes and she cautiously moves around him-ya boy's not into surprises, as she's learned over the months. No sense in poking him from behind and risking him being scared, or worse, a scolding.
No she's gonna be GOOD and stand in front of him, yelling-]
[He does indeed spot her - it's hard not to when she's right in front of him - and Guzma pulls the headphones off, letting them hang around his neck. He smiles, but it's weak and doesn't quite reach his eyes, like the effort just...isn't really there. He makes the attempt, but it's pretty half-hearted. He can't exactly pretend this isn't going to be a pretty serious discussion they're going to have.
And that alone makes the barely there smile fade in a matter of seconds. He leans over to one side, inviting the girl to sit next to or in front of him - whatever she chooses - and exhales slowly. Better to let out the tension before he goes into all this...]
Hey darlin', thanks or coming. I, uh...I wanted to talk to you 'bout a few things. [He clears his throat, pursing his lips together and looking pretty uncomfortable already.] ...Few things 'bout you n' me.
[The lackluster sound of his voice earlier matches the the expression he's making now. One that worries her to no end and as she's about to check him over for injuries-thinking that maybe the dulled emotion is from something hurting him, he-
Starts to talk. A few things 'bout you n' me and for a second, she's nervous. Concern shifting to something else as she takes the spot he pointed out, sitting next to him so that they're almost touching.
Because she isn't sure what the next part of this is going to entail and she has to wonder if-
She wonders a lot of things. Most of her thoughts urging to run off now before she has to hear any of it, but he asked her out here. She owes it to him to at least hear him. Being heard is important. If this is what he wants, then-
She might run away later, but he has her attention now.]
Mm. [The sounds is noncommittal and quick, and the silence that lingers thereafter spans a few seconds as Guzma tries to think of the words he wants to say. This really isn't his strong suit - talking openly about himself, and reliving parts of his past he'd really rather forget. He doesn't want to uncork the bottle, he wants to bury it deeper, farther into the recess of his soul so that he never has to even think of it again. He wants to do all that, but he has to be honest - both with himself and with the people he cares about.]
You remember when we first met? Y'all was scared to heck of me... Heh, t'be fair, y'all wasn't the only one... Back where I come from, I'm a bad guy. Thought it's about time I told you real story of your boy Guzma...but it ain't gonna be pretty. Actually, it's a pretty nasty story, but...uh. [He rubs his face, looking tired all over again.] I, uh....I think pages from that old story what are tryin'a bleed into this here chapter. N'I don't like it.
Don't like how it's effecting my family, neither. [He curls his fingers into the fabric of his pants, grip tight.] You don't gotta listen to everything, darlin', when it gets too much, tell me to stop, okay? I'll stop.
[Because Guzma knows, once he opens the lid to that ugly part of himself, everything is going to come out all at once. It won't stop on it's own. He knows it won't, she'll have to stop him.]
[That fear is a memory easy to drudge up, despite all her time here. She remembers not being able approach anyone, out of his mistrust and terror and how badly her legs would shake at the thought of someone even noticing her in the old buildings. It eased, in Guzma's case, almost immediately because he seemed to know what to do. He offered her a treasure and kept his distance, letting her come and go as she saw fit. That consideration is what makes it so easy for her now to be as flighty around him, knowing he won't begrudge her comings and goings, unless it's early in the morning.
The small confession and the story-it makes her remember recent times, when the child version of him held that same fear and acted out in a very violent and different way. She has a feeling that prompted it, but she doesn't want to bring it up. Not now. Not until she hears what he wants to say and-]
I'll listen-for as long as you want, I will. I'll try really hard. So it's okay.
[Guzma takes a deep breath, steadying himself, eyes closed to just...block it all out. Somehow, it makes it easier. It makes it easier, pretending he's alone and no one is listening. Pretending he's just talking to himself, explaining things in his mind. It helps...let it all out.]
You saw it when I got turned in a kid a while back, yeah? How I was...like that. Angry, scared, and ready to rip into anyone who I thought was a threat. Well, there's a reason for that. I ran away from home when I was 'bout eleven or twelve, and never looked back...
My... [He hesitates on the word 'father'. He never used that word in such a long time, and never really thought his own really fit the definition.] My old man was...wasn't the best. Soon as I started showing some skills with battling, he took that as an opportunity to kinda monetize me. Entering me into competitions and tournaments to win money, popularity, fame...and he'd reap the media benefits since I was underage.
Anytime I didn't meet 'is expectations, I'd...I'd get it. One or two 'cross the face, or my back, or he'd pull my hair 'nuff to tear it out sometimes. It got worse n' worse, anytime he was upset...even if it wasn't something I did myself. I was a target. I always did stuff wrong, I always messed up.
'Guzma, what's wrong with you?' he'd ask me, anytime I didn't...perform well. The breaking point was when he came at me with one'a his golf clubs...and Golisopod protected me n' got his arm broken. After that I...I-I snapped, I think. I whited out, but my body kept goin'. [Guzma's tone is flat, level, automatic. Like a robot merely reciting a program from a script, and his eyes are hazy and dull, staring down at his hands.] I took the club and went at 'im... May've ended 'im right then and there if my Pokemon didn't pull me back.
I got scared. So I ran. I made my living battling people and using the prize money to feed myself and my Pokemon... All'a that, and how I was raised, taking out my anger and frustrations with my fists or my strength... I became a pretty bad guy. Bad 'nuff to become the boss of Team Skull. Now, you know that as something real nice, yeah?
We ain't. We're crooks, criminals, thugs, and punks. Back then, I wouldn't have hesitated knocking 'round some little kid... Could'a and would'a done it to Luna a few times...but she was always tougher'n me. N' I'm still bad, Ren. I'm still violent, and I get angry real easy... [Like him goes unsaid, but Guzma bites his lower lip, eyes squeezing shut and he exhales sharply through his nose.] I dunno if I'm getting any better about it, but when I get real, real mad...I don't think no more. It's like something in my head just, y'know...stops.
I get mad and that kinda takes over, and I don't stop. I don't stop until I break something, even if it's myself. Or whatever's in front'a me. [Finally, he looks at her slowly, and says nothing. The looks on his face should be indicative of what he's trying to say.]
Edited (NOOT NOOT UPDATING WITH ALL THOSE WARNINGS.) 2019-06-26 00:10 (UTC)
[The story starts off as bad as she expects and gets worse as he goes on. The way he's pacing his horrific life story coupled with the shifting emotions that don't always match the neutral toned words coming out of his mouth-it troubles her. The idea that family could be like that, understanding why his smaller self had been so protective of the only creature he could call a friend and keeping himself at twenty arm's length of anyone bigger than him-it all makes sense.
And she listens to the intricately woven tale about criminals and anger-all the violent outbursts he's had suddenly given some context.
But for all the confessions he's revealed under this suddenly unbearably hot sun, there's a truth he won't ever understand. One she knows is impossible to explain, because people like him won't get it. The violent thug Guzma. The angry man that breaks and doesn't stop no matter what-
Is a completely different person to her, even if he sometimes gets scary.
The thug, the criminal to one is a brother, is family to another.
The underlying tone in his voice and the way he's looking in her eyes, searching for an answer that's impossible to give, that dies in the back of her throat, the becomes impossible to put into words-it's too hard. Her hands lower of his, slowly, because she's sure he'll jerk away from her grip if she goes to fast, but-]
Then I'll stay behind you. It's okay if you get very mad sometimes-that kind of thing is alright.
[Even if it's an emotion she can't seem to feel on her own. Whatever anger she feels is mild in nature, few and far between, and childishly directed towards being ignored. Fear makes her brain stop and takes over every inch of her body, so for that reason, she does get it. In a way. In a sense. She tries to, for his sake.]
You're very important. Even if you were 'a bad guy' in that place, you aren't a 'bad guy' to me. You're a person I want to hold hands with and play with and learn to make cocoa with and sing and dance with-
That's the kind of heart you have. That's what I see.
[He doesn't get it. He doesn't get how, after all that, after even just the basic details of his story - he cut out so much of it and it was still as terrible as he remembers - someone could think he's worth anything at all. It just doesn't make any sort of sense to him. Guzma's had it beaten into him, literally, that he's worthless, that he's just some piece o trash no one wants around. That he's damaged, broken, irreparable, and just not worth the effort. He's had it beaten out of him, by people and by life itself, that there's anything good left of him. That it never existed at all.
Anything good, anything he could be proud of, anything he could show off...was just something someone could use to their benefit. It happened again, and again. It happened with his father, it happened with Lusamine... He doesn't want to open that part of himself up again and have it broken more than it already is.
And yet. Here this stupid, naive little girl is, telling him he's wrong. Telling him everything that's been pummeled into his skull is wrong. Telling him that he can keep being the person he is, that it's okay or him to get mad, to be angry. That she'd stay behind him. It's...it's idiotic, is his first thought. He hates it, because it's stupid. Why? Why would she stay? Doesn't she understand he could lash out at her? Doesn't she understand that he almost did? He's come so close, and yet she says those things? It's...it's--
It's like his stupid little brothers and sisters. His grunts, rom when he still ran Team Skull. Despite everything, despite laying into them harshly when they messed up, despite knocking them around, despite putting the fear of Arceus into them, despite....everything...they were willing to put themselves on the line to get him back from Ultra Space. They were willing to keep the memory of their bond with them, even after the team disbanded. Guzma covers his eyes, squeezing them shut and pinching his fingers at the corners with grit teeth as he breathes in deeply, feeling heat and moisture well behind those shut lids.
He tries to respond, but the sound gets caught in his throat as it seems to tighten up suddenly, and he just...just shakes his head. She's wrong. None of that is true. He can't understand...he just can't. And yet.
[It's hard to discern whether his silence is because the wrong words tumbled out of her mouth or whether it's because it made some kind of impact, good or bad. She's always had problems figuring out people and the years haven't made it easier, when each person is so incredibly different. Even reaching out with her heart doesn't yield much-he's like a brick wall and the few emotions that trickle out seem sad. Touching him is probably going to earn a smack on her hands, so she doesn't try.
But what matters is letting him know it's okay to cry. A sentiment that clearly wasn't present while he grew up under those harsh conditions, but here on the sandy beach, when it's just the two of them, in this same old spot they always meet up-
It's definitely okay.
And instead of trying to convince and convince him with words she can't seem to use correctly, she quietly starts to hum, softly adding a couple lyrics as she goes-]
[Guzma hasn't cried in years. He's come close, sure, but every time he felt the sting of tears behind his lids, he'd remember his father. He'd remember a different kind of sting, and the sadness, the hurt...it'd transform into anger. It always ended up like that - his emotions were always guarded by the red fury of his anger, where Guzma would often retreat. It was just so much easier...when it was what he grew up knowing. Anger, hurt, violence, betrayal...
And yet, Ren is right. He's always had his Pokemon who loved him unconditionally, and the dumb little brothers and sisters he took under his wing, who came to love him just as well...despite how he treated them. And despite how his mind was twisted and warped by a deranged woman to mistrust even his new family. To abandon them, for...what? Power? Recognition? Approval? It all seems so stupid now. His choices seem so stupid now.
Exhaling sharply, because the wetness burns his eyes - an unfamiliar, scorching heat he's unprepared to endure - Guzma breathes deeply, trying to ind his voice despite the tightness in his chest. Nii-chan. She called his nii-chan. 'Brother'. Reaching out, Guzma curls an arms around Ren's shoulders and tugs her to his side in a tight, half-hug, his voice hoarse and cracked. Soft...weak, almost. The first sign of weakness he's probably shown Ren in a long time.]
She's been waiting for it, listening to the truths behind his words and trying to understand the things he won't say with her heart. The pangs of hurt and sadness reaching her far quicker than the explanations for them, in a way that's made her want to pull him into her arms since he summoned here.
And when the opportunity arises-when that grip tightens around her and she's pulled towards him in that gentle, kind way he tends to be with her, she doesn't hesitate. Doesn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and closing the short distance between them.
He's been through a lot-that much she understands. As a child and as an adult, it's been good and bad, but-
As she presses her cheek into his hair, it feels like a home. All she can think about is sitting by him, pointing out pokemon in the dex that he explains in such vivid detail, she has to wonder if that's what it's like to be in school. Sees a man that forces her to walk into the water to get her bag, because he thinks she's brave. Knows she can be. Tries to make her be, even if it's scary. The tight hold on her hand is a feeling she won't ever forget.
And she knows this is a family. That she has aunts and uncles and someone that feels like a brother. This kind of acceptance without hesitation can only be because they are. There's no fear in her heart, even knowing he could get mad again. It doesn't matter because she can hold her own in the face of that and-
He's happy, is what he says, and her hug feels like deception when she knows full well the sort of secret she's hiding from him. That he's bared his heart in a way that was wholly difficult for him-that pained him so much he couldn't keep tears from welling in his eyes and-
She owes him this much.]
Do you promise if-
[It doesn't ever get easier. After Kravitz, after the elves-it's never been possible to stop the lump that lodges in her throat when she brings this up.]
[He doesn't cry. Even bid to, he doesn't cry. Perhaps he's forgotten how to cry, remembering only how to hurt, but the little arms holding onto him are kind, gentle, loving, and remind him of when he was small. Of when someone else would hold him when he still remembered how to cry, who'd comfort him. Who still, to this day, thinks he's as innocent as he was back then... It's stupid, and he hates it - because ignoring what he is now, and fixating on what he was undermines how he got here, maybe even ignores it entirely, but...but--
He can't get mad. Not past frustration, anyway. It's a lot like Ren, actually. He can't really be totally mad at her, ever, or or longer than a few hours. Perhaps that's why he's holding onto her so tight, and opened himself up like this. Because she deserves to know...why he is the way he is. Why he gets upset, and violent. She deserves a warning.
His voice is hoarse, and while he didn't shed any tears, Guzma looks...exhausted. His eyes are red, ringed by dark bags and a pale complexion. Whoever said letting all your bottled up emotions out made you feel better is a dumbass liar and needs to be slapped across the face. He feels like he's about to throw up, but at the same time, he also feels totally hollow inside. Like everything, every little bit of him, spilled out with...everything else. It takes him a moment to find his broken voice, exhale slowly, then inhale a dry breath.]
[And her thoughts twist to that, almost in tandem with his, had she any clue what he was thinking-he deserves a warning.
But that sudden you didn't makes her choke on whatever words she had been ready to blurt out-to get it over with, to see if it changed anything, to see if that made this conversation end. To see if it made it pointless, because he wouldn't want to be around her anymore. She should've made it clear prior to this-before he showed her parts of his heart that were difficult to vocalize and share. Whatever relief came from those confessions could turn to regret in just a few minutes, a few seconds and-
She mumbles something. Words not loud enough to make out, even with how close they are, and she knows that.
But that you didn't rings through her mind again and again.
And again and again.
And that trust for her brother is what makes those words finally force their way past the sudden dryness in her throat and-]
I'm very sick. Something in me is bad and-
[One second, two seconds, she probably doesn't even need to say it. He's a smart guy. She knew that from the moment they met.]
I'm supposed to die. I think-if I leave this place, that's going to happen very soon.
[It makes this relationship with her worthless, when the end result won't change. All the care he gave her, all the gifts, all the words they shared and memories they made-it won't matter, when someone like her just took and took without warning him of the inevitable outcome.]
For a second, time seems to lapse, and all sound drowns out in a haze of static and ringing bells. It feels like it lasts hours, a constant scream or sirens blaring in his head, but it's just a second...maybe two.
I'm very sick... I'm supposed to die...
Words he never expected to hear - never, ever wanted to hear. It hurts, and his chest tightens. He eyes burn and sting and he can feel it. He can feel himself getting angry. But it's so...so small a flame. A tiny, insignificant ember amidst a storm of determination and disbelief. There's no way. She's come this far. She never looked or acted sick around him in all the time she's been here, with him. And yet...it's not as shocking as he expected it to be, after the first few seconds. It makes sense, actually. Ren was sheltered, dumb to the world around her because she probably spent her entire life in a hospital room.
He doesn't know the full story, but sicknesses can still be cured. Somehow. There's always a way. And they don't really know if her sickness is completely fatal, or untreatable. If it wasn't, then she'd have died long ago, he wagers. There must be a way to make it so Ren can live. I she goes home, back where she came from, it may very well be the end of her. But why does she have to go back there? Characters in a story can always appear in others...stories can be rewritten, interwoven. Isn't that right? They can be edited.
It takes a moment to find his voice, and Guzma exhales slowly, gripping Ren a bit tighter.]
...Y'know, I can't help but think that's Mudsdale crap. You're a lot tougher'n you think you are, sweetheart - I know it - and if you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
[That's not how it works and it hurts to explain that it doesn't matter-it won't change anything. No amount of hope or pleading or trying to be tough is going to stop this 'disease' from killing her. It took out the entire world-she's no exception.
But she doesn't care about explaining it. About disproving his claims or trying to get him to understand, because he didn't let go. Just like he promised, he's still here, holding her tight and it makes her wish-
Makes her think she had been wrong this entire time. That hiding this was foolish, when it's not changing the way her family holds her and the weight of this secret rises off her like a burden she never had to carry.
If you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
For a second, a minute, she wishes-
That cures worked like that.]
It's okay.
[Is all she can manage to say. She's lived with this for a long time, has known and gone through the pain of realizing she will die alone, has found a way to plead her case to a grim reaper who promised to find her, because she's not looking to escape a fate that's impossible to rise above.
There's no point in really thinking about it.]
Is it okay-if we're still family? Is that kind of thing alright?
[It's not that. It's not that he's so naive to think just wanting it to stop will make a disease stop, but strength of will is a powerful thing. It may not stop an outcome from happening, but it can, sometimes, prolong it enough to discover a better one. He saw Ren's past, once...it was a world that stopped living. That gave up. She must have gave up, too, because of that, and it's one thing he wants to try and teach her. To fight back - to not give up. Things can change, if you have the gall to work for it, and people to support you.
Why wouldn't it be? [He pulls away, just to give her a stern look. He's not upset, not really, but there's evident displeasure in Guzma's expression.] I don't give up on my little brothers and sisters just like that. Not no more...
And you-- [He jabs her in the forehead with one finger, a bit rough, to prove his point here.] --don't give on me, either. There are sicknesses back in my world that don't got no real cure, neither, but there are preventatives that lessen the symptoms. Tell me 'bout your sickness, or what y'all is doing to combat it right now.
Because I don't believe you're coward enough to just drop dead like that, yeah. Not ithout a fight.
If there was a point when Guzma gave up on others. If he did look at all the 'siblings' under his care and said 'I can't do it.' If he might look at her one day and say I can't, but then-
The jab on her forehead makes her squint, her fingers tightening against his arms now that he's pulled back from her, to look her in eyes, the show her, maybe, the kind of fire that can burn if you're filled with the courage, the bravery, the ability to stand up-all the things she lacks. He might have given up once, but it's proof a person can bounce back. He's not giving up now. He won't-Not no more and she believes him. The words pressing against her chest like a blanket.
All the things Guzma has.
All the things he's trying to convey, with these simple words that make her feel like a fire in her soul is coming to life. To have someone believe in her like that, who thinks she can make a difference, who thinks any part of her can withstand this unnamed disease she has no hope of winning against, but-
She's his little sis.
He believes in her and even if-
Even if it doesn't make a difference, even if she can't do anything more than wrap her fingers tight, tight, tight around his arms and stare into his eyes to get some of that feeling in her-
She doesn't-]
I don't want to die.
[It's quiet, soft, as if she's never said it before. As if the thought wasn't even her own and she rapidly blinks, unsure if that was even her that said it. It feels wrong on her tongue, but-
It's the truth.
She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to give up. She wants to live and-]
I don't know how to stay alive-how to do that kind of thing, but-I'll keep taking my medicine. That's what I have to do. I take it every day, so my heart doesn't beat really fast and I can stay awake for a long time.
[Her eyes fall back to her bag, where she knows that little bottle is, as if check it's still there.]
If I don't take it, it's very hard for me to leave my dreams. That's what happens.
[That's exactly it. He had given up on them. Not by his own accord, of course, because those numskulls proved that thinly veiled lies and sweet, whispering words just don't overpower a bond you create with people who share a part o their lie with you. People who would do anything, anything, to get you back. He gave up on his little brothers and sisters, on Plumeria too, the moment he raced after that horrible woman into a world no one should exist in. He gave up on them all the moment his guilt and shame drove him to disband Team Skull.
And yet...
And yet, those idiots still did that ridiculous pose before they raced out the door. Still proved that, despite kicking them out on the street, they were still - would always be - a part o Team Skull. Part of their disgruntled, chaotic family. Idiots.
He doesn't want to give up on them again. Or anyone else. Especially not someone who so clearly needs the push--no...the shove forward. Because who was there when he needed that? No one was. He had to figure it out himself, with only his Pokemon beside him. Ren doesn't have the latter, just herself. And, sadly, she's just not as strong on her own as he was.]
Don't no one else want that, neither. [He closes his eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath. His body still feels tight, coiled, and his heart pounds in his ears like it's trying to remind him of how anxious he is really.] N' I'll be honest, sweetheart, I dunno how to keep y'all alive, neither, but taking y'all's medicine is one step in the right direction, yeah?
[He listens, quietly, memorizing the signs she points out - the symptoms. Increased heart rate, fatigue... It almost sounds like she'd go into cardiac arrest if she didn't take it - like her heart would work harder and harder, beat faster and faster, until it just stopped. He grinds his teeth together, cursing the fact there isn't a decent hospital or doctor here to check her over. If only...if only he could take her back to Alola. Back to a place where it'd be so, so easy to treat her better.]
Do you got enough meds? Are ya running out? Can y'get more from the rabbit?
[Don't no one else want that neither-it's the first time someone's said that to her out of genuine affection and, maybe, something like love. It feels like love. She can't get a good read on his heart, but it's warm and caring and makes her feel safe like love would feel. There are those who have accepted her words as truth-she adores them. Those that fight back against what she says-she hates that and then there's-
Guzma, living as the outlier he's always been. Accepting and honest, saying he wants her to live in a roundabout way that almost makes tears spring into her eyes because Seto needed companionship, the doctors needed her alive for experiments, but Guzma-
Just wants her to live.
She just wants to live.
She really wishes she could live.]
Yes, it's-it's okay. The Storyteller finds them every month for me and-
[She raises an arm, showing off a bracelet he might've seen on her arm since the early months of Enso. She learned quick that the sun may not always be available to tell the time and for her the caves, the endless night, ai'tuoh-it was all a death sentence without this.]
They gave me this, so I always know when it's time to take it. Even if it's very dark or I sleep for a long time-when I feel this thing, I know. So I'm okay.
[It is most definitely love. The same sort of love he has for his Pokemon. The same sort of love he has for his Team. The same sort of love he has for his family. The sort of love that makes one change everything, stop everything, to make sure that everything can go smoothly for even one person therein. Good families take care of each other, they protect and support each other...and look out for one another. That's what he learned not from his mother, and especially not his father.
It's something he learned from people like him. Lost, miserable, unwanted people like him. People who were never loved, but never forgot how to love.
Guzma offers her his hand, slowly and calmly, to inspect the bracelet. He turns her hand over in his, memorizing the little details. He's seen things like this on others, back home. It was a different make and material, and maybe didn't do the same things, but it meant the wearer was sick. Very sick, and who to contact if they were located and in a bad state.
[If this heart to heart has proven anything, it's that he doesn't need to ask.
Any favor he wants-she'd do it without a hint a doubt or need for a special request. This is her family and the gentle way he moves her hand to get a look at the bracelet makes him wonder if he wants one too. It's very pretty-so she can understand why. Maybe that's going to be his request.
But he says Can I ask you a favor? and she's already nodding her head because the answer is always going to be yes for her brother.]
Can y'all lend me some'a your medicine? Just a few pills, so I can always have some on me if you need it in a pinch, yeah?
[It'd be a good idea to carry it on him always, with his Pokeballs, because heaven knows if she ever lost her supply, or it got destroyed somehow...she'd have to wait until the next Storytelling to get more, unless someone else pitched in a favor for her. But that would mean revealing her illness.
...No. He should have some on him for when she really, really needs it. When it's dire. They're family, it makes sense, doesn't it? To entrust family as your emergency contact?]
I also wanna know where you keep it normally - where exactly. Every little detail. And I want you to call me, or have someone else call me, when you're not feeling so great, okay? Can you do that? [He moves his hand to cover hers and links their fingers together, giving the young girl's hand a rough squeeze.]
[A bizarre sensation washes over her as he just asks for her medicine. It's a good idea. One that's never occurred to her because no one's ever asked. There's been so many situations where she hasn't had it-times when she's curled up against Guzma in that bleak, empty jail or wandered around underground ruins without her items at hand.
But it's weird to talk about it so openly and the weight that slides off her back when she lets her gross bag fall to the ground is a relief all its own.
She hesitates, when pulling the small bottle out of the front pocket though. An anxious, nervous grip clutching her heart whole at the thought of really bringing it out into the open like this.
So she scoots to his feet, sitting in front of his toes, and opens the bag up there. If he looks down, he can see everything. The folded, worn pieces of paper it's hiding underneath. The orange prescription bottle that's in her hands, shielded by bag itself.
She pops the cap open easily, letting a couple of them fall into her palm. A day without one won't kill her, hopefully. Not if she can take one the very next evening. She survived Ai'Tuoh-this won't hurt.
She wraps her fingers around them, just in case someone's looking. It's hard to shake off years of fear, of guilt, of shame, maybe and tries to drop them into Guzma's palm, quickly folding his fingers around them so they're out of sight again.]
That's where they are and that's-it's them. You can have those and-
[She taps her fingers against the back of his hand.]
I won't forget, but I'm okay. Even if it hurts really bad, I always make it home.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Well, it's whatever, because she'd rather be with Guzma anyway.
But she's sitting up at the darlin and rubbing her eyes, letting her cats comfortably stretch on her lap around the Please and she's suddenly very aware of how strange this is. He doesn't request things of her and the gentle tone in his voice is typically reserved for far different situations, usually after he's made some cocoa and during the quieter times on the island.
And they've met up enough at this point to know the beach is probably the same area of ocean and sand they always meet up-a safer area, away from wandering centipuppies and blackholes. She knows where to go and her groggy voice responds immediately.]
Okay, don't move. I'll come find you.
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...It reminds him of his mother. Guzma's eyes squeeze shut, brows creasing together as his muscles tense and he has to exhale slowly. Out o the two, she was the one he actually cared about, but she was...so, so disillusioned to the truth.
He's not hard to spot, Guzma is a big guy, and he tends to stick out with his monochromatic style against the colorful backdrop the island presents, especially at this time of day. The rushing water lapping at the beach masks Ren's approach slightly, and Guzma definitely seems distracted by his thoughts, and the music coming from his headphones and boombox. Headphones, Ren will be delighted to see, resembling cat ears.
He hasn't seemed to notice her just yet.]
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No she's gonna be GOOD and stand in front of him, yelling-]
Hey, hey!
[Until he hears her!!!]
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And that alone makes the barely there smile fade in a matter of seconds. He leans over to one side, inviting the girl to sit next to or in front of him - whatever she chooses - and exhales slowly. Better to let out the tension before he goes into all this...]
Hey darlin', thanks or coming. I, uh...I wanted to talk to you 'bout a few things. [He clears his throat, pursing his lips together and looking pretty uncomfortable already.] ...Few things 'bout you n' me.
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Starts to talk. A few things 'bout you n' me and for a second, she's nervous. Concern shifting to something else as she takes the spot he pointed out, sitting next to him so that they're almost touching.
Because she isn't sure what the next part of this is going to entail and she has to wonder if-
She wonders a lot of things. Most of her thoughts urging to run off now before she has to hear any of it, but he asked her out here. She owes it to him to at least hear him. Being heard is important. If this is what he wants, then-
She might run away later, but he has her attention now.]
Us?
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You remember when we first met? Y'all was scared to heck of me... Heh, t'be fair, y'all wasn't the only one... Back where I come from, I'm a bad guy. Thought it's about time I told you real story of your boy Guzma...but it ain't gonna be pretty. Actually, it's a pretty nasty story, but...uh. [He rubs his face, looking tired all over again.] I, uh....I think pages from that old story what are tryin'a bleed into this here chapter. N'I don't like it.
Don't like how it's effecting my family, neither. [He curls his fingers into the fabric of his pants, grip tight.] You don't gotta listen to everything, darlin', when it gets too much, tell me to stop, okay? I'll stop.
[Because Guzma knows, once he opens the lid to that ugly part of himself, everything is going to come out all at once. It won't stop on it's own. He knows it won't, she'll have to stop him.]
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The small confession and the story-it makes her remember recent times, when the child version of him held that same fear and acted out in a very violent and different way. She has a feeling that prompted it, but she doesn't want to bring it up. Not now. Not until she hears what he wants to say and-]
I'll listen-for as long as you want, I will. I'll try really hard. So it's okay.
[Go ahead and tell your story.]
cw: child abuse mention, dissociation mention, mild violence mention
You saw it when I got turned in a kid a while back, yeah? How I was...like that. Angry, scared, and ready to rip into anyone who I thought was a threat. Well, there's a reason for that. I ran away from home when I was 'bout eleven or twelve, and never looked back...
My... [He hesitates on the word 'father'. He never used that word in such a long time, and never really thought his own really fit the definition.] My old man was...wasn't the best. Soon as I started showing some skills with battling, he took that as an opportunity to kinda monetize me. Entering me into competitions and tournaments to win money, popularity, fame...and he'd reap the media benefits since I was underage.
Anytime I didn't meet 'is expectations, I'd...I'd get it. One or two 'cross the face, or my back, or he'd pull my hair 'nuff to tear it out sometimes. It got worse n' worse, anytime he was upset...even if it wasn't something I did myself. I was a target. I always did stuff wrong, I always messed up.
'Guzma, what's wrong with you?' he'd ask me, anytime I didn't...perform well. The breaking point was when he came at me with one'a his golf clubs...and Golisopod protected me n' got his arm broken. After that I...I-I snapped, I think. I whited out, but my body kept goin'. [Guzma's tone is flat, level, automatic. Like a robot merely reciting a program from a script, and his eyes are hazy and dull, staring down at his hands.] I took the club and went at 'im... May've ended 'im right then and there if my Pokemon didn't pull me back.
I got scared. So I ran. I made my living battling people and using the prize money to feed myself and my Pokemon... All'a that, and how I was raised, taking out my anger and frustrations with my fists or my strength... I became a pretty bad guy. Bad 'nuff to become the boss of Team Skull. Now, you know that as something real nice, yeah?
We ain't. We're crooks, criminals, thugs, and punks. Back then, I wouldn't have hesitated knocking 'round some little kid... Could'a and would'a done it to Luna a few times...but she was always tougher'n me. N' I'm still bad, Ren. I'm still violent, and I get angry real easy... [Like him goes unsaid, but Guzma bites his lower lip, eyes squeezing shut and he exhales sharply through his nose.] I dunno if I'm getting any better about it, but when I get real, real mad...I don't think no more. It's like something in my head just, y'know...stops.
I get mad and that kinda takes over, and I don't stop. I don't stop until I break something, even if it's myself. Or whatever's in front'a me. [Finally, he looks at her slowly, and says nothing. The looks on his face should be indicative of what he's trying to say.]
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And she listens to the intricately woven tale about criminals and anger-all the violent outbursts he's had suddenly given some context.
But for all the confessions he's revealed under this suddenly unbearably hot sun, there's a truth he won't ever understand. One she knows is impossible to explain, because people like him won't get it. The violent thug Guzma. The angry man that breaks and doesn't stop no matter what-
Is a completely different person to her, even if he sometimes gets scary.
The thug, the criminal to one is a brother, is family to another.
The underlying tone in his voice and the way he's looking in her eyes, searching for an answer that's impossible to give, that dies in the back of her throat, the becomes impossible to put into words-it's too hard. Her hands lower of his, slowly, because she's sure he'll jerk away from her grip if she goes to fast, but-]
Then I'll stay behind you. It's okay if you get very mad sometimes-that kind of thing is alright.
[Even if it's an emotion she can't seem to feel on her own. Whatever anger she feels is mild in nature, few and far between, and childishly directed towards being ignored. Fear makes her brain stop and takes over every inch of her body, so for that reason, she does get it. In a way. In a sense. She tries to, for his sake.]
You're very important. Even if you were 'a bad guy' in that place, you aren't a 'bad guy' to me. You're a person I want to hold hands with and play with and learn to make cocoa with and sing and dance with-
That's the kind of heart you have. That's what I see.
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Anything good, anything he could be proud of, anything he could show off...was just something someone could use to their benefit. It happened again, and again. It happened with his father, it happened with Lusamine... He doesn't want to open that part of himself up again and have it broken more than it already is.
And yet. Here this stupid, naive little girl is, telling him he's wrong. Telling him everything that's been pummeled into his skull is wrong. Telling him that he can keep being the person he is, that it's okay or him to get mad, to be angry. That she'd stay behind him. It's...it's idiotic, is his first thought. He hates it, because it's stupid. Why? Why would she stay? Doesn't she understand he could lash out at her? Doesn't she understand that he almost did? He's come so close, and yet she says those things? It's...it's--
It's like his stupid little brothers and sisters. His grunts, rom when he still ran Team Skull. Despite everything, despite laying into them harshly when they messed up, despite knocking them around, despite putting the fear of Arceus into them, despite....everything...they were willing to put themselves on the line to get him back from Ultra Space. They were willing to keep the memory of their bond with them, even after the team disbanded. Guzma covers his eyes, squeezing them shut and pinching his fingers at the corners with grit teeth as he breathes in deeply, feeling heat and moisture well behind those shut lids.
He tries to respond, but the sound gets caught in his throat as it seems to tighten up suddenly, and he just...just shakes his head. She's wrong. None of that is true. He can't understand...he just can't. And yet.
He's thankful.]
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But what matters is letting him know it's okay to cry. A sentiment that clearly wasn't present while he grew up under those harsh conditions, but here on the sandy beach, when it's just the two of them, in this same old spot they always meet up-
It's definitely okay.
And instead of trying to convince and convince him with words she can't seem to use correctly, she quietly starts to hum, softly adding a couple lyrics as she goes-]
Guzma nii-chan
It's okay
Goli will hug you
And Ari will make you cocoa
And you'll be very very happy
Very very soon
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And yet, Ren is right. He's always had his Pokemon who loved him unconditionally, and the dumb little brothers and sisters he took under his wing, who came to love him just as well...despite how he treated them. And despite how his mind was twisted and warped by a deranged woman to mistrust even his new family. To abandon them, for...what? Power? Recognition? Approval? It all seems so stupid now. His choices seem so stupid now.
Exhaling sharply, because the wetness burns his eyes - an unfamiliar, scorching heat he's unprepared to endure - Guzma breathes deeply, trying to ind his voice despite the tightness in his chest. Nii-chan. She called his nii-chan. 'Brother'. Reaching out, Guzma curls an arms around Ren's shoulders and tugs her to his side in a tight, half-hug, his voice hoarse and cracked. Soft...weak, almost. The first sign of weakness he's probably shown Ren in a long time.]
...M'happy 'nuff right now.
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She's been waiting for it, listening to the truths behind his words and trying to understand the things he won't say with her heart. The pangs of hurt and sadness reaching her far quicker than the explanations for them, in a way that's made her want to pull him into her arms since he summoned here.
And when the opportunity arises-when that grip tightens around her and she's pulled towards him in that gentle, kind way he tends to be with her, she doesn't hesitate. Doesn't stop herself from wrapping her arms around his neck and closing the short distance between them.
He's been through a lot-that much she understands. As a child and as an adult, it's been good and bad, but-
As she presses her cheek into his hair, it feels like a home. All she can think about is sitting by him, pointing out pokemon in the dex that he explains in such vivid detail, she has to wonder if that's what it's like to be in school. Sees a man that forces her to walk into the water to get her bag, because he thinks she's brave. Knows she can be. Tries to make her be, even if it's scary. The tight hold on her hand is a feeling she won't ever forget.
And she knows this is a family. That she has aunts and uncles and someone that feels like a brother. This kind of acceptance without hesitation can only be because they are. There's no fear in her heart, even knowing he could get mad again. It doesn't matter because she can hold her own in the face of that and-
He's happy, is what he says, and her hug feels like deception when she knows full well the sort of secret she's hiding from him. That he's bared his heart in a way that was wholly difficult for him-that pained him so much he couldn't keep tears from welling in his eyes and-
She owes him this much.]
Do you promise if-
[It doesn't ever get easier. After Kravitz, after the elves-it's never been possible to stop the lump that lodges in her throat when she brings this up.]
If I tell you secret, you won't let go?
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He can't get mad. Not past frustration, anyway. It's a lot like Ren, actually. He can't really be totally mad at her, ever, or or longer than a few hours. Perhaps that's why he's holding onto her so tight, and opened himself up like this. Because she deserves to know...why he is the way he is. Why he gets upset, and violent. She deserves a warning.
His voice is hoarse, and while he didn't shed any tears, Guzma looks...exhausted. His eyes are red, ringed by dark bags and a pale complexion. Whoever said letting all your bottled up emotions out made you feel better is a dumbass liar and needs to be slapped across the face. He feels like he's about to throw up, but at the same time, he also feels totally hollow inside. Like everything, every little bit of him, spilled out with...everything else. It takes him a moment to find his broken voice, exhale slowly, then inhale a dry breath.]
You didn't.
[So why in the world would he?]
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But that sudden you didn't makes her choke on whatever words she had been ready to blurt out-to get it over with, to see if it changed anything, to see if that made this conversation end. To see if it made it pointless, because he wouldn't want to be around her anymore. She should've made it clear prior to this-before he showed her parts of his heart that were difficult to vocalize and share. Whatever relief came from those confessions could turn to regret in just a few minutes, a few seconds and-
She mumbles something. Words not loud enough to make out, even with how close they are, and she knows that.
But that you didn't rings through her mind again and again.
And again and again.
And that trust for her brother is what makes those words finally force their way past the sudden dryness in her throat and-]
I'm very sick. Something in me is bad and-
[One second, two seconds, she probably doesn't even need to say it. He's a smart guy. She knew that from the moment they met.]
I'm supposed to die. I think-if I leave this place, that's going to happen very soon.
[It makes this relationship with her worthless, when the end result won't change. All the care he gave her, all the gifts, all the words they shared and memories they made-it won't matter, when someone like her just took and took without warning him of the inevitable outcome.]
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For a second, time seems to lapse, and all sound drowns out in a haze of static and ringing bells. It feels like it lasts hours, a constant scream or sirens blaring in his head, but it's just a second...maybe two.
I'm very sick... I'm supposed to die...
Words he never expected to hear - never, ever wanted to hear. It hurts, and his chest tightens. He eyes burn and sting and he can feel it. He can feel himself getting angry. But it's so...so small a flame. A tiny, insignificant ember amidst a storm of determination and disbelief. There's no way. She's come this far. She never looked or acted sick around him in all the time she's been here, with him. And yet...it's not as shocking as he expected it to be, after the first few seconds. It makes sense, actually. Ren was sheltered, dumb to the world around her because she probably spent her entire life in a hospital room.
He doesn't know the full story, but sicknesses can still be cured. Somehow. There's always a way. And they don't really know if her sickness is completely fatal, or untreatable. If it wasn't, then she'd have died long ago, he wagers. There must be a way to make it so Ren can live. I she goes home, back where she came from, it may very well be the end of her. But why does she have to go back there? Characters in a story can always appear in others...stories can be rewritten, interwoven. Isn't that right? They can be edited.
It takes a moment to find his voice, and Guzma exhales slowly, gripping Ren a bit tighter.]
...Y'know, I can't help but think that's Mudsdale crap. You're a lot tougher'n you think you are, sweetheart - I know it - and if you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
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But she doesn't care about explaining it. About disproving his claims or trying to get him to understand, because he didn't let go. Just like he promised, he's still here, holding her tight and it makes her wish-
Makes her think she had been wrong this entire time. That hiding this was foolish, when it's not changing the way her family holds her and the weight of this secret rises off her like a burden she never had to carry.
If you wanna live longer, I think you damn well can.
For a second, a minute, she wishes-
That cures worked like that.]
It's okay.
[Is all she can manage to say. She's lived with this for a long time, has known and gone through the pain of realizing she will die alone, has found a way to plead her case to a grim reaper who promised to find her, because she's not looking to escape a fate that's impossible to rise above.
There's no point in really thinking about it.]
Is it okay-if we're still family? Is that kind of thing alright?
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She's alive now, isn't she? She's lived this long, hasn't she?]
Why wouldn't it be? [He pulls away, just to give her a stern look. He's not upset, not really, but there's evident displeasure in Guzma's expression.] I don't give up on my little brothers and sisters just like that. Not no more...
And you-- [He jabs her in the forehead with one finger, a bit rough, to prove his point here.] --don't give on me, either. There are sicknesses back in my world that don't got no real cure, neither, but there are preventatives that lessen the symptoms. Tell me 'bout your sickness, or what y'all is doing to combat it right now.
Because I don't believe you're coward enough to just drop dead like that, yeah. Not ithout a fight.
Not my little sis.
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If there was a point when Guzma gave up on others. If he did look at all the 'siblings' under his care and said 'I can't do it.' If he might look at her one day and say I can't, but then-
The jab on her forehead makes her squint, her fingers tightening against his arms now that he's pulled back from her, to look her in eyes, the show her, maybe, the kind of fire that can burn if you're filled with the courage, the bravery, the ability to stand up-all the things she lacks. He might have given up once, but it's proof a person can bounce back. He's not giving up now. He won't-Not no more and she believes him. The words pressing against her chest like a blanket.
All the things Guzma has.
All the things he's trying to convey, with these simple words that make her feel like a fire in her soul is coming to life. To have someone believe in her like that, who thinks she can make a difference, who thinks any part of her can withstand this unnamed disease she has no hope of winning against, but-
She's his little sis.
He believes in her and even if-
Even if it doesn't make a difference, even if she can't do anything more than wrap her fingers tight, tight, tight around his arms and stare into his eyes to get some of that feeling in her-
She doesn't-]
I don't want to die.
[It's quiet, soft, as if she's never said it before. As if the thought wasn't even her own and she rapidly blinks, unsure if that was even her that said it. It feels wrong on her tongue, but-
It's the truth.
She doesn't want to die. She doesn't want to give up. She wants to live and-]
I don't know how to stay alive-how to do that kind of thing, but-I'll keep taking my medicine. That's what I have to do. I take it every day, so my heart doesn't beat really fast and I can stay awake for a long time.
[Her eyes fall back to her bag, where she knows that little bottle is, as if check it's still there.]
If I don't take it, it's very hard for me to leave my dreams. That's what happens.
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And yet...
And yet, those idiots still did that ridiculous pose before they raced out the door. Still proved that, despite kicking them out on the street, they were still - would always be - a part o Team Skull. Part of their disgruntled, chaotic family. Idiots.
He doesn't want to give up on them again. Or anyone else. Especially not someone who so clearly needs the push--no...the shove forward. Because who was there when he needed that? No one was. He had to figure it out himself, with only his Pokemon beside him. Ren doesn't have the latter, just herself. And, sadly, she's just not as strong on her own as he was.]
Don't no one else want that, neither. [He closes his eyes, taking a deep and steadying breath. His body still feels tight, coiled, and his heart pounds in his ears like it's trying to remind him of how anxious he is really.] N' I'll be honest, sweetheart, I dunno how to keep y'all alive, neither, but taking y'all's medicine is one step in the right direction, yeah?
[He listens, quietly, memorizing the signs she points out - the symptoms. Increased heart rate, fatigue... It almost sounds like she'd go into cardiac arrest if she didn't take it - like her heart would work harder and harder, beat faster and faster, until it just stopped. He grinds his teeth together, cursing the fact there isn't a decent hospital or doctor here to check her over. If only...if only he could take her back to Alola. Back to a place where it'd be so, so easy to treat her better.]
Do you got enough meds? Are ya running out? Can y'get more from the rabbit?
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Guzma, living as the outlier he's always been. Accepting and honest, saying he wants her to live in a roundabout way that almost makes tears spring into her eyes because Seto needed companionship, the doctors needed her alive for experiments, but Guzma-
Just wants her to live.
She just wants to live.
She really wishes she could live.]
Yes, it's-it's okay. The Storyteller finds them every month for me and-
[She raises an arm, showing off a bracelet he might've seen on her arm since the early months of Enso. She learned quick that the sun may not always be available to tell the time and for her the caves, the endless night, ai'tuoh-it was all a death sentence without this.]
They gave me this, so I always know when it's time to take it. Even if it's very dark or I sleep for a long time-when I feel this thing, I know. So I'm okay.
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It's something he learned from people like him. Lost, miserable, unwanted people like him. People who were never loved, but never forgot how to love.
Guzma offers her his hand, slowly and calmly, to inspect the bracelet. He turns her hand over in his, memorizing the little details. He's seen things like this on others, back home. It was a different make and material, and maybe didn't do the same things, but it meant the wearer was sick. Very sick, and who to contact if they were located and in a bad state.
...Someone to contact...hm.]
Ren, can I ask you a favor?
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Any favor he wants-she'd do it without a hint a doubt or need for a special request. This is her family and the gentle way he moves her hand to get a look at the bracelet makes him wonder if he wants one too. It's very pretty-so she can understand why. Maybe that's going to be his request.
But he says Can I ask you a favor? and she's already nodding her head because the answer is always going to be yes for her brother.]
What is it?
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[It'd be a good idea to carry it on him always, with his Pokeballs, because heaven knows if she ever lost her supply, or it got destroyed somehow...she'd have to wait until the next Storytelling to get more, unless someone else pitched in a favor for her. But that would mean revealing her illness.
...No. He should have some on him for when she really, really needs it. When it's dire. They're family, it makes sense, doesn't it? To entrust family as your emergency contact?]
I also wanna know where you keep it normally - where exactly. Every little detail. And I want you to call me, or have someone else call me, when you're not feeling so great, okay? Can you do that? [He moves his hand to cover hers and links their fingers together, giving the young girl's hand a rough squeeze.]
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But it's weird to talk about it so openly and the weight that slides off her back when she lets her gross bag fall to the ground is a relief all its own.
She hesitates, when pulling the small bottle out of the front pocket though. An anxious, nervous grip clutching her heart whole at the thought of really bringing it out into the open like this.
So she scoots to his feet, sitting in front of his toes, and opens the bag up there. If he looks down, he can see everything. The folded, worn pieces of paper it's hiding underneath. The orange prescription bottle that's in her hands, shielded by bag itself.
She pops the cap open easily, letting a couple of them fall into her palm. A day without one won't kill her, hopefully. Not if she can take one the very next evening. She survived Ai'Tuoh-this won't hurt.
She wraps her fingers around them, just in case someone's looking. It's hard to shake off years of fear, of guilt, of shame, maybe and tries to drop them into Guzma's palm, quickly folding his fingers around them so they're out of sight again.]
That's where they are and that's-it's them. You can have those and-
[She taps her fingers against the back of his hand.]
I won't forget, but I'm okay. Even if it hurts really bad, I always make it home.