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It was an out-of-body experience; it was looking across the lawn at night, spotting a pair of glinting pupils upon a tangled frame of lean, leggy musculature, then being able to say, "That's me."
She stared in again. There was an improportionate whimsicality to the largeness of her eyes, to the sakura pink of her yellow-banded coat. Her ears flopped in the manner of a mutt at a store window; Pokémon really were unapologetically adorable, weren't they? Though Dia could move negligibly and the water's surface would turn to compliment something else. The pond had an exaggerated elastic quality, deliberate in its means of tweaking and tousling her image against a canvas of accentuating, clear water, forever rippling to the will of program code. The Deerling realized her legs were monumental in length.
"This is insane," she murmured, and ought to have remained at the poolside, ogling. Truthfully, she was conflicted. There was a pit of some auspicious feeling deep in her chest, one which she'd learnt to ignore. About it fruited a warm solace, a cold incredulity, a modesty prompted by the newness of it all, and a sort of culminated emotional feeling at seeing herself as a sprightly fawn brimming with health on four powerful legs. Dia found herself spilling tears into the void that was the "beginner's pond". "This is insane." She wondered if this was who she was always meant to be.
No responsibilities, no non-instinctual pressures; all false, of course, for she was a Deerling and not a real deer. The surface of presumed reality was supposedly not sacred as her peripheral vision filled with a gaudy orange glow: a flashing pop-up window offering a subtle hint to continue north towards the bustle and commotion—the actual game.
Dia felt vulnerable, torn from her reflection, but an objective was an easy motive for mobilization, as well as a reminder that she would achieve nothing otherwise before staggering, catching her two front legs together, and plummeting to the ground. For a while, she lay stunned as if she hadn't gotten up at all. Walking had come too naturally to her. With the realization she had no need to practice, Dia now had a more complex question upon her regarding how to reorient herself without digits. She supposed it was the first step in training.
! OBJECTIVE MET: PASSED FIRST POST-TRANSFORMATION TEST WITH FLYING COLORS!
NEXT: JUSTIFY SIXTY-DOLLAR PURCHASE.
Alone, it was difficult to fall for the illusion—you could sniff out the fingerprints of hardworking developers on vague breeds of shrubbery, trees with bulks of green ousting separate leaves. The town was a mass of individuals, however; if the vast majority were artificial intelligence, from Dia's perspective, it was impossible to tell. Discovery Town was a revel for the senses, a boast for both how bloated and how beautiful and, truly, how stimulating this technology could be. In a simple circle of cobblestone pavement and dirt road, enclosed by stock wooden shacks with strings of flags roping each rooftop together, the visual appeal came from the people around you—the Pokémon with convoluted gamertags popping up in all directions, giving context. NPC#2254 ushered furry brown little ones into an open cottage unhurriedly with a sweep of her broad tail, her flabby front arms clutched rodent-like to her chest; NPC#5568 pinned paper to bulletin board with a betraying elegance considering the broadness of their spiked hands, their overall magnificent size in-turn contrasting the tininess of their green-and-yellow wings; and a smaller pair hugging the side of a fruit stand as the crowd inundated around them yodeled over all the commotion, their tags identifying a squat, grey-capped reptilian fellow—EPIKBEAST—and billowing, blue sheet ghost—JAYNITEZ—as many chose to pointedly look past them, the former spouting, "Would you newbs stop calling 'Game Freak' the main developers? Chunsoft makes the mystery Dungeon spin-offs! Do some frickin' research!"
Dia found herself laughing to no one as she paced into the heart of the plaza. There was so much she didn't understand, and yet it was easier to feel unconditionally happy in the midst of company. All their voices were amplified, yelling over and around one another, but each response, if she chose to follow it, was distinct. The sun shone in an immaculate sky, the clouds were vaguely present in light tendrils, and the world of 'Challengers' had the scent of rainfall past. A light wind tussled grass bordering the square. Dia found her muzzle pointed skywards, tears lingering in the corners of her giant eyes. She lingered in the sensation of springtime and stepped absentmindedly in a puddle.
There was a second consequence to falling to fancy in the middle of a tumescence town square; the Deerling found cause for her and a few anonymous others to scatter as two figures carpeted in black fur hobbled expeditiously on stout legs. One bellowed "MOVE!" and the warning came moments before Dia found herself dazed in the midst of tumult. There was some standstill following the sudden disruption, all the same; some accusatory glances followed them, cast by those with the enigmatic "NPC" labels, as if it were against the figures' natures to act with such haste. Others, wide-eyed, took to trailing after, as if doing so suggested hope of reaching some revelation.
"What's the trouble?" It never marred to ask, but her call was disregarded. Some rotund figure launched itself over her and the miscellaneous group departed. The shock of being ascended left her gaping in their stead momentarily but Dia did stagger into eventual motion, weaving worriedly through the crowd. She stepped into another puddle on accident and cringed.
Discussion became inevitable to overhear and unfeasible to ignore in the thick of the crowd, the subject concerning some catastrophic change of fate—the Deerling wished she were exaggerating, for there was nothing less welcoming than damnation, but the air of conversation was permeated with fear. There was a darkness in most Pokémon's expressions. Within a circle of elaborate gamertags, they talked over one another about "warning signs" and "neurology" and "whatever will happen when we're gone".
"If we can't get out through normal means, we'll have to use force."
"We're gonna ****ing die, guys. We're gonna ****ing rot and die."
"There are kids here..."
Something cracked—it must have been Dia's voice, as all surrounding audibility ceased, obscured, and she took the opportunity to enter a hurried gallop. When she closed her eyes, it was easier not to think, not to consider the instinctual ease of speed and the chaotic exchange she was leaving behind. Everything vanished into the void. Fortuitously, she did not collide with a civilian.
! OBJECTIVE MET: BEGAN TO DOUBT SIXTY-DOLLAR PURCHASE!
NEXT: FIND A DISTRACTION.
When Dia awoke, she felt number than she thought she deserved.
When Dia opened her eyes, she registered the cause of her instantaneous arrest in the form of something sturdy, yet plush, with evident stitch marks maintaining its clover-yellow stature, both inanimate and of her height. She hurt from being struck but humbly retreated, inspecting the sack-like construct—"Training Dummy" rang the identifying tag above its head—and immediately it slouched on its side, to Dia's surprise. With its gnawed ears dangling and ink blotches for eyes scanning the skyline, its assaulter identified the orange, bubbled-in "cheeks" and the signature lightning shape of its wooden tail, exclaiming aloud, "That's cute, it's kind of like Pikachu."
An irregular battle cry it unexpectedly proved to be. A sudden sheer materialization sent Dia stumbling backwards, a thin screen of translucent blue that immediately expanded by thrice its size in an explosion of brilliance. The omnipresent vocalization of "BATTLE SET" was accented with a ring of thrown-up dust of which the Deerling had little time to shield her orifices and it was therefore fortunate, if not off-putting, for it to move through phantasmally like a proper trick of the eyes.
Dia thus found herself circled with a ring of blue-tinged screens, all screaming combat options at her, as if she were the new recruit on a science-fiction starship just heaved into the cockpit. "What? Did I start a fight? How? Do I need to press something? I don't really have fingers!"
In her bewilderment, there was no mercy; a flashing "command box" read out "FLINCH" and the Deerling experienced an ominous, spirit-felling fear as the turn to administer damage was turned over to her opponent. Taking advantage of her inexperience, the Pikachu dummy indulged in collecting itself, lifting its head slowly—Dia swore she was sweating; her throat clenched and she began a quiet, persistent prayer—, before finally letting it fall again to its right instead.
Dia decided it would be absurd for a dummy to zombify itself without warning. With the menus still encircling her, she rushed at one in an attempt to activate it with her head. Instead, the command box insisted "TACKLE" and she caught herself halfway from her opponent in the stance of a vehement stag.
"MISS," said the command box.
The dummy's head fell to its left.
An irritated Dia, acknowledging the menus encompassing her again though also her inability to touch them, took a deep breath, cracked her neck, and plunged into the Pikachu with her shoulder, carrying it with her in a demolition into the dirt.
As she slowly rose to her hooves, a horizontal meter hovering above the fallen manikin presented a slow drainage of color, its full green contents gradually dropping to a goldenrod as it halved and, finally, leaving mere red remains. The dummy refrained from being readjusted and the screens finally seemed satisfied so Dia, casting an uncomfortable glance in her wake, took to following the delineated path.
! OBTAINED FIRST SOLO BATTLE VICTORY AGAINST A FAMILIAR FACE!
A LITTLE MUCH?
Her rapid departure from Discovery Square had taken the Deerling to a higher altitude. The same path leading through stretches of meadow grass dotted with other cloth dummies, weights, ropes, and more mélange was ascending a hill. She was already approximate enough to be in its shadow, a luxuriously-sized building ruling at its peak, with a beautiful wooden exterior portraying some semblance of culture, though whatever "culture" she would be incapable of identifying by name. The land about it became less scattered with casual training and fitness gear, more with reverent statues. Dia stopped at one: an ape of stonework whose head torched, the warmth of the computerized fire beating down in a sparking, smoking spray. The ape's arms were raised, its eyes glaring down with the intensity of its crown of flame, and yet it seemed almost meditative in its position above her. She felt at peace initially, then a feeling of sincere discomfort she could compare only to a light sunburning drove at her pelt. Itching, she turned to pacing up the road.
If she cared to pay attention, the tagline to her north would spell out her present location; it would only appear at her consent as not to overwhelm her peripheral. Dia decided, nonetheless, that it was the mystery of the magnificent manor that kept her plodding forward.
In all earnest, the girl had wanted to log out minutes ago. It was an experimental decision to have bothered at registering in the face of obstinate error messages; it was undeniable there was something wrong with this game in the first place. There were so many ways the mayhem in Discovery Town could be interpreted, none of which proposed an optimistic provoker, all of which she morally disassociated from video games in the first place. It was beyond Dia's comprehension, the act of artificially invoking anxiety, to the extent she could not chock such an act up to some malevolent masochism or general deprivation; it was simply and utterly absurd to her. She did not ever want to stimulate holding a gun to anything's head, no matter if alien, no matter if living dead, no matter if it threatened the world, her family, herself. She could never be a soldier because she would let everyone down. She could be a icon, a children's toy, a Charmander, a Mew, or an Eevee; it was easy to be something so digestible, right? Dia enjoyed being Deerling—it seemed natural, although it was blatant the game had simply spurred her brain to feel this way—but, for as genuine as the escapism was, she knew it could not last her, for she needed not to vacate life itself but the isolation that prevented her for stomaching it.
The wind had accelerated in pace and strength, whistling through the bustles of yellowing grass and tossing bronze bells in the distance. Above the open door was a sign with painted footprints she would have ordinarily disregarded as decoration, a subtle proclamation of the lack of humanity within this virtual world, but forced upon her perception was a translation for this "language"; she was being welcomed to The Keep of Arcane Power. The mansion's entrance lay forever open, stone steps spilling past a gaping maw and into the parched earth. If Dia pivoted her ears, she could discern the slight evidence of conversation; it died quickly, leaving the swelling of the wind, the ring of bells. "I really am alone."
The journey died into an inquiry, then: Do I continue onward? Do I turn back? She could like this, she really could. She sincerely wanted to meet whoever lay within the keep, but she was demotivated, now. She needed obligation, and so she envisioned a slight, black-haired boy with wire-framed glasses pouting up at her in the comfort of their home. "You 'weren't feeling it'? That's so lame. You fall out of everything, Diana." And thus she adventured onward.
! OBJECTIVE MET: GUILTED YOURSELF INTO PLAYING LONGER!
NEXT: CURB YOUR INSECURITY?
Gamertag: dianayu1
Recent Activity: Approaching 'The Keep'
Of Closest Proximity:
- Team Firestorm — Majorkorth / CrimsonAlucard / thekunz
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