Origin of Matter

[thinking of adding celebi as a side/guest muse here. Perhaps a few other important spirits too. we'll see.]

[I've decided to add Celebi as a guest muse, thanks to talks with Sappy and Cas.]

#;;ooc

front-facing-pokemon

kelocitta

Glad beta arceus confirmed god was always meant to be a weird horse

#;;about

[thinking of adding celebi as a side/guest muse here. Perhaps a few other important spirits too. we'll see.]

#;;ooc

Unlike its creator, and those who have tried to duplicate its blueprint--- Silvally does not know what Arceus is.

Silvally has only repeatedly heard that it, and the synthetic monster that had threatened it's master, were failed attempts at recreating it.

Silvally, for as long as it could recall, only understood itself to be a weapon of efficiency. The hydra that it helped slay was condemned to an eternity of automated violence, and it bore the same code meant to mimic "god." But now, as the cyborg lays on its side, staring out to the sun setting on the horizon of the Alolan waters-- with bleary eyes, it has an independent string of thought:

I am not a weapon.

It does not know if it will ever meet this "Arceus," but subtle spark of humanity within the cyborg can only hope that Arceus is not condemned to be a weapon either.

There are some that believe gods to be all-knowing and cognizant. To have all the answers and secrets within the Universe- within all of the Universes.

It is not so. To have answers, one must first have a question, and questioning, in the memory of the Material One, was in the domain of mortal beings, humans and creatures of higher thought.

It remembered the alchemy of the body, and the rituals that people across generations had concocted, looking within the materials of the world for clues, and coming up with immaterial and not always substantial answers.

In the end, it's all superficial. But it fascinates regardless.

The one they called Arceus perpetually dreamed in its demiplane, occasionally drifting to whatever of its shared matter needed it. Humankind had entrusted it with their questions, and from whatever gifts it thought would help, they came to those coveted answers.

Unusually though, something else thinks, at it. A kindred soul. Another Answer to a prayer.

There is no question. I am not a weapon.

And as the sun lowers to touch the water, the Sivally thinks.

Perhaps, logically, the sun may never truly 'meet' the water. It was a hundred million miles away, and any molecules of the fluid, any body of water on the Earth would immediately evaporate before getting anywhere near that life-bearing, life-ending orb...

But in a small, singular moment, only in the perception of the increasingly aware cyborg, Sivally knew... that it already had. Celestial body, and warped reflection join together as a singular, whole sphere. Both here, and not. The same way a human child looks at the night sky, and reaches out their hand to grasp the moon.

And it would continue to meet it in a thousand small illogical perceptions.

#aetherceuse #;;answered

[I like to play this godling not as an all-knowing creature, but a hyper-perceiving one. And every time it enters the world it's with the wonder of a newborn foal.]

#;;ooc #;;hc

He dances with them, it, and it's excited to be dancing without any kind of pretense at all. It's goofy and full of energy, and he matches two steps with two steps, dipping in and out of little twirls and turns. He tests spinning it under his arm and the success is a small victory in a series of victories.

He parts with them to walk in time to the beat back to them with snaps of his fingers.

He's having fun too.

Its a Pokémon. Or a monster. Or a being, or maybe not. Whatever it is it's in goofy khakis dancing to toe tapping music with him, and he's met it every time he died and every time he looked towards the horizon. He's met this thing in the rain, in the snow. He's met it in the spaces between music notes when he was anticipating the next chord.

People aren't going to understand him when he explains how he knows this thing, and how he knows its real.

Dancing is a delight and he joins their hands and does a square with his feet, laughing.

Because he knows its here just to dance.

Red clapped for it too as the song continued.

It takes to music and new movement the way a newborn foal stumbles for a few paces and then walks with purpose only moments after. Red gives the being a spin, and it twirls with enough gusto that the baggy beige sweater lifts off its midriff and falls unevenly back down.

Stomp, swing, clap- the people around them dance and laugh with tipsy delight, celebrating the joys of community, of life, of surviving up till now. Of enjoying harvest and company, and feasting and making food stores to survive the winter.

Futures were always uncertain. But humans were the same as they ever were. Tonight is filled with laughter, it's spotted with bad decisions and heartbreak in a few corners. Tonight's filled with children- those that won't appreciate or remember finer details, and children that were still mere possibility. It's filled with the living, and with people who won't make it to another harvest.

It's filled with the dead too, in tiny conversations retelling stories of people passed on, in the flavor of chestnut candies that, while good, just weren't the same as a young woman's grandmother used to make them. In the way a young man can feel his father's judgmental stare from beyond the grave for his crooked tie and a stain on his sleeve that so far, only he and the ghost had noticed. In the way a grandmother coos at her grandson, who was just old enough to feel embarassment, how much like his grandfather he looked, how handsome he was (and by extension, the boy); he tells her to stop when others laugh, but later, years later, he'll relent and ask for the stories she can tell, and regret for the ones she can't quite remember.

Humanity was the same as it ever was.

And so is it, dancing alongside them and guiding them with small miracles. Humans used them to make the big ones possible.

The qilin dances, and it laughs, and smiles, being among humans this short time, clapping for Red and sharing those perceptions as a gift until the song ends.

In person.

He blinks. He's tipsy, not drunk. He's tipsy and not crazy, and... it makes a little sense now. The familiarity- this person's not a person. Not completely. Where? More like when and in what state. Recently.

And whatever it was, that knew him, and he knew it, came to dance.

There's something warm about that.

He nodded. Quilin. It's a nice name for an abstract concept. Now, trying to count the number of times he can remember that familiar feeling... it's in everything.

Huh. Nobody would believe him if he told them. Maybe two people. Maybe one. Doesn't matter.

Red smiles and guides them out to the occupied dancefloor, tapping his feet backwards and laughing to himself. Nobody's going to believe him. He clapped along for two beats with the rest of the dancers, and took its hands to swing.

He's not amazing at it, but the energy's half the fun of dancing- he's good enough, and something about this? He's thrilled he gets the dance. It's a mix of showing the tapping of his feet and trying some of the lofty foot shag step.

He thinks Blue's recording him with her phone from somewhere. If she wasn't she should be.

There's comfort in being known as is, and understood that it had connections in everything. A lot of humans had claimed that it had created Everything.

It didn't know if that was factual or not. But it knew the connections to every Thing.

It could manipulate Things, synchronize with them.

But it's still humans that were so much better at making those Things into something else.

It's no wonder that monsters sought partnership with humanity.

Red takes its hands, and starts leading into a swing. The music is lyrical, simple chorded, and memorable. It's watched this style of dance from it's hall for close to a hundred years...

But that doesn't mean that it's good at it.

Seeing something and doing are not directly related, it only had an idea of what it meant to dance this way.

Like a battle, the dance is about communication.

And Red is enthusiastic about the movement, the most familiar form of expression. Two slow steps, two fast steps, back and forth, pressing palms together, and then pushing apart to rejoin. The technical pieces don't quite matter for swing, the energy does. It thrills at the melodies, and the mirrored motion, the lack of seriousness.

[This is fun!]

It projects. It doesn't waste energy pretending since Red already knew.

[Maybe sometime I'll be able to test you in battle.]

I have no idea.

He took a look at the small army of kids he'd accumulated through the night and quickly scrawled out a message on a receipt in his pocket, taking his coat off and leaving it with the oldest girl in the bunch. He'd checked his monsters at the door and they were partying without him- though Pikachu was hopping already on the dance floor independently.

Guard this.

It's a good compromise because everyone takes it seriously to guard the jacket and then there's plans about where to hide it. He laughs and sets his drink down on a table with a flower centerpiece.

And offers his hand.

Nice to meet you.

He mouths it.

I'm Red.

Like the tablecloth. He thinks, anyways (It's not).

It takes Red's hand when it is offered, feeling the calluses on his palm, and the stories contained in balled fists and hard labor. Watching the children flee with the jacket, to harmless mischief.

They'll be guided by the wafting smell of harvest treats being laid out- of sweet potatoes and candied chestnuts, to lay the jacket out and enjoy their reward.

Red introduces himself formally, and the creature has to think a moment on how to introduce itself. Names aren't something it typically bothered with, though it held the few it was given by individuals as dear.

It has no need of lies or lying, but understanding that 'Arceus' is a term that could be understood as fantastical- or was shaped by the perceptions of blame, callousness, and misfortune, didn't feel right to introduce that way.

"Qilin."

An old name for the creatures three of the four pillars were- images of deer-like celestials drifting through the cosmos and above the earth flash through Red. Memories of stories of these 'Girin' or 'Kirin' depending on which part of the neighborhood he found himself in.

"It is nice to meet you in person."

He has no idea what's in the punch and a very foggy idea he's been taking from the alcoholic bowl because he's laughing a little too much. After a little dancing, a little negotiating with children and playing a game where eight year olds were playing "security" with him and very seriously passing him messages like he was a government official...

Somebody comes up.

He swears he's seen them before, but he can't place a name at all and after the usual song and dance of tapping his throat (can't talk), and tapping his ear with a thumbs up (can listen) he smiles.

He nods. He's having a great time. Red gestured to the open wooden dance floor with a quick appraisal. Looked like they knew him too.

He can't place a name still.

You want to dance?

It watches Red, understanding intuitively without the need for language. But it never tries to deprive anything of how it wants to communicate.

Red senses its familiarity. Perhaps in the subtle smell of wool washed with a gentle detergent that his mother used for their household's clothes. Or in the scent of seaweed and sand mixed with fallen leaves that accumulate near the switchback down to Pallet's beach. More likely, it's the lingering traces of the scent of that Revival Herb he'd been administered, the distinct smell of it strong and bitter he could almost taste at the back of his throat.

It nods, parting bangs in the motion, to signify that it understood Red's sign. Then nods again at the invitation to dance with the gesture to the floor.

A good way to test movement for itself, and examine the human closer- through touch.

"I would like to dance."

It gives an amused glance to one of the more surly children, taking the job of protecting Red very seriously.

"Will your retainers allow it?"

It's after sundown in Celadon, in a community space usually used for reading but completely taken over by Erika's beauty queens a botanical experts. The entire place was wreathed in flowers, and he'd come on Erika's invitation to the fall's end party. Harvest riches were plenty this year, and she chatted him up about her excitement that the volcano erupted. The ash settling in the farms would be incredible for the new growing season come spring.

He was happy for her. With a punch in his hand, he took a couple dances with people he knew, people he didn't, and the silly old swing music was putting everyone in a great mood. It's a nice party, and everyone with kids brought their kids, who had more gumption than many adults and kept handing him things or showing him their crayon drawings.

Pikachu wore a bowtie. He insisted on it, but Red stuck to the basics. It was just an older coat and jeans for him.

He left his hat at home for more of a clandestine approach, but almost everybody here, part of the gym circuit, knew his name anyways. So much for that.

@materialorigin

It's been some time since the entity referred to commonly as Arceus was able to take a more active role in its observations, attracted to the festivities taking place south and west of where the center of its acknowledgement- or worship- had taken hold.

Other activities had taken its notice in the area, and the flux of power, the old horrors about, required a more active patrol. It split off a section of its consciousness in a proxy body- plain and human.

Their human body was ambiguously gendered and entirely unremarkable- medium length hair not quite brown, not quite black, brown eyes, tan skin, and a sandy beige sweater with khakis to drive home the point of a completely forgettable patron.

There are interesting little ones at this party, that paid it no mind, and interesting adults- who also paid it no mind while the music was in full swing. Many it recognized from small wishes and prayers that it had answered, in its own subtle way.

Red catches its interest. He was one of them.

It remembers the anxiety over a climb to the mountain, and the small blessing it gave to turn one of Red's little cultivated Revival Herbs into something golden, to defy death.

And here he was. Death defied, and seeing the fruits of his care in the bond with not just the pokemon he trained (which always interested Arceus), but in the bond with the land itself.

The human walks over to Red, punch in hand, speaking in a soft but clear toned voice.

"You. Having fun?"