Professor Cassius "Cale" Rosemallow - a professor with a veiled past, focusing on high-altitude weather conditions and plant-type pokemon. GEAR inventor, including full-body environmental exposure suits for safer and more comfortable interactions with exo/endothermic pokemon.
Born in Eterna City, Sinnoh; living in Kanto just north of Route 7 between Celadon and Saffron. Will heal injured pokemon or people, if you somehow manage to get hurt between the Celadon and Saffron Pokecenters or in the Underground Tunnel. Partner to Nix Chiave @tollthebell, raising our child Marinell Chiave-Rosemallow, who is 8 this year.
light pokemon rp, battle me, research with me, visit me
---
more about the character and the player below the cut
Cale is an autistic nonbinary man, his pronouns are he/they. During his gym challenge with giovanni he is 23, during silph co collapse he is 26, at "current time" he is 39.
of the @redlegend and @tohjofallsexile continuity bubble
--
i’m róan, 32, artist @wodnesse and writer, agender trans masc nonbinary (he/they)
prefer to interact with writers above the age of 21, nsfw content and interactions are restricted to close friends. zero tolerance for bigotry or pettiness of any kind.
i’m mixed race, southwest native and white. i use athabaskan vocabulary and phonetics when I make up terms for fiction, primarily western apache when I can based on available resources.
i’m disabled and currently between surgeries, so sometimes I go a long time without replying. patience is always appreciated.
i also run @battle-zone-beauty (OC, Sorcha), @wave-tossed-poet (OC, Saint), and @poison-patriarch (Canon, Koga)
REPORT 0235 - THE GARDENER (Client Name Redacted for Privacy)
Today's Client is an unusual case. It was his granddaughter who reached out initially. She informed me that he had been sleeping less and less, and had grown “strange" of late. She's concerned about his health considering the Sleep Sickness that is overtaking the city, she wants my insight.
Every Client I've seen suffering from the sickness has shared two common factors. The first, a bodily resistance to entering a sleep state, either naturally or through hypnosis. The second, Soul Mutilations in the form of holes. They start small–tiny tears in the flesh of the spirit. Then they rapidly expand, shredding the soul to pieces. Physical health declines quickly, eventually leading to death. If the Client is truly ill with this sickness we have little time left.
Client is a professional Gardener. He serves the upper and business classes in Saffron City. This meeting will be our first face-to-face contact. He has requested to have his Parasect present as moral support. His face is creased with wrinkles consistent with a man in his early 70s. His skin is sun-warm from years spent outside, there’s soil under his fingernails.
A closer look shows the dark bags underneath his eyes. His flesh seems a bit too taut, veins in his eyelids and hands stand out. His skin and eyes have the yellow tinge of someone experiencing liver or kidney problems.
He sits, hands folded, wearing a pleasant smile. His Parasect chitters next to him. His face is a careful mask.
By request of the Client’s family, we will be recording our pre-Dream Session discussion.
[There is an embedded Audio Log in the report. A recording 7 minutes and 36 seconds long. Below the embed is a button that reads ‘Transcribe Audio’. The recording starts in the middle of a sentence]
Nix: -would you mind telling me a bit about how you spend your time?
Client: Gardening, mostly. It’s my profession.
Nix: Just your profession?
Client: Well, I suppose it’s my passion too. Working in the soil calms my mind. Connects me to the earth. It’s where I met Parasect too.
[The audio-recording picks up the hollow-sounding noise of the gardener patting Parasect’s mushroom with an open palm.]
I don’t know what I’d be without her.
Nix: It sounds like Parasect is very important to you.
Client: Yes.
You know, the mushroom that she grows, Tochukaso, is incredibly valuable as well. I put it in everything. My garden, food, tea….I even put it into my special mulch.
Nix: Special mulch?
Client: Yes. Mostly wood chips and sawdust. I sprinkle Tochukaso spores into the mix, just like Parasect do to their eggs.
Nix: And this helps… improve the soil?
Client: Yes, of course. Tochukaso break down organic matter around it. Spread nutrients around.
[The Gardener goes quiet. The seat creaks audibly as he leans forward. His voice is clearly intended to be a whisper but now louder due to his proximity to the recorder.]
Client: …It has medicinal properties too, you know. Everyone should try it.
[Silence hangs in the air again until Nix clears their throat.]
Nix: It sounds like you love your work. Though… forgive me. We are also here to take a look at your dreams. Would you be willing to tell me about them?
[The Gardener sighs sharply, as though he dislikes being reminded of why he's here.]
Client: I don’t think they’re unusual. I dream of gardening.
Nix: Just gardening? Your granddaughter mentioned that you’ve been losing sleep. That recently you’ve been found outside sleepwalking near the garden.
Client: That’s harmless.
Nix: I hope you'll pardon my candor. You've been waking up screaming. That hardly seems benign.
[There's a pause, silence stretching long enough for the recording to adjust to the ambient sound of the Gardener rubbing his dry hands together.]
You’ve agreed to come see me today. If your dreams are truly harmless I'll be able to confirm that for your granddaughter as well.
[The Gardener sighs.]
Client: …I suppose you’re right.
Still, I'm not lying when I say that I'm gardening. That’s all I dream of. Every night I have to make more mulch with Parasect.
Nix: Is there a reason you make it every night?
Client: I can smell sour mulch.
Nix: Sour mulch?
[The Gardener audibly huffs. Terse.]
Client: Yes. It smells horrible. It should smell like fresh-cut wood. Soil. Instead it’s rotten eggs. Sulfer. Ammonia. It needs to be replaced.
We make some new every night and then we search for the source of the smell.
Nix: And then what happens?
Client: …I don't remember.
[His tone is firm. There is nothing else to say.]
Nix: I see. Well… perhaps the three of us could finish your task together.
Client: I would appreciate that.
[The Client’s Parasect chitters.]
[Audio Log Ends]
[Post Session Text Log]
On the surface the client seemed lucid enough. Very focused on his hobbies, not terribly strange. The Client’s resistance to sharing the contents of his dreams could be attributed to being private. It’s difficult to say if his behavior stems from Sleepless Sickness or one of the myriad degenerative effects of old age.
All we could do was proceed with the Dream Session. Hypnosis was indeed difficult, but not conclusive alone. Regardless, I resolved to investigate this dream to the fullest. If this man is truly afflicted with the Sleeping Sickness then I must do all I can to gather information on its effects. And try to stop it.
Entering the dream was unexpectedly disorienting—A broad, black space without indication of up or down. It took some time moving through the dark before I was able to spot a pinprick of gray and head toward it.
It took 45 minutes in real time to arrive at the Garden. The light there was pallid and weak, unusual for the type of individual who thrives under the warm light of the sun. Deep shadows shrouded rows of roses with heads so heavy the branches could barely withstand it.
The world was varying shades of translucent gray.
When I arrived the Client was already on his hands and knees, working the earth, shrouded in protective clothes. A heavy wool sweater with the sleeves rolled up to accommodate rubber gardening gloves. Sturdy overalls over well-worn boots. A scarf and floppy hat, complete with ear covers. His Parasect, at least the dream version of her, was working alongside him. Releasing spores.
I remember thinking that he seemed larger here than in the waking world.
He looked incredibly ill, spidery veins bulging against the thin skin of his forehead. I could already smell there was something rotten in the area. He huffed out that he’d been waiting for me for long enough. That the two of them had already finished preparing the replacement mulch. That we just need to find the source of the smell.
The three of us searched for hours. The air was dense with the scent of rancid eggs. It made my head pound. We searched the cramped space of the Garden ten or more times, digging holes and overturning wood chips only to find healthy mycelium.
The Gardener and his Parasect were visibly agitated. Truthfully, I was agitated as well. In frustration, he gripped one of his gloves and ripped it off, throwing it on the ground. The first thing I noticed was the veins throbbing angrily in his hand.
Then I saw the bulging darkness on his forearm. The horrific smell increased tenfold.
I said ‘It’s you’. Without thought.
I cannot describe the impossible way his body lurched—skin rippling and arms twitching, like his muscles were fighting against themselves. It was instinct for me to jump forward, grab his sleeve. His Parasect made a strange, shrill noise and reached out at the same time, claw grasping at the wool sweater. The sweater split.
The substance that came tumbling out of his clothes was truly foul. Hot. A smell that defies explanation. It was hot to the touch. Wet and dark with moisture. Lumps of ropy intestine braided with clumps of sour mulch. The sweater seemed to come apart entirely after that.
There was an enormous hole in his side. And it was packed with mulch. Spidering through it was a grotesque, sickly network of mycelium—the veins that had been bulging under his skin.
And then his Parasect shrieked. It rained spores. Both the Gardener and I were paralyzed before we could understand what had happened.
It was… fortunate that my glasses fell off when I landed. Parasect wasted no time in fulfilling her duty. The paralysis was not enough to stop his screams as she replaced the rot with fresh, clean mulch. Full of Tochukaso.
I don’t want to know how long it was until Parasect stepped on the Gardener’s clay pipe and broke it.
Solrock informed me later that both the Client and myself had awakened, screaming. Though it’s clear neither of us remember it. I sent him home and began writing this report. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the Sleepless Sickness.
The hole in his side is the largest Soul Mutilation I’ve ever seen. And there was something inside.
Update: It’s been a week since our session. I received a call today from the Client’s granddaughter. He’s gone.
Update 2: I think…. his Parasect was trying to plug the hole
It must be close to 3 am when Nix finally, truly awakens in their body. They’re sitting in the near-pitch dark, save for the stark blue light of a computer screen blazing painfully bright against their eyes.
They reach up to pinch the bridge of their nose and they’re surprised when their fingertips connect with their glasses, it seems whoever had brought them here had the sense to prepare them to read. It must be important. A psychic sweep of the room confirms it, Bronzong hovers silent and serious as the grave behind them, rather than their usual jovial nighttime companion, Lunatone.
The bronze bell doesn’t make a peep aloud or into their mind, its gaze is focused on the terminal as well, unwavering. Nix nods, Bronzong is far too purposeful to have brought them here without reason.
As if on cue their vision finally swims into focus, letters clarifying to reveal a familiar series of reports. Their own, in fact. On the Sleepless Sickness and Black Fog’s Soul Mutilations. Fear uncoils itself from a space below their stomach, cold and sharp. They’re not precognitive but Bronzong is powerful and old, they must sense something on the horizon. Still, the silence prevails. The message is clear enough. Reacquaint yourself with what you already know.
Their reports from this time are a confusing mishmash of typed-up data, embellished with cramped, hand-written notes–tone oscillating between dry, clinical-sounding language and personal thoughts as they (and thousands of others across various fields) struggled to provide assistance for the countless people suffering from the torturous nightmares, mass hallucinations and insomnia that killed so many it was difficult to comprehend.
The report pulled up on the screen must have been very early in Black Fog’s psychic attacks against the people of Saffron.
REPORT 0134 - SHADOW (Client Name Redacted for Privacy)
Client is a local psychic with slight precognitive tendencies. By her own description, she spends much of her time telling fortunes for tourists and placing small bets in the local racing scene to make ends meet.
Lately, she has been unable to properly rest due to a series of recurring dreams in which her shadow seems to pull away from her body and whisper something to her. She remembers only small portions of the dream but never the message. She cannot shake the belief that her shadow is trying to tell her something important. The session has been requested in order to observe the exchange and hopefully provide her with more concrete information.
Client appears to be slightly gaunt, bags under the eyes from uneasy sleep. Her companion Slowpoke seems unusually lethargic and distant, even for a Slowpoke. Hypnosis is ultimately effective, though unexpectedly difficult, as though there were some subconscious resistance to entering a sleep state.
[resistance to entering a sleep state has been highlighted]
Entering the client’s Dreamscape was ultimately successful and finding her space was simple enough. Her mind’s eye was content to deposit her in her own bed, asleep nearly identical to her physical body. The space was unusually silent for a Psychic. From the distance I was standing the client’s body seemed to have strange, lightly glistening patches. Unidentifiable at the time, I did not approach so as not to disrupt the dream.
Dream time is elastic and unpredictable, I was able to determine later that it took 30 minutes in Real Time for the Shadow to make its appearance.
[The original text of the report is vague. Short, handwritten notes fill the space between two typed pages, hastily added after-the-fact.]
The Shadow was almost unidentifiable at first. A single, long strand of what could only be described as hair and bone. It emerged slowly, leaving a wet trail from her lips down her face and body, slowly unfurling into a sickly, wet version of the Client herself, pressed ‘face’ to face.
Its skin was made of mottled patches of grey and black, pulsing with tiny veins, form unstable. The head was not complete, though it was crowned with a ball of gluey skin and hair. Parts of its body gaped open revealing more bone and organs, sickly-green.
Once it had unfolded completely it draped itself over the Client’s sleeping dream body, it linked fingers with them. (Almost lovingly.) Its incomplete head brushed across her face, leaving more wetness as it brought its filmy, rotten mouth to her ear. Enough of the mouth, tongue and jaw had formed for me to see that it was whispering something, however there seemed to be no sound.
Eventually, it seemed to finish relaying its silent message, and brushed a hand across the cheek of the Client before prying her mouth back open, shoving itself hands-first past her teeth and jaw. Mangled skin and ichorous blood trailing as it tried to push itself in an opening too small to fit.
To my horror, it appeared that the places in which its dark patches had touched it seemed to rip the Client’s flesh away in turn. The fingers that had cradled her cheek moments before tearing the flesh from her face, stuck to the creature that was disappearing back into her body. It took the flesh from her palms and left wet rents across her chest and neck as it went. It occurred to me, too late now, that the patches of wetness on her face must have been when the creature had taken skin with it during its first few visits.
Worse still, strange pinpoint holes had appeared in the wet tissue of her open wounds. It was sickening.
I swear the thing made eye contact with me as its eyes and scalp finally disappeared down her throat.
It was at this point that I shattered my pipe, returning us both to consciousness. It was difficult to tell in the waking world, but her pallor seemed worse than when we began the session.
I am certain that the creature that this Client speaks to is some form of malignant presence. There exist a great many terrifying and malevolent spirits in this world, and I have seen creatures of this ilk in tandem with serious possession events. I have advised her of my belief, however I do not think I have been able to convince her of the danger. She seemed more disappointed that I was unable to provide her with a transcript of what was said.
I know that I have not convinced her. She seems sure that she has caught wind of some event that she must warn others of. But she is also insistent upon checking it out alone.
I have requested that the client hold off on any rash actions and return to me in a week’s time. I will gather resources that may aid her in the event that this is a possession (as I suspect). I can only hope she heeds my warning and returns before making any rash decisions.
Update: Client has missed our follow-up appointment. I have attempted to reach her consistently for two weeks now. I do not believe she will return.
Private RP with redlegend and crew.
Extremely Selective, Low- Activity.
I'm an artist first, as much as I enjoy RP it does take a lot more effort for me than drawing does.
Zero-tolerance for any OOC queer-phobia, ableism, racism, or sexism here.
I am mixed indigenous and mentally ill. No one is entitled to details of my medical history or ancestry, but these boundaries are borne of those factors.
Boundaries:
-- Though I have experimented with branching out, I am going to be reducing the number of people I continue to create threads with, and will not be taking on anyone new outside of special circumstances.
-- Activity on the dash is not an invitation to open up private conversation.
-- Asks/meme prompts are okay to send, including on anon; anon is enabled/disabled at will and will be taken away if misused.
-- If you intend to start a thread with me by sending me an ask, please let me know first.
-- If I send an ask, please let me know if you intend to create a thread out of it.
-- If you’d like a character of mine to be involved in current events but I am not able to RP actively, I can counsel on character actions/response/demeanor as necessary.
-- I don’t have the bandwidth to engage with threads involving child abuse or violence against children, particularly Indigenous children.
song picks for ppl who faved my post earlier, links are to spotify but can be searched by provided title and artist name on your program of choice.
@tollthebell nix - seeing hands by dengue fever
@sagittariatrifola geeta - parisian goldfish by flying lotus (no lyrics)
@tohjofallsexile gio - my blood runs through this land by black belt eagle scout (saving the ones i haven't shown you yet bc you already have a whole playlist from me heh)
song picks for ppl who faved my post earlier, links are to spotify but can be searched by provided title and artist name on your program of choice.
@tollthebell nix - seeing hands by dengue fever
@sagittariatrifola geeta - parisian goldfish by flying lotus (no lyrics)
@tohjofallsexile gio - my blood runs through this land by black belt eagle scout (saving the ones i haven't shown you yet bc you already have a whole playlist from me heh)
song picks for ppl who faved my post earlier, links are to spotify but can be searched by provided title and artist name on your program of choice.
@tollthebell nix - seeing hands by dengue fever
@sagittariatrifola geeta - parisian goldfish by flying lotus (no lyrics)
@tohjofallsexile gio - my blood runs through this land by black belt eagle scout (saving the ones i haven't shown you yet bc you already have a whole playlist from me heh)
The person whose companionship and love they've known nearly all their life. Partner. Parent to their child. Best friend. Rival. The one that Nix has Chosen. Their person. The one they would choose again and again and again.
They see him when they were both too small to understand the world: muddy, scraped knees from digging for shoots and flowers. They see his stubborn face when he's frustrated by how little sense life sometimes makes. They feel the shape of his tiny hand in theirs.
They see him giving his all, racing through League challenges at breakneck speed. They see the ambition inside of him, burning bright.
They see the parts of himself that began to grow in response to the needs of his Pokemon and the people around him, like a tender shoot reaching for the sun.
He stands tall and reedy now, almost always looking slightly down-his-nose at the people in front of him. Deeply intelligent. Observant. The slightest bit prideful, just like his beloved Altaria.
He feels clear to their senses, like the smell of ozone or the brilliant flash of lightning that cuts through a storm. His physical presence is cool at first but warms to the touch like winter fading into spring.
