I just saw you post and I was wondering... Would you like to make a drabble about Passtel? :)
Of course! :D
[Passtel’s bio.]
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“Passtel!”
Passtel blinked his eyes open, being jostled from the pocket where he slept. The Snail found himself falling for a moment, before catching himself, floating up into the air. He stared at his holder, who was shrugging off his jacket, where an oozing stain of slime could be seen on the pocket.
“Sorry Clyde,” Passtel said quickly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep!”
But he had, and had been unaware of the slime-soaked handkerchief he had been resting in was no longer absorbing his slime while he slept away. Clyde didn’t offer a reply, just staring at his jacket with an exasperated look on his face.
“It does come out,” Passtel said softly.
“Yeah, but it takes ages to,” Clyde replied.
Passtel didn’t have a response to that, because it was very true. He looked down at his limbs, the sticky slime coating his form as it always did. It wasn’t that the slime was a stubborn strain to get out, but whoever was washing it had the unfortunate job of touching it, often exposing them to his powers.
Passtel would have offered to wash it himself, but when he was covered with the slime he usually added more to the mess than actually cleaning any of it.
Clyde was over at the wash basin already, letting out a long sigh. As a holder of the Miraculous of Patience he didn’t seem to be showing it, letting out a groan as he began to scrub at the stain. Clyde's movements looked strained, face contorted with effort, but the pace he was moving did not reflect that, the man moving with what looked to be an exaggerated slowness. As if he were trying to move under water, his scrubbing looking as if it were being dragged out.
Passtel had landed in a wooden bowl, his designated resting place, acting as a means to collect his slime without it getting all over Clyde’s cabin. A thin layer already remained from yesterday, pale lavender like his skin. Passtel hung over the edge for a moment as he watched his holder, before letting himself slide down to the bottom, where he tucked himself inside his yellow shell.
There was no point in trying to talk, Passtel had learned many holders ago that humans hated trying to speak at the sluggish rates his slime forced them into. Unable to act as fast as their thoughts were coming. He hadn’t been with Clyde for long, but already he was seeing the repeating patterns that had manifested in holders before.
He knew a way he could make his slime no longer a problem for the human. It was just a solution he hated.
“Sleeping again already?” It was an hour later Clyde spoke again, a slight slur in his words still. His movements were back to their normal and fluid motions though, the now-clean jacket and handkerchief being laid over a chair to dry.
“No, just thinking,” Passtel peered out slightly from his bowl, and found Clyde was over by the cabin stove, leaning down to start a fire, no doubt ready for dinner after a long day.
“Always wondered what a being like you thinks about,” Clyde said after a moment, looking at the sparks that were starting to burn within. “Must be something grand, with all you’ve seen.”
“I was thinking about you,” Passtel replied, earning a glance in surprise from his holder. “Of a way I could help you deal with… these sticky situations I create.”
Clyde frowned. “We already got a system for that. I just didn’t switch out my handkerchief soon enough.”
“Well I’m the one who fell asleep,” Passtel said, the appendages on his head drooping. “And, well, there is something else several of my past holders did that helped it from getting everywhere.”
Clyde was setting a pot of water on the stove to boil. “I’m open to ideas.”
“They’d, well, um… put me in my Miraculous,” Passtel said quietly.
Clyde paused.
“You know, they’d have me go dormant,” Passtel explained when there was no reply from his holder. “Until they needed to transform. They’d only summon me then, and then that way they don’t have to worry about my slime getting everywhere.”
Again, Clyde didn’t offer a reply, just reaching for a lid to place on his pot. Then he turned, making his way over to the slimy bowl where Passtel was resting. A part of him wanted to tuck back into his shell, to pretend he hadn’t offered the suggestion, but he knew it wouldn’t be right to take back a solution Clyde probably wanted.
“I thought the only time you were out was when you had a holder,” the human said quietly, looking down at Passtel with a look he couldn’t quite place in that moment.
“Well usually, the Guardian does bring out the others often, but I tend to stay in the box to keep things simpler. And cleaner,” he explained.
Clyde just stared at him. “You’re telling me the only time you truly get to come out in the world, your past holders would just have you go dormant again?”
“…Yes?”
Passtel wasn’t sure why Clyde found this surprising, but what surprised him was when a pair of giant hands came his way. Passtel blinked as Clyde scooped him up from the bowl, holding him in his palms. One finger glided down his slimy skin, Clyde’s words becoming slow as the power of Patience took hold.
“I am... so sorry,” Clyde whispered to him.
“Huh?”
“I am so sorry... that others did that to you,” Clyde said again. “How… how could they? Take you into their care, then only use you… just for your powers?”
“It was easier that way,” Passtel explained. “Having me for a kwami… well, it’s messy and gross.”
“Gross?” Clyde snapped, at least attempted to with his speech and movements still slowed from the slime. “It’s just… magic, nothing gross about it! Messy, yes, but that does not an excuse… to lock you up!”
“It’s fine,” Passtel said softly. “I’m used to it.”
“Well, if you’re used to that, I can get used to a bit of sticky slime,” Clyde insisted, voice slow and determined. “I am not locking you up.”
Passtel could only stare at his holder for a moment, tears welling up in his eyes. For a moment he hesitated, but he found he couldn’t keep himself back, flying up into the air, arms pressed against Clyde’s cheek in a tight hug. He held him tightly, everything telling him to let go knowing he was leaving slime on his face, but Clyde made no effort to pull him away.
“Thank you,” Passtel whispered to his holder, tears falling freely.