(ACE) The HEARTHOME Team

While the mansion is annoyingly difficult to navigate, with how it lacks any decent light source and all the human objects strewed around, at least their tiny group manages to find one of the rooms Beyonce mentioned. It's preferable to stumbling around in the dark all night. Moonlight fills a good part of this particular room, thank the Goddesses, and Michael can believe nobody's been here for a long time. Nothing but dust and all the things the humans left behind that he's not very familiar with. The entire place is practically screaming loneliness and tragedy.

"I can stand guard tonight. I don't sleep much anyway."

Michaels nods; out of everyone here, Wildheart's the least likely to faint in the middle of the night from sheer exhaustion, which obviously makes him the best choice. With guard duty already figured out, he walks over to...what is it that Beyonce said earlier? He remembers bedrooms and dressers, but hell if he knows what a dresser is. Most of the things in this room (bedroom?) stand taller than him, and Michael's not quite sure how useful they are. Hopefully Polnareff might know more; looking over, Michael can see Connor is sticking next to him again, no doubt still spooked by their newest tagalong. Speaking of Polnareff, he's still heavily injured, and then there's this damn leaf stuck in his own leg...

"Good, you can keep me company. I haven't slept in three weeks, no, more, but who am I to tell you that, anyways."

Oh, boy. "Good luck," Michael mutters at Wildheart, pitying the guy who would be stuck listening to their... verbose guest, putting it lightly. Goddesses know he wouldn't have a good time if he were to be in the other Pokemon's place.

"Yes, 'bout those lawn ornaments of mine! They're old and useless. The muscles to pull their limbs rotted away, the ones that didn't I sliced up. All they can do is try to wiggle and try to bite you without havin' lower jaws. I like to poke them with sticks sometimes and laugh at how much they despise their very existence."

That's...something. Yes, definitely something. A big "what the fuck", that's what it is. Michael doesn't like the thought of a bunch of wiggly, rotting corpses being right out in the garden; in fact, it turns his stomach. He would have to remember not to let Connor out there, unless everyone is up for giving the kid another panic attack (which nobody in their group is, he'd guess). Maybe if Michael pretends he heard nothing, the subject would be dropped. Instead, he turns his attention to more of the various objects inside this human room. He nudges at an overturned, metal cylinder that catches his attention, but it refuses to go back to a standing position. Useless, then?

"I don't get the point of this stuff. Most of it, anyways," Michael says, "Anyone here know what humans used when they were hurt?"

Polnareff takes heed of exactly one thing out of the freakazoid’s words- human bedrooms on the left.  With Connor with him still, he hangs a sharp left into the room, finding one of the beds nestled closely into the corner, and half-flops, half climbs upon it, caring little for the little puff of dust that rises from the impact. There was some debris on the bed as well, but he hadn’t the care to actually clear off more than the corner that was needed.  He looks around for a moment before turning his back into the corner and leaning against the nearly deflated remains of a pillow. Comfort that was unspeakably welcome, though as his body yelled for rest, the dull throbs of his wounds and aches ensured he’d not pass out so quickly. Connor and Micheal seem unsure of what exactly beds are, and all Pol knew is that they were softer than the floor. ”You can come up here. They’re… soft.” Frankly, soft was all that he could say he wanted at this point. They probably used to be even softer, but even this is a warm welcome to he fucked up day and night.

He pats the bed he sits upon, a weak and soft little ‘bap’ as he gestures the invite to the two. He’d never admit it out loud, but at this point he’d rather have the reassurance that the two were with him, if they were willing to curl up beside him. He stays in a slumped leaning position, not caring to lay down completely- he’d want to have eyes on the door if something awoke him.

With no more adrenaline, no more reason to continue moving along, he concedes to looking about as messed up as he is. His eyes hardly stay open, sunken and dark even against his black fur. One arm lay slumped over his torso, instinctively covering the wound on his side a bit- the other lazily slung over his lap, legs splayed out. His eyes wandered over the room one last time before closing, and while sleep was not instant, he’d not be opening them again until he awoke.

((OOC: With team lead permission, gonna put Pol out of commission for a few rounds until either morning or some event wakes him up- be it the next post in the cycle or after a few. Total permissions given to have the bois like nuzzle up to him as adorably as possible and generally have your two physically interact with him, AbyssWalker!))

"Good, you can keep me company. I haven't slept in three weeks, no, more, but who am I to tell you that, anyways." Wildheart internally groans, purposely looking away from the ghost. "Good luck" the zebra hears muttered to him...Arceus he would need luck to get through this night. "Sounds like fun..." He sighs, finding a spot near the doorway to watch down the hallway. "Anyone here know what humans used when they were hurt?" Glancing over his shoulder he sees Michael searching the weird human objects in the room.

A shiny cylinder, wood boxes of various sizes and styles. "I think I remember seeing one or two wearing long beige strips of some sort. Wouldn't know where they would keep them. Couldn't open their boxes if they were here." Wildheart hears the plop as Pol collapses on the ancient bed. A puff of dust accompanying the action which makes Wildheart's nose twitch as he holds in a sneeze. These pokemon really did look like they've been through hell...


((ooc: He's trying to describe bandages.))

Twilight let out a loud yawn, and manifested near Michael. Her shadow leered at him with a cheshire grin. "You weren't paying attention. I said what they were earlier. They're potions, and they're shaped like uhhhhh, Sparky's head there. They got little triggers on them that you pull to spray the medicine. I think there's some in that desk over there. Or in another one, I forget." She, of course, didn't forget, but she wasn't going to make things easy for him. She had to cultivate that delectable disdain, and harvest it just as it was flowing forth. She took no joy in this, in fact, she didn't feel anything. She turned her attention back over to the Zebstrika mentioned.

"Youuuuu, were talking about bandages. I ain't seen any of those in a long time. The humans made sure to take those with them. But, you could probably just tear up some of the bed sheets and get the same kinda thing. Just remember to use the potions first. Aren't I helpful?" She said in the smarmiest voice possible. However, as she said this her face was completely expressionless. Oops, she forgot to make facial expressions. Noticing her dropped facade, she has her shadow rejoin the black silhouette of the bed.

Before today, Connor had never been inside human places. He'd gone near them, but...first it was the city, now this "mansion". That's what the others called it before, right? It's so weird and everything is so close together, nothing like all the places he would travel to with Penelope, back when she was still with him. She's out there, somewhere, but why would she ever wander into a human "mansion"? What if by staying here, he never sees her again... no, that's impossible. Penelope is his sister, and would never abandon him like Halloween did. Though he still wishes she could be here right now, to protect him from the things that the shadow Pokemon said were lurking in the garden. Sure, Connor has other Pokemon here to keep him safe, but it's just not the same. Nobody can be the same as Penelope.

Even so, he still sticks as close as he can to Polnareff, watching the other Pokemon settle onto something he doesn't know the name of. It's sad how hurt Pol is, and all because he'd been fighting for them. Connor may feel tired and his paws may be aching, but he doesn't have the right to complain about it. He's lucky to even be alive after all that's happened!

”You can come up here. They’re… soft.” Connor perks up a little at the invitation. Polnareff wouldn't mind him being there? It doesn't look like there's a lot of room, but he's not very big himself. Would he really not mind? It takes a little effort, but putting all of his minuscule strength into his jump lets Connor get onto the bed without slipping off. Pol was right-this thing he's standing on is soft, especially compared to all the rough ground they've had to walk on all day. This is much better for his poor, hurt paws. Despite being dead tired, Connor can't help but smile a little bit. He takes a spot next to Polnareff that's as far from the door as possible, curling up close next to the other Pokemon and closing his eyes.


While Connor jumps up onto the bed, Michael is too busy looking around the room for something useful to notice the invitation was also meant for him. A part of him wonders if maybe Polnareff going to sleep isn't the best idea, not with how wounded he is, but it's not like they have the ability to-

"You weren't paying attention. I said what they were earlier."

Fucking hell, every time she pops up from whatever shadow she's sneaking about in, his heart takes another damn plunge. What, is it at his paws now? Beyonce must find this to be absolutely hilarious every time, ha ha, Michael is easily frightened and all I have to do is go through a shadow to get him.  Big fucking laugh.

They're potions, and they're shaped like uhhhhh, Sparky's head there. They got little triggers on them that you pull to spray the medicine. I think there's some in that desk over there. Or in another one, I forget."

"I didn't actually know what a potion is. But thanks for the info." Why the hell would a potion be shaped like Wildheart's head, anyway? That sounds both awfully convenient and a little unnerving.

Speaking of Wildheart, he provides his own answer. "I think I remember seeing one or two wearing long beige strips of some sort. Wouldn't know where they would keep them. Couldn't open their boxes if they were here."

Humans wear beige stripes when they're hurt? Huh. Michael wouldn't have ever guessed something like that; humans are a bunch of fucking weirdos, apparently. It's not really the most helpful thing in the world, but...at least he knows what to keep an eye out for. It's not like he'll be any better off getting anything around here open, either, as he's discovered by attempting to paw at some of the dressers (if that's what they're really called). Everything in this room seems clumsy, and ill-suited for Pokemon like him. Michael supposes that's because this is a human room, but still... it's inconvenient and annoying.

"Youuuuu, were talking about bandages. I ain't seen any of those in a long time. The humans made sure to take those with them. But, you could probably just tear up some of the bed sheets and get the same kinda thing. Just remember to use the potions first. Aren't I helpful?"

Michael shouldn't be surprised to hear there aren't any of these bandages, though whether he can trust Beyonce's word is another story entirely. Hell, she might be fucking with them and there aren't any potions, either, you never know. The most irksome part of it all is that she's so sarcastic and utterly devoid of perceivable emotion, it's almost impossible to guess her intentions other than "I love pissing people off". Great. At least she's made herself scarce for the time being, though that's not saying much when you're talking about a Pokemon that can quite literally become a shadow in the night.

"If anyone's going to be able to get that desk open, it's not me. I've already tried opening everything in this room," he grumbles, cursing every human ever for their shitty choices and lack of consideration for four-legged Pokemon. Michael also takes the time out of his night to glare at the leaf still in his foreleg, because it's seriously pissing him off. There's no way he's getting any sleep with this damn thing, and no sleep is exactly what he needs when they're in unfamiliar territory.

Luckily for Michael, some of the softer objects can be gathered without disturbing Polnareff and Connor... hopefully. If they're what Beyonce described as bedsheets, he has no idea, but he's willing to at least guess they'll be helpful. Opening desks and dressers and whatever may not be his forte, but it's not like he can't tear things up to use as bandages-but-not-actually-bandages. Even if they don't have any potions yet, it's better than nothing.

(knowing my luck I probably referenced him knowing what potions are earlier in the team and totally forgot about it lmao. Just a heads up, though, we'll likely be undergoing a timeskip next round.)

((OOC: Gonna skip instead of putting Pol as idle, seeing as there will be a time skip :>))

(skip, I can't really think of much for her to do since she's being scarce)

With two of their group asleep, one standing guard, and the other nowhere in sight, the night seems to be winding down. Michael can't say he minds. This day's been a whirlwind, with Pokemon coming, going, even... well, dying, and it's worn him out. His head throbs like he's just smacked it against a tree, and of course, his leg isn't exactly holding up as well as it should. What a mess. If this wound doesn't heal properly, who knows what could happen to him?

Don't be stupid. You already know the answer.

Well, maybe luck will be on his side this time. His wound could heal perfectly, or at least enough so that it doesn't ruin his ability to walk. The mansion has been good to them so far, too, and if that holds up, it could work as a place to hole up instead of risking being outside. It's a temporary solution in his case, but the others-well, he can't read their minds, but maybe they want a place to stay. Michael can't imagine that the kid would want to trek all across the region, unless... had Connor mentioned looking for family, or was that somebody else? Goddess, he can't remember. Today has been too damn stressful for him to recall every little detail.

Michael's not sure why he's even thinking long-term plans at this time of the night, anyways. It could wait for tomorrow, when all of them are awake instead of only a few.



Michael opens his eyes only to find that everything is suddenly bright, nothing like the pitch black of the nighttime. He blinks in confusion, lifting his head up from its spot on the bedsheets. Wait. Hadn't he meant to tear those up to make 'bandages'? When did he fall asleep on them? It feels as if Michael had been awake only a few minutes ago, but now there's some sunlight streaming in through the dusty window. What the hell. He sits there waiting for his mind to sort itself out, mentally grumbling over the fact he apparently fell asleep without noticing. Michael always did hate the disorientation that followed when this sort of thing happened.

The first thing he realizes once the fog of confusion somewhat fades is that his head is now experiencing sharp, stabbing pains alongside the pressure at the back of his neck. Goddess, this is worse than it was last night. Guess I wasn't asleep for very long, then... A new day, and it's already off to a great start. Not only because of the headache, but his injured leg feels heavier than before. Michael tests placing his weight on it, and while the pain is a dull kind, he certainly doesn't feel steady on his feet. Yeah, that's a good sign. At least the leaf stuck there made for a nice buffer against bleeding, though that might bite him in the ass later when he could finally take the damn thing out.

Unfortunately, as much as he wants to do so, it's not like Michael can lie around all day. There's still the fact Polnareff is wounded, which meant those 'potions' have to be found, they need to figure out what to do next... so no more lounging around for him. What a shame. He shakes off his fur, then looks at the bed where Polnareff and Connor are. Should he wake them up, or let them sleep in a little longer? It's not like he can't find potions by himself.

(ooc: I hope it's okay that I didn't write Pol as being awake, R'hia. Just let me know if you'd want me to change that O:)

Have you ever had one of those times where you slept so damn hard that you woke up and wondered what year it is? Well, Pol now has. He stirs a bit, having slumbered peacefully and surprisingly restfully, his sheer exhaustion bringing him to the point where not even his wounds could keep him from at least a decent rest. His eyes open, wondering what time it is- hell, trying to remember events from the prior day.

A nice throb from his wound promptly refreshes his memory- while the fighting and the city was rather clear, everything after he and the boys were fully seperated from the rest was a bit foggy, save for the shadowy bitch getting all weird on them. He distinctly remembers sending a scathing word or few her way, and only now realizes that it was rather stupid to do so in his condition.

The first thing he notices about his improved condition is that he can percieve the auras of those around him rather clearly again, even if he'll need to properly wake up to actually sense where everyone is. So, if nothing else, the whole "sleeping like a rock" thing worked out for him. He lets out a combination of a pained groan and one of those "five more minutes, please" yawns as he spies the little growlithe actually up on his bed- seems he'd just woken up too, though Conner was still either asleep, or really good at pretending to be asleep. He lifts a paw and waves half-heartedly, offering as much of a thumbs up as he could- assuming the kid knew what it meant.

((Your post is fine, the man needed his mini-coma lmao <3))

((ooc: Please skip me this round, Wildheart is standing guard outside the room.))

Despite what she may have said earlier, it turned out that Twilight didn't stick around to pester Wildheart. She stayed surprisingly quiet. To be honest, it'd been so long since she had been around other Pokemon she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. They're asleep, it's not like she could tease them. She didn't feel cruel enough to wake them either, it's not like they had done anything to her yet so she had no reason to bother them. With them being asleep, she decided to take a welcome break. She didn't have to pretend to feel anything for several hours. As she stayed there, watching them as they slept, she realized that none of them could ever hope to get the medicine for themselves. The only one in thumbs was almost crippled, and in no condition for moving. So at sometime in the night, she slunk off and wandered around the mansion.

Going through the dusty rooms herself, she didn't find much. Like she thought initially, the humans had taken almost everything, but there were a handful of blue potions. The weakest variety if she remembered correctly. That was probably why the humans hadn't bothered to take them, or at least she guessed. It didn't matter, what was here now was all that was relevant. Slowly padding through the hallway, she held a potion in each of her long taloned hands. She couldn't be in the shadows while she carried them, so she made her way on foot. Just before everyone woke up, she left the potions right behind the door. As she heard everyone groan with pain as they awoke, she knocked on the door before slipping into darkness. She felt no need to announce herself further.

Michael had been preparing to wake up the Lucario, but Polnareff thankfully gets up without needing to be nudged, giving him an unenthusiastic wave that suggests he's probably still not entirely awake yet. Michael can't return the gesture as easily, so he opts to reply with a nod instead. It's probably not the best idea, considering the splitting headache and the pain in his neck, but whatever. He'll live through it.

"Morning," Michael says as he finally gets to his feet properly, thankfully not falling over or otherwise hurting himself further. He's not too sure about placing more weight on the injured leg, but he doesn't have much of a choice. It's not like anyone can carry him. He wouldn't even want them to. Sure, Polnareff had carried him and Connor away from the Roserade horde yesterday, but they'd been running for their lives then. This mansion seems safe enough-even if his leg gives out, at least he wouldn't be in any immediate danger. Hopefully.

His ears perk as he hears something outside their room, something like light taps against the door, maybe the wall; it draws his attention away from his own wounds and towards what the sounds indicate. Michael's first instinct is that Wildheart is trying to alert them to danger-but surely if something was wrong, Wildheart would have spoken directly to them, or hit the wall hard enough to make a louder noise? Giving one look at the other Pokemon in the room (he notices Connor is awake too now, though Michael can't tell if the kid heard the same sounds or not), he cautiously pushes the slightly-ajar door open. The only one out here, though, is Wildheart; Michael can't see anyone else around.

Though he can't see any living creature other than his ally, there is something there-a small pile of blue and grey objects that he can't stick a name to just by looking at them. Are these the "potions" Beyonce mentioned? Michael hopes so; it'd save them all the trouble of looking for the things themselves. He's surprised the ghost did something for them without having to be addressed; she'd been helpful last night, but not exactly friendly. Michael thought she would have waited for them to all be there before doing anything... but oh well. He can ponder her motivations later.

"I heard something out here, so I came to check," he explains to Wildheart as he inspects the new items; they look like they could be picked up one-by-one with his teeth, maybe, though it might take a bit of effort to keep the damn things from slipping away. The obvious solution is Polnareff carrying them, but Michael honestly doesn't know how much he'd want to move around with his injuries. "I'm guessing our new 'friend' brought these for us?"


(Sorry if this is lackluster, going through writer's block. ^^; Anyone feel free to move the potions if you'd like, Mike hasn't picked them up yet or anything. Just so y'all know, since the potions are delivered, I think the next logical thing is to help the injured characters, and then have them all decide their next course of action afterwards. Does that sound good?)

"Morning," was a somewhat surprising reply. Polnareff had half expected most of the group to slumber their way into the afternoon or even early evening. Granted, if it weren’t for the injuries, it’s entirely likely that Pol himself would have done so. He adjusts and shifts, fidgets about, taking care not to awake Conner. The boy didn’t seem to have taken any severe injuries, but at his age, all the panic and running, let alone general stress of the entire prior day could very well result one of his most sore days for some time. No need to jolt him with a sudden movement or some such- hell, no need to disturb him, period.

Though reason may present itself as Pol catches the sound- and has a pretty good idea for who it was, as his sense for aura is coming clearer as he wakes further. [color:c144=b8b8b8]”Just a knock… it should be fine.” The one who knocked slipped away as Micheal approached to investigate. Seems the lass was a little more reserved today- perhaps noticing that they aren’t really going to predictably react to provocation gave her enough reason to lay off a bit. Or, god forbid, she had the thought to not torment the already McFucked up people.

He shifts aside, grumbling to himself as movement starts to promptly remind him of his injuries. But, most of them had healed to a point of not being too at-risk for reopening. He notices Conner was actually awake, but still takes care not to disturb him much as he shifts off of the bed. His side hurts, his legs hurt like hell, and his hand hurts from the old bite. Funny how, at first, everyone was suspicious of the wound, but the moment he started helping it was a topic of old. He wobbles his way towards the door, hearing about the ‘present’ left to them. His walking is… well, limping on both sides is resulting in a rather amusing-looking waddle cycle. It’s as uncomfortable as it is funny, but it’s alleviating pain to a fair extent. The biggest concern was the gash in his side- even with the berries from before, and even if these potions help, it’s deep. Not something to so easily be taken care of, at least.

He gets to the door, behind Mike, and realizes a fatal error. ”…I’m gonna have to bend down. I have made a mistake.” His tone is best compared someone groaning ‘Ah, shit,’ yet has a layer of attempted humor in it at the very least.  ”Surprised any of these are around, though. It’s not much, but it should be plenty to give us a boost… Wildheart, did you have any old wounds? You helped us get here, it’s only fair that you get some if you need it.” Sure, he had mostly been caught up in their escape, but Pol distinctly remembers leaning on the lad for some stability- plus, he could have easily taken off, but he stuck around to help. Seemingly, it was partly just due to the goodness of his heart. Hard to come by honestly kind people these days…

((OOC: Yeah, next logical step indeed! Your posting is doing well, my man. You’re taking things one step at a time, and doing well with it :3))

Wildheart stares blankly at the other end of the hallway, lost in thought. His ears twitch to any noises, but mostly it's from the sleeping pokemon inside shifting about or a surprisingly solemn ghost scavenging around. As his eyelids lowered to blink, he found himself lingering with them closed before tiredly forcing them open. It had been a long, uneventful night. Though that was the best outcome, it didn't make his eyes sting any less with the sunlight growing brighter throughout the mansion. "Beyonce? What are those?" He asks cautiously as he spies the ghost coming closer. She was walking normally, that didn't seem normal for them--not that he had known them long. Was something wrong? He continues to tail them with his eyes as they wordless move past him with their cargo.

Colorful, unnatural objects he had never seen before. They had the same sharp angles that the human den did. A boxy shape, a weird angled spike along its neck. It certainly didn't look edible. Beyonce knocks and then leaves again just as silently as they had came. Wildheart's ears flick to the door as a different set of foot steps approach and Michael's head pokes out from the room.
"I heard something out here, so I came to check," They explain, not hesitating in the slightest as they examine the items. "I'm guessing our new 'friend' brought these for us?" He nods, lowering his head to sniff at the whatever they are. "They did...didn't say anything when dropping them off and were oddly silent all night..." He adds with suspicion, glancing over his shoulder down the way they had left. "Do you think this is some sort of trick?"

Pol catches his eye as he too has woken up and is waddling forward to get a look. Sleep seems to have helped his condition, but he was obviously far from healed. Just looking at his damaged side gave Wildheart phantom pains in his own scars. The zebstrika can't hide the grimace that forms on his face. ”…I’m gonna have to bend down. I have made a mistake.” Pol groans. "Lean on me if you need to." He offers, steeping closer in case he was needed on the fly. ”Surprised any of these are around, though. It’s not much, but it should be plenty to give us a boost… Wildheart, did you have any old wounds? You helped us get here, it’s only fair that you get some if you need it.” Him? Well yes, but Pol was barely standing--how could he even consider using healing items on himself when the others were this badly damaged? The zebra snorts at the thought. "They're only shallow scratches, If they'll help you, use them on yourself."

Twilight remained hidden in the shadows, silently listening in on her 'guests' having their mundane conversations. She had to stifle a bitter laugh. Even if it was said sarcastically, the very notion of Twilight having friends was a complete joke to her. No, friends were nothing but trouble. A source of heartache and exhaustion, and she already had enough of that on her plate. She was tired, so very tired. It'd been weeks since she slept, and she knew it wasn't going to happen soon. She wished that she could sleep in her shadow realm, but she didn't trust herself enough to not slip away into the void and be lost forever. 'That doesn't sound bad-No. No, you have a job to do. Can't get out of it that easy.' She thought miserably.

She slipped underneath the door and darted to the shadows under the mattress. "Heyyyyyy, you're in no condition to try and be selfless, ya cripple." She jeered at the lucario. "You're knocking on death's door, just use the damn potions. Gee, I thought it'd be simple." She said such nasty things, and felt nothing for it. Her heart was smothered in a different kind of darkness than just shadows, and it was plain to see in her aura. She was little more than an empty shell that words echoed out of.