“If you were more ticklish, I would walk more carefully,” Diana explained. It was why she'd asked. Now that she knew, she'd settle where she was for a while... though, since where she was offered her a good view of the room, she'd wave to Buddy as he emerged, wanting the shyer pokemon to feel welcome---but not crowded in on. She'd slowly grown accustomed to the amount of attention she got from Zeran and Jendayi and Darnell and Mitham, but remembered how it had been overwhelming at times.
“I'll need input,” Clarence began, pointedly, tone still fond. He looked to Moriarty, who nodded; Marley, who offered an audible flap of shrug; Noemi, and Buddy. “Marlow will want to stay, unquestionably. Morticia won't care. Methuselah... won't be able to weigh in until he's arrived. He doesn't overheat as easily as Marlow, so he's out for a flight. He knows the way here, though.”
“He's very quiet, I think. I didn't hear him much on the trip that brought me here. I couldn't try talking to him myself 'cause I was being sneaky.” Knowing Noemi would translate, Diana offered her opinion---and admission---to the Unovans, and Trevor.
“You did a good job sneaking.” Moriarty's grin was an approving one. “I didn't notice you. Marley didn't notice you. Our boy didn't notice you. But you weren't cold in that bag?”
“No? I mean, we weren't ever anywhere very cold, and the side on Clarence was warmer, and he's got socks and stuff in there. It wasn't bad at all.”
Throughout this exchange, Clarence waited patiently, drank his drink, observed Noemi's body language, and glanced, now and then, to Trevor. When the pokemon had quieted, he admitted, “It's one idea, of several, but Timeran legend maintains the ghost-type pokemon who were once human, are chosen to become such by an entity that guards the underworld, or afterlife, or whatever you'd like to call it. Timero is a peaceful place--if you'll overlook noisy ghosts and Aaron Kelly---but it was once the nomansland of small, warring kingdoms, full of bloodshed and beleaguered native Timerans. It's... rich in resources, but these forces and those forces would be bottlenecked in waves. Drakogen, in legend, saw all that death as a waste when there's a good world to know, and determined the dead should remain long enough to know it for themselves. Some would have new forms for it, some more like life, but at the cost of being... shades? It wouldn't or couldn't grant life, but...” He motioned with one hand, frowning slightly and looking at nothing in particular on the floor.
“It's---vague enough to be difficult to articulate. If there is a river of passage, it is more like a marsh in Timero. Drakogen won't, or can't, grant life, but it is a patron of presence. That's one idea, and the one that has hold in my homeland. Others are more academic, or anecdotal, and, maybe, more widely applicable.”
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“I'll need input,” Clarence began, pointedly, tone still fond. He looked to Moriarty, who nodded; Marley, who offered an audible flap of shrug; Noemi, and Buddy. “Marlow will want to stay, unquestionably. Morticia won't care. Methuselah... won't be able to weigh in until he's arrived. He doesn't overheat as easily as Marlow, so he's out for a flight. He knows the way here, though.”
“He's very quiet, I think. I didn't hear him much on the trip that brought me here. I couldn't try talking to him myself 'cause I was being sneaky.” Knowing Noemi would translate, Diana offered her opinion---and admission---to the Unovans, and Trevor.
“You did a good job sneaking.” Moriarty's grin was an approving one. “I didn't notice you. Marley didn't notice you. Our boy didn't notice you. But you weren't cold in that bag?”
“No? I mean, we weren't ever anywhere very cold, and the side on Clarence was warmer, and he's got socks and stuff in there. It wasn't bad at all.”
Throughout this exchange, Clarence waited patiently, drank his drink, observed Noemi's body language, and glanced, now and then, to Trevor. When the pokemon had quieted, he admitted, “It's one idea, of several, but Timeran legend maintains the ghost-type pokemon who were once human, are chosen to become such by an entity that guards the underworld, or afterlife, or whatever you'd like to call it. Timero is a peaceful place--if you'll overlook noisy ghosts and Aaron Kelly---but it was once the nomansland of small, warring kingdoms, full of bloodshed and beleaguered native Timerans. It's... rich in resources, but these forces and those forces would be bottlenecked in waves. Drakogen, in legend, saw all that death as a waste when there's a good world to know, and determined the dead should remain long enough to know it for themselves. Some would have new forms for it, some more like life, but at the cost of being... shades? It wouldn't or couldn't grant life, but...” He motioned with one hand, frowning slightly and looking at nothing in particular on the floor.
“It's---vague enough to be difficult to articulate. If there is a river of passage, it is more like a marsh in Timero. Drakogen won't, or can't, grant life, but it is a patron of presence. That's one idea, and the one that has hold in my homeland. Others are more academic, or anecdotal, and, maybe, more widely applicable.”