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It feels like motion is tugging at the edge of his vision. Something- something happened. Disorientation is in firm command of his skull, and a dull ache of his veins suggests… illness? Poison? Exhaustion? The shallow burn he feels could be any of the above, or some particularly cruel combination of several. The whole world's wrapped in a bristly sort of cotton, vision a blur beneath the pinpricks of random visual noise in the darkness.
He's lying on his belly, left cheek set down against a smooth stone floor. His rucksack is… nowhere? He's lost his rucksack somehow. He remembers having it. He's somewhere in Corral Isle? He remembers going there, even if it seems impossibly distant all of a sudden.
And then, lucidity takes full hold of him, fueled by an instinctive rush of adrenalin, as his psyche makes sense of the shadows before him. 'Sense' is relative: It's alive. It's alive, it's looming over him, and he's sure it's staring at him. There are spines all across it. The hint of a colour his mind corrects to subjective white in the darkness comes in the shapes of rows of teeth. And it has more claws than it should, visceral panic talking or not. It's definitely alive - aside from the subtle but rhythmic motion of what must be its chest, he can hear it breathing amongst this alien, absolute silence.
Don't Panic.
Those words were good advice when Douglas Adams wrote them, and they're still good advice now. Unfortunately, his rucksack is missing, and so he has no idea where his towel is.
Okay. Okay. This is really terrifying, but it's nothing he's never dealt with before. It's… it's got to be a wild pokémon. A really big, menacing wild pokémon. He can handle himself. Just don't panic, and don't make any sudden movements, and slooooowly reach down towards his belt. Primeape. Primeape could deal with this. A good LOW KICK or something, anything, he's not sure. Just anything that'll put some distance between him and this whatever-it-is. Almost… almost… his hand brushes against his belt, feeling for his pokéballs, and…
And they're not there. Shit. Okay, now would be an adequate time to panic.
The creature gives a snort. ~It's a shame they can't see you now.~ The voice is in his head. In his head. It's full of a derisive venom, but easily understood, much as if a human being were hovering immediately above him and speaking in a way partly touching and travelling through his very bones. ~They'd lose the superstition that they need to obey you quickly,~ the creature sneers, bringing the tip of its muzzle down to grin with a toothy open maw at his face. ~But you're lucky, I'm feeling generous today. If you can find your way back out of here before I find you, you can crawl back home. How does a five minute head start sound?~
Throughout the speech, the shape begins to make more sense - it's near-avian, with a rigid plumage as if someone had gelled it into a very specific, wavy form, and the attention caused the feathers to morph to metal rods. The base colour of it appears chiefly crimson, though that could be a trick of the mind in this dim circumstance. Its eye colour is not discernable. What is it? If it can speak to him like this, then it must be a Legendary, but the shape is familiar. …a raptorian? The pronounced, raised claws on the creature's hindpaws cement the impression. Some kind of psychic-capable raptorian, as tall as a human at the shoulders. Fuck.
What. wait, what. Now he's hearing voices in his head, and it's distinctly not his. It. It's speaking to him. Eyes go wide in terror. He's stumbled across something with not only psychic abilities, but the ability to speak into his mind. A Legendary. A Legendary and it's huge. And it's very clearly threatening to kill him.
Two diametrically opposed thoughts occur roughly in tandem in his brain. One is that this is the most amazing find he's ever seen. The other is that he's going to die if he doesn't start running right now. After a second of internal conflict, that latter thought wins out, and he starts scrambling to his feet and running as fast as he can.
✘ IN PROGRESS