Mew has a bright, bubbly personality, filled with a childlike energy. Despite being a legendary and thus fully capable of coherent speech, she deigns not to use this gift, only speaking variations on the word 'mew' and other catlike sounds.
Ordered roughly from positive to negative, Mew…
Collected from Arsaga:
That is until Raiko's though process is interrupted by a sudden ruffle of his hair and an inquisitive: “Mew?” coming from above his head somewhere. If he tries to turn, he'd see no one, but take note of the long, rose pink tail winding through the air from behind his head. Whatever it is, it's basically sitting on his head - or floating just behind it with its forepaws buried in his hair, as it were.
“Mew,” it says, tone definitive, and tiny fingers wrap around strands of his hair, the tips of hindpaws brushing the back of his neck, tickling. The tail curls loosely around his neck, though.
And do as it pleases it does - it almost feels as though its trying to count its hair, given how its delicate touch feels. Its tail flexes slightly against his throat, having its own very slow rhythm of twitching. A soft whisper seems to re-enforce the impression of hair-counting - it seems to be whispering 'mew' in various tonal inclinations to itself.
Suddenly, those forepaws ruffle almost furiously through his hair, and an upset “Mew!” sounds, before it slides its forepaws across his scalp to near his forehead, grips strands of hair there, and pulls its extremely lightweight shape through the air to roll over his head and flop down on the table before him. The Mew looks up at him, its back resting on the wood of the table, tail twitching against the same, its mouth opened in a soft 'o' as it regards Raiko's face with idle - upside-down - fascination, its forepaws folded.
“I see you've successfully hunted for a source of bacon,” Jagdish's voice remarks, dripping with fond sarcasm, surfacing from the kitchen with a cup and lancing his left hand toward the Mew, grabbing its tail as it notices his appearance and moves to flit away. He's chuckling as he sets the cup down and the Mew playfully wrestles with his arm, nipping at his skin, 'clawing' at his wrist, making exaggeratedly cute hissing noises, the very tip of its tail lashing about.
Time passes, the Mew having remained with him, though, and taking much enjoyment out of simply 'pacing' in a circle around him, floating in mid-air, its tail twisting and curling hyperactively. After long minutes, the door to the kitchen opens and out comes Jagdish with a plate of fairly classic British breakfast. “Monsieur, food is served,” he remarks, even as the Mew air-tackles his face, making it difficult for him to see. Still, amused, he steadily sets the plate down, along with eating utensils, fork first. The Mew twirls away from his face, 'clambering' onto his one shoulder, where it then hovers. “Enjoy it,” he says, grinning slightly, even as he nudges a seat beside Raiko aside slightly, before seating himself casually, facing Raiko partly.
“What is the cute little creature trying to say to me?” […] “That you look funny, mainly,” he grins, flicking at the Mew's tail, which prompts it to 'complain' with a loud, bark-like “Mew!”. “But she likes you - understand, she doesn't see nice people often, so you're making her very happy.”
The man chuckles, shaking his head slightly, even as the Mew dives toward Raiko's offered food, stabbing through the mash with her forepaws. “Oh, don't bet on it,” he remarks, teasing the pokémon. “She just does it to worm herself into your heart. If you're not careful, she'll leave you with nothing. She hordes everything.” - “Everything?” - “Everything. Oh, oh, watch that fork,” he mocks the pokémon a bit as its tail brushes Raiko's fork - it turns to stare at him abruptly, wide-eyed, uttering an almost pitiful: “Mew!”
The door closes softly - and Mew notices the motion, twirling through the air, dropping the fork onto the ground with a noisy clatter and diving toward [Jagdish], impacting softly with the man's chest and burying her forepaws and face in the black fluff of his jacket, tail twitching about happily.
Collected from N'Sehla:
At height of the cathedral's unshattered rosette window, looming beyond the gate-like doors of the Taqnateh gym, a small, feline outline rests against the interior. Forepaws rest against slightly fogging glass and large eyes glance outward, past the distorting blur of running water. Mew's tail lazily swirls in the air behind her, idle fascination paralysing the rest of her body. Fresh prey.
It was unique, to say the least. Most of them came here lazily, only just barely strained by the journey, having rested a lot and fed well, luxuriating to the extent the environment here allowed. Taking their lazy lives with them. He seemed exhausted enough to have come all the way up here in a single bout, a delicious flavour of masochism rarely encountered.
He seemed terrified he might not get in touch with the gymleader in time for- in time for what? She's half tempted to search his mind for it, to stay, to watch him a little longer in his exquisite mental agony. But it would upset Jagdish to know she'd stalled a 'customer' so long. Biting her lower lip in regret, she blinks out of existence after a moment of relunctance.
The dining room's softly lit with warm lights, and Jagdish is lounging comfortably with his legs up on two chairs, third angled by 90° to provide his back with something to lean against. Pillows soften the casual sprawl. A book sits in his right hand, from which he looks up as Mew materialises, arching a brow silently, quizzically.
Mew hovers where she is for long moments tail swirling around as she blinks at the tall human. “Mew,” she giggles softly, before 'bounding' over to him and tugging slightly at his clothes. She's almost bouncing with energy, tail in constant motion.
Jagdish watches the small creature tug at the edge of his shirt, arched brow not relenting, watching her bubbling energy with his usual concern. “A visitor?” he deciphers with practised ease, watching Mew's antics worriedly. “You know, patience is a virtue, my psychotic little friend,” he remarks, referring to that there'd be a fight and a trial preceding be any pain and suffering.
His right hand has lazily shifted the book to the side, closing it without haste, setting it down on the table beside him. He slides his right leg off the make-shift couch, moving into a sit, peeling his back out of the pillow propped up behind him. “All right,” he acknowledges. “Consider me on my way.”
The small pokémon giggles and pops out of view, only to come back several seconds later with Jagdish's black cloak; almost drowned in the glowing material. She's still giggling though, tail batting backwards and forwards under the material of the cloak.
He's nudged the chairs apart by the time Mew returns and is shifting to stand, grimacing slightly at the gesture of the psychic pokémon. “Thank you, Mew,” he addresses her, extending his left hand to wind his fingers into the folds of the item, peeling it off her.
His right arm twists back, curving to behind him, seizing a hold of the cloak by an edge and pulling the fabric taut behind him for a moment, before his fingers slide up along the edge and he pulls it close to clip it against his collar and shoulders. “So,” he asks, sighing softly. “How many?”
Mew tilts her head, blinking slowly. “Mew.” She seems to droop then, shoulders slumped and her head lowered, looking quite dejected; even her tail stops its swirling about and curls tightly about her. She doesn't say a word though, the flicker of a sparkle passing through her eyes, almost as if she's saying: Just one, but damnit, I like him.
A dark chuckle surfaces from Jagdish, bemused, but also mildly laced with irritation. Mew would know to interpret that language. “Just one,” he observes her body language with a restrained eyeroll, before clearing his throat slightly. “Well then. Would you be a darling and get my gloves for me, too?”
It wasn't so much a request as it was a reminder to Mew that he'd want to wear those, too - and he was certain the pokémon would comply, simply on basis that patience was not a word in her vocabulary and to wait for him to walk all the way to his room before heading out front? Unthinkable.
Mew flickers out of sight, tail swirling around her before she reappears again, perching on his shoulder as she hands the gloves to him. Tail curling around his neck, just lightly, she purrs softly, bouncing a little, wishing he'd hurry up since she's finding he's going too slow.
Delicate fingers reach up, left arm stretching toward the offered items, only to pluck them gently from Mew's grasp. A smile curls his lips, warping to a light, cynical smirk. “Knew I could count on you,” he comments, dryly, seizing both gloves with his right hand, thumb slid into the left hand glove at the base. His left hand pushes into the dark fabric, fingers stretching into it at casual pace.
At normal pace, he begins to walk out of the room, flicking the dining room's light switch and casting the room into total darkness, even as he works his right hand into its glove almost absent-mindedly. Mew would light the way, as was usual.
The small psychic type floats from his shoulder and drifts ahead of, almost bouncing with anticipation. A soft giggle slips from her and she looks back over her shoulder at the blue-haired man, almost as if she's saying: Hurry up. I can't wait much longer. You're going too slow.
Of course, Jagdish is not quite so easily fazed into anything other than a leisurely pace. He makes no effort to speed up, though at least he equally makes no antics to slow down to punish her for her impatience. He hooks his right hand's thumb into his trouser pocket, seeming contemplative. A battle meant that he had to pokéball Sihir and company again - he'd have to ask Night to fetch them.
“If it comes down to it,” he addresses Mew in casual tone. “Will you fight as one of my pokémon?”
Mew tilts her head to the left and then the right, thinking before she nods, just once. “Mew,” she affirms with gravity. Moving back to sit on his shoulder, she giggles again, paws flexing as she tries to imagine what that lone trainer might be up to since she'd left him to himself, yearning to find out.