Chapter 3
“This is happening, this is happening…”, a giddy voice keeps repeating.
“Keep your mouth shut, will you? I’m trying to stay sane”, his companion flatly mumbles, doing his best to remain stoic.
“This is happening, this is happening…”
…and failing miserably as he echoes the words in his head. He’s nowhere near as thrilled.
Through the lush grasslands, the pair of former humans continue to trudge along off of the long shore after a quick reassessment of their situation: they were stranded without food and shelter and in desperate need for a course of action. If there were humans on that village, then the best they could hope for is to find one and stay with them for nourishment. Hopefully this place is no stranger to creatures like them…
The peculiar coastal town is slowly but surely growing in size as they approach it, its curiously-shaped buildings becoming more distinguishable. A few sparse trees remain their only company alongside the wild blades of grass brushing their pelts.
Greatly contrasting his sibling, the silver-maned canine appears increasingly ecstatic as realization washes over him. He keeps glancing at his robust red forelegs constantly: “Billy, you gotta face reality sooner than later! We’re… we’re—”
“GROWLITHES! I know!”
Bill can barely tolerate hearing that word to refer to himself. Let alone the other term one would have used to describe him…
“YEAH! We’re growlithes! We’re lion-dogs! Well, you kinda look like a tiger, too… we’re LION-DOG-TIGERS! That’s… that is so cool! But it don’t make sense, right?! Dad wasn’t asian… or maybe one of our grandpas was? Haha!”
”I can’t stay freaked out like this forever”, Bill thinks to himself, feeling the soft grass under his unfeeling pads every step of the way. Each move he makes with his feet is a stark reminder that he's anything but human at the moment. ”For all intents and purposes, this is real and I can’t stay idle thinking otherwise. I have a tail I can wag and four fucking paws. Deal with it. Stay sharp. One day I’ll laugh hard at this. And it won’t be in a psych ward.”
The orange growlithe exhales, relieving himself of some stress: “...I suppose everything’s alright with you?”
“NO! It’s not alright!”, Gill responds, turning to his brother with a goofy grin as they walk. “If this fluffy mane of mine I carried over is any indication, then that means I’m Hisuian!”
“‘Hesuyen’...?”, Bill asks, completely mystified.
“What, don’t you use the internet? Didn’t you see that red growlithe from way back when? If that’s what I turned into, then it means I’m a rock-type too! And if I so much as touch water or dirt, I’ll DIE!”
“Why are you so happy about it?!”
“Because! Because... I have a TYPE! I can… I can—”
The Hisuian growlithe stops himself in his tracks…
…and bursts out a roaring, blazing cloud from his maw.
Gill immediately covers his smoking muzzle in recoil, wide-eyed under his gray bangs.
Several feet away lies an extremely startled and equally wide-eyed canine, having clearly tripped on the bed of green:
“I-I’m not READY TO DEAL WITH THIS YET, GILL! Let’s press on!”
…
“...puta madre—…”, Gill lets out…
…right before laughing like a maniac. “ACABO DE HACER FUEGO!”
“GAAAH!”
The spectacle is otherworldly.
In front of the twins—surrounding the twins are several towering buildings unlike any other a human could ever witness. The lofty structures, some light-green with age, are seemingly made out of carved, barkless tree trunks of inconceivable width and height. They vary in elevation—the more stout and modest ones are a couple of stories high while a few of them reach up to ten. The more intricate ones appear chipped and crooked as if to make space for the obstinate rooms inside, as told by the several rudimentary windows dotting the walls. Some of the tallest trunks are connected and tethered by their roofs with several suspension bridges, littering the skyline like spider web strands. Moss and vegetation creeps all around, turning the dirt roads below into luscious gardens.
That’s not even to speak of their inhabitants.
Fantastical creatures, beasts and monsters of all sizes walk, crawl, scamper and even glide about as far as the eye can see. An astonished Bill could reluctantly put a name to several of them: a bipedal orange otter with a yellow sac surrounding its neck; a big ferret with a ring-like pattern on its brown and beige fur coat, zipping right past them in a hurry; an enormous, three eyed metallic husk with magnets for limbs, humming ominously as it flies above the pair… most of them are more expressive than any ordinary animal has the right to be.
Many more colorful beings of wildly varying taxonomy can be seen going on about their daily lives, as if the visual onslaught surrounding them was as mundane as the sun rising and setting. Several birds near the rooftops and even a couple of seemingly flightless beasts appear to fly by from building to building without bridges to aid them. There is a sense of hustle and bustle all around, even if the narrow roads and streets aren’t as crowded as they could be.
As the former humans take in the sight and become part of the mingling multitude of species themselves, many of the creatures can be heard engaged in conversation. Their equally varied voices all speak in clear English:
“...eh, ignore that ‘Brawler, he’s an old coot anyway…”
“...swindling me, are you? Produce was way cheaper in Treasure’s…”
“...weirdos managed to get the Federation off their backs…”
“...stuck in a dungeon again, the poor bastard…”
“Gill.”
The orange growlithe with breaks the silence between the two with an astounded monotone. “I actually wish they were Digimon. That way I could snap faster out of this fever dream.”
Gill can’t take his eyes off the scene, mouth agape as they travel deeper into the settlement: “...do you feel like sniffing every single one of them, too?”
“...yes”, Bill reluctantly agrees.
The twins walk and wander for a while. Both are so engrossed with what’s happening that they almost pay no mind to the fact that they’re lost in an alien land possessing nothing to their name but equally alien bodies.
“Did you hear what that delibird said, Billy?!”, the Hisuian growlithe exclaims as he nudges his brother with a large paw.
“What, what?”
“‘Mystery Dungeon’. She said 'Mystery Dungeon'.”
…
A voice in Bill’s mind had been constantly reminding him of the similarities. A voice he had rightfully ignored this whole time. It’s no surprise that with reality staring him in the face, he is both dumbfounded and unfazed by the revelation. Were they somehow transported into one of their childhood videogames? Was this some sort of elaborate experimental fiction weaved in a simulation by some government sickos? Was anything even real?
“I’m… drawing a blank here”, Bill informs, utterly defeated.
Before Gill can comment giddily, their ears perk up slightly at the distant sound of a string instrument…
Sitting outside of one of the wider buildings is a robust, anthropomorphic green frog holding what appears to be a lute. His stout yellow digits deftly play a melancholic but upbeat tune, picking and strumming his chords in a complex bluesy style uncharacteristic for the instrument. The impressive musical display is accentuated by his perfectly composed demeanor.
“Amazing”, Bill remarks, admiring the artistry from the large creature he refuses to name by intuition. It’s beautiful enough to make him forget his outlandish predicament—perhaps willingly.
Gill on the other hand, is yet to opine on it as his stare becomes affixed on the instrument. The younger brother’s ears twitch slightly as his lips mouth off wordlessly. His quiet muzzle starts singing in a low volume:
...in other words, hold my hand… ...in other words, darling kiss me…
The older brother’s brow puckers. “You’re shitting me.”
“No, no, listen, listen…
…let me sing forevermore...
See?”
…what in the world is a Frank Sinatra song doing in a place like this?
“Heheh… alright Billy, it’s my turn to shine! I’ve been saving this one—”
The orange growlithe’s visage is suddenly wracked with horror. “No. No, nononono, please, please, we have to keep a low profile—”
The younger brother annoyingly rolls his eyes beneath his mane. “You’re easily embarrassed, I know. Just let me be while you stay put—”
“We’re going to attract unwanted attention!”
“And then what? Are they going to sic their assassins on us? Let me have some fun, that politoed is about to start again and he’s at the right key…"
“Gill…”
“One, two—
“Gill!”
—three, four,
A la luna voy iremos juntos a volar
“Gill, for God’s SAKE…!”, Bill whispers desperately as many a passerby turn their gaze toward the pair. Of course, Politoed has also caught wind of them, quickly glancing both before smirking lightly and fully committing to his focus again…
Por el firmamento primaveras explorar Quiero decir: llévame Vamos a ver mundos sin fin
One among the few curious bystanders, a rabbit-like creature that Bill can’t name, starts striking its brawny ears merrily with its eyes closed, clapping them along with the tempo. This prompts the singing growlithe to edge closer to the music with a cocky gait, leaving his bashful brother behind. Politoed strums and picks his strings with a bit more gusto.
Llena el corazón cual astro muestra su esplendor
Gill bravely adds his own flourishes while venturing in a pitch range a tad ill-suited for his voice…
Lo que yo deseo es encontrar ese fulgor Quiero decir… …que mi lu—
…the falsetto, however, then successfully shifts to a higher note…
—uz~ Mi resplandor…
…eres tú.
Politoed finishes off the song with several decisive strums.
The performance is met with lively clapping coming from a few alongside general grunts and cheers of approval. Several murmurs abound afterwards:
“...human music’s something else, isn’t it…?”
“...don’t tell me you believe that ‘human’ hogwash...”
“...not bad, not bad…”
“...he’s no Meloetta, though…”
“...then again, who is…?”
A flustered Bill weaves through the strangers, resisting the urge to stop and take in their unique scent as he goes. He hits his brother on the head with a paw on his way to Politoed, interrupting the Hisuian growlithe's bowing towards the impromptu audience.
“Um, excuse me… mister?”, Bill awkwardly greets the giant frog.
Politoed turns his attention to him with his large eyes before pointing at Gill. “That has to be your brother, right? I like his energy! Could sand off a few rough edges, but he’s got the spirit.”
“Yeah… uh… well—”
“You two are humans, aren’t you?”
Bill is frozen in place, trying hard to keep his expression cool. They can’t be that easy to read, can they?
“...are you?”, the canine answers back.
“Heheh!”, Politoed chuckles as he puts away his lute by his side. “Nah, I just happen to know many from around here. Had a hunch that it took one to sing this tune so confidently. Not with those lyrics, but still…”
Many from around here? Are there any other hapless souls trapped in this farce of a reality?
“Y-You mean to say that there are humans living in this town?”, Bill asks while making a conscious effort not to wag his tail.
“Yep. They say they are “enthusiasts” interested in human lore, but ya need only spend some time talking to several of them to tell that they’re faking it. That or I’m seeing things that aren’t there, but I’m a believer!”
“Where can I find them?”
“They’re all holed up in an old building way over yonder, just by the edge of Capim. A mild-mannered meowstic calling himself Lliam decided to group them all together to make an exploration guild. ‘Clover guild’ is what they’re named, you can’t miss ‘em.”
“Thanks a lot, erm… uh…”
“Politoed. Be sure to stick around at Blue Claw Inn sometime!”
“Right. Thanks!”
By now, the tiny crowd had long since dispersed. Earlier, Bill could tell from the corner of his eye that his brother had been engaged in conversation with the rabbit from before. Now, however, the Hisuian growlithe is awaiting him with a mysteriously puzzled expression upon his canine face.
“Gill, we’re in luck. He said that there were other humans living here! He told me they made a, uh… guild? Clover guild? We’re heading over there right now… what’s wrong?”
The red canine keeps his brow furrowed, looking at the ground with a paw covering his muzzle.
“Um… it’s kind of wack. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
“Yeah, because everything else that’s happened to us so far has been a Thursday thing”, Bill answers sardonically, looking at the carved buildings surrounding them.
“Okay, okay, pay attention to this. ‘Clover guild’, right?”
A large but slender badger-like creature wearing a blue hat slips right past them at a relaxed pace, carrying an empty mailbag.
“Hey! Hey there!”, Gill says out loud, catching his attention.
“Oh! Hey there, Linoone at your service!”
“Buenas, buenas, wey! Aqueste terruño no es nuestro, ‘tamo’ aquí en plena faena porque como que no sabemos por cual sitio alojarnos, viteh? Escuchadme que ‘tábamo’ en plan de que nos diesen el dato hasta que al politoed guay de por allá nos contó que hay un sitio con humanos, justo íbamo’a verlo, gremio Clóver que le dicen. La neta que no queremos andar ahí como weones, vos sabé’ por dónde se anda?”
It’s as if Gill had set out to produce the most inscrutable and impenetrable Spanish he could muster. Not only was he speaking at lightning speed while slurring every single word, but even his accent and dialect changed on a whim constantly and chaotically. It was hard for even Bill to keep up with every bit of the linguistic trainwreck his brother had created on the spot.
“Sure!”, Linoone replies immediately. “That road over there leads straight to Capim’s outskirts, you can’t miss their base once you get there. You’re, uh, humans too, I take it?”
…
Linoone blinks a couple of times. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
Bill’s mouth is left ajar. Gill looks back at him, language being a mere accessory to the “I told you so” he’s communicating with his expression.
“Um… do you speak Spanish too?”, Bill eventually asks.
The badger tilts his head ever-so-slightly:
“...Spanish?”