Chapter 5
The strange town sort of smelled like a barn. The inside of this building smells like one.
Lliam and the other assortment of former humans had temporarily left the twins to their own devices once they entered the guild, presumably to hastily make the necessary accommodations for both of them. That’s what the towering blue feline had said anyway. With no seats or waiting room of any sort, it’s almost as if they had all assumed that the siblings would have no compunctions just sitting on the bare, wooden ground. An assumption that, much to Bill’s perennial chagrin, wasn’t too far off from reality—just about anywhere was a decent enough place to sit down on.
His only respite is a potent, floury and sweet smell coming from the mess hall, reminding him of the non-existent breakfast he had this morning…
A seated Bill marvels at the admittedly not-as-magical sight of a poorly lit, very spacious room, likely made to accommodate the astounding variety of body types found in this realm that the former human had to begrudgingly call reality. The worn out walls and ceiling are permeated with the stagnant and earthy scent of aged vegetation, making the air feel uniquely stuffy. And the floor beneath his… feet fares no better: just as well-worn, stained with gray and likely treaded countless times by many different kinds of creatures.
Perhaps too many creatures. The ground positively stinks of them, but one can’t help but be fascinated by the alluring amount of both alien and familiar scents coating it. Did a feline walk over here? Maybe it was a bird of some sort. Likely one of both. Then again, Bill can’t know for certain, given the infinite possibilities for creatures he hadn’t yet met. That mysterious darkened spot over there could have the remnants of a komodo dragon’s scent, for all he knew. Anyone would want to hunch over to get a better whiff, possibly even try to lower oneself t—
“No, NO!”
“Fuck!”
The red growlithe beside him is distracted by the sound of his twin cursing under his breath. “Anything going on?”
“Nothing,” Bill laconically answers.
The quick sideways glance that the orange growlithe makes at the ground, however, appears to tell the entire story to Gill.
Why? Well…
“Ohhh, you mean that smell over there?” Gill points out, standing up while sniffing the air and lowering his head tow—
“Ow! Hey!” the Hisuian growlithe whispers, stopped by a quick hit on his side from his grossed out brother:
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Fine…”
Gill goes back to sitting besides his brother in a demeanor far too similar to that of a scolded dog.
Yet another barrage of vibrant mammals, reptiles and avians pass by, mostly towards the mess hall. Others glance at some of the busy wooden boards taking up a big part of the dirty lobby. Littered with parchments and papers of all sorts, one of them labeled “Outlaw Board” is noticeably less visited than the rest.
Some awkwardly lock eyes with the newest guild visitors, prompting a smile and a quick wave of whatever limbs they happen to own. Out of all of them, however, one of the bigger residents thoroughly confounds Bill as it hovers and meanders towards the mess hall.
Porygon.
Every living being they had met so far had borne a striking resemblance to the creatures that Bill would reluctantly call “pokemon”. Though they were undoubtedly the colorful cartoon monsters depicted in illustrations and videogames, they also possessed an uncanny degree of realism that was hard to ignore (“like in that one movie, remember?!” as Gill had recently pointed out). Still owning their trademark characteristics, the animals are a smidge uncanny enough to remind Bill that he was indeed experiencing this as real life.
Porygon flies in the face of that. So far, it’s the only entity that Bill can directly call by name with no qualms since it’s exactly, precisely, the same pokemon he had known his entire life. Its mere existence looks like a cruel mockery sent from whatever powers-that-be keeping the twins in the simulacrum—appearing like a crude pink and blue 3D model of something unfittingly plopped into an otherwise realistic plane of existence.
But that’s not the only thing creeping Bill out.
It’s the fact that it bears no scent.
It’s hard to overstate how vastly efficient a canine’s ears and nose had been to a former human. Ever since he woke up, Bill has been going through an unique assault on the senses unlike any other. Absolutely everything had a scent. Every body, every inconspicuous material, every gust of wind… he could smell it all with dead-set accuracy and precision. Were a particular smell unfamiliar, it was still a reliable enough source of information to pull from in order to paint the world around him. To Bill, it’s not a stretch to say that he’d rely on his new wet nose almost to the level he would his eyes. Clean water of all things had a unique smell, faint as though it might’ve been.
But the 3D model does not. As far as Bill’s nose is concerned, Porygon does not exist.
OH, HEY?
The growlithe lets out an involuntary gasp when the sudden male robotic timbre addresses him. About a second ago, Porygon had stopped on a dime and turned around to peer at him with the inexpressive dots it had for eyes mapped onto its face. The texture even quickly shifts between a handful of animation frames, simulating blinks.
“Hi!” Gill greets the entity as though it's not the most damning piece of evidence revealing the seams on this bogus reality. “This here’s my brother, we’ve arrived pretty recently. You’re a porygon, right?”.
I… THINK SO, Porygon speaks with hesitation. Or as much hesitation as his limited body language and voice can allow. I’M STILL GETTING USED TO THIS. ER, YOU’RE HUMANS AS WELL?
Bill’s bewilderment is momentarily washed over by a wave of deep, sincere sympathy.
This thing was once a human just like him.
It’s one thing to be transformed into an animal. But a ghastly being such as this? It boggles the mind. He can’t even begin to comprehend how someone could cope with an existence as alien like this at all times. What is he feeling? Can he feel?
“We... are. Yeah,” Bill responds.
OH GOD, I FEEL FOR YOU. DON'T WORRY, YOU'RE IN GOOD COMPANY, THAT I CAN TELL YOU.
Porygon bobs slightly towards the mess hall as if to beckon the pair.
LUNCH SHOULD BE READY. I, UH... DON'T BITE, BY THE WAY. HEH.
Guilt immediately strikes Bill, realizing he may have gawked at the entity for far too long.
”...
…
…pasta?”
Loud chatter and noises fill the environment as Bill tries to parse the logistics behind the meal in front of him.
Well-lit and better ventilated than the previous room, the mess hall appears much more inviting. The ambiance is lively and populated by the presence of the entire guild, sitting in many different wooden stumps of varying elevations.
He and his brother share a large table with the group calling themselves Team Misfits, the porygon from before and another new pair of colorful characters that Bill hasn’t paid much attention to yet.
He’s a bit more busy realizing that he can’t properly hold silverware with his paws.
In front of him lies his tantalizing meal: piping hot, freshly made noodles topped with what appears to be an attempt at recreating marinara. Even if it’s not regular red sauce, it doesn’t make it look any less mouthwatering. The steamy aroma taunts him, assuring him that he’ll finally have some nourishment… but his digits won’t cooperate the way he’d want them to.
His claws are way too stubby to be considered normal fingers. But they are at the very least robust enough to be able to hold the fork between them. And so he does, getting a somewhat secure grip in his paw.
Now… how in the world is he going to twirl the noodles around the silverware?
He won’t, that’s the answer.
Most other guild members are already at it: Totodile has no issues biting in large mouthfuls of the noodles into his maw, Phanpy dexterously but modestly uses his trunk to pick up his food, and Torchic nibbles and pecks at her pasta in the most dignified way she can make such an act look. Oh, and Porygon is performing some black sorcery on the marinara.
Meanwhile, Bill methodically twirls the noodles in his fork with two paws this time, carefully trying to get in a single bite…
Gill on the other hand, had long since abandoned the fool’s errand.
“Gill,” an appalled Bill mutters.
“Whuh?”
A couple of noodles hang from the silver-maned growlithe’s messy muzzle. They disappear in a matter of seconds. As this happens, Totodile can be heard chuckling.
“...nevermind.”
Phanpy stops eating for a moment, tilting his head at one of the bowls in the middle of the table:
“Ground Quick Seeds. Really effective caffeine replacement,” the miniature elephant courteously points out to Bill. “Just letting you know, I wish someone had told me sooner.”
“Oh. Thanks, Phanpy,” Bill expresses.
“Sorry if we’re coming off as flippant about your situation,” Phanpy apologizes as he looks at his meal. “After a while, you grow numb to the absurdity. Luckily the two of you were able to find us soon—it took me and my team about a week of meandering before we met Lliam.”
“You have no idea!” Totodile follows up. “Spending two weeks drinking booze at Spinda’s, doing menial labor… now I can drink booze wherever I want!”
“Yeah,” says a shy, but friendly voice coming from a frankly horrifying purple scorpion-like bug sitting at a nearby table. Bill had tried his hardest to avert his gaze at him so far. “I also spent weeks out in the wild just foraging food in the nearby forests and dungeons. Probably wasn’t a good course of action in retrospect, but eh… I grew way stronger, that’s for sure.”
“You also found me! Don’t forget that!” a squeaky voice coming from a much more adorable source expresses. This time it appears to be the long ferret-like being that the twins had spotted during their stroll through the town.
“I-I guess,” says the flustered scorpion, looking like he’d want the ground to swallow him whole.
”Now there’s a story, I suppose.”
“Honestly…”
A reserved, commanding voice rings out.
It belongs to a tall, humanoid orange avian resting his back against a wall. Previously unassuming, he makes his presence known. From the moment the creature spoke, the air had become the slightest bit heavier, the general chatter in the room even lowering in volume.
It’s easy to see why. From his unnaturally unkempt appearance, to the tattered scarf on his person… right down to the eyepatch bearing a stone.
There’s no question about it—the bird has the hallmarks of a dangerous veteran.
“...it’s a good thing you found a place like this soon. Growlithes aren’t too shabby when it comes to fighting, if I recall,” the bird informs.
“Now, now, KFC!” Lliam appears near him, seemingly immune to the heavy atmosphere. “There’s a good chance they haven’t seen any actual combat! Remember that we need to give new humans some time to settle first!”
The avian humanoid gives a modest grunt in response.
“...
…KFC? As in Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
Afraid of what fighting entailed (unlike Gill, who looked starry-eyed at the bird’s prospect), Bill quickly thinks of a way to change the topic:
“So, uh… why ‘Clover’ Guild, anyway?”
“I have a bit of a penchant for gardening, you see!”, Lliam replies, shutting down a Cyndaquil eagerly raising his hand.
The cloaked feline wanders over to the nearest window and places a potted larkspur on its ledge.
He continues:
“As such… I also possess an affinity for flowers as well. Obviously, you’d be hard pressed to find any deft hand at gardening who would put clovers at the same level as most flowers. Far from it, in fact—they are often unwanted weeds to be disposed of.
Yes. Proliferating in large chunks, competing for space in soil. Clovers are a truly undesirable sight.
Yet it is a fact that we associate four-leafed clovers with good fortune. To scrape at the weeds, to seek between vegetation so capriciously labeled nuisances by our sense of utility… just to find an aberration of nature that is just as meaningless. Merely on the basis of rarity, we derive some fickle sense of meaning out of them. Curious, isn’t it?
But do not think for a second that I consider myself as cynical as that, mister Bill. If humble mortals such as ourselves can find purpose in something as purposeless—in the midst of this chaotic world, no less… that would truly be fortuitous, no?”
Lliam’s gaze remains affixed to the blue flower. His voice faintly deepens.
“Much like a four-leafed clover, this place derives its meaning out of meaninglessness. Will we ever know why we were transported to this realm? Likely not. But to find people in our predicament and to aid each other? In a way, I find it likely… that we were likely. That’s what I’ve chosen to believe.”
…
…
“Uh…” Cyndaquil’s voice breaks the silence, speaking to Phanpy. “I thought the ‘clover’ part came from us being 4chan anons?”
Many voices in the hall collectively groan, with Lliam playfully rolling his eyes in resignation.
The silliness had definitely reached a fever pitch.
“What!?” the twins react in unison.
“The humans here are 4chan users? As in the far-right leaning incel losers from the news?”
“What are we supposed to take away from this?”, the orange growlithe asks. “Are you all seriously just anons?”
“Hey, we found that a little weird too!” Totodile declares. “Besides, we’re not ALL 4chan anons. A lot of natives like KFC, Kris and Furret have joined us as well!”
Bill had been transformed into God’s plaything, surely.
“Gill and I haven’t even visited that site—”
The Hisuian growlithe quickly pokes his brother, followed by him nodding to himself with a resignated smirk.
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me…”
“...but then right afterwards, like… okay, so get this…” a lavender bipedal cat sitting across them narrates, barely able to contain a snicker as he tells his ludicrous tale over the half-finished plates. “The goofy fuck—and I swear I’m not making this up… the motherfucker pauses for a bit… and shouts ‘ALLAHU AKBAR!‘, blasting us both to the wall with his Disarming Voice!”
“Naaaah!” Gill nearly yells as he’s overcome by laughter.
“I’m serious, I’m telling ya! It stung like a bitch!”, the scrawny feline calling himself Kaiji quickly retorts, his words almost getting lost between his chuckles. “Ain’t that right, Kris?”
“That wasn’t my finest hour, honestly…” the soft-spoken, tall quadruped besides the cat shyly admits.
Said creature, resembling a vulpine of sorts, is nothing short of majestic. Tall enough to forego chairs entirely, he possesses a luscious, fluffy snow-white fur coat that covers his entire body with the exception of his face—a contrasting dark blue bearing two big red eyes. A small boomerang-shaped horn protrudes from the right side of his head. The fellow quadruped had consumed his food with far more grace and elegance than the twins ever could.
”An... absol, if I remember correctly.”
“I’ll tell ya the rest in a bit”, the smaller cat humanoid finishes. “I’m still STARVING.”
Gill heartily agrees with the sentiment, licking every bit of his empty reddish plate…
“Have a little decency, at least,” Bill remarks half-heartedly.
The Hisuian growlithe looks back at him: “Don’t give me that face, I’ll have you know I’m completely sane.”
“You wish.”
Gill licks his lips, briefly distracted by the delicious taste of the remnants of the red sauce. He resumes, looking at the orange growlithe with a bit of a mocking grin:
“You know… that hurts coming from you, Mr. Psychoanalysis. Trying to declare me legally unfit or something?”
“Sadly no, I’m not able to exercise that prerogative.”
“Ohhh, you don’t mean thaaaat…”
“Woah, woah, wait…” Kaiji interrupts blithely before pointing at the orange growlithe:
“...ya mean to tell me that Bill over here is, like, a therapist? That’s what you meant, right?”
The statement makes a few people turn their heads. Even from nearby tables.
Bill swallows.
…
“…I-I’m a uni student, alright? I hadn’t even started my thesis proper.”
“Well… how far in have you got?” Torchic inquires. “If you're willing to answer, that is.”
“Fourth. Fourth semester, I think." Bill replies.
"Heh, we haven't had a counselor in the guild yet!" Totodile states.
The former psych student feels like caving in to the sudden pressure. "I-I'm not a counselor or a therapist, I haven't yet had th—"
"But you gotta have some expertise in psychology!"
"How much methodology have you practiced?"
"Do they teach you any tricks?"
YOU'D KNOW MORE THAN ANYONE FOR SURE.
"Kaiji, what's a 'thoroughpest'?", "Eh, a profession of sorts."
"Oh, me, me!", Cyndaquil's voice rings out during the barrage of questions and comments. "What do I have, what do I have!?"
Bill can't believe they keep someone like this around "U-Uh... listen to me, I—"
"I don't wanna pay for any therapy, now I know someone who can do it for free! Come on, please, don't be petty about it!"
"I think you may have suffered from arrested development in your anal stage," the orange growlithe spits out.
Among the noise, Cyndaquil slowly glances away at his empty plate, a look of deep introspection in his squinted eyes:
"Ohhhh...
...I'll get started on it tonight!"
Cyndaquil's head is swatted away by a flexible sky blue trunk belonging to Phanpy: "I don't know much about psychology, but I can understand it if you think it'd be unethical or unprofessional to be performing sessions at your current stage."
"Finally, someone level-headed is speaking..."
"...However..."
"...Oh, Phanpy, I thought you were cool."
"...you should give it some thought. This would unfortunately be the closest thing any of us would have to professional help. Besides, you'd at least give people someone to talk to."
"I'll even pay you a wage for it!", Lliam butts in. "We've been making a pretty penny since the last Federation visit! We have more than enough disposable income!"
The orange growlithe sighs:
"I'll mull it over."
"Er, Billy...?"
He turns around to see his brother wide-eyed at something.
That something turns out to be the absol. His unnatural thousand-yard stare looks equal parts horrified and concentrated as he gazes at the twins. It looks like his trembling red irises are about to burst at any moment...
"Oh! Yeah, there we go, that's more like it!" Kaiji stands up, patting his large partner in one of his white forelegs. "Like I told you two dogs before, Kris gets these very dark and grim 'visions' from time to time, pay them no mind. Most of the time they're either grossly exaggerated or too cryptic to matter. He'll probably go off about one of you getting splashed with water or something—"
The piercing red pupils slowly dilate. Kris's terrified stare eventually fades.
In its place there's sheer, almost comical confusion.
He looks aside with a furrowed expression:
"...huh. I see. That is... something, alright."
Kaiji tilts his head slightly.
"Bill. Gill," Kris solemnly declares.
The absol stands up on his four legs, unsure of himself. A second later, he nods to them with a smile:
"An auspicious future awaits you both! You two will stick together and become the happiest twins the land has ever witnessed!"
...
…
A quick look around the rest of the faces in the mess hall reveals that this is not supposed to be a common occurrence.
"Kris," the lavender feline cuts through the silence. "I hate you sometimes."