vatheon | Enter The Gromble

Who: The Gromble and ~you~
When: Late night, March 2nd
Where: The plaza
Style: Either
Status: Open!

[When The Gromble awakens, the first thing he notices is how wet he is. It's not the comforting sludge of his bed, it's almost like clean water. The Gromble just barely suppresses a shudder as one of the locals approaches with a welcoming kit. He's shocked to say the least when the human walks right up to him and shoves a fresh towel in his face, cheerfully telling him he should dry off before he gets sick. What in the name of the pool is wrong with that human?! Can't they see how terrifyingly hideous he is?

They must be drugged like those strange love-and-peace humans from a few decades back. It's the only acceptable explanation. No sane human wouldn't recoil from his grotesque visage!

Rather than wipe off his protective coat of grime he chooses to toss the towel to the side, red heels quickly click-clacking their way to the nearest garbage can and propelling him inside where he can safely read his pamphlet and observe the sparkling clean plaza. Truly, humans were absolutely unfathomable creatures, who would want to live in a place like this?

He remains there absorbing the information written in the pamphlet (the whole thing sounds ridiculous, really) until someone approaches the trash can. He's feeling pretty cranky, a good scare might cheer him up. He hunkers down, ready to loom at the person. Come at him, Vatheon.]

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[The Gromble peers out of the can to see who's carrying him. A garbage man? Will he be returned to the dump?

No, this is... a very strange looking monster. His features are symmetrical and his fur is clean, the poor thing. Gromble rises up, fixing the monster with a droll look.]

Did the hippies here bathe you?

[Was that... a Cragmite that just popped out? He wasn't even aware anything living had been in this thing. But, no. No, this was some other species; presumably one of the natives of this city.

The General stops a moment, raising his brow at the unexpected eavesdropper. Instinct urges him to just throw the can, pull out his wrench and blast the wretched thing, though he's missing a crucial part of that line of thinking.

The smell of this beast was revolting enough to, anyway.]

'Hippies'? I can take care of myself, thank you.

You, on the other hand, I'm half-tempted to roll right back into the sea.

[Gromble was in this can first, thank you very much!]

Come now, there's no need to be rude just because someone cleaned you up. We can find a nice dump soon enough. Would you happen to know where the nearest one is?

[Yes, a good part of his life was spent in what could be the galaxy's biggest junkyard, what's your point? It didn't mean he wanted to go back to that lifestyle.]

Am I to assume you're one of these 'arrivals' I keep hearing about, then? If that's the case, I can't help you.

Arrival? Well, that is what was written in the brochure, but I thought that these humans were perhaps smoking something they shouldn't be.

[He's far more open with what he thinks of as another monster, leaning forward to chat a bit. Try to not throw the can when you catch a whiff of that breath, Alister.]

...perhaps they would be, should the circumstances be different. [And he miiight just be leaning back as you're leaning in there, buddy. What is it with you and your desperation to be so revolting? Throwing him may not tide over so well - he isn't sure what the locals are capable of, if anything, or the stranger in his company.]

As it stands, I've nowhere else to go. This... bubble will need to suffice until I can find a way back to my home dimension safely.

Your home dimension? What on earth are you talking about? I think you've been out in the fresh air too long.

[The Gromble hops out of his trash can, taking a good sniff with his long, pointed nose.]

I do believe I smell a dump this way. Come along, now.

[Off those red pumps go!]

...just how recently have you arrived, sir? Surely one of the locals should have given you the run-down of this world by now. [Unless he simply chose to ignore it - Azimuth wasn't immediately wrapping his own head aound this new and unknown concepts, himself.

But then the little... thing is scooting off, and the General feels the need to follow, lowering the trash bin to the ground. He's intrigued by this strange behaviour, and maybe he wants to find out more.]

What is your obsession with being so vile? Aren't you concerned with falling ill?

About ten minutes ago. They did try shoving a towel in my face, but I had none of that.

[He looks back at Alister incredulously. Fall ill from being dirty? What a ridiculously human concept!]

...are you not a monster?

[He has no idea what a loaded question he's asking.]

[He was fine until those words spewed from the strange creature's mouth, the Elder soon freezing in his step. It hit harder than the Gromble had most likely intended, the Lombax's ears lowering slightly as he began to lose himself in thought.

Fastoon, Tachyon... being one of the main factors in his home planet's downfall, becoming a menace to Polaris, and finally, nearly ending the Universe itself. Trying to kill the only remnant he'd have left of home, and doing more harm than good. That's what monsters were known for, weren't they?

A sad smile spreads on the old General's face, stepping forward a bit more hesitantly this time. Finally, he had a true title for himself; 'rebel' was far too heroic.]

Yes. I am.

[The Gromble is not exactly the sweetest or most sensitive monster around. He cares deeply for his students and will go to great lengths to make sure they're physically all right, but their feelings? He doesn't really care about those. They'll buck up, no need to coddle them. As such, he misses entirely just how hard his words hit the Lombax.]

Well then, you should know, shouldn't you? Oxygen-rich environments like this are deadly to a monster. We thrive in filth, in sewage, in horrible rotting garbage.

[Alister should be embarrassed that The Gromble has to tell him all this. What is he, a bonsty? He's way too big to be a bonsty.]

[He's trying not to think about it, but the way this creature keeps describing his own nature... well, he can't help but wonder. He picks up his pace before long, closing the gap between himself and his companion.]

Then perhaps you should see my last home. If filth is what you're so desperate for, I don't think you'll be disappointed.

[Besides, who doesn't love giant dead robot corpses?]

Is it nearby?

[Ah, but here they are! The junkyard. The Gromble takes a deep breath. Not much rotting, but plenty of oil around.]

Much better. It needs some work, but this should suffice until I discover why the humans have kidnapped us.

Oh, heavens, no. Good luck trying to get off this bubble, let alone taking a ship out to the Polaris Galaxy. I understand your desperation to find a habitable environment, but I'm afraid it's nearly futile, at the moment.

[Nearly, because they've already arrived at a similar location, it seems.]

...how much more filth do you need?

It would be nice if there were more rotting things, but I can survive like this.

[It's not his fault that he's made the way he is, Alister, don't judge! He just needs a really filthy place to recharge and he'll be able to safely walk around Vatheon after filling his breathing sac.]

Sorry, but I don't think there are too many landfills in a world like this. We make do with what we have, and that's that.

[In other words: suck it up and stop whining, Gromble.]

Enter The Gromble

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