Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2018-01-01 10:08 pm
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2018-01-01 10:08 pm
[01 OOM] Digitamamon's Diner, PicoDevimon's Side
Everything had turned out pretty good, as far as PicoDevimon was concerned.
Knowledge was off floating in an abyss, stripped of any curiosity or drive to do anything, doing endless calisthenics as he floated in Vademon’s empty void.
Sincerity was living the life of luxury in the Gekomon village, unwilling to awaken their shogun from his long slumber and give up her newfound comfort and safety, while they were unwilling to let her leave before she acquiesced.
Love was in the wind somewhere, dejected, unwilling to rejoin any of the others.
Reliability had ended up in infinite servitude to Digitamamon and his diner. PicoDevimon gave the old egg cash, and Digitamamon made sure that his new servant racked up enough of a debt to ensure he’d never leave.
It was unexpectedly serendipitous when Friendship arrived at the diner, leaving Hope all on his own and giving PicoDevimon a chance to ensnare two of the kids at one diner. As soon as the kid and his Gabumon agreed to help work off the debt, PicoDevimon set about paying Digitamamon more.
Keeping the debt high was easy. A little subterfuge and sabotage on PicoDevimon’s part and every shelf, plate, or machine that Jyou Kido touched seemed to break, and on the days when that wasn’t enough, PicoDevimon was more than happy to just trip the boy up. Veggiemon and Digitamamon were more than happy to help.
All of which left the little kid, Ishida’s brother, all on his own. A tiny, blond scrap of a thing, with a Tokomon on his shoulder -- it boggled the mind that this was the kid Devimon had spent his whole life fearing, the one who’d eventually killed him.
He found the kid crying, and fluttered down, making himself the very picture of concern. “Oh, my! What do we have here?” He had said, hovering about the two. “A human! You must be the ones who defeated Etemon, right?”
Takeru nodded, drying his eyes.
“Thank you! Because of you, peace has returned to the world,” PicoDevimon enthused. “My name’s PicoDevimon. Why were you cryin’, kid?”
“My -- my brother left to go across the lake, and he hasn’t come back,” Takeru said.
“Oh, no! I suppose there’s nothin’ else for it, I’ll have to go across the lake myself and find him!” PicoDevimon said.
That had seemed to instantly cheer Takeru up, even as he fought off the last few tears. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Of course! Anything for the saviours of the world. What’s your brother’s name?”
“Yamato!”
“Ya-ma-to. All right, wait right there!”
The great lake wasn’t named so for nothing, and even with his fast wings, it took PicoDevimon nearly all day to cross it. As the sun set, he had hovered about near the diner, waiting for his opportunity.
---
The perfect moment comes when Yamato goes to the shore, all on his own, to play his harmonica. PicoDevimon waits until he’s sure that neither the Gabumon, the Gomamon, nor the other kid were going to follow, then flutters down.
“That’s a beautiful melody,” he calls and the boy starts, turning towards him.
“Who are you?” The suspicion is almost jarring. Just that morning, PicoDevimon had been talking to a kid with damn near the same face who’d been trusting as anything, and now he’s getting looked at like he might go for a murder attempt at any second.
(Oh, if only.)
“Just a Digimon passing by. Name’s PicoDevimon,” he says. “Seems like you’re burdened with some pretty heavy troubles.”
Yamato scowls at that, as if PicoDevimon is somehow the root of all of his troubles, as opposed to about half of them (and the kid doesn’t even know that, so what gives?). “How would you know?”
PicoDevimon waves a wing. “That melody of yours doesn’t lie. Besides, I’m a regular at the diner. You might have seen me around!”
That one isn’t even a lie. Even before Etemon died and the Chosen Kids started traipsing into Lord Vamdemon’s territory, PicoDevimon had visited Digitamamon’s diner on the regular. It’s a bit low class for one of Lord Vamdemon’s inner circle, perhaps, but the food’s damn good. Veggiemon knows his stuff.
“So you know what’s been going on,” Yamato says.
“Sure thing, kid! You’ve been sacrificing yourself for a friend,” PicoDevimon says, solemnly. “I just figure it’s a shame that your friend isn’t doing the same for you, you get me?”
“Jyou?” Yamato asks. “What about him?”
It’s time to go in for the kill. It’s a delicate balance that PicoDevimon has to strike: If he doesn’t push the kid far enough, he might bounce back, make his Crest shine, and evolve that Gabumon of his into something that could challenge Lord Vamdemon’s army; if pushes the kid too far, turns that virtue of his malignant, his Crest will blacken, and its out of control power will create a monster that will devastate everything in its path. He has to find the sweet spot, the exact right mix of anger, doubt, disloyalty, and hopelessness to make the Crest go inert.
“Well, it’s just a rumour, so don’t take my word for it or anythin’,” PicoDevimon says. “But I heard he’s making mistakes on purpose.”
“What?”
“Somethin’ about being worried you’ll leave him behind. It’s probably nothin’.”
Yamato scowls. “Jyou wouldn’t do something like that.”
Yamato’s not that good at hiding his emotions, PicoDevimon finds. He can see that he’s gotten under the kid’s skin something awful. He’ll scratch at that itch himself now, and PicoDevimon doesn’t even have to do anything.
“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, why would he have to worry about that, y’know? You’re a good guy,” PicoDevimon says. “Well, I’ve gotta be gettin’ home, but hey, how about I do you a solid and pass on a message to your brother, eh?”
Yamato blinks at him. “You’d do that?”
“Of course!”
“I guess -- I guess just tell him I’ll be back soon, and if he needs to find me, he should take one of the pedal boats over the lake,” Yamato says. He pauses, then, quietly: “And, er, that I miss him. I suppose.”
“Consider it done,” PicoDevimon says, saluting with one wing. “Adios!”
---
He flies back across the lake early next morning, moving at double time to get to Takeru as soon as possible. Sure enough, the kid’s waiting on the pier.
“You’re back!” Takeru shouts, running up to the edge. “Did you find my brother?”
“I did,” PicoDevimon says. “I brought back a message from him!”
“What is it?”
“He says he doesn’t want to see your disgusting, filthy face anymore,” PicoDevimon says, cheerfully. “He said he really, really, really-really hates you, and he’s found a new brother. A better brother. A taller brother. So, he doesn’t need you anymore, y’know?”
Tokomon moves forward, baring rows of sharp teeth. “That’s a lie! You’re a liar!”
“Um, excuse me,” PicoDevimon says. “I think you’ll find that’s called slander, and it’s a crime.”
The damage is already done anyway, because he can see Takeru’s eyes welling up.
“He also said,” PicoDevimon says, “that he especially hates how you cry all the time. It’s very exhausting to deal with, and also it makes him wish you were dead. He said a lot of other stuff, too, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
That does the trick, and the kid breaks down into a full scale sobbing fit, sprinting away from the pier, yelling about how he hates his brother as well.
A good day’s work, PicoDevimon reckons. Kids are idiots.
Knowledge was off floating in an abyss, stripped of any curiosity or drive to do anything, doing endless calisthenics as he floated in Vademon’s empty void.
Sincerity was living the life of luxury in the Gekomon village, unwilling to awaken their shogun from his long slumber and give up her newfound comfort and safety, while they were unwilling to let her leave before she acquiesced.
Love was in the wind somewhere, dejected, unwilling to rejoin any of the others.
Reliability had ended up in infinite servitude to Digitamamon and his diner. PicoDevimon gave the old egg cash, and Digitamamon made sure that his new servant racked up enough of a debt to ensure he’d never leave.
It was unexpectedly serendipitous when Friendship arrived at the diner, leaving Hope all on his own and giving PicoDevimon a chance to ensnare two of the kids at one diner. As soon as the kid and his Gabumon agreed to help work off the debt, PicoDevimon set about paying Digitamamon more.
Keeping the debt high was easy. A little subterfuge and sabotage on PicoDevimon’s part and every shelf, plate, or machine that Jyou Kido touched seemed to break, and on the days when that wasn’t enough, PicoDevimon was more than happy to just trip the boy up. Veggiemon and Digitamamon were more than happy to help.
All of which left the little kid, Ishida’s brother, all on his own. A tiny, blond scrap of a thing, with a Tokomon on his shoulder -- it boggled the mind that this was the kid Devimon had spent his whole life fearing, the one who’d eventually killed him.
He found the kid crying, and fluttered down, making himself the very picture of concern. “Oh, my! What do we have here?” He had said, hovering about the two. “A human! You must be the ones who defeated Etemon, right?”
Takeru nodded, drying his eyes.
“Thank you! Because of you, peace has returned to the world,” PicoDevimon enthused. “My name’s PicoDevimon. Why were you cryin’, kid?”
“My -- my brother left to go across the lake, and he hasn’t come back,” Takeru said.
“Oh, no! I suppose there’s nothin’ else for it, I’ll have to go across the lake myself and find him!” PicoDevimon said.
That had seemed to instantly cheer Takeru up, even as he fought off the last few tears. “Really? You’d do that?”
“Of course! Anything for the saviours of the world. What’s your brother’s name?”
“Yamato!”
“Ya-ma-to. All right, wait right there!”
The great lake wasn’t named so for nothing, and even with his fast wings, it took PicoDevimon nearly all day to cross it. As the sun set, he had hovered about near the diner, waiting for his opportunity.
The perfect moment comes when Yamato goes to the shore, all on his own, to play his harmonica. PicoDevimon waits until he’s sure that neither the Gabumon, the Gomamon, nor the other kid were going to follow, then flutters down.
“That’s a beautiful melody,” he calls and the boy starts, turning towards him.
“Who are you?” The suspicion is almost jarring. Just that morning, PicoDevimon had been talking to a kid with damn near the same face who’d been trusting as anything, and now he’s getting looked at like he might go for a murder attempt at any second.
(Oh, if only.)
“Just a Digimon passing by. Name’s PicoDevimon,” he says. “Seems like you’re burdened with some pretty heavy troubles.”
Yamato scowls at that, as if PicoDevimon is somehow the root of all of his troubles, as opposed to about half of them (and the kid doesn’t even know that, so what gives?). “How would you know?”
PicoDevimon waves a wing. “That melody of yours doesn’t lie. Besides, I’m a regular at the diner. You might have seen me around!”
That one isn’t even a lie. Even before Etemon died and the Chosen Kids started traipsing into Lord Vamdemon’s territory, PicoDevimon had visited Digitamamon’s diner on the regular. It’s a bit low class for one of Lord Vamdemon’s inner circle, perhaps, but the food’s damn good. Veggiemon knows his stuff.
“So you know what’s been going on,” Yamato says.
“Sure thing, kid! You’ve been sacrificing yourself for a friend,” PicoDevimon says, solemnly. “I just figure it’s a shame that your friend isn’t doing the same for you, you get me?”
“Jyou?” Yamato asks. “What about him?”
It’s time to go in for the kill. It’s a delicate balance that PicoDevimon has to strike: If he doesn’t push the kid far enough, he might bounce back, make his Crest shine, and evolve that Gabumon of his into something that could challenge Lord Vamdemon’s army; if pushes the kid too far, turns that virtue of his malignant, his Crest will blacken, and its out of control power will create a monster that will devastate everything in its path. He has to find the sweet spot, the exact right mix of anger, doubt, disloyalty, and hopelessness to make the Crest go inert.
“Well, it’s just a rumour, so don’t take my word for it or anythin’,” PicoDevimon says. “But I heard he’s making mistakes on purpose.”
“What?”
“Somethin’ about being worried you’ll leave him behind. It’s probably nothin’.”
Yamato scowls. “Jyou wouldn’t do something like that.”
Yamato’s not that good at hiding his emotions, PicoDevimon finds. He can see that he’s gotten under the kid’s skin something awful. He’ll scratch at that itch himself now, and PicoDevimon doesn’t even have to do anything.
“Yeah, you’re right. I mean, why would he have to worry about that, y’know? You’re a good guy,” PicoDevimon says. “Well, I’ve gotta be gettin’ home, but hey, how about I do you a solid and pass on a message to your brother, eh?”
Yamato blinks at him. “You’d do that?”
“Of course!”
“I guess -- I guess just tell him I’ll be back soon, and if he needs to find me, he should take one of the pedal boats over the lake,” Yamato says. He pauses, then, quietly: “And, er, that I miss him. I suppose.”
“Consider it done,” PicoDevimon says, saluting with one wing. “Adios!”
He flies back across the lake early next morning, moving at double time to get to Takeru as soon as possible. Sure enough, the kid’s waiting on the pier.
“You’re back!” Takeru shouts, running up to the edge. “Did you find my brother?”
“I did,” PicoDevimon says. “I brought back a message from him!”
“What is it?”
“He says he doesn’t want to see your disgusting, filthy face anymore,” PicoDevimon says, cheerfully. “He said he really, really, really-really hates you, and he’s found a new brother. A better brother. A taller brother. So, he doesn’t need you anymore, y’know?”
Tokomon moves forward, baring rows of sharp teeth. “That’s a lie! You’re a liar!”
“Um, excuse me,” PicoDevimon says. “I think you’ll find that’s called slander, and it’s a crime.”
The damage is already done anyway, because he can see Takeru’s eyes welling up.
“He also said,” PicoDevimon says, “that he especially hates how you cry all the time. It’s very exhausting to deal with, and also it makes him wish you were dead. He said a lot of other stuff, too, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.”
That does the trick, and the kid breaks down into a full scale sobbing fit, sprinting away from the pier, yelling about how he hates his brother as well.
A good day’s work, PicoDevimon reckons. Kids are idiots.