Echoes [MPC#46D]
Dec 22, 2017 4:54:36 GMT
Post by darkblade on Dec 22, 2017 4:54:36 GMT
"Sheesh... every year with that thing, huh?"
In Mikemon's idle thoughts, the sound of a conversation early that morning slipped once more into his head. Presently, the feline felt the crunch of snow under his feet, a thick, hooded jacket wrapped around his frame. Just a yard or so in front of him was a much taller figure, a Stingmon, who clasped around the arms of a thicker jacket against the biting wind. Like this, the two fit right into the outskirts of Shibuya. Well, it also helped that the weather kept most people off the streets...
"So, what's all this about, then?"
Yup, it was that time of year again: the time when tamers and small sections of Digimon alike took to the distant festivities of the foreign world. Mikemon didn't mind it all that much, as a cheerful face never went amiss. He could understand the humans having their holiday, but the Stingmon, his desk clerk? The cat sighed, holding the snowglobe in his hand. Inside the glass sphere was a suspended figure of Santa Claus, sitting in his sleigh, pulled along by a reindeer with a blinking nose.
"Well, first of all," the Stingmon reached forth, and plucked the glass ball out of the cat's hands. "I'd much rather you leave that be." With a 'tap', the globe was set on the desk, a red and purplish tint flicking by the white flakes of the globe as they flickered around the edges of the glass. "And second, don't worry. Its just for the week."
"Right, right," the Mikemon chuckled. Really, it was no skin off his nose what his clerk decided to do. He was honestly just about to leave it be, but as he turned, the Stingmon spoke back up: "Ah, just a reminder, taking tomorrow off. You tend to forget what we mark down in the book, but-"
"Really, that was this week?" The cat scratched his head, turning back to the desk. Indeed, there it was, signed off with the doctor's name, but he still gave a sigh. "Humans get so weird around this time that even our hospitals get stuck with the overflow. Honestly, without you here, won't be able to do much, myself..." He sighed, the thought of that easy, high-profit margin work slipping through the crack briefly passing through his head. The Stingmon crossed his arms:
"Well, if that's the case, why don't you come along with me?" The tone was sudden, a rare bit of interest springing up from the champion insect. It was so out of character that the Mikemon found himself scratching his head.
"Um... really, I don't think I need to-" He blinked. The cat's dismissive tone hadn't changed the Stingmon's expression at all - was there something he wanted him to see? "... Alright, I guess. But if this is some holiday party, I'm reserving the right to bail on you."
But even right now, Mikemon had little idea what the Stingmon himself was up to. All he knew from the start was that the two of them were heading over to the 'other world', and out here in suburbia, holiday decorations were in full view. Houses were decorated, either from the bare minimal wreath to insanely intricate, moving light displays. Occasionally they would pass by a snowman, or catch the scent of a seasonal pie wafting through a window. The Mikemon caught these signs with mild interest from the corner of his eye - anything was interesting against this white backdrop - but the Stingmon led a little further on. When they passed the last house on the block, the feline gave a blink.
"Alright... so where are we-"
"Hm." Just as the Mikemon spoke up, though, the Stingmon gave a turn onto a side-path. The Mikemon pivoted on his ankle to follow, running a few steps to catch up to the insect. His armored hand gripped at an iron gate, pulling it right on open.
A cemetery? Any quip the feline had stored up quickly vanished from his mind, as the Stingmon pressed his way inside. Without a word, the cat followed, giving a quick look over his shoulder into the silence of the winter evening. The path seemed thick and the headstones blistered with ice, but the desk clerk led on without hesitation, knowing right where he was going.
Stingmon stopped, and turned to face a headstone. There was nothing making it stick out any more than the rest of the stones here, but a careful claw revealed both the name 'Jasmine', as well as the years underneath. It was enough for the cat to pick up that the age was dreadfully young - ten? The Mikemon watched from a few feet back, as the insect knelt, his hand on the stone.
"... I knew her for less than two weeks." The Stingmon's voice cut through the silence. "I don't know why, but the Digital World thought it fit to give her a Digivice. And for when I knew her, well, it was a time just like this: snow falling, Christmas lights everywhere."
"You..." the Mikemon blinked. "Were an Aato?"
The Stingmon gave a small nod, but spoke forward as if the Mikemon never interrupted. "She was ill from the start, but still so full of warmth and energy. Didn't even think to hide me - for the entire family I was just a precious little Wormmon. I don't know how or why I was ever paired up with her, but that one Christmas we had, well..." He chuckled. "Didn't matter what I was, I was just another part of the family. Poor girl was so sad she didn't get me anything for Christmas, that her mom gave her something from the mantle just to give me. Heh... for a while, I thought it would just go on, but..."
"..." Just... just what could he say? The Mikemon was at a loss for words. Part of him was curious, part of him was sympathetic, and part of him was wondering why the Stingmon even dragged him out here. Certainly the bug knew that the doctor wasn't the best for this sort of thing...
... But for right now, the cat managed to nod. "That's why..."
The Stingmon nodded, again. "Sorry, but could you just wait by the gate?"
And wait the cat would - outside that wrought iron gate, his arms crossed, the feline shivered alone in the cold. Across the street, the Christmas lights of the neighborhood blinked in the distance. And at the house by the corner, several cars started to pull up, first parking in the driveway, then parked by the street. Some even came by foot, and several came to the door: some old and refined, some young and rambunctious, but all had a warm smile and a simple eagerness about them.
At that sight, the Mikemon gave a sigh and a smile, holding that jacket just a bit tighter around himself.
