#fun fact when i was priming him i lost his head outside in the bushes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

curiousdibandbeyond · 4 years ago

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ZADR Revival Week Final Day

@zadr-revival

The theme for today is Procrastination Gauntlet!! I’ve been putting off posting this ZADR fic and today is the day I start it! It’s called Take Another Step and I spent way too long on the first chapter lol

You can find it on ff.net here

or on AO3 here

Had a blast with this ZADR week--first time I’ve participated in a shipping week event and I had fun!

If you want to read it here, I’m putting it under a read more!

Part 1: Are You Okay?

Dib shook his nerves out once more. He had spotted Zim on his way out of the school in the throng of students leaving en masse. He had turned down the wrong street to go home—an oddity that Dib hadn’t missed, and Gaz had groaned about when he pointed it out. Dib figured it was better to get in a fight with Zim than be beaten to a pulp by her. Zim at least would leave him able to wobble home; he wasn’t so sure when it came to Gaz. He only knew she had the hospital on speed dial.

As it stood, Zim hadn’t noticed him yet and Dib intended to keep it that way. He ducked behind bushes and fence posts and trees—anything and everything he could use for cover. With his still small frame, that was easier to do. It was hampered a little by his height. Dib hated to crouch, but years of doing so in the bushes outside Zim’s base had made him adept at doing so in a second behind whatever cover he might have. Dib began to notice that they’d started getting near the park, where the neighborhoods stated to thin out. Zim stopped at the park gate and whipped around, catching Dib in his sights before Dib could duck behind anything. Dib pretended, for his own sanity, that it didn’t just look like Zim’s head had done a near perfect 180 like an owl.

They stood staring at one another in a standoff. Dib was running rapid fire through all his options. He didn’t have a lot. He could come clean and admit he had been following Zim; or pretend he hadn’t been and look like a moron and an obvious liar. He also started to think about all the ways he could dodge Zim’s claws. To his surprise, Zim never made a move against him. He only glared.

A glare that was an assault on its own. Dib felt a bead of sweat drop off his temple.

“Um—”

“You are terrible at stealth,” Zim says. Dib stammers; caught up in the offense of the statement.

“I am not!” he shouts, taking a step forward before stopping himself. He really couldn’t get within range of Zim’s claws. He knew better than that. Zim gave him a look. A Look that said ‘you are a liar’. “…I’m NOT.”

“Perhaps to other humans. I could hear you loud and clear once the noise of the school fell away,” Zim says, waving him off as he turned back around.

Dib blanched at him, starting to follow, but making sure that he kept a good distance the entire walk. It wasn’t particularly unusual that Zim blew him off like that, but it had been a while since the last time Zim had been bold enough to turn his back on Dib without checking somehow to be sure Dib wasn’t hiding a weapon in his pockets. Dib noticed Zim was starting to eye up the trees.

“You’re just saying that because you want me to stop following you.” Dib retorts.

“I do, but no, that’s not why. I recognize your heartbeat,” Zim says blandly. Dib almost didn’t catch that. Almost. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact Zim could hear his heartbeat, much less that he could differentiate it from everyone else’s. It was something Dib was sure he could have gone his entire life without knowing and been just as happy.

“That’s not horrifying,” he says instead. Zim’s antennae twitched under his wig and he looked back with a smug grin. Dib stared at him, knowing that Zim could hear his heart rate pick up slightly, and the bastard of an alien just turned back around without saying a word. “So, what are you doing all the way out here? Are you trying to get lost again? Start an alien cult? Got a bomb out here?”

“None of those things, and you do not need to care. I just wanted to get away for a while. Not that you care to allow that,” Zim says plainly. Dib grit his teeth at the jab. Zim’s lack of raising voice was somehow more aggravating than if he’d been yelling at Dib to leave him alone. Dib was used to Zim screaming at him. He knew how to respond to a screaming alien.

“Yeah, RIGHT. You’re lying.” Dib declares, taking a few adventurous steps forward.

Zim immediately spun around to take a swipe at him. Dib brought his arm up, blocking the majority of Zim’s swipe. The claws caught at his sleeve and Zim gripped the fabric, bringing Dib forward with one harsh tug on his forearm. The fabric that had stopped the claws from tearing up Dib’s arm served next to hold him place. The tightness around his wrist meant he couldn’t just slip his hand out and abandon the coat. Zim’s grip was strong enough that the constriction started to hurt, and Dib wanted to squirm out of the hold despite knowing he couldn’t. He also knew that would only prompt Zim to hold his arm tighter and he didn’t want to start losing blood flow.

Dib kept his free arm away, primed and ready to strike once Zim made any motion towards him. Zim stared at him a moment as if debating if he should proceed. He scowled and shoved Dib away. Dib stumbled, catching himself on the wall of the park, and rubbed at the sore spot on his forearm. It would definitely bruise—he could already feel it. Zim was already walking away from him, running his fingers along the side of the wall. Dib cautiously walked after him.

“Then what are you doing out here?” he asks again.

“Getting some air, as you humans say,” Zim says.

The irritation was starting to invade his tone. Dib was sure his antennae were vibrating under the wig. He would like to see it—it was always fascinating to see the antenna show more of what Zim was feeling or thinking than the alien’s own face or body would ever convey. Zim would make a killing at poker and Dib didn’t believe him.

He was cursing himself for not packing something to use if this happened. It was always a hit or miss when he made the decision every morning. He always kept a water gun in his bag or his coat for emergencies, but he’d neglected to grab anything else that morning. He’d been hoping for a break for a day, and Zim had curiously allowed that up until he broke his usual pattern after leaving school. He hadn’t really been involved in anything the entire day, even suspiciously missing lunch only to pop up in history the next period. As much as Dib hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to find anything out of the ordinary when he had patrolled the halls over the next few periods when he could.

“Since when do you care to do that?” Dib asks.

Zim’s claws started to scrape against the stone, carving lines into the rock. Zim didn’t answer, walking until he hit the entrance and turned inside. Dib poked his head around the corner, catching sight of Zim already at the tree line. Dib made it most of the way before Zim turned to him. In the shadows of the trees Dib could see the glow of Zim’s eyes past the contacts, just barely poking through. It caused a ‘demonic possession’ type of vibe and Dib stopped in his advancement on instinct. He suddenly felt uncertain. Zim was uncharacteristically stoic and it was throwing Dib off.

“I’m just getting some air. Go home,” Zim orders. Dib stood silent, unable to think of a response. Zim sounded… tired.

Did Irkens need to sleep?

Dib snapped from his musings when Zim had disappeared into the bushes. Dib watched the forest uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Zim wouldn’t try to pull something. He waited at the tree line for a few hours before he figured it was safe enough.

He slipped into the bushes slowly, trying to remain silent. It didn’t take long to figure out that he had no idea how to move stealthily among trees and bushes. The branches of both were brushing against him even when he tried to move around them in the most ridiculous contortions. His boots on the leaves and twigs were no better. He really wished he’d packed his tree stand even though it would be of no help in tracking Zim down. It was different than tracking down a Big Foot or another creature that might wander into Dib’s clearing or past his cameras. Zim knew how to avoid Dib by now.

Regardless, Dib kept going straight. He had no idea how to track if Zim had gone anywhere else until he spotted an unusual indent in the bark of the trees. Three to four of the markings were on trees within a similar distance in bathes. Dib saw it bank right and started to follow. He broke out into a deer trail and looked down each direction. To his left he spotted another set of markings. He made a note that he’d have to turn around and go straight again to leave, just to be sure he didn’t get lost, before he went ahead.

He was looking up more than he was looking down. He tripped or stumbled more than once. Finally, mercifully, he broke out into a clearing. Dib stepped back immediately, spotting one of the PAK legs still bent over and hovering in the air just past the center of the clearing. It wasn’t a big clearing by any means. A giant log was off center in it. A small piece of missed history that might explain some of the changed terrain that allowed the grass to overtake the forest floor before any other foliage could.

Dib peeked around the tree he chose to hide behind and saw Zim’s PAK and head over the log’s body as if he were leaning against it. He was looking up at the sky. His PAK’s legs were just poised around him like the dead legs of a spider. It was unsettling to say the least. That said, he couldn’t see any device, any ship, or anything at all suspicious in the field. Dib ducked back behind the tree, ultimately confused. He started down the trail again, noting how it was getting dark. He could check again tomorrow.

By the time Zim had pushed back through the bushes the sky had gotten dark.

Zim hunched his shoulders, the PAK pressing against his back painfully. He let it, clenching his fists more out of the rage he felt as opposed to the pain. He ran one hand alone the stone wall, the claws cutting deep into the stones. He kept his other hand clenched. The pain kept him grounded. It caught his mind and kept it from free falling. Regardless, he started to shake.

~*~

Gir watched him silently. The robot had been bouncing off the walls and screaming for hours now. Zim hadn’t even moved in that entire time. Gir tilted his head. Zim had done this before. He seemed to zone out for hours on end, particularly after bad calls with The Tallest or others in the Empire. The difference here was that Gir could tell Zim was, in reality, intensely focused on the screen in front of him. His claws dug deeper into the metal of the desk the longer the Irken symbol flashed on and off the screen.

The screen had been blank, blinking the Irken symbol as the call was left unanswered yet again, for just as many hours as Gir had been wearing himself down. Typically, if Gir crashed into Zim, he’d let himself fall to avoid any injury to himself or Gir. It was utilitarian—so he wouldn’t have to waste time repairing himself or the hyperactive ball of metal that had flung itself into him. Gir knew that was why Zim let himself be tackled. Gir had joined Zim in staring at the screen when one such attempt at a tackle hadn’t moved the Irken an inch. Zim’s body had bene completely rigid, like a statue. Gir’s momentum, as much as he had built it up, hadn’t caused much in the way of disrupting his Master. Currently, Gir was looking at Zim and wondering if he should do something.

Zim bit his lip until it bled. He didn’t want to admit it.

The call would go unanswered.

~*~

Dib had been acing all his classes, surprisingly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t a genius—he was his father’s son, after all—but rather he was surprised that Zim’s absence wasn’t more of a distraction for him. He was somewhat distracted because it was unusual and that did inevitably put him on edge. A very hard edge that made it feel like his teeth were grating and he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Like the sound of nails on a chalk board and the feeling of weight being taken from him before he plummeted. He hadn’t found anything in the clearing the following morning. He hadn’t found anything in the following day, either.

By Friday he couldn’t take it any longer. If it weren’t for his sensors outside Zim’s base indicating he hadn’t left, Dib wouldn’t have been able to sleep. It was strange for Zim to disappear for days without a peep. It was strange for him to not make a peep the remainder of the week. It was strange and even unsettling that he supposedly hadn’t left his base in all that time, either. Any shift in the alien’s usual behavior warranted investigation. Dib simply had surmised that jumping down Zim’s throat about it wasn’t worth failing out of school.

But; he was free for the day now, and Dib made the walk to Zim’s base as easily as breathing. He didn’t need to focus for his feet to bring him there any longer. He had zoned out, thinking about the myriad of different plans Zim had probably been planning for the last few days, and not popping back into reality until he could see Zim’s base as he entered the cul-de-sac. He tried to calm his nerves. The familiar fear of going into this particular lion’s den was something he never was able to shake. As exciting as it was, it was also a huge risk every time. He knew he might not come out one day. He understood Zim wasn’t un-willing to kill him if he felt the need. Dib was surprised he’d lived this long. He had a fair number of scars to show for their battles. A few from lasers—that his Dad was more perceptive to than the usual odd scar—alongside all the claw marks. The latter he could at least explain away with monster hunting and running into the occasional feral animal. But the lasers’ marks had been harder to brush off. “It was a failed experiment” was luckily enough to get his father to back off.

Dib cautioned himself as he neared the front fence. He saw the gnomes standing at attention as usual. He stuck his foot into the lawn’s perimeter, toeing inside the property line, just to be safe. The gnomes didn’t respond. They didn’t even turn their heads. Dib took a cautious step inside. Still nothing. He took a bold leap, kicking one over and jumping back onto the sidewalk.

Nothing.

That was either very, very good; or very, very bad. Dib wasn’t sure which he would prefer. Obviously if Zim had up and left that meant Earth was safe; but then, Dib assumed the base would be gone with him. So, either the alien had seriously dropped his maintenance duties, had gotten very engrossed in one of his projects, or he was dead.

Dib decided to ignore the wandering possibilities and made his way to the door. He tapped it with his foot and the door swung open without resistance. Dib started to feel a ‘horror movie’ vibe coming on. He knew for most sensible people who watched horror as much as he had, he should have turned and gone home. Dib had already concluded that he was never the sensible type when he’d made the decision to possibly chase an alien for the rest of his life.

He stepped cautiously into the darkened house. The cords leading into the ceiling felt eerie-er than usual. The darkness was a definitive contributing factor to that. Dib felt his heartrate increasing every second he was there. It felt wrong to be there. He couldn’t recall many times that the lights were off in the surface level of the base. He walked inside, praying and praying that it wasn’t a trap of some kind. He’d brought his best tools with him just to be safe, but he could never be too sure. He got as far as the doorway to the kitchen before he stopped. Gir was sat atop the counter in the back corner, away from the prying eyes of any passerby on the sidewalk out front. Dib made his way up to the robot, lifting him up and looking over him. He was powered down, his eyes dark. Dib couldn’t find an ‘on’ switch and so set him back onto the counter. He wanted to study the robot more—for days, if he could—but he didn’t have the time to toy with that for now. He paused, noticing the dust and grime that had been building for the last half of the week on Gir’s body.

That’s not right. Zim’s a germophobe. Did he leave?

Dib hummed disapprovingly. He eyed the toilet and decided against it. If the power was truly out, then it wouldn’t work regardless, and he didn’t feel like going down that shoot. He bee-lined for the side table in the living room. He took it off the tiles, setting it aside. Dib hooked his fingers on the tile, trying to pry it open. It didn’t budge more than a millimeter. He tried a few more times before giving up with a huff and discarding his backpack. He rifled through it, finding his multi-tool. He hooked the point of the knife attachment under the tile, using leverage to pry it open. The hatch clicked when it popped open. Dib had to lift it up, forcing the hinges to snap. He wasn’t paying for that. He set the very edge of his shoe under the tiles, keeping them propped open. He looked down into the shoot, spying only darkness that was occasionally illuminated by a stray light. So, the base did have power. But none to the top floor. He wondered if he’d find anything down the tube, or if that’s all that was left. A tube and some forgotten lights set up with the neighbors’ power grid.

Dib furrowed his brow. He dug into his bag again, discarding binders he didn’t need any longer and grabbed for his grappling hook. He had thirty meters of cable in it, he could get pretty far on that. He shimmied his way into the shoot, securing the hook on the outside, and began his descent. The grappling hook only moved at a set pace when going down: slow. Dib had ample time to take in the scenery of dirt past a transparent walling. Eventually, he did hear a ‘click�� as the end of his cable caught on the line. He looked around, spying a door he could climb up to. He reeled in some of the line, struggling to stand on the tiny ledge that remained of the door’s frame. He used his knife here similarly to the shoot’s hatch.

Dib managed to push the door open, wedging his grappling hook’s body between the doors to keep them from shutting again. If he got lost, he’d just have to find the door with a plastic gun handle stuck in it.

Dib made his way through the lab cautiously. He had turned a few times when he started to see the scratch marks on the hall walls. Only ever down the single hallway, one set with dozens of doors, and none of them the source of the scratches had gone into more than once or twice, based on the amount of scratches that had made a new textured flooring. Some had even dragged up the walls. Dib felt his anxiety spike, breathing becoming more difficult, and his heart pounding in his ears. He took out a coin and flipped it.

Heads. Right, it is.

Dib banked down the hall. He followed the scratches to a door at the very end. It was set open, the light of the button stuck on. The button itself was cracked. Dib swallowed. He was definitely going to die.

Regardless, his dumb brain decided taking a quick peek inside wasn’t going to kill him. Not to mention he’d been caught inside the base before with a pissed off alien. It wasn’t any different if he got caught now. He figured if Zim did manage to beat him in a fight, he’d just launch him out with the cannon. Again. Dib poked his head in and gaped.

The room was, to put it mildly, utterly trashed. The walls weren’t just covered in scratches, but full on gouges in the metal. Several monitors had their screens shattered, the largest had the table thrown into it. The table that had been bolted to the floor, and whose single central leg was wrenched in half to achieve its new position. Wires and cables were hanging from the ceiling, out of the monitor stations, and from the floor where tiles were missing.

The uneasy pit in his stomach sank deeper. Dib tiptoed around the room, surveying the damage. He knew these markings well enough. He’d dodged the PAK legs enough times to be certain of the kind of damage they left on the surrounding area.

Did he get in a fight?

No, that didn’t seem likely. Dib’s sensors didn’t pick up any activity from outside for days. If someone had attacked, they’d have had to teleport in, or shrunk themselves. While he was aware nether feat was impossible, it was improbable. Dib left the room, making his way as quietly but hastily as he could to the opposite end of the hall. This door was also ajar. He spotted the tip of a PAK leg at the door. Instinctive fear bubbled up, but Dib fought it down.

He squeezed his way through the crack in the door and the frame. The room was just as trashed as the one before it. Dib trailed the PAK leg, walking as quietly as possible. It would occasionally twitch, making a metal creaking noise with the effort of the movement. Dib would pause, waiting, until it wasn’t moving any longer. He looked up to see the chair they were coming from. It was swiveled away from him. He could see Zim’s legs from this side.

Dib inched his way around the chair. He could see Zim was slouching in the seat with his eyes closed. Dib bent around the chair. He looked at Zim, leaning as close as he dared—which was about a few inches from his face. Dib smiled, the thought of the opportunity becoming too great for him to resist. He took his phone out, holding it up for a photo.

“I didn’t think Irkens slept,” he murmured. A clawed hand grabbed the other side of the phone, the photo ending up being a very dark image of Zim's palm.

“They don’t.”

Dib shrieked, jumping several feet back. He would be humiliated if it weren’t for the fact Zim seemed utterly disinterested in him. Instead, Zim simply chucked his phone across the room and looked back to the broken monitor. Dib stared a moment. He side-stepped to his phone, retrieving it without taking his eyes off Zim. He cautiously stepped back up to the alien when he didn’t move.

“Zim?”

Zim didn’t respond. Dib couldn’t rightfully tell with the red eyes if he even glanced in his direction. He sauntered up to the alien, his bravado getting the best of him again. He was still sure not to disturb the PAK legs on his way up.

“Zim, I have those handcuffs.” Dib says. Zim didn’t pay him any mind. Dib was lying, but the alien didn’t know that.

Dib did catch a twitch from the PAK leg nearest to him. It was a small twitch, like it had lost its energy or fight. Typically, Zim would have at least hissed at Dib as a warning. A hiss that would forever and always send shivers down Dib’s spine with how unnatural it sounded. Dib acquainted it to a cat and a rattlesnake the first time he heard Zim hiss at him with a real intent to kill or maim backing it up. Zim was deadlier than any animal Dib had come across, as well as a fair number of cryptids, and he had bolted the moment the sound had come out of Zim’s mouth. They’d been in the middle of a fight, but Dib would have been damned if he was going to be dumb enough to die after getting a warning like that. He’d already ruined the latest plans—the fight was just to see who could beat who first. Once he’d gotten home safely he, of course, wrote down as much as he could recall about the entire experience. Theories included.

And he was being a complete idiot right at this moment.

“…I have a water gun, too,” he adds.

Zim still didn’t look his way but Dib saw his antennae twitch. It was a minor reaction; but it was something. Dib did have the water gun. He had even pulled it out of his bag when he announced its presence. It was only about half full; but it was more than enough. The slosh of the water and Dib caught Zim’s antennae twitch and his body stiffen. But, shockingly, the alien didn’t make a move to… move. Dib felt his palms grow sweaty.

“Alright.” He moved in front of Zim, gun forgotten in his hand as he braced on his knees to lean down to Zim’s eye level. The alien looked at him with a blank glare. “Are you sick?”

“…Irkens don’t get sick.”

“He speaks!” Dib shouts exaggeratingly. He cracked a smile at his own joke; but Zim doesn’t react past his lids lowering a little more. He was unimpressed and it was a half-assed attempt at a deeper glare. Dib deflated, putting the gun back into his bag, against his better judgement. “C’mon, that one is classic. So, then what’s wrong with you?”

“…”

“The silent treatment again? You don’t look like you could put up much of a fight right now, either.” Dib said coyly. He looked around the room before adding, “At least, not right now. Looks like you tired yourself out.”

“Days ago,” Zim added gruffly.

Dib eyed him. “Are you depressed, or something?”

“Or something.”

Dib blinked at him. He hadn’t expected a real answer. On top of that, Zim’s tone wasn’t exactly comforting. Dib had heard himself talking like this from time to time. Zim sounded apathetic. Dib’s worry started to shift from his own safety to Zim’s, much out of his control, and fueled by curiosity. Dib rubbed the back of his head, double checking the room again. He shifted his weight between his feet.

“Do you wanna…. Talk about it?” he asked. Zim shot him a look. Dib raised his hands up and let them drop again. “Alright, space-boy, well, I’m not leaving until you do, so. There.”

“…. Enjoy starving,” Zim spits. There was that trademark snark Dib had become so accustomed to. It was still hiding a little; but it was peeking through and that meant progress. Whether that progress was good progress remained to be seen. But Dib was never one to quit.

“Ok, fine. Look, you’re the only person I’ve had regular contact with for years now that didn’t think I was insane—”

“You are.”

“—or actively shut me out for being weird.”

“You are.”

“And yet you still talk to me,” Dib says. “And not just to pick a fight.”

Dib recalled with clarity the nights that he and Zim would be on a rooftop or in the park or on the outskirts of town, and they’d either have tired themselves out or weren’t in a battling mood. The occasions were rare, but they had been becoming more frequent as the years passed. These were nights when they’d just talk, like normal people. Sure, it’d go back to fighting the next day, or the day after if their moods were good. But, Dib like those nights. He got more out of the alien than he ever did any other day on those nights. A lot of it was sub-textual information that Dib had to rely on theories to explain and it wasn’t anything as grandiose as weaknesses or base secrets—but opinions and recounts of basic space travel and Zim’s own life experiences were something Dib found equally valuable and engaging. The topics shifted throughout the conversations and could take hours to conclude. Zim, though he’d never admit it, respected Dib’s boundless curiosity for every topic at hand. Zim had gotten some things of use out of the conversations as well—it was the reason he told himself he kept at them. Though Dib could aggravating, annoy, and often anger him, Zim knew he was also one of the few people on the planet who he could hold a meaningful conversation with.

Presently, Dib was smiling smugly at him, inching ever closer across the line of annoyance into aggravation.

“Hey, I’m right. So, start talking. It helps.” Dib says. Zim eyed him. The PAK legs drew into his PAK, scraping against the flooring. They were uncharacteristically limp. Instead of sitting up to speak, Zim stood and walked towards the door, his back straight in typical military fashion. Dib paused before following him out. “Zim, it really does help.”

“Don’t care.”

“And speaking basic, bare minimum sentences don’t qualify,” Dib adds. Zim whirled on him, just a tiny spark of that energy coming back into his red eyes. They glowed faintly in the dim lighting of the hallway and Dib was adamantly reminded of just whose den he was currently trespassing in. A lump of fear blocked his windpipe for a moment.

“I could kill you.” Zim says evenly. Dib stared at him, acutely aware of the legitimacy of that fact and how he didn’t need the reminder. Plus, he had been pressing a matter that perhaps he shouldn’t have. A fact made clearer when Zim kept speaking. “I could skewer you like a shish kabob and burn your body to ash—until nothing was left. No one would know you’re missing except Gaz. Who, I somewhat, doubt would care. If she does, I could just do the same to her.”

Dib clenched his fists, but remained silent, holding Zim’s gaze steadily. The alien wasn’t moving, still as a statue, watching him back. Finally, Dib slowly started to shake his head.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Dib says finally. He let his body relax, his fists unclenching. He wasn’t about to let Zim goad him into a fight right now. He sees Zim’s shoulders prickle and his teeth start to bare. He wasn’t going to get goaded into a fight if he could help it, that is. Dib continues quickly. “Because then you’d be alone. It’s the same reason I haven’t killed you, either.”

Zim stares at him. Reading him. His lips had started to close, and he turned his back to Dib, stomping away. Dib felt relief wash over him briefly. He could live another day. For now.

He chased after Zim, partly because he wasn’t entirely sure where to go, and partly because he was genuinely concerned about what had caused Zim’s tantrum. He hadn’t even known Zim could wrench a bolted table out of the floor. The image flashed in Dib’s mind and his feet carried him driven by two emotions. Unabashed curiosity and hurt pride.

He’d been holding back on him.

The absolute dumbass.

“Hey. I get that this is probably something you don’t want to discuss, but I’m here for you to talk to me. It’s not like you can go to therapy.” Dib says, jogging up to Zim’s side to keep pace.

“What is that?” Zim asks. There was genuine curiosity in his voice and Dib grasped that little bit of real reaction like a lifeline. He couldn’t really pinpoint why he cared so much. If nothing else, he could distract Zim to some degree. Dib wasn’t sure why he was bothering, given if Zim died of starvation from his own apathetic self just neglecting to eat, it would have made Dib’s job a hell of a lot easier. And yet.

“It’s where people talk about their problems, in basic terms. It helps.” Dib insists. Zim shot him another look and Dib sighed dramatically. “It helps you paranoid bug—”

Zim whirled on him, pinning him to the wall by fists in his shirt. Dib latched onto Zim’s wrists, ready to wrench them away if he had to. He wasn’t sure how on the line Zim was between throwing him out or snapping his neck, either ending after a good beating. What Dib did know was that the claws were poking through his shirt and had assuredly broken skin. It was just another shirt down the drain. Dib opted to deal with trying to ask Gaz to sew it up later and met Zim’s eyes. Two full orbs of red, like bottomless pools of blood, all full of fury.

“And why?” Zim asked, tongue and teeth bare as he hissed when he talked. Dib shivered at the sound. “Why do you CARE?”

“I-I don’t… I don’t know, I just do.” Dib stammered. He gave an experimental tug on Zim’s hands. The fists tightened, only further cementing the early death of Dib’s t-shirt. Dib wriggled against the wall. He couldn’t move more than a few centimeters at a time. His heart rate was starting to pick up the more he couldn’t budge Zim’s grip. He may have to resort to kicking. Zim narrowed his eyes, hissing at him again.

“Liar.”

Zim dropped him, giving him a good kick to the shin before he started down the hall again. Dib clutched at his leg a moment, refusing to whine, as he stumbled after Zim down the hall. The wall was his support as he hobbled after him. He wasn’t one to give up easily, and Zim knew that by now. Dib was also one to push buttons.

“Zim, you’re being bothered by something. Tell me what it is.”

“You do not care.”

“I do,” Dib insisted.

“No, you do not. You can’t.” Zim shot back.

Dib glowered at the back of Zim’s head. He ran up in front of Zim, cutting him off in the hallway by putting a hand firmly on the alien’s chest. The alien’s demeanor didn’t shift very much. He glared Dib down, unimpressed. Given that Dib hadn’t been successful at all to fend Zim off a few seconds prior and that Dib just didn’t have that imposing of a frame; Dib’s attempt to stop him wasn’t that successful. Dib had never ‘grown into’ any sort of obvious muscle. He was still a good half a head taller than Zim—and could always be—but, Zim had learned he was deceptively strong. For someone so slight, Dib could pack a mean punch when he wanted to.

There in the hall, Zim could feel the effort Dib was putting into his palm to keep him from leaning forward to take another step. Zim could easily sidestep him; but that might incur a fight. Zim was just too mentally exhausted to fight. He was in the mood to poster and bluff, not fight. Instead, he reached his hand up, wrapped it around Dib’s wrist firmly, and pulled the boy’s hand away.

“No.”

Zim shoved past him, stopping at the elevator that had Dib’s grappling hook in it. Zim stared at it a moment before giving Dib a different ‘look’. One of abject disbelief with an undertone of annoyance. Dib flushed a little. Zim grabbed the gun, yanking it out and snapping the chord, without breaking eye contact. Dib stared disappointed at the loss of a large sum of money. He couldn’t afford putting in another equipment request to The Swollen Eyeball with his track record. The duo’s multiple encounters had cost the organization a pretty penny already.

Zim hit the button, oblivious to Dib’s future financial woes, and the elevator doors closed and opened again a moment later with the floor ready to take Dib up. Dib looked between Zim and the elevator. He stepped up and hit the button again, closing the door. He bounced out of Zim’s reach, just in case, when the alien stared at him in annoyance. The expression was largely unreadable—Dib would be hesitant to admit it, but Zim’s contacts really did most of the work when Dib was reading how he was feeling—aside from the half-lidded glare. It was also, pointedly, half-hearted. Dib decided to stand his ground. He wasn’t sure what he was wearing down; but a wall was starting to fall and he wasn’t losing this small foothold if he could help it.

“I’m not leaving,” he declared. Zim started to shake. He looked ready to scream and throw punches. Instead he turned on his heel back down another hall. The spark of anger in his eyes was a passionate flare; one that Dib saw be physically suppressed as Zim forced his body to turn. Dib had to jog to keep pace with his strides. Zim wasn’t making it subtle how much he wanted to be away from him. “Zim, I’m trying to help you.”

“And I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want your help. I don’t want you here,” Zim spits.

He hissed low and long as Dib caught up with him. He had half a mind to swipe out and slash the boy wherever his claws happened to land. It would be satisfying, to a degree. But it felt like too much effort. Instead, he just quickened his pace again. The satisfying groan of frustration that followed almost put a smile to Zim’s lips.

Dib was at a steady jog at this point. Meanwhile, Zim didn’t seem perturbed at all. He was keeping up the long stride with no indication that he was going to be slowing down any time soon. Dib had one or two more desperate pleas to make before he would resign to give up and try again another day.

“Zim, I really do think it’d benefit you—”

“Dib, the last person I want to talk to is YOU!” Zim growls. Dib hears the hiss in the very back of Zim’s throat. Setting aside the curiosity of how he managed to growl and hiss simultaneously, Dib instead became acutely aware of the fact that he, once again, was in the perfect position to be murdered. And yet, Zim had yet to do so.

Ah, that glimmer of hope was there, yet.

“Ok, how about this?” Dib began. He sprinted ahead, blocking Zim’s path. “You just have to say one thing.”

Zim’s PAK leg came out, thrusting towards Dib. Familiar fear and the instinct to live was the only reason he side-stepped it just in time to save his shoulder. Zim didn’t break his pace, waltzing right by the boy.

“As I was saying,” Dib began again. “You just have to say one thing and I’ll leave!”

The final words caught Zim’s attention, his antennae flicking in Dib’s direction. His stride finally came to a halt. Dib cursed that superior alien stamina once he was close enough to see that Zim didn’t even seem fazed, whereas Dib was left breathing heavier than he’d like to admit. Zim had his chin cupped in his fingers. He sighed, turning to Dib.

“I. Am. Upset.” He says evenly. Dib stared blankly at him, waiting for more. No shit, he was upset. Dib could have easily guessed that. The PAK leg jutted out, maneuvering around Dib’s head and twisting itself in the hood of his jacket even as Dib tried to dodge out of the way. It lifted him off the ground and Zim started to walk back towards the elevator. “And that is all.”

Dib, now that he was aware he wasn’t going to be skewered, was busy trying to come to terms with the fact Zim had admitting to being upset. Sure, the Irken would curse and scream and throw tantrums when he was pissed. But never had Zim admitted, openly, to being upset. The three-word phrase had never, to Dib’s knowledge, left his mouth before. While Dib had been the one to goad Zim into the, admittedly small instance of, emotional openness it was strange to experience it. While Zim was certainly passionate about many of his feelings, those feelings largely consisted of rage, aggravation, annoyance, triumph, narcissism, or sadistic glee.

“Upset” was not in established the vocabulary. “Upset” was not what Dib had seen before. “Upset” was new territory. Territory Dib wasn’t sure how to navigate.

Zim threw him into the elevator. Dib’s back hit the walling of the tube, knocking the wind out of him, and his senses back in. He scrambled to his feet. The PAK leg hovered in front of him, poised to stab. Dib stood there, staring past it towards Zim.

“You will LEAVE my base. Now.” Zim ordered.

He pressed the button, retracting his PAK’s leg slow enough Dib couldn’t slip past it in the doorway. Dib wouldn’t have dreamed of doing it, as the failure of doing so meant getting stabbed who-knew-where. He let the elevator bring him up to the main floor, the cable of the grappling hook forming a pile as it climbed. Dib gathered the cable up in his arms. It didn’t have to be a total waste of scrap. The elevator deposited him back in the living room. Somehow it seemed more suffocating than before.

Dib trudged to the door. He knew when to let something go. For now. He was going to be back, all right. He wasn’t leaving the alien alone for long as it stood right then.

~*~

Dib had returned the next day, as it were, and noted the gnomes still weren’t active. At this rate he probably could have climbed to the rooftop and taken the Voot for a joy ride before Zim knew what had happened. While Dib didn’t know much about flying the Voot, he had his limited experience in Tak’s ship under his belt. He slotted the possibility in the back of his mind as he pushed the still unlocked door open again. Gir was left where he had been set yesterday. Not entirely a good sign, as it meant in the least Zim still hadn’t turned him back on. The undisturbed layers of dust meant Zim still hadn’t come up at all.

Dib forced the tube open again, resetting the hook to where it had been before and lowering himself down by hand on the cable. He stopped at the same elevator at the end of the cable and repeated the method of entry he had before. He poked his head through. The halls were still dark. Dib looked around, shrugging on his jacket once more. It had a small tear from the tip of the PAK leg; but it wasn’t something worth throwing it away for, given how some of his clothing had been ruined.

Dib explored the rooms, most of which were destroyed similarly to the two rooms he’d found before. He excluded the doors what wouldn’t open to him until finally he spotted the same green head and antennae poking out from a chair. Dib sighed inwardly, walking in without trying to be quiet. The antenna perked up and Zim peered around the chair at him, as unimpressed as he was before.

“What, you thought I’d be gone long?” Dib asked snarkily.

The Irken didn’t respond, turning back around, head on his hand. Dib felt an eye twitch. He forced the chair to swivel around to glare Zim in the eyes. Zim’s leg retracted, kicking out once he was fully turned, landing a solid hit in Dib’s ribs. Dib doubled over with a cough, clutching his side.

“No fair,” Dib rasped. He straightened himself, leveling out his breathing.

“You’re the one who is trespassing,” Zim points out. His voice was gravelly, as if it had been overused. He used his foot to shove Dib away, who stumbled to regain his footing, with a fresh bloom of pain in his side. Zim kicked the chair away as he stood.

The PAK leg hooked itself in Dib’s hood again, twisting to maintain grip. When it lifted, Dib heard the tearing of fabric. The leg had managed to lift him off the ground before the hood gave way and the tear went right through the fabric, freeing him. Dib hit the floor, tackling Zim immediately in a lunge. Whatever funk the alien was in, it was definitely the only factor that aided Dib in successfully pinning him to the ground. While Zim was in a very shallow lean thanks to his PAK, Dib was able to pin down the Irken’s arms. The PAK leg had twisted around, stopping its thrust close enough to Dib’s back that he could feel the tip hovering over his shirt. Dib stared at him, waiting for the tip to pierce his back. Zim looked confused.

Zim seemed conflicted on what to do. He accepted he’d been caught off guard. Dib wasn’t sure if he refrained from striking him down because it meant he would be sprayed with blood, or another reason. Zim’s face was contorting between disgust, anger, and another conflicting emotion that Dib couldn’t quite identify. He really wished Zim was wearing the contacts so it’d be easier. The PAK leg was twitching indecisively behind him, occasionally poking into his back. Dib felt sweat starting under his shirt. He was on thin ice. He just knew it.

Finally, Zim seemed to make a decision as he started to thrash under Dib’s weight.

“GET OFF!” the Irken roared. “You—you’re such a filthy, filthy worm!”

“No, we’re discussing this,” Dib says, ignoring the insult and the kicks to his back. The confidence in his voice was delivered with a quiver that he wished wasn’t there; but he wasn’t giving in. Zim could hit and kick him all he wanted. He had various times before.

And that’s exactly what the alien seemed to be doing. Dib felt his knees in his sides and his back, and it hurt, but he’d endured worse. Zim’s arm reached up, a punch landing squarely on Dib’s jaw. Dib gave a more audible ‘oof’ than he’d’ve liked to, recoiling from the hit on reflex. It was surprising to feel Zim’s own arm bend up to land the hit so effortlessly. It had more weight behind it than Dib thought it would. Dib wasn’t sure he had offered any level of resistance against Zim’s swing, despite how hard Dib had been trying to hold him down. Even with his arms pinned, Zim had thrown the punch with ease. Zim had been going easy on him and it was just insulting.

Dib’s dodge gave Zim just enough wiggle room to try and pull himself from under him. Dib grabbed at his arms again, shoving the alien down.

“Damn it, Zim, it’s just talking!” Dib shouted. He felt Zim’s struggles weren’t the best they had ever been. It was as if the alien’s fight had left him after the first swing. “Would you stop? What the hell even happened?”

Zim sneered at him. He growled, but he stopped trying to kick Dib off. Dib was silently grateful; he didn’t want to explain why he was utterly covered in bruises if his dad demanded to inspect why he was limping later. He could only blame school bullies so many times before someone investigated the frequency. Zim looked away, staring pointedly at the wall. His antennae weren’t flat against his skull, so he wasn’t planning to gut Dib anytime soon, which was good. They were at the angle Dib had concluded meant he was being irritated. Dib would take irritation over murderous intent any day. He let his grip loosen just a fraction and felt a jolt as Zim tried to sit up, taking Dib’s one slip as an opportunity.

Dib pressed him back down. Zim glared at him, snarled even. Dib knew he was capable of pushing him off, and he wondered for a moment why Zim hadn’t yet. Instead, Zim set a clawed hand on Dib’s thigh, right over a major artery. It was a silent threat. A restrained one, but Dib got the point. It appeared Zim had given up on verbal refusal for the moment. Dib looked uncertainly at him.

“You’d get your floor all dirty with my blood, huh?” he taunted.

The words had left his mouth very nearly on reflex at this point. A taunt was something they just did to one another. As if it were a game. Though Dib wouldn’t call this a fight, he would concede that it could very easily turn into one. Point of example was the floor hitting him before the realization that he’d been pinned did. He always just had to push his luck. Zipper teeth stopped inches from gnashing on his neck before Dib had time to properly react. It was the perfect bite—right over his neck and major arteries as he was pinned sideways—and Dib shivered, unable to process why exactly Zim had stopped. He was thanking every God that existed he had; but the confusion remained. On top of the fact that this was perhaps the closest he’d just come to dying by Zim’s hand. Or teeth. Perhaps a few thankful prayers were just good manners.

Zim gripped Dib’s arms strong enough that it was unquestionably going to leave bruises. Dib could even hear the hiss growing in Zim’s throat. The alien leaned down so that Dib could hear him better. “NO.”

Dib had it. He used what little momentum he could gain to try and sit up. The attempt failed and all he could really muster was leaning on his elbows after trying to fight Zim off several times. Zim still hadn’t expected it, coming chest to chest and his head filling the spot between Dib’s neck and shoulder once Dib had managed to secure a place for his elbow and readjusted. Zim had still had his claws on Dib’s arms, the points threatening to break skin when Dib’s shifting body almost threw the alien off balance. Zim leaned away, keeping some form of distance between them, but he didn’t let go.

“FINE. Be that way. Can you at least muster up enough will to live to help me with something else, then?” Dib asked. Zim blinked at him, gone still in what Dib could only assume was confusion. He waited until Zim had stood, brushing himself off, before continuing. The puzzled expression Zim was giving him was more than enough of a question.

“I’m going Big Foot hunting this week. The damage your PAK legs have made,” Dib waved his arms around the room, “would be ample defense while I’m doing it.”

“You think you can just DEMAND anything from me? You’ve gone rotten in the brain, Earth-pig.” Zim says, waving Dib off. He started out of the room, stopping when Dib grabbed him from behind in what would have otherwise been called a hug if Zim wasn’t kicking and swearing at the boy in Irken. As a result it was more like Dib was halfway to wrestling Zim back onto the ground.

“It’s for a DAY, Zim. If I can put this rivalry behind for a day, then surely you can muster the same restraint!” Dib pleads. “I need to do this assignment!”

He also really, really needed backup for this Big Foot hunt. Gaz had already turned him down, his dad was not an option, and he had no friends he could rely on for this. Half of the kids in the clubs Dib was in couldn’t even climb a rope, much less a tree, even if a monster or a bear were chasing them. Dib didn’t want to risk having a mauling of a classmate on his hands. The Swollen Eyeball wasn’t approving it for an official investigation—only a cursory one. His only option left was to go solo; or pray Zim would tag along. It helped that it doubled as a way to keep an eye on the alien. Regardless, Zim protested, heartily, for a good few minutes until Dib felt like his arms would fall off. He had expected that the moment he decided to grapple him from behind. Finally, mercifully, Zim seemed to calm down enough to give a tired huff and slump in Dib’s arms. Dib was grateful Zim had stopped trying to break his arms. He knew he could, easily, if he really wanted to; but, he wasn’t going to complain that he wasn’t.

“Let me go, Dib.”

Dib paused. Zim rarely called him by his name without some tacked-on insult and he realized that the same thing had happened yesterday. Dib let him down, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. He swayed on his heels for a while, unsure in what to do. Zim wasn’t turning to him, his antennae weren’t twitching to listen to anything Dib might do next, and he was staring at the floor with his fists clenched. He just stood there where Dib had dropped him as if he were a statue. It was unsettling to see the utter lack of movement in someone Dib knew was a ball of unbridled energy. Usually. Something was clearly wrong.

Dib figured one last attempt was enough before he’d give up.

“I mean, c’mon. You wouldn’t risk that some other entity would do me in before you could, right?” Dib asked. He watched Zim flinch before going still again.

A prod to Zim’s ego was always a sure-fire way to easily manipulate him. Dib almost felt bad. He didn’t seen another way around it yet, though, so he was willing to risk it. It was idiotic to do so, maybe, and yet he didn’t really care either way at the moment. Getting any kind of reaction from Zim was enough. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before. He would insult Zim’s ego and ability to do what he intended constantly in their battles. Particularly when Dib knew he’d won.

Zim turned to him slowly, eyes full of suspicion. Despite that, Dib could see the gears turning in Zim’s head. It was already working. Eventually, when Zim couldn’t find any trickery in Dib’s innocent but snarky grin, he pinched his brow. His antenna flicked about indecisively a moment before settling.

“FINE. Zim will accompany you so that you don’t die before…. Whatever I do to this dirt ball.” Zim says, waving his hand tiredly.

Dib’s smile faltered a little. Zim sounded… tired. Not the physical exhaustion Dib was accustomed to, but a more mental wear that he knew much more familiarly. So much so that Dib knew now was not the time to press the matter. He simply clapped his hands and beamed instead.

“Excellent! I’ll meet you right back here in a few days,” Dib says. He brushed past Zim on his way out.

The alien didn’t react much with the motion, stiffening up once again after the initial contact before his bristles settled, and he just watched Dib leave. He felt something bubbling up in his core and he shook his head to get it to dissipate. Gir ran up to him, falling down at his feet.

“Is Mary coming back?” he asks. Zim sighed.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Is Mary going to make you feel better?” Gir asks, grabbing his feet and swaying them back and forth like a toddler. Zim’s antennae lowered confusedly.

“What?”

“You’re going to feel better!” Gir announced suddenly, jumping up and screaming up and down the blocked hallway.

Zim watched him a moment. He didn’t regret agreeing to go on the trip with Dib. He was certain he’d be fine. It was Dib, after all. Even if he managed to get one up on Zim, neither had taken the proverbial shot and solidified their win in years. Zim hated to admit it—he hated to think about it—but at some point he lost the drive to actually kill Dib. Despite how much he got in the way. Zim just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He doubted he’d have an issue killing any other human—Dib was the rare exception in his eyes.

A rare exception he was about to have pestering him for days.

#zadr revival week #zadr #zadf #invader zim #zim #dib #take another step

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fanfichideout · 5 years ago

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Chapter Three - Mrs. Baggins?

“Ah…The Shire!” Gandalf exclaims proudly with a hint of joy in his voice, as he winks at Misthel well-knowing that he was right all along. Misthel looks at him suspiciously. “I could have sworn...that it was the other way…” She grumbles to herself, although it is loud enough for the others to hear, while she is looking around her new surroundings. “Is this one of your magic tricks, old man?!” Misthel asks Gandalf, almost accusing him for leading them here... instead of herself. Gandalf smiles to himself and thinks that it is wisest not to reply to the elf’s comment. He then noticed that the little one was missing…

“Seems.. like we are missing our little friend?” Gandalf says with a hint of worry in his voice. Which got Misthels attention right away, she quickly looks around in panic. How could someone just wander off like that?! What if Nyzz was lost...lost in the forest forever?! For all they know she's probably already dead!!! Misthel quickly starts panicking as she looks in nearby bushes and under small rocks, that were clearly too small even for Nyzz to hide behind. “Don't just stand there old man, do something!!!” Misthel yells at Gandalf as she continues looking around. Gandalf was taken aback at the sudden affection Misthel was showing for Nyzz. Although it doesn’t take long before he notices something small in the distance waving back at them. “I don’t think that will be necessary…” Gandalf says clearly amused. Misthel turns to him and looks him in the eye as she asks him “What!?” a bit aggressively, because she understood it as if he meant, that Nyzz wasn’t worth searching for…

Misthel feels like the heat is streaming to her head and doesn’t realises someone tugging on her left sleeve. Misthel doesn’t tear her eyes away from Gandalf and it feels like she is about to burst from anger coursing through her. Although the tugging on her sleeve doesn’t seem to stop and it annoys her more and more…

“What is it?!” Misthel rages loudly and keeps her eyes on the evil old man. “T-there is something.. t-that..” Nyzz tries to say, but gets cut off by Misthel. “Not now!” Misthel says but the tugging continues “But-!” Nyzz tries yet again “Not now Nyzz! I have to find Nyzz… I mean a tiny thing like her could already have been eaten!” Misthel yells as she shortly turns towards Nyzz and then back to face Gandalf…..

“Oh thank the stars! Nyzz you’re alright!” Misthel yells joyfully as she realizes and grabs Nyzz by the shoulders and shakes her. Nyzz on the other hand is pretty sure her head is coming loose from the shaking and although her arm is still attached, her head won’t be if this continues. “....Th-they live in caves..” Nyzz manages to get out without biting off her tongue. Misthel stops the aggressive shaking of her short friend. “Caves?......Are the caves an important thing for hobbits?” Misthel asks not really understanding the significance of the caves. “Like the one I’m from?” Nyzz asks, her face blank…. the elf couldn’t possibly have already forgotten this…

“Yes! Of course!....caves! I knew that!” Misthel agrees unconvincingly as she refuses to meet the eyes of the two staring at her. Gandalf decides to step in before more shaking can take place. “Now as much fun as this has been, I'm afraid I must leave the two of you now. However Misthel, should you need any help returning home I will be by that small hobbit hole up there until sunrise tomorrow.” Gandalf says as he points towards a small home in the distance with what appeared to be a very well kept garden. “Yes, yes, that's all good old man but we’ll be fine. I have this all under control!” Misthel says over confidently with a wave as she starts dragging Nyzz towards the center of the Shire.

Misthel however did NOT have it under control. The two of them ended up knocking on almost every door they passed, but no one recognised Nyzz, who was dragged to the next door by Misthel before being able to thank people for their time. That is...when Misthel did not get distracted by something and dragged poor Nyzz towards that instead. Soon it was starting to become dark outside and the two was now a little lost in the shire….Nyzz should’ve known better than to trust that Misthel could navigate them around even this relatively small village. Luckily Nyzz spotted the small home with the well kept garden that Gandalf told them about earlier before they parted ways, and even luckier was the fact that she got Misthel to go there pretty easily!

As the two of them stand before the green door, they hear loud laughter from inside, perhaps it’s a party Gandalf is attending?

Before Nyzz can clear a plan for how they’re going to handle the situation, Misthel has already knocked on the door. They hear some mumbling getting louder before the door swings open. “I refuse to have anymore dwarves come in here and raid my pantry! Everything is a mess thanks to you!......” The small man rambles, partly shouting at what the two assumed to be his guests, before actually looking at the two women standing outside his home. The smaller one being just slightly taller than himself, the other….and elf? She seemed shorter than he had heard elves were though…

“Ca-can i help you?” He then asks, very confused. “We’re here for…...the party?” Misthel tries to play off the situation. “What..What party?” the hobbit questions, he certainly wasn’t having a party and he doubted the two females were with those wild barbaric dwarves tearing his home appart and eating all his food. Nyzz shakes her head at Misthel before stepping in “Gandalf mentioned he might be here, is he? We’re in quite a troublesome situation.” Nyzz explains, shooting a pointed look at Misthel as she says troublesome. Misthel however does not notice, she is too curious about the tiny man's home. “O-oh, um yes! Do come in!... I’m Bilbo Baggins by the way. I hope you can excuse my manners, this evening has been quite….odd I fear.” He says introducing himself as he lets the two women inside.

“Oh! By the way Nyzz here wouldn’t happen to be yours, would she? Perhaps your wife or…….mother?” Misthel asks, once again accidentally insulting her tiny companion by comparing her to an old lady this time. “Ummm, no… sorry..” Bilbo says awkwardly, why would the elf think he knew the shorter woman after he just introduced himself to them? Nyzz meanwhile looks at Misthel very unimpressed, if only the elf at least could decide if she thought Nyzz was a child or an old woman! Nyzz is... well she isn’t sure how old, but it couldn’t be TOO old, she is still a young woman in the prime of her life!

They then hear a loud crash from a room to the left of them, which causes Bilbo to rush over there as his face turns a shade or two paler in worry. Misthel wanting to know what is the cause of this...pushes Nyzz into the opening to the room and Nyzz is now facing a bunch of dwarves staring at her before one of the elderly dwarves gets up. “Balin, at your service!” He says bowing “You must be mrs. Baggins!” He adds with a satisfied grin, clearly proud of himself and his good manners. “What…?...no..NO i am not married!.. SHE is NOT my wife!” Bilbo quickly protests, clearly flustered as he points a finger towards at a very confused Nyzz. “Now, now Bilbo, it is only a simple misunderstanding.” Gandalf laughs at the situation, Balin now also slightly red in the face sits down as the rest of the dwarves laughs at him. “Now Dear Nyzz, don’t tell me you’re here alone? You and i both know that our young friend should not be left alone.” He adds with an amused twinkle in his eye.

As he says this she looks to where Misthel was just standing...WAS….the elf is gone! Nyzz hasn’t heard the door open and close so the reckless elf must have wandered off somewhere in the house, all Nyzz could hope for is that she doesn’t cause too much trouble. “Uhh… We are very sorry to disturb your dinner party..” Nyzz says, which confuses the dwarves “We?..who is we? all we see is you lass.” a dwarf with an odd hat comments, saying what the others were thinking. Before Nyzz can explain herself though a loud growling sound is heard and everyone is silent for a second before laughing heartily as Nyzz blushes slightly. “Move over, let the poor woman sit down and have some food!” Gandalf tells the dwarves and a new chair is quickly placed by the end of the table by Gandalf and the odd hatted dwarf. Nyzz sits down and a plate full of food is sat in front of her and just as she is about to dig in the dwarf with the odd hat gives her an encouraging slap on the back with the comment “Eat up lass!”, this causes Nyzz to almost end up face down in her plate. Luckily she stops a centimeter or two short. As Nyzz sits with the dwarves eating she is introduced to all of them and she get especially well along with Bofur, even if he almost smacked her into her food.

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!❤ ! (>’o’)>”Bootylicious”<(’o’<) !❤!

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Soo......Misthel wandered off (again)..... let's hope she doesn't break something before Nyzz finds her again! XD

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