A short 'drabble' of a story; something I've been idly writing for a few months now. It's just a bit of character exploration and explanation; a hint of things to come for two of my characters for the AotA's Guild who I've become quite attached to - Delyth, a twisted but friendly Weavile; and Camille, a well-liked and hedonistic Buizel. This mainly concerns an explanation of Delyth's handling of her psychological disorder and a bit of exploration and exposition of the pair's relationship - but it also gives a bit of foreshadowing as to Camille's own character; beyond the obvious. I can't really brag of anything - being a drabble I haven't given this story a lot of serious proofreading; but I'd like to think I handled Delyth's disorder at least tastefully; if not absolutely accurately.

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Winter’s cold evenings had taken their toll on the Guild and its members in the recent months; as the pressures of the isle’s current chaos and their parts in it had been catching up with them; not to mention compounding as their superiors passed their frustrations over the situation down the ranks. For most this was something of an expected issue given the state of the island and its people; and a predictable consequence of the always troublesome weather of wintertime; and something that could be tolerated.
However, not all could share in having few extra issues to deal with in the meantime; as while most found their own ways to survive the psychological pressures of the recent disasters there were always some who had enough to deal with in the first place.
The ragged and messy state of Delyth’s room was hint enough at her present issues… although it’d been perfectly clean only a month or so ago; when she’d just felt like it ought to be clean. She had yet to get used to that symptom of her condition; and doubted she ever could… having to predict her own radically changing tastes was an impossible task; especially seeing as she had enough problems stemming from her condition as it was.
For now the Weavile had little choice but to fester her current depression alone in her room… it was bad enough that she was alone; but by the looks of things her promised visitor was going to be well and truly late… although she knew it was just a fragment of her imagination tainted by her psychological issues, she couldn’t shake away the dark thoughts of her closest friend having decided to abandon her; having tossed her aside for someone else. She knew it couldn’t really be true, but such thinking was a curse she’d had to live her life with.
Delyth slumped across her black blanket-covered bed; lying on her back across the soft material; trying her best to put her mind on other things than her current fears. She was being selfish, really. Her concerns about the isle and its people’s state were deeply buried under her own concerns about her condition; her friends; her reputation. She kept using it as an excuse for much of her recent behaviour; and yet it barely really mattered to her… she’d just figured everyone else was doing the same.
She knew damn well that wasn’t true, though.
She’d seen how hard her friend worked against his fears.
And look what it’d wrought for him.
Pitiful.
She couldn’t excuse her childish narcissism; regardless of its links to her mental condition. She had made it her own aim to bypass her psychological issues and take responsibility for her actions and attitudes; to embrace and in turn overcome her problems that stemmed from it. And she’d even already proven her resilience in that aspect; having at least partially overcome the impulsivity that was characteristic of people with her disorder.
She was already even a step above that drugged up brat.
He had no excuse.
Her therapist had even congratulated her just a few days ago for her progress in working towards managing her endearment and disendearment cycles… although at the moment she couldn’t take much pride in that; as she felt herself being sucked down into dark thoughts of others. It was probably better than placing stresses on herself, though; as her scars were proof of… but now she was just further admitting to her ignorant selfishness.
That outrageously callous attitude.
Shoe-kissing nymphomaniac.
She couldn’t get that runt away from her.
The Weavile gently swept her long hair aside of her face; still doing her best to remain stoic; to suppress the darkness that ruminated in her subconscious. While she was appreciative of her therapist’s compliments; she had to prove her progress to herself. Tonight was her own test. It was time to take another slow step.
And it all came down to that screwed up runt.

A knock at the door was all the signal that was needed to snap the Weavile’s attention away from her musings and her music too; despite its loudness. Camille had long learned the quirks of his mustelid comrade, although he was still learning. He was still learning about all his many friends, and loved every second of it. But Delyth was special, even among them; he couldn’t deny that despite his self-proclaimed and formed hedonistic polygamist philosophy. Everyone meant something to him; and were supposed to be equal to him… and yet; even with all the excuses he might muster…!
Regardless, his entrance was met by a brooding Weavile; her attempts to hide her inner irritation lost on the Buizel. He’d long ago learnt how to gauge the girl’s attitude beyond just her face; although in her defence she wasn’t trying nearly as hard as he was to hide her feelings. It was the thought that counted to Camille, of course. While a bad-mannered Delyth wasn’t really nice it was worth the risk for the sake of keeping the poor girl safe; as much as he hated to admit to falling into such a masculine stereotype.
The Weavile’s room was really a reflection of the reputation the girl tried to foster… which was probably for the better; in comparison to being proof of her true colours. There’d be no way it’d keep up to that many changes. Still, he knew that to some extent Delyth felt at home in the midst of all her industrial band paraphernalia; all those shades of black and white around the room’s ragged furniture; their states hints towards her occasional tantrums… and far worse things. Well, that and probably the logical issues having giant claws in your arms probably brought with them; beyond the owner’s volatile personality.
‘Heya, Delyth.’ Greeted the Buizel a little awkwardly as he let himself in; not quite sure what to expect from the less than pleased looking Weavile. In truth, though; her clothing was the biggest giveaway to Camille about her current attitude; even forgoing the mustelid’s usual unpredictability in her emotions. In this case she had donned her purple hoodie and black trousers (naturally with her hood up); which was a clear giveaway to Camille that she wasn’t in the mood for friendly chatting with someone; since any other day of the week her choice in clothing was generally rather more attention seeking and grandiose.
‘Good evening, Cammy.’ Replied the Weavile haughtily; as eloquent yet casual as ever; at least in comparison to her ever informal friend. ‘I appreciate that you came over on so little notice, ad on time no less… but you know how it is by now. I know it’s probably a bit of trouble for you, though; what with your many… acquaintances.’
‘Hey, it’s cool. I’ve got plenty of friends, sure; but you’re a bit of a special case. I’m not too hot on favouritism, but you’re… y’know, interesting.’ Said Camille idly; slipping by his friend into her room without a moment’s hesitation. It was probably rude; but he was on pretty close terms with Delyth at this point; and knew well that if there was anything the Weavile would complain about then it wasn’t having company about.
The pair sat down on Delyth’s simple bed almost simultaneously; their rendezvouses being a bit of a regular thing and thus there were few formalities to really breach their meeting; although with Camille’s relaxed attitude about there was barely room for any to begin with. Still, Delyth rather appreciated that part of her friend… it meshed well with her own eloquence; although his slang was a bit irritating sometimes.
‘So… any particular reason why you called me around? Or did you just… need someone around?’ asked the Buizel a little nervously; his usual casual attitude melting away a little as he skirted around his current acquaintance’s more personal issues. The Weavile just gave a little shrug in response, not willing to make her personal aim clear; and doing her best to hide her frustration. What kind of jackass could be so ignorant about her situation…?
‘A bit of that, I guess…’ murmured the girl; sweeping her hair aside from her eyes; but still refusing to make proper eye contact with her old friend. ‘But it’s been a while since we’ve really had a chance to spend some time like this; so I thought it might be a nice moment.’
‘Mm, with all this Guild nonsense going on my plans keep being thrown out the window. I mean, I’m all for helping people in need and such; but I’d like to think I’m not the only person on board with a silver tongue.’ Mused Camille; certainly not above bragging even before his rather less socially gifted comrade. His comment earned him more than a little ire from the moody Weavile, in fact; although she was still keeping her symptoms under control as best she could. She knew she could certainly get away with taking a swipe at the Buizel; he’d forgive just about anyone for anything, especially her; but that was no excuse to let herself succumb to her disorder’s influence.
‘Well, I’ve had work to do too. I’m no smooth operator; but when my claws talk most people know it’s wise to listen. I’d almost say I’m surprised that right now my medical abilities aren’t what the Guild is asking of me the most; but I suppose maybe everyone’s learnt to be a bit more cautious with all this reason anarchist twaddle going about.’ Replied Delyth, quite content with retorting Camille’s idle boats with some of her own.
‘Though I have also been juggling a few people; been making some new friends;’ Added the Weavile, folding her arms confrontingly; although the movement was overlooked by her friend, ‘Have you ever met a Charizard called Nina in the Guild? She’s a similar rank to us; a truly charming lady. Shows that having a bit of nobility to you is far from a bad thing; and hopefully not a dying art either.’
‘Don’t think so; kind’ve been embroiled in dealing with some other folks lately. Nice name though; must be German like Axel and those other guys from the West end of the isle.’ Mused Camille; simply pleased to see his friend a little chirpier all of a sudden. ‘You ever heard of Amo-’
‘Nina’s quite impressive in her achievements too; by the sound of her chatter she’s planning on heading even higher in the ranks.’ Interrupted Delyth; earning herself an irritated but unacted-upon glare from her acquaintance; ‘It’s a shame she has a team, really; otherwise maybe we would’ve had some missions together.’
‘Maybe you should try and bring her along one; y’know, ask her out or something.’ Remarked Camille, before realising his remark’s subtext. ‘Well, y’know. Ask her out but not for something that’s gonna lead to showing off your collection of handcuffs.’
‘Oh, fuck off Camille! I didn’t call you over here just to listen to your perverted prattle! Just grow up for a second and listen, got it?’ snapped Delyth, her sudden fury unsurprisingly catching Camille off guard. ‘I know how to deal with people, okay? I can just be… a bit intense; and a bit alternative! So shut up already; I don’t wanna hear your lecturing tonight.’
The Buizel could only really reply with a blank face; admittedly rather used to Delyth’s explosive emotions; but still none too appreciative of such anger directed at him. ‘S-So, um… how about I just cook us something? It is kind of late, and I’m a little hungry…’
‘Whatever; so long as you’re doing something useful for once. Get out of my sight for a change.’ Snarled Delyth; waving Camille away dismissively. ‘You know the place well enough. Just don’t use cooking as an excuse to get drunk. I know you could; and would.’
Camille just shrugged; ducking away to investigate about Delyth’s dormitory of sorts in the hopes of finding anything worth cooking. While the Guild’s dorms were unsurprisingly nothing grand in terms of appliances; seeing as there was a communal kitchen in the complex as well as staff on hand who would quite happily cook their compatriots meals for them… well, assuming there was some money exchanging hands; unless they were that good of a friend.
Camille personally just cooked for himself; while his speciality was mixing drinks it paid to learn a few basic recipes on the side given his constant partying. When it got late at night there was little choice in getting any food about (unless the hosts were keen on paying up for fast food)… and, of course; the quickest way to some guys’ (and girls’) hearts was their stomachs; as per the old adage.
‘You want anything in particular, Del?’ asked the Buizel; quite content to simply throw together whatever he could find into a salad. He knew that the while the Weavile’s appetite was about as erratic as her personality she was on the scrawny side for a reason; so he doubted he’d have much trouble finding something left untouched.
He was not surprised to end up without a reply until he got back to the sulking Mustelid’s side, though; simply leaving his little salad on her desk within arm’s reach for both of them; rather sure that he’d soon catch Delyth pecking away at it. However, he was a little surprised to find that even after he’d sat down with the girl again and eaten some of the salad already the Weavile still remained silent.
‘H-Hey, look; maybe I should go.’ Murmured Camille; still rather taken aback by Delyth’s coldness. While he knew she had a bit of a brooding streak she’d never have asked him come over to see her if she was going to sulk like this… they were in stressful times, but this was a bit much; even for the ever-cynical Weavile.
Still, he wasn’t keen on overstaying his welcome with a childish investigation when he was dealing with a rather emotional girl with claws about as big as him; and thus hopped off the bed upon not really getting any response. ‘Well, I’ll catch you later, Del. Don’t push yourself, okay?’ remarked Camille emphatically; knowing that the Weavile certainly had a much worse time than him in even everyday situations. ‘I don’t know what issue you’ve got in mind right now; but I hope it gets better. Good luck with the dragon girl and such, alright?’
With that the Buizel made his exit, deciding not to take his time lest he get further onto Delyth’s ferocious bad side. Maybe she was just overthinking something; or was just having an awful day. Still, either way; although he knew of the girl’s clinginess, he doubted she’d appreciate his callousness haunting her all night; especially in her cur-
‘P-Please don’t leave me, Camille!’ whimpered the Weavile; extending and hooking Camille with one of her massive claws; although she was wise enough to be gentle about it. The Buizel just gave her a blank look after turning his head back for the moment; nonplussed by the manoeuvre.


In that second there was a spark of empathy; their linked gazes as close friends exchanging something that no one else could ever understand; no matter their qualifications or abilities. It was what kept them together through Delyth’s raging emotions and Camille’s selfish streak; a link of emotions that went beyond words.
Camille sat back down silently beside the Weavile, knowing what was going on; what didn’t need to be said; gently clasping her hand. He’d been ignorant, really; he ought to have remembered what came with the girl’s condition. But he’d understood, in the end; and that’s what mattered. It was what worked between them. They understood.
He understood the perils of her condition better than anyone; probably even her therapist; although he didn’t want to boast. Her countless scars hadn’t all come from poorly chosen fights or typical accidents… and really, those had cut the deepest; emotionally and physically. When existential thoughts came through her mind they didn’t bring just depression, they brought doubts… and how else could you prove you exist in those times; with such a clouded minds? There was one thing that made all living people alike; which could be called up with some effort at any time… a crimson reminder that could make it all real again. But at what cost…?
With someone there for her, though; she could be reassured that it was alright; regardless of her emotional state. It would also alleviate her natural fears of abandonment… with the amount she got with her supposedly deranged fixations and unstable temperament it was totally understandable for Camille. So he stayed by her side. She wasn’t just another girl or guy to him because of that… she needed; no, deserved; his time more than anyone else for that.
The pair sat side by side quietly; with Delyth breaking the almost meditative stillness by just leaning onto Camille’s side; drawing in the shorter boy’s warmth. While neither would ever say nor think that they were romantically interested in each other, they were closer than such concepts could ever bring people. After all, love was such a fleeting passion and connection compared to a deeply entrenched friendship; built on far more than requited feelings.
While it would be easy for someone to assume that Camille was really bearing the emotional burden of his relationship with Delyth; tolerating and embracing her disorder’s instability; that was far from the case. Delyth knew all too well how important she was for the Buizel due to far more mentally ingrained feelings than a psychological condition or illness.
In truth, Camille was possibly more self-destructive than Delyth could ever be. While his hedonism generally kept him in high spirits; much of his happiness was an act; to further endorse his philosophy of sharing endless pleasure to others; all too often at his own risk. While he was far from a total martyr in his selflessness his insistence on his ever cheery attitude was taking its toll on him as the nigh-on warfare on the isle mounted.
While it was a serious stress on any Guild member to be taking on the zealots of what were essentially living gods of their land; Camille’s inner cynicism had overshadowed any hope he had of the isle being saved from such peril. To him, the Guild’s attempt to halt the Legendary Birds’ was simply a formality; and that the isle and perhaps beyond’s divine apocalypse was already underway.
To add to his growing tumour of hopelessness was the recent devastation of Nanna City… all too many had lost their lives in the disaster; and with Camille’s extensive social networking that meant a lot of people he knew had lost loved ones or homes; or even their own lives in the disaster; leaving the Buizel with so much more to mourn than most of his comrades. His insistence on having such a massive circle of relationships was beginning to turn on him; and he was beginning to even doubt the point of making any new friends for fear of the further pain it could cause…
But he’d never show a flicker of his turmoil to others, of course. He had appearances to keep up; people to support, and his Guild duties to handle without giving wind of any kind of complaint (aside from his own laziness, of course; he’d let that flaw of his slide). However, that was where Delyth was important to him.
It was simply too easy for others to take the Buizel on his looks alone; to simply see him as the hedonistic teenager he made himself out to be; and for the most part people did indeed fall for his façade. But with her experience with having such a volatile second side to herself, Delyth vehemently refused to believe that her otter comrade was so two-dimensional in his attitude; and was eventually rewarded for her pressuring of the boy early in their relationship – she was finally someone he could confide his innermost fears with; without such fear of being judged for his selfishness or cynicism.
And so their relationship worked. Hand in hand; still silent; the pair were comfortable with each other; and that was what mattered to them. Having someone they could be so close to was important for both of them; having that connection that went beyond simple friendship or love. True understanding was such a rare thing for them both; within a time of the trend of forming superficial relationships; relying on a skin-deep smile to upkeep them – to have a true companion who had more to them than that was a life saver for them both.


It was easily an hour later when Delyth had properly managed to reel in her senses, and the pair finally spoke again.
‘…Camille… do you think you could spend the night with me?’ asked Delyth slowly; finally breaking the silence; staring desperately at her cohort and unconsciously tightening her grasp on his hand as her stress set in. The Buizel took a moment of hesitation before meeting his comrade’s eyes; before returning the gaze, along with a tiny smile.
‘Y-Yeah, I think I can do that.’ Murmured Camille in response, giving his compatriot a little reassuring nod. He hadn’t any plans otherwise for the night; and there were so many worse things he could do with his time than keep his closest friend safe, regardless of her current temperament. She could sometimes be hard to deal with; as Camille had learnt from his years with her. Sometimes it’d hurt; sometimes just emotionally; sometimes even physically; but he couldn’t hate her for any of it…
There weren’t any thanks to trade or similar gestures of appreciation; as both understood the situation. However, it was time for Camille to regain his façade once more. ‘Well, I can stay; but only if you can promise that Nina won’t get jealous.’ Teased the Buizel, giving his comrade a little prod; earning a glare he was all too used to seeing from her. He was thankful for it, really; it was normal, and with Delyth that counted for a lot. ‘And if you cut down on the chatter about transfusing bone marrow or whatever it is you said you were working on for that research paper. It’s not my cup of tea, dude.’
‘Mm, well; if you’d rather not talk about it; I wouldn’t have anything against performing a demonstration.’ Replied the Weavile idly; in retaliation for being teased about her flattery of Nina. While Camille was generally content to go along with Delyth’s requests; she knew quite well that the selfless mustelid had his limits.
‘I’m not sure if you’re worse in a bad mood throwing stuff at me or in a good mood trying to find an excuse to dissect me, to be honest.’ Grumbled Camille good-naturedly in response, earning himself a playful punch from his Weavile compatriot.
‘Don’t tempt me; or I’ll be the one using your little natural pool toy next time you drag me down to the beach. Though to be honest it’s kind of small for a proper inflatable ring…much like you’re a bit small for a Buizel, honestly.’
‘Sheesh, c’mon Del; you’re the one who’s the odd one out here.’ Complained the Buizel in return; giving up on playing along with his friend’s threats; figuring it might be wise to at least try to dissuade his friend’s less than friendly tendencies. However, he’d soon regret his decision a bit, realising it was a rather low blow given Delyth’s state only a while ago.
Camille quickly found another reason to regret it, though; having earned an ice-cold claw pressed against his face; the hook-like end of it curled around his cheek. ‘Now now, Cammy…’ chided the Weavile, her wide eyes matching her newfound Cheshire cat-like smile; ‘You ought to know better than to say things like that. I’m not all that forgiving, remember?’
‘Hahah, so much for working on your bedside manner, right Doc?’ replied Camille hastily, not particularly keen on whatever ‘fun’ Delyth might have in mind for this night together. He often wished he had a best friend who was a little more level-headed… or at least a little less sociopathic. The Weavile wasn’t doing much to ease his regrets either, idly running her other claw’s back along his neck, the chilly steel causing the Buizel to wince… much to Delyth’s amusement.
‘Mm, but maybe I’ll let you off… why don’t you start with making your lovely comrade a nice cocktail, hm?’ remarked Delyth slyly, giving her shorter comrade a little tap on his head with her spare claw’s blunt edge, along with unhooking the now quite chilled Buizel from her other claw’s icy end. ‘I’ve still got some of the drinks you left over here in the mini-fridge…and if you got that salad together I think I can trust you to find some fruit to match.’
‘I take it that if I refuse I’m going to wake up on the street with my liver on the black market?’ replied Camille flatly, not entirely impressed to be ordered around even though he had gotten rather used to the Weavile’s selfishness. As usual, though; his complaint was only met with a fang-filled grin.
‘Hah, of course not…’ responded Delyth, giving Camille a condescending ruffle of his blond hair, and reclining across her bed with an air of self-satisfaction that could be a cut with a knife. ‘I’d keep it for my personal collection… but honestly, I need a spare kidney far more than a liver… or maybe a nice waterproof jacket, hm?’
‘Ah, I’m not sure that was among my plans for a career, Del… so I think I’ll take the drink-mixing practice instead.’ Replied the Buizel hastily, deciding not to push his luck with the devilish Delyth. Satisfied with her success, the Weavile just reclined with considerable gusto… this would be a good night for her.
She might have much to deal with, and so did her closest comrade, but there were and would always be good times and bad times, even within her disorder’s symptoms. And for now, this would be a good time… especially seeing as she’d gotten over her disendearment towards Camille already, a saving grace after all that embarrassing sulking over it; as mild as her case might be. And she’d managed it in a record time to boot. Her therapist would likely be quite proud. Not even a single thrown piece of furniture…
While maybe it was a selfish outlook on the current tragedy rocking the island… maybe things would get a bit better, even – if only for her.