Persphone of Apotheosis (a Hatchetfield fanfic)

Intricate Persuasion

It's the first month of winter. Already, the snow falls thickly down on the city of Detroit. Paul strolls precariously along the edge of a roof. His arms outstretched slightly, keeping his balance. The slippery slope is caked with frost and ice. His bare feet burn with the cold. Paul feels smug delight each time Pokey panics as he leans forward, almost tempting fate that would send him pummelling into the pavement below. He smiles; it's been a few days since Pokey has released him. And this is what he's doing.

And this. This is not what Pokey had in mind after releasing Paul. Sure, it's been a while into the Apotheosis, give or take a week; oh wait... it has been months, in fact, but yet all Paul has been doing was trying to test the limits of his new body. And challenging how long those clothes of his last. And it gets on Pokey's nerves that after months upon months of teaching, Paul is still absolutely resisting the moment he's free to roam. I can heal every injury you get. I can certainly see to it that the woes of frostbite will not get to you, but we still have some people left in Detroit to bless their weary souls with a fresh new start, Paul.

Paul more or less ignores Pokey's complaints as he peers down over into the streets. He begins to wobble as he inches his feet over the edge, balancing on his heels almost, arms rotating a little to keep his balance. If you'd asked him months ago if he'd be flirting with danger like this, 50 feet off the ground, he'd have told you you were mad. But there is an extraordinary thrill to having his metaphorical life in his own hands for once. For the first time in what felt like an eternity for Paul. "I told you, Pokey, I'm not helping you take over everything." He pulls himself back from the edge and flops on the roof tiles.

Paul, you know I am struggling to get the Hive moving, and you just had, to, be on a winter vacation solo. How about a winter vacation WITH the rest of the Hive? So you can HELP me bring them to those wayward, misguided fellows? Honestly, he feels so tired that the Hive had to become high maintenance in the blanket of white. Thanks to doctors and nurses in his midst, he knows what is happening, but regrowing fingers, toes, and sometimes limbs is getting very annoying. He reserves all that for Paul but now is made to share that power to keep the Hive together. Some don't succumb as much, oddly enough.

Rolling his eyes, Paul folds his arms behind his head and closes them briefly. Oh, of course, he's finally allowed out of his own damn head, and Pokey wants him to work. It wasn't his fault that he knew nothing about humanity. He's not willing to assist in killing whatever people are left here. "Look, you can't get the Hive to do anything in this weather. It's too cold. And Furthermore, you can't get me to do anything this winter. If you want anything productive, dress them in warmer clothes, or wait till Spring."

Too cold!? You are all not human anymore why— Preposterous. Since when did the elements phase them? Imagine stopping your song and dancing over being cold; that cannot be! Singing and dancing will help them BE WARM! The act of dancing will surely generate enough warmth to keep going! It shouldn't be an uphill task to keep moving to be warm.

"Not in this weather it don't. We don't even have central heating. We're like--- Jeeze!" How did Pokey have no understanding of the human body? Getting up, he shakes the snow from his clothes and trudges towards the fire escape. "We need warmer clothes, Pokey, and a place to shelter from the snow. Perhaps if you took the time to research us, you'd know this by now."

Hrumph! Humans are not reptiles for sure; you are mammals. How dare you insinuate that the very extent of my idiocy is as such, Paul!? Oh, he concedes defeat. Ugh. He'll have to pamper the Hive to avoid expending himself continuously. As if the Hive is always pampered in such conditions across timelines, he'll have to do what must be done. And the streets are at his disposal, given the hoards of humanity subjugated to his will. Now, to get the discerning eye of human fashionistas ... and his very own.