There was a Giratina in their human disguise, smoking as they leaned against a cavern wall. They took a deep breath from their pipe, exhaled through their nostrils, and only then spoke to their volcanic brother. "... I remember a couple years ago tha' a Groudon tried t' kill m' wife. Had somethin' 'gainst me bein' wit' a mortal. Ain't got nothin' 'gainst you, Bro, 's jus' I keep rememberin' these times whenever I see ya." ... Jeez, Gira. Way to put the limelight on Groudon.
He wasn’t about to outwardly speak about the idea of mating with those that aren’t divine with the divine. A god only deserves a god, or at the very least a demigod, in his opinion. The line of ancient power must remain in tact, untainted by the blandness of mortals. In his opinion, a god that mates and breeds with a mortal is no god at all, to step down as low as finding himself comfort in simple humanity or even weak, ungodly pokken.
In truth, he was biased. He was a being of power, a creature whose strength rivaled that of Arceus himself, the power to carve a world in his image and see to it that it exists and prospers in his might. He controls the earth, and the earth itself is an epitome of power and vitality. He never would see himself getting comfortable with a mere mortal, never in his life - and there had been times where he chided his sister for being so desperate to have offspring, to stoop as low as allowing a Gyarados to bear her child.
But can the same be said for other legendaries? Outside the trio of weather, Groudon had no say in what others could and couldn’t do. His brother, Rayquaza, courted many and his sister was as desperate for a child as they come, but the other members of the pantheon have strengths and weaknesses of their own, some seeking to bear divine children, and others - others aiming to simply settle down.
Giratina was of the latter, their love found in a mere mortal of all things, which is odd to say that the banished one would have even found love to begin with. A peculiar instance, that is, but one that he would not outwardly question. Perhaps, this other Groudon they speak of, be it another timeline, another member of his species as a whole, or perhaps one in another instance of dimension, perhaps he and other other Groudon aren’t so different.
But this instance - him, - he won’t stoop as low as to dictate what it is Giratina does, though his mind judges silently regardless. With a low shrug of his shoulders, Groudon speaks, though it’s casual as he inhales the scent from Giratina’s pipe.
Iт'ѕ α fιηηιcку ѕυвנєcт, тнαт. Sσмє ωσυƖɗ ѕαу тσ вєαя тнє Ɩσνє σf ѕσмєσηє тнαт ιѕ ησт gσɗƖу ιη тнєιя σωη яιgнт ιѕ вƖαѕρнємσυѕ, σя ρєянαρѕ єνєη Ɩυɗιcяσυѕ… I нανє ησ нιgнєя σριηιση ση ιт муѕєƖf, вυт уσυ cαη яєѕт αѕѕυяєɗ I ωιƖƖ ησт ɗσ αηутнιηg тσ ѕтσρ уσυ fяσм ɗσιηg ωнαт уσυ ɗσ.
Ƴσυ ѕнαƖƖ Ɩινє уσυя Ɩιfє, αηɗ I ѕнαƖƖ Ɩινє мιηє.
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