Torterra’s great listener

“you know, you don’t need to come in to get your gummi’s anymore, now that Bonnie is back for good” Buckle polity informed his guest.
“i’m not here for gummies, Buck. I just went through a hell of a story.I feel I need to tell it” Torterra polity informed his host.
“okay, shoot.” Buck smiled “But before you start, want something to warm up your voice?”
Torterra laughed his rolling, drum like, laugh “Aye! maybe I should stop coming here before you get to know me any better, eh laddie?”
“I don’t think either of those things are possible” said buckle placing a precariously full bowl of Oran Cider in front of the old man. Torterra downed it in three big gulps“Ahh,fine as ever.” he let out a burp, as drum like as his laugh, then, “anything can happy laddie. Maybe one day I’ll surprise you; maybe one day I’ll have a sake instead of a drink. Not that it’s likely, but still, is possible”
“is possible” Buck agreed. He refiled the bowl, though with sightly less Oran Cider this time, “now, how about while we wait for the possible we hear that story of yours” Buckle smiled softly and met Torterra’s gaze.
“Aye. aye…” grumbled Torterra, taking a (comparatively) small sip of cider, “not sure how to began. Give us a minute yeah?” Buckle and Torterra sat quietly for many moments. Buck didn’t mind the silence, Torterra knew that, but *he* did mind the silence- or rather this kind of silence. The kind of silence that comes with wittinessing the sublime. It made him feel both safe and helpless, a combination he before thought to be mutually excursive. Didn’t help the way Buckle looked at him- all curious and innocent like- Torterra knew that he had piqued his interest, and felt he couldn’t let the fellow down. But how could he ever do justice to what he had seen and heard?
 They sat there in silence the two of them for another short while. Then, suddenly, Torterra took a another short sip of his drink and began to spin his yarn…