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impulseSV - Pre-Game

Grian: impulse

Grian: what kind of candles do you want in your summoning circle

Grian: the new life series

impulseSV: lol

impulseSV: ocean mist is good!

impulseSV: and bamboo :)

💚  💛  ❤️

Impulse isn't breathing. You wouldn't either, if you were the one flying through the Void. Breathing here will fill your lungs with icy spikes. Yeah, he was technically coded as a demon, his mortal flesh warm with the taste of life, but breathing here still wouldn't be a good idea. It's smarter to free-fall in an exhale. Smarter to suck the empty air through your nostrils (if at all).

The Void smells like frost burn, gunpowder, and the gooey poison of cave spiders all mixed together and baked in a cake of death. It's a small improvement over the steamy sulfur of the Nether, but neither one is a cake you should be eating. While the Void isn't alive, sometimes Impulse hears it huffing at him. If you skim low enough, you can hear saliva crackle as it licks its lips and rumbles, hungry for its prey. It wants you. More than any lover every will, more than any ravager or vex or creeper, and it will crush your lungs if you so much as grant it breath. Impulse has died to it a dozen times, but this won't be one of those days.

It's a wall. It divides this world from other worlds. It will gobble you up and leave a petrified husk behind. Your unmoving body will float a few moments in empty space until the Void spits out your code again beside a bed. Falling out of this world, plunging into the depths of the Void, is one of the fastest deaths there is (right up there with a bad fall that snipes all ten of your hearts in one blow)… but it's the death that always takes the longest to regenerate from. You never hit the ground. There is no sudden snap. It just devours you. It's dangerous and beautiful and Impulse loves it for its mysteries. He wants to grip it in his hands. Run thick streams of it through his fingers. Immerse himself in danger and delight.

The Void will kill him if he spends much longer down here. Even if he holds his breath. And he can't fault it for that. When he's down to the last threads of durability on his elytra, he really shouldn't be skimming this low in the inky darkness. It's either been 15 minutes or an hour of waiting for Grian's call… Both are indistinguishable, the rocket count the only indication that time exists down here under the world at all.

Yet some kind of yearning in his code demands he play the waiting game here… Something raw, something primal, buried deep within his data core.

Question: Why?

Impulse blasts another rocket, arcing upwards. Years of practice keep him from bashing his head straight into the bedrock ceiling, but… Eee, that squeal he made when scraping close wasn't exactly the most manly thing he'd ever done. Skizz would get a giggle out of it and wax poetic about how much he loves those little shrieks, but Skizz isn't here right now. He's off in the mines hunting down a little extra coal. Though he didn't bump his head, Impulse rubs it anyway and gives the bedrock a little kick.

"Mean," he mutters to himself. He should probably stay up here. There's more oxygen near the bedrock. The cold doesn't bite as much. But he dips his elytra and ducks away from the ceiling anyway… mostly because he doesn't trust himself enough not to slip up and punch it with his fist. With ungloved hands, punching it is sure to result in damaged knuckles. His hunger haunches aren't full enough to offer natural regen after that.

Goosepixels blister across his skin. The yawning Void stays empty underneath him. And Impulse, so often steady in his faith… begins to falter. What's going on? He made a schedule. Has recording for the new Life Series already started without him? Maybe Grian told him the wrong date. Or…

Maybe, in spite of last week's chat messages about candles on the Hermitcraft server… Grian forgot that one of his players needs a special invitation to join a new world for the first time. As a demon, it's built inside his code. He needs a circle. His name chanted thrice…

No. Grian won't forget him.

Impulse swoops into the blackness and pulls up like a hummingbird. He juggles double rockets in his offhand. Okay. Okay. His breath slithers out in a silver cloud. Every inhale stabs his lungs. The Void is freezing- really freezing. Do people realize that? It's already eating away his skin like maggots and he hasn't even touched the worst of it. Or is he just crazy? Yeah! Maybe he's gone crazy from spending 15 minutes to an hour straight down here, doing nothing but fly in aimless circles, awaiting a portal that may never come…

The Void feels blacker here in the Overworld, somehow, than it does when you're in the End. It engulfs him in a cloak, and Impulse cannot breathe. The wings of his elytra strain at his shoulder muscles. Oh. He's too low. They're trying to pull away from him, like the pockets flapping from his cargo shorts. The wings are weaving in and out of his code. That's not unusual this close to the Void. The Void is weird like that. It wants to rip him into pieces. It wants to drag him closer. It wants to gobble him up.

Paf! goes half a heart of damage. Paf! Paf!

Ow. Impulse whips his mind back from its wanderings, throwing all his energy into his wing muscles. His elytra strain, but with the help of a rocket, he sails a little higher. His hearts stop flickering. He presses a hand against his chest. Okay… He can still feel six of them beating. He's okay.

Grian won't forget about him. He won't.

"Hhh… Hh…" Impulse buzzes his wings, spirals towards the ceiling again, wobbles, and fires one more rocket. The Void doesn't scare him, but it's like a wild animal: he knows when to back away. It's just as vicious as a mother bear. It'll rip him apart if he forgets his place.

There's an ache in the backs of his knees. He can barely flex his toes. They're too stiff. He's cold and not wearing any shoes. Impulse shakes his whole body in a shiver like a dog, except instead of flinging off water droplets, he flings off little black ice crystals. The Void writhes far below him, chuckling as he fights to hold his place.

I need to go back and get the admin panel… Maybe he sent a cross-server text to let me know he isn't coming.

But just because he "needs to," it doesn't mean he will. He's stupidly stubborn like that. Really stubborn. And competitive. Impulse grits his teeth, digging the heels of his hands against his eyes. He curls in his legs and just hovers there, wingbeats wild, and tries to concentrate on staying above the Y-level that will start to eat his hearts again.

Would it matter right now if he fumbled and fell? Not counting his T-shirt - crafted so carefully from the same code that makes up his skin - he has nothing of any importance on him. A couple rockets, some leather, and a damaged pair of elytra. He'd be disappointed to lose the wings, sure, since he went through all the effort to put Mending on them, but he and Skizz have spares around here. And it will take several agonizing minutes to pull his particles together again, but at least the Void won't be slurping away his will to live.

Would it matter? Of COURSE it would matter. Skizz would freak! Impulse grabs his face, hissing, and twists his fingers in his hair. Hhh… hhh… He really is going insane. It's not even dying that would worry Skizz. Both of them die all the time, and it's pretty common practice to do so if you've wandered far from home and can't be bothered to find your way back. But he's known Skizz since the day his code adopted solid form, and the guy will take one look at him and know instantly that he's tying himself in knots.

"Dippledop, let's talk."

He doesn't want to talk. It's not gonna do anything. Not right now. It's not going to take away his stress, grant him feelings of accomplishment, make him any happier. Plus, if Skizz is really in a bothersome mood, he might try to force a hug on him, and Impulse definitely doesn't want a hug. No talking, no touch. It'd just feel nice right now to scream and let a heart or two start to break.

Actually, the Void's kind of icky. The invisible wispiness of it is touching him a little more than he wants it to. He'd kind of like a shower.

Does the Void work like the ocean? Should he be watching some kind of air bubbles to defend his own sanity? His wrist monitor can't measure that - no one's ever reported that kind of thing - but there's no real reason he should be spending this much time in the Void. Are there little Void maggots devouring his arms? Impulse shakes his head, which snaps a few of the hairs from his scalp. Oops. Yeah, he's still been clutching his hair in his fists. He flings the strands into the Void with an exaggerated hurl, then dusts his hands clean. His elytra whirl behind him, and he tries to remember not to breathe through an open laugh. He's dancing with death as it is, just inhaling little gasps through his nose. It's a full-on tango down here. A sock hop. A waltz. Everybody in the whole cell block is dancing to the jailhouse rock.

I'm gonna be sick.

Maybe tonight isn't a Life Series recording night after all. That's unfortunate. Not Grian's fault (Grian isn't mean), but still a disappointment. The date must have gotten mixed up along the way, despite his careful calendar. So. Yeah…

This isn't good. Now his teetering work-life balance has tumbled in disarray. Like, what should he eat tonight? He'd planned to eat with Grian. His wife (plus Skizz's) already took the kids to another server for dinner with friends. Is it too late to text her and ask where they went? She'll roll her eyes in good humor and try to get a hug out of him when he shows up, and the only thought seeping through his head will be a desperate need to set better boundaries between his family and his work.

The date must be wrong. How did this happen? He wrote it on his schedule. He scrawled it on a signpost hanging on the bedrock. Impulse, fluttering like a moth above the hungry Void, runs his fingers through his tawny hair. It's sprouting ice crystals as black as the darkness below.

Maybe Grian got sick? That's not impossible. Every now and then, a bad regeneration sequence will knock your immune system out for days. Maybe one of Grian's cats slipped from the house on his AFK server and fled into the jungle. Or maybe Impulse isn't the only one who needed a few minutes to bid good-bye to a wife who's heading off to feed herself tonight. Grian's married, right? To Honey? Grian doesn't talk about her much, but Impulse is pretty sure that's her name.

Why isn't he here?

Impulse glances at his wrist, checking the second meter on his status watch. His elytra's durability is dropping fast. Great. He might need to pop into the Ender ender for mending if he flies around the Void much longer.

Should he dip? Yeah. Yeah, this isn't a good idea. Something's up. The timing's off. He mixed up the days. He should probably wiggle back through the gap in the bedrock ceiling and wait there for his rift portal to show. That's way safer than flying around in the dark like this until he's almost forgotten which way is up.

But why crawl up there to double-check his written schedule? He's been counting down the days for an entire week. He already knows what it's going to say… Sure, skimming beneath the bedrock ceiling is a cramped and dangerous way to play the waiting game, but he won't be here in the freezing darkness much longer. The summoning portal will appear below him any minute.

Any minute now.

Grian won't forget about him. He just needs to wait.

💚  💛  ❤️

Grian - Pre-Game

The wind kicks up, blowing strings of waffle-colored hair back behind his ears. It blows out the summoning candles too. Grian scratches absentmindedly at his nose and stays where he's standing, even when a second gust flings a splash of water at him from the river. It splatters the hem of his trouser leg. He doesn't even glance down. You can't be a Minecrafter if you don't expect a little dirt and water to bounce across your skin.

But it's a shame about the candles. He drops to one knee, stretching out his arm to light the nearest one with his flint and steel again. Wax has started dripping in the dirt. The candle jolts, then sputters back to life. Who knew trying to keep them all lit at the same time could be so difficult?

At this point, I'll just be glad if loose sparks don't set this place alight. The lag levels would be insane.

There's a portal of unnatural white blocks out here in the bamboo forest. It was built with admin powers and will be disassembled the same exact way. Its center glows and pulses with hazy pink light, showing blackness in its center if you squint. Grian wipes his wrist across his forehead. One finger twitch sends flint and steel back to his inventory. As wind rushes in his hair, he throws his arms upward in a V.

Easy does it now-!

The admin portal definitely doesn't exit into another forest like this one. It hangs suspended like a watchful eye. There's a thin ledge - barely the width of a trapdoor - for the guest of honor to land on. And Impulse does land, with an exhausted thump like a massive vulture before dropping to hands and knees. His fingers squeeze the little plank like a pirate who doesn't want to walk. He leans forward, cheeks puffed and red. Black ice crystals tumble from his hair. His elytra droop against his back.

"Hhh… hh…"

Grian, still standing with his arms thrown above him, tilts his head. He and Impulse make a strange duo, actually, if you really start to think about it. Down by the river, you have this young, almost spindly man in a red jumper despite the sweltering heat. His arms stretch skyward like the bamboo all around him. His eyes must be glowing with all the power of an admin. Really, the crazed eyes probably say it all. His blond-brown hair is ruffled out of place, grin ecstatic. Those smiley black eyes, as wild as a forest fire. That's how Grian would describe it, anyway. He's sweaty, disheveled, ready to work… but he isn't panicked. Not yet. He doesn't look like much of a demon hunter, and the man he summoned doesn't look like much of a demon. He's just Impulse. And they're friends.

Impulse, still drooped on the thin platform, lifts a single finger. "I'm just… gonna take a couple deep breaths… I need a minute. My legs fell asleep."

"I'm not sure that will help," Grian tells him honestly. "You're still sitting in the Void. I mean, you look like a pinched muffin. Crawl through to this side; the sun is much nicer over here."

"I'm not crawling through. I have my pride."

The next gust of wind throws dirt and sand in Grian's face. He coughs, rubs his eyes, and gets a little more sand between the creases of his skin. Eugh. Well. He still has ten minutes left of admin powers. Maybe toning down the wind on this server would be a worthy use of time. Grian rattles the command out on the panel fixed to his wrist and flicks the send button.

The answer snaps right back at him, almost instantaneous: Command denied.

Grian double blinks. "What?" Even that got denied? It's just wind. He twists, squinting up at the sky. Nothing but the hazy sun glares back at him. There aren't even any clouds in view up there. The only shade is provided by thin stalks of bamboo and one stray parrot watching from a lofty perch. Grian grits his teeth. "Are you sure? I still have ten minutes to set things up. Can't I fix the wind?"

His question is answered only by the waving stalks of bamboo. In the distance, a panda grunts and nudges its nose against a little baby, who rolls over with a flop. Grian drops his gaze, fidgeting with the admin panel. He says nothing else. Red text glares up at him from the screen on his hand, and there's little point in arguing.

But…

Grian rubs a bit of sand from his eyes. It's his fifth round in the death games. He knows the rules. He knows how to run a server. Why can't he finalize the details of the environment for once? It's his server. And he's the one with the admin mark seared into the back of his hand.

Well.

He turns back to watch as Impulse staggers to his feet. The demon - not that you can tell it from his human form - gives his body a firm shake. He steps beneath the shimmering pink curtain that screens his side of the portal from this one. The instant he passes through, his wings and little loose bits of leather go up in smoke. So does the carrot in his offhand.

Grian tries to smile, blinking tiredly against the sun. Against the sand… against the rejected command. Of course he'd be eating carrots. He's known Impulse for years, and the guy is just so… normal.

Oh, Impulse definitely doesn't look like what you'd think of when imagining a demon. No claws curl from his fingertips. No horns spiral from his head. He has no wings. There is no whip-thin tail swishing behind him as he walks through the shiny white portal, his hands linked behind his back. Even the place he exits doesn't look demonic in nature. No fire, no pits of skulls… just cold, smothering Void. Chips of ice still cling to the hairs of his arms.

He's a big man. A strong one. Broad shoulders stretch out his black t-shirt. They're the type of muscles that get shaped from days of shifting blocks, one by one, a few pixels over from where they were before, because Impulse's attention to detail simply wouldn't stay quiet if he let something off-center remain untouched. His chin is lightly shaven, but flecked with stubble the same graphite gray as his eyes. Grian sets his hands to his waist, cocking his head to one side again. So weird how if you took a gander at the guy's code and nothing more, you'd expect some kind of grotesque beast. And he's not. He eats carrots. It's enough to make Grian's smirk twitch up at one end.

Theatrics aside, this is shaping up to be an average Tuesday night. Impulse, keeping his hands locked behind him, steps gently from the summoning portal and into the sun-scorched grass below. He smiles too, eyes shining with bright relief. "Hey, Grian! Good to see you again."

"You didn't think I'd leave you in the Void, did you?"

"Nah! I had full trust you'd come through for me. But you know… Just chanting my name three times with intention works just as well. You don't need all the candles. After a while, the full ritual does lose a little of its charm."

Grian's smirk twists a little higher. He flicks his wispy curls behind one ear. The pixels glimmer in the sun. "Well, eventually, I'll let you know if it ever does. You know I like to make a show of it. I kept it pretty private last world like you asked. This time… I thought we'd make it fun! That's why I called you up before anyone else gets here. You know what I'm like. This is your fault. You enable me." The smile dips very faintly at one end. "I promise, we'll cut all this out in post. Recording doesn't start for another nine minutes."

"Yeah, well, I get that. Skizz used to do the same thing in Naked and Scared." Impulse glances back at the flickering candles and shrugs. "I guess when you're new to it, I see the appeal. Candles are fun!" He tilts his voice upward at the end. It's his own little joke.

The Skizz comment brings Grian a moment's pause. "Wait. Angels can summon demons?"

"Ascended demon, fallen angel…" Impulse makes a teetering motion with his hand. "We're basically two peas in a pod. It's why we get along so well. We always meet each other halfway."

"… Huh." There's only a sliver of non-human melded in with Grian's code. It's his parrot wings, and he already disabled them before he got here. They won't turn on until he comes in contact with an elytra, which never happens in the Life series. He'll get them back when he clocks out after the session tonight. Grian turns away, breathing in the scent of bamboo and jungle trees. "Well, normal spawn is just over that way, by the pumpkins. I'll start calling everybody else. I planted some carrots and wheat, so grab a snack if you need one. Take a seat and- Oh, WOW! Just… just look at that!"

"Hm?" Impulse is taller than he is, but leans around him anyway as though it helps him see better. Grian cannot speak. He lifts a finger through the trees, pointing out the river. It bends up ahead and curls back around, barely wide enough for two boats side by side. Heavy plants dangle their tendrils in the water. Dragonflies flicker their wings. Bamboo grows in spikes all around them. And in the distance, the orange sunset gleams as it glides towards the horizon.

It's quiet. The water ripples. A salmon leaps. Sploosh. Grian clears his throat. "I just… really like these new shaders I put on. Oh, that's beauty. The water looks fantastic now."

Impulse chuckles, releasing the stranglehold on his own hand for the first time. He flaps his shirt collar at his neck. "This should be a good world then, yeah? Can't be hell if it looks like heaven on the first glance."

Grian smiles back. Impulse's dark eyes glint with mischief, like two tiny chips of sea glass in the sand. "Here's to hoping so. It's a very pretty place to die."

"And I look forward to killing you," Impulse says. Grian rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, you would."

Spawn isn't that far from here, but it does require jumping across the river. Not only that, but they have to hack their way through the leaves, plus dump the leaves from their inventories so they'll actually despawn. That's a lot harder to do when walking one behind the other, so Grian hangs back and lets Impulse go first. Neither of them has a sword, let alone shears. An itch runs across his skin as the sun finally dips below the distant trees, bringing on the night.

Yuck. They only have a few minutes before the rest of their friends arrive, and resource gathering at night on Day 1 is about to suck. Cleo and Bdubs are going to have a fit. Good content, though. That is, if it's not completely pathetic to watch every player get sniped by random skeleton shots to the back. Hardcore mode can be brutal if you're unprepared.

Halfway there, Grian stops walking. "Oh. I almost forgot to take the portal down. Hang on. I'll just be a sec."

Impulse presses on with a grunt of "No worries." Grian rattles off the command for portal deconstruction against the screen. And… he hesitates, his fingers poised to tap out something else. He glances at the sky. Mm…

Yeah. Why not take the risk? Set time to day. Send command.

Command denied.

Grian exhales, morphing his sigh into a raspberry halfway. Why does he sometimes feel like this isn't really his series? Sometimes he feels like he's living in it and nothing more.

He checks the sky again, keeping an ear out for any mobs, then shoots a cross-server message to his wife: Game's starting. Take care. See you soon.

A few seconds later, she texts him back a heart. He flinches. Doesn't mean to, but he does. Grian glances at the sky one more time, throwing a questioning look at the Watchers or the Powers That Be or whoever else might be out there (His boss)… and jerks the admin panel off his hand. It's not like whoever's up there's been listening to him anyway.

The panel weighs like a brick of ice in his hands. Grian stuffs it in his inventory as his face heats up. Hearts, flowers…

It's all so confusing (and half for show). Is it… wrong? Even after several years, he still doesn't know how to act when a heart flits across the screen. What's the right way to show affection to someone you were programmed to see as "Wife," even though you never had a wedding? Never had a real first date? It's just… One day he woke up with a ring coded on his finger, and it was six weeks before he even found out who the recipient was supposed to be.

And now we share a private server. Two cats. A home.

Somehow, it isn't weird to share servers alone with Taurtis or Tim or BigB or Scar or Joel or Impulse or Pearl… but it's different sharing with Honey. He built them a small manor - even did the back of it, with her help - and he's done half the interior. They're still missing essential features… but Honey never nags him for it, for which he's honestly grateful. Don't get him wrong! He's grateful!

Their home lies tucked away in a jungle biome and they get visits from parrots every day. Honey feeds them seeds from her palm. Most days, she'll pull apart her office curtains in the mornings and talk to them, which Grian can hear from next door in the master bedroom. She loves parrots. Which is… weird. Right? Was she designed that way on purpose? So… so confusing…

She can't keep pace with the changing updates of the game. She doesn't know the names of half these blocks. She struggles to defend herself against mobs… She's only HERE because she was created, but because she's perma-AFK, she's locked into her birth server with no way out…

You know, living with Honey is a little like living with Scar. She builds unintentional mob farms, doesn't quite grasp the little nuances of world mechanics, and Grian feels like a babysitter whenever they go out to explore. It stings, actually. It kills him to know he's only seen a handful of their home server's chunks. If he had properly explored maps, he wouldn't even be able to wallpaper the space between his desk and his window. Their house isn't built from the materials Grian originally wanted, either, because he didn't know where to go to find them, and not knowing hurts like heck, but it also hurts to go out there on his own…

Oh yeah. Honey built the Nether portal too close to their bedroom. It's almost the loudest thing in the game. He needs to move it. He doesn't know how to say that without causing offense.

Hhh. It's hard. And Grian hasn't found the right words to say it yet, because it isn't Honey's fault that she can't leave their server on her own. She isn't whitelisted anywhere else. She's AFK-bound to her homeworld… Grian knew it hadn't been necessary to change his own settings, set his own AFK world to match hers… It wasn't required of him…

But he did it anyway. Willingly, because he had to, and he has #No Regrets. I mean, Honey lives on the other end of the code between their wedding rings. Grian knows from experience - oh, he'll never say it's from experience - the smothering level of guilt that will grab him by his neck if he ever tries to walk away. Grian's the only one in the multiverse who was whitelisted on her birth server, and if he won't stay with her…

… then no one will. Ever. No one but the parrots and cats.

And he won't doom his own wife to an eternity of loneliness like that. Even if there isn't a fleck of romance between them. He'd never be able to look his reflection in the eyes again.

The wind coasts again across his waffle-colored hair. Grian stands there, hesitating, as the sound of Impulse pushing through the leaves slithers through the air behind him. Isn't it, you know… funny? Impulse considers himself a married man. He loves his wife, his kids… two kids who poofed into existence one day and could suffer account deletion at any time.

But Impulse loves them anyway. If you ask him probing questions, his eyes will dance like campfire smoke and he'll tell you all about them. His youngest has been here a couple years now. Grian met them twice- only twice. Neither of those scamps can stick with a server long, trapped in an endless cycle of building starter houses before growing bored, but…

Impulse fell in love with them. Even if they go exploring for days or weeks or months, thousands and thousands of blocks away. He hugs them every time they row their boats or ride their horses home. He taught them how to shoot their first bows. He combs loose pixels from their hair, makes their favorite mushroom stews, holds their hands when crossing busy server seeds, and…

It's like he just knew how to love them from the start.

After several seconds, Grian reaches beneath his jumper. He drags the admin panel from his inventory again and rotates it until the screen faces him once more. Hhh. He grips it in both hands, squeezing 'til its corners prick his fingers, and sears the name on the screen into the back of his head.

I'm a married man. She cares about me. She wants me to talk to her about the game instead of going on resource-gathering trips so I can be alone.

He doesn't want to scare her. Honey's server doesn't have player PvP enabled. He can catch her if she falls, grab her if she stumbles, but if he ever attempted genuine damage, his pixels would pass right through hers. Honey's only enemies are zombies, skeletons, piglins, ghasts… the occasional witch or creeper…

She doesn't know.

She wants to learn about the outside world. I need to text her updates this time to tell her how it's going. She cares about me. I need to connect. I have a wife… I have a WIFE…

Would it shatter her if he tried explaining that when he leaves her, it's not always to work on "construction projects" in someone else's server? Would she still smile at him in the mornings if she knew how often he spends his evenings just… pulling mischief, setting traps… taking other people's lives? Yes, the respawn mechanic exists, but… How do you begin to explain the Life series to someone born with PvP disabled? There are other worlds out there where my friends and I pretend that WE'RE the monsters, and WE fill our enemies' hearts with dread…

Hhhhhggggghh…

This stupid wind. There's still sand pricking at his eyes.

(It would shatter her, by the way.)

Impulse and Skizz share an AFK server with all their family members. They're next-door neighbors. Having a neighbor would make things easier, but Honey can't leave her server and no one else can get in. Sometimes when Grian's social needs are welling in his throat but the AFK locket is dangling like a shock collar, he grabs a few melons and goes wandering through the villager trading hall. The villagers are just mobs, just digital programs that flesh out the world, so they're not exactly good at conversation… but they can sense when he's upset. His Efficiency V villager always listens to his rambles, and always reaches out to hold his shoulder and offer what grunting comfort he can.

But that's not how I want to spend the rest of my existence. When I end up perma-AFK, is this all there is for me? WHY, even as the admin for multiple servers, do I still feel like my life is out of my control?

Grian clutches the admin panel to his chest for a moment, then holds it out to get a good look at that heart she sent him again. It gleams a romantic shade of red. It's got sparkles sprinkled on top. No dancing around that.

Grian stares, silent and squinting, at the little ring coded on his finger. He isn't the one who put that code there. And although running the Life series has taught him a great deal about coding, he's reluctant to be the one to pry it off. Honey might take it as an insult. And that great someone watching over him might just code it right back on.

In the distance, Impulse grunts and struggles with a particularly thick area of underbrush. Grian blinks himself out of his stupor. Right. He's got stuff to do. They only have five or so minutes before the rest of his friends arrive. He tilts up the admin panel again, frowning at the screen. Honey's message floats there, unanswered, in the Void.

A little red heart.

Grian tries to ground himself, tries to feel the scuff of dirt beneath his default shoes. Drink the noise of the river, the colors offered by the new shaders… and he grits his teeth.

I'm here to create entertaining content. Play with my friends. And it doesn't matter if I win. I already won the series when it was 3rd Life. I can just…

He's going to be better this time around. Honey worries for him, you know. The Death games are controlled - it's all for entertainment - and she's never lived in a world with PvP, but she can still recognize when he's hurting. Embarrassingly, he's sometimes flown into a wall, fallen down a cavern, or gotten shot by a rogue mob while exploring the AFK server. She always sprints up the stairs to check on him, searching for damage to his limbs, while he stands uncomfortably on his side of the double bed and tries not to say anything that might splinter what little (so little) they have.

Okay. I'm here because I want to play and I want to be entertaining. But my personal goal doesn't have to be winning the series. I'll just try to think of funny things that I can talk to Honey about when I get home.

He'll be better. He can do this. He loves the wildness of the game, but he can afford to be a little softer, take a few more breaks, focus more on the things that are supposed to be important in his life. He burns himself out sometimes, you know. He needs to take more time for himself. And this time, he'll send Honey updates every night. Ask her 'How are things back home?'

And when he finally looks at her the way that Joel looks at Lizzie, then… then he'll feel okay about texting Honey hearts. Those little… sparkly… red…

He texts Honey a thumbs up emoji and stuffs the admin panel away again. Without its light, the world looks a lot darker. The wind blows a leaf across his path. It's cold. He can hear the distant groan of a zombie with a limping foot.

Five minutes until we start.

Then he has to duck, yelping for Impulse as a skeleton's arrow whizzes past his ear. His foot catches on a tree root. Fwump! Thwip!

A second arrow wedges itself between his cheek and hand. Eugh. Grian scrambles up again, brushing his hand down his jumper. Hardcore nights are killer in the early game. Oh, morning can't come soon enough.

Thanks for reading Chapter 1~

This story's Tumblr post - HERE

Chapter Text

Session 1

impulseSV - Player

Quarry: TBA

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: Unaffiliated

💚  💛  ❤️

Seed 125. It's such an innocuous number, that. Just a sliver of a thing. You could almost personify it like a little fairy. What's that TV show where the letters of the alphabet form words and come alive? If there's a spin-off for numbers, this is exactly that. The number 125 is too ridiculously quaint and pretty to be "randomly selected," which makes it feel ethereal and fey. Does that make sense?

Listen to me. I really do sound like a guy whose friend group has been mostly other parents for the last dozen years.

Smajor gets it, though. Er… Scott. He's all-in on the freckly, pointy eared woodland fey aesthetic this time around- glittery and mystical with iridescent white fairy wings printed down the back of his bright green jacket. Someone call the Summer Court, because Tam Lin's in big trouble. That's him.

You know, just the name alone is hilarious. "Seed 125" sounds like a tourist trap or government lab, like Area 51 or something (at least in all the memes). The air here is warm and smells of salt and mucky sand. It's night, but no one's shivering… even those among the crowd of 17 (like Impulse) whose base code currently depicts them in shorts and a T-shirt. Skizz's suit vest doesn't even have sleeves. Cleo has her arms crossed, hands running up and down her skin, but she sort of always does that. You know: stands off to one side, watchful and aloof. Then she settles with a fwump on the edge of Ren's melon.

(Funny story about the staring. 16 of the 17 players gathered around the melon circle are tailed by "ghosts." They're not normally spoken of- invisible to each other's camera eyes, here only if you squint. HumanCleo betrays all the emotions of life and fear that ZombieCleo does not. The ghostly figure shivers, shifting from foot to foot. She presses her palms to her face. She's transparent, so it does very little to hide her. Impulse can see her beady camera eyes staring blearily at the bedrock ground.)

Tango's red-blond hair flickers in the dark. His flames burn low. Since their center torch is pretty pathetic, he alone is lighting up the darkness of their inner circle. Well… Skizz has his halo and Scar decorated his cane with a glowing red orb, which rests in his lap, but there's no telling what that's about. Impulse squints.

Is Scar made of wood?

That'll be interesting. Scar always goes overboard with his skin swaps and roleplay in the death games, and clearly he's already built the bare bones of a plan. Doesn't wood rot near the seaside? This is the seaside, right? Slight waves slap against the shore down the hill from where they sit. Stalks of bamboo leer over them like skyscrapers and the bedrock Grian admin'd in around spawn is freckled with roaming pigs.

Seed 125 is too pretty of a place to be brutally murdered in a death loop. And this time, the realization of that cuts Impulse to the core. He jolts upright, gripping the edges of his melon chair.

Why are we doing all this? For the 'entertainment' of those whose faces we never see? Can't we just have a beach episode and enjoy building together in a tropical survival paradise?

Would that be good content? Maybe not, but it'd be a well-deserved vacation. Impulse rubs behind his neck, tracing out the ghosts of old scars and the ache of this morning's Skyblock stream with Skizz. Ooh. Is he really up for this?

I really shouldn't have spent an hour skimming through the void.

His cam twin moves instinctively to rub his shoulders. His misty hands pass straight through.

"So Grian," Scar calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Explain to us in your soothing British accent what the rules of this Life game are."

"Welcome to Dog's Life," Grian recites, spinning around like a king. He wobbles his arms, leaning his weight on just one leg. Gets his balance back. Exhales. They're all standing on random melons gathered around the bedrock spawn point, although there weren't enough for everyone, so some are on the ground. Actually, Smajor (Scott) and BigB have their arms wrapped around each other, tongues poking out uncertainly as they fight gravity and each other to keep themselves upright. Scott, a little squashed and frumpy, looks like he might step down in a second or two. While their melon is square, it's a little lumpy on one side. BigB grips Scott like a life preserver as though the grass is lava.

Beside them is Mumbo, fiddling with his tie. He stares at his shoes, but lifts his gaze as Impulse's eyes bear into him. This is only Mumbo's second round in the death game, so it's no wonder he's nervous. He looks out of his element - like a dolphin in Arizona - like he's debating if he ought to surrender his own melon to one of the senior players. Impulse tries to smile, but it comes out like a grimace. Mumbo fidgets with the hems of his coat. The skeletons on the fringes of their circle are noisy, bones clicking. Pigs snort. The zombies are the loudest of all… enough to make Impulse wonder whether they're standing just above a cave. How grateful he is for the bedrock that prevents death loops from trapping spawn.

One skeleton twists around, making Mumbo jump. But Ren shoots him a reassuring look, waving a dismissive hand. He's sitting on his melon, one leg crossed over the other. He looks relaxed. Cleo's doing the exact same thing, having apparently decided - quite stubbornly - that they won't stray far from spawn while the stars are out. They're in no rush to get moving.

Can't blame her, Impulse thinks, watching the skeleton keep its distance. He taps his fingers against the melon's side, starting up a beat (Skizz instinctively picks it up, drumming too). There's almost no point in foraging at night during Hardcore.

Grian looks like a wraith in the dark, silhouetted against the big square moon. His sweater hugs him tightly, like a scarecrow, and he somehow embodies the panicked spirit of the night even while his face looks as calm as the smooth grass around their bedrock melon patch. His hair flutters back in a weird and spooky way. Even his black eyes glint against the central torch like there are secrets deep within them he hasn't told, and never will.

"This is our fifth iteration of the Life series, and if you're familiar with our past games, you know the base rules quite well. We've coded the game so that every one of us gets to play in this server with only three lives, and all 17 of us creators are fighting for survival in a very small map."

Grian continues his explanation, running through the basic Greens have three lives to lose, yellows two, reds just one and then they're out along with the usual rules of engagement. By default, greens are neutral: forced to play defensively. Yellows can't start fights with anyone either (not normally). Once you respawn as red, you're on your final life and become hostile to the other players… all alliances with non-reds shattered. You fend only for yourself.

Impulse can breathe again. The tropical air is warm and rosy, even in the evening. His eyelids flutter. How crazy is it that twelve minutes ago, he was skimming through the void? His shoulders ache a little, but it's nothing too bad. Grian made sure he was well fed before they started. He's kicking himself now for wasting so much energy and strength, but… it was therapeutic in a way, right? It felt pretty good to shake out all his pre-game anxieties somewhere he had complete and utter privacy.

Besides… he'll be fine. Nothing extreme ever happens on Day 1.

"This season," Grian goes on, holding up four and one fingers, "we've created a special mod that will alter our body traits every time we kill off a mob in the game. Each mob has its own powers which can grant a player an advantage, such as immunity from poison, resistance to fall damage, natural silk touch, or even the ability to breathe underwater as well as on land. Every food source is under heavy consideration, and strategy is everything as you fend off wild mobs while fighting to stay alive."

Scott, clinging onto BigB's arm, waves then to catch Grian's eye. "Hi, yeah; I have a question about that, actually… So if you kill another player, do you get reset to being 'player' again? Or do their borrowed mob traits become your own?"

Impulse pricks his ears. He hadn't paid attention to that in the testing server. In all the excitement of testing mobs, they'd sort of forgotten. Grian hesitates before admitting that he isn't really sure. He glances over at Martyn, who'd done a lot of the killing over there, and Martyn shrugs. "Hmm," says Grian. "Does the code recognize us as players when we change? I think it still sees us as players above all."

Scar, fidgeting, gives the man beside him a solid whack with his wooden(?) hand. It's Jimmy, who pinwheels his arms and falls from his melon into Bdubs' lap. Bdubs jumps a little, then pushes Jimmy back to his feet. A small round of bickering breaks out between them, with Scar slinking sheepishly back. Grian stands with his hands in a temple before his mouth, staring up at the heavy moon.

Just one more minute. Maybe two, and then the game is live.

Impulse glances across the spawn point, where he can see Etho tiredly massaging his eyes with knuckle and thumb. He cradles his elbow in one palm, though looks for all the world like he'd rather be holding a sword. Or maybe he'd like to shove someone down the behind him, straight into the river.

On the melon nearest Etho is Joel, who apparently thinks it's hilarious to balance on one leg and lean as far over as he can, arms extended like wings, in some attempt to make Etho laugh. Or even just look up. Etho seems too wary to look at anyone, and especially not him. Yeah… Impulse gets that. Etho and Joel roleplayed a pretty entertaining partnership back in Season 3, Double Life - calling themselves the Boat Boys and living inside a beautiful pirate ship crafted by Joel's painstaking hands - and the season after that, Etho got accidentally roped into the role of "absent father" with Cleo as his ex.

It was all pretty fun to watch, and Impulse is dying to throw a little more roleplay into his own Life experiences this time around, but he totally understands if Etho needs a mental break. He definitely looks like he's not ready to lock eyes with anyone yet, just in case someone gets the grand idea to rope him into some crazy scheme. Really, that's part of the fun of an unscripted series… you never know who you'll end up basing with when you first start out. Even in their pre-recording sessions, their tentative plans often split apart.

A bird twitters from the grass, nudging its chick with its beak. It hops, rustling feathers, then skims into the dark with the spawned-in baby on its trail. "This season," says Grian without looking at the rest of them, reciting his practiced script without more than one eye twitch, "we've made adjustments to what used to be our boogeyman mechanic. Here in Dog's Life, there is no boogeyman. Instead, we're playing with the concepts of hunting hounds and dog-like loyalty."

Impulse keeps an amused eye turned Joel's way. When his ballerina balancing act fails to get a rise out of Etho, Joel huffs and drops his leg down again. He turns to Lizzie on his other side. His arms cross in a pout, and she chuckles behind her hand. Lizzie and Mumbo have only played in one Life game each, so it should be pretty interesting to have them around again. To be honest, though… Impulse would rather stay far, far away from Joel. Joel's a firecracker and if Lizzie ends up tailing him… well, it's nothing personal. Impulse just feels a bit more comfortable with some of his closer friends. Like Tango.

Tango's way on the other side of the circle with ZombieCleo, his back to the bamboo forest instead of the shiny river. He keeps one hand on his mouth, gaze focused on the moon above. Next to him is Scar, who's prodding a small tuft of grass with his cane. That either means he was Grian's practice dummy for reciting all the rules by heart, or Scar's about to forget every rule of engagement all over again. That'll be interesting. Impulse makes a mental note to keep well away from him.

"On this server," Grian goes on, "you always have to watch your back, because each of us has one - and only one - randomly selected person who's allowed to target you at any time, regardless of what color your or their name is. Each of us is a hunter, hunting down one specific individual, and the target we're chasing is called our quarry. Each time you kill your quarry in game, you will gain one extra life. If you somehow make it above 3 lives, your name will turn purple until you're brought back down to green."

Martyn's next to Lizzie, his blond hair still glittering with restless pixels after the jumping jacks and in-place jogging he'd been doing a few moments ago. That guy just can't stay still. He's already half crouched, ready to bolt. Clearly, he doesn't have any problem with throwing together a wooden sword and charging into the dark. But, well… that's typical of him. He does tend to wander on the first night in a new server, trying to scout the land before he decides where to plant his roots. Martyn can tell you anything about background ambiance birds.

Impulse can't help but smile, tentatively tucking his hands beneath his arms to keep them out of the chilly wind. He holds a ton of respect for Martyn and always has. They've become pretty good friends since meeting for the first time back in 3rd Life. In the last death game, he and Martyn made it all the way to the final duel before Martyn delivered the final backstabbing blow. They even based together in the Southlands back in Last Life, though they probably won't casually hang out like that again this time. Impulse doesn't know what he's up to, but he might take a slower pace with things… just enjoying the roleplay of the game. Martyn's a fantastic roleplayer, but snappy and energetic. Even though he's a blast, it's all too easy to get exhausted around him.

We'll see.

Grian takes a deep breath. "Your hunter and quarry will remain the same all season long, kept totally secret, so it's up to each individual whether they'd like to reveal themselves early or play the long game with their prey."

But watch out.

Skizzleman, tall and lean, stands to Impulse's right. Impulse turns his head, and Skizz glances over at the exact same time. He smiles. It's a minor relief. Impulse tries to relax the tension in his shoulders. He and Skizz have been friends for ages. They probably won't team up again this season, just to spice things up a little bit and enjoy some play time with other folks they don't hang around half so often, but… it's always nice to see Skizz's reassuring eyes

On Skizz's other side is Pearl, who leans forward and waves at Impulse with a smile of her own. Nice. The Soup Group may be down one member - GeminiTay doesn't play these kinds of games - but he really enjoys hanging out with Pearl. She even won the third series they played, going head to head with Bdubs, Impulse, and Cleo back to back and still coming out on top. She's wildfire unrestrained. She's wearing her dark cloak today, not her red one, so maybe they won't be seeing the return of "Scarlet Pearl" for a while longer.

Grian's wrapping up the instructions now. Impulse glances to his left. The last two players in their game are Bdubs and Jimmy- who, like Scott and BigB, are sharing one large melon between them. Well. Technically Bdubs is sitting, glancing cautiously around the circle, while Jimmy leans over him with hands braced on the shorter man's shoulders. A necklace with a tiny yellow charm bounces against his chest, though Impulse doesn't get a good look at what it is. Is it a bird?

Years of playing in these life series have taken a heavy toll on Bdubs. His chipped teeth and swollen eye are proof of that, but Jimmy isn't looking so good either. His head sags forward until he senses Impulse's eyes lingering on his neck. When he lifts it, Impulse flinches back. Jimmy's eyes are exhausted… his skin is marked up with old scratches and war wounds. They all carry those kinds of marks, but honestly… Impulse wouldn't have even blamed Jimmy if he'd asked to sit out this time around. The Life series is all about entertainment and fun, and when it's all over, they're always still friends and can get a lot of laughs out of enjoying their own explosive deaths.

But Jimmy… Ihh.

Jimmy's died first in all four seasons that they've played. He's not targeted; not intentionally. He just… has a hard time thriving in Minecraft. Jimmy's heavy eyes skim across Impulse's before they drift away. He leans forward, most all of his weight on Bdubs, and Bdubs reaches up to sympathetically pat his hand.

And that's everyone. This is where the game begins. Grian swishes his eyes around them all, then throws one arm in the air.

"GO!"

The wind whips around them as bodies scramble off, kicking melons in their wake. No one's seen this map yet. No one has a clue where they are relative to the landmarks. Impulse sprints to the nearest oak tree, slapping one palm against it to lay claim to the trunk before anyone else can. He scans the departing figures as they hustle on their way. Breathing…

Most of the gang looks like they're following the river downstream. Makes sense. Following the water source makes it easy to not get lost, plus it's unlikely any drowned have spawned in the water to hurl tridents at passersby. Sort of makes night time easy if you don't have to keep watch on one side. Impulse leans all his weight against the bark beneath his hand. The lumps and crevices in its surface nibble at his skin.

Scott's leading the charge downriver, his arms pumping, green jacket flapping behind him. He's a wild bull. A steam train. He takes one giant leap, arms out like a butterfly, and drops to a lower part of the hill. He disappears. There's an audible paf! of hearts disappearing, but he never slows his pace. The spooky fey imagery is working well for him, then. Bdubs scrambles after him like a wolf with Jimmy practically tripping on their heels. The sounds of breaking grass, of players hunting for seeds, explodes in the air behind them.

Etho hovers at the edge of the drop, studying it for a quarter of a second, but doesn't take it. Instead, he whips to the right. That's the same way Martyn, Mumbo, and Lizzie are heading in a tight-knit "watch your back as we fend off zombies" group of travelers, though Etho doesn't join their party. He bends down, running his hand across a bit of exposed stone. Tango leaps to join him, saying something in his ear that Impulse doesn't catch.

Impulse draws a hissing breath between his teeth. Okay… So how do I want to play this season?

Tools first. That's a pretty natural first move. Impulse runs his palm down the oak and starts swinging away with his fist. Grian, Cleo, BigB, Scar, and probably several others outside his line of sight are all doing the same thing. They rip logs out with their hands like they're starving surrounded by raw meat, in desperate need of campfires. BigB thumps a crafting table down between them. Impulse wipes the back of his wrist across his forehead. He hefts his logs. Then the whole "wood gang" crowds around, taking turns to push their materials into the crafting slots, elbows bumping and shoulders jostling. See, this is where it pays to have a carpentry background. Everything he's learned, he owes to the villagers way back in his first Minecraft world.

SolidarityGaming stole the traits of Chicken

The message pings up, swishing across Impulse's mind. He jolts, as does BigB right beside him. Oh… So the game is coded to show which player is taking after which mob. Right. Impulse shakes his head, then flaps out his hands and presses the pieces of his wooden sword together on the table. The chirpy noise is a bit of a jump scare, but he'll get used to it. It'll haunt his nightmares one of these days. Impulse runs his fingers through his hair, clenching at the back. Did he jump? No…

Renthedog stole the traits of Pig

LDShadowLady stole the traits of Pig

He's not a card counter. He's gonna forget which person's which.

PearlescentMoon stole the traits of Chicken

BdoubleO100 stole the traits of Sheep

"Stop killing all the food!" someone yells in the distance, and Grian gets a chuckle out of that. He salutes BigB and bounds off into the dark, clutching his wooden sword and pick. Apparently, he isn't ready to settle down with a partner in crime just yet. That tracks. He shouts "Hup!" and splashes in the river. Impulse eyeballs the torch in the middle of the melon circle, wondering if it would be in poor taste to grab it for himself. There aren't a lot of rules in this server, and it's probably fine… it would save him mining right now for a piece of coal.

MumboJumbo stole the traits of Zombie

But Cleo beats him to it. She sheathes her sword at her hip in a flourish, then takes quick steps towards the torch. She kicks it. Just pops it from the ground before anyone can stop her. Joel whines in protest, trying to push the rest of his sticks into the crafting table's sockets by feel alone, but Cleo simply says "Right, you're all on your own now" before hurrying off in the direction Scott, Bdubs, and Jimmy disappeared. Impulse raises his head.

"You want anyone to watch your back?"

"I'm all right," Cleo calls back. "I don't really do nights, but there's one mob I'd really like to see before we hit daytime."

Fair enough. Probably a Zombie, like her namesake. Impulse drills his fingers against the edges of the crafting table as Joel fumbles around. Scar has retreated, taking a sudden interest in harvesting the melons. When Impulse looks up again, his eyes latch on to BigB's.

Grian stole the traits of Salmon

Smajor1995 stole the traits of Salmon

Impulse doesn't know BigB well, personally. For years, he's classed BigB as one of "Grian's friends." Between the divides of the Red Army and Crastle bases, plus the Southlands and Fairy Forest, plus Double Life landing them on opposite ends of the map, well… Impulse hasn't had the pleasure of long or detailed conversations with the guy. Even in the server chat he isn't sure what to say, always second-guessing himself in case his natural friendliness comes off as condescending.

He knows BigB isn't much for arguing. He speaks softly most of the time: cautiously, thoughtfully, running back over his thoughts and doubling decisively down. His words always gleam off his tongue in a way that suggests he means no offense, he isn't judging anybody, and that it takes absolutely no effort to maintain that polite and casual friendship vibe. Faintly, Impulse winces. He still kicks himself for some of what he's said in recent years, especially to Tango. One particular moment burns like a red-hot brand against his chest. The way he said it. Overanalyzing, critical…

He shouldn't beat himself up for what he says while there's a mod intertwined with his code. But he does, sometimes.

Skizzleman stole the traits of Salmon

BigB's probably never said anything he's regretted since the day someone coded him a silver tongue. And BigB's gentle hands are just another stark contrast against Impulse's well-worn palms. When it comes to manual labor, mining and building are his preference, but he's most often seen BigB working the fields with a hoe and scythe, or brushing tired horses, or feeding cows and pigs.

Well, yeah… Hard worker.

Yeah! Impulse can give him that. Now satisfied he's found a label for the guy, he tries to smile. At Impulse's direct eye contact, however, BigB clears his throat and glances at his feet. Impulse blinks, but this doesn't end BigB's cautious motions as he pats himself down. One hand wraps around the satchel strap that slices across his chest.

"Any plans yet?" he asks, the words whispered. They spin out of him. Empty small talk. Awkward in the air.

"Not sure," Impulse answers, shrugging back. Joel scoffs to himself and shakes his head. He pushes back from the crafting table to let someone else have a turn. Scar jolts forward and starts mashing together every single wooden tool. A pickaxe. A sword. Even a hoe.

Grian stole the traits of Zombie

Joel is infinitely identifiable by the green stripe zig-zagging through his otherwise dark brown hair. A tied-up bobtail bounces at the back. He looks like a pirate, especially in his traditional brown vest and rumpled white sleeves. He'd rock a parrot on one shoulder. Maybe he'll even find one; they are in the jungle, after all. And apparently, he can feel Impulse's eyes prickling down his neck. He turns and sets his hands on his hips.

"Oi, mate! See something you like? Take a screenshot. It'll last longer."

Impulse grimaces. Joel needs something to do with those hands, undeniably. He's already certain that in every future encounter, fidgety Joel will be flicking through his hotbar for a weapon to grasp. Maybe an axe. Most definitely an axe. Impulse has always seen Joel as inseparable from his beloved double-headed blade. Once he goes mining, Joel will use his first three diamonds for a pick and the rest as insurance to confirm no one dares cross him, even while he's green. Mostly, anyway. He's the type who'd stuff dynamite down his underpants just in case he ever needs it. Impulse doesn't regret his decision to cross him out as a potential ally. Joel is a lot, and would probably smash that axe in the back of his head as soon as he turns red.

"Well, I'm done," Scar announces, cheerfully straightening up again. He shoves the tools in his hotbar, then breaks the crafting table with a swift kick. Impulse jumps. So does the block, with an audible popping noise. Scar nicks it in a flick of his hand. Before Impulse can figure out what to say, the guy stuffs the tiny table in his pocket and swaggers off, humming all the while. His glowing cane orb marks him like a firefly. BigB stares blankly at the spot where the block had just been, one hand extended. He still holds two sticks.

"He just took my crafting table…"

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Skeleton

"Scar!" Impulse calls out after him, but Scar keeps walking along the river. He's nearing the place where the hill drops off like a cliff. Bdubs stands there beside a crafting table of his own. He claps a protective hand on top as soon as Scar wanders close. BigB shrugs and turns away to harvest more wood from the trees. It's just a table, after all. Joel hefts his sword, eyes sparking as he apparently debates the pros and cons of chasing him down. Then he shakes his head.

"Impulse, what say you and me hit the mines? It's dark out anyway, so there's no point in staying above ground."

"Sure, I'm down." He won't commit to a full season-long partnership with Joel, but they can cave together. It's always nice to have someone else watching your back. In Limited Life (Season 4), he and Skizz got back to back blown up by a creeper dropping down on them from behind. Not a fun time.

MumboJumbo stole the traits of Spider

Joel's smirk sends prickles shooting like fireworks down Impulse's spine. He tilts his head to one side and doesn't lose that empty smile. On auto-pilot, Impulse steps back. His default shoes scrape dirt and dust in the air. Then Joel swings himself around and takes off in a loping jog towards the hill.

Impulse throws a sideways glance at Etho and Tango. Etho's crouched fully on the ground now, one ear pressed to the dirt and his rear in the air. Tango's doing the same thing, his fingers curled in the soil like claws. They're definitely listening to something. Maybe they heard a witch cackle? Taking the traits of a witch might be cool. Impulse had briefly been one in the testing server. But seriously, is there anything that interesting underground? Huh… Seems dangerous with so many mobs around, but Ren's keeping watch on one side, a wooden sword dangling at his hip. Didn't Ren already kill something? Impulse already forgot. In the dark, he can't make out Ren's mob traits just yet.

"Oi! Impulse! Hello, hello; welcome back, lovely!"

ZombieCleo stole the traits of Zombie

Impulse gives his head a shake. "I'm coming, coming!"

They say you should never run with sharp weapons out unless you're actively engaged in combat, so Impulse tucks his in an empty space of his hotbar. Joel's already hopping down the hill. He makes the up and down bumpy sign with his hand to indicate uneven ground, big drop; watch out. Hands now free, Impulse rushes after him.

"A jungle should be fun," Joel says, ripping tall grass with his hands as he thumps down the cliff. "I'm just glad we aren't fighting over resources in a flippin' mesa." He stares at his open palm. No seeds. He tosses the grass aside. Impulse mimics him, but doesn't find any seeds either. Then, as they near a few trees bearing ripe cocoa beans, Joel saws one loose with his sword and swivels topics. "So what do you usually look for in your allies, Impulse?"

All ten of his hearts kick into overdrive. "Uh, I might float around a bit. I mean, it's only Night 1."

Joel scoffs, stuffing the bean away. "You're just saying that. You hunting me already? I think I can take you."

Impulse blinks at the messy strands of his tied-up bob. Joel didn't even turn around; just tossed the threat over his shoulder like a piece of garbage. "No, no… We have five minutes before we get the quarry roll, right?"

"I think you're playing smart, really," Joel says, cutting loose another cocoa bean. The pale stem snaps in his hand. "I'm not looking to settle yet either. I might not settle for a while, actually. It's a particularly dangerous world out there, this one."

"Yeah… Yeah. Can't say I disagree."

Pearl calls out to them from the top of a neighboring hill. Jimmy's with her, though Impulse has to do a double take to identify them. They're both sprouting white feathers along their cheeks and un-armored arms. In sync, they raise their hands to wave. In doing so, they show the small wings sprouting through their clothes. Joel runs after them with his sword up. That sends both chicken hybrids yelping and flopping over each other, and Joel gives them each a sharp whack before circling back to Impulse with a chuckle. Impulse turns to meet his gaze. The moonlight glints perfectly off Joel's pupils, reflecting his own face…

Don't show fear. He might have a mod that lets him smell it.

Joel holds out his sword and prods the soft end of its tip into Impulse's arm. Impulse draws back, instinctively covering the place with his palm. The sword's only wood, but even something as mild as a flower can bring your hearts to zero if someone hits you with it enough times. Joel tut-tuts at his lack of reaction, then sheathes the sword and turns away.

"Come on. I think there's a cave over here. Let's rush the exposed ores while everyone else is busy playing Shapeshifter."

Impulse racks his brain for something to say. Something intelligent, something fun… Some way of Yes and-ing this entire situation so he doesn't just stand here, unresponsive and dull. But his mind feels blank, his muscles tired, and all he can do is lick his lips.

"Right. I think… armor's especially important this season. Not that it hasn't been before- I just mean… with the strength fluctuations between some different mobs." Glancing around the tropical island they're on for emphasis, he adds, "At least no one's going to find a polar bear around here."

Joel nods, holding back his bangs with his wrist. He stares into the trees in the direction Pearl and Jimmy scrambled. Grian's voice carries in the distance, giggling madly, and Martyn's right there with him. But he doesn't sprint off again. He lingers close to Impulse, staying in front just enough that it isn't creepy. "No helmets, you remember."

"Yeah. Rules are rules."

Then a familiar ticking noise overrides the pings of the chat and low-level game advancements in his ears. Here come the quarry rolls. Impulse loses his breath in a gush.

Whoever's name comes up on that list, that's who I'm hunting for the rest of the season…

3

It's good content. He knows it's good for his content. He tells himself that, but it doesn't stop the faint shaking in his arms. His eyes dart away, naturally avoidant just in case, but that doesn't stop Joel. He plants himself right in front of Impulse. His hands fly near his cheeks. His fingers don't touch - Joel waits for some sign of consent, which Impulse doesn't give because his tongue's possessed by frogs - but he still feels forced to make eye contact.

2

Joel narrates aloud what the ticking means for his audience - something like "Oh, well, here it is" - and they're both staring at each other then, their hair and shirts rustling in sync as the wind whips in across the river. It's here. It's happening. The code is wild in his veins. Does Joel feel it too? He looks so calm, his eyes as grim as gravestones.

I think I might be sick.

The pressure. There's so much pressure. What if his name pops up on Joel's screen? Will Joel just… just kill him right here, right now? Take one of his lives, knock him down to yellow, and boost himself to purple right away? Now THAT would be good content. Comedy gold.

1

Impulse flicks his hand in the motion that summons his sword from his inventory. Just wood. They've both got wood. Joel laughs in a snorting way, breathless, and Impulse sees him shake for the very first time. The pixels on his lips are sparkling. Joel's fingers squeeze around the hilt of his own sword. Impulse can't stop his flustered heartbeats. The wait is agony. It's squeezing him. See, his first death will go down exactly like this.

Your quarry is…

Smallishbeans

He almost splutters. I got WHO now!?

"Oh, you have me," says Joel, his eyes lighting up in dance and play.

"What? No… No."

"Shut up. You have me. Me! You're like a fox! I actually can't believe it! Well, come on; you want to go right now? Or do I have time to pee first?"

"Wait, wait, hold on! What makes you think I'm your hunter?"

Renthedog stole the traits of Zombie

Etho stole the traits of Zombie

"You're a nasty little liar, Impulse," Joel teases, leaning in very close. The tip of his sword presses between Impulse's lower ribs. It flickers one of his hearts a little more raggedly. "Right, let's make this fun. Should I play dumb in front of the others like I don't know? Is that good content? Is this what the people want?"

Tango stole the traits of Zombie

His mind is pulling blanks, only blanks. He hadn't expected Joel's name at all to pop across his screen… he wasn't ready, had nothing prepared. He's not great at improv. Yeah, he's trying to push himself more and more in this series, but this? This left hook came swinging out of the void to smack him specifically. How could he possibly have predicted rolling Smallishbeans right in front of the guy?

Should I do it now? I mean, if I took him out now, we'd all laugh and talk about it …

"Okay. Even if I was hunting you, I wouldn't do it with a wooden sword. I'd want to take you out in style, with flair."

Joel sticks out a pouting lower lip. "Well, that's not very 'Goof around and find out' of you, is it? Ah, well… I still want to go caving. You can come. Keep your enemies closer, yeah?"

Impulse clenches his sword just a little tighter. "Come on, man. We're not really enemies, are we? We're only 5 minutes into Day 1."

Joel rolls back on his heels, tapping the end of his sword against his shoe. "Thing is, I don't care at all if you got me as your quarry. You could throw me in a pool of pufferfish and this is still the happiest I've ever been- Well, except for my first time getting married to Lizzie, whom I love so very much. You know why, Impulse?"

"Uh, shoot." He's starting to flicker beneath the armpits. It's showing, badly. Impulse fights to keep a steady head, fights not to let himself get glitched and kicked. Now would be a very bad time to get booted from the server. As Joel presses close again, lips pursed, Impulse faintly leans away.

"Because I get to hunt down Jimmy."

Joel's eyes are green, the normal brown overridden by the Red Life mod they're playing with, but something about that green is dark and olive and toxic. Those flames dancing in his eyes are bright like poison. His face is empty, unreadable, like a politician… a king. He was one in a previous life, you know. And he hasn't stopped smiling.

"No way," Impulse forces out. He stares back at Joel, blinking in the silence between them, as Joel grins a wicked, wolf-like grin. "For real?"

"Why would I need to lie about that, Impulse? And even if I were lying, I'd harass Jimmy for free. I would. You couldn't pay me not to. You won't go off and tell on me, would you now?"

Um…

Joel doesn't wait for an answer. He hums, then spins around. He swings his sword through the grass beside him as he runs, leaving a trail of seeds behind him. Impulse holds one hand to the 10th of his hearts, since it's still fluttering in a 'baby bird' sort of way.

And Joel just prances off like a circus pony… not a care in the whole wide world.

Chapter Text

bigbst4tz2 - Player

Quarry: impulseSV

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: Unaffiliated

💚  💛  ❤️

BigB would not, by any stretch of the imagination, describe himself as "loving to kill zombies." Who does? There's something about their faces, man… Zombies generate with familiar faces and ragged clothes they pick from your memories, which makes them so, so much creepier than villagers are. Cleo's okay. BigB doesn't mind them so much… Just the random ones that generate looking like his undead friends. So he stands above the hole, hands locked behind his back, as Etho, Tango, and Ren yelp and tumble over themselves. They're fighting a zombie spawner in the dark. The snarls are horrendous. No wonder spawn's so loud; the thing was right under their feet.

"I'm open, I'm- I'm open," he calls down, lifting his voice above Tango's shrieking giggles (Etho's practically in tears, almost doubled over laughing). BigB's not sure why they're laughing, but… Even if he doesn't love wiping trace bits of rotten flesh off his sword, he can still help. Not sure how, but there's gotta be something he can do. When there's room to jump down. The ragtag trio (all of whom are zombies themselves now) are pulling each other down like crabs as they try to get up the stairs.

"Pleeeeeaaaase," Etho whisper-wails from the darkness. "Someone throw a torch at me… No-o-o-o…"

He's laughing. They're all laughing in that giggly way you do when you're stressed out of your mind and just plain nervous about it. BigB takes one step down the stairs. The top of Etho's spiky white hair is luminescent, reflecting Tango's flaming curls like the moon reflects the sun. His gloved hands (fingers green; super creepy; Etho's got zombie traits now) curl against the blocks above him. He tries to widen the gap so they can all squeeze through, but he's too distracted by the zombie gnawing on his ankle to channel the right kind of energy. Yeah. So instead of digging up the block, Etho triggers a shower of loose dirt to tumble in his hair. Ren coughs, ducking out of the way. Zombie grunting noises bubble in the night. BigB grimaces. He'd like to help, but no one has coal and Cleo took their only torch.

He checks over his shoulder. In the distance, on the edge of the cliff overlooking the river, Scar and Bdubs are talking, heads bowed. Are they joining forces or something? Scar's got his cloak hood up, hands gripping tight. The hood is white, but other than that, he's dressed head to toe in different shades of green. In the dark, he almost blends in with the grass. Bdubs has his arms crossed, shaking his head over and over. He looks like he's saying "No, no" a bunch of times, while Scar persists. Should he call them over? It might not do much good. From the sound of it, the problem down below is "not enough room to maneuver." The last thing you want to do is throw more people in that hole.

Inhale. BigB leans forward, gripping his knees. "I can't- I can't come down there, man. What can I do to help?"

"Dig the block!" Tango shouts, pressing at them from the back of the group. BigB can hear the repeated grunts of zombies falling backwards as Tango slashes at them. "Widen the gap!"

He didn't craft a shovel. Should he? Maybe just a wooden one. BigB slaps his crafting table down again, throwing the sticks across its surface like he's dealing cards. In a flash of white light, he's got the shovel in hand. BigB shoves it in the dirt and braces his foot on the back. With one stomp, he slices through the dirt block. It plops down in a tiny cube, straight on Etho's head.

"New sword!" Etho yells up, cupping his hands around his masked mouth. His eyes are darting; BigB can read him like a recipe book, mask or not. Etho won't ditch his friends if he can help it. "Tango, Tango… Oh, I don't know about this, man, oh-hoh… No-o-o… Why do we put ourselves in situations, Ren?"

"Because we're professional Minecrafters, dude!"

"Hey, professional," Tango snickers at him, "you're about to get first death of the season by a zombie."

That gets a chuckle out of Etho. BigB throws down a wooden sword, which Etho catches in a spin of his hand. "Oh, you will never live that down, Ren."

"Says the ancient guy who's all washed-up, right, right… He'd know."

Etho catches BigB's eyes and then rolls his. Turning back to the zombies, he draws his sword again. "Tango, my patience runs thick, but not thick enough, man… Leave that stuff in Limited Life where it belongs."

BigB pushes his shovel through the dirt again, scooping up another block. Most of it tumbles off, reforming in a pick-up-able block that plops into Etho's inventory, but a few brown dots and grass strands cling to the edge. A pink worm wiggles in the soil. He tilts it off in the grass. Down below, Tango, Ren, and Etho fling words at each other, ribbing playfully about how stupid it was to rush down to the spawner without a light source. It sounds like there are still five or six zombies bearing down on them. BigB chews his bottom lip, switching out the shovel for his sword. The spawner's just a few blocks off the edge of bedrock spawn. A huge clutch of zombies probably built up while Grian was explaining the rules.

"I'm out, man, I'm out!" Etho calls, backing up the stairs. One boot slips; he catches himself on the wall with one hand. "Drop it like it's lava, Ren! We gotta get outta here."

"I'm with you!" That's Tango. "I got buckets for days! Days!"

Etho turns, leaping up the stairs in a way that bashes his head on every block. Tango scrambles after him on all fours. Last is Ren, shouting "Farewell, my peeps! You've been a beautiful audience tonight!" before ducking out with a flourish. He slams a dirt block down at the bottom of the stairs, then leans back to wipe his forehead. BigB can see a little bit of "bone" poking through his rotting flesh. He takes a step sideways. This sends a trickle of dirt into the hole. Ren glances up at him. His smile breaks into a grin; his dog ears prick up. His little tail starts wagging.

"BigB, my man!"

Okay. Here we go.

BigB lifts his hand to wave, rolling a "Heeeeyyy!" off his tongue that can be interpreted as anything, really… "Ren! How are you? It's been a while since we talked."

"I am super, my friend; I'm really, really super."

"Well, you look good, you know?"

"Thank you, dude; that's so nice of you to say. I really appreciate that, actually." His tail stills; Ren links his fingers and stretches them out in front of him, then tilts them up and over his head. "Did you see how many zombies we just took down in there? They were going for my feetsies, man! My poor, innocent feetsies!"

BigB chuckles, leaning back on his heels. Etho's already busy wiping his sword in the grass. He doesn't sit down. Tango's flat on the ground, his tongue flopped out. Tango's naturally coded as a blaze hybrid, but wears a mod of his own design that gives him a thread of a tail like a jerboa. It flicks back and forth above him, swatting nothing. Tango curls his fingers in the dirt, exhaling as he does.

"Oh, zombies… I hate it when they horde."

Grian stole the traits of Spider

"Any treasure?" BigB asks, just to prompt a little conversation. It's scary going out alone in Hardcore nights. Sticking with the group is a whole lot safer.

"Yeah, right. You'd think so, wouldn't you? Stupid zombies… I hate them, I hate them." Tango pushes himself up on his hands, then stretches his back out like a cat. "I mean, I picked up a few buckets. I guess that's useful; don't have to waste any iron on those."

"Oh. Uh… Nice, man. Real nice."

Tango gives himself a shake, then rolls up to his feet. He takes out his sword and a cloth from his pocket and starts wiping off bits of rotten flash. BigB swivels to Ren, who ascends the stairs a lot more slowly than Tango and Etho did. When he crests the top, he pulls his lips back in a smile and holds his arms to either side.

"There he is! My old soulmate! Dude, how you been!"

"Good! Good, Ren."

LDShadowLady stole the traits of Skeleton

Ren tilts down his shades, looking BigB up and down. His mouth twists. Then he shakes his head. "C'mon; what's up with this naked look, my professional Minecrafter friend? You stand before me in the buff, dude! Nary a mob trait in sight!"

BigB glances down at his rumpled blue sweater. He gives the hem a short tug. "I- I'm starting out slow, dude… I don't know, I don't know. I don't really like rushing out on Night 1 in Hardcore."

"Ah," says Ren, clicking his tongue. He shifts forward, taking the last step off the stairs, and pats BigB's shoulder with a thumping hand as he pushes past. "Okay, okay; I can get behind that, man. It's all good, really. Just don't forget we're here to have fun. Oh my glory, I feel like I can see forever, dude! Full night vision! I think I can detect every single one of you in my radius."

Smajor1995 stole the traits of Glow Squid

"Yeah, yeah…" BigB drops his gaze to his sword handle, fidgeting between that and an empty slot in his hotbar. He puffs his cheeks. His hearts are thumping, and not… not just because of the zombies growling at the bottom of the stairs, on the other side of Ren's dirt fence. He bites his lip, turning away. Maybe he doesn't want to talk to Ren right now. At least, not until he's got a clear head. If the conversation swivels from mobs and mechanics to alliances, well… he's not sure what he'll do.

MumboJumbo: Scott???

Smajor1995: It was suffocating

Smajor1995: Now it lives on

ZombieCleo: Nice

He breaks down his crafting table, then sets off to the edge of the cliff where most of the other players disappeared. Spawn's on a bit of a peninsula. There's really only one way out of here.

impulseSV stole the traits of Zombie

Oh, yeah… He should keep a mental tally on Impulse's mob traits. That's his quarry. Impulse gonna die. Maybe. BigB lifts his sword, hustling a little faster. It's not like Impulse is anywhere near - he went caving with Joel, right? - but there's also no point in waiting around. He's off to a pretty slow start.

GoodTimesWithScar: We shuold be allowed to kill squid people for black dye. For free.

"Careful, careful!" Ren and Tango both call after him, and Ren pushes on. "Careful, dude. Creeper in the distance on your right."

Smajor1995: :(

"I see it, I see it." He didn't see it. He doesn't want them to know that. Zombies can see more blocks than players can; he doesn't want them to clock his skills right now. I mean, any one of them could be his assassin. Er, hunter. Whatever it's called in this game. "Thanks, Ren. You the best."

Grian: scar

Grian: no killing greens or yellows when you're on yellow

Ren gives him a thumbs up, tail beating back and forth again. He sounds like a metronome. You could play a note block to it. Briefly, BigB considers running up to the creeper. It prowls in the distance, neck bent low. Maybe he won't. This is Hardcore, after all, and it's not super smart to engage. Maybe if Joel and Impulse come back, he can knock it into them or something. If Joel takes splash damage when he was going for Impulse, well… Oopsies.

GoodTimesWithScar: But I can kill the name that came up on my screen no matter what color?

Grian: yes

Grian: quarry kill is colorblind

Bdubs looks up at the sound of BigB's scuffing feet. He leans over, peeking around Scar. Scar's got his communicator out, tapping a message in reply. His tongue pinches between his teeth.

GoodTimesWithScar: Green on green IS okay

Grian: that goes both ways

Grian: yeah

Grian: quarry kills only

"BigB's there," Bdubs mutters, pointing low with his wooden sword. "… Scar. Scar, he might be hunting us."

"I'm not, I'm not!"

GoodTimesWithScar: Can your quarry also hunt you back?

Grian: i mean yeah

Grian: it's random so

Grian: if they rolled you too then it's fair

Grian: if not then they can only fight in self-defense

Etho: watch your back Scar!

Etho: I'm coming for you

Scar makes a small nose inhale sort of laugh and stuffs the communicator away inside his cloak. Then he sees Bdubs staring wide-eyed behind him. He turns. His emerald eyes glow like lanterns in the dark; they brighten more when he sees BigB slow his pace. That smile's full of sunshine and puppy dog eyes and baby kittens. He spins his cane through his fingers, plops it down, and leans a little too much weight on it. "Well, hello there! And how are you on this fine, fine day, Big B of the Stats house?"

"Hey, hey! What's going on?" BigB purses his lips, glancing around their little triangle. "I'm good, I'm good… You two up for going caving or something? Or… maybe hunting down some better mobs?"

"We are doing wonderfully." Scar touches his chest and bobs his head in a bow. His cane quivers a little beneath his hand. He moves sideways, lifting his knee and bracing it on Bdubs' crafting table instead. "I'll be honest here, guys… I really have no plan." This confession breaks up in snickers. He covers his lips in his fingers, eyes squinting, and shakes his head back and forth. That almost knocks his hood off. Bdubs grimaces, still eyeing BigB with darkened eyes. He fidgets one hand against the crafting table. BigB raises his palms, shaking his head.

"Dude, dude… I promise, I'm not after either of you."

"Hmm…" Bdubs drops his gaze to the table. With a flourish, he poofs up a shield. Scar swivels instantly - "You DID! You DID have iron! You lied to me! How did you get that so fast?" "Scar, stop it! I don't want anything! I stole it from a furnace; I only had one."

While they argue, BigB gets a better look at Bdubs for the first time. Bdubs' white hair works well with the floppy ears, actually. But he's still Bdubs. That much is obvious. His face is the same… He's like a hybrid now. He just sort of picked up the ears. His hair is curlier, but just as messy as it always is. Shame the sheep code did nothing to fix his black eye and missing teeth.

"Nice; you've got a shield," BigB says, trying to pry them apart from their squabble. I mean, this is kind of awkward. Scar drops back on his heels with a pout, bearing down on his cane again. Bdubs, though, turns instantly to the new conversation topic.

"Oh, you like it?" He swaps the shield to his off-hand, yanking the straps up his arm. They look a little tight around the elbow. Bdubs slips his fingers underneath, trying to tug it loose. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. My first wool-related priority is getting a bed, of course. But then if I keep growing it, I might make a new banner for this thing every time I change traits. I think shearing it off works perfectly fine. In the test world, it did. I need iron."

"I need iron," Scar protests.

"You don't get free iron. No handouts this time. I stole my ingot fair and square."

impulseSV stole the traits of Spider

He wants banners? Every time he kills something? BigB blinks. "So are you, uh… playing a vegetarian in this season?"

"What? No, I'm… Oh… Oh, because I'd change traits when killing the passive mobs for food, right…" Again, Bdubs glances down at the shield. "Well, I'm already a sheep. I might keep up the sheep farm the whole way through. You know, maybe I want to be a sheep. If I've got plenty of sheep at home, I can always kill them again to change back. Where do you get sheep? I only saw the one."

BigB shrugs. "Well, uhh… To be fair, I guess if you take the time to become, like, a master of the sheep buffs, that could put you in a better position than someone who changes all of a sudden and doesn't know what to do with themselves anymore."

"Is Bdubs really our only sheep?" Scar asks, leaning sharply sideways. He wears a tiny Totem of Undying on a cord around his neck, which swings into open air when he moves. He's worn that charm for as long as BigB's known him. It doesn't work unless it's in his off-hand (and for that matter, it won't work in this server at all unless he manages to touch a live totem first), but Scar's innocent questions tend to give away his plans. As BigB watches, Scar plays his fingers across the necklace. Looking right at Bdubs.

Uh-oh.

"I think I really am growing shearable wool," says Bdubs, sticking out one of his legs. Oblivious. "In fact, I think I've sprouted a little tail in the back, but I'll spare you the proof. You know how I feel about the full moon and things; let's not go there."

Scar chuckles in the back of his throat. BigB's eyes slide up Bdubs' wooly leg and over to Scar again. Scar twirls the necklace cord around his finger. His other hand shimmers as he starts shifting through his hotbar. Yep. Yep. Silently, BigB takes a step to the left so he won't be in the way. Bdubs must have heard the thought flicker between them, because he jerks up his head a second later. The shield flies up after it.

"Uh…"

Scar plants his cane a bit behind him. "I'm pretty sure sheep drop wool when they die," he says, his voice as bright and chipper as a firecracker. With that, he jerks his knee towards his chest. He balances for half a second, then cracks the sole of his foot against Bdubs' shield. Bdubs yelps, pinwheeling his arms, and stumbles back to the edge of the cliff. Ooh- BigB kicks his own foot in the way. Bdubs trips right over it and tumbles down the side.

"Ohh-!"

He bounces once on the way to the river and hits with a splash. Above him, Scar and BigB crack up in unison. BigB leans forward, hands on his knees, and fights down the pixels bouncing on his tongue. If his cheeks stretch any wider, he'll burn his smile straight in his skin. It's okay. Bdubs isn't badly hurt. He can't have lost more than two hearts from that slip, if that. And even if he did get bruised, BigB has no problem spotting him some fish or something. He can fish for Bdubs. It's as good an excuse as any to test out new mob traits. He waits until Bdubs bobs to the surface again, spewing water, then waves at him.

"Sorry! Dude, are you good? You good?"

"You JERKS! You're on green! You could've killed me! One of you is hunting me! I just know it!"

Scar leans forward, gripping the front of his cloak and wheezing. His cane twists back and forth, grinding against the dirt. BigB grips the crafting table in both hands, coughing out "Oh man, oh man, he's so mad at us… Like, so mad. Scar, do you have food? Can we give him food?"

SolidarityGaming stole the traits of Zombie

"No, no food… I haven't killed anything yet. But there's salmon down there; he can eat them raw if he's hungry and brave. Bdubs is very brave. They sing the most melodious, wonderful songs about the B-double-dubs back home! Bdubs the brave! Bdubs the kind! Bdubs the extremely forgiving~!"

"I'll get you, Scar! I'm- I'm coming up and I'll get you!"

Scar falls back, snickering again into his hand. BigB pushes away from the crafting table. "All right, all right; I'll check on him, make sure he's okay. Don't push me off. Like, I just want to check on him, see if he's good."

"Of course, of course!"

BigB shifts into a crouch, peering over the edge of the cliff. He can feel Scar's eyes digging into the back of his neck, but hopefully the crouch discourages him from trying to prod him off the block. Despite his assurances, BigB doesn't trust Scar for a second not to throw him in the water too. Down below, Bdubs flails about in the river, spewing water. He's breathing hard, but he's floating. He's fine. The wool might weigh him down a little, though. BigB studies the nearby blocks, checks behind him - (Scar blinks, watching like a cat eyeing up a new toy) - then descends a block closer to the water level.

"Bdubs, you good?"

Bdubs splashes towards the bank, grunting and huffing the whole way. His face is sparking, but he won't stay mad for long. Bdubs is too soft to hold a grudge. "Very freaking funny," he snaps. "I'll get you guys for this… Sleep with both eyes open! Because you won't be getting any beds out of me!"

BigB lingers on the hill a moment longer, waiting to confirm Bdubs actually can climb onto solid ground. The river's rushing, but not fast. And it's not deep, either. He's okay. Bdubs kicks to the bank, his arms making huge wing-shaped scoops like a bat. Those can swim, you know. Sort of. Sometimes you can see them hunting fish.

The shadows shift very slightly at his feet. BigB jerks up his head. Oh. Oh, Scar is right behind him. Like, right behind him. BigB spins around. Scar stares down the cliff, watching Bdubs paddle around. He's… he's not crouching, though. BigB stays crouched, hearts aflutter, just in case. You never know, with Scar. He could be looking for a hunting opportunity right now. And he might aim for the stone below instead of for the water.

Bdubs grips the grass in two fists and hauls himself out, still muttering. His soaked wool clings like rumpled cloud to his skin. Once Bdubs is safely on ground again, Scar tuts his tongue and lurches off. He breaks the crafting table, pockets it, and lopes away. Bdubs huffs once more, pushing wooly hair out of his eyes, and glares up the hill at them. BigB smiles. He waves good-bye one more time.

"See ya, double O!"

Then he scrambles to catch up with Scar, kicking dirt and dust up behind him. Scar's making good pace, actually, and he's got his sword out. Wait. What? Why's he got his sword out? BigB jerks to a halt, staring forward. OH! It's the creeper Ren and Tango pointed out to him earlier. Ren, Tango, and Etho are still in the distance by bedrock spawn actually, and all three turn to watch. Scar plows forward, hooting with laughter, and swings his sword straight at the creeper's neck. It jerks back, spitting and hissing. One hit.

"Oh, what a marvelous day here in Dog's Life!"

"Scar? Scar!"

The creeper puffs itself up, eyes squinted, green body crackling. It starts to flash white as the sun.

SolidarityGaming fell from a high place

Scar shuffles backward, quick feet despite his cane. The creeper drops the sparks, but glowers at him anyway. BigB gapes at them both, frozen, frozen…

Etho: oh snap

Tango: Why am I not surprised?

Should he run in? Scar obviously wants it for its mob traits. Would it be wrong to steal his kill?

MumboJumbo: Hello 999?? I just witnessed a murder

"Scar, careful! It takes 5 hits to kill with wood!"

PearlescentMoon: NO!

PearlescentMoon: NOT A QUARRY KILL!

Scar batters the creeper a second time, knocking it aside. It blinks, one eye squinting. Oh, they have all the attention of Etho, Ren, and Tango now. The latter flicks his tail like he's watching a mouse sneak up on a trap.

MumboJumbo: I mean he fell like 50 blocks, mate

InTheLittleWood: Yeah and the whole squad disliked that

BigB clamps his hands to his cheeks, eyes darting back and forth. "Oh, careful Scar, careful… That thing is right on you, dude." And they hurt. He's still carrying the explosive scars of Double Life on his skin and on his heart. That's what knocked him and Ren down to red, you know.

SolidarityGaming: So whose bright idea was THIS seed?

Scar giggles right back at him, swinging the sword again. Miss. He whiffs the grass. The creeper leers at him, flashing bright. "Ohhhh, ohhh!" Tango yells in the distance, but Scar prances out of the way again. He rears back, then slams forward with a third hit that sends the creeper into a blindly hissing rage.

"Hey, stop backseat Minecrafting me, BigB! I'm dodging! I'm weaving!"

PearlescentMoon: hE FELL

SolidarityGaming: Grian have you seen this? This place is huge

"Ullll…" BigB's fingers curl against his cheeks, biting skin. His pixels fritz. Three hits. He's done three hits.

SolidarityGaming: I want an incident report

"Scaaar…?" That's Etho, trilling and curious, but not invasive. "You want help over there? It's backing you against a drop."

"No thank you, Etho!"

Grian: get gravityed, pancake boy

Skizzleman: OSHA's gonna lose it

BigB draws his sword anyway. Just in time. Scar misses another hit. His foot goes backward. Over the cliff. Eyes pop- his mouth drops open. Then he's down. He's falling and he's down. PAF! go a burst of missing hearts, and the trio at spawn explode over each other.

"SCAR!"

BigB runs forward, sword up, but Scar starts yelling a lot of "Hey, hey!"s and insisting he's okay and that no one's allowed to steal his kill. Etho, Ren, and Tango skid to a halt. They were running. They were all running. BigB stares over the edge of the cliff, panting, and watches the creeper leap with a tiger's grace down on Scar's head. Scar screams, then throws it backward with a whack of his sword. Or- or was that his cane? Did he get it? How much damage was that? The creeper goes rolling head over legs, skidding sideways.

"Oh, ohh geez!"

"BigB," Etho shouts, "is he okay?"

"I'm fine! Nobody take my kill!"

"He says he's fine, dude." BigB searches Scar's hands in the dark. His white hood flopped off in his fall, showing all his messy brown hair. "Scar, did you hit it with your sword? Or your cane? It might need 6 hits, not 5!"

"I got it, I got it!"

BigB bites his lip, crouched on the edge. Ren, Etho, and Tango rush up to join him. If this goes wrong, the whole squad will see. The creeper pulls itself back to its feet, shaking out its sparking pelt. Scar stands at the base of the drop, holding his sword above his shoulder. He's perfectly framed in the only sliver of moonlight that leaks between the cliffside edges. It glints off his eyes and totem necklace. BigB fidgets. His fingers tighten around his sword hilt. Down below, Scar grits his teeth.

"Come and get me, sparky…"

Creepers are like panthers. That's how BigB's always seen them, anyway. They prowl in the shadows, always a threat. A self-respecting panther would probably scuttle off, seeing as there are five players bearing down on it from above. But the creeper's just a mob. It's programmed to kill.

Count the beats. He hit it back. It's gonna rush forward. One…

Scar braces his feet against the stone.

Two…

"Hh… hhh…"

Now.

The creeper catapults at him, glittering like the most committed pageant girl you've ever seen. Tango lurches forward; Ren lurches back. Etho grabs BigB by the back of his sweater and twists to hold him firm. Scar whips his sword, smile on fire, smile like starlight, and slams it through its chest. It explodes at one touch of the blade. Scar goes up in a burst of white smoke.

GoodTimesWithScar stole the traits of Creeper

"YES! Yeessssss! And you guys doubted me as S-tier! I told you I-"

A blast of static zips across BigB's vision. The world gives out under his feet. Ears pop. Then he's falling, he's falling. His stomach flips into his brain.

FAILED TO CONNECT TO SERVER

💚  💛  ❤️

Thump thump thump thump thump thump-

BigB crashes face-first on solid quartz floor. A stack of fellow player bodies slams on top of him, tumbling and rolling as they fall and push each other apart. While the weight presses down on him, BigB squints and tries to lift his head. Are his wings back? He can feel them twitching. That's his wings, right? For a split second, he thinks there's a gray, zombie-like hand dangling in his face. Then he realizes it's his antennae. Haven't seen those since the game began. Huh?

Am I lying on feathers?

The room is brightly lit, more yellow than white. The ceiling's pretty high. BigB parts his fingers, checking for color underneath him. Red. Yellow. Blue. Scarlet macaw, definitely. Those are Grian's feathers. But those are disabled in the Life series. He'd only get them back if…

BigB rolls off Grian's wing, coming up in a crouch. The quartz beneath his fingers swaps to chunky, trampled carpet. His wings fidget, flap, then press like sandpaper against his back. He sits like the quiet, wide-eyed moth hybrid he is. Okay, okay… This is familiar. He's clicking the pieces together; he knows what happened now. Sort of. He knows where he is, at least. Something must have made them all lose connection to the server at the same time. They got catapulted back to the spectator lounge. Tables, bar, card decks, comm systems, board games; bricks and leafy plants and bookshelves all along the walls… Okay, okay. This is definitely their place.

The white admin portal looms behind the pile of befuddled players. It's unlit. The wall beyond is dull and gray. Not good. Everyone's back in their default forms- the ones with tweaks and add-ons they like to put on when they're not playing in worlds where having stuff like wings would be kind of unfair (or in Etho's case, liabilities; ever since someone grabbed and yanked him off a wall in 3rd Life, Etho always disables his fox tail when he plays these things). Speaking of, Etho's crumpled on his side on the far side of the pile, wrapped in a ball of quivering white fur. BigB can barely see his face; it's tucked behind his arms. Did he get hit by the creeper explosion?

Who's all here? Did everyone get out?

Skizz did. Skizz is the most obvious one of their whole party, because his wings glow as bright as his halo and that's a lot of feathers. He's at the top of the heap. He leaps up, flapping hard, then settles like a gargoyle on top of the admin portal. Impulse flashes up to join him a second later, his wings a lot more spiky and his hands pressed over his mouth. They stare down, muttering and surveying the player pile below- Gotta take note of Impulse's movements; that's the guy I need to hunt. Joel's got his antennae; he's sprawled flat at the bottom of the pile, arms outstretched and a disgruntled look twisting up his face. Pearl's upside-down on top of him, rubbing her eyes. Lizzie's sitting on top of Bdubs, Cleo, Ren, and Scott like a queen, but only looks confused.

Breathe… Take two secs. You're good, you're good. BigB closes his eyes for just a heartbeat, then opens them again.

"Dude… What just happened? We're back in the lounge? Oh my goodness, we're back in the lounge, everybody. I don't believe that."

He's near the wall with the door that leads into the hallway. Out there, other players from a hundred other servers are chit-chatting and strolling about, maybe admiring the different locked-up lounge rooms and speculating on what might lie beyond them. BigB's wings twitch up involuntarily. He gives them double flaps and then a good shake. As people groan, checking themselves over for glitch damage, Grian shoves himself to his knees. That sends Jimmy flopping off his back.

"Where's Scar? Did Scar make it?"

"Scar?" Impulse echoes. He swishes his gaze across them, still perched up above with Skizz. "Uhh… No, no; I don't see him."

"Not here," Skizz confirms.

"Dude, dude," says Ren, his voice muffled by several other bodies. "Scar glitched us out! He hit the creeper! I don't think he made it, man."

"… Ohhh. Oh, Scar got wiped again. And our portal's dead." Grian's back on his feet at once. His wings triple flap. He's the only one here with a wingspan wider than Skizz's, and everyone near him shields their faces with their hands. Grian stumbles over to the shiny white portal, puffing, and slaps a button on its side. A redstone lamp pings on to mark the signal. Grian sags against the portal blocks, fingers so tight around the edges that they're turning white themselves. "Scott, get a HALO. Martyn, buddy up. Tango, replay mod. Bdubs, server map."

"Yes," Bdubs pants, then scrambles past BigB. He throws himself at the door, slamming his whole shoulder into it. At first it doesn't budge. His ragged blue wings flap out, straining harder. Still no go. Quietly, BigB presses on the other end of the push bar. That pops the door loose. Bdubs throws an irritated glance at him, then takes off towards the map library. Scott doesn't have to be told twice. He books it across the station, shouldering his way through chairs in the hall and all the curious onlookers. Martyn tears after him like a gazelle. "I'm on it!" Tango calls. He throws himself in the desk by the wall and clatters his fingers across the keyboard. The others bunch together in silence, rustling each other's hair as they breathe. Grian leans back against the portal's edge, doubled over. He wraps his arms around his stomach. His wings curl around him, folding in.

"It's my fault," he says, maybe to BigB or to everyone around. "He only killed zombies in the test server. Zombies are coded similar to players. We didn't test him on anything else. He didn't have much time- he had a meeting. The zombie worked, so why wouldn't the rest? I didn't even think about it. Oh, Scar…"

As Grian crumples, BigB grabs him by the forearms and holds him up. "Grian's flickering," he calls back. "Impulse, take point."

"You got it! Skizz, fetch him water. Everyone else, give space. Go on; get. You all just giddy on up outta here!"

"NOOCH!" Skizz shouts, launching down from his perch. "We're gonna dump SO much water down your throat, homie-buddy!"

Grian's still slipping; BigB holds him a little tighter. His breath ruffles the rainbow feathers on the back of Grian's head. "Impulse on point, Grian. You're good, you're good-" Grian's fingers tighten in his hands, his nails as sharp as talons. BigB winces, wings twitching up, but doesn't shove him off. "You're so good…"

"Okay, okay, okay… I'm all right."

No he's not. BigB lowers his head near Grian's ear. "Hey. You don't have to look at me, but I've got you. What can we do?"

"Where's Etho?" Grian mumbles, pulling BigB's sweater towards his mouth. He shakes his head, then shoves himself forward, bunching his fingers in the knitted threads. "Get Etho. And… and I've got incident reports to file. For real this time."

"I'm here, I'm here," Etho says, pushing between Cleo and Pearl. Once he has room, he sets his fists against his hips and cocks his head. "What happened back there, Grian? That looked like a classic Scar glitch. I thought you did all the checks." Then, pushing emphasis on his teasing, "Why would you let him blow up like that!? That's not a healthy way to live!"

Grian groans into BigB's sweater, yanking at him, and BigB stumbles forward in response. Grian whines for a few seconds longer, then shoves him away; BigB stumbles back. It's like that with Grian sometimes. He pushes and he pulls. To Etho, Grian prickles up and says, "I thought I did! I… I called him over during testing. I went over every line of code with him! He said it was fine." His face twists. His wings seize up, voice staccato.

"Hey, hey," Etho says, instantly backing down. "You just need a rubber ducky, Grian. Come on, hey… These things happen. It's why we've got autosaves."

"Um, right; about that," Jimmy says, hunching sheepishly forward. Eyes turn on him. He lifts a shaking finger. "How far back, exactly, would you reckon the autosave goes?"

Grian stares at him, bleary with confusion, before his face suddenly clears up. The feathers behind his head lift like quivering dog's ears. "Oh! Right, right… because you fell. I'll be honest, Tim; I sort of forgot about that. You're really not that high on my priority list."

Jimmy blinks, long immune to Grian's jabs. "… So do I get a mulligan on that? I swear, it was- it was really, really stupid. I had my F3 screen open so I could check coords. I un-crouched. Really messed that one up; major L back there."

"Why would you stand near the-? Never mind. Uh, let's… let's just-just-just get Scar to safety first. Then we'll find out when the autosave was. Yeah…"

"Right, right. Of course, that's important too. Thanks for hearing me out, though, G."

BigB places the toes of one shoe atop the other, pressing down. Most everyone else seems to be doing the same, not quite sure where to look. Lizzie's taken the arm of a lounge chair, but everyone else is standing. Grian takes a slithery breath and bites his lip. "Right, right… Okay. Impulse, you stay on point. Explain what you can when the HALO gets here and get the portal re-lit. Etho, uh… Step behind the curtain and take a look at the code with me."

"Yeppers," Etho chirps, hopping forward. He salutes in a silly sort of way. No one chuckles. No one even smiles. "Hit me, boss. What am I looking at?"

They climb the three steps to the chamber behind their portal. It really is blocked by a curtain - a shimmery silver one - which Grian holds aside for Etho. Etho vanishes with a flick of his tail. Grian surveys them all one last time, then ducks after him. The curtain flutters shut. BigB takes one cautious step forward, lifting his antennae. He can't help it. He's just a little nosy.

He can hear Grian pressing buttons. Unlocking the door with his password. A few seconds trickle by in silence before Etho lets out an approving whistle. They start talking in low voices; BigB hears Etho lean forward, watching over Grian's shoulder as Grian probably takes the coder's chair. Then Grian says, "Oh, the door," and Etho says "Oh, right," and the unseen door slides shut and locks. Their voices evaporate. Soundproofed. BigB wrinkles his nose and turns away.

"Ooh," Joel mutters, his own antennae twitching in the same direction. He leans against the padded chair Lizzie's on, arms crossed. "Etho and Grian, up to mischief behind closed doors… I can't wait for them to pour blimmin' lava all over the place Impulse and I were standing. They'll spawn in, like, evokers or something the moment we take our eyes off them."

"Hm," says Impulse, still sitting on the portal with his legs crossed. He's got his horns back. And the spidery wings. BigB hates the way that man's eyes track every tiny twitch he makes. His fingers drum against the underside of one of the portal blocks. "Well, uh… I guess we're killing time. How goes the game for you guys? Let me hear it. Chatting is fun!"

"Impulse wants to kill me," Joel blurts, no hesitation. Everybody swings to face him, while Impulse splutters so hard, he almost falls over. Joel sticks his tongue at him. "If I die while caving, I want everyone to know that it's all Impulse's fault!"

"What? Why do you keep thinking it's me?"

"Because you're a bad liar! And I don't like you."

Impulse rolls his eyes, tsking a little too loudly, and leans back on his hands. "Anybody else?"

"I'm sorry," Joel says. "I didn't mean that, Impulse. I think you're swell."

Jimmy shoots his hand in the air. "I died! It was awful! I lost like all my stuff. I'm pretty sure Martyn raided my imaginary corpse. So, um… When we go back, I'm becoming a chicken hybrid again before I go anywhere near that ledge."

Mumbo coughs into his fist. "Actually, yeah… I mean, we kind of brushed over that. Jimmy just fell from the sky right in front of me, Lizzie, and Martyn! Like, what? What? Pearl!"

"Hey, don't be pointing fingers at little old me! That was all Jimmy!"

Jimmy ducks his head. "I may have… slipped a little, yeah. Guys, guys; have you seen that lush cave down there by the mineshaft? Pearl and I were getting the Y coordinates up top. I'm not sure I've ever seen one that big before."

"Oh," says Mumbo, eyebrows arching. "Then I can give you the bottom ones, dude. Let's compare notes. I must admit, I was wondering about that."

Impulse starts to mutter condolences while Joel grumbles something about the mineshaft and dead ends. At that same moment, Skizz comes bounding back from the sink with a water glass in his hands and a wicked grin curled across his face.

"Oooh! Get a load of this! Major and I have teamed up, and we're opening a plate-making shop!"

"We're doing what now?" Scott asks, pulling open the door to the lounge. He stumbles in, a little cross-eyed, with the HALO behind him. BigB steals a swift glance at the HALO's face, but doesn't recognize them. Like, at all. They're pale, sunken-eyed, dressed in the usual blue and white uniform… Oh, yeah. And their skin's an owl. Probably should have led with that. A barn owl, to be precise. Not all the peeps who take up the HALO mantle use animal skins, but the fact that this isn't his first time seeing an owl he can't identify is a little bit unnerving. The HALO, expressionless, roams their eyes across their gathered party. Everyone averts their gaze.

"A plate-making shop!" Skizz prattles on, and Scott blinks. His hands droop in front of him like kitten paws. That's exactly what he looks like: a sleepy kitten, stirred awake and searching its bowl for milk to drink.

"Nooo…? I mean, you can do that on your half of the base; I won't stop you, but… I'm opening a sushi restaurant. Just looking for a cute spot to build it along the river."

On the floor rug, Tango snaps upright. "Sushi? Do… do you need a fisherman with buckets for days? I think I know a guy."

"What?" Scott mutters, trying to pay attention to, like, three conversations and five different people at once. BigB grimaces, shrinking a little closer to the wall. He hears everything. Every whisper they're making, every possible alliance… but this isn't his time to speak. Loyalty's unnerving. It stresses him out. Not really his thing.

"But Scott," says Skizz, grinning and bouncing his clenched fists up and down. "We could sell collector's plates, homie! I'm really good at crafting them! Most of them don't even break!"

"Yeah, no thank you. I might just…" He places both hands on Skizz's forearm, gently pushing him away from the door and over towards the lounge chairs. "… break up our little allyship riiiight about here, I think… Yeah. Right over here, Skizz; thank you so much for sharing your opinions in a dedicated safe space today."

"Aw, you are killing me, man!"

"Aw, break it up, you crowd of fools and peasants," Martyn says, striding in behind the HALO. "Right… I can tell you right now, if anyone's got a great plan for the season, it's definitely me. I'm gunning to be the first player to ever win two separate games, and applications are open for me to take a couple of you less experienced lot under my wing. Starting bid is two diamonds apiece."

Impulse drops down from the portal, wings swoosh-y. The HALO swivels his way. Impulse dusts off his shirt, licking his lips, and then gestures at the portal with one wing. "Uh… Yeah! So, our admin's in the back looking at code and- and all that fun stuff, but he left me in charge asking if we could get the portal re-lit. Our buddy, uh… He kind of got us all kicked. On accident! We need an autosave recovery. Can you help?"

The HALO blinks. Impulse drops his gaze. BigB shivers and rustles his wings into place against his spine. It's not good. He doesn't know 'what' isn't good, but he doesn't like the staring. Or the silence. He doesn't like the tone shift it casts over the entire room. Who made all the HALOs so scary? BigB drops his gaze, then lifts it again. His trembling antennae flicker at the top of his vision.

The silent figure combs the room again with their eyes. They're muttering under their breath. Counting? Are they counting? He's the only one standing behind the HALO now, pressed up against the wall. When he peeks out at all the rest, his friends are arranged in various states of agitation. Tango's sitting by the wall, eyes down and one hand on the back of his neck. Ren's picking at his toe claws. Joel glares right at the HALO's face, arms still folded, legs still tilted as he leans against the chair arm. Finally, the HALO slides their attention back to Impulse.

"May I go in?"

"I- I think so," Impulse stammers, shifting aside. The HALO murmurs a thank you and climbs the steps to the silver curtain. The sliding door opens. BigB pricks up. He doesn't hear it close.

"OH!" That's Grian, almost shrieking. He scrambles inside the room. BigB can hear him clutching papers, shuffling things around. "You… you came in person! I thought, uh… Listen, listen; I know my office is a mess. I, um… I thought you could relight the portal from yours?"

"Yes," says the HALO. Talons click across the floor. The wheels of a chair roll aside. Etho, maybe? If Grian was grabbing papers, is Etho in the chair? The HALO clears their throat, then goes on. "I'm not mad… I just wanted to confirm the facts aligned before I signed off approval. I don't like messing with files I can't see. That's how accidents happen, Grian."

Grian inhales through his nose. BigB switches his gaze away, searching the room. Everyone else is muttering. Even Impulse is over with Skizz and Scott now, chuckling and shaking his head. Scott looks very, very tired, his blue hair a hot and glitchy mess. Pearl's talking to Cleo. No one notices him against the wall.

No one knows he's listening.

"Grian," the HALO presses. "I don't mean to sound like a broken record all the time, but… Thank you for calling me instead of rebooting by yourself."

"Pff! I- I- Tch! Why do you say that like I don't normally follow protocol!? Etho, are you hearing this?"

"Uh," Etho mutters back. "Hey-y-y… Leave me out of this. I don't keep up with anybody's business, man; I barely go out these days. You know I like my little hole in the wall."

BigB tilts his head. He hears the HALO sigh. Movement. Mouse clicks and keyboard tapping. Then: "I appreciate you involving me in this. I would be less happy if you didn't."

Feathers bristle up; that noise is unmistakable. "What are you implying?"

Jimmy throws his head back in a cackle of a laugh then, so BigB doesn't hear whatever comes next. But it won't take long to locate an autosave file. He leaves the wall, stepping quickly towards the nearest group of people. That's Joel, Lizzie, Martyn, and Jimmy. They don't seem to notice when he arrives, so he doesn't linger long. Maybe he'll talk to Ren. It's… it's easy, talking to Ren. Most of the time.

But Ren's talking to Tango… and BigB doesn't know how to weasel his way in there. He turns his face away, kicking one shoe at the rug.

40 seconds later, their portal sputters back to life: white blocks on the outside, pink on the inside. A hush falls over the lounge, but only briefly. 10 seconds after that, the curtain to the coding office flaps open. The HALO descends the steps and exits through their lounge door, not even glancing at the rest of them. Grian pokes out his head, watching in squinty silence. "Hm," he says to no one. The door falls shut.

"I hate them," Joel spits, clenching his upper arms. He shakes his head, flopping his antennae back and forth. His mud-brown hair makes a swishy noise. "I can do that too, you know. I can walk up and press a reset button. It's not that bloody hard."

BigB winces. Grian turns his eyes, tightening his lips. "Okay, right… You know, I don't think it's wise to talk smack about my landlord. Yours too, actually!" (Oh, so mine too, Big B thinks). "We're portal neighbors."

"I don't care. I can take them. They're all creeps anyway. You know they just invade privacy and breathe down our necks like we're lab mice in a cage. And they're ableist. They hate corrupted players like Scar running around. They'd wipe his data if they could. All of it just gone, Grian. They want to."

"The HALOs," Grian says, voice lilting with exasperation, "totally busted their tail ends fishing the original source of Scar's data out of his singleplayer in the first place. We wouldn't even have Scar if we didn't have the HALOs. They like him fine!"

"I still don't trust 'em, Grian. I can't believe you want to be one of those busybody weirdos someday. When you see me with the Empires crowd and you're dressed up in frills and glitter, just pretend you never met me. I'll kick you in the shins."

Grian shakes his head. He waits several seconds for Joel to get wrapped in conversation again, then whisper-calls, "Psst, BigB… come here."

Come here? BigB arches his brows, but hurries over as Grian asked. He stops at the base of the stairs. Grian motions him upward. So he complies again, this time stepping under the curtain. The coding room is brightly lit, which takes away some of the mysterious energy it's always emitted. Grian stands between the curtain and the wall that leads into the coding office. It's not very big in there. It's got bookshelves and a desk. Plus four lanterns. Lots of loose paper. The sliding door is still open. He can see Etho with his elbows on the desk, chin resting on his thumbs. Pointer fingers on his nose… You know- the works. The works of someone who's staring and staring, lost in thought. He's probably got a bitten lip beneath the mask.

"Grian," says Etho, very softly. "I don't think… the Dog's Life mod is compatible with Scar's player file. Anything that's not a zombie will probably glitch him out."

"I don't care," Grian snaps back. "I don't care if we have to postpone recording by a week. We'll modify it. Scar is going to play with us. With the full mod."

"Oooh," says Etho, huffing through his facemask. He spreads his hands on the desk and leans all his weight forward. "Well, I'll give it the ol' Canadian try and see what I can do. I'm taking over your chair, by the way. Give me twenty minutes, then we'll switch."

Grian bobs his head a load of times. Then, leaving Etho to his work, he twists to face BigB again and grips his elbow like a life preserver. "Hey," he says, squinting up. He preens a bit of hair behind his ear. "Don't leave me, okay?"

BigB blinks. "Okay…"

"I mean, don't run off yet. I want to talk to you."

"… Is that it?"

"Yeah… Yeah. I'll tell the others we're working on the mod and they can wander, but don't go too far, okay? I want to talk to you."

BigB nods. Grian's fingers loosen from his sleeve. He crosses over to Etho, watches for three seconds, says one thing that BigB doesn't understand (Gets a response; equally nonsensical), then escorts BigB back to the curtain. He slides the door shut and locks it behind them. Okay. BigB descends the steps again. When Grian appears behind him, their whole group presses closer.

"Right… so…" Grian bites his lip, glancing around the circle. "Fixing the mod for Scar might… take a while. Bdubs is getting us a server map. I'm not sure I want to pull that out yet - I'll keep it in the office, so we'll have it just in case - but if things drag on, maybe we'll take a look. Um. Maybe don't… don't talk strategy away from the cam accounts, but you're free to chat amongst yourselves until we're back online." His fingers slide upward, pulling at the curls in his hair. "I'll be honest, fellas; this might be end of the session today. I got too ambitious and didn't do thorough testing. I'm not sure we can fix it soon enough for Scar to play tonight."

This is met with resounding noises of affirmation and a bit of comfort, which Grian doesn't respond to. Chatter picks up. People start pairing off, gesturing across the lounge or saying something about different snack areas they want to try. Impulse checks the wall clock, then waves good-bye to everyone and says he's running off to see his wife. Skizz tails him out the door with a whoop, which turns into a race, and Impulse starts yelling at him not to run through the hallway outside an emergency or he might hurt someone. Skizz yells "STOP YELLING AT ME!" and then they're both yelling. Grian drops his forehead in his palm.

"They're gonna get me written up again, I swear…"

"Oh, man," BigB murmurs. "We got written up so many times when we were new on the block."

"Don't remind me. I'd like to forget all that, actually." Grian reaches out to touch his hand. His actual hand, not his sleeve. BigB jolts. Grian's breath is short and thin, dancing across his arm. "Hey, BigB… can you get me a hot chocolate?"

BigB twists around. Grian's looking up at him, but the moment they lock eyes, Grian jerks back his head and arm. His face sparks as pixels rattle and buzz.

"I- I mean… unless that's weird. I just… I have to stay with Etho." Then, with forced sarcasm, "And so I can get written up."

"No, I'll get it. Seriously, dude; it's not a big deal."

"Oh, you're the best." Then Grian inhales sharply. His eyes flash aside. He ducks away, hurrying off. Where to? BigB watches for a moment, but Grian runs up to a wall and stands there facing it, scritching up his hair with his fingers and saying nothing at all.

Getting the hot chocolate is easy. The station is always a thriving hub of activity, especially this time of day. The hall goes on for ages, and basically… wherever there's not a portal lounge, there's some kind of shop. Most are for food and drinks or skin designs, but there are game stores and toy shops too. BigB's just leaving the stand where he got two cups when he sees another HALO (this one with a skin like a fox) disciplining Impulse and Skizz for running and screaming. They stand with sheepishly drooping heads, bashful as high school boys. He chuckles, taking a secret sip of his own hot chocolate before hurrying back to Room 3LF.

💚  💛  ❤️

Evidently, none of their friends wanted to twiddle their thumbs waiting for Scar's return. Not when it still might take hours to look into the code. BigB sort of wants to ask why they're doing this - why they're delaying pulling Scar back until they've found the problem - but he doesn't voice the question. Maybe Grian just wants to be absolutely sure it was the Dog's Life mod and not, like… some random block update that glitched the system. Who knows. It's not really his place to ask, even if he is feeling nosy.

Grian meets him at the bottom of the stairs. He gratefully accepts his hot chocolate, smiling in that mischievous sort of way he so often does, and reaches forward to grip BigB by the front of his sweater. He gives one soft, pleading little tug. His fingers bite. Nails pointy. BigB avoids his gaze, staring at the steam rising from the cup in his own hands. His antennae quiver.

"Come on," Grian whispers. "Just… you know. There's a corner… over there. If you want to come and sit with me."

"That does sound nice…"

And it is, for a little while. There's carpet in the corner. And bean bags. There's shy smiles and soft laughter… but there isn't peace and quiet.

"BigB," Grian whispers when their cups are half empty. His wings are up, fluttery and unwilling to stay clamped against his back. He's blocking a lot of the light.

"What?"

"What are we?"

BigB closes his eyes, sinking down in the green bean bag. Grian's got the red one. There's a yellow one somewhere, which is Jimmy's favorite thing in the entire lounge. Of course, that's why everyone tries their best not to let him have it.

He never did tell Grian that, in his mind, he unraveled their "secret soulmates" pact long before the dawn of his final day in Double Life. He meant to tell Grian. It's just never the been the right time. It wasn't supposed to leak out like this. You know, he never should have done it. All the flirting. The encouragement. It's confusing now. Grian's just…

… really, really fun to play with. He always has been, all the way back in Evo. Earlier than that, actually. Back before they joined anything multiplayer, they used to sit by the fountain down on the first floor, hanging around a bunch of other kids who were new to the game. And Grian's not scary! He's easy to talk to. He's just… he's just easy. Especially outside the games, when he doesn't know what else to talk about.

Starting conversations comes naturally to Grian. It doesn't come naturally to him.

Grian's still watching him, peering with his deep, smoky black eyes. Outside the Dog's Life server, the green has faded. They're back on peaceful mode. BigB tries not to look, but even if he didn't peek, he'd still be able to tell. Grian's not on his bean bag anymore. He's warm. His pixels are so close to his face, BigB can hear them sizzling.

It's supposed to be a game.

He didn't really mean to hurt Ren. Ren is solid, good, and not so easily distracted. Teaming with him three seasons straight had been a lot of fun, and BigB would be lying - lying! - if he said he hadn't missed Ren when Limited Life came a-calling. His ex-soulmate had to sit that round out. Had a lot going on. BigB called him, actually. Brought him cookies. It just… felt right. But only once. He might team up again with him this time. Probably will; make it 4 for 4. He's just not sure. I mean, it's been a long time. They've spoken very little since the last time they died.

I can't give Grian a straight answer until I've got stuff sorted out with Ren. But Grian demands an answer now. His claw-like fingernails are already embedded in the front of his sweater. It forces BigB's eyes to crack open just a smidge. He's way too close. The collision threshold is pretty low here. If he keeps trying to push, he'll pass straight through. Kick him off the bean bag. He'd like that, maybe. Grian likes to have things. He can have the red bean bag and the yellow bean bag, but the green one will still be his favorite.

"I like roleplaying with you, G."

Grian's face falls like his mouth's been slapped right off. His eyes sort of quiver, searching back and forth. "What… what do you mean?"

"You know. It's fun, hanging out with you on an actual server. We should do that more often. Sometimes I feel like I only see you when Jimmy drags us to the game store. I miss hanging out with you."

Grian blinks, absorbing every pixel twitch on his face. Of course he is. Because BigB always listens. And Grian always watches. He tilts his head. His feathers sway. "And… is that just 'roleplay' to you?"

"Not outside the games," BigB clarifies, trying to sit up a little more. It's hard. Oh. Oh, Grian is way too close now. "I mean… When we were lovers, that was roleplay. And the break-up wasn't real. It didn't hurt me. I'm not upset about the stalactite. We're still best friends."

Grian lingers above him, but stays very, very still. He blinks. Not a word leaves his mouth. His wings shift against his back. BigB tightens his grip on the hot chocolate in his hands, his own wings twitching too. I'm so predictable, he scolds himself. I'll follow anyone who's the fireball of a party. Even when I'm not invited, I'm always fluttering around. Grian is everything. And I'm just a moth man chasing candle flames.

"So it was all roleplay," Grian checks, slinking back. Just a little. He removes his hands, and that's enough. BigB can breathe a little more freely now. He sinks back into the bean bag.

"What was?"

"Being secret soulmates. We shared carrots, BigB. I thought that meant something to you."

That gets his eyes open. BigB's wings flare up. His antennae, normally droopy, snap to their full height. It makes Grian jump. He glances back, checking if the coast is clear. It is. Unless Etho can hear them from the coding chair. But he can't. He… he won't. Because they're in the corner and Grian's not stupid enough to talk about golden carrots in front of their friends.

Then he turns on Grian, hissing through his teeth. "Don't say that… Please. I mean, now's not a great… Just… Definitely don't do that in front of Ren."

"But we did," Grian presses. He's impossibly shameless. He wriggles. He's a bird who wants to be a worm. "At least, I thought we did… but I've been combing through my replays. I've been thinking a lot. BigB, it didn't work. I never got my love hearts."

Didn't you? BigB's hearts flutter a little faster. They're locked into max on peaceful mode and he's never figured out if that's better or worse than only having one. All 10 are shooting adrenaline through his code. Still, he keeps his voice low and level. "Let's talk later. Not here. After Jimmy's stream tonight."

Grian hangs his head. His wings droop. They fidget. Then he turns away, puffing air and dropping to a sulk. "Tim needs to stop scheduling his streams when I'm in the middle of things. Why would he do this, B? We're playing Life tonight. I'm busy."

"It's just Go Fish," BigB reminds him. "Super basic, really." He takes another sip of hot chocolate. It's blander than he thought.

"I'm not here to waste my time talking about Timmy," Grian mutters back. He reaches out again with grabby hands. His fingers close around the wrinkles of his sweater. One of them, just one of them, prods at the enamel cookie pin on the right-hand side. Then it stops being prodding and turns into fiddling. "BigB, just… Can you tell me? What did it mean to you?"

"Hm?"

"Eating golden carrots with me."

He can't sit here anymore. BigB catches Grian's fingers, forcing his hand away from his cookie pin. He gets to his feet. Grian falls back in the red bean bag and BigB gazes down at him. "What do you mean?"

"I think I messed it up somehow," Grian says, feathers prickling like a crown around his hair. He looks like a parrot prince. He pushes himself up too, wings aflutter. He sways; catches balance; grabs his arm. "I swear, I ate and ate those carrots until I couldn't eat anymore, but I never got my love hearts. Was it better on your end? And how did it feel?" He presses his fingers to BigB's chest, right in the center. "You know, you know. Right in there. Boop."

Feel? BigB reroutes all of Grian's words through his brain again. What's there to feel? Eating's just a game mechanic. He does a double check. Then a triple check. I felt full, I guess? Doesn't everybody? Golden carrots give insane saturation.

Then it clicks. "Oh, wait. Are you talking about… like, how the hearts on the compatibility mechanic sometimes poof in a big burst and sometimes they're just a trickle? Or even just one? Are you upset about the number?" He must have only gotten one.

BigB's never experimented with it personally, but when you listen to everything, you eventually hear all the rumors. Who got himself banned from the entire northwest side for tinkering with stuff that wasn't his to touch (Zedaph). Who hates going out in public because he's sheepish around his fans (Etho). Which notable local just got a skin update (All his friends are way more into the fashion newsletters than he is, but he does keep up now and then). Who was last seen flirting in the back rooms (xB; Ferks; they're not as subtle as they think). Which floor tiles in his neighborhood are slightly damp and therefore definitely a water balloon trap, and almost always Joel and Lizzie's chaotic doing. Who's whitelisted on which secret server (Oh, he'll take half of what he's heard to his perma-AFK grave). He even knows a few of the HALOs' names. He's thinking of applying. He'll never say that in front of Joel.

And yes. He's heard that some people take it personally when, in that single explosive moment they sink their teeth through the last golden carrot's skin, they fail to bring up as many love hearts as they were hoping for.

He just never thought Grian would be one of them. Grian, who already has… everything that anyone could ever want. The fame. The fortune. The spirit. The spunk. Servers to play in. A whole group of tight-knit friends. A wife back home. Two cats he adores. He has it all. He's at the top. There's a promising position waiting for him in the ranks of the HALOs one day. His career is thriving. There is nothing more he could possibly need.

Grian tugs a little harder on his sweater. "You're not hearing me! When we ate the golden carrots together, how did that make you feel? About…" Grian inches a little closer. BigB didn't even realize he could get any closer. "… me?"

The man's got jewels, marigolds, and sunshine dripping from his pockets. He can't possibly want anything else. Nothing except… just maybe…

… me.

Which is a realization his cold, thumping hearts don't know what to do with. His wings fold and rearrange themselves, sliding over each other. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get comfy. Grian won't let him focus. Every time he tries to look away, Grian gives a fierce yank of his shirt that jerks him back around.

BigB slides his eyes over Grian's face. He has to hold his hot chocolate off to one side now so he won't drop it and spill on Grian's head, and he has to hold his antennae up so they won't droop inside his drink. He will spill, with all that yanking. After a few seconds of silence, he decides honesty is the best way to go about this.

"I… I don't think I understand the question. Why would sharing carrots change my feelings for you? Dude… No matter what you got on the compatibility meter, it doesn't bother me. Especially if it was your first time; it's tough when you get nervous. You could have one heart or a hundred and ten. We're still best friends."

Grian lets out a frustrated, chirping sort of noise and turns his face away. He pushes his hand up along his cheek. It glides like butter through his waffle-colored curls. His wedding ring gleams bright and gold. "You're not being fair."

"I'm sorry?"

"Never mind. It's not really that important."

"Okay," he says, because Grian wants to stop talking now. And BigB always listens.

They settle down a little closer to the front of the lounge. They sit in silence, sipping their drinks, for at least ten minutes until they hear the sliding door. Like Pavlov's dogs, they both jerk up their heads. Etho flaps the curtain aside, gripping the ceiling part above it, and swishes his eyes across the lounge. Then he hooks a thumb back over his shoulder.

"I might've cracked it, Grian. At least, I found the first bit we can start testing. We've gotta trial-and-error it when Scar's back, I think."

"Oh, you star, Etho!" Grian shoves his hot chocolate at BigB, almost spilling it all down his sweater, and scrambles up to meet Etho in the office. BigB lifts his antennae, listening to the soft tremors of their voices in the air. But Grian shuts the door. He shuts it with a slam, and BigB knows his ex-secret soulmate wanted him to hear it.

The rest of the afternoon passes… eventually. Like syrup on a maple tree. The gang filters back one at a time. Impulse and Skizz squirm around the edges, refusing to elaborate when the others shoot curious gazes their way. BigB says nothing about the scolding he saw them get. It's not his place. But he does stand quietly, staring at Impulse from across the room. He watches the way Impulse scritches at his hair, preening around his horns. He watches the way he shifts, brushing his sweaty palms against his cargo shorts. And he hears every tilt in Impulse's voice. Tilts that definitely weren't there before. He watches and he listens… because when they log in again, the game is back on. And that's the man he's supposed to kill.

He is going to. No one ever doubted him, he's sure. It's like this mechanic was written just for him. Loyalty's never really been his thing.

Then his antennae twitch to the right, and he realizes someone's staring at him. Carefully, BigB slides his eyes over to get a better look. And it's Ren. Ren, leaning over the back of a chair, his head tilted so his cheek presses on his forearm. His back's stretched out. BigB can see his tail wagging like a mixing spoon. But the instant they lock eyes, Ren jolts and hides his face behind his arms. BigB looks away, lifting one hand to cover his cheek, too… because now his pixels are sparking up. How embarrassing. Maybe no one will notice.

Grian stares him down from across the room. BigB takes a careful breath, swivels on his heels, and walks over to hang around Pearl and Jimmy. Yeah… He might hear everything, but he definitely doesn't share half of what he knows. Maybe he won't tell Grian that he and Ren shared carrots before his "secret soulmate" was even in the picture.

It's just cute… It's just fun. They're just hearts that bubble around you and pop in the air. It… it doesn't mean anything… I mean, everybody does it. What's the big deal?

He listens to Jimmy and Pearl swapping stories about their experiences with ocean monuments until Grian calls everyone over. Well. Almost everyone. He names a few names, pulling them into the office so he can quiz them on their locations and what they were doing at the time of the crash. BigB finds a place to stand in the corner and hears out every explanation, though he doesn't get the point. It seems pretty conclusive that Scar killing the creeper was the reason the server glitched. Why can't he just send them in right now?

"Grian," he starts to say, but the words die on his tongue. Grian glances at him, gaze sizzling, and BigB shuts up. "Never mind."

"Because I'm filing incident reports. I spilled hot chocolate on them. Had to rewrite a bit. It's nothing, BigB."

"Oh."

They're that much closer to a relaunch. Good. Inventories are server-locked and you don't get one in the station. He's looking forward to the feel of his oak sword in his hand. He probably won't go after Impulse today. Maybe not even next week they play. But it will be nice to hold his sword. And maybe he can set something up with a real nice flourish. His peeps would love that.

Grian checks the numbers on every screen. One hand hovers above the keyboard. He holds the other in front of him, like a highlighter. Everyone is silent. Etho stands next to him, quadruple checking everything. Joel leans over the back of Grian's chair, his chin resting on folded arms. Lizzie's on the floor. She's tying his bootlaces together. Cleo and Scott sit together against the bookshelves, watching with their legs pulled up and hands gently pressed over their mouths. They're trying not to laugh. BigB can hear squirmy giggles bubbling. It makes his mouth twitch up at one end, but he doesn't say anything. Not to them and not to Joel.

"Right…" Grian sounds the word out slowly, tasting every lumpy letter. "I think… we're good to reload the autosave. Thanks for your patience, everyone. It's about three minutes before the crash. Right. Okay. Uh, who was nearest to Scar when he went down?"

"Me," says BigB. Eyes swivel. A lump of freshly smelted iron burns inside his throat. "I- I mean, I think it was me. And Etho and Tango and Ren. And I was definitely with him 3 minutes before the crash. Bdubs too."

"Yes," says Bdubs, affirming with a double nod. He lingers in the doorway, hands braced against its sides.

"Right," Grian says again. He tongues the inside of his cheek. "So… When we re-log, Scar won't have a memory of whatever happened after the autosave. But as soon as he sees you all jolt from the reload, he'll know he glitched. It'll only take him a second. Then he'll get flustered. Just keep a cool head about it and tell him we all need to exit to the lounge. And make sure he doesn't hit any mobs. Or players. In fact, try not to let him punch anything at all."

"What about butterflies?" Joel asks, just to be annoying. He leans forward. That lifts him on his toes. Lizzie scoots away, just saving her fingers in time from being crushed. "They're alive and they're not mobs, Grian."

"Fine. You can let Scar punch a butterfly. One."

"Oh, man," says BigB, shaking his head. He steps aside so Lizzie can squeeze past him, fleeing back down the stairs. "That's just wrong…"

Tango, sitting on the floor by Bdubs, snickers into his hand. Then, holding up his palms, he says, "Oh no, not the butterflies! They're innocent!"

"Coward's talk," Joel laughs. "I'll find the most deserving butterfly you've ever seen, and I'll hurl it right in Scar's face."

Grian taps a few more things on his keyboard. "Oh," he says then and glances over his shoulder. "Let's see. Uh… Pearl, can you secure us a side hall to the HALO desk? Scar can't take the bullet path and at least one of us should go with him so he's not alone. He has to sign in to confirm he got out. And they have to check his file."

Pearl nods and hurries off, her too-big hoodie flapping. Her shoes clatter down the stairs. BigB hears the squishy, metallic pump of the lounge door as she shoves it open. The lock clicks behind her. Maybe he'll slip down there and wait until she gets back. He wouldn't have Grian digging eyes into his neck, then.

Grian's got the paperwork he needed; he waves them all off. Joel says something to Etho, off-hand, then takes one step from the chair and trips on his laces. BAM! He slams against the floor. Cleo and Scott lose it, falling over like bowling pins. "Oh, for goodness' sakes, Lizzie!" Joel shouts, pushing himself up on his hands, but Lizzie's long gone across the lounge. He can hear her cracking up. Grian turns, bristling in confusion. BigB mutters a promise to catch him up later. Etho steps over the fallen man, chuckling too, and Scott finally offers a hand to help Joel back to his feet.

Everyone starts filing out, making their way back down to the portal. Impulse is still sulking under his breath about getting told off for yelling; Skizz's teasing only sours his mood. BigB waits in the entrance, holding the curtain, just to be polite. Grian and Etho still need to step out, after all. It's just polite.

Etho turns off the lanterns. He gathers a few things together. Then, turning from the desk, he stoops to bring his mouth near Grian's ear.

"Hey, so… I might team up with Scar, if he'll have me. If he feels a glitch coming on, I'll be on that so fast, he won't know what hit him. If I keep him in sight, we can always check my coords to find him. But don't let on. I don't want him to feel like he's getting babysat."

Grian's eyes drop to his feet. He squeezes his toes against the floor. "Right… okay, okay. Thanks, Etho."

Etho nods, then keeps walking. His silver fox tail swishes back and forth against his heels. BigB watches him go, saying nothing, until Etho's fully down the steps. Then, carefully, he tugs the curtain shut. The room isn't soundproof on this side of the wall - especially not while the door is open - but that's… that's okay. He'll keep his voice down.

"Grian?" BigB asks, just because he's curious. Grian's getting the incident reports together in a stack. "What happens if a server autosaves, like… right before Scar glitches out? Like, what if he was in the process so every time we re-logged, he glitched it again? Would it shut the server down forever?"

Grian doesn't look at him. "It did, once."

"Oh… And- And he got out okay? Like, he's okay?"

"I mean, that's basically what corrupted his player file in the first place. He soft-locked himself in bedrock during a server crash on his singleplayer. Flew too hard or something and it was just wrong place, wrong time. I don't really know all the details and I might have that wrong - it might have something more to do with the void - but HALO had to cut him out line by line of code. He was stuck there for months and they had to get an old autosave out of the deep files. I really shouldn't tell you any of this, actually. It's his story, not mine. Just forget I shared that."

"I guess so. But his secret's safe with me." BigB glances down, fidgeting his fingertips against his pant legs. "Man… I feel so bad for him."

Grian grunts, pressing a couple last keyboard keys. "Well, don't let him hear you say that. If there's one thing Scar can't stand - other than being fake gifted a tame Jellie cat - it's being coddled out of roleplay. When you get back in there, don't… don't, like, hover around him or anything. He doesn't want you staring at him or asking questions. He plays these games to get away from all that, you know. That sort of thing."

"Right. I'll try to be chill. I might mess up. I'll- I'll really try to not mess up."

"Well, it's easy, really. When you get back, just throw the safe word at him. Tell him you have to pause and leave. We've just got to get him out of there, is all. That's the easy part. Once he's back in the station, we can all chill and I'll ask him if he wants to try testing things again. The autosaves are less scary when he's got a choice. And when we're not mid-game." Grian rubs his hands over his face, groaning into his palms. "This is all my fault…"

BigB sweeps forward, moving his hands to Grian's shoulders. "Dude… don't even worry about it. You'll fix it. I know you can do it. There's gotta be some line of code just slightly out of place. With you and Etho working together, you'll have it patched in no time."

Grian exhales, lips puttering. He leans his head against BigB's shoulder. One wing reaches behind him… then carefully presses up against the backs of his softer, much more fragile moth wings. Which BigB notices, and says nothing about. Even though he winces. "Yeah," says Grian. His wing presses in a little tighter. He licks his lips, glancing at the ceiling. "Yeah… Let's go get him out, and then we can start looking for a fix. I really hope you're right."

💚  💛  ❤️

He's back on the server. They're back on the server, the sky all black and his feet weighing down a familiar spot in the long grass. BigB blinks, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark again. He's standing like a wraith on the cliff above the river, with Bdubs tense and clutching his shield in front of him. Bdubs is shaking, licking his lips. He ducks his head.

Here we go.

"Is Bdubs really our only sheep?" Scar asks, leaning sharply sideways. He wears a tiny Totem of Undying on a cord around his neck, which swings into open air when he moves.

He's worn that charm for as long as BigB's known him.

Chapter Text

Smajor1995 - Mayor

💚  💛  ❤️

Minecrafters like to move in circles. It's the first thing they burn into your head back in City Planning 101. They like to keep you in their sights. They dance sideways. They sometimes swap into third-person view. They move like prey even on Peaceful, which is awful when you think about it - about how deeply embedded in your code that sort of thing is - but hey… It's not wrong. They are prey. So when Scott first built New Star Station back in the day, he opted for curved walls and a fairly open floor plan. Brings the gals and pals to the yard like dust-moths to a redstone flame.

And no windows. Everyone thinks they want windows - thinks they want to see the washed-out pink of the Between Dimension's sky and its fluffy red and white trees - but they don't. They really don't. In this dimension, the mobs don't stop spawning just because you lit the ground up. There's a reason every floor tile in this station is coated in half-slabs and carpets. They've built themselves a world, built themselves a home, they play their little games… but the "no windows" policy will remain no matter how many requests pile up in his office. Windows showcasing Between's hazel and crabapple trees, its fireflies, its mooblooms, its mice, its zombie horses, and those gemstone-flecked blocks that coat the natural ground are aesthetic in theory, but horrid in execution. Once you have windows, you start asking more questions. You start checking over your shoulder. You start asking for weapons. And that's not the vibe. In New Star Station, they're "safe." They have quartz floors, mossy cobble, and dark oak wood. It's cute. It's home. They can pretend the outside world isn't living in total anarchy.

No one likes the reminder that they're prey.

"Scott," says Scar behind him as they round the next hallway curve, because as much as Scott loves him, Scar wouldn't get a memo if you flooded his inventory with several stacks of 64. Scar's trying to hustle, using his cane to push himself forward a little more than he should. He might slip. Scar's fingers graze the back of Scott's jacket sleeve. "What's your favorite block from the outside?"

Scott spares him half a glance. Looks right at his pine-green eyes, which is a mistake. It's easier to stay in character when he's actually on a server - when he's staring down a presentation of his friends instead of this… this out of roleplay version of themselves. Scar's not in his wooden puppet skin anymore; they're not on the Dog's Life server. He's wearing his rumpled brown coat and explorer's fedora. His spiky blue wings flutter behind him, non-functional but sentimental. And he's got algae-coated eyes.

Scott would like to claw the algae straight off him.

"Leaves," he says. It's not untrue. But Scar picks up on that instantly, because he's Scar and can dance his tongue like a snake doing ballet. It's almost insulting, actually, how many hours Scott put into this hallway design just for Scar to tune it all out (Most people use the bullet path; Scar can't, Scar always walks, doesn't compliment the block palette). Scar half-tosses his cane, catching it in his hand. He hustles after Scott without planting that thing down on the floor. Just shuffling, just playing the syrupy sweet character… It's all a show. The man just glitched a whole server - so much paperwork; gotta file Grian's incident reports - and he's still trotting about with no cares in the world and triple aces up his sleeve. Scar's not baggy-eyed and bristle-tailed. There's no long nights waiting for him. No people to please. It must be nice to roll around in someone else's sandbox. See, Scott built this playground, but he can never lose himself in it. And he didn't even build a playground. New Star's a bunker dressed in tinsel and glitter.

"Oh really?" (About the leaves). Scar's voice is honey and hums. He slams one arm around Scott's shoulders, which Scott winces at because it almost flickers him out of his plain and boring persona- almost startles a side of himself he doesn't like to show. Scar sweeps his cane around, gently tapping the top of it to the bottom of Scott's chin. It's spruce wood, the cane. Scott can tell from the smell of it; even the polish doesn't hide that. Scar presses the cane's curve innocently at his mouth. "Scott, you have just secured your place as my favorite mayor in New Star's history."

"I'm the only mayor in…"

"Leaves," Scar plows on, completely ignoring him, "are one of the most beautiful blocks in the game. In fact, I've been thinking! I've been thinking for a while now. I keep meaning to ask if I can have a tree outside my portal, which I think would balance out my mailbox. Big and little! Comparison contrast. You know I hate paperwork, though… Hey, what do the leaves look like in this dimension anyway? Maybe instead of getting an import, I should go the authentic route."

Scott's eye twitches up. He doesn't throw Scar's arm away from his neck, but it takes an extra breath - which is not a good sign - to keep it together; keep the truest part of himself tucked inside his code. Scar's easily spooked and already had a rough day. Can't keep a secret either. Scott's not in the mood for coming out to him. Instead he says, "Scaaar," in a gently patient, sort of in character kind of tone. He turns his head, smiling, and gives a little tilt. Because nothing bothers him, because he's Scott, and it's his playground and everyone else is running around in it. "You, sir, are setting yourself up to be a bad example… Why are you asking about outside blocks?"

Nat 1 on intimidation. Scar hums like a bumblebee, pressing his cane a little tighter against the base of Scott's neck. They haven't stopped walking; he doesn't take his mouth away from Scott's pointed ear. "Why, they sound like fun to build with, Smajor! Are you hoarding pretty blocks?" Lips so close, hitboxes shuffling, lips passing straight through skin in a way that sends goosepixels shrieking up his neck like lightning. Scar's fingers clench in his shoulder. "Can't a man want to play around with new ceiling tiles? Why! You're a ragged little ferret hoarding ceiling tiles, aren't you?" And he thunks the cane tip against Scott's chin. Scott's on auto-pilot; he smacks the back of his hand against Scar's cheek, which finally gets him slinking off.

"Between's natural blocks are ugly. You wouldn't use them anyway." It's like spoon-feeding carrot mush to a baby.

"What if you brought me one?" Scar asks, folding his arms behind his back. He keeps right on Scott's heels. There's something about the way he shifts back and forth when he does, sort of swirling and weaving, that's just… woooo. Is that because there's vex code in him? He just… he follows; he swings himself in circles? Scar's always breathing on the back of your neck, if you let him in close. It's hard to keep your eyes on him without turning all the way around. He breathes in that same snorty, ruffled way that a ravager does. Always steps like he's prowling. It flickers Scott's hearts into his throat. Because Scar's coded like a predator - Scar doesn't move like prey - and he doesn't fit the pattern. And Scott is sparking now. Sparking, rasping his tongue around his lips, because… because he's been asked for blocks, and it takes every ounce of focus in his shaking hands to keep his wings underneath his jacket; to pretend he doesn't want to fetch exactly what this man is asking for.

He turns on his F5 cam. This captures Scar like the swishing shark he is. Dreadfully, it also captures in 1080p the fact that Scott is losing the fight against his hidden wings.

It takes every. last. ounce.

Scar's lashes flutter, newbie-like and innocent. His cane sticks up behind his hat like some sort of raid captain flag. Bad omen; he embodies it. They're almost to the end of the hallway now - almost to the HALO offices - but Scar doesn't lower his voice. He preens his words over pixels Scott didn't even know he had. "Just for a look, Smajor. Just for a lovely little screenshot so I could hang it on my wall. Just a cute little screenshot. I wouldn't tell a soul! Cross my every heart."

Scott's lower lip starts to bounce. He double blinks. Scar wants blocks. And Scar would love the gemstone-encrusted blocks that litter Between's lumpy landscape. He'd love to touch the scarlet crabapple leaves. Scott gets it - Scar was like him once upon a time, before the file corruption - and they both chase after pretty things. And the blocks are pretty…

He pushes forward, picking up speed, because if he can get to the office then he can shed Scar from his heels like a snake molting skin. "Scar, even if they were nice blocks to build with, I'm the mayor. I can't just give you banned blocks."

"All the more reason to run against you this election!"

Election campaigning starts on Thursday. Scar almost won the last one. He's swinging back around, collecting steam, because that's exactly what vex do. They gather velocity and slam against you like TNT minecarts. You don't always survive a second hit.

"There you go!" Scott praises, smiling at him again. "I support you in it, Scar. I mean, I'm voting for myself, but it's really very healthy to participate in your local elections. And you're my friend." He chuckles. "If you do win, though, you'll see that I'm right; the natural blocks in this world are even uglier than purpur and endstone, believe you me…"

"Oh, I love ugly blocks. The only block worse than an ugly one is the mystery."

"That's one way to look at it." The office is only six chunks away.

"Will you answer me anyway, in case I don't win? I dream of hype- hypo- hyperbo- hippo- hypotheticals when I'm lying in bed at night. You wouldn't deprive a man his bedroom fantasies, Major! Don't thought-shame me like that. So, what color is the sky in this world? And what texture is the natural stripped wood?" He trips. Foot caught the edge of a carpet block weird; carpet peeling up in the corner. Scott spins around, grabbing him, and Scar thumps into his arms. He's so heavy. Scott forgets sometimes how buff this man really is. He's big and toned and he's a predator in a city full of prey. Scott swallows. His fingers fidget against Scar's chest, trying to find the right way to hold him without making it weird. Scar's abs are hard and distinct beneath his loose-hanging shirt.

Scar giggles, using the curve of his cane to lift his hat from his eyes. When he smiles, his vex teeth flash like enchanted diamond hoes. "Well, hello there! You're too kind, Smajor; so very kind! Ah, I guess I should get back to using my cane for a walking aid rather than a theater prop…"

"Yeah, you maybe should." Scott pushes Scar on his feet again, avoiding eye contact. His hearts are beating in triple time. Could Scar feel them pulsing through his fingertips when his hands brushed the big man's abs? Scott turns away, tugging his jacket collar over his mouth. He needs to keep his hands off Scar. Needs to. He shouldn't have volunteered for this; only offered to escort Scar so he could drop Grian's incident reports in the office when he gets there (save himself a later trip).

He shouldn't be touching Scar. Should just let him fall next time. Not smart, really. Not smart at all to brush against him. Scar's got chronic glitches flickering on his skin. They're usually hidden underneath his clothes, only rarely dancing up his face and hands, but those glitches are contagious. Not to everyone. Just… just to the rarest player subspecies left alive since the anarchy raids.

And Scott, who is an allay hybrid, is very, very afraid of him. Which he will never, never say because it would shatter Scar's big, big heart.

I LIKE playing games with you, Scott wants to beg. He'll grovel if he has to; snag him by the lapels of his jacket and whine that to him. I don't want you to think you're unsafe to be around! You're not scary!

He swings like a pendulum, like one foot's tangled and he's spinning upside-down on the tetherball string, because he knows it'll all come out one day and Scar might stop playing with him. And he shouldn't have to! Because Scar isn't dangerous; it's the accident that's dangerous. But there's no risk of accidents so long as they never touch without their clothes on (Don't… don't read into the way he phrased that). Scott shakes his head, glancing at Scar once, then hurries even faster down the hall. The HALO office is right up ahead. He can see grease marks on the iron door.

I need a restraining order on this fancy man… But like. Platonically. In a way that lets us still be friends.

"What color's the natural wood?" Scar asks again. "With and without the bark?"

"I can't show you that, Scar. It's inappropriate."

Scar snickers into his hand. "Smajor1995! Why, I didn't ask you to strip for me! Just requested a word in private - a mere moment of your time - and you turn it into this? For shame. Is this how you plan to sucker my vote for mayorship? What would the people say?"

I walked into that one. He forces out a laugh, sticking out the little plippy tip of his tongue. Hands shoved in his pockets; wings shoved in the straps he keeps them threaded through so they don't escape. "GoodTimesWithScar! You, sir, are a cheeky flirt of a man. Insufferable. I really don't know what to do with you. I really don't."

Scar tuts his tongue a few times and shakes his head. "Now, now… Only the Mumbo of the Jumbo himself calls me by my full name."

"Nope, nope, ah, nope; turnabout is fair play. You called me mine first. I've nothing else I want to call you anymore."

"Would you like to change that? I have a long list of options for very special situations." Scar spins his cane in his fingers and swings it forward; it lands with a soft tap against Scott's collarcode this time. Scar braces his elbow on Scott's shoulder, leaning in. He tips up his hat again. "I'll have you know, I'm running a special offer available only to the finest of fine young men today. It's like this. See, a man's got needs, Smajor." He rolls the syllables together like it's one word. "And you look like a man with needs. Maybe after work, you could swing by, slide through my portal… have a little good time."

"S-Scar, stop- you'll make me break character- oh my go- oh, Scar…" They both collapse in giggles, neither of them getting any words out - intelligent or not - and Scott's wheezing on the floor with his arms around his stomach. Scar's rolling back on his heels, wings fluttery. Blue glitches race each other like lizards or silverfish all across his skin.

"I'm s-s-sorry… You set me up! That was a set-up, Scott! Don't hold that against an improv man! I am not but a humble performer, just out here singing on these cold and lonesome nights for a scrap of daily bread."

Scott, his weight braced on just one forearm, lifts one finger above his head. "Stop… Scar, we've… we've gotta meet our boss after this."

"Oh, I love our boss. Such a patient and understanding fella they are. Should we invite them along too?"

Scott erupts in another cackle- "No, no! Scar… Stop, stop. Actually stop, okay?" He pushes himself up on shaking feet, rapidly dusting loose pixels off his jacket. Scar's smirking; Scott shakes his head. "No, no. See, like… It's okay when it's you - you're cute in the rumpled kind of way - but I'm the presentable one. I can't walk in there with my pixels acting up. That's our boss, Scar!"

Scar leans forward, curling one knuckle underneath Scott's chin. The skin on skin content makes Scott jump; he instantly grabs for Scar's sleeve. Scar, oblivious, pushes a little farther. "Mm… I can't remember the last time a little detour ever hurt anyone. And if we're late getting back, Grian will wait… It's about time he gets a taste of his own medicine; he's always running late for the silliest of things…"

Scott brings two fingers to Scar's hand and adjusts the angle so there are several pixels of space between skin and skin. He doesn't push it any further aside. Scar pauses, calculating in the silence. Scott flits his gaze away, biting his lip. Sticks one hand in his pocket. Leaves the other on his chest. I'm playing, he tries to say in that silence, fidgeting still. It's fun to play with you. But this is the line.

Scar's trying to read the room, but Scott's mind is in cursive and Scar's painfully dyslexic. Scar tilts his fingertips back to Scott's cheek. Pity the man; he still has a splinter in his finger from punching wood back on Dog's Life. The pad of one fingertip grazes Scott's face. Super gently. Just a single finger. Just to check. This… not okay?

Again, Scott places two fingers to Scar's wrist and nudges his hand just far enough away that there's a sliver of empty air between them. Still doesn't look at him; almost whistling, though his tongue's actually in his cheek. Humming. Kind of bouncing on his heels. Licks his lips just once. Doesn't say a thing. We can be silly, Scar… but only if you don't touch.

Gotcha. Scar dissolves back into roleplay like he never left it; like he's a fish and that's his ocean blue. "Oh, what a sca-a-a-andal it would be! Two mayoral candidates slipping off for seven little minutes in the office… Why, imagine the headlines! I don't think I could look Jellie in the eye for a month!"

"Mm," says Scott. "Yes, poor Jellie cat. Ah, see… I feel no shame. But you'd ruin me, Scar… I can't come back from that. And think of what our boss would say."

"If we're late," Scar presses, "I can tell them it was all my fault. You don't have to get in trouble. You're a perfect man, but I'm a fidgety troublemaker who can't keep his thoughts to himself. You know my eyeballs wander. You know my hearts flutter free. You're a perfect man, Scott."

"You could stand to remind me more often. But no… I couldn't. I'm on the clock, Scar, and sneaking off would be a very bad idea."

"What about after play tonight?"

"No, I have to work."

"You always have to work."

"Yeah, I do, but really this time. The MCC team assignments go out this weekend. I've only got a few days to finish."

"That's important," Scar agrees. "If you cancel MCC, you'd be cutting off my access to smoothies completely, and you wouldn't deny a man his smoothies. I've been a champion, I'll have you know. Now, you're a cruel, cruel man, but not heartless. Can you be bribed? I want a good team."

"Well, that depends on what you're offering… Perhaps, Mr. GoodTime, if you ask me very nicely, and you do everything I say, then maybe… I could be tempted to make an exception to the rules. But did you want the best MCC team, or did you want blocks from the outside world?"

Wrong thing to say, apparently. It splits Scar right out of character. His eyes light up like a beacon on emerald. "Wait- Can we?"

"Scar!"

"Right, right! I'm clearing my mind! Just got me excited; just dwelling on my fantasies… Okay, but really. All serious now. Would you, for blocks?"

Scott rolls his eyes and turns away, brushing Scar's cane aside with the back of his hand. "You'll someday be the ruin of me, GTWS… And you're making us very late."

"Just a screenshot of the blocks?" Scar wheedles, ducking forward. His feet shuffle, interrupted by only occasional taps of his cane. "Scott, you wouldn't keep an artist from his blocks! Why, that's inhumane! And me, a poooooor, innocent man! I have a Jellie to provide for back home!" Then, in one last attempt to sweeten the pot, "I'll let you rub my hair. Oh- and did I mention these abs are 100% real? That's 10% a whole 10 times. It's all from hard work and sweat and tears; not any modded code."

Scott spares him a glance in F5 on instinct, then mentally slaps himself and switches forward again. "Nooo… You'd involve me in a crime, Scar. It's against the rules to bring banned blocks to this side of the border. I'd be in shambles… And that's what you really want from me, I think. Look… You'll be free to look at blocks if you win the election. If you become our mayor, then the station's fate will be up to you."

"But Scott," he whines, "you always win…"

"Yeah. That's because I don't bend the rules by passing out banned blocks."

They're mere steps from the door, but Scar persists. "There has to be one that's pretty, even if you hate the rest. Even endstone's sometimes nice… when it's the middle of the night and a few chunks away. Can I get a hint? Even if it's just a color?"

"Well, I don't really think about the blocks. See, if the people can't trust me not to take a block, then they wouldn't trust me with the city. It's politics, Scar." (He's always thinking about the blocks.)

"I'd go out there," Scar decides. "I know you constructed massive, towering buildings on every side of us, but I can clip through the back walls and I'll figure out what's on the other side. I'll snatch up blocks by the shulkerful. And that's going on my campaign posters. Oh, mark my words."

"Okay, then. That's fine."

Scar grabs him by the wrist, and Scott almost loses it in a fritz-out. He jumps. Breath bursts out in a gasp. He whips around, yanking back his wrist, but Scar doesn't let go and the movement jolts their bodies together. They collide in a crinkle of hitboxes. It buffers them slightly back. But Scar moves forward again, this time less wildly, and Scott's backed against the quartz office wall with nowhere to run. Scar is so big and so tall and so, so strong. Much too strong. Um. Scott grips onto Scar's rumpled jacket like a rope ladder in a thunderstorm. And he's shaking, he's shaking, because his fingertips are only separated from one of Scar's chronic torso glitches by a thin piece of fabric; nothing more. He can feel the jump and twitch of it beneath his shirt. It's game over if that man switches skins. Game over, corrupted, and no return.

"S-S-Scar…"

Scar chuckles, tipping his hat. "Why, your quivery little hearts are beating so very quickly for a man who doesn't break character, Mayor 1995. You've been holding out on me; I didn't know you felt that way!"

He's teasing; he's playing. He's got his roleplay boots on; big Yes And stamped across his eyes. Hh… hhh…

Scott triple blinks at him, searching through his inventory of excuses for some way out. He lets go of Scar's jacket, because that's the easiest part of this, though Scar's still got his hitbox all over him. Scott pats the wall behind him until he finds the button that swishes open the iron door. It's the side door. There's no one to bother them over here, for better or worse.

"N-n-nether star… Nether star."

Scar blinks at the sound of the safeword. Scott holds the button, not breaking eye contact, until Scar flicks his gaze to the entryway. That big, sexy man tips his hat and oozes off. But it's only once the very corners of his hitbox slip away that Scott lets out a puff of breath. He leans forward, grabbing at his chest. His wings fidget in their little jacket pockets.

Don't let him get that close again.

He should just communicate. He really, really should. But it's scary outside the closet. Easier to hide the wings and pretend he's nothing neat at all. It just is.

Not many of his friends know he's an allay hybrid. Just a few; just the very closest. Bdubs and Tango know. And Martyn, on accident (too aggressive; too curious for his own good). And Cleo, because even though he doesn't see them as often as he'd like to, Scott would bring the world down for them. See, he's Cleo's allay, but that's a secret you don't whisper outside of certain doors. He chose Cleo as his partner - ripped himself away from Pearl (with consent; Pearl consented; tried to share them; ended badly; don't talk about it) - and he wants to bring Cleo pretty blocks. Cleo, like him and Scar, is entranced by very pretty things. Cleo tries very hard to remind him not to bend the rules, even though he slumps against the only window in the city sometimes and stares at all the blocks he longs to touch.

They'll break up, maybe, if he becomes a vex. Or they might not break up, but things probably wouldn't be the same. Do vexes get those same pining urges that allay do? Flickers of limerence and squishes up their skin? He could ask Scar, but Scar will get too curious about why he's asking, and all the other vex that Scott knows would corrupt him on purpose because they're predators, and that's what they do when they sniff out an allay.

Not literally. They probably wouldn't. But it's hard to escape the intrusive thoughts at night. The nightmares. There aren't a lot of allay hybrid players left anymore, you know, and he hasn't seen any since the station went up. The anarchy players corrupted oodles of them. Allays are living target blocks. Love 'em, but it's true. It's safer inside New Star Station.

It's safer inside the closet where he can lock the door.

"Scar," he says, pulling Grian's incident reports out from under his jacket. He steps into the building behind him. Scar looks over at him from the other hall (Everything corrupted players need is kept on the bottom floor; just easier that way; it's good design; he aced every city design class he ever took). Scott tilts up his head, roleplaying a character who isn't shaking. "D- do you know where you're going? Um. Is it okay if I go upstairs to drop off the paperwork?"

"I certainly do. Thank you very kindly for the walk and talk! I'll be out after I've signed my name. In fact, I should apply for the HALO team, I can sign my name so well!"

Scott gives the faintest nod. And he climbs the stairs to his office full of very pretty blocks, which is excessively illegal and he excessively doesn't care. Get hashtag Corrupt official trending if you must. He built this city; he'll win the election anyway. And if he fails, just bury him in hazel wood and crabapple leaves. He's too cute to live for anyone besides himself. No thank you.

His office is on the third floor. But once he crests the stairs, he claps one hand to his mouth. The squeak that leaves him is pathetic- would mark him as an allay in an instant, if you're in the know. It's a chime, a jingle, a distress call to lift the hackles on any non-vex player, and every piece of paper scatters from his hands. They swirl like cherry petals. How fitting. There's a cherry wood sign hanging from his office doorknob.

Smajor1995, it reads, plain as day. The letters are pristine. Scott takes one step back down the stairs, reaching out to hug the hand rail. My office after you finish playing with your friends tonight. I'm not mad, but we need to talk.

💚  💛  ❤️

Smajor1995 - Glow Squid

Quarry: Renthedog

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: Sushi Boys

New Star Station is encased in a solid block of bedrock: subtle enough to blend with the lumpy floor and eternally unremarkable. One tile in. No way out. Not without command blocks, anyway, and Scott downloaded his on the panel in his office and broke that block for good. New Star is a safe haven. If you didn't bring chorus fruit, you're not even getting near it. It's safer that way, but living under bedrock curdles the air. Makes it musty down there in the deep. When Scott logs in again, stepping out of the in-between and onto the grass, he arcs one arm behind him and takes a deep, deep whiff.

Oh, I could never hole up in my office for good and deny the touch of clean, fresh air…

His back muscles twitch with phantom wing stretches. It's a shame he doesn't get to use his wings more often in the station. But it's not just vex players like Scar he has to skirt around. There are evoker players too, see. Scar defends them - Scar's hopelessly tangled in the charming chirps and tugs of one of them - and Scott simply tries not to form opinions. He may be flippant with his honor when pushed into situations, but he isn't cruel. He doesn't hate evokers. Again, it's just safer in the closet. So he holds onto that tiny key.

It's still a blustery cold night on the server, full of lashing wind. Especially down here where the bamboo and jungle trees don't block it out. And especially when the skin he's using for this has completely bare feet. Scott shrinks into his shoulders, his eyes squeezed shut and palms against his shirt, as the wind whips his jacket forward. It's his green jacket, designed specifically for this game. He's got a sequin-coated yellow on standby just in case. Should he turn down ambient noises? The flapping fabric is going to drive him insane. Even the four beads on his necklace string are clacking together.

Welcome back to Dog's Life; here we go again…

A black and white chicken by his foot gives a squawk, rustling its wings. He's got seeds in one fist. Right. Two or three minutes before the reload, this is exactly what he was doing. This time, Scott crouches on his heels and holds out his palm. The chicken hustles up to him and pecks at his hand like it's on 1.75 speed. Scott chuckles, wrapping one curl of hair behind his ear. The air tastes slightly salty - stinging - and brims with hints of tropical warmth underneath the moon and wind. He feeds the chicken all the seeds, then picks it up and tucks it under his arm. Chubby and pacified, the chicken nuzzles at his sleeve.

"Skiiiiizzzz! Skizz, are you around here?"

The wind carries his voice off like a ribbon. He can hear rustling bodies in the edge of the bamboo (some possibly fellow hybrids, others heavy- maybe zombies or cows). Scott scratches the chicken under its fluffy neck, turning a careful circle. He's still got glow squid traits mingled with his code. They show in the tendrils coiled at his back. He's putting out a faint amount of light, which he actually doesn't mind. He doesn't have to hold a torch to see. Skizz is probably down in the cave, or barring that, he's near the mouth of the ravine. Scott ducks his head, running forward in a crouch with the chicken under his arm. If anybody gets too close, he can snap those hidden tentacles at him. And if he jumps in the water, he'll outspeed everyone. Except maybe a dolphin. And he's still questioning what axolotls do, and whether Skizz will throw one in the lava just because he can.

I'm glittery, he notes in amusement. A scatter of blue sparkles dances behind him while he runs. Good note. Not the mob he'd want to mesh with when he's sneaking around.

The chicken clucks, ruffling its freckled feathers. Scott bends his neck to nuzzle its little head.

GoodTimesWithScar stole the traits of Creeper

The server doesn't crash. As it shouldn't. Grian's been running tests with Scar for an hour. Still, Scott breathes a long sigh of relief.

The first time he ran across Skizz was pure coincidence. Same lavafall. Same time of night. He can still feel that cold stone under his heels. They postured and poised a bit, bantering back and forth with silly little quips he's already forgotten, but will probably slap into his episode anyway because his camera twin caught everything (autosave reboot or not). It's still canon in his hearts. Skizz had an axolotl in a bucket for most of it, which Scott wasn't sure how to react to (either in or out of character). Especially since they were both out there admiring the glimmer of lava. He just kept throwing it sideways glances, waiting for the inevitable betrayal of Skizz to throw it out and fry it up. Maybe axolotls give you extra speed.

This time, he doesn't make it all the way to lava. Skizz is making mouth noises. Scott picks out his voice - can pick out every voice; he's master of the station - and veers between the bamboo stalks. The bamboo is filled with spiders, whose eyes twinkle ruby in the dark, but the spiders are too big to fit through the stalks easily, so they won't expend energy in pursuit unless he strays too close. If the noises aren't from Skizz and/or Skizz doesn't want to play, then Scott will go along with it, maybe tumble into a new storyline… but it would feel wrong to abandon him without talking about it first. But as he hurries along, bare feet sliding in podzol and his only free hand fumbling to catch himself, Scott lets out a breath. He can see a twinkle up ahead. The fact that it's Skizz becomes undeniable. Torches glow a low orange-yellow. Skizz's halo glows pure white. Turns out, his whole outfit is pure white, minus the golden trim.

He doesn't know what to expect. Maybe two axolotls- a sort of Pufferish of Peace offering with a different type of water creature. But the end result is even worse.

"Oh. My… SKIZZ!" He huffs upward, spitting out his hair. Careful with the chicken, Scott sets his hands to his hips and gives his head a shake. "Is this all you've been doing since we reset the server?"

The man carved out an opening between the bamboo stems, like a glade. It's awful, in that Can I even leave this in my episode? sort of way. I mean, the man put down a bed, for crying out loud, with pristine brown sheets. Cocoa bean dye. Who stops to grab cocoa beans on Night 1? Skizz is lying on his side, one hand propping up his chin. Two sheep nuzzle the podzol in search of grass, bodies bare apart from their chocolate-colored tails and legwarmers (the shearer responsible overlooked those spots, apparently). They shake their cold selves against the wind.

Grian stole the traits of Bee

LDShadowLady: You killed a bee?

Grian: it looked at me funny

Skizz didn't have honeycomb to craft candles with. He used torches, which he sprinkled in a circle around the glade. Maybe he really has been doing this since they logged in again. Scott turns his face away, shielding the chicken's eyes with his palm. "Oh… my… Did- Did you just have that skin on hand?"

It's not his Naked and Scared underpants, thank everything. But the gold-trimmed angel robes are rumpled in a way that doesn't leave much more to the imagination. Well, actually, that's not fair… Skizz's usual suit and tie combo doesn't have sleeves either, so he isn't showing anything special besides a little cut of leg. And Scott's no stranger to seeing this man strip down a little more on red life, ready to box and wrestle with his abs on display. Fine. He'll forgive the loose-fitting robes. All things considered, Skizz is showing a lot of restraint in covering himself as much as he is now.

LDShadowLady stole the traits of Zombie

Smallishbeans: Oi Lizzie

Smallishbeans: Someone looking at you funny?

Skizz's also got shears on a piece of string, dangling from his fingertip. They glint his halo glow straight into Scott's face. He twitches. Skizz is beaming like a little baby lighthouse, making direct eye contact, and Scott doesn't have a planned response for that.

InTheLittleWood: it's me sorry

A burst of gibberish in the chat from Joel, indicating laughter instead of rage.

Four seasons. Four seasons he's known this man (a lifetime and a raid he's known this man) and Skizz has never managed to hold eye contact before. Always twitches away, or stares at an empty space beside you. But not now? Um…

Would a Congratulations be offensive? This is big, for Skizz. This is huge. Scott clicks a mental selection menu through every possible response, then discards all of them. They really do make mods for everything these days, he says to himself, and leaves it at that. Old Skizz is dead. Skizz wants old Skizz dead. So Scott takes two heartbeats to be shocked about the eye contact, then adapts without acknowledgment.

"I just… Have you just been waiting for me?" Repetitive. Required. He only says it to ground himself again (Not thinking about where Skizz got his newest line of blatantly modded code or who his dealer is; not thinking about the chinks in the bedrock walls where New Star Station is apparently exposed to the outside world; he can stop being the mayor for a little while and take a night to play). He's in character. "Skiiizzzzz… You, sir, are very lucky I lost my axe during break. And what if I didn't come back?"

Skizz swirls the shears around his finger on their string, smiling because he's a holiday lawn ornament personified. Scott shakes his head. It's ridiculous, all of it… The bed with its cocoa brown sheets. The hungry sheep. The cool night and toothy wind. And Skizz only smirks, not moving by a pixel. Not even to tug the hem of his robes a little bit lower down his leg. His toes flex against his golden sandals.

This is awful. This needs to get censored. Not for indecency, but because it's… Hm. Well. He's already exhausted. Everyone in this game's a massive pain. Between the wobbly canon of the server glitch and Skizz being Skizz, his cam twin won't have enough footage for an episode.

"Everyone comes back," says Skizzleman, matter of fact. Scott believes him. Skizz threw himself at the books; he knows a lot of facts, he knows the ones that Scott thinks matter most, and he knows how to take him down twenty notches in a single blow. Skizz is ancient; Skizz has always been there on the sidelines. He glimmers in his smiles and keeps swinging the shears around. "People just can't get enough of me. It's beautiful! I'm everybody's fantasy, Scott, and I pull my weight. I bring sheep and torches to this relationship."

"Oh, wow," Scott says, feigning idle disinterest. Okay. "Um… Actually, I was hoping we maybe broke up after the server glitch. As base-together partners. See, it sounds like we want to run separate customer service establishments. We can still be allies, though. I don't mind."

Etho stole the traits of Enderman

Skizz laughs, scootching and sitting up for the first time like a man in a museum painting. The shears vanish into his inventory with a sparkle. He's posturing again, and he deserves to. Everyone likes playing with Skizz. There's no one on this server he hasn't sent into giggles; no one who doesn't adore him. Skizz leans back, swishing fingers through his mussy brown hair. "Not likely, Major! We're partners this series, and loyal partners stick together to the end."

Then he yelps. One of the sheep pushes its snout against his hair, licking at the stubble down his cheek. Skizz flaps his hands at it, making noises (always making noises; insulting the sheep; calling it stupid) and, well… the alliance stays. Scott shakes his head again, standing there with a salt and pepper chicken wriggling against his armpit. "Oh, dearrr… And do I dare ask what happened to your axolotl?" It's not dead, anyway. Skizz is still part salmon. He still has webbed fingers and skinny gills hidden against his neck- little marks that represent his borrowed hybrid traits more than they actually function. The code does all the work anyway.

But they do look good. It's a funny combination: an angel with gills and a glowing halo. No wings in this world, though… Scott can only imagine that he'd look ridiculous with both webbed hands and feathered wings.

"That's not for you," says Skizz, shoving the sheep away. Uh. The axolotl? What's that supposed to mean? Is there a third party involved that Skizz is keeping under wraps? A secret alliance? Scott values his independence. He doesn't like basing with more than one other person at a time. He'll make an exception for Cleo… but nobody else. At least not yet.

Renthedog stole the traits of Skeleton

"But the sheep," Scott checks. "The sheep are for me?" It's hard to turn away a man who can offer free sheep. While he can't be sure if Skizz has any actual food on him, he does have a bed, and a bed is necessary for warding phantoms off. Scott doesn't mind the phantoms so much, actually, but wants a bed more for its base mechanic of forming a respawn point away from central spawn. In a game like this, it feels especially wise to be cautious. Thus far, Scott has seen no reason why a determined hunter wouldn't choose to wait at spawn for their quarry to respawn and kill them in a death loop… apart from the fact that it might be considered "dull content" or "cheeky and unfair." Scott never gets to see the polished content that his cam twin flits away with - not really, anyway - but on some level, he's grateful it exists. In this world of storytelling, the poet is king.

"I brought them all the way out here for you, buddy!"

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Creeper

"You dyed them," says Scott, moving forward to pat one of the sheep on the nose. He's always preferred cows to sheep, but this one's actually rather cute. It bleats and nips at the hem of his shirt.

Skizz flops against the sheep, embracing its quick-growing chocolate-colored wool. "It just seemed more fun that way."

Scott can relate. Skizz, like him, was once obsessed with stealing pretty things.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Skeleton

"You lead the sheep to our new base, then. I'll fend off mobs and hold the chicken. Um. Do you remember where we were headed before the server glitch?"

"West. And we broke a few blocks to make steps out of the ravine."

impulseSV stole the traits of Enderman

"Oh, the ravine… You know, I almost forgot about the ravine."

"It was just a shallow one. But the lagoon's just up the hill and I was thinking we could set up there."

"There aren't fish in the lagoon. I'm building a sushi restaurant. We have to be near-"

Smallishbeans was doomed to fall by impulseSV

They both wince at the crackle of a death message in their ears. "Oh," says Scott. The chat erupts like baking soda and vinegar. "Well, that took no time at all."

Skizz laughs. "Well, Joel was onto him from the start; that's what I heard during break." He whips out his communicator, tongue already prancing on his lips. He's busy. Scott turns away, drawing his painfully wooden sword (and not even a good one; it's off-center; he was in a rush). He scans the bamboo stalks for creeping mobs.

impulseSV: that's a quarry :)

Skizzleman: first blood! that's my buddy!!

impulseSV: :D

Scott wishes he could turn off the communicator sometimes, but it lives rent-free inside his head and almost never lags. There's just… something about watching Impulse throw around smiley faces like he's a "good little boy" that makes his stomach twist in balloon animal knots. And he doesn't mean to - he really doesn't mean to - but he glances over his shoulder at Skizz, who didn't use to be an angel. Because Impulse didn't use to be a demon.

Not on the outside, at least. That man's soul is still the same, even though he's bandaged it in self-taught code.

Smallishbeans: WHO PICKED THIS BLOODY SEED?!?? What the heck is that horrid drop?

Smallishbeans: Have you seen that cave Grian?

PearlescentMoon: Cave's haunted

ZombieCleo: Getting a bit of deja vu here

Renthedog: We should really put up a wet floor sign

Grian: get pancaked, gravity boy

Etho: xD

Smallishbeans: don't patronize me etho

Smallishbeans: whatever

(Scott can tell he's holding back. That he wants to type idgaf because he's simmering; he knows this man too well.)

Smallishbeans: gg Impulse

impulseSV: <3 ty!

Hhh. The heart. This man's beating him over the head with it on a server where helmets aren't allowed. Scott will pretend a thousand times he hasn't memorized Impulse's howling laughter, or the way that man licked his claws while standing among blue spirit flames. And he will pretend he never knew the old Jimmy or the old Joel or the old BigB or any of the other players whose hybrid traits don't stem from natural game mobs. Because Scott is an allay hybrid, and he is very, very afraid of them. But he'll take those memories to his offline grave… because his friends (these days) breathe through different hearts.

One of the spiders high in the bamboo stalks has a skeleton perched atop its back. Scott frowns at it, fingers drumming on the hilt of his sword. He didn't have any leather to make a nice grip for it. He's using the bare minimum in terms of resources until he has time to circle back for iron. First race had been to find a few animals before his fellow players killed them all. Second had been to touch base with Skizz. The iron can wait until they build the most simple of bases, which will consist of a torch and a hole in the ground for the chicken and sheep.

That spider jockey's eyeing him up. Hm. The glow squid may be an aesthetic mob in the darkness, but its traits won't do him any good in a fight.

Well, at least I only have to hold off one enemy like this. Once I absorb its traits, I might be stronger. Maybe a skeleton with infinity on my bow.

Smallishbeans stole the traits of Creeper

"I need sand," Scott says, slicing his way through the swaying bamboo. The stalks tremble, rattling around, and irritated skeletons and spiders click noises in his direction. But he needs a path big enough for Skizz and the sheep, and Skizz is having a heckuva time trying to push them without any wheat in his hand to guide them with. "Sand and sugarcane. I think I won't be base building today. I'm going to take a run around and see what I can find before it's all gone."

Tango stole the traits of Skeleton

Skizz bobs his head. "I'll get wood for fences. I can start putting down an outline of the building shape."

"I'd sort of like a say in it." He'd sort of like to build all of it. "I have to live here too, you know." Scott breaks free of the bamboo, stepping back into the wind. His chicken clucks with regret and pulls in its flailing feet. Scott levels his sword into the darkness. "That way, I think. West. The river is west side of spawn, running south to north. We can swim across if you'd rather. In fact, that might make it less likely we get bothered by other players. I think we cross it."

"Good-bye, sweet lagoon," Skizz says, exhaling like an injured man. Nonetheless, he forces the sheep along. Scott stops him after a few steps, because getting the sheep to move is a lot harder out here in the wind than it was when they were shuttling them between bamboo. They leave the sheep in a hole, which Skizz marks with a skumpass (one cobble block, two torches). Scott's pretty sure the sheep being only a couple blocks down will work against them and someone will come along eventually and dig them up, but it's the best they can do without wheat for now. He'll plant the seeds as soon as he can.

PearlescentMoon stole the traits of Bat

"Swim or bridge?" Scott asks when they find the river again. It's much wider than he remembered. The chicken's already getting fussy, reluctant to comply for this long without another nibble of seeds. Skizz fishes in his inventory, then offers it a handful. He glances at the water. Scott watches his tongue press against the inside of his cheek.

"Uhh… I don't have blocks."

"I guess we're both sea creatures anyway." Scott wishes there were a way to stuff the chicken inside his jacket and make it disappear. He lowers himself on the edge of the river bank and dips in his feet. It isn't pretty water. At least not at night. It's dirty, swirling with podzol, but at least it isn't cold. Must be a lukewarm ocean nearby. That would explain the jungle plants, and especially the "massive lush cave" everyone's been gushing on about in chat.

Scott drops into the water and instantly goes under. It's not too dark down here. Part of that's his natural night vision. The other part seems to be his cyan blue hair. It glows, apparently, which he keeps forgetting, but now that he's underwater and his hair is drifting - and he's the main light source - it's much more obvious. There aren't a lot of fish around here, but a salmon turns tail and swims away. Scott waits, testing how long he can stay below the surface.

His air bubbles stay full. The chicken flails, but he wraps it in two glow squid tentacles and paddles to the other shore. Skizz swan-dives after him. He's graceful; he does a swishy, swirling flip.

Good for him. He doesn't care. This isn't about him.

Pat pat.

It's the soft scuff of a punching sound effect underwater. Scott, nearly to the shore, looks back. He can see perfectly well in the dark water despite the kelp and grime. Skizz has his fist in the palm of his other hand, tapping out the universal Look at me sign in diver's code. Then he signs out (Slowly, unaware Scott's fluent, apparently) Underwater castle?

Scott shakes his head and kicks his way to the shore. The chicken is fighting. Scott sort of shoves it forward with his hand, then lays his cheek against the grass for just a moment, gathering his strength. Skizz pops up beside him, spewing water. "Why not?" he asks, about the castle.

"Because it's not smart to build a base we'll struggle to access once we're using different mob traits… and I made plans this week to build a sushi restaurant."

"If you're killing fish for sushi, you'll always have aquatic mob traits."

"Well, that's… true… Okay. We can keep our valuables chest underwater. But that's it, Skizz."

MumboJumbo stole the traits of Zombie

"We could be beaver people," Skizz says, already having lost interest in pushing the castle angle. He hauls himself up onto the shore, then turns and grips Scott's wrists, pulling him out too. "You've heard of beavers, right? They build lodges with the entrances underwater so predators have a hard time getting in. Let's be beavers."

"But I'm building a restaurant."

"You don't think you'll get business underwater? What about shark people? Shark people have to eat too."

"Sharks aren't a natural mob, Skizz. No one in this game will ever be a shark."

Skizz looks confused, and Scott pretends that doesn't whack him down 9 mental hearts of damage. Skizz may have lived in First Moon City once, but he and Scott grew up with different friends. Skizz's friends took a very hard left turn. Skizz is friends with Impulse, and Impulse giggled while the old city burned, and it's safer in the closet- safer to deflect with sass and build your mental walls. Scott's got every brick in the template down to a T.

Scott yanks his hands away. He shakes them out so they spray water in all directions. He says something about how he wants to build something nice and that Joel will be a monster if he burns it down again. See, staying in character is easy when you pretend nothing ever ruffles you. Scott is done running. He'll bury himself alive in work. Work his pretty little wings off if that's what the people want. He'll plant his feet and deflect, and deflect, and deflect. He's not a target. He's stable, see? The man who's thrust stakes into a little bit of everything is standing cheerfully on steady ground.

"Right," says Skizz, taking his turn with the chicken. He's soaked. He's dripping all over it. They're both all wet. Wind's cold. They're out by plains and sparse oak trees now, which means no more bamboo to block it. Scott fumbles through his inventory for his crafting table and rolls it across his knuckles. Where's a good place to set it up? He starts walking down the shore, and Skizz, almost desperate, calls out, "What kind of resources do you want, homie? I can look around."

"I need smooth stone for my cutting board. Not wood, with raw meat. It spreads bad particles to other food."

"But… you're making sushi."

"I don't know, Skizz… I'm going out to look for sugarcane." There aren't enough fish in the river. Scott wanders upriver for a few minutes, Skizz tailing him with the chicken the whole time, then finally just picks a random place (mostly for its strip of sand) and tosses his tiny crafting table a couple blocks away. It pops up once it hits the ground. Scott leans against it, nails drumming. That snaps Skizz to attention. He copies the noise against his leg with whispered fingers. Scott pulls out a handful of wood, breaking it to sticks with his left hand, and says, "We'll need some better tools-"

"Did you hear that?" Skizz blurts in the middle of his explanation. Scott trails off. Night mobs are rustling around the edge of their awareness. Bones click. Spiders squeak. But those are normal night ambient sounds. The chicken clucks, pecking at Skizz's arm.

Skizz isn't looking at him. He puts the chicken on the grass. He digs a hole. The chicken gets nudged inside and he plops a dirt block over the top. Skizz straightens up. He reaches out, plucks two sticks from Scott's hand, and hovers by the crafting table.

What's he doing?

They both stare back the way they came, past the grass and flowers over to a pair of oak trees. The tentacles curled against Scott's back start tensing up, ready for a little smacking of their own. He draws his off-center sword. Then Skizz leans down and starts tapping out a rhythm against the block. Tun tun tun; tun-tun tun-tun tun-

"All right, all right, you got me!" says a ruffled, high-pitched sort of voice. Impulse steps out from behind the trees, holding his hands up in surrender. Skizz flinches back, clenching his drumsticks, and Scott doesn't even blame him. In the dark, with purple eyes glowing, Impulse looks exactly like an enderman. Even though he's not. Scott steps in front of Skizz, holding the sword. Impulse stays a chunk away, but crosses his arms as he sizes them up.

"Wait," says Scott. He vaporizes the sword in a flash of sparkles. "It's okay, Skizz. He's hunting Joel, not us. He's on purple life."

"I knew it was you," says Skizz, eyes still averted. "Me and you both tapped the beat after Scott."

"Yeah, well…" Impulse moves in a slanted line, skirting around them. It's not a circle. The arms stay folded across his chest. "What are you two up to? I see you crossed the river. Looks like you two've got a nice place set up away from spawn. Smart."

Scott watches Skizz's brain stall, an imaginary loop-de-loop circling around and around on the back of his head. He fidgets with the edge of his robes. Impulse looks at them in humming anticipation, no longer moving forward. He rocks back and forth on his toes. He's got natural shoes in this skin, but no actual boots. No armor at all, actually. Just a black T-shirt with a big yellow i smack in the middle.

"Nothing much yet," says Scott. Is… is Impulse trying to wheedle into their basing plans? Scott's not good in groups of three. He's tolerating Skizz, and Skizz seems charmingly aware he's being tolerated. But Skizz and Impulse? Both of them? Scott sets his feet. No. Absolutely not.

It would be nice, maybe, if he'd taken the time to research a little more about the guy. Should have loaded Impulse's player file before he came back from break. He'd been too busy reviewing Skizz's to even consider the best friend. The ringleader. The alpha male. The alpha male who everybody knows is the big, brooding alpha male in this game of life and death, even when Impulse flitters and huffs and ducks away smiling and plays a little coy. Impulse doesn't have his demon horns or wings or claws here on Dog's Life, but he's still a big, rough man. He's not as chiseled as Scar, but he's a megabase builder as his day job. Like… Not just an architect selling services at the station, but the kind who's all-in, proud of what he does, and records every bit of the work. This man works with heavy blocks. Extremely heavy blocks.

And it shows.

Impulse's enderman-violet eyes dance like lightning over water. "That's perfect! Come on; let's go hunting. Half the server's down in the lush cave. Who've you got as quarry? They're probably down there right now. You can get some easy kills."

He oozes forward. Scott leans away. He's still dripping wet and the wind hasn't gotten any less cold. Should I draw my sword again? There's not much point, even if holding a weapon might stabilize his beating hearts. Impulse is on purple life. Taking a swipe at him would be against the rules.

Skizz slides an arm across Scott's chest. Which is quite funny, actually, because they've already agreed Impulse can't hurt them. Scott can feel the tremor in his partner's fingers. Impulse, however, saunters closer. That man can't read the freakin' room.

"We're not really allies, though," Scott points out, "so revealing who my quarry is doesn't seem like a smart idea. Maybe another time. Ah, we need to gather resources tonight." Hesitantly, "Do… you want to go looking for sugarcane with me?"

Impulse shakes his head, never pulling his eyes from Skizz's face. "Have you seen that cave yet, Skizz? There's a mineshaft in it. Lots of tropical fish falling from the ceiling. Glowberries everywhere. Lots of mobs. Enormous place. Joel was furious when he died and Pearl looted all his stuff."

Ah. Now it's clicking. Impulse's voice gets a little too high when he's dancing around the truth. Scott reaches out to thread Skizz's fingers through his own. He gives one firm tug to pull Skizz behind the crafting table. "Yeah, so… Impulse, I don't think we're about to go anywhere with you… It just sounds like you're trying to lure us into getting quarry killed."

"Hm, well…" Impulse doesn't seem to care. He starts walking sideways around their little camp of crafting table and… well, nothing else yet. Impulse walks like he has no fear. His eyes sparkle the whole way. He keeps them trained on Scott, probably because Skizz is fidgeting and staring at the ground. Impulse tilts his head. He stops moving. Scott's eyes dart down to the dirt, then back up to Impulse. The dirt block Impulse chose to stand on was probably intentional, especially if he followed them all the way upriver. Scott whips out his sword in a flash of light, but what's he meant to do? He can't engage.

"Impulse, don't make pointless enemies on Episode 1…"

Impulse summons his shovel and digs the block up anyway. Scott leaps forward, sword extended, but Impulse is on purple life. Scott, helpless, can only stand there as Impulse switches to his sword. There's a swing. A squawk.

impulseSV stole the traits of Chicken

"Hey!" Skizz yells, and Scott clenches his teeth. At least we left the sheep in a hole on the other side of the river… I don't remember a message in the chat saying anybody's killed them.

"Do I have any recourse?" he grumbles, clenching and unclenching the sword hilt. "Surely I'm allowed… You, Impulse, are horrific today."

Impulse hops back out of the hole, brushing dirt from the white feathers already sprouting down his arms. "Well, if you change your mind about hunting anyone, you know where to find me. You might want to act soon, though. The more times your quarry dies to natural causes, the fewer times you can be the reason why, and the shorter your purple life."

"Yes, um… I'm very familiar with the mechanics of the game, thank you…"

"Mean. You're mean, you know. I'm just making a suggestion." Impulse rolls his shoulders, sheathing the sword in a fluid motion just for dramatic effect. It sparks and vanishes into his inventory regardless of the gesture. "You two have fun! See ya around."

Skizz moves towards the chicken hole, crouching down on one knee. He grips the edges of it and stares down in silence. "I'M the mean one?" Scott calls after Impulse. "You've killed our only chicken! Our only one!"

The man keeps walking, making no attempt to hurry or hide behind the trees in the area. Nor, Scott realizes with a twitching frown, had Impulse been skittish around either one of them. They both knew he was hunting Joel. He got to purple life by taking down a quarry. But he'd just walked right up to two people, no idea whether or not they could take him back down to green, and he didn't even flash a weapon. Well. Not at them.

"He's acting a bit off, I think," he says to Skizz. "The man thinks he's invincible."

It takes a few seconds to get an answer. Skizz pushes his hand across his face, breathing carefully, and finally tears his eyes from the empty hole. "Yeah… Something's up. I think he's got a fresh alliance crew and he's trying to lure in a couple early quarry kills. We'll have to notice who comes after us down the road. Whoever's hunting us is probably his new best friend."

"Mmhm. Bad luck of the draw, I guess, to have him come after us."

"Not 'bad luck.' He's just messing with me."

They watch in silence until Impulse wanders out of render distance. A clatter of bones. The tug of a drawstring. The fwip of an arrow. Impulse laughs and takes off running, then vanishes into the night.

impulseSV stole the traits of Skeleton

"Oh, come on!" Skizz screams, cupping both hands around his mouth. "What? So our chicken wasn't even good enough for you? You piece of JERK!"

Impulse's flitty giggles set Scott's hair on end. "I don't like him," he decides. "He dies first when I get down to red." Finally, he turns his attention back to the crafting table. "Well, we have no chicken… and we have no wheat for our sheep." Scott crafts a wooden hoe on the table and tosses it at Skizz, who thankfully takes the hint and gets to work clearing long grass so they can start a little farm. "Ah, we need some better tools. Iron. Stuff like that. And lots of coal, for torches."

"I'm an expert with torches."

"Yes, I've seen your handiwork with the skumpasses. Let's see. Um. Can you start mining around here while I make a loop around the border for sugarcane?" Sugarcane is used to make paper, which he needs for TNT (in the Life series, they play with a custom recipe that's less gunpowder-heavy than the vanilla game). He and Skizz are still on green life, obviously, but if you don't play aggressively in this game, you're in for a bad time. Grian will be looking for sugarcane. And Joel, and Etho, and Cleo, and a lot of other people.

Distantly, through the achievements popping up in chat, Scott realizes Pearl is playing with diamonds and lava. Hm. Is she full steam ahead towards the Nether? Scott completely forgot to consider Nether mobs in his loose outline for how he intended this season to go.

It doesn't matter. I'm killing fish. At least, everyone in chat should assume he's killing fish all season. He'd like to build a stockpile upfront. If he's loud and annoying about his restaurant, he'll solidify himself as the guy with fish mob traits. The chat logs will out him when he changes, but he hopes they all forget. He'd like to startle someone by being something they won't expect. That would be funny, he thinks. He starts nesting shrunken blocks of wood in the crafting table slots, putting together a little chest.

"I can do tools," says Skizz, staring regretfully at the hole Impulse left in the ground. "Are you sure you don't want me to come watch for mobs and hunters with you? Or I can start outlining a floor plan."

"No… mining will be fine." Scott thunks down the chest beside his crafting table. Skizz, reluctantly playing along with their temporary campsite, plants a torch on the ground. Scott doesn't have much in his inventory, but he picked up loose bamboo. He's got a couple blocks. No lava. He arranges things inside the chest pockets, patting the little bags and calculating what he's got. He takes a bit of cobblestone and starts to build a furnace. He doesn't have any coal.

"Are you sure?" Skizz is walking off towards the oak trees where Impulse had first been lurking. It's impossible to ignore him. His halo's stupid. It doesn't suit him at all. The light makes his white robes glow, which means it would be incredibly easy to land an arrow in the small of his back. "I can help with the build. I know a lot about effective restaurant design. Um. You signed mine and Tango's permit a few weeks ago."

"Oh, yes. I did do that." Skizz and Tango just built a restaurant in New Star Station, but they squabble constantly over every detail from its name to who plays the role of waiter over chef to the food they're serving. Since they couldn't pick a name, Scott finally forced them to commit to a code word or something just so they could sign the papers. It's marked down as "cuddle" in the official files, and those two can spend hours washing plates, mopping floors, and giggling until the phantom hybrids pursue them both to bed. "Okay… You can put down the floor plan. But use dirt because I don't want to commit with good materials yet. And I don't want to build a plate shop. This is for my sushi restaurant."

Pearl's in the Nether. Tango's name pops up on screen a few seconds later. Partner or hunter? Or secretly both? Therein lies the question.

"Hey, Scott. Come here, homie-buddy. I wanna say something to you. Come here."

Scott glances up, brushing blue hair from his eyes. His hair's extra glittery right now thanks to the glow squid thing. His partner's standing near an oak tree with a block missing from its trunk, both hands against his hips. It's a bit of a walk, though. So Scott says, "I can hear you fine from over here, Skizz. Is prox chat fuzzy for you?"

Skizz bounces on his knees, motioning with his hand. "You gotta get close and pretend we're whispering, Scott! Put your roleplay pants on. C'mere, c'mere. I wanna tell you something."

Scott stares into the depths of the chest in front of him, gripping its edges until his fingers ache. Then he sighs. He shuts the creaking lid, stands, and wanders over to join Skizz by the tree. Skizz extends his hand. And Scott just… stares at it for a moment, looking at… trying not to… It's…

… Skizz's arms are still longer than the default player. Whoever's been dealing him modded code in secret hasn't fixed that yet. The hand is pale, but heavily tanned by the sun. There are fuzzy brown hairs all the way up his arm. He has big, flat palms and long fingers perfect for wedging between blocks. Those fingers are soft. Not bruised. Not ragged. This body's still new to him and hasn't yet formed builder's calluses. And Scott hesitates, gripping his necklace in the crevices below his fingertips.

He doesn't have the bite marks anymore… from when we used to fight over who got the pretty blocks.

"U-um," says Skizz, still holding out his hand. He bounces on his toes. Scott blinks. Right. Life Series Gameplay Scott isn't supposed to be New Star Mayor Scott, and neither of them is supposed to be Dwells On The Past A Lot Scott. And he's absolutely not supposed to be I Miss Shooting Arrows At Old Skizz While He Spends A Week Trying To Grief My Favorite Noteblock Scott, because Skizz doesn't even miss Old Skizz and it's all sorts of wrong.

Old Skizz couldn't make eye contact like New Skizz can. Scott wants to be happy for him, but the code is implemented crookedly and he's the mayor and saying congratulations might make his brain short-circuit.

He slips his palm against Skizz's (His hand much smaller, his truest form so much smaller). Skizz closes those long, not-quite-true-player fingers around Scott's wrist and, gently, tugs Scott's arm up and over his head. Scott complies with the twirl, puffing his cheeks and trying not to fidget as Skizz brings him around in a full spin. Skizz is in sandals; Scott's got bare feet. They both scuff up the dirt. A spider twitters in the distance. A lone zombie growls somewhere beneath the ground.

If he's hunting me, this would be a fantastic moment to slide a sword between my ribcode.

He jumps when Skizz's webbed palm presses to his side. They're both still wet and dripping. Scott forgot. Skizz is slimy. He tips his head to one side. Scott complies again, pressing his own hand to Skizz's upper arm. He forgets what this pose is called, actually. Is it for waltzing or for tango? (The dancing kind of tango). Scott flits his focus upward. Skizz is struggling to make eye contact, one eye screwed up shut. He's breathing. Loudly. The ripple of it whuffs across Scott's face. Skizz's fingers clench against the fabric of his jacket. Scott feels it through both that and his shirt and winces as it crinkles his skin.

"Okay… So what did you want to talk about?" He tries to keep the metal from his voice, but it leaks through like water into redstone.

Skizz lowers his mouth near Scott's pointed ear. Maybe that's easier for him than the eye contact, though it isn't easier on Scott. He says, "I'm having lots of fun roleplaying with you, buddy. It makes me laugh when you get all flustered about the sushi. But I don't want to wreck your build, and I'm totally fine building separately someplace else. This is your base. I'm just hanging out. If you want me to stop, homie, you just say the word."

"I know it's roleplay," Scott growls back. He darts his gaze sideways to the place the river splashes along the shore. His fingers tighten in Skizz's arm. The man's still in his angel robes. Why didn't he change back? And his halo's stupid bright. "I'm not angry with you. It's just my accent." It's a little thick to the American ear. And his base partner is unapologetically American.

"Scott, I know that, and I love you for it, buddy. I love that about you. You are so much fun to be around." Skizz spins around, yanking Scott after him, and twirls him under his arm once again. Scott complies with practiced ease, throwing his own arm behind him in a flourish. He flicks out the hidden glow squid tentacles for good measure. Yeah. That feels right. He balances on the tips of his bare toes. Skizz mirrors the arm gesture. Well. That's fun. Most people don't care enough about dancing to make it look elegant even when no one's watching.

Skizz watches him with chin up. Arm up. Arm crooked. And… Scott tilts his head. Maybe Skizz likes fancy things more than he realized. He often runs around in a suit vest and bright red tie. Maybe… "Do you know how to dance, Skizz?"

"I was born knowing how to dance! I live for parties." Skizz is all theatrics. He's a man who lived too long skirting from attention, got a smacking taste of it, and can never be satisfied by his old world again. He twirls Scott again for good measure, bringing him in close, and Scott drops the mental wall for a sliver of a second. He lets Skizz dip him towards the grass. Skizz moves with the fluid grace of a man who's spent his whole life teleporting and doesn't care about gravity or ground. He holds Scott so his dangling glowy-blue hair floats mere pixels above the dirt. Scott tries not to cough. His necklace beads tumble against his throat. Skizz's smile melts into a more thoughtful slant. "Though technically, I'm usually in the band. I don't get much time on the dance floor."

He tugs Scott up again, and Scott stumbles just once. "Um… Okay, so maybe our base can have a dance floor." One no boogeyman can rig with TNT this time. "Two or three different types of wood. A checker design." And Scott laughs, shaking his head. "A sushi restaurant AND a dance floor! We'll be on the beach with one of those cute little square dance spots with- with all the wood and lights, you know? It's hot boy summer hours, Skizz."

"Ooooohhhh! I'm picking up what you're throwing out, homie!" Skizz makes fists, bouncing them up and down. His eyes gleam as bright as his halo and he's laughing, he's giggling, and Scott forgets that infectious laugh's supposed to give him nightmares. "We're gonna build a whole boardwalk out here! With all our storage in all the different little buildings. We'll have a whole pier!"

An entire pier… Scott's eyes bulge. "The river's not that big, and, um, that really is a lot of resources… Time's limited in the series, Skizz. That's a lot of effort on a build that- that'll just get burned down or blown up in the end. I mean, a boardwalk sounds like it's made of wood."

"And you love that," says Skizz, grinning down at him (He's right, but he doesn't have to be a bouncy jack-in-the-box over it). "I can see it in your eyes, Scott… Because you know what I think?" His hands drop to Scott's waist. He picks him up - no ground, stomach sinking with a whoosh - and thunks Scott down on a rock. That brings them more to eye level. "You're an incredibly hard worker who's approaching a busy time in the election world, and you love building with wood, and you deserve a build you can have fun with. You're amazing and I love you for it."

"Aww… Oh my goodness; you're flickering me up." He's… He's okay with the sudden touch. This is… This is fine. "You know, I almost want to doubt this whole fallen angel backstory, Skizz. You're way too sweet to be believed."

Skizz's smile whips away. And Scott freezes. And they stare at each other for a splinter of a second. Skizz's halo flickers like a redstone lamp. It fritzes, flashing, and then stammers out to darkness. Once it's unlit, it plinks from the air and drops on his head. Then it bounces off and into the sand by his feet. Scott pulls back his hands.

"I… I didn't mean…"

"It's fine," says Skizz, but looks like he's just been whipped past -64 Y and straight back up again. He moves one palm to his eye. His right eye. Scott watches warily for sudden onset heterochromia, but thankfully it doesn't come. Skizz's next words, however, send every pixel on his arms bristling up: "I- I… That feels… not like me. Whoa. I don't know why I just went static like that. I think I need to get my file checked. Um. Hey. Can I set an appointment after play hours?"

It's for reasons like this that he's always working late nights. Everyone needs him for something… and even the phantom hybrid players reluctantly agree to let him push the limits of their hunting hour. And you just reminded me I'm meeting HALO Aqua after our game.

Scott grips his necklace cord, rolling the beads across his thumb. "Um… Let's talk about that outside the game, Skizz. Here, we should always stay in character."

Skizz is slow to move. He brushes his face a few times with his fingertips, checking for signs of glitching out. Scott steps off the rock and starts to back away. The muscles behind his shoulders twitch, but he has tentacles instead of wings. He spreads them anyway, three to each side, because his pounding hearts are shrieking.

He's relapsing. Oh, I messed up… His mods were done up by a dealer. Did I tease too hard? Is the code popping loose?

But Skizz flips the charm on again at once, bending down to scoop his halo from the sand. He slides it up one wrist and hangs it from his elbow crease. "You know, I really shouldn't be wearing this thing in the games anyway. It makes me a target at night. You can see me from a dozen chunks off."

"I wasn't going to say it, but yeah."

"You and me, buddy. We're going to the finals this time around. Can I rub your glowy hair?"

The question's so sudden. Scott barely nods before Skizz is rustling the top with his palm. Scott hates it, he hates it, but he's playing like he's a character who doesn't. He'll tolerate it for Skizz; it's not a big deal. In this specific season, it'll be okay. They can talk outside the game, when the cameras aren't recording, and maybe by then he'll figure out if he wants to ask Skizz to stop.

But this is fun. It's been a little while since he roleplayed something just a little silly, a little flirty. Things were so serious back in Double Life… His character arc was a dark one. Last Life too, actually. And Limited Life, featuring Martyn's repeated betrayals, wasn't much better. Scott puts up with Skizz's scritchy fingers until he can't anymore, then nudges them off. Skizz leans his hand against the oak tree instead (still missing a middle block of its trunk, still floating).

"Whatcha thinking 'bout, homie?"

"Let's be boardwalk boys." And he laughs because it's… it's all spilling over. "Skizz… Skizz, let's do it. Let's pretend we're seaside kids who've lived in a tourist trap town all our lives. I make sushi and you sell your plates. We work across the street and we're the most unlikely summer flings. You're the worst; you're sloppy and loud and irritating, and I'm head over heels enchanted but I'll never, ever admit it." Because it's fun to pretend. It's fun to play.

Skizz blinks. He tilts his head. And for a heartbeat, it hits like a knife. Scott smile fades out. He can see his hair reflected in Skizz's eyes. Up until now, he hadn't realized just how bright cyan it was glowing. It's flickering, though. And Skizz is breathless.

Maybe… maybe he went too far. Maybe flirting isn't Skizz's idea of having fun.

"Scott… I love that idea! I'm gonna be so annoyingly in puppy dog love with you. I'm serious, buddy. Every single person who watches this is gonna want the fire you and I are playing with."

"Ohh dear, I think I've made a big mistake… Can I take it back?"

"You're about to make the best mistake of your roleplay life, homie." Skizz jolts forward, snatching up Scott's hands again. He's so tall he has to bend a bit, especially since Scott is no longer on the rock. Skizz shoves his face close, way too close, in that way that half blinds you as your pixels fritz together. "You will regret this."

"Oh, you can try," Scott says, smirking back at him. His hearts flutter in sync. Because play is fun and that's why he's here. For some of his friends (Impulse, Etho) this game is about 'creating content;' the competition, the longing to create something you're proud to look back on forever. For them, these games are an act of love. Especially for Impulse; he's always checking the numbers and blurring the lines of work and home. He just loves making things. He likes things that are fun to show his family, his kids… his favorite people in the world.

He moves back towards the crafting table, clearing his throat. "And it's just roleplay, Skizz…? And only inside this server?"

"I have no problem with that. I'm not looking for anything long-term. At least not… on purpose." Skizz studies Scott and sort of opens his mouth, like he wants to say something else… then thinks better of it. He pulls back his arm and rubs behind his neck. His smile shines like a fallen star. "It's funny! I was never one of those people who woke up 'married' one day, like Dippledop or G or Tango. I fell for Vera the moment I met her. I did think in my younger years that I'd get bored eventually and not commit… I was real frantic about it for a while. But I just love being around her! She surprised me; she's fun all the freakin' time. My gods, I love that woman. She's everything, Scott. I can't imagine perma-AFK life without her."

Scott counts the sockets on the crafting table again. There are still nine.

Then Skizz snickers into his hand. "You should see us when we double date with the SVs, though… Dippledop's wife gets so jealous when she sees us. You've met Julienne, right? Vera and I are both touchy-feely, but Impulse isn't a hugger and Julie's love language is all touch. Sometimes he'll be out working in the field and she just flops all over him, just to drag his head away from work for the few minutes he'll commit to doing something else. You would not believe how many double chests of carrots we have back home. If you point it out, he'll just insist 'we can always use more.'"

"That's nice."

Skizz stares off with a blurry smile for a second, then snaps his attention back to the game at hand. "So yeah. It's just roleplay, you and me. And just in this one server."

It must be nice to have your best friend in the multiverse whitelisted on your AFK server. And your other best friend and/or wife. Impulse and Skizzleman adore each other, and one little chicken kill won't even register in the long run. Must be nice and peachy.

Scott's in a weird situation with his home portal. He's never… really had a private server before. The closest he's come is the MCC server when it's dead empty on a work day and… um… You know. That little thing he had with Jimmy after 3rd Life. He's probably still on the whitelist. But, see… that was just a fling. It barely even counts.

It meant something. Once. But these days Jimmy gets evasive. Told Scott a while back that he'd "moved on." He was "pursuing other interests." Whether that meant other partners or new building projects was never made clear, but it didn't really matter. Scott isn't proud of how he took the news, but his nickname is "Gatekeep" for a reason.

"You… you can still hang around the server, if you want to. We could talk about, um, if you ever wanted to be, like… my allay partner, or anything. I mean, I know that's a big deal and we've literally never talked about it before, so no pressure, but if, like-"

"I was never 'your allay,' Mr. Gaming…"

Tch. You know, far too many of his break-ups have felt like magma block bridges: They hurt like hell to get over. It's stupid. It's all stupid. Jimmy's never had any problems seeing multiple people before, so what was all that about "pursuing other interests?" Whatever. Whatever. This ain't about him. In fact, it's not about anyone.

(It's very about Cleo. And it's very about Pearl. He's sick about the cozy cottagecore winter he spent cuddled up with Pearl, he's sick about Last Life, he's sick of being ganged up on for being a good player in this game, he's sick of not having any allay hybrids left in New Star Station to talk to, and he's sick of coming out. Over and over, again and again, just to pine after people who don't want to adapt to his wants, his needs, the music or the pretty blocks…)

But this isn't about that. The topic was AFK servers, which is a complicated subject. In reality, Scott's got corporate housing. He uses the embassy server and has for a very long time. Which reminds him… Aqua's going to yell at me after I log out.

"Roleplaying seems just fine," Scott says, staring at the grid of blank crafting table slots. He pulls his eyes away, staring around their base of one table and a chest. Skizz needs to put down their bed. Where's a good spot for it? Scott still needs to set his spawn.

Skizz shrugs. "Even if I did want something long-term with a second partner, I don't think a death game is the right place to initiate it. It's just roleplay, homie-buddy." He says it like he's fretting someone else might be listening from the trees.

"Yeah, that's fine." He's done talking about this. "And I don't want to commit to anything multi-server either right now, so 'just one Life game' is something I can get behind. We'll need to talk boundaries, but… maybe later. When the clock's not ticking out on us." Scott pauses then, tapping his fingers against his elbows. Then, "Skiiiiiizz… Your friendship with Impulse isn't going to come between us, yeah? I mean, in our alliance."

Skizz blinks, green eyes bright and innocent. "Absolutely not, Major. Dippledop can see me any time. When we play Dog's Life, I'm 100% committed to you, homie."

"If you say so…" At least SOMEone is. For once.

Until they won't be. Until his true nature makes things "too complicated."

But he may have a point. Skizz and Impulse can play together any time. Skizz wants to test himself against somebody else now. See, the games aren't just about Kill and be killed. The roleplay element is critical, because if you don't have fun, are you even really playing? The Life series isn't just about murder. It's about fun. A love for creation and a love for playing with your friends.

The games are about 'power' to some people, maybe, like Grian or Joel. In their minds, playing Life is about being an absolute miscreant in a world where that's okay, where you can do whatever and consequences are only word of mouth; you don't really believe in them and they don't really bite you back. For those two, it's about being off their rocker without damaging their reputations in the process. They're both in school; Grian's studying for the HALO exam and Joel's learning code.

It's about escapism, if you're Cleo or Scar. It's about throwing yourself into a world of your own creation where outside struggles and people and judgments don't matter. Yeah. That sounds about right. For Scott, dipping his toes in different servers, wearing different hats… it's definitely escapism. He'll be the first to admit that. He's a working boy. Not a lot of his friends can say that in the same way he can. Scott soaks up every little crumb of play time he can get, because when he's not playing, he's working on MCC. Building things there - testing things, contacting people, organizing teams - it takes a lot out of him.

He doesn't play here for fame or fortune or power. He does throw a little effort into cute little builds, but he's not that attached to them. They're not 'real.' It's just escape. And it's so much fun to fall in love, over and over in different worlds, without any of the sticky commitment strings. Being squirmingly, hopelessly romantic and addicted to those bursts of limerance and dopamine is the best feeling in the universe. Even if it's just a little roleplay.

Skizz walks over and plops the bed down a short distance from the chest and crafting table. He taps it twice to set his spawn point. Scott stares into the sky, humming, and prances his fingers against his leg. You know, he came into this game with a plan to roleplay as a fey. He wanted to snipe a few changeling children… maybe push a little bit of power dynamic and see which of his friends would be willing to play along with the idea. Should he even keep the fey skin past Episode 1? Maybe he'll switch it out. It doesn't make much sense to be a fey on the beach.

But on the other hand… He's not putting on this show for anybody else. If Impulse likes chasing algorithms, good for him, really. And if Grian likes to blow stuff up, he's welcome to it.

Scott is just Scott. And he's going to play like he's a modern midsummer fairy head over heels in love… with the idiot selling broken plates across the street. I should build a candy store, he thinks with a hum. His fingers slide across his palms. He's got a few splinters. He studies them, grateful for his night vision. And a flower shop. And a record store…

Skizzleman flops into the brown bed sheets, folding his arms behind his neck. His dull halo's still hanging from his elbow and goes sliding back to his shoulder. Skizz kicks one leg over the other, then immediately catches what that does to the hem of his robes and drops his legs flat again. Scott pretends he didn't notice. "Hey, Major! You wanna jump on a call after sesh and talk strategy?"

… Ah. After this session, he has to report to HALO Aqua's office. Scott stares back at him, mouth slightly gaping, until Skizz's face blurs before his eyes.

Aqua wants to talk… I'm in SO much trouble. Am I even going to be able to play again next week? If this goes particularly badly, he might be scrambling to save his mayoral campaign.

Or his station. Because if loses the vote, then Scar, who's been breathing down his neck for the last three election cycles, is almost guaranteed to beat him out.

"Nooo… I can't, Skizz. I've got a meeting. And then I have to work late. We've got MCC team assignments going out this weekend."

Skizz rolls his eyes. They're phantom green. "MCC needs to pull up its big-boy pants. What am I supposed to do if I wanna talk strats? Just wait around until you log on next week?"

Scott smiles thinly back at him. Very, very thinly, and very very sassy-like with his chin tilted back. "Yeah, actually. MCC time is my special time, Skizz. Unlike some people on this server" - Impulse, Grian - "I've perfectly balanced my work and play. You can wait until I'm back next week. Speed-pitch me a list of ideas. A long one. Hard, fast, and keep it coming. I can take it."

"Fair enough," says Skizz, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "You know, Major, I expect to see you in board shorts and shades next time we play. Oil up the abs." Skizz jack-knifes up and cracks his fingers above his head. "We're going to speedrun our way to being server heartthrobs."

Scott almost fritzes out. Next week? I… Skizz, I'm just trying to survive the next few hours. I'm getting yelled at when I go to work.

"No, that's not me," says Scott, and suddenly remembers he was meant to be scouting around for sugarcane. Oh gods, the night's not getting any younger. The game isn't getting any slower. "See, I run a restaurant. I just admire my cute eye-candy of a neighbor."

"I just want you to know that I support you 100%, homie. You roleplay your way and I'll roleplay mine, and we'll just see what comes of it. Stop me if I get annoying."

"I'm more annoying, actually. I don't think you've really seen me behind the curtain, Skizz." Scott claps his hands with a smack, then rubs his palms together until his pixels heat and fritz. "Okay! I've stalled too long, actually. I need to look for sugarcane. There's nothing anyone can steal here except I guess our bed, so this is the best time to leave. I'll be gone for a while. Maybe back tomorrow." In-game time, of course.

"Can I come?"

"… Yeah. You can come."

So they both leave, after Scott sets his spawn. They just… both leave, moving upriver - south - to hunt for late-game resources, and they ignore the fact they have no roof to shelter under if it rains. They don't have iron, armor, shields, or even torches. Only each other.

We're free.

Skizz splatter-runs through wet sand, giggling maniacally. Scott charges after him, puffing, jacket flapping like allay wings. Spiders scuttle close and a few skeletons fire arrows, but they can't be touched. Not even by players who give them funny looks. "Whoa!" Scar calls at one point, clinging to Etho's arm as Skizz and Scott nearly knock him over. Scar's a creeper hybrid again, though it's hard to tell when he's got his cloak and hood. Proud of him; didn't even glitch the server this time. Now he's just gotta not blow himself up. Scott throws one look behind him. He laughs.

"Sorry, sorry! Places to be and things to do… You know how busy I am. See you on campaign day, Mr. GoodTime!"

Scar swats the air with his cane. "Smajor, you little tease! After all we've been though together, just to ditch me now?"

Scott throws back his head, erupting in giggles. As he pounds through the sand after Skizz, he hears Etho mutter, "Did Scott just call you Mr. GoodTime?"

He doesn't hear the answer- just a hehehehehehe sort of snicker. Scott chuckles. Scar can spout whatever pretty fib he wants; he doesn't really care. It's just for roleplay. It's just a game. This world isn't real; this world isn't full of elections and walls and paperwork. He's free, and his reputation can't hurt him here.

He shoves aside that thumping fear of getting yelled at by HALO Aqua tonight. His arms are pumping, his bare feet soaring over sand. Despite the darkness and the wind, it's lovely out and his pants are rolled up to his knees. The four beads on his necklace - one for Jimmy, one for Pearl, one for Cleo, one for Martyn - bounce up and down, spinning and thwacking him on the cheek. Skizz glances back at him, eyes screwed up tight, and he's angelic and perfect and neither one of them is running from their crimes or history. Broken blue shells sparkle in the sand and ghostly little crabs scuttle over rocks.

"Scott, Scott! Come on! I see something cool! I mean, maybe a little lame, but mostly pretty cool!"

"I'm right behind you, Skizz!"

It's a beautiful night to be Smajor1995.

Chapter Text

Smallishbeans - Player

Quarry: Grian

Hunter: impulseSV

Allegiance: Unaffiliated

💚  💛  ❤️

It's the middle of the blimmin' night, he's climbing a hill, it's windy in a smack-your-face kind of way, and he's tracking an enderman flitting back and forth in the nearby trees. That's why he almost falls down the cave drop. His foot swings into empty air. Joel jerks back, instantly dropping to a crouch, and grabs Impulse by the edge of his chestplate. The dirt flecks he scuffed up go tumbling over. Down. Down…

They're on a knobby little hill without trees or bamboo to shield them from the elements. Impulse grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him back to more solid footing. "You all right, dude?" he mutters, and Joel hooks his fingers more tightly in his armor straps. His hearts kick a little higher, leaking up his throat.

One block away from absolutely certain death.

He blinks. There's a border wall of cliff that should have indicated a scratched-out blip in the elevation, but he wasn't looking. If he had been looking, if it weren't the middle of the night, if it weren't a hill, if it weren't so windy, if he weren't watching the enderman (and if he weren't trying to watch his back around Impulse on top of all of that, actually) then he would have noticed. It's just a stroke of luck that the guy was close enough to grab.

Joel spreads his legs for better balance. Even though he's crouched - even though he and Impulse are both still green names - he definitely doesn't trust his resource-gathering buddy not to grab his armor and toss him over the edge. It'd be an epic way to go, maybe, and a bloody painful one. Joel tilts back his head, staring into Impulse's eyes. They're icy flecks of emerald. Guarded. Impulse stares back at him, saying absolutely nothing.

This man's assigned to hunt me down. He can kill me on green. Right here. Right now. There's no way he can resist.

They cling to each other's chestplates with seized-up fingers… like they're already dead. Like they're dead and can't let go even if they wanted to. Actually… It's almost stupidly romantic to hold each other, eyes locked, under the silver moonlight. And he kind of wants to laugh because he hates everything about this.

Joel keeps his fingers wedged under Impulse's armor so the guy can't shove him off the hill without being yoinked along with him. Impulse's grip is bitterly tight. Those lips are bitter too, and his glowing eyes as narrow as an end rod. The wind rustles both their hair and waves the grass stalks against their ankles. Joel's got armored legs, but not boots. Didn't quite get there yet.

He's going to make me the first death of the series.

That's the worst part of this whole thing. See, even though Joel's got a nicely crafted iron sword just waiting in his hotbar, he's not allowed to slide it between the lines of code that make up his rival's ribs. Impulse is his hunter - There's no doubt in my mind about that - but that's a one-way relationship. Stupid quarry mechanic doesn't work in reverse. Until Impulse makes an undeniable attempt on his life, Joel's a neutral party. He can't engage.

Impulse knows it, too… That's gotta be why he's stalling so long. His stare cuts so deep, Joel considers making a sarcastic Do I have enchanting table text on my face or something? comment just to make him falter. Hm. Joel drops his voice to a whisper, lifting on his toes.

"You're a peach, Impulse."

"Wh- what kind of peach?"

"You know what kind."

Impulse huffs, laughing in a nervous sort of way. The enderman lurking in the trees puffs away, materializing in the corner of Joel's vision. Yeah, right… No way is he turning his back to chase it now. Together, he and Impulse shift their eyes off each other and down at the drop that nearly just took both their lives. Their sighs mingle into one. Sparking fingers shake, pressing into each other's skin and clothes. Finally, Joel lets out a long, low whistle. The wind picks it up and carries it away, like a canary leaping from a branch.

"That's- Oh, that's horrific."

"I know, right? Dude… I didn't even see it."

"Right… It's so dark out here, even with the moon big." Joel pulls Impulse an extra step back from the edge. Impulse does have iron boots, which clank with every step. "Disgusting. Hey, d'you think this is where Jimmy died?"

"Yeah, this must've been it," says Impulse, leaning over the edge. He shifts to a crouch, gripping his wobbly wooden sword. "Yikes. I mean, that's gotta be at least 60 blocks…"

Grian stole the traits of Bee

Joel massages his mouth, holding a little more tightly to Impulse's iron armor. "Geez, just look at it down there… I don't think you can fall straight through from the top, but just… I mean, can you imagine landing in that second hole? Like, you drop from here and you just- you just keep going?"

LDShadowLady: You killed a bee?

"Oh, that second hole's gotta be another 30 down for sure, and I think I'm lowballing. I can't even render it in."

Joel twitches, but resists the instinct to make some stupid play on words. "Someone's down there," he says instead, peering into the hole. He lowers himself to one knee, carefully removing his fingers from Impulse's metal sleeve. "Who's moving around down there?"

"Cleo, I think? And… I want to say BigB."

Grian: it looked at me funny

That sounds about right. They sit in silence on their heels and hands, sizing up the two figures moving like ants far, far below. Lizzie's name flickers up in chat and Joel notices she's just killed a zombie. He tosses in some lame joke about whether she killed the guy because he was "looking at her funny" the same way Grian said about the bee. Then he glances into the hole again. Honestly, Impulse is right. That's definitely Cleo down there, whose flame-orange curls stand out even in the dark. Zombie by name, zombie by nature… She pulled her puffy hair back in a low ponytail this round, apparently. Joel can make out the glint of an iron tool or weapon in their hand, but not the details.

And yeah, the second person's BigB. Um. Maybe? It's not a great angle, especially in the dark, because the blue of his jumper melds pretty well with the gray of shadowy stone. Hmm… Joel can't be sure if those two are acting aggressively - it looks like BigB has his sword out in perfect mirror of Cleo - or if they're on the same team.

InTheLittleWood: it's me sorry

(About "looking at Lizzie funny.")

Smallishbeans: SLDKFJSDJF

Smallishbeans: you perceive Smallishbeans' WIFE?!

InTheLittleWood: Sneak 100

Bigbst4tz2: :o

LDShadowLady: So I gather rotting flesh is in this season

ZombieCleo: Always has been

InTheLittleWood: fair

PearlescentMoon: Jail for Martyn for 1000 years

InTheLittleWood: I am looking respectfully :)

Smallishbeans: i'm not

LDShadowLady: =^-^=

Impulse touches his hand, and Joel jumps and vaporizes his communicator. "Dude, I can feel how tired you are. We shouldn't be here when it's this windy. We're both wobbly."

Joel elects not to respond to that. Impulse's touch is ghost-like and sends a rattle though his skin. Joel glances off, pressing his knuckles to his lips. Impulse is his hunter. He knows it. He knows it in his code, even if Impulse is still playing dumb. Bad liar, that man. "Maybe we should cover the hole," he says, staying crouched. "It's just tempting fate."

If Impulse is disappointed the attempt to get him out of a crouch didn't work, he doesn't let on. "Do you want to?"

"… Not really, actually; no. I mean, if it almost got us, it might get someone else. At least you and I know the hole's here now."

The enderman behinds them makes another puffing sound, darting sideways. "Do you have a water bucket?" Impulse asks, pulling on a long blade of grass. It tears free from the ground, along with a scrap of dirt. He tucks it in his mouth, gnawing and wrapping his tongue like it's a popsicle, because… he's just like that, apparently. Joel barely knows the guy, but yeah, sure. Checks out, I guess. When he glances sideways, Impulse lifts his brows at him. The grass blade sticks to his upper lip. He says, "You could prob'ly scare the life out of them if you MLG down. You know, just… boom. We could drop right on their heads."

Etho stole the traits of Enderman

"No, I haven't got any water… I wish I did. It would've been a better use of my iron, looking at it now. Clearly this server's cave generation is insane. Oh, where's Tango when we actually need him? He spent the whole break going on and on about his buckets. Thinks he's the baddest boy on the server."

Impulse shrugs. They keep watching their friends below. Yeah, that's definitely BigB. A third figure melts out of the shadows, which makes both BigB and Cleo jump and spin around. Pearl's easier to see… a little bit. She's wearing her typical purpley-dark hoodie, but the last thing she killed must've been a chicken. Have the feathers gotten longer since the first time Joel chased her and Jimmy with his sword? They're so pale, they shimmer in the moonlight.

See, that's what I need to be right about now… Chickens don't take fall damage. I should start a farm.

Cleo takes a step back, her sword towards BigB and back to Pearl and Jimmy, so maybe those three have formed a loose alliance. Pearl's got a full-on wing spanning between her wrist and her waist now and she's even got a crested tail. Jimmy's the same, though his feathers kink up funny as he twitches and scrabbles back and forth in a ball of overcorrecting energy.

They're still chickens… Weren't they down there when Impulse and I were looting the mineshaft? What've they been doing this whole time if they haven't been killing other mobs? Not even one? At night and all the way down there in a deep, dark cave?

Renthedog stole the traits of Skeleton

"There's Jimmy," Joel mutters, sliding his hands closer to the drop as Jimmy peeps at BigB around Pearl's arm. Wing? Can you call it a wing? Joel's fingers tighten in the grass. "Tch… Bloody wasted all my iron on armor and tools… Didn't realize M.C. Escher designed this flippin' seed. Next time, a bucket for sure."

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Creeper

Impulse pushes himself back to his feet, switching his sword out for his oak wood boat. There's a mineshaft down in that lush cave; the two of them chopped bundles of wood before circling back up to the surface. "I'm going for the enderman," he says. "We could pearl down. You said you're hunting Jimmy, right?"

"Oh, I'm always hunting Jimmy." His quarry's actually Grian. Think of it this way, though: Grian's a target assigned by the game. He's homework. Killing Jimmy is extra credit. Shame he can't touch him 'til he's red, but he's sure not telling Impulse that. Impulse isn't a basing buddy. He's just convenient. Just companionship for braving the caves and the mines and the night. They'll be splitting off here in just a moment, probably, and the fewer people who can give his actual quarry a head's up in warning, the better.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Skeleton

The squeaky grunts behind him confirm that Impulse successfully trapped the enderman in his boat and is slicing through it with his sword. Yep- he gets the corresponding message in chat a second later.

impulseSV stole the traits of Enderman

Nice, nice… Ender pearls do sound nice, actually. Impulse's feet shuffle towards him. Joel checks back, but both his hands are empty. No axe. No sword. Okay. Joel plops down a cobblestone block that won't be as easy to destroy as dirt. So long as he's crouched on that, Impulse can't push him off.

He peers over the lip of the hole. "Hey, can I barter for your pearl?" he asks. "I mean, Jimmy's my quarry… It'd be real funny if I jumped him. Impulse, d'you think- OH GODS, NOT LIKE THIS!"

Impulse doesn't need a shovel. It doesn't even take him time to dig. He griefs the block under Joel's feet with an enderman's expertise. Joel, who's on his knees, doesn't even have time to draw a sword. The block's just gone. His stomach lurches up his throat. He was leaning- his body weight tips him forward. There's nothing below but racing air. So much musty cave air. Tingles snap across his skin and the tick tick in his head that signals dropping Y levels totally flares into overdrive. He screeches at the same time Watcher Joel does. Every spiral in their sync cord flares with icy fire.

"NOOOOOO!"

He jumps instinctively to the space in his hotbar he usually keeps his water bucket, but his hand closes on empty air. He throws out his wings, but he doesn't have any. Not on the Dog's Life server. There is no comforting flame-blue glow, and no cheeky will o' the wisp poofing can save him now. Joel flips head over heels over head, flapping his arms anyway. The back of his armor is pressing in his neck. Impulse is silhouetted against the moon, wind billowing his hair and eyes phantom green. Then Joel flips over again. Pearl, Jimmy, BigB, Cleo- they all yell his name. The ground is all stone, rushing towards him at top speed, or- or- or he's hurtling downward like a falling star.

It's a long

long

fall

As the ground hurtles near, Joel seizes up, crossing his forearms in front of his face, even though it won't do him any good. His pixels are about to go flying in all directions. Lose all his armor, his tools, his stuff… Pearl runs forward, drawing out a bucket from her inventory, but there's no way it'll soak the stone quick enough. He'll explode, he'll just-

BANG!

Smallishbeans was doomed to fall by impulseSV

Dying feels like getting whacked across the chest by the Ender Dragon's tail, only to hurtle into the void and never slow down. Just flying forever, but in a way that never peels those tail spikes from your chest. They don't stop piercing.

Bloody hell… I knew it was him.

It's really the gasping that gets you. The not being able to breathe, because every staggered attempt digs daggers in your chest. Just one thousand wither roses blooming down your throat. And there's nothing to hold, even your own shoulders, because you're a scattered mess of smoke and dust.

Why did I turn my back?

He gets one quarter of a breath before his pixels suck together again. They zing across the server and splat him down at bedrock spawn. Watcher Joel is a mess of hisses and seething. There's no sound that carries over from one world to the next, but Joel can feel the man's panic and fury flare in a familiar aurora borealis up his spine. It's in the way he sucks at the backs of his gums and teeth. Joel trembles, pulling himself into a ball, but Watcher Joel hates wasting time on reload screens. He's only got one second - maybe two - to regain himself before-

Click.

He's lying spread-eagle on his back. There's rough, gritty bedrock in place of cushy grass or pillows beneath his head. Color bleeds into the world again. It's very, very cold. He's got no armor protecting his soft clothes and squishy body. Bloody lost it all back there… all my iron… My diamond pick. My axe.

impulseSV: that's a quarry :)

Of course it was.

On the upside, he's no longer bathed in pain. No more jabs or burns… No more struggling to breathe. His body's jacked up on respawn painkillers and frankly, he's too exhausted to scream. Joel blinks blearily between the bamboo stalks until he picks out the full moon.

Skizzleman: first blood! that's my buddy!!

After a few more seconds, the emotion sync that binds him to Watcher Joel fades back down to minor prickles. Right. Okay. That feels normal again. Watcher Joel is still simmering, but it's… they're cool. It's fine. Everyone is still good friends. Nobody hates Impulse and nobody hates Joel. It's part of the game. So the first Joel - the one who calls himself Smallishbeans inside his own head - doesn't hold the faintest grudge.

impulseSV: :D

Absolute joke of a horrible man. Epic kill though, to be honest. Didn't see it coming and couldn't even react. Joel shimmers his communicator into his hand, then taps out an incredibly restrained reply, because he's very in control and emotionally stable. Send.

He tries to brush off the negative feelings leaking through his sync with Watcher Joel, only to get knocked halfway off his feet. A sudden flood of affection and peace presses down on him, and… and the world isn't as bad as he thought, actually.

Ah. Watcher Lizzie probably poked her head in the room, checking in on her husband. Maybe offered a comforting word or a hug or something. Or even just existed in the general vicinity. Could've even called him "cringefail loser" from down the hall in a way that made him laugh. Maybe they do that. Honestly, who even knows? Not me.

Doesn't really matter. Joel waits for a message in chat from his Lizzie - the only important Lizzie, as far as he's concerned - but doesn't get one. He makes a face at his communicator and dissolves it to sparks again. He'll bother her about that when they get home. Maybe hurl a snowball at her. That would be funny.

"Joel!"

"Ren?" Joel pushes himself into a sitting position, scanning the bamboo. There are three torches within his sights. All the melons have been yoinked, but at least the area's not crawling with hostile mobs. The reason for their lack of spawning becomes clear a moment later. A man in a red shirt, black suspenders, and familiar shades despite the darkness leans over a wooden hoe nearby. He's dirtied up by mud, like he's been working for a while. No armor, but his clothes hang funny from his shoulders. Ah. The game mod. He's a skeleton hybrid right now.

Wait. Why a hoe?

Joel's fingers tense against the bedrock. This… this isn't a trick, is it? There aren't, like, actually two people who rolled him as their quarry… right? Ren wouldn't crack his skull open with a hoe. Surely not.

"You all right, my dude? Saw you had a bit of a fall." Ren's little tail is wagging, his pointy ears pricked forward in curiosity. They're brown like the rest of his wild, curly hair. Joel blinks at him, then slides his gaze around the area. Oh. Ren's been busy, apparently…

Joel rises to his feet, wrinkling his nose. "Yes, well… More than a 'bit' of a fall, actually. Had the block I was crouching on griefed right out from under my feet by enderboy there."

"Ah."

"For goodness' sakes, Ren… What've you done to spawn?" Half the ground's been tilled by hoes in all directions. Little green wheat stalks are straining to sprout. There's a bit of water for a few of the crops, but most everything is just… paths. Joel taps his foot a few times, checking to be sure he isn't going mental. That's packed earth, all right. Ren's been smoothing out some walking paths away from spawn.

Ren braces his hoe against the dirt and surveys the circle around them. "You like it? It's my community garden, dude."

"Uh… Yeah, I can see that." Spawn's not… technically a peninsula, but it's close enough that the word still feels applicable. Ren's built up some of the terrain with dirt and the grass is slowly spreading out. Joel wrinkles his nose. "Um… You do realize this is a death game, though… Right?"

"Yeah, true… But we've still gotta eat." Ren rolls his eyes, glowing pupils flashing briefly green above the lip of his shades. "Void forbid a dog do anything to make this mob-soaked battlefield look pretty."

"All right… That's fair." Joel's hearts thump a little faster as he adjusts to the world again. No more Impulse; no more ally. On auto-pilot, he checks the meter on his wrist to count his hunger haunches. Maxed out. Just respawned. Duh. "Mind if I yoink something to eat?" he asks Ren anyway. He pats himself down, shaking off a bit of grit and bedrock dust. He's naked… Not literally - he spawned in wearing his default shirt and vest - but his armor's gone. There were four people at the bottom of that drop, so the chances of them giving it all back seem pretty slim. Oh well… He had a good run.

Ren tosses a few slices of melon on the ground between them. Joel scoops them up and tries to catch his breath. Chat's full of people. He pulls up his communicator again and fires a string of unhinged messages back. Well. Maybe they're a little hinged. He and Watcher Joel are still in perfect sync, dazed and irritated - I knew it was Impulse; I could hear it in his voice - and just… a little confused by the pretty little garden he spawned into.

Smallishbeans: gg Impulse

Ugh. Such an ugly color.

impulseSV: <3 ty!

Right. Joel skirts down one of Ren's walking paths to a scrawny oak tree and starts punching wood. He needs new stuff. New armor. New tools. New crafting table, even. Let's go, yellow name.

Bucket of fun. That's what this is now. Waste of an hour… Waste of an episode…

You know, he's never enjoyed being Yellow Joel as much as Green Joel… and especially not Red Joel. That's the thing about playing in the Life series… The mod Grian created for this game affects their focus, affects their motivations, and tunnel visions them towards violence and betrayal when they end up on red (or, in past games, with a boogeyman roll). Green Joel is cool and calculating, or at least he always feels that way. Yellow Joel's more brazen with his words: proud and snarky with diamond edging everything that leaves his lips. And being Red Joel is…

… something else entirely. Tasteful and addicting. It's like… Being red feels like coming in from the snowy mountains, shucking off a damp coat, and wrapping yourself in a warm blanket. Thick socks, fuzzy slippers. The day-to-day experiences of being red aren't anything to cheer for, because you feel nothing - nothing - unless you've taken someone's life, but… Well.

There's a certain thrill in the Red Mist mod that other servers just don't give you, no matter how many horses you've maniacally slain.

Joel hasn't actually seen Grian's face since his name come up on the quarry roll. He has no idea yet if just seeing his quarry in a field will send him prickling with a boogey sort of energy. Impulse seemed to handle himself all right for most of it- as in, they made it all the way through that mineshaft together and Impulse didn't backstab even in close quarters. There must be at least a little wiggle room for self-restraint. That's a mite less fun than losing your mind, but fair enough.

Remembering the mineshaft aches, though. Very badly. I'll bet they've gone and looted all my stuff, he muses, rubbing his face. He breaks his freshly cut logs into planks. Back on the grind.

Ren put in the work… make no mistake about it. He's marked out little paths between the rows of crops. When Joel strains his ears, he hears the bleating of sheep and oinking of pigs (and… maybe a chicken cluck?) though the animals must be underground, tucked out of the way. There's also a crafting table, which Joel uses to whip his planks into a pathetic sword. Pfft.

Whatever works, I guess.

Sword in hand, he charges down the walking path and takes a massive swing at the nearest creeper. It hisses, flashing on and off, and Ren calls out a dry request to not let it explode the farm. Joel bats the creeper backwards, then pulls back and taps the wooden blade against his palm in a huff.

Gah, this would be so much easier with iron or diamond… He hates everything about this.

The creeper skulks around him in a circle, looking for an opening. Joel backs off, leading it away from Ren's crops. When it flashes again and dives for the kill, he whips through it to land the final blow.

PING!

Smallishbeans stole the traits of Creeper

Joel jumps, then groans loud enough to make Ren turn around. "Oh, I swear, that sound it plays when you switch traits, just… It's horrifying. I'm telling you right now, mate- that jumpscare will get me killed one of these days, it will."

"Heading out?" Ren asks, adjusting his shades.

"Moon's full. Going to see if I can snag some enchanted armor. I can sleep on other nights."

Tango stole the traits of Skeleton

"Fair enough. Good luck t'you, dude." Ren goes back to his garden. Joel glances down at his hand, which is now sizzling with faint signs of green fur. Actually, do creepers have fur? He's plopped their heads on his decorative shelves a couple times, but intact pelts are incredibly difficult to come by - even on oversaturated servers - since they sort of prefer exploding when threatened. Zedaph (from the other side of the rift back home) is the only one he's met who owns one. Or the pelt is Cub's; he doesn't know them well enough for details. It's one of those Hermity fellas, anyway.

Ren marked out a neat path all the way across the spawn plateau and down the drop to the wide, rushing river. Joel's only just made it to the bottom when he sees Impulse standing on a mild nearby hill. It makes him blink. He stops walking. There's… there's nothing over this direction except for spawn.

Is… is he coming to finish me off? Take another of my lives? Put himself up to five?

The sun's rising from behind spawn - behind Joel - but agonizingly slowly. The thick jungle trees and bamboo block most of it out. Impulse's lilac eyes glimmer like an enderman's. He even sort of looks like one in the dark (albeit more broad-shouldered) and Joel tightens his grip on his wobbly sword hilt. Right. Impulse is on purple life now, and dressed in full iron armor. Minus a helmet, of course, but it's not like that makes him any less intimidating.

And I've got no armor… It would be SO easy for him to swoop in and knock me down to red. He could take me out of the whole series if he wanted to.

They stand like statues: Joel with his sword (it's really a glorified stick) and Impulse with his fingers curled around the collar of his chestplate. He's got that cobblestone block he griefed tucked under his arm. The wind whistles across the grass, but neither of them speak. Not to apologize. Not to shout a threat. Yellow Joel is cold and watchful, and he says nothing at all.

Are you happy? he asks with his silence. I'll be after you the rest of the game, Impulse. You were already topped off with three whole lives. You've played your hand early. Was it worth it?

Impulse studies him without blinking, like Joel's just a sliver of light turned red by stained glass and the new favorite plaything of a kitten. After several more seconds of wrestling with each other's eyes, Impulse finally turns away. Joel hears him walk a few steps through crunchy grass and then jump into a ditch. He exhales, lowering his sword.

I mean, I knew he wouldn't come for me… Gentleman's rules and all that. Plus, he knows that if he put me down to red, I'd be gunning for him instantly.

Whatever. He vaporizes the stupid wooden sword. Now that he's a creeper, he doesn't need it. He'll just explode to take out any threat. He can do that. Totally knows how. He's smart and talented and tall. As he makes his way along the riverbank, heading west, Joel plucks at the itchy green fuzz sprouting from his hand. It feels less like fur and more like rough hair, like a hog. Pigs and creepers are cousins, right? Joel touches two fingers to his cheek. Has he started growing weird green fur-hairs there yet? Or is this, like… a "hybrid traits might take over just your arms" sort of thing?

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" His fingers are claws now… Chunky little black claws, like pig trotters. 'Creeper toes.' That's what Scar calls them, isn't it? He's said that before. They're overhyped, frankly. Joel wiggles his fingers in disgust, then puts back his head and growls at the sky. His noise of frustration leaves him in a hiss. Oh, really? Fantastic, that.

"Right, okay… So how does this work, exactly…? I can just decide to kill everything? Do I have to hiss through my teeth first? Does exploding kill me? Geez, I feel like every instruction Grian gave me went through one ear and out the other."

Rows of green hairs ripple into existence along his arms. The feel of it is sickening, actually. Maybe he'll talk to Grian about this season's twist, because this definitely doesn't feel good. He's got creeper bits all the way down his legs and even between his toes. You know… Even being the boogeyman, which swings hard at the gut with a shock of angry red, doesn't feel like this. Nah. Thanks but no thanks, babe. Creeper fuzz isn't a good look on anyone.

PearlescentMoon stole the traits of Bat

Good for her. She'll be feeling right at home like that. Then he glances down at what he's walking over. I should be mining this sand. It's spread along the bank in patches, pale and tempting. He needs a shovel. He needs good tools. Another autosave reset would be great right about now, actually… Can Scar get on that? Thanks.

Joel glances up and down the river, wishing his eyes would land on (I don't know) a wandering trader to murder or something just to flush his frustrations out. But there's no sign of one or its smelly llamas. He doesn't particularly fancy killing the salmon so soon after a creeper transformation… Those will probably leave him gasping for breath as he spouts gills or something else entirely stupid.

Tango must have had a similar idea. This is the narrowest part of the river he's seen, but it's still terribly wide. Maybe 30 blocks or so. When Joel lifts his gaze from his fuzzy hand, he spies Tango near the opposite shore. He gasps in a hiccup-y sort of way. Tango's blond hair is still lit with flame, which bathes him in a pale, eerie glow. The man's skin has been carved out to artificial bones… He's a skeleton right now, and his traditional red jumper and black padded vest hang raggedly off his skinny shoulders. Creepy.

Tango's rolled his pants legs high. He stands in the river up to his knees, plunging his hands in over and over. Splashing. "What on earth?" Joel mutters. "Is he dual-wielding iron buckets over there? Is that what he spent his iron on before suiting up with armor? … Does a fishing rod count as a fish kill?"

That makes sense, actually - and should have been obvious - but surely Tango will have to kill those fish eventually if he wants to eat them. What else are they good for? Taming cats?

Why is he bothering to bucket them?

Tango, in the midst of scooping another salmon into a bucket, lifts his head and locks his eyes with Joel's. Well. Maybe. It's hard to tell behind the crimson lenses of those bug-eyed goggles. "Saw you died!" he calls, voice dripping with smug amusement. Even his voice sounds skeletal: sort of clattery, sort of arrow-whippy. Tango straightens, lifting the goggles from his eyes. The wagging tip of his lion-like tail sprays droplets in an arc. "Yooo! Scary times with Impulse? When Jimmy died, I was like Mmmm, maybe I should keep my eyes out, but you too? Ohh-hohhhhh… Sounds like a pretty serious cave. Bits exploded everywhere, I imagine. Where'd you drop, buddy?"

MumboJumbo stole the traits of Zombie

Joel splashes down and wades towards him with a grunt. It's a bit deeper than he first thought and it takes a fair amount of energy to push himself forward. Lukewarm water slaps his stomach. Disgusting… He gestures vaguely behind him, indicating the hill. "Yeah, right up there… Bloody Impulse swooping in with a backstab of a quarry kill. He's dead first thing when I go red. Dumped me right down a major drop."

He's only halfway across the river. Tango moves backwards up the sand anyway, lowering one hand to brace himself as he goes. With the other, he clamps his remaining bucket to his scrawny skeleton chest. "Ah, not fun… So, what are your plans for the rest of the session?"

"I dunno, Tango… You tell me. Look alive!" Joel makes a lunge at him, giving his best mad cackle. He's got no sword in hand, but it still startles Tango enough that he scrambles back and vanishes the salmon bucket into his inventory. He whips around and splutters a bunch of little "Oh no!"s as he high-tails it up the hill. Joel's still in the water and progressing at a fish's pace. Tango bounds up the hill with a few quick pounces, then perches on his hands and knees. His tail's a living flag. In his red and black clothes, he's hardly camouflaged among the vibrant green leaves, but the tangled vines curtain his skeletal body like strands of spaghetti. "Nah, nah," Joel calls, making the dismissive Just playing gesture with his hand. Tango rolls his eyes, then pulls his goggles back down.

"You… are very lucky, jerkface! I could shoot you like a porcupine, you know. As a skelly-bones, I've got a natural infinity bow. I could splatterificate arrows all over your mushy creeper butt."

"Mm, could've, probably should've… Can't now, though. Sorry. I'm not actually hunting you. You can't touch me, so what d'you think about that?" Joel crawls onto the bank and gives himself a shake. He exhales in a hiss. The shaking flares his creeper hairs bright white, and Tango scampers into the jungle with a much louder yelp of alarm. Joel can hear his tail smacking just about every leaf he passes.

Tch… There's one potential ally spooked off. Ah, well. Joel stretches, then goes about gathering a few more pieces of wood from the surrounding trees. He may as well look around. Who knows? With so many players down in the lush cave near spawn, maybe no one's explored this side of the river just yet.

He might even find a few diamonds while he's at it.

🖤  💛  ❤️

He does not, in fact, find any diamonds. Even by the time the sun's come up, set, and risen in the sky again. To be fair, he doesn't have much chance to go looking for them. After a few minutes of poking around the jungle for some sort of exposed cave, a pair of shouting voices descend on him like vultures and start throwing raw iron at his head. Two people, diamond-spattered. The iron's probably a gift, though their taunting words are significantly less kind (Naked, yellow, anvils for brains… that sort of thing). Joel blinks, shielding himself badly with his hand.

"Oi! Bold move to startle a creeper hybrid, don't you think?"

Grian's leading the charge, hovering overhead with his stubby bumblebee wings. Diamond chestplate. Iron boots. Iron legs. He giggles, clutching his stomach, and rolls several flips in the air. The usual goggle strap that wraps around his head is now decorated in colorful flowers, which almost hide the enamel cookie pin just above his ear.

Crit him.

The command snaps across his head like a whip. That's his quarry. Who's just floating there, dripping in diamond armor. Joel twitches, switching instinctively to his axe, and then switches it out again. Did Grian notice?

The quarry kill is colorblind… I could put myself back up to green. I could just… TAKE it.

How many times will Grian be this close? How many times will he get such a perfect chance? Joel bites the corner of his lip, trying to hold his cool, and plays a few different scenarios across his mind. All of them end with Grian whipping around, throwing him to the dirt, and stabbing him down to zero hearts. He's allowed to fight back, and he will. One poof and he's instantly back at spawn, laid out pathetically in front of Ren, and he'll be a red name in Session blimmin' 1.

Kill him anyway.

Joel blinks a few times to clear the nagging thought from his mind. It seeps back like swamp ooze, muttering and slithering around his ankles.

The wool-coated Bdubs leaps down the hill next, swinging a golden axe, which shoots Joel's brows straight off his head. It's enchanted, flashing purple and blue. Bdubs always looks that amount of bruised and tattered these days, but it's much, much more intimidating when he's got such a shiny weapon in hand. It reflects sunlight off every chestplate and into Joel's eyes to boot.

"Where did you get that? Ruined portal treasure?"

"Ohh, baby, you know it! Yeah, you know… And a dozen free golden carrots too." Bdubs swings the weapon between his fingers, and Joel can't help the flash of jealous rage that tingles up his spine. Gold's not exactly known for its durability, but in a game of flashy-flashy, Bdubs' axe outstrips his crooked stone one by an age. He's got a shield on his arm, too (complete with a banner pattern: a white sheep on mossy green) and Joel sputters a laugh between his lips.

"Did you waste the whole server's wool on that banner? There's, like, one flipping sheep in this stupid jungle. They don't respawn."

"SHUT UP! It's my shield and I can banner up if I want to."

Joel erupts in cackles, throwing back his head. Grian lands on a branch then, buzzing his little wings. He's even got antennae. He's smiling. He waits for Joel to finish, then asks, "So how's creeper life treating you? Bet you would've liked to have that firepower in your belt when Impulse started messing around."

"He didn't even give me the chance to fight back, Grian! Just went and dropped me off a bloody cliff."

Grian shakes his head, tongue clicking. "Everyone's been going on about how amazing this big lush cave is, but we're all professionals here… We've seen it all before. It can't be that special."

"Well, you're not the one who fell into it."

"I'll watch my step," he says, like a cat licking Joel's pain straight off the back of his paw. Even his nose wrinkles like a kitten's. Grian swings his legs for a moment, then jumps down and lands in the grass with a thump. He puts his face very, very close to Joel's and smirks in a sunshine-y way. "So… What doing, yellow boy? You wanna come and play with us?"

"Play what?" Joel asks, blinking calmly back at him. He knows how to hold his own when Grian's getting pushy. He's known the guy for years. His breath is very, very close and very, very warm. He pushes just a little closer, sliding his hitbox all the way up Joel's elbows. For goodness' sakes…

Kill him.

Joel shifts his axe into his hand again. Then, hesitantly, shifts it out. The thought is pulsing in his head, but it isn't throbbing yet. There's no true drive. No true pain. His hearts beat a little faster, but he averts his gaze from Grian's beady stare. That helps. A little.

Grian hums his wings, lifting off the ground again. "I dunno… We're just- just building, really. We've been walking along the river for a while. Skizz and Scott have teamed up, apparently. I broke their bed and reset my spawn there. Bdubs and I were thinking of setting up in the jungle temple."

"There's a… jungle temple?"

"Mmhm. I wanted a little jungle wood. It's all oak and birch back the way we came." Grian studies him, breathing on Joel's neck, and Joel really wishes he wouldn't do that. He keeps his eyes stubbornly in the dirt, bunching his pants leg against his thigh. Every. Breath's. Deliberate. Grian steps back, closer to Bdubs, and casually draws a full-on diamond axe. Even though he's got iron boots and legs, he made himself an axe. "The jungle temple's that way too. We found loads of diamonds."

"And horse armor."

Kill him. In the head. He doesn't have a helmet. Strike fast and hot.

"That's very cool," he says, like they're talking about a new brownie recipe.

"Hm." Grian flicks his gaze across him again. "You're awfully fidgety, aren't you?"

Joel wrenches his attention off the forest floor. Grian's beaming like a 1st place racing jockey while Bdubs is no longer smiling. He just watches, head to one side. Joel curls his lip at both of them. "I don't know what you're expecting. I'm a yellow boy now. Had an absolute mare of a time, actually."

Grian glances at Bdubs - Distracted, he's not looking, get him now - and grips his axe more tightly. "Let's… let's get jungle wood together. We can all be friends."

"Sure… Cool. Just give me a minute while I craft some armor."

Take his life. He's right over there.

Exhale. Not a good idea, mate. You've got no shot at allying with Impulse. You scared off Tango. Let's just see where this goes.

The free iron is definitely helpful. It gets him two pieces of armor back plus an iron axe. The three of them set up a ring of torches to keep mobs from spawning, then spread out among the trees and start hacking big blocks of jungle wood. Bdubs switches to a more useful axe for the job, though Joel can't resist daydreaming of his gold one. Grian hovers above them to snip vines with his shears. Early on, Joel innocently suggests Grian lend him his diamond axe if he isn't even going to use it, but Grian only laughs. Strike 1.

Ugh. This is hopeless, and his thudding hearts know it. It flushes him hot. The stabbing brain pains are getting worse. It's boogeyman curse all over again, though ticked down to a low simmer. Every time Joel adjusts to keep the bee hybrid in his sights, Grian bobs to a different area, and Joel forces himself to chop another tree just to keep up his bland charade. "Riveting content," he snarks at one point, and Grian simply says, "Pick a fight with me, then."

That shuts him up.

When Joel checks again, Grian's sitting on a branch picking bits of vine from between the blades of his shears. He crumples them in his hand and drizzles them to the forest floor. He declares he's going to kill a panda as soon as he sees one, and Joel wonders how close he would need to get in order to explode Grian with his blinky creeper flesh. Do I have to hiss? Or can I somehow pull this off without giving myself away?

He'd really like to go for a creeper kill, actually. That's part of the fun of the series this time around, and Impulse got to flaunt his stolen enderman traits. Anyone can do an axe crit, but becoming one with the creepers? That's what brings the viewers to the yard, baby. Or… so he's been told. That's sort of the Watcher Joel's territory. He's just here to play a role.

Also, um… an axe fight might not end well for him. Grian's is made of diamond. So is his chestplate. Joel's decked out in only iron… and Bdubs still hasn't spilled what enchantment he's got on his golden one. It might be nothing of importance, but it could easily turn the tide of the fight. Grian warned everyone not to engage in a quarry fight unless they're actually struck, even to jump to an ally's aid, so in theory, BdoubleO can't even get involved… but then, when have rules ever been the 'end all be all' in a series like this anyway?

I could do it now, though… I could make myself green again. End the nagging pain. Grian's right in front of me.

Joel steadies himself as best as he can, even though he knows Bdubs catches him clenching his hand to his forehead once or twice, twisting a fistful of hair and trying to block the quarry mod from whispering in his ears. Grian's on a branch. Hitting him would be difficult. Grian's got the high ground. The better armor. The better weapon.

I don't think I gave Impulse enough credit for how hard he resisted the urge to put a sword in my back while we were in that mineshaft.

Bloody hell, his hearts didn't even race this bad when he was falling to his death. Will it get better once he's got one of Grian's lives securely in his hand? Or will the temptation to steal another only get worse?

Better take one. Take it so I know.

Oooh…

Breathe.

After five minutes of collecting wood, Bdubs lowers his axe long enough to pat his forehead with his sleeve. Can sheep hybrids overheat? His wool looks like it's lost a bit of its spring. Honestly, it can't possibly be comfortable doing this much manual labor while sprouting wool. It's gotten pretty thick by this point, especially around his chest and all over his hair. It flops over his bandana. He clears his throat.

"Hey… G. I don't know if it's the right time, but I assume the cam twins are cutting resource gathering montages from the finals anyway, so… question."

Grian double blinks. He flutters down to ground level - Hit him now, hit him while his attention's split - and pats down his feet. "Okay. What about?"

Bdubs exhales. He grips his axe by the top of the blade, pushing the handle into the dirt. He swivels it back and forth. It sort of squeaks. "I was, um… I was just talking to Martyn last night about emotion bleed…"

Joel cuts in hard and fast- "Well, there's your first mistake! Martyn doesn't even have a sync. His creator dumped his butt straight away. I heard it's the power of lore." He even makes sparkle firework fingers when he says it.

"I know, I know!" Bdubs shuffles back, dropping the axe - Duly noted, one less weapon out, maybe Grian will do the same - and shakes his hands back and forth. He puffs out his cheeks. "He had questions! It's not my fault! We were at the flock roost; he had questions and he's- he's like a viper in the grass when he comes for you, you know?" Bdubs pauses then, sliding one hand behind his neck. "It's just… We got to talking, me and Martyn, and I wanted to prompt a little conversation. You know- between a couple of real nice friends."

Friends. Sure. Joel closes his eyes and forces the axe out of his hand again.

"Okay, okay," Grian mutters, shifting so he stays on the opposite side of the clearing compared to Joel.

"Like, he was asking… He was like, 'Do you ever wonder what the players feel about all this? The alliances? Betrayals?' He… he wanted to know. He doesn't get emotion bleed. He was just wondering."

Grian swivels around, shiny eyes darker than dark in instant challenge. They slit. His diamond axe slips from his hand and patters across the ground- Free axe, it's free axe. When the next words roll out, they're thick with wary, choked-up caution: "No, no… Right. Don't go there, guys. Right, here's the thing. We're not allowed to talk about it on this server."

Renthedog stole the traits of Chicken

"I don't think about it," Joel says, saucy like a king. That's a good word for it: saucy. Describes him to a T. He slides right into the sound of it, rolling back on his heels. He even leans his battered iron axe against his shoulder for the whole nonchalant effect of it. Grian turns a frustrated glare his way, clearly debating the pros and cons of snapping at him to knock it off, but Joel only shrugs. "My player's married to Lizzie's IRL. I've married her a couple times, my personal favorite maybe being when I was the Mezalean King, but our relationship changes across these different worlds. We base together on our matrimonial server, but we like going our separate ways in servers like these. We're competitive that way. We spar off instead of teaming up. It's fun. It doesn't mean I don't like her and I seriously doubt that Watcher Joel even cares."

"You call him 'Watcher Joel?'"

"Yeah? What do you call yours?"

Grian tilts his head. "I don't call him anything. But definitely not that."

Bdubs crouches to grab his axe from the dirt. "I just call mine 'beloved.'"

Joel shrugs. That checks out, for Bdubs. He's never known Bdubs to get bothered over it before, so whatever Martyn said to him at the clock tower roost last night must've really gotten under him. Grian's fussy over details, sometimes. Maybe that's why he wears the goggles. Maybe they're prescription.

"Anyway, I absolutely count Lizzie as my wife. Like, she's mine. She's been mine since long before we woke up with our wedding rings. Doesn't matter to me, and it doesn't change the way I was coded as an individual. She's still her, I'm still me, see. The thing is, I don't really care what my player does in the real world. He doesn't define my relationship… I'm the one who picks all my thoughts and actions. He's just Watcher Joel. The way I see it? It's my world. He just plays the camera account and gets me off the respawn screen."

"What?" Bdubs doubles over, wrapping his arms around his stomach, and wheezes out a string of chuckles. "Look at you! Ohhh… Oh, that is a hot take…"

"S'my take." He can laugh all he wants to.

"Nuh-uh! You can't honestly believe your partner isn't here right now! Joel, how many times have I force-logged you out after hours?"

That's an easy question. "Uh… Zero, I think. Lizzie and I go home during European phantom hour. We help Jimmy organize his game nights, but it's the Americans who handle clean-up. You should know this, actually. Why don't you know that? Am I not important to you? Are we not friends?" Pointing with the axe- "Why aren't we friends, Bdubs?"

Bdubs blinks. "Zero… Huh. You know, that actually checks out. I don't think I've ever fed on your sync… Has Martyn gotten to you?"

"Oh, you better be joshing me right now. I don't even let Martyn lick steak sauce off my hand, and you think I'd let him have my sync? Absolutely not. How long have we known each other? This isn't winning you any points in the 'Are we not friends' department, actually."

"All right, I'm ending it here," Grian says, and the words leave him in an exhausted puff. He bends down to scoop his axe off the forest floor- It's no more free axe. Brushing dirt from the handle, he adds, "We don't talk about it on my server."

Joel cocks his head to one side. "Mm… Is it your server, Grian?"

"What?" The question seems to thunk him between the chest. Grian looks up, waffle-colored threads of hair falling like a curtain across his eyes. Why wear the goggles at all if he's going to keep them pushed up on his brow? Grian shakes his head; his hair flutters to one side. Joel's breath hitches up. Grian's off guard. He's so close… But the man brings the head of his shiny diamond axe near his chest and holds it there by the throat. Strangling. Clinging to its solid feel. Joel twitches, but keeps his feet planted in the dirt. It's not the right time. Grian stammers, "I… I have the admin mark. It's my series."

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

"But your player locks your hands," Joel presses. "That's why it's still windy, right? I know you, Grian. You definitely tried to turn it off and he definitely didn't let you. You're not the boss of me. How's it feel, mate? You're the boss of no one. Not the ocean. Not the dirt. Not even the air you breathe."

"I…" Grian drops his eyes to the admin mark on his wrist. Five dots, arranged in the command block star. Bdubs glances off, tapping the head of his axe against his iron boot. Joel fiddles with the handle of his own. There's a single piece of it that's chipping. A splinter jabs at his ring finger, which actually does bear a thin silver ring…

The definitions of 'marriage' and 'commitment' are flexible and hazy, mixed around across two dozen servers in the past few years alone. Sometimes the lines blur. Time resets. Yes, the rings are coded on their fingers, maintaining certain fuzzy memories between them even when they roleplay under new identities, but it doesn't change the fact that he is not truly Joel and LDShadowLady is not truly Lizzie. Like, he still considers Smallishbeans to be his genuine name. It's everyone else who was programmed to call him something else. And "Lidzil" (or LDSL) is the name he whispers in her ear when he draws the curtains shut and dims the lights.

The chat erupts with dings and praise for the Return to Sender achievement. Joel jumps. Right. They've got a few players in the Nether now. Tango and Pearl.

Tango stole the traits of Ghast

And it's all so complicated, really… which is bloody humiliating sometimes as he tries to piece together feelings while thumbing through his own code (And heck, it's flipping hot out here in the jungle, under the beating sun with limited water to speak of… clearing away the trees might not have been that smart). Lizzie is undeniably his type - he's a sucker for restrained chaos and height differences and dyed hair and there's no way around any of that - but it's… it's not that simple, in the Life series. There are reasons he's out here chopping wood with Grian and Bdubs while Lizzie is down in the mineshaft, probably gripping her sword in one hand and Mumbo's arm in the other as he lights the way with a bright red torch. Maybe Martyn's at their heels with sword drawn to watch their backs.

That's my wife. Doesn't shy away from any of it.

And that makes him smirk softly to himself, carefully prying a stray twig from the side of a jungle log. To think… He actually feels more delighted than jealous to know that right now, Lizzie's in the company of two other men. It's how he's always lived his life: if it wouldn't bother him to know Cleo or Pearl was down there in Lizzie's place right now, then it doesn't bother him that it's Lizzie at all. Heck, she could carrot with all four of them as long as she comes back to him in the end. Or sooner if he calls. It's the same complete, unending trust she showed him when he and Etho were respawning in a double-wide bed as soulmates throughout the weeks of Double Life. She knew he'd come back to her. She knew that when he logged off that server, it was home to her arms he came a-bounding. His bond with Lizzie is unbreakable.

Maybe that's why she's so fun to kill.

Now, if it were only him and Lizzie in this forest grove - his Lizzie, the Lizzie who tag-teams on building games with him and loves him even beyond the flair of his Mezalean King and deity personas - then yeah… Maybe he wouldn't be getting nearly as much wood chopped up right now. Maybe he'd be hard pressed not to take a few of these vines and pull her closer to share a tender moment of staring at each other's eyes, his hands at her waist and her fingers dancing on his cheeks…

But loving every part of her doesn't mean they're required to base together in the death games. I'm a clingy attention hog, but this isn't a server for settling down. This one's just for fun.

Skizzleman's got himself a wolf. Technically the achievement doesn't specify what animal he just befriended, but everyone knows it's a wolf.

LDShadowLady: I've got a nametag if you want it

Skizzleman: he knows his name :) he's a good boy

Joel stares for a few heavy seconds at his reflection in the shiny head of Grian's diamond axe, tongue in cheek. Oh, sure. He might never know what the life of Watcher Joel is like on the far side of the screen, nestled in a cute domestic home with a differently flavored Lizzie at his side, but he does know one thing. He definitely has more fun.

Like, screw Watcher Joel. Whatever methods of showing affection that exist in his world are pocket lint compared to this one. In Joel's professional opinion? Hunting down his wife, slashing at plants behind her while she puffs and streams through the forest with pink hair flying behind her, is way more fun than playing House. Unless it's a day when he actually does want to play House. Joel is massively proud of the mansion they built together, block by block… even if it did take a little longer than it probably should have because sometimes he couldn't resist staring at her silhouette while she hacked down trees with the rising sun behind her. See? That's home, that is. That's what love feels like.

His fingers tighten around the axe handle, thumb sliding along the reddish wood he used to craft it. Even though Lizzie isn't his quarry in this game, there's a certain beautiful hunger tugging at the ends of his sleeves, pleading with him to take the plunge… to drive this axe straight through her back and laugh hysterically the whole time. It's a desperate, gasping pleasure- the thought of outpacing her, leaping over boulders, because they're husband and wife attempting to kill each other on a private server in the middle of the night. The exhilaration of those moments is when they're truly, blearily entranced with one another. It's different than the growling voice urging him to slay Grian here and now… but there's a similar longing tugging at his hearts.

Isn't it funny? Is something wrong with him? No…

Smajor1995 stole the traits of Salmon

It's been a while since he's seen Lizzie, and he already wants to do it to her. Whack her down a notch, spin and swing and thwack, land a few more hits until her pixels spark… Leave her shocked and wheezing at his feet while he leers above her…

And maybe it sounds sadistic, maybe he's gone mad after all these death games, but there's a certain animalistic power in daydreaming over the way his wife will respawn. Has she made a bed yet? If so, it'll be with a gasp and a shudder in her own wooly blankets. Tucked away, believing she's safe, in a raggedy sort of bed in a mucky cave- a bed they don't share the way they share a canopy one in their lovey-dovey world. That bed's her filthy secret. A temptation. A quest. He longs to poof her off the grass, pin her in those lonely bed sheets by the laws of respawn code, tear this world apart until he finds that spawn point where she hides…

I love her so much, I'm boiling alive.

Mmng, the complications roll on and on off his tongue. Joel isn't sure what any of it means, and frankly? Screw knowing stuff in the first place. He literally couldn't care less how anyone else behaves with their partners or whether what he and Lizzie have is classed as "normal" or "insane." His relationship is no one's to define. They don't need labels on it. She's his Lidzil and he's her Beany-Boy. That's just the way it is.

Maybe he really likes the band of code wrapping around his little finger. Maybe he likes the safety net that Lizzie represents no matter what wild roleplay elements click into place around them. He may have definitely invited her to his cozy abode in Last Life once, untying the bun in his hair as he strolled in behind her with a sheathed sword bouncing against his thigh, but, well… It was Lizzie's fault in the first place. She's the one who said she always had 'a thing' for red names.

I mean. Their night may not have gone farther than ten minutes of threats, posturing, and flaunting their own grandiose ideas of power, blinded by the curse of redness in their veins more than affection, before they rushed out to hunt an unfortunate yellow name'd passerby, but…

… that's love, isn't it?

ZombieCleo stole the traits of Cave Spider

The fact that he even considered staying alongside her while red… It's not something he's really done for anyone while under the bloodlust curse, apart from Etho. Barely the Bad Boys, and even then he split off on his own. Maybe his soulmate relationship with Etho wasn't love per se, romantically, but that bond felt equally passionate and unbreakable. He and Etho had something special there, something fun. Yeah, things definitely felt different in Double Life than what he went through in Last Life, flying solo…

Obsession, maybe. I had possessive, clingy jealousy pumping through my code.

He's quite sure the other-world Joel, meaning the Joel who isn't really Smallishbeans - the Joel who will never truly understand the physical scratchy feel of building massive towers of trapdoors and terra cotta with his scraped-up bare hands for hours and hours on end, or the pains of pricking himself on cactus spines - he's quite sure the other-world Joel never dreams of murdering his own wife. He only knows as much about Watcher Joel as Watcher Joel knows about him, probably, but… that feels right. How similar is he, really, to his own creator? It's something he'll never be able to ask. In the digital world, they're never allowed to know.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Enderman

The sun is slowly setting, painting them all a little red and flushed in the thin light that makes it through the jungle trees. Grian is still tracing his thumb across the five dots on his wrist, stone silent. Has he been staring at them this whole time? (Like, since the Your player locks your hands thing, probably). Joel only jerks back to attention when Grian says, tone wavering, "The real big commands are banned in the Life series once all the players are whitelisted. It's just a game. I can- tch… I can still use commands in my other servers. It's only in these games that he doesn't let me."

Bdubs looks incredibly uncomfortable, still tapping his axe against the heel of one iron boot. Joel knows he shouldn't say it, knows he really shouldn't, but he only knows it after the words have already left his tongue:

"Guess your player can't trust you not to lose your head when you're red, then. He probably thinks you'd betray even your maker. I wouldn't, if I were admin. I'm loyal and tall and strong."

"Joel!" Grian's arms snap down to his sides, the mark on his wrist forgotten. "I won't ask again! This isn't a server for debating the 'real world.' We're just… It's just a game. We're all friends here. We have 'real world' at home."

It's a pitiful, rushed excuse to end a conversation, but Joel doesn't push it this time. His fingers tighten once again around the axe handle and those splinters cut a little deeper in his palms. There isn't an official crafting recipe for gloves, which means the special table will be useless. He'll have to sew them by hand with a bit of spider string. Either way, he wishes he had some leather he could wrap around his palms for better protection. Even just a strip of it. Grian looks ruffled and confused, put on the spot… His own hands are shaking. The command star gleams on his wrist with a faintly pulsing glow like redstone dust in the dark. His tiny bee wings buzz. Just once.

Joel doesn't say what he wants to. About the "real world," about its implications, about their team-ups… about how shy and private Grian is when anyone prods him on his relationship with his own wife- if you want to call her that. Who even is she? Joel's never even met her, and Grian is incredibly evasive. He doesn't even share screenshots. At least not more than one.

Is it a steady partnership? Does she truly stand beside him with undeniable trust? Joel doesn't really see how she could. See, he's utterly certain that Grian's never felt the glory of pursuing a lover, of hacking at his wife with a sharpened blade until she poofs into smoke, laughing together and fighting for every breath, respawning tangled in each other's arms… and so, so in love with the thrill and the madness and the fun. Honestly, flippin' everyone should take marital advice from Joel, because he knows he's a happy man. You know what? Here's another hot take: Maybe Grian would have a better romantic life if he murdered his wife a couple times. That'd kick the tension up a notch at home.

But Grian will never, ever do that… because he's coldly cut and dry. Joel's known him so long, he wants to slap that man upside the head. He divides his personal and roleplay lives in black and white categories more neatly organized than any chest monster, his relationships tightly under lock and key.

See, Grian fluently understands the nature of red names. He holds no affection for past alliances. Past servers, past iterations of the world, because here, They Are Not Supposed To. He does not cross his wires. And at home, which he envisions as Soft and Calm, he won't engage in shenanigans aplenty. That would be an overstep. Honey's home server is pacifist-bound, right? And likely always will be. Honestly, that does put a damper on things. No one to prank but Honey and Honey alone… and Grian will not, because to struggle through a conversation about boundaries would be Conversation and Uno Reverse Cards and Honesty and Vulnerability, and he'd sooner fling himself into the void. That's Joel's vision, anyway.

The thing is… Grian isn't like Joel. He's not like Lizzie. He doesn't associate even remotely with his creator's name. Charles? Who's Charles? Grian is just Grian, black and white. And for all his chaotic nature, he's also unbelievably full of trust. He may not cross the roleplay lines, but the faith he holds in the outer world is there…

And in Joel's mind, that's why Grian acknowledges himself as a married man. Grian's one of those "higher power, higher purpose" types. Everything happens for a reason; it's all for his own good. He can suffer a million explosions if it's for a purpose, even if that purpose turns out to be "the bit." He pulls down the goggles. He tills the soil. He dirties his hands in gunpowder and broken glass. He does his duty. He plays by rules of his own invention - rules that sometimes stray outside the logic of everyone else, twisting himself in self-inflicted oaths and knots - and those fleeting flickers of synced-up pride are all he really lives for.

He should kill her, though. Even if he trusts the man who created him, it doesn't mean he understands the raw and genuine trust that goes along with plunging a knife in the back of someone you care for. Someone who will never leave you over it, someone who'll giggle in your ear… Knows how to have fun with it…

Or maybe he does. Grian has a trained eye for identifying who is and isn't a good sport about his pranks. Pranks and murder are sort of the same thing. Who knows?

But Joel doesn't say it. Even though he wants to. His fingers burn around the axe handle. His breath scratches in his throat, begging for a scream. A howl. A hunting call.

He doesn't say it. Even though there's an itch down his neck that he's being judged for this - for going separate ways from Lizzie in such a deadly environment - as if he hasn't done it before. As if Last Life didn't see them both in brutal states.

He doesn't say it. Instead, he shrugs once more and starts hacking the vines off another jungle tree. Behind him, he hears Grian shift around, turning to Bdubs. Metal clinks. "Can you help with my straps?" he mutters. "I'm overheating… Just need my jumper off."

"Sure, G. C'mere. Let me get that for ya. We live so hard and fast in worlds like these; might as well get comfy."

Comfy?

Joel stops moving. His axe rests against the tree trunk. For two seconds, he stares at the reddish wood. Then he switches to F5. Bdubs is fiddling with Grian's back, helping him unstrap his chestplate.

He's taking off his diamond armor.

His hearts snap into overdrive, flushing him with a swirl of hunter energy again. Can I kill him? Would that be wrong? He clearly wants a break, but… he didn't call a time out. If he didn't call it, it's a legal kill. Right?

"Oh, your bee wings don't have collision," Bdubs is saying, helping Grian lift the chestplate up and over his head. It unfolds like a jaw. "They just… They just phase right through? I like that. I actually like that."

"Mmhm."

Should I do it? Right now? Grian's still got his neckpiece and shoulder pads, which glint in the setting sun. He isn't looking at Joel, but instead stares at Bdubs' arm.

"Wait… Why haven't we been shearing your wool? Oh, Bdubs, I'm so sorry… You must be roasting alive."

"I'm fine!"

Joel switches back to "normal eyes" and rotates on his heels. He tucks the axe back into his inventory. He doesn't need it. Durability on it's running low, anyway. Instead, Joel checks to confirm his own armor is resting comfortably around his chest. Sure is. Now, if he's not careful, all the clanking will give him away.

"Should let me do this for you," Grian mutters, plucking at a curl on the back of Bdubs' forearm, and Bdubs winces and steps aside. He's got Grian's armor in hand now. Grian bends forward to pull his jumper over his head. Bdubs tries to stop him, tries to say something about the shoulder pads, but Grian just says "I'm fine, I've got this; I know what I'm doing," and somehow (incredibly) wriggles himself free. His head pops out. Bare chest. No more diamond. Grian closes his eyes, wiping the jumper sleeve across his forehead. Then he looks up. Eyes meet.

Joel tilts his head.

MumboJumbo was slain by InTheLittleWood

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Zombie

"OH!" Grian stumbles back, thumping one hand to his hearts. "Mumbo!"

Joel snaps up. "Quarry kill?"

"That's gotta be a quarry kill. Watch: he'll call it in chat."

"Oh, wow. Cheers, mate. They were together a long time…" Kudos to Martyn; he held out longer than Impulse did. Longer than me, quite possibly. Joel can barely read chat, barely focus, because Grian's distracted and the scent of snapping pixels is in the air.

"O-oh," Bdubs stammers next. He's still reeling, holding one hand to his ear as the chat lets loose with pings. "That's- I mean, um- uh- Did- Did he just steal the 'zombie' traits off Mumbo? What does Mumbo respawn as, then? Is he back to being a player now?"

MumboJumbo: Dude??

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

"Huh. Doesn't look like he's calling it."

Grian twitches. "Hang on."

I can't hang on, Grian… I can't. I have to do this. I have to.

Grian: quarry kill?

SolidarityGaming stole the traits of Skeleton

How do I do this, again? I startled Tango when I shook the water droplets off. Do I just sort of… shake? Is that what creepers do?

GoodTimesWithScar: It's a doggy dog world Mumbo

MumboJumbo: A what?

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Creeper

Maybe if I hiss like-

LDShadowLady was slain by Cave Spider

"What?" It's Joel's shriek that splats out next. Instantly he's snapped around, axe in hand again, but there's nothing nearby to hit. It takes another two seconds for Grian and Bdubs to process chat, which is followed by echoes of "OH! OH!" and "Oh, no way…" around their little circle. Joel's first thought is panic- panic at the thought of Lizzie's body being ripped to dust by the creatures that so utterly paralyze her with fear, but-

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

It's dead. So a heartbeat later, as the initial shock of seeing his wife's name splash across his conscience, Joel lets his shoulders relax. He flips the axe to his hotbar again. Lizzie's back at bedrock spawn, most likely. Well. Ren's probably still there to talk to. At least she won't be alone. Joel might run back and taunt her for dying to a mob, even if cave spiders are no joke in in Hard mode, but at least they're in the 'early game' phase. With Day 1 kills, you're not really losing any high-value stuff, even if it does suck to have your gear de-spawn or get yoinked before you make it back.

I'm keeping all my armor, though. And any diamonds I find. She can fend for herself. They've gone their separate ways. Love you, babe.

"Huh," Grian says. He prompts chat again with the question of a quarry kill. Lizzie insists that Martyn has "some serious explaining to do," though she does acknowledge the fact that she died to a spider rather than at his hand. Mumbo just seems confused with the whole scenario. Joel watches Grian watch the chat through his communicator. Careful with his noisy iron boots, he inches slightly closer.

Do it now. Right now.

Grian's not looking… He's absorbed completely in his communicator, his jumper dangling like a trashed banner from his hand. Joel and Bdubs, however, make direct eye contact. Bdubs takes two very quiet steps backward, right up against a half-hacked jungle tree. He bites his lip. Good man. He says nothing even to his ally. Love the game and love the player.

Martyn doesn't respond. Is he still down in the mineshaft? The spelunking trio had been poking around that area way back when Joel and Impulse were, so that's some serious dedication to the explorer's angle if they've stayed all this time. Either Martyn's sprinting from remaining mobs, looting treasure chests while the getting is good, or he's taking that "refuses to elaborate" meme to the extreme.

Joel's mind flips like a coin between the two dominant thoughts competing for real estate inside his head. Kill Grian is one of them, and the other is Maybe he didn't mean to kill Mumbo. He'd call it if it did… right? Is his story that it's all an accident? A huge misunderstanding? Why not say that, then?

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Tropical Fish

"What's he doing?" Grian mutters, running his jumper sleeve across the dripping pixels on his forehead.

InTheLittleWood was slain by Cave Spider

That sets another round of messages in the chat. Bdubs covers his ears, squinting his eyes tight. Joel, hearts throbbing in his throat like a stack of spider eyes, studies the claw-like fingers on his creeper hybrid hand. Okay. He makes a tight fist.

And Martyn's silence drags on.

"Fellas," says Grian, fascinated like he's at a play. "I don't think that was a quarry kill. Huh… Maybe he took down Mumbo in self-defense? I mean, it's very like Mumbo to lash out without thinking things through. The modded bloodlust urges always hit him hard."

"Maybe," says Joel, drawing his communicator. It's now or never. Grian's looking the other way. He's got his armor off. No undershirt today. He's down to bare chest and iron boots and legs.

Kill him. Kill him now.

Yes. Okay.

Smallishbeans: Guys, watch this sick magic trick

No one sees it coming. He didn't step on any twigs or even crunchy grass. Bdubs has his eyes shut, no weapon in his hand. Grian's staring at the chat, bee wings buzzing at his back. Joel doesn't hesitate, doesn't take a deep breath, and certainly doesn't stretch before he exercises. He just lunges forward with a hiss. Grian spins, the shriek flashing from his lips, eyes wild, and takes the blast directly in the chest.

Grian was blown up by Smallishbeans

Smallishbeans stole the traits of Bee

Smallishbeans died

🖤  🖤  ❤️

What.

It burns like a wither blasting him through the chest. Joel sort of forgot that part. His pixels are everywhere, mingled with bits of Grian, and their spilled inventories are inseparable at Bdubs' feet. Prox chat cut off instantly, so there's no one to hear you scream.

Why did I die?

Joel - or what's left of him - trembles against the ground. This time there is no instant, comforting, apologetic warmth that floods down his sync with Watcher Joel. There is silence. And shock. The jungle is very hot and very red, and he and Grian are just a load of little pieces scattered in the dirt. Bdubs kneels down, unmoving, and stares at their remaining loot.

It's blazing… it's blazing pain, across the surface area of every last dot… Joel closes his eyes, hunkering down in an imaginary ball.

Etho: What happened?

InTheLittleWood: Hold on a minute

GoodTimesWithScar: Building inspection gone wrong?

Renthedog: Did Joel just die?

Tango: First red?

PearlescentMoon: Quarry kill??

Bigbst4tz2: Grian?

InTheLittleWood: That's not what happened in the testing server

SolidarityGaming: Joel first red??

MumboJumbo: Something is very wrong here

Smajor1995: Grian, type in chat, come on

BdoubleO100: They're with me

BdoubleO100: No respawn yet

ZombieCleo: What happened?

A tingle of heat runs across Joel's spine. It feels like hands, sliding underneath him as Watcher Joel scoops him back to bedrock spawn. Click goes the mental tick. When Joel blinks, he's back at Ren's farm, crumpled on his side with a massive clump of gunpowder sticking to his chest. His armor's gone. Again. The air is whisper-cold, his body aching. Oh. Oh.

The pain ebbs away as respawn painkillers sweep across his back. Joel lies for a few seconds anyway, eyelashes brushing bedrock, just trying to get the world underneath him.

Oh, my head… The chicken clucks, cow bellows, and oinking pigs don't help at all. Every sheep bleat slices through his skull.

InTheLittleWood: Mod's gone under?

"Joel," Ren calls, thumping his way through the farm. He sounds like he's bouncing, iron boots trampling the path. Then he skids to a halt. "Oh… JOEL…"

BdoubleO100: They went off like rockets

"Ren?"

"I'm here, dude. Hang on."

Renthedog: Joel's with me guys

Renthedog: But it ain't pretty

Etho: ???

What… what do you mean 'not pretty?' "I'm very pretty," Joel mumbles, trying to sit up. He can't get… he can't get his pixels to brace against the bedrock. They're too scattered. Joel stares at the empty space where he can feel a phantom hand. He opens and closes invisible fingers… but there is no hand. Not even a forearm. Just a tornado of swirling pixels, swarming like blue and white insects, because they can't hold the form. His arm tingles all the way up to his elbow.

InTheLittleWood: Like, something's real busted

ZombieCleo: Do we need a kick?

Etho: Ren, talk to me

"Joel," says Ren, crouching beside him. His fuzzy fingers, the dog-like pads thick and calloused, gently press him down against the bedrock. There are feathers lining his arm. "Put your head down, man… Close your eyes. You don't want to see this."

"This isn't… What? Where's my hand?" He's not in pain, but that almost makes it weirder. Joel's eyes flicker, tracing out the shape of a hand that isn't there. He's… he's got a nub. He's got a nub to his elbow. Joel moves to touch his chest, where he feels what he's pretty sure is gunpowder, but Ren grabs what's left of his shoulder and pins him down against the bedrock. It's horrifying, actually, to have the giant fuzzy werewolf-y type guy leering over him like that, eyes squinted behind his shades even in the dark, so Joel doesn't argue and instead goes very still.

"Where's Lizzie?"

"Uh. I haven't seen her yet. Must've had a bed down in the caves. Martyn and Mumbo are probably with her right now; I'm sure she's fine, dude. No one in chat is screaming about her. Don't… don't try to touch anything. Definitely not that."

"What happened?"

"You ripped your seams. Just… Can you just lie there for a minute while I type in chat, Joel? Can you do that?"

"… What?"

Smajor1995: Ren??

Ren slides away his hands like he's handling a baby warden, leaving Joel staring blearily at the red-tinted sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, but that's fair… because the sun hasn't fully set. The flickering torches Ren set up around his farm cast weird shadows across the dirt. Joel lies with his ear pressed to bedrock, counting black spots in the stone.

Renthedog: Etho, come to spawn

impulseSV: did someone forget to scrub?

impulseSV: skizz?

Etho: ?

Skizzleman: I SCRUBBED!!

impulseSV: :P

BigB: You guys okay?

Renthedog: Code fracture

Etho: like

Joel shifts his shoulders against the bedrock, trying to sit himself up again. Ren, who's still sitting cross-legged beside him, apparently, carefully pushes him back down. Okay. That's fine. This is fine.

Etho: they blew up their vessels, or?

Renthedog: Joel's bad

Lizzie's asking questions. Joel hears every ding in his ear, but stares blankly at the bedrock, unable to move. "Um… Ren?"

"Hang on a minute, dude."

BdoubleO100: Is Grian with you?

Renthedog: no

Grian: i'm in skizz's bed

Skizzleman: WHAT

Grian: i'm fine

Skizzleman: I feel so VIOLATED!!

Skizzleman: that's my safe space :(

Grian: joel was that a quarry?

Lizzie's getting frantic and nobody's giving answers. Joel scrapes his nub arm over bedrock, staring at the mess of static pixels dancing in front of him. He goes to wipe his lips, but it's… nothing.

"Where's my hand?"

Renthedog: Joel blew a hole in his vessel

Smajor1995: How did that happen??

Renthedog: idk

Renthedog: but he's leaking bad

GoodTimesWithScar: Is he ok?

Smajor1995: How bad is bad?

Etho: I'm almost there

BdoubleO100: He was flashing like a creeper

BdoubleO100: He WAS a creeper

Smajor1995: Do you need a force kick?

Grian: that mustve been a quarry right?

"Ren… this isn't my hand."

Ren's palm is coated in dirt, though it's soft like butter when he pats it against Joel's cheek. "Etho's gonna fix that, man. He's almost here."

"Where's my hand?"

Grian: my vessels fine and i had my shirt off

Grian: so it must be the mod

Tango: put your clothes back on Gman

PearlescentMoon: No one wants to see that

Grian: joel im putting you back on yellow so you dont red mist on us but tell me if thats wrong

"Ren, it's not… Are these my pixels? Or Grian's? Did I blow him up too hard?"

BdoubleO100: You left your sweater with me actually

"Stay with me, dude. Stay with me."

Skizzleman: were you two shirtless in MY BED???

BdoubleO100: Not recently

bigbst4tz2: omg

Grian: bdubs

Grian: not funny

Joel croaks out a laugh, which fritzes the pixels inside his throat. That's not respawn damage. The painkillers don't cover scratchiness.

Grian: dont pay him any attention skizz

BdoubleO100: I'm sorry I'm nervous

BdoubleO100: I witnessed a double kill

Smajor1995: I just don't understand how his vessel could take damage?

Tango: ikr? This isn't anarchy hub

InTheLittleWood: Did something tamper with the mod?

Etho: sounds likely

Grian: ???

PearlescentMoon: During break you think?

The scuffing footsteps in the distance are familiar, somehow. They shuffle-clunk, shuffle-clunk. Joel tries again to raise his head, blinking, and it's… it's Etho standing at the lip of the spawn plateau, the wind blowing his white hair sideways. He's geared up with diamond chest and legs, though the boots are still iron. His mouth is masked with black cloth, face expressionless because of it. Doesn't matter. Joel teamed with this man in Double Life. He can read the alarm flaring in his mismatched eyes. That scar's never looked so throbbing and bright. Etho's fingers tighten on his communicator. Joel tries to lick his lips, but his mouth still tastes like soot and gunpowder.

"How… how bad is it, Etho?"

"Fine," he says, typing with his thumbs. "You're fine, Joel. But don't look."

Etho: oh that's vessel damage all right

LDShadowLady: ?????

"It's okay. This isn't my hand."

Ren's fingers scratch gently at his chin, like the man's trying to soothe a puppy. His touch is feathery. He smells like chicken. This makes sense, somehow. It's very cold.

Smajor1995: We need a HALO?

Etho: I don't know

Etho: it couldn't hurt

Smajor1995: got it

Smajor1995 left the game

"Um. Etho?" he calls as Etho kneels down, setting the communicator aside. Etho brushes his fingers across his hair. Sparks crackle and Joel winces, jerking back. His pixels fire like a geyser, but Etho narrows his eyes and bends closer, aloof and uncaring. See? This is why he wears the mask. Etho grips the black fabric between thumb and forefinger, giving it the faintest tug from his mouth so his lips will move more easily.

"I'm right here with ya, Joel. Eyes on me. Now, I'm going to have to put my hand under your shirt. You're gonna be fine."

Joel blinks. "S'been a while since you've done that… Didn't I fall, once?"

"Mmhm, and you pulled through just fine. Remember?"

"Oh yeah…"

Tango: How did this even happen?

Etho: idk

Grian: details please??

Etho mutters under his breath, pushing forward. Joel waits for a touch of skin on skin that never comes. Yet somehow, the movement sends up another round of sparks. Joel flinches instinctively, but it doesn't hurt. He didn't feel any of that. Etho's basically on top of him, though, which is very weird in a I've never had him do this in the wild sort of way- it's usually in his office. Etho ignores the first probing message from Grian, but when a second one comes through from Scott (and a third from Lizzie), he sighs. "I can't… I don't have hands. Ren, can you take that?"

"I got you, dude."

"Etho," Joel murmurs as Etho fusses around a little more. "You're so frantic… It doesn't even hurt."

"… Yeeeeah, I imagine it wouldn't. Just stay still for me. Okay?"

Renthedog: Not much to say. Etho's looking at him now though.

"You are a doctor, right?"

"Something like that."

Renthedog: All I know is, it's not even his first death since we came back from break

"I can't… feel your fingers on me."

"I know. Don't look."

Joel strains to sit up anyway, and Etho pushes him down by the shoulder. "You don't need to know."

"Why not?"

Grian: then he IS hooked in properly. its gotta be the mod

Etho sighs, then grabs his communicator and punches back an answer. Joel squirms, trying to kick his legs, but nothing happens.

Etho: You think we broke it?

Grian: idk

"Etho, why… why is it taking so long to get the feeling back in my legs?" This time, Joel thrashes harder in an attempt to get up. He flops on his shoulder, which makes Etho spit against his mask and wrench him around again. "Owwie," Joel whines as his shoulder blade whacks bedrock, but Etho doesn't even spare a glance.

"Ren, will you hold him?"

Ren's whuffing, doggy breath ruffles Joel's scalp again. The man's fuzzy face appears upside-down in Joel's very limited world-view. Large paws clamp against his shoulders. Drearily, Joel stares up at the oversized canine teeth and wonders if they'll start falling out now that Ren has started taking on chicken traits.

Grian: either us or an outside conflict but I came in clean

Etho moves his hands under Joel's shirt like he's pathfinding, at least as far as Joel can tell. He can see the ripple sliding around his chest. But Etho's not… he's not touching skin. That's weird… Shouldn't he be touching, to check for fractured code?

… why isn't he touching?

SolidarityGaming: I stripped so far I basically had my pecs out

"Etho?"

"Yeppers?"

Joel blows out a stream of air. It makes Ren twitch his nose. "Well, it can't be that bad. You sound like it's fine."

"I've got you."

PearlescentMoon: Did you ALL go shirtless once we started??

Who's shirtless? Oh… Grian. Grian was the other. Because of the explosion. This is funny. Joel took his own vest off so it wouldn't be layered under his armor, but maybe he should've gone all the way. A whole crew of bare-chested boys. Grian would seethe and Scar would be so proud.

LDShadowLady: Is Joel okay??

It must be the 5th time she's asked that question. Etho looks at Ren. Ren looks at Etho. Then Etho withdraws his hand from under Joel's shirt, tapping again on his communicator.

Etho: We're at spawn

LDShadowLady: IS HE OKAY????

Etho ignores this, leaning over Joel like before. That's rude. He shouldn't ignore Lizzie. No one should. "Okay," he says anyway, surveying with his eyes. One is green. The other is red. A long scar crosses over it, curling down his cheek and vanishing somewhere beneath his mask. Joel's seen where it ends, below his lips. Not many people have seen Etho tug the mask down to eat, but he has. They were Boat Boys together. "You've got a bad fracture, Joel. Bdubs can get us a recent backup of your player file, but you can't leave this server until then. You stay here. Don't do anything that would update the file. Do you understand?"

Joel blinks. "Okay… Sure. But why would Bdubs have a copy?"

Grian: what happened? creeper hybrids didnt explode during tests

"Because he's flock captain." Etho pauses. Swivels. "Unless you were more recently logged out by Martyn, but I always think of Bdubs first. Who else is in the flock? I forget."

Bigbst4tz2: Is it something with this server?

GoodTimesWithScar: Is he going to be okay?

"… Etho, I've never been force-kicked from New Star. I… I go home during phantom hour. I sleep in my own bed. Where's Lizzie?" Joel tries to sit up again, but with no hands and no feeling in his legs (not to mention Ren breathing down on him), it doesn't do any good. Ren presses him down again.

impulseSV: you think someone didn't scrub?

Tango: My hair and tail mod?

Tango: It's never been an issue before

Skizzleman: Dop stop LOOKING at me!

"That's fine," Etho says, his tone as smooth as liquid chocolate. The eyes, which a fellow Boat Boy can read like glow squid ink on a sign post, tell Joel that things are Most Certainly Not Fine (capital letters not optional). "Scott will have your base code in his office. It won't be recent data, but I can work with that. He has a meeting with his boss tonight, so I'll just walk with him there and he can let me in. You, though, stay here. Don't update the file."

Skizzleman: you're the one who always forgets to de-sync our health >:c

"Okay… Where's Lizzie?"

It's Rendog who answers this time: "She's on her way, dude. She'll be here in a flash."

"Right. Cool. Um. Just give it to me straight, Etho. How is it?"

Etho hums a little, tugging on the lower part of his face mask. His eyes sweep across Joel in silence like an ocelot on the prowl. Joel hates how well he knows those eyes. Hates it like he hates birch wood and horses and wandering traders and so much else.

ZombieCleo: It IS literally always you two when we have a mod conflict

"Um…"

"Can I at least look now? I still can't feel my legs."

InTheLittleWood: Aw, can't keep your hearts off each other? ;)

"Joel, don't take this the wrong way, but… How attached are you to your current vessel?"

"To my-? What do you MEAN don't take that the wrong way!? What the HELL, Etho?" Joel launches himself to a sitting position with torso strength he didn't know he had, though Ren grabs his shoulders and pins him back instantly. Not before- not before he saw- not- not before-

"O-oh…"

This isn't anything like the stuff they're teaching in his coding class.

impulseSV: I'm scrubbed, dude

Skizzleman: well so am I

"So… you can't fix this? We just… You think we have to scrap?"

"Hey, it's not that I'm not trying! I'm doing my best, Joel, but I'm just one guy!" Etho's voice cracks on that last word. He slumps forward, catching himself with his hands, and Joel hears the scritch of his fingers curling over bedrock. Ah. Yikes.

"I- I don't hate you, Etho…"

BdoubleO100: So if it's not a mod conflict then what else could it be?

GoodTimesWithScar left the game

Chapter Text

LDShadowLady - Zombie

Quarry: SolidarityGaming

Hunter: Unknown

Allegiance: The Spelunkers

💚  💛  ❤️

The Life series is a stage, the creeper on the cave ledge below is an audience member, and Martyn InTheLittleWood is a theatrical man. Lizzie knows that, Mumbo knows that, and maybe that's why they both lunge forward to grab him by the arms before he can fling himself off a cliff. The last mob he killed was a skeleton, so touching him feels like touching a bundle of branches in a shroud. He shakes them both off anyway, protesting and promising not to do anything stupid. Martyn's idea of something stupid, Lizzie very quickly discovers after that, has far narrower parameters than she would have guessed.

"Lizzie! Lizzie, Mumbo. Watch this."

"Oh dear," Mumbo says weakly, rubbing behind his neck. Lizzie grimaces, holding one hand to the sword at her hip. She probably makes a goofy sight - her navy blue schoolgirl uniform, her tangled pink hair stuck with moss and gravel, her iron armor, diamond sword, the zombie traits that have left her with greenish flesh - but hey… she's here to win a war, not a photo op. Although it would be fun to bring a sword to one of those…

The ledge they're standing on opens into a larger cave, which is spotted with glowberries, distant lava flows, and the shiny violet eyes of endermen. Spiders too, their eyes bright and red. The cave's walking paths curl around the right-hand side, leaving an enormous drop to the left. With her current zombie orientation, Lizzie can see perfectly well a hundred blocks out, and there are… a lot more more mobs than the three of them can take on all at once. "Someone's already come this way," she murmurs to the others. "They've loaded the chunks and spawned everything… They might even still be here."

Martyn ignores her and lines himself up - backwards - against the edge of the drop. He grips a bucket of water in his hand. "Let me see, let me see… There we are. All right: watch this and prepare to be astounded."

"Uh," says Mumbo, reaching out his arm. His soot-stained fingers grasp the end of Martyn's sleeve. He tugs him back. "I'm not sure what I'm looking at here, dude, but I don't think it's a very good idea."

Martyn slaps the hand off anyway, his bones clattering beneath his armor. "Nah, nah; I've been practicing at home. I'm getting some sick footage out of this. Watch me, watch me." Martyn backs up again. Mumbo lets him, though Lizzie can tell from his wincing shoulders that he's still expecting the second death of the season to pop up in the chat any second now. Third, maybe, if you want to be technical, and Lizzie doesn't; it'll be all the more funny to tease her husband that canonically, he died before Jimmy in this round of the games.

Martyn bends his knees a few times, testing. Cautious inhale. Smooth exhale. Then he throws himself backwards off the drop. He backflips, dumps his water bucket, and sticks the landing. Perfect MLG clutch. Half the water's on the cave floor; half comes splashing down on top of him. He throws out his arms, embracing the rain. Lizzie and Mumbo break into golf claps.

"Nice, mate!"

"Oh, come on… You can cheer harder than that! Same team, guys. Same team."

"Creeper, creeper!" Lizzie calls, pointing behind him. Martyn's eyes bulge. He ducks away, searching his inventory for a torch. He doesn't have boots yet and his shoes keep skidding on wet stone. He starts swinging at the creeper, shouting "Avast!" and "Get back, dynamite swine!" until she and Mumbo jump down with weapons in hand. The creeper butts Martyn with its head and knocks him into the water so hard, it disconnects his skeletal forearm. Mumbo ducks sideways, looking for an opening. No dice. Lizzie gives the creeper a hearty swing and accidentally sends it flying off the edge of the next cliff. It falls for a solid second before she hears it thump somewhere below. Its claws scratch as it picks itself up and scurries away into the darkness. Lizzie spits out a bit of hair. Ah, well. Maybe it's better to stay a zombie anyway. She's liking the night vision… and exploding sounds like it might hurt.

She turns away from the drop to find Mumbo pulling Martyn back to his feet. He's soaked and wincing, but doesn't look like he's in too much pain, all things considered. "No hearts lost," he says when he sees Lizzie looking. His disconnected arm bones start finger-crawling away across the floor. "Uh-oh," Martyn mumbles, and tries to kick it with his foot. It scuttles sideways. "Stop, mate… If you make any rude gestures, you're gonna get me fired. At least try to pretend we're PG."

"Huh," says Lizzie, watching the arm crawl closer. Skeletons poof away after you defeat them in battle, apart from the bones they drop on occasion (which you can use to tame greedy wolves). She doesn't normally take the time to study them. If you'd asked her to guess what the skeletal structure of a forearm looked like… she certainly wouldn't have said "actually two separate bones that lie next to each other."

Weird.

The three of them watch in silence for a couple seconds until Lizzie bends down and grabs Martyn's hand by the wrist. The upper part of the arm is fritzing with loose pixels. Lizzie passes it to Mumbo, who holds it near Martyn's elbow until the connector points swirl together again. There we are. Martyn pinches his tongue between his lips, testing the way his arm bends a few times, then gives Mumbo two thumbs up.

"Aw, beauty… We're good. Thanks, guys. Real lifesavers. See Mumbo, this is why I married you."

Lizzie blinks. Mumbo, who's taken Martyn's bucket to scoop the water sloshing at their feet, swings around. Her surprise must show on her face, because his instantly glitches out. He catches himself quickly, but not before she registers that sign of embarrassment.

"It wasn't like that," Mumbo cuts in, covering his face with one hand. He shakes the other Lizzie's way, palm outstretched. "It was… It was back in Last Life. Martyn was just ready to transfer me a life, but we never even shared carrots…"

"Oh," says Lizzie, trying to remember much about the Last Life dynamics. Martyn falls back against the ledge wall, pounding his hand against it and trying to catch his breath. Lizzie and Mumbo both swing around to stare at him. Luckily his arm doesn't pop off again, though it wouldn't shock her if it did.

"Oh my- oh my good glory," Martyn wheezes. He struggles on every one of those words, gripping his knee as he tries to force his thoughts between his laughs. He shoves the other arm across his face, wiping sparky tears. "Oh my word, can you even imagine? You craft golden carrots in a Life server and you just, you know, use them for that? Not to be all weird about it, Mumbo, but that's a power move if ever I heard one, that is."

"I just wanted to clarify," Mumbo stutters out, his face prickling with pixels. "Am- Am I making this worse?"

"Nah, no- you are doing beautifully." Martyn blows him an imaginary love-tap and accepts his water bucket. "I'll take front in this cave. You two watch my back, all right? We've been exploring for a while now; I feel like I can trust you both."

Lizzie glances at Mumbo, who glances back at her. "Are you totally sure you want to keep going?" Lizzie asks. Martyn pauses. He doesn't turn back, but taps the bucket gently against his knee.

"What do you mean?"

This time it's Mumbo who answers: "You look exhausted, mate."

Martyn laughs, bitterly. "I'm narcoleptic, Mumbo… I'm always exhausted. Just one of the myriad joys of being me." He shakes his head, vaporizing the bucket in a shower of white sparks. "We mined some cobwebs, right? That'll work. Let's carve a little hole in the wall and take a nap."

"I agree with that," Lizzie says, glancing across the cave. The yawning pit that takes up most of it makes her skin crawl even deeper than the zombie rot. "There are mobs everywhere… I think someone's already come through and loaded the chunks. I for one will feel much safer down in this yawning cavern once we have our very own protected spawn point."

"Sounds good, yes," says Mumbo. He stares across the cave. Not far ahead of them, it morphs from rough stone to carpets of moss in all directions. The glowberries give the place an angelic haze. "You know what this reminds me of? This is like… one of those '100 Days In Hardcore Minecraft' challenges you always hear about in the hub. It's just 100 Days Inside a Massive Lush Cave."

"I'm telling you now," says Martyn, walking dangerously near the edge of the cliff drop, "you could spend 100 days down here and I don't think you'd come close to exploring every nook and cranny. It might even take you 100 days just to light it up."

"Not a smart base in the long run," Lizzie agrees. "But it'll do for Session 1."

"Hold on, hold on." Martyn shuffles over to a pool in the rocks. "Oh my gosh… look at the little guys."

"Look at what?"

"The babies!" He leans his hands on his knees and lets out a low whistle. "Do they just naturally spawn baby axolotls? … I never knew that."

Lizzie walks up beside him. Martyn's right. Two axolotls (one a lightly roasted brown, the other pink) swim around the little pond with a baby paddling around behind them. And it is kind of cute… even if they're just mobs. "Well, they have to come from somewhere."

"I thought they were like parrots and bats. They just sort of… spawn in like that, you know? Aw. Now that's real cute. They're so tiny. It feels wrong to scoop one up, though. I'd hate to break up the family."

They switch their weapons for pickaxes and dig into the wall near the pond, though Martyn keeps walking out to stare at the axolotls every two minutes. Lizzie and Mumbo carve out a decently sized cave. Martyn fiddles with the crafting table, weaving string into wool and from there into a bed. He tosses the thing in the corner and it poofs into its full size. "Right," he says. "I've got enough wool for three beds… Should I make three and we can keep 'em in our inventories?"

"Might as well."

He does exactly that, lining those beds up beside the first. Then he crafts a door and plops it at the entrance of their little side cave. Mumbo and Lizzie, who are extending the walls and ceiling, both pause to look at him.

"What?"

"Nothing at all," Lizzie says, and goes back to mining up a little iron. Who puts a door on a temporary spawn cave instead of using dirt blocks?

"It needs curtains," Martyn says, tapping his foot. "Then I can peek through the little peep spot when the zombies come knocking. I bet I could make some with a bit of the moss and glowberry vines out there. Wait." He switches to his pick and mines a hole in the wall beside the door. "There we are… Now we have a window. See? Real nice and homely down here."

Mumbo looks up from a bit of redstone ore he unearthed in the wall. "What if we get shot?"

There's a second of pause. Then Martyn shoves a cobblestone block in the hole. "After further consideration, our landlord did not approve us to have a window." He throws himself back onto one of the beds, bones rattling, and kicks up his legs. "Ah… Home sweet home. You know, I could get used to this. I feel like there's potential in your base being underground in the Life games, especially when this place is crawling with mobs. Shouldn't get too many unexpected visitors from the outside… and I saw a few water pillars we could swim up if we get in any trouble. Don't know where they go, but it could be fun to play with."

"It's musty down here," Lizzie says, crafting a furnace. She sets it up in the corner away from the beds and starts smelting their iron. "If we're planning to be long-term basing buddies, we must discuss our options for quickly relocating above ground. I can't stand not having fresh air in my lungs."

"But we're spelunkers…"

"Spelunkers still have to breathe."

"Don't you have gills? Just go dunk your head in the pond. Junior won't mind. He's going through a rebellious stage and his parents expect him to invite a few friends over for wild parties."

"That's only outside the game… and the air I filter through the water would still be musty."

"Fair." Martyn sits up and starts pulling off his shoes. Lizzie pauses, her hands still full of iron ore.

"Why did you wear crocs to a death game?"

He glances up. "Because my shoes are always crocs."

"Right… Then you're the first one of us who's getting diamond boots."

Martyn splutters a laugh and yanks his shoe off the rest of the way. He shakes out a pebble and then rubs the bottom of his bony foot. "I mean, you can try… but they'll still be crocs."

Lizzie's not sure what to make of that statement. She and Mumbo bid Martyn a nice nap, which he mumbles half a response to and snuggles himself deep in the crimson bedsheets. Lizzie takes his water bucket, walks to the edge of the cliff, and sets a water stream that she and Mumbo can swim back up when they're done mining. Yeah, there are water pillars dropping fish from above, but they're in the center of the cave. You can swim to the ceiling, but there would be nowhere to jump out and land. Well. You could try. If you're brave.

The next twenty or so minutes are spent in mostly silence, digging around for iron and coal. "Um, Lizzie," Mumbo says at one point. They're down in the pokey-holes. She turns. Mumbo doesn't look at her, still swishing at the blocks with his iron pick. But he can clearly sense her stare on the back of his neck (Possibly from zombie senses or possibly it just burns him straight-out) and he sucks a careful breath through his teeth. "We've been exploring the server for a while now and… Well, I like to think we've sort of formed a nice team. We're buds now, you and me. Would it be, um… too forward to ask who your quarry is?"

"Sorry?"

The next block breaks beneath his hand. Mumbo scoops up the cobblestone, then lowers the pick and glances over at her. They didn't bring torches since both of them can see perfectly well with their zombie eyes on… His eyes glow eerily phantom green in the dark. "It's not me or Martyn… Is it?"

Heartbeats, Lizzie discovers in that moment, are much more difficult to detect when you have zombie traits spreading up your skin. She wonders if this is how Cleo feels all twenty minutes of the day. "You first."

Mumbo… pauses. "That's fair. I have Tango."

She doesn't know him well enough to determine if he's lying. But maybe she's better off not lying. There's no real benefit to doing so, and even if she makes up a little fib, it could sew the seeds of doubt later in their alliance. There's no real reason to purposely offer a reason not to trust her. "Mine's Jimmy," she says, and laughs to herself. "Trust me, Mumbo… If Martyn was my quarry, I wouldn't have let him set his spawn point. I'd have struck while he had his guard down at the crafting table and sent him back to bedrock spawn. It would be quick, underhanded, and utterly shameless. Then I'd grab all the iron and run off to find a new alliance. This is because Martyn scares me. I reckon the most logical thing to do would be to put as much distance between him and me as I possibly can."

Silence.

"We could ditch him," Mumbo says quietly, edging closer. What? Lizzie takes a step back. Mumbo stops, bracing his hand on the wall instead. "I mean, I've got most of our good stuff. He's napping through the night. We could just… walk away."

"I'm not really sure I like how close you are to betraying the alliance, actually…"

Mumbo wrinkles his nose, mustache twitching. He walks away again, back to his pokey hole. "I don't think loyalty ever lasts that long in a game like this one. It was all fine before the quarries got rolled, mate. But I've seen the way he looks at you when your back is turned. It wouldn't surprise me if he looks the same way at me. Like he's… hungry."

Lizzie considers this, letting the pickaxe wobble in her hand. "Martyn's always hungry. He doesn't have a sync to draw energy from, so he only gets by on raw code. I don't think it's right to hold that against him. He can't help being what he is. Besides… we're both tied to England. He can't feed on us until our phantom hour, and that's long outside of play time. If we're going to break the team, let's be smart about this. We should always keep our reasons to things that are actually related to the game. That way, no one takes it personally."

"Yeah," Mumbo murmurs. They mostly mine in silence after that, apart from the occasional cry of "Yes!" and "Ha ha!" when they dig out something nice.

When they get back, Martyn's crafting an awkward clock with some gold he apparently went and found. "I brought diamonds," Lizzie tells him, which makes him look up. He has two tiny wooden clock hands in his mouth. He spits them back on the crafting table and Lizzie finishes with, "For boots… I want you to have boots."

"They're gonna be crocs."

"Then I'll be the one to craft them for you. Mine always craft as boots. Move aside. My turn."

Martyn finishes the clock and backs away, flumping on the triple beds. Is it a bad move to craft boots before a chestplate? Maybe, but if it secures Martyn's loyalty, all the better. If Martyn betrays the team, so be it. She can team up with Mumbo. If Mumbo runs off and she doesn't have any spark with Martyn, then Martyn might simply follow him and leave her all alone. Thus, this seems to be the right move… even if crafting a chestplate would normally be her go-to. Let's just hope these aren't the only diamonds we get this season… Mining's not really my cup of tea.

Martyn kicks his feet gently until Lizzie comes over with the diamond boots. His ankle is bony, which is a weird thing to hold. Lizzie slides the shoe over Martyn's foot, but it shimmers and morphs into a diamond croc the second it touches his heel. Lizzie pauses, still holding his ankle. "… Huh. I've never seen that before. Is that a mod? You brought that in?" Grian warned them all to scrub down to base code, apart from minor aesthetic tweaks. As far as tweaks go, this one is particularly strange.

"Nah. It's default code: the same reason us winged players can't help our elytra morphing into our actual wings when we put them on. I was spawned this way… I can't change who I am, Lizzie."

"Is that painful?" she asks, giving him the other boot. "There must be more cobwebs around. We could probably gather more wool for socks."

"Honestly that sounds like heaven, but everyone will taunt me then for wearing socks with sandals." Martyn pulls on the second boot (which shimmers and changes like the first) then fidgets with the strap a few times. "Magma cream would be nice right about now… I wonder if I can trade for some of that later. I mean, someone's gotta be heading to the Nether within the first two days. By the way, did you guys see the tropical fish falling from the ceiling out there? What's that about?"

"We must be under the ocean."

"It's just weird to watch… They're all falling in the hole."

There's a rustling noise outside their door. Clomping boots. All three of them jerk up their heads. "Uh-oh," says Mumbo, flipping his sword to his hand. They all agreed to diamond up their weapons before their armor, especially after watching Joel's stuff get picked apart after he died. Armor hadn't saved him from a fall, but maybe a diamond weapon would have made Impulse think twice before attacking him. Lizzie draws hers too. Martyn's on his feet at once, grabbing for the door.

"Outside, now! Don't let them corner us."

Their surprise visitors turn out to be Cleo and Jimmy, who exit from the same passage the three spelunkers took to enter the cave. That's rather sus, Lizzie thinks, though doesn't say so. Were these two the ones who loaded all the chunks and mobs? Cleo stands like a terra cotta soldier, peering down at them with a torch in one hand. She's a spider, by the looks of it… which means two extra pairs of arms. Jimmy hangs off one of them, practically swinging sideways. He's coated in white feathers, which have overtaken almost all his former "base player" skin.

"OI!" he yells. "You lot are so going down! My Cleo could beat up the likes of you any day!"

That's her quarry… and the sight of him flickers a low pulse across her skin. Lizzie grips her sword hilt. He's a chicken hybrid… He can't be THAT hard to kill.

Cleo's sigh is audible halfway the way across the cave. They set four hands on their hips. "Jimmy, I appreciate the admiration, but I'm really not… I swear, I'm not as cool as you seem to think I am. I appreciate it, though."

"Aw," says Jimmy, patting Cleo's chestplate. A diamond chestplate. "Get a load of her…"

Martyn moves forward, hefting his sword. "Stay away from my axolotls. Junior just got accepted into the gifted program at school."

Jimmy jumps the drop into the cave, not even flashing red when he hits the bottom. That's chicken traits for ya. He comes skulking closer, smiling huge, arms spread like he wants a hug. Those feathers were still light along his skin when Lizzie saw him earlier, though they've morphed to full wings now. "Listen to him," he chides, walking ever forward. "Now, do I look like the kind of guy who'd hurt a poor wittle axolotl?" A second later, "Why are there fish falling from the ceiling?"

"Jimmy," Cleo calls in warning. "Any one of those three could be hunting you right now."

Martyn holds his ground as Jimmy beelines right for him. Mumbo and Lizzie watch, silent, and Martyn sets his teeth. "Hold on, hold on now… What's the big idea, getting all up in my grill?"

"I'm not, I'm not. Just showing off my wings, man. I'm not after you. I'm hunting Tango." He still has fingers despite the wings and makes a heart shape with his hands. "Miss him, Rancher buddy. Still my soulmate. Best one I could ever ask for; Double Life never really ended for me."

Lizzie throws a sideways glance at Mumbo. Mumbo slides his eyes back to her. Hmm…

Jimmy tucks his arms back in, leaning around Martyn to get a better look at the pond. Martyn backs away again, keeping his sword out, and Jimmy studies the three axolotls inside. Then he hops over. His feet are delicate, Lizzie realizes. He's not wearing any boots… and he's got talons for feet. "We're adventuring," he tells them over his shoulder, walking past. Lizzie, Martyn, and Mumbo relax… tentatively. "I may be the chicken, but Cleo's really taken me under their wing. She's gonna make a man out of me. By the end of the season, we could do a whole montage for it."

Cleo sighs, wandering up behind Lizzie. She must have lost a couple hearts when she jumped down, because she nibbles on a melon slice. No weapons… even though as a spider, she definitely has two extra off-hand slots. Lizzie eyes her anyway, because Cleo can probably smell fear and Lizzie fears her. Cleo, however, just shakes her head. "I don't really have a great training regimen… I just sort of lunge and whack." Then, switching to Lizzie, "Is this your little hidey-hole? With the door?"

"No," says Mumbo. "It generated that way."

Pause.

"Okay, yes. It is ours, yep."

"You three doing a little mining?"

"Well," says Martyn, trying to watch Jimmy and Cleo at the same time and clearly very aware of how much he's been backed against the cliff drop, "they don't call us The Spelunkers for no reason."

Mumbo blinks. "Is that our team name?"

It was at that moment that I realized we'd just been surrounded.

Lizzie moves behind the pond, circling around until she pins Jimmy between her, Mumbo, and Martyn. "Let's go," she says. Martyn complies instantly, taking the excuse to shuffle away from the drop. Mumbo's right behind her, which sends Lizzie's hearts thumping at the base of her jaw. Jimmy and Mumbo can't both have Tango as a quarry… so one of them is lying.

Which means one of them is covering the fact that he's hunting one of us.

Renthedog stole the traits of Chicken

"I have blocks and a water bucket," Martyn says, practically breathing in Lizzie's ear. His eyes get narrow and grim. "If things start getting weird… Well, I'm glad there's three of us, but you've seen their diamond armor."

Lizzie glances back again. Cleo's peeking through the door of their little home, tapping their foot like she can't decide whether or not it's worth making enemies by ducking in to have a snoop around. They pulled their hair back in a puffy ponytail, which somehow looks like a hissing nest of snakes. Jimmy pays them no attention as the Spelunkers back away, instead playing with the axolotls.

"They could be friendly…"

"Nah, mate. They would've said something like 'We come in peace' if that were true."

"He's lying," Mumbo adds, pulling on Lizzie's sleeve. "He can't be hunting Tango. Tango's my quarry."

Jimmy leaves the pond, wandering after them as they make their way along the edge of the cave. Mumbo leads the way with caution and a torch. Martyn stacks up or mines down blocks to make appropriate stairs as they go up a level. Thanks to her zombie traits, Lizzie can see a bit of mineshaft overhead, jabbing from another tunnel. The lush cave has left it overgrown. Any treasure chests? Maybe. Lizzie bounds up Martyn's sloppy stairs and veers into the tunnel. There's a chest not far in there. She opens the lid and quickly checks the pockets. Beetroot seeds, a nametag, torches…

"OW! Hey-"

I knew it.

Lizzie abandons the chest, rushing back into the main chamber. Mumbo's up on her level, standing near a cave spider spawner that he's just thrown a torch atop. Martyn's in full sprint, racing parallel to the half-broken rails with Jimmy right behind, diamond sword drawn.

"TIME OUT, TIME OUT!" Martyn screeches, making the T with his hands. "I haven't put my crocs in speed mode! Oh my word- Stop, STOP!"

Jimmy doesn't stop, cackling madly and yelling at the top of his lungs as he chases Martyn with his sword. Martyn keeps flashing red with every hit. "Oh my gosh," Lizzie puffs, but Martyn's already so far away that there's nothing she can do. Cleo's nowhere to be seen, which probably means she's raiding their house… so, in conclusion, neither of these actions are something Lizzie can stop and walking away from their hole in the wall was probably a bad idea.

"They can't interfere!" Jimmy crows, still swinging. "They can't interfere! It's you and me, baby! It's you and me!"

Martyn hits a patch of moss and skids into a baseball slide. He whips out his diamond sword. Jimmy plows right into it and the blade cuts through his stomach. Jimmy gasps, dropping his own weapon with a clatter. Martyn, sweeping back to his feet, wrenches upward. A huge slash of wobbly, sparking pixels arcs across Jimmy's body from belly to chin before the sword pops out again. He stumbles back, waving his arms back and forth and calling "Right, right- that's it! It was a joke, Martyn!"

"Nah, nah… We finish this here."

"Jimmy!" Cleo shouts from across the cave. "I look away for one minute?"

Jimmy dives off the cliff, wings flared, and flutters his way down on gentle chicken wings. "I need food!" he shouts to Cleo, who shouts back "Here- I've got melons!" as he flits down. Martyn, seething through his teeth, switches his sword for his infinity bow.

"Not so fast!"

"Get him, Martyn!" Lizzie calls, though she's already searching for a way down. Jimmy is her quarry. If Martyn kills him in self-defense, that's fine… but she won't get credit for the kill, which means she can't take his extra life. If Martyn can whittle Jimmy down, though, then it would only take a slice or two of her sword to put her from green life to purple.

Martyn fires arrows down the cliff, aiming for Jimmy's sparking white center line. One hits, flashing him red. Jimmy squeals and pulls in his wings. That drops him with a thump. Cleo rushes forward, hooking their arm around his, and hoists her shield. "I've got you, I've got you," Lizzie hears them say, and she scrambles back down Martyn's stairs to chase after them. That's when a new voice cuts across the cave, tilted in surprise.

"What did we walk into!?"

That's Etho, back by the entrance jump. Lizzie spares him half a glance. They're a little out of range of her zombie night vision, but Etho's got a torch, so it makes him fairly easy to pick out. The fire gleams against his white hair. Scar's with him too, carefully sliding down the drop with a water bucket in hand.

"I'm hit, I'm hit!" Jimmy wails, ducking behind Cleo. Another of Martyn's arrows finds his shoulder. Cleo lifts her shield again, catching the next one. Martyn paces along the drop, still firing. Cleo may be a spider, but she's got her hands full trying to track Martyn, Jimmy, and now Etho and Scar all at the same time. Lizzie runs straight at Jimmy, thwacks him on the leg, and he leaps forward with a yell.

"Lizzie!?"

"Guess who's hunting," she says, and swings at his head. Jimmy jerks up his shoulder. The blade clashes in a shriek of diamond on diamond. He shoves Cleo away and takes off in a sprint towards Etho and Scar.

"Guys, guys- Save me! She's gone mad, I tell you!"

Thwack! goes another arrow, this time sending Cleo lurching into Lizzie. Cleo rips it straight from her skin. "Right, that's it," she seethes. The arrow swaps into her inventory. She takes one look at Martyn and hurls her communicator as hard as she can. He dodges sideways. The comm whaps the torch right off the cave spawner and sends it flying. It crashes against the back wall of the cave and sputters out. Darkness plunges over that corner. Lizzie inhales, fumbling her sword. In a shimmer of white sparks, the communicator zips right back to Cleo's hand. Etho erupts into horrified laughter while Scar slips into roleplay for the wrong Life game and yells "YEAH! Go, Mom!"

"Cleo!" That's Etho, jumping down from his perch. "Oh my gosh…"

"Lizzie," Mumbo calls, patting up and down his chest. "That was my last torch…"

Uh-oh.

Martyn stares down at Cleo, stupefied, with his bow dangling from his fingertips. As Lizzie scrambles back up the awkward stairs, she hears him mutter, "Oh my gods… I'm about to get so many love hearts right now."

Honestly? Same. That temptation isn't helped by the way Cleo twirls the communicator in their fingers, switching effortlessly back to their sword. "Be professional," she tells Martyn anyway and starts fumbling in her inventory for torches.

"I… I think I might surrender."

"Don't even think about it."

"HO-LEY MO-LEY! You did not just do that! Holey moley! You are literally the best mentor I could ask for, Cleo."

"I… I don't think I could replicate that if I tried, Jimmy. It was just a lucky shot."

Something big and fuzzy lunges at Lizzie, knocking her off her feet. Her mind blips out of inventory check mode. She hits the stone with a grunt. The cave spider rears above her, fangs bared, and she screams "Oh my gosh!" and tries to find her sword.

"Holey moley! This guy… This one right here! That's my Cleo."

"I'm… I'm flattered, but really…"

Mumbo slashes at the spider, which veers its attention long enough for Lizzie to scramble back to her feet. Mumbo takes a heavy hit, flashing scarlet, and crashes against the spawner's edge. "Martyn!" he calls. He's a mess of sparking hair and untucked suit coat- even his mustache looks completely rumpled now. "Dude, dude! … Do you have any torches?" He stabs his sword in the spider's underbelly. It hisses, scrabbling with its feet. Gross, actually. Lizzie whacks it once on the back and it scuttles off, climbing the wall out of reach. Great. Mumbo mops his brow and adds, "This thing will keep spawning them if we don't put something on it!"

"I've got one somewhere," Lizzie says, flipping through her inventory again. The cave spider lunges down, hissing, and Martyn swings his sword again.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

"You wanna jump down?" Martyn asks.

"I think we're better off holding the high ground. There are four people down there now."

Martyn fires another arrow in Jimmy's direction. Cleo catches it in her shield. "Aw, geez… Does anyone know who we've got after us? Jimmy's on me."

Lizzie closes out her mental inventory, torch in hand. "I've got Jimmy. If I can get the kill, I'll get up to purple life."

"Right. Sounds good to me, but I won't hold back if he picks a fight agai- OH, behind you!" Martyn grabs Lizzie and yanks her sideways just as another cave spider leaps from the top of the spawner. Mumbo's on the other side. He grits his teeth, swiping with his sword. Martyn backs away, firing arrows at its hide. Lizzie goes in for a whack, but the spider knocks her off the edge of the drop…

… and down a long way.

"OH MY GOSH!"

"Lizzie, NO!"

Tango stole the traits of Ghast

Sploosh!

Okay… okay. This is fine. Thank goodness for lush caves filled with water - the water pillars leaking from the ceiling are really putting in the work - but now she's nowhere near the action. And, she realizes a second later, I'm still the one with all the torches. Above her, she can hear Martyn firing arrows and arguing back and forth with Mumbo over whether to break the spawner or leave it be. Lizzie starts climbing her way back up the cliff. Her zombie senses, it turns out, still give her a pretty precise idea of where everyone is within a 100-block radius, regardless of whether they're actually in her line of sight. She can hear Scar stumbling forward, his feet excited and his cane practically skidding over moss and stone.

"CLEO! I saw it from all the way back there! That was awesome!"

"I didn't really… it wasn't… I mean, sure. Yeah. Let's go with that." Cleo's voice cracks into hiccups and wheezing laughter, and they scramble together up the slope, pulling each other by the arms.

"Lizzie, here!" Martyn shouts, dumping out his water bucket. Oh. That works too, and is probably faster than trying to mine her way up the wall. Lizzie switches tactics, leaping into the water stream. She swims to the top and Martyn and Mumbo grab her arms and pull her back to solid rock. Lizzie throws half her torches at each of them. A third spider leaps out, but Mumbo at least manages to slap the torch back on the spawner. The spider jumps straight at Lizzie. She rolls sideways and it misses by a meter, flying over the edge.

"Okay," she says. She's drenched. She's utterly soaked. Her legs have goosepixels and her hair is heavy and dripping down her back. Lizzie grabs a fistful of it, squeezing out just enough water to make it bearable. "What's our game plan here? I wouldn't mind taking out Jimmy for a life, but any one of those guys down there could have us as a quarry. In fact, one of them does. Do we keep maintaining the high ground?"

Apparently, Skizz got himself a dog. Should I be paying attention to the chat? Wait. Is Tango in the Nether? She sort of missed that bit. Lizzie blinks, then materializes her communicator and shoots a message of her own.

LDShadowLady: I've got a nametag if you want it

Everybody knows Skizz loves his Kevin… Jimmy Eyeball Refrigerator… something. Why not? It never hurts to make an ally.

Skizzleman: he knows his name :) he's a good boy

Cleo, Jimmy, Scar, and Etho are grouped together now, exchanging words and peering up at them. Lizzie sort of hopes they don't just leave. The thrill of a fight is pumping in her code now and Jimmy is right there, shaking out his wings. Everyone down there has a weapon drawn, and as Lizzie watches, Jimmy and Cleo come charging back at them. "Do it again, do it again," Jimmy chants, and suddenly the two of them are scaling the crudely carved stairs.

"Martyn, can you shoot them?"

"What?"

Lizzie turns her head. Martyn stands there, clutching his empty water bucket to his chest. He stares at Cleo with his jaw hanging slightly open. Rolling her eyes, Lizzie grabs his arm and gives him a shake. "Come on! Don't give the enemy such a glaring advantage! Shoot them! You're the only one with a bow!"

"I should get a free pass for that," he argues, vaporizing the bucket. "I don't think there's a person in this room who didn't want to start a reacts channel after that show! I didn't even know you could use a communicator like a weapon. Oh my word… Do you think they'll sign my sword after this fight? Can we exit through the gift shop before we head back up to surface?"

"Just get behind me." Lizzie practically throws him at the cobweb-coated spawner, then turns back with sword drawn and gleaming. Jimmy, who'd climbed the stairs and started running at them, scrabbles instantly so he won't crash right into her. His momentum knocks him down and he slides too far forward. "Wait, WAIT!" he shrieks, and tries to roll away before Lizzie's sword can thunk against his armor. The thwack leaves a dent of bright white pixels at the edge of his diamond chestplate. Jimmy, yelping, scrambles off on hands and knees until he's up again, racing back towards Cleo and the stairs. Cleo's got a cave spider all over her, though no one tries to help. "Lizzie," Jimmy whines, "you can't engage!"

"You're my quarry!"

"Oh NO! Guys! Guys, where are you?"

Smajor1995 stole the traits of Salmon

Lizzie dodges around Cleo and the spider, staying right on Jimmy's heels as he fumbles into the mineshaft tunnel. He ducks behind the chest, shoves it at her when she charges in, then races back out and into the open cave again. The thing slams against her stomach and knocks her into the wall. Hh, hhh- Lizzie shakes the impact off and stays right on his heels. She has a perfect view of the cave spider that springs out of Martyn's earlier water bucket stream and launches itself directly at Mumbo's face. Mumbo goes down, yelling for help. Cleo and Martyn are right there, so Lizzie zeroes in on Jimmy.

ZombieCleo stole the traits of Cave Spider

He's panicking, running in circles and taking almost every swing Lizzie makes. Her sword thumps against him time and time again. Each hit leaves a streak of sun-white pixels. Lizzie realizes too late that Jimmy's luring her towards the cliff. He leaps, sticks the landing at the base of the stairs, and takes off back towards Etho and Scar (who have been watching all of this with melon slices in their hands). Lizzie's not willing to risk the damage of the jump. She changes course, going back to take the stairs down like a proper warrior lady.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Enderman

"Time to die, Mumbo," she hears Cleo say.

Oh no.

Lizzie, skidding to a halt, swings around. Cleo has her sword up, spider arms bristling like something from a glitched-out mod. Mumbo's on his feet again after the spider hit and looks up with a flash of shock. "Mumbo, jump!" Martyn screams. He lunges forward, shoving Mumbo in the shoulder. The man flashes red. That punch should have sent him into the water stream leaking over the edge of the cliff.

It does not send him into the water stream leaking over the edge of the cliff.

MumboJumbo was slain by InTheLittleWood

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Zombie

Lizzie stumbles backwards with a gasp, nearly tipping down the stairs. Mumbo goes up in a burst of white smoke, armor, and little inventory bits. Martyn, who'd been counting on his body weight to prevent him from flying off the cliff, stumbles forward and splashes into the water in a very undignified way. Cleo spins around, snapping at him for taking her kill. Martyn crawls back onto the stone, soaking wet, and cringes on hands and knees as she berates him. As Lizzie stares, Martyn's shadowy enderman arms disappear in a ripple of rotting green flesh.

"Oh, geez," Martyn groans, getting back to his feet. "He must have only been on half a heart. I- I didn't mean to!"

"You stole my kill!"

"It was an accident! No no no, Cleo-"

She whacks the torch off the spawner anyway with her sword and stomps off. Apparently, with Mumbo out of the picture, she no longer has any reason to talk to them. Lizzie shifts sideways so Cleo can use the stairs. Jimmy's far away. Cleo's no longer swinging. This is a breath of calm. Lizzie hurries over to join Martyn in picking up Mumbo's scattered inventory. "At least he's not far," she says. She can still see their wooden door from here.

"Yeah," says Martyn, looking right at her. Behind them, Cleo shouts something about another cave spider.

"… Martyn?"

"Don't run."

Lizzie scrambles back, sword in hand, as Martyn takes his first swing from a crouch. She yells something clever, probably, though even she doesn't catch it. She books it towards the stairs. Martyn's crocs slap the slippery rock behind her, and a single glance in F5 shows him with one arm outstretched, his sword fully drawn.

"LIZZIE, DON'T RUN!"

"WHY IS YOUR SWORD OUT, MARTYN!?"

"I'm sorry, Lizzie! It's- It's nothing personal, I swear!"

"And to think I liked your crocs!"

Chat messages are firing and she's not reading most of them. Martyn fumbles because Cleo just knocked the cave spider she was scuffling with straight into him. Lizzie skids around a creeper, whacking it once in the hopes it'll aggro on her pursuer when she sprints out of range.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

Martyn's back and practically on top of her. His fingers make a wild grab for her hair. Lizzie stumbles on the first stair and Martyn whips his sword through her chest. Her pixels flicker red. Lizzie turns, bashing him with her own sword, and knocks him back so hard that he trips on a rail and plops on his butt. The creeper runs forward, hissing, and Martyn shrieks and scrambles aside. That'll stall him for a sec. But only for a sec. She hears him whip his weapon back and forth, swatting the mob backwards.

Grian: quarry kill?

SolidarityGaming stole the traits of Skeleton

Jimmy. Lizzie scans the cave for him and sees him standing near Etho and Scar, an arrow lodged in each shoulder. But the skeleton is dead now (extra dead) and he's rapidly taking on its bones.

GoodTimesWithScar: It's a doggy dog world Mumbo

MumboJumbo: A what?

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Creeper

Suddenly, taking fall damage doesn't seem like such a big deal. Lizzie leaps the rest of the way down and charges straight at Jimmy. He'd been eating a melon, and he shrieks and bolts at the sight of her with her sword. It'd be nice, actually, to be a skeleton right now.

"LIZZIE!" That's Mumbo this time, up ahead by the door where they have their beds. "On your left!"

"Huh-?"

LDShadowLady was slain by Cave Spider

Lizzie's still rolling when she respawns and she thumps into the wall. She's… she's sprawled across the rumpled wooly bedsheets. Martyn's the only one who actually slept… the only one who'll respawn under the red blankets instead of on top. She sits up, blinking hard. Mumbo's behind her, but he's out the door with a wail a second later. Lizzie respawned so fast, she can still hear the sounds of wood and tools hitting the floor from when she exploded. Mumbo and Martyn break into an argument. Weapons clash. Lizzie remembers a second later who's out there.

"Mumbo! Watch for Cleo!"

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Cave Spider

"You went for Lizzie!" Mumbo yells. Lizzie scrambles off the bed and hurries to the door. It doesn't hurt, mostly… she's already feeling better, though the initial rush of adrenaline snapped away when she respawned. Mumbo's trying to hold off Cleo and Martyn at the same time: one of whom is trying to go for him with a sword and the other of whom is trying to get past him and steal Lizzie's scattered loot.

"What was I supposed to do?" Martyn snaps back, shoving beetroot seeds in his inventory. "I didn't exactly lie! The alliance was already made by the time I got the quarry roll. I could have gone for her there… Would you have liked that better? There was no easy way out for me!"

There's Jimmy. He's just standing there… Lizzie wishes she'd set aside a chest of backup gear. Jimmy, skeletal, stands away from the rest of the group, nervously eating his melon. He'd be an easy target right about now.

"Cleo, stop!" Mumbo protests, ducking behind Martyn. "Are you really going to put me down to red on Episode 1?"

"You can get your lives back this series! It's fine!"

"Cleo, have a heart," Scar says, trying to step between them. Martyn shoves Mumbo away, stumbling towards the cliff.

"Right, I'm out… I'm out, all of you. It's been marvelous, but this is where we-"

THWACK!

Martyn's pixels snap to scarlet. "OH!" he yells. He pinwheels his arms, doubles over, and clutches his shoulder. His knees buckle and he tumbles over the edge of the cliff to the ravine below. Jimmy fires another arrow at him as Martyn falls. Now that he's gone, Lizzie rushes out to stand by Mumbo. Martyn lands in a thin puddle of water at the bottom of the drop, not too far from a water pillar dripping through the ceiling. A tropical fish drops from above and splatters in his lap. Without thinking, he swipes it so it goes flying at the wall.

InTheLittleWood stole the traits of Tropical Fish

"Oh, that's lovely! I'm gonna be sick… I'm actually gonna be sick after all this wild back and forth."

"You must be low," Jimmy calls, nocking another arrow. Martyn rolls away. Still clutching his arm, he scrambles off across the slick stone. Jimmy sends another arrow, this time hitting him in the back, and Martyn goes down with a yelp of pain. A familiar fuzzy shape lunges from the darkness, fangs dripping poison.

InTheLittleWood was slain by Cave Spider

"NO!"

Silence falls across the cave, though not in the chat. Tango, Pearl, Scott, and Ren all have something to say, and the pings make Lizzie feel lightheaded. Then Jimmy stomps his foot, twirling in a circle and lashing his bow. He and Cleo complain back and forth to each other about stupid cave spiders stealing their kills- ("See, Mumbo? Wouldn't you rather I get the kill and keep the life in the game? When the mobs take them, they're out of rotation for good").

Lizzie hears shuffling. Then a creaking wooden door. Everyone turns. Martyn, doing his best impression of looking pitiful, steps out of their little base and drags his foot in the moss. He sighs. Deeply. "Oh, Junior… We're really in it now. So, um." He clears his throat. "Are the Spelunkers over?"

"Uh…" Mumbo gestures at Lizzie. "You think, buddy?"

"Lizzie," Martyn tries again. "Look, I know it's unconventional, but… maybe we can make an arrangement. You know: I help you get kills on Jimmy and then you can pass just a few extra lives along to me. You can stay topped up on green and I'll only pinch a life here and there when you're on purple. We can still make it work!"

"I think that ship has sailed, Martyn." Lizzie gestures vaguely at Jimmy with her sword tip. "Besides… The three of us will just be going around in circles if we're constantly taking from each other. It won't be especially pretty now that two of us are down to yellow. That leaves only seven possible lives between us. I believe this is where we go our separate ways. I stand by that."

He pauses, lips pressed tight. "That's fair. Um… Can I keep my bed?"

Smallishbeans: Guys, watch this sick magic trick

"Well, I certainly don't want those sheets," Lizzie mutters. Etho and Scar are standing like a meat shield between her, Mumbo, and Cleo and Jimmy now… which she's grateful for. "Just don't-"

Grian was blown up by Smallishbeans

Smallishbeans stole the traits of Bee

Smallishbeans died

🖤  💛  ❤️

Grian ends the session early. He says they might not even play next week. He says that maybe they'll scrap the entire episode and start over because everything's a mess.

Grian says a lot of other things that Lizzie doesn't hear. Not… not after finding out what happened to Joel. The next minutes are a blur that feel like hours. Several players log out - Jimmy, Cleo, BigB, Impulse, Skizz - and either go home to rest or off to prepare for Jimmy's game night… which they're allowed to do, because life goes on.

Life goes on even when your husband is dying on the ground.

Lizzie stays at spawn, clinging to Ren's arm, for the fleeting minutes it takes for Scott to return with a HALO. They have a dog skin (chocolate brown fur, lighter paws and muzzle, lightly floppy ears- HALO Cobalt, apparently). "That was fast," Lizzie murmurs, trying to sound congratulatory. Scott mutters something about running into the fellow on the street, flops onto the grass, and takes an impromptu nap. Martyn, who had already been standing near Lizzie for several awkward minutes, slinks away and sets his own bed up near a nice spot of Ren's wheat farm.

"Why do I need a HALO?" Joel asks, almost whiny and disgusted, and Lizzie turns away from him. Ren accepts the embrace and pats her shoulder gently as she presses into him. Thankfully, Etho's body shields her eyes from most of the damage… but it isn't a pretty sight. Joel…

… There's not much left of Joel's current vessel. It's flaked off in massive chunks. It's no longer one coherent form. He doesn't seem to understand that yet and keeps whining, trying to rub his eyes. His arms are missing up to his shoulders now. Cyan pixels swim around him like fireflies. Which hits like acid on her chest.

"Talk to me," says HALO Cobalt, pacing around and flicking their tail back and forth. Etho relays the info as best he can while Joel unhelpfully asks for food over and over again and Lizzie hugs Ren until she can't bear to hug him anymore. Her fingernails must be pinching hard, but he doesn't protest. The one time she glances at Martyn, he makes eye contact from his pillow, then turns away and yanks the sheets over his head. Lizzie pulls Scott's attention away long enough to ask if she can leave the server and he tells her yes, but requests she wait for him and Etho before she tells anyone about what's going on.

That's almost worse… Talking to a friend would make it easier. But she agrees.

When Lizzie poofs back into the 3LF lounge, it's empty apart from Scar, who's bent over drinking directly from the tap. The sink is copper and the water reverberates like zombie growls as he guzzles it, practically gnawing with his teeth. With his elbows up and spiky vex wings twitching, he looks like one of those bobbing duck desk toys. Streams of water dribble down his chin. He's coughing on it, she's staring through him, and for one fumbling moment in that brightly lit room with its shiny portal and cushy armchairs…

… nobody's dying, and the world is fine. This fractured space consists of her and Scar alone. The water rattles, almost humming in her ears. It flutters her gills. Lizzie smooths the ruffles in her skirt and takes a careful breath. It was then I knew, she says to herself, that I had to be the one to break the silence.

So of course, she says absolutely nothing. Her fingers tighten in a fist at her chest. Her squishy tail wraps around her ankle, flitty and noncommittal. There is no making small talk here, in the lounge. There is no cure for the yawning void inside her chest.

Scar pushes the sink handle into the 'Off' position, but doesn't turn around. He wipes his lips on the back of his hand. "How is Joel?"

Her tail stills. Lashes flutter. Joel… Joel, who's lying on the bedrock in a mess of scattered pixels, unable to hold a form. Joel, with Etho hunkered over him, head bowed and hair brushing Joel's glitching chest. Joel, left sleepy and confused by the respawn painkillers pulsing through his system. He'd smiled and muttered a "Hi, Lizzie," when she came over the hill, and Ren held her elbow in silent warning not to get too close. The damage had already spread from Joel up to Etho's wrists, which were dissolving fast in a swirl of blue and white pixels. Etho will be fine, though. Etho is always fine.

Etho does not have a camera twin to betray his emotions. Lizzie has never wished more than tonight that he did. She did not particularly like the way PiglinMyNose sat on the bedrock near Joel and sucked his thumb like a puzzled goldfish… like he didn't know where he was. Although to be fair, that's not unusual for Pig (either in or out of spectator mode).

Scar is still staring at the wall above the sink.

How IS Joel? Hm… Before tonight, there must have been six or seven ways she could answer that question. Joel works himself silly. He stays up too late studying for his coding class. Sometimes I have to carry him home. He's fussing over campaign stuff with Scott. He's worried about his friends. Hermes is being difficult.

She sighs, tucking a loose curl of hair behind her ear. Her Stitch earrings bounce, slapping at her jaw and feathery gills. "Well, his vessel's gone to pudding and rump roast; I can tell you that right now. But the important thing is, his player file is still intact."

"Oh. That's good, I think." Scar splashes a little water on his face, then rubs it dry with a green hand towel. "Wh… what does that mean, exactly? Will he be okay? Can he get that body back? Or is he just pixels now?"

Ah. Another of those tricky, tricky questions with half a dozen different answers. Lizzie thumbs through them, which plunges them both into silence. Scar can't hold still. He keeps shifting his weight between his feet. When he's done drying his face, he folds the towel and hangs it from its little ring again. Still, Lizzie stutters over her limited options. Scar, meanwhile, braces his hands against the side of the sink. He just… He just stares into the copper basin like it's a missing block in the bedrock that drops to the void.

"I don't actually know that much about vessel recovery," Lizzie admits. "I should probably put forth some time to research it. That sounds like something a smart person would do."

"I've never understood this whole 'vessel' thing." He still has yet to face her. His fingers flex and drum. She can hear a clock tick in the quiet between them. Then again.

"He'll be fine, though." Because he needs to be fine. She plays her thumb across her sparking palms. "HALO Cobalt is staying with him. So when we disconnect his file, he won't have to be alone."

"I'm sorry."

The cracking words are quiet, mostly muttered. Lizzie's breath leaves her like a leaf in the wind. She stands a moment, staring at his drooping wings, then stumbles forward. Her fingers graze across his sleeve. Scar flinches, ragged wings flicking up, but doesn't pull away. It's the first time he returns her stare, though his is faltering. Lizzie clears her throat. "Uh, Scar? You… you know it wasn't your fault. Right?"

Scar blinks his eyes slowly, quietly, like a cat. His attention shifts away. "I glitched the server. I glitched out our mod."

"Well…" Lizzie gives his elbow a light squeeze. "You're not the only one who has bad glitch days now and then. These things happen. Like rain."

"Your husband's dead, Liz."

True. Dead or dying, and it makes her hearts flutter. "Just his will o' the wisp vessel," she says anyway. "Etho and the HALOs are going to fix this. The vessel's not important… My husband's soul will be fine. Scott knows how to handle everything. He keeps meticulous notes and file backlogs. As long as we've got New Star Station, we'll always be okay."

"Right… Good old Scott." Scar pries Lizzie's fingers from his arm and pushes her hand back to her side. "You probably shouldn't touch me. I… I might hurt you too."

"It's extremely unlikely you could hurt me," Lizzie says, shaking her head. "My immune system's very strong; I'm adaptable and I've tried out a lot of mods across the years. Besides, your glitch is only contagious to allay hybrids, right? I'm not one of those."

Scar winces and reaches for his cane. She regrets she said anything at all. Scar was an allay once, a thousand years ago. Maybe she shouldn't have brought it up. It… it would have been fine, staying silent. There's a certain beauty in talking to yourself.

"Can I hug you?" she asks, moving on. Scar's stare is still desert dry. She'll back down if it morphs to irritation, but right now he's just standing there, shoulders drooping, jacket loose, leaning his weight on his cane. How strange to see this buff, scarred man so cowed by his own emotions. He lifts one ruffled eyebrow.

"Why would you want to hug me? All I do is glitch people out. My singleplayer doesn't even have structures; that's how badly glitched it is."

"I never worry over glitches." Lizzie tilts up her chin. "I'm an axolotl hybrid, Scar. My code naturally regenerates. I am, quite literally, impossible for you to infect with a glitch for more than a couple minutes. But even if I wasn't an axolotl, I wouldn't be scared to hug you. You're not scary."

"I literally eat people." Scar points at one his fangs, even licking them for dramatic effect, and this time… Lizzie falters backwards. Just a little. Scar gestures vaguely at her feet with the end of his cane. "Yeah, see? You forgot that bit, didn't you? The phantoms aren't the only night creatures you need to watch out for. A man's gotta eat, Liz… Maybe not as often as they do, but that's because I drain more code in a single hunt than they do in a week."

It was here that I made a mental note to check with someone more knowledgeable than I about how often vex need to feed. Maybe BigB. He knows a little bit of everything.

"You don't scare me. You've never hurt any of our friends. And if you've fed on them a little here and there, they seem to be doing just fine and they still want to play with you."

Scar's fingers tighten around his cane. The handle is carved in the shape of a cat and there are colored beads, feathers, and charms dangling from its coiled tail. "You don't know me, ShadowLady. I'm the guy your spawn room attendant should've warned you about. I eat people, I glitch servers, and I corrupt player files."

"And you give fantastic hugs."

Scar pauses. Lizzie can see him calculating, his eyes rolled down to one corner. After a few long seconds, his mouth twitches up at the end. "Well, that's… true, actually. I do give some of the best hugs you've ever known."

Lizzie gives his sleeve a gentle pat. "Joel will be fine, Scar… Etho's handling it." And as long as Etho's handling it, there's nothing she needs to worry about. She's grateful for that. Her heartbeats are fluttery, but not rocketing out of line. Everything's okay. They have the HALO team. They have New Star Station.

They have Etho. And Etho would never let her down.

"I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry anyway."

She and Scar wait in silence for another several minutes, fidgeting with their hands and avoiding eye contact. Lizzie takes a moment to walk around the lounge, straightening some of the chairs and eyeing the winners' pictures for the last four seasons of the game. Grian's is a mix of tearful and delighted, rubbing one eye with his hand. The golden crown was too big for him, but the screenshot captures the spirit of the party they threw when all was said and done. Lizzie was invited, though she hadn't participated in that game. Her first season was Last Life, in the winter.

Ah, Last Life… Scott's smile is more relaxed, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets. His blue hair gleams with scarlet beads and glitter. The crown fits him a little better than it did Grian, though it still slips a little down his forehead.

The third screenshot is for Double Life: another game Lizzie didn't participate in. In that season, everyone had been paired with a randomly assigned soulmate… though Scott and Pearl had dissolved quickly and gone their separate ways. Pearl's dressed in her scarlet cloak, which flutters more loosely around her frame than the snuggly midnight blue hoodie Lizzie's used to seeing her in. Pearl is not smiling in her portrait, looking glaze-eyed and exhausted. There are dark bags beneath her eyes. They still had a party, but only after Pearl had gone home to take a shower and a very long nap.

Lizzie stands maybe a moment too long beneath screenshot number four. Limited Life was the name of that game: warm, sunny, with summer sunlight on the skin. Again, Lizzie wasn't there… for most of it. Martyn came out victorious, and instead of wearing the crown, he swings it around his finger and sticks his tongue at whichever camera account grabbed this picture.

Actually, that's the one party invite Lizzie had politely turned down. When Joel flung himself through the portal, crowing about how he "must have outsped lightning" to escape, she knew she'd been right. Martyn is a phantom hybrid, and the one thing he'd requested at the snack table was the right to go ham and log everybody else out with his teeth. Probably kept his belly happy and full for a month, and honestly… Lizzie almost wished she'd shown up just to see the frumpy look that must have been scrawled all over Bdubs' face.

She doesn't keep up with the late-night politics - she and Joel always go home when the bell chimes for England's phantom hour and they take a certain pride in it - but she's been around the block long enough to become acquainted with Bdubs' rather… high body count reputation. Heaven help an underling who scorns his captain… Oh, she'd hate to be in Martyn's crocs when he reported to the clock tower that night. Lizzie's never seen it, but if there's a "time-out roost" to hang from, Bdubs probably slam-dunked him straight on there.

If Joel and I had stayed at that party… then Martyn would have had a recent file we could back him up from.

Lizzie presses her lips, breathing carefully through her nose. Be that as it may… She'll smack anyone who tries to bring that up with her. If she and Joel don't like the idea of getting force-logged out, that's entirely their decision. They have their reasons for keeping a bit aloof. They take care of themselves. It's not a big deal.

He'll be okay. Etho's working on it.

She stares at the wall for another two minutes, fixing one of her earrings. There's an empty space beside Martyn's screenshot where they'll hang the Dog's Life winner when this season's done. Who will wear that crown? A returning victor or someone completely new?

I hope I don't regret coming back to play again. These deathmatches can be brutal. Not entirely her thing. Oh, the killing's fine… It's just incredibly exhausting to swivel from that type of chaos towards the sword and axe games she and Joel tend to break out back on their private server, and they spent most of Last Life lying face down on their garden walkway, listening to cows moo and letting the villagers step around them. Even snuggling feels like too much effort when you've been driven to your limit and just want to collapse…

… and no one talks about how jumpy you get and how unfun the effects can make your life for weeks or months on end.

Scar exits the room at some point and as the minutes pass, a few other players log out of the Dog's Life server and poof back to the lounge. Tango, Grian, Mumbo, Martyn, Cleo, Bdubs, Pearl, Ren… It's another five minutes before Scott and Etho shows up. Scott has his arm linked with PiglinMyNose (who, bless his hearts, still doesn't seem to know what's going on). Lizzie, who'd been picking idly at the chessboard, turns around. 2 hours later, she thinks in scorn, but doesn't say it. Pig is doing what he does best and fiddling one finger with his nose. His eyes wander across the ceiling tiles.

"Oh, good," Etho says when he sees her. "So, change of plans… Instead of you taking Pig home, I'm bringing him back to my place. I'll start getting things set up. You go with Scott. Get Joel's player file. Is that cool? Sorry it took so long… we didn't want him to be in pain."

"Thank you," Lizzie says.

Etho nods. "Can you get Pig off spectator?"

Oh.

So it's that kind of damage. Lizzie looks at Pig, biting her lower lip. In spite of his name, he doesn't look like the animal in the slightest. Pig is… Well.

Pig is Pig. He's the type of player who, when he's not earning his brownie points as a cameraman, turns everybody's head on the street. Pig's worn a lot of different skins and tried out a lot of different names, but if you looked at him now, you'd never guess it's Joel who gives him daily bread. Pig's a strange blend of character traits he's absorbed from other players he's worked with in the past. Recently, he spent a couple weeks hanging around Jimmy and Scar and, well…

… it shows. The jacket he wears is split down the middle with its colors. It's slanted at the back to compensate for two different lengths. His hair is undercut, the dark oak roots of Scar showing through the wild blond locks he got from Jimmy. His mismatched eyes are brown and green and they don't even align right on his face, though that's technically not unusual for slime hybrids. Pig, who's still looking at the ceiling, stops fussing with his nose and starts sucking on his thumb. He even sucks his thumb funny: gnawing on the knuckle instead of the tip.

"He's not going to like it."

"I know… but I can't look at his code when he's incorporeal. I might need the reference."

He's definitely not going to like that. "Right," Lizzie says anyway. "Pig," she calls, and that startles him enough to turn his head.

"You got him?" Scott asks, standing out of the way.

"I can do it…" She takes a breath anyway and motions for Pig to come over. When he does, she plunges a hand through his chest - no golden carrots; no collision - and rattles the passcode on his inner number pad.

Click.

Pig's eyes flicker up with self-awareness. Lizzie removes her hand and braces herself for a storm of chatter, which she receives instantly. Pig throws out his arms, leaning back on his heels at the same time.

"Bro, hello there! PiglinMyNose here and welcome back to another day of ME! Lizzie, what is up?"

Lizzie blinks back at him, trying to pretend she doesn't feel the pitious stares of Etho and Scott on the back of her neck. "Hi, Pig…"

"Is this real? You're not yanking my chain?" Pig's eyes drop to his chest. He pats around, smoothing creases in his messy half blue, half brown jacket. "No way is this actually happening. No way. I'm a player again? Oh my gosh. Holey moley. I'll have you know, Lizzie of the Shadow variety, that my experience as a cam account has been wonderful. Mmhm. Mmhm. But look at me! I can talk again! I have so many things to say! Now, is Snuff- Snub- Snicker- Right. Is Sniff around?" Pig spins in a circle. His attention snaps to the coffee pot sitting near the tea kettle on the counter. "Oh, what's that? Can I have that?"

"Oh, I don't think coffee's a good idea," Lizzie says, grabbing his arm. His skin is still cold from his time in spectator mode. He seems to notice, because his next move is to start touching all over her skin. Scott jumps, looking at her for an invitation to move, but Lizzie slightly shakes her head. She's got this… and Pig is easily scared. He'll bolt if they're not careful.

Do it for Joel.

Pig is a forearm's length taller than she is and he sort of stoops when he looks at her, trying to bring his eyes level and not understanding that that's weird. Lizzie backs up a step, which bumps her shoulder blades against the wall. Pig runs his palm down her cheek again, his mismatched eyes shining. His clammy hand sends shivers up her back. Lizzie grabs both his wrists and forces them off.

"Pig, do you know why you're here?"

"To build a vacation home." He states this with flawless confidence, bouncing on his toes. "I built one for The Sheriff once. All right, sure… I can do that! Should I start super fast grind mode?" Pig tries to pull away then, looking over at Etho and Scott since they're standing near the fluttery pink glow of the portal. "Is it in there?"

"Um, no, in fact-"

"Oh, I know. It's another race to free the End. Where is Sniff? I'm going to punch his lights out." Suddenly he swivels, hand straining for her ear. "Oh my gosh, I just saw your earrings. Nope, nope, nope. These are the worst things I've seen. Lizzie, we can't be friends anymore."

"Hey, keep your mitts off," she says, giving his wrists a shake.

"You can't wear those," he whines. "I hate that little blue monster…"

Scott steps forward again. Lizzie stays firm, wrestling Pig's hands away from her. "Pig, hey… I require your kind assistance and utter cooperation. Etho is working his hardest right now to repair Joel's code, but we might need a model. Can you let Etho look at yours?"

All the laughter dissipates in that moment. Pig stares back at Lizzie with his mismatched eyes… his mismatched skin and hair and clothes and everything about him. He lets go and backs away, pressing his palms to his chest. He has Scar's pecs, Lizzie realizes for the first time. The mental image of PiglinMyNose whipping out his abs isn't one she particularly likes.

"Excuse me?" he asks first, then drops to a softer, "Oh no… Wait- hold on a minute here. I see what's going on!"

Etho moves between Pig and the door. Scott stays between Pig and the portal. Pig realizes this at the same moment Lizzie does. He spins around, sees there's no way out, and throws an accusing finger at Lizzie.

"You… you just want to use me as a vessel! Is this because I'm a slime? So you can mold me into whatever you want me to be? No way…"

"We need a close model of Joel to look at," Lizzie corrects, though Pig remains stubborn and bristling.

"I'm just spare parts to you!"

Which doesn't feel good. Lizzie winces. She sort of wants to slink away. But she doesn't. Because she is poised and careful… and definitely not tempted to grab his neck and shake him back and forth until he squeaks.

"Joel's hurt."

"What's that got to do with me?" Pig grabs his arms, squeezing himself in a hug. "I worked for other people before I worked for Joel! You could've asked for my code at any time and we could've done a whole tease of it, but now that he's hurt, you yank me off spectator? After never talking to me? You can't!"

"Um," says Scott, rubbing behind his neck. Everybody looks at him and he exhales. "I mean, yeah… He's got a point. 'No' means 'No.' Let's leave it here, guys."

"I know my rights," Pig says, backing away towards the armchairs. "I've finally figured out who I am. You can't take that from me. I have three cats at home!"

Etho puts his face in his hands, massaging up and down. Lizzie closes her eyes for a moment, then looks at Pig again. He's now on the other side of the chair. "It was worth asking," she tells him, "but if you don't want to show us your code… you don't have to. I'll put you back on spectator."

Pig laughs. "Oh, you're loony if you think I'm going back there, mate. I might wake up again and find you've tied me to a bed, refusing to let me out until I beg for anything you want. I think I'll stay right here, thank you very much. Where is Sniff? Sniff will flip you off for me. Oh, you don't want to mess with Sniff! What a gra-a-a-and mistake that would be!"

"I have an idea," says Etho. He presses the push bar to ease open the lounge door. The hallway is bustling at this time of evening and Pig perks up immediately. "How about I walk you to Jimmy's game night? It's open invitation, so he won't be mad. You can hang with the guys and there will be plenty of people around. All three of us have prior obligations tonight, so we won't be there to bother you. You can do whatever you like with the rest of your night. We can even stop by the Disney store on the way."

That gets his attention. Clever, Lizzie thinks. Pig's current personality is split down the middle, half of it absorbed from Scar's creator and half from Jimmy's while they were sharing the account. Scar likes Disney and Jimmy likes game night, which are both things they've reported as leaking through their sync cords. Ergo… emotion bleed. Which, quite possibly, bled into Pig as well. No way can he resist. He's too curious for his own good.

Slowly, Pig lets go of the armchair and walks around to get to Etho, keeping as much distance as possible between himself, Lizzie, and Scott. Etho holds the door open until Pig creeps out and joins him in the station corridor. It clicks slowly shut behind them. Only then does Scott move away from the portal, scratching cautiously at his hair.

"Um… Pig's a camera account. Does he know what phantom hour is?"

Lizzie thinks about that for approximately 0.2 seconds. "Nope," she says, and leaves it at that. The chase will do him good. Puts fritz in your pixels, as they say.

💙  🧡  💚

The unplugging sound is deafening, even though it's nothing at all. Lizzie, leaning back against Scott's office door, closes her eyes. It's done. Joel's player file is officially pulled from the system now. She wonders if HALO Cobalt is still sitting with him at bedrock spawn and whether it's day or nighttime over there.

She hopes he's not in too much pain.

She's in the hallway, because of course she is. Scott never lets anyone inside his office. He says there are too many things that might break and he can't risk anyone tripping on "my 1 million messy cords." Fleetingly, Lizzie wonders what he'll do if he doesn't win the next election. Whoever his successor is will have to make sense of a thousand years' worth of files. Maybe that's why Scott wins every time. Running New Star Station sounds like a lot of work.

But at least we HAVE the files… and we know they're safe. She didn't get that kind of luxury in the outside world. Not once the Grand Library fell and the raids began.

Sometimes it doesn't seem that long ago.

Scott rummages around inside his office a little too long for Lizzie's liking. But finally, after several heart-pumping minutes, he squeezes back out. He locks the door (the thunk like thunder) and holds out a little plastic case. It's green. Thin, like a stack of 64 paper sheets. He hands this to Lizzie, who takes it with bated breath. The name Smallishbeans is marked across the front in smudged glow squid ink. The player file inside is pure white and softly pulsing. How angelic. How horrifying. She can feel the sparking power of it even through its case.

So there I was, cradling every last particle that defined my husband.

"Have you ever held one of these before?" Scott asks. Now that they're off the Dog's Life server, his eyes are blue again instead of green. They're so dark and his tone so serious that Lizzie - despite herself - can't help a bubbling laugh.

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like a wadded-up tissue in the trash and I'm doing my weekly chores." Laughing makes it easier.

"Well, it should go without saying, but I'll run you through the basics anyway. For safety." Scott's gaze pierces through her like a trident with the channeling enchantment. He points at the thin plastic in her hand. "So… That soul crystal isn't connected to the system anymore. Take it straight to Etho's flat. Okay? Don't dilly-dally. Don't let anybody else hold it. Don't visit any servers. Don't drink. Don't stay out after phantom hour. I don't recommend talking to Pig in case he lashes out in panic. Absolutely no taking the bullet path. Oh, and don't open the case. I know it doesn't look like much when it's compressed, but this isn't its final form. Once it's active, it's exactly like an end crystal. If you touch it, it will explode. And it should go without saying that it is not advisable to die when you're in Between."

"Yikes. That's a lot of pressure to put on little old me. I accept this duty with bravery and honor. Trust me, I don't long for death. Last I heard, the axolotl soul spawner was still under the dark forces' control." Maybe dark forces is a bit of an exaggeration - the anarchy players are just playing, after all, and calling them dark seems a bit much - but… still.

There's also no way to know for sure if the axolotl soul spawner even exists anymore. Everyone knows what happened to the allay one. Lizzie stares down at the crystal in her hands for a moment, biting her lip. She tries very hard not to think about… about the swamp where Joel was born.

Scott smiles, though his eyes aren't in it. "I can imagine. I'm sorry. I'd go with you to Etho's, but… I have a meeting."

"It's fine. It's all very fine. I can handle this and I can handle anything else. It's for Joel. Thanks, Scott." Lizzie steps forward, holding out her arms for a hug. Scott hesitates, then shakes his head. That's fine. Lizzie nods to show there are no hard feelings. "Love you… You're the best mayor we've ever had."

His sigh tickles her hair. "I'm the only mayor you've ever had… but hey, remember you said that when campaigning starts on Thursday."

"You've got my vote. Always have, always will."

"That's nice."

She wishes him well in his meeting and walks away. Her smile is gone by the time she reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Oh.

Scar sits in front of the vending machine. He isn't wearing his usual brown jacket or even his shirt, which leaves both his abs and his chronic torso glitches on full display. Lizzie's seen his abs a dozen times before, but it's… it's unnerving, the way he's huddled in on himself. She's more accustomed to Salesman Scar, Mr. Very Good Idea Scar. Not this shaking, sobbing slice of a man.

I wonder if he's been talking to the other HALOs…

Should she call out his name? Lizzie, taking cautious breaths, walks over to him. She moves slowly, trying not to make her footsteps sound at all scary, frustrated, or secretive. Scar cuts back on the sobs when he hears her, though he keeps shaking. He doesn't lift his face from his hands.

"Scar? Is it okay if I sit with you for a minute?"

"I'm…"

Lizzie stands close enough to make their hitboxes overlap, hovering her hand over his bicep. When several seconds pass and Scar hasn't pushed her away, she gently lowers herself to one knee and holds his arm. "Joel's right here," she says, holding out the plastic case that holds Joel's entire being. "He's fine, Scar… There's protocol. Etho will fix this. He'll be okay."

Scar parts his fingers just enough to peek with one eye at the lime green case. He exhales an overpowering sigh of relief… but the tension doesn't leave his shoulders. He looks away, fingernails scratching quickly up his arms. "I'm sorry… I'm really sorry, Liz."

"You didn't do anything."

"It was my glitch."

"It's part of being alive." I could stay on my private server and never touch a mod my whole life if I didn't want to risk this kind of thing… but that wouldn't be living. Not for me.

Scar wipes his face, sighing loudly. "So that's… Joel?"

"His soul crystal, yeah. I'm taking him to Etho now."

"Wha- buh- ah- what if something happens?"

"It's not a long walk and Etho knows I'm coming. We can't have weapons in the station; I'll be perfectly fine. Can I hug you, Scar?"

"… Yes." He unravels the tension from his skin, but can't quite look her in the eye. Lizzie moves forward and Scar wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her down. They don't have golden carrots to give them enough collision for this. They flicker against each other, phasing and prickling inside each other, but Scar keeps his grip light enough that she can still feel his wrists locked behind her neck. He chokes out a flustered, whimpering sniffle against her shoulder. It sparks their pixels. A few of his get smudged across her hair, but Lizzie squeezes him back while he shakes… and she knows Scar can feel her hearts beating against his skin, can sense the twitch of her fingers as she stiffens beneath her cool outer frame… but they don't say anything about it.

The hug can only last so long. The feather-light collision barrier breaks, dumping Lizzie into Scar's lap. His glitches flicker across his skin, but don't cross her pixels. She withdraws, taking a breath before crouching beside him again. Scar, eyes glittery, stares through her. He holds his arms out again, so Lizzie complies with a second attempted hug. "Joel loves playing with you," she says into his neck. Scar's wings twitch up. She feels his muscles tighten as he squeezes slightly harder. It pulls her through his chest. He's sparking just as bad on the inside of his body as she suspected, though she doesn't bring that up. "Oh! And… I like playing with you too, of course. We'd never want the Life series without you in it."

"Mm," Scar mumbles into her hair. "I've been thinking… and maybe running for mayor isn't a good idea."

Maybe that's the worst part of all of this. Lizzie pulls her hitbox from his and Scar lets her, their arms slipping off each other. His hands plop in his lap. Lizzie blinks at him, her eyes sticky.

She doesn't know what to say.

"Don't let this change your mind."

"It didn't," he says, pushing up to his feet. Lizzie only helps as much as he asks for, and that's not much since he has his cane and seems to want to do it by himself. She only catches him because he overbalances and falls on her before he gets his footing back. As he straightens, he starts fixing his rumpled jacket, doing up the buttons. Lizzie picks his explorer's hat off the floor. "I was already on my way out. It's a lot of work, being mayor! And who am I to stand between Scott and his dreams?"

Lizzie opens her mouth… and shuts it again as Scar swipes his hat from her hand. He starts walking towards the door. Scott's a good mayor. He's a great mayor. That's why he's the only one New Star Station's ever had.

"But he's not you, Scar… Take it from an Empires SMP player: it's healthy for society to have different figures of authority. It's not about Scott's dreams. Don't throw yours away."

"I'm not. I have other dreams."

Why do all his words feel like cave spider acid dripping down her neck? Scar exits through the door. Lizzie follows… slowly. She watches Scar walk away into the dark. And she doesn't say anything.

Until she does.

"Scar!"

Scar stops beneath a lamppost. He's perfectly framed that way. He turns his head, hands folded behind his back. Lizzie steps forward and he adjusts position, moving his cane into the proper spot to brace his weight. She doesn't run, doesn't touch him this time, but stops a few paces away and shakes her head.

"Scar… There will be people who look at you and… and see the glitch. And I think… there might also be people in the station who… who want you to succeed because of your glitch, and they might push you faster than you're ready to go. But Joel and I… we just see Scar. We know about the glitch and it's just as much a part of you as… I mean… It's… We love you."

"Oh really?" he says, with absolutely flat inflection. "Thank you. That's very kind of you to say. Genuinely." That cold tone screeches like a razor across her skin. "Genuinely, I'd hate for my narrative arc this series to be reduced to my disability, so I'm glad I have real friends and I'm not just being 'tolerated' again." Every single word drips, and Lizzie's shaking and her words are lost in the dark. Scar's eyes are beads of emeralds and take her breath away.

There's nothing I could say he hasn't heard before. Is there?

He sighs, then tilts back his head and stares into the dark of the "sky" far overhead. The bedrock blocks look so far away. He says, "Don't get me wrong, Lizzie… I'm grateful the HALOs unthreaded me from my singleplayer. I just wish…" Scar taps his cane against his shoe a few times, then exhales. "I don't like how that's… not a choice we offer the offline players. I mean, outside of emergency situations. I feel like we should. I don't like how unthreading has become… It's… These days, people think it's 'scary,' or… Just because they're not trapped in death loops, it doesn't mean their only option is to stay on their offline world forever."

"Oh."

"Unthreading's not the worst thing that could happen to you," Scar says, quietly. "If I were mayor, I'd want to give the offline players a choice. In case all they've ever wanted was to stop being alone."

There's a prickly pause between them, during which Lizzie rubs behind her neck. She glances around the dark streets. There are a few players far in the distance, but they're a good couple chunks away. None are paying her any attention, thank the devs. Her fingers tighten on the soul crystal in her hand.

Then Scar speaks up again. "You know, Lizzie… It was just a game. I know that. I want to preface my thoughts with that. We were just roleplaying. But… I think Grian cheating on me in Double Life wouldn't have ripped me up so bad if I didn't know his wife is trapped offline without any options. It's… I just don't know. Grian, he's…" Scar pushes the words out like they're sour on his tongue. She gets it; they're sour on her ears. "I wish he'd try harder with her… I don't think he's given her a chance. But I don't know her, so I can't just tell him that or make him fall in love if he doesn't want to."

"Oh," she says. Scar drops his gaze again, rubbing his eyes with the fat part of his hand. Lizzie wishes she knew him better. She wishes she was one of those sharp, silver-tongued people who always knows the right thing to say. At this point, she'd even take witty. Martyn, BigB, and Ren would probably have a dozen perfectly painted responses for Scar, but Lizzie…

… Lizzie can only offer a quiet "Oh."

She tries anyway. "Have you tried talking to Grian about that?"

Scar shrugs. "Well, uh… Grian treats me like 'one of the guys,' though… We all get ribbed on sometimes. I know my shortcomings. I like that part. I like being part of the team. He doesn't… I don't know."

She lowers her tone so it stays aligned with Scar's. "Well, I don't know a lot about unthreading, but I think that's a good platform, Scar. I never thought about it that way, but… yeah. Yeah, that's… That is a thing I've never thought about. Maybe we should give the offline players a choice. No one's ever brought that up before."

"But no one would want to," he mutters. "Who wants to live like me?"

"I would." She says it without hesitation, which make Scar's wings jump. "I don't know what it's like to live with chronic glitching, but I know I'd take it in a heartbeat if that's the price for accessing the station. Because… because that's how I feel about the wall."

"About the wall?"

Lizzie points down an empty street, indicating some distant chunk that hasn't rendered in. "I miss the outside," she says, and it all comes flooding back. "I miss the mooblooms… the fireflies…"

"You've been outside?" Scar's brows look like a newbie's first attempt to gather trees- they hover over his face, unattached, and it takes two seconds for Lizzie to realize what she said. Scar lifts his hand, jabbing a finger. "But… you're still an askolotl. Impulse and Skizzleman always say you can't last as a natural mob hybrid outside of New Star. Don't you get targeted? For…" He hesitates, then taps at one of his fangs. "… you know. Clean code?"

It's incredible, really, that his sudden lift in volume didn't bring those other players over to investigate. Lizzie keeps an eye on them, staying soft. "Well… Yeah. I would've been in heaps of trouble if I'd lived on land, but aquatic mobs have it easier. Withers aren't great at swimming, fly hacks often glitch out, and you can't drop TNT or pour lava in the middle of the ocean. Things were… okay, mostly, until the library went down. Living near the anarchy players was fine until they started grouping up."

Scar blinks. "Is there a water city?"

"Oh, sure. There used to be dozens."

A fritzy buzz crackles overhead, flicking over the entire station. It's a familiar recorded message that you hear several times a week, so neither Scar nor Lizzie look up: "Hi guys, hi… This is Mayor Smajor1995. Please evacuate the bullet path. It will be shutting down momentarily for a spot of routine testing. We apologize for the inconvenience and it will be up again shortly. Thank you, and have a wonderful day!"

"What else do you miss from outside?"

Lizzie breathes slowly through her nose as Scar peers at her, his eyes dark and searching. "Well," she says. The pause afterwards is longer than she wanted, but… to be fair, it takes time to sift through over 1,000 years of memories. "I miss… ostriches. I miss musical instruments. I miss the way the walking paths glittered with gemstones. And the trees were amazing. We had purple ones! What are they called? Oh… jacarandas. I miss the crabapple trees and the hazel wood and the evergreens. I miss maple syrup…"

"What's syrup?"

"It's like honey, but you farm it from trees instead of from mobs. You pour it over food, like waffles. And I miss the ocean. I miss the underground rivers and the caves I used to swim through. I miss home." Lizzie sighs, scraping her palms down the front of her skirt. "I know the world's different now and all that - and don't get me wrong, because I love Joel and I never would have met him if I hadn't moved here - but I wish every day we could turn back time for the outside world. I'd inject a glitch in my code right here and now if that's the only way I could get out. I miss… my old friends."

Scar is quiet for a very long time, staring at his boots. When Lizzie looks up again, she can see how bunched his brows are, his narrow eyes pinned on nothing. Without lifting his head, he says, "What color are crabapple leaves?"

"Oh, Scar… They're beautiful. They're cherry red. Well, I guess they're crabapple red. They're vibrant, full of life, they feel like autumn, and… Wait. You don't know what autumn is. Um… Imagine a field of podzol, wheat, and pumpkins. There's a barrel full of apples by your leg. The sky is crisp and clear and the leaves are red above your head."

"How can leaves be red and purple?"

"The same way wheat can be yellow, I guess."

"And they're beautiful?"

"Between's biomes are my favorite across all the realms, if I'm honest, Scar. The vines are like sapphire, the crocodiles are vibrant, and the monkeys and the deer and the meerkats… Oh, the meerkats… They dig tunnels, Scar. You can get lost in them for hours and the ground is full of scarabs and the ruins of builders who existed thousands of years ago. Termites are everywhere, but you don't hate them like you think you will. They build towers. They eat wood."

Scar's brows shoot up again. "Like… they eat your builds? And your fences? And your trees?"

"No, you'd love them… There are all sorts of colonies. They have patterns glowing on their backs. Those are the patterns they nibble into the wood. The textures, Scar… I mean, I never built with them myself because I lived underwater, but Joel says he and his friends used to catch them and use them for building. They can even carve out vertical slabs." Lizzie makes the vertical pattern with her hand (slapping the edge of one hand into her open palm). "The striped termites, I mean. With the up and down symbol."

"That's amazing… It's a pet that adds detail to your builds." Scar blinks. He blinks again. "I want one. I want a termite so bad."

"Yeah," says Lizzie, and stares off down the street. "I hope… I hope there are still colonies in the wild. They must be somewhere. If the soul spawner was broken, we wouldn't have new termite hybrids."

"I don't think I've met a termite hybrid."

"They're common outside the wall, actually. It's termite hybrids who built First Moon City."

Scar bites his bottom lip, fidgeting with the cane against the street. He does this a few times and Lizzie hears him mumble something she doesn't catch. Then he lifts his stare to hers again. "So you'd really take a chronic glitch to leave New Star Station? I mean, it does sound incredible, but… Why did you come here in the first place?"

"Oh! I see where the things I've said can be misunderstood. I will clarify, yes. I meant… the outside was beautiful before the anarchy raids. Before all the withers and the lava griefing and that sort of thing. It's not safe outside anymore. But if it was… I'd leave New Star in a heartbeat."

"What about Joel?"

"Joel can come, if he wants to. He doesn't have to, though. He had a rough time in the swamp."

Scar slides his cane up and down across his palms a few times, twisting and tweaking the decorative beads and feathers dangling from the handle. "You know," he says, his tone as light as flour, "vex can pass though blocks… and I could escape the bedrock if I had the opportunity. I just can't get past the shrackers. Every ledge is covered in them. I wish we could place blocks in the station."

"Have you tried the jumper trick?"

"The what?"

Lizzie tilts her head. "You know… throwing a wool jumper on top of sculk sensors, or walking on blankets when you're near the wall. That's how-" She catches herself before she says the name. "I mean… If that were a way to get out… I bet someone's tried it."

"'Jumper?'"

What's the American word? "A sweater."

"… No. I hadn't thought of that." There's a thunder-like heartbeat of pause before Scar says something that Lizzie really, really wishes he didn't say. "It's Mumbo."

"Uh. I mean, I don't really keep up with the gossip or anything, but…"

"That's gotta be how Mumbo gets out," Scar presses, thumping his fist in his open palm. "I knew it… I knew I saw him disappear around the corner, but I never heard the shrackers and I couldn't find him anywhere. Oh," he says, clenching his hair. "Ohhh… That's where he always disappears to. I started to wonder if he wasn't really leaving and if I was just going insane, but he must have found a way. He's a wandering trader; of course he can pathfind out. That explains so much…"

Lizzie hovers on her heels, opening and closing her fists. Should I try to throw him off the trail? Scar came to this conclusion on his own; she can't be held accountable. I mean, he clearly had his suspicions already. She settles on a cleared throat and a word of caution: "Just, you know… remember that if the anarchy players ever find us, this entire place will go under. So don't spread it around. I don't recommend it, honestly, and I've certainly never done it. That would be illegal. It could get you banned from the station for good. But… if there are any left, I think you'd like the crabapple leaves."

"Oh, 100%," he says. "I know I'd love the crabapple leaves."

Lizzie hesitates, trying to find the right words, but it's… Her hearts are pounding and everything feels both wrong and right. She may have overstepped too much. Maybe she shouldn't have mentioned the jumper trick. Scar's a curious person. He might get himself caught. He could get himself banned. "I… I hope you find joy in running for mayor again," she says instead, and he looks at her with tired green eyes. "I think you'd do a great job."

"I need a shot from Jimmy's party," he says, and grips his hat with his entire palm. He lifts it, tips it, and moves away down the street. "Good night, Liz. Thanks for the talk. Don't stay out too late. Good-byeeee!"

"Good-bye, Scar." She says nothing else, watching like an enderman as he crosses the street and walks away.

"Well, well, well," says a soft voice behind her. Lizzie's pixels fritz cold, then steady out again.

BigB.

She rotates, slowly, with her arms straight by her sides. She clenches Joel's crystal so hard between her fingertips, it makes her pixels squeak. BigB's voice is in the air behind her, but she didn't hear any wings. It only takes a second to pick him out, though. The moth hybrid dangles by the pits of his legs from a lamppost, his arms folded behind his neck. His blue jumper, normally so neatly pressed around him, is rumpled around his chest from gravity. Even his undershirt has come a bit unstuck. Grian's colorful feather, which he often keeps tucked behind his ear these days, stands out like spider eyes in the dark. When Lizzie makes eye contact, BigB smirks. "I knew it was you, Lizzie."

"You knew what was me?"

"The one who's been telling other players how to get through the wall." BigB bends upwards, grasps the lamppost bar to stabilize himself, then backflips off and lands on the half-slab sidewalk. His brown wings flump down like a cloak. His antennae flutter back into their usual downward curl. He stands again, brushing himself off, and starts walking towards her. Lizzie moves one foot back, then thinks better of it. She holds her ground.

"I think you heard me quite plainly tell Scar that getting through the wall would be against the rules."

"You're so clever," he says, tilting his head. He slouches a bit when he walks, clasping his hands behind him. It's eerie, the way he peers up like that with his chocolate chip eyes. Lizzie takes that step backwards after all, pressing the plastic containing Joel's soul against her chest. BigB doesn't hesitate and starts making tight circles around her on the sidewalk. He clicks his tongue. "Wow. I don't believe it. Wool sweaters… You know, I never would have thought of that. Never ever."

Maybe this is a bad part of the city to have conversations in. Clearly, it's where BigB likes to hang around and he's a slippery little guy when he's after information. Lizzie's eye twitches up. "You can report me to the HALOs all you want, but I've never set foot outside New Star since I came here. I'm a refugee and I'm not risking getting banned. I may have a little cotton candy between my ears from time to time, but I'm not stupid, BigB."

BigB stops pacing right in front of her. "I mean, I'm not a loose-lipped kind of guy or anything… I'm just the guy who hears a lot of rumors." His wings flap out, revealing their cookie-like pattern in a shimmer. Lizzie winces at the eyespots. They're huge, dark, and bear into her soul… even if they aren't real. Or… she wants to believe they aren't real. The eyespots blink, false lashes fluttering, and BigB examines his fingernails for a second before folding his wings back into place. They hang behind him like the shawl of a ghost. "I don't think this needs to be reported… Just, you know: when the day comes that the walls get breached, or if you ever run into a patrol out there, I'd appreciate it if you don't tell anyone my name. And if you're a fellow outsider, you should probably watch your back."

"I've been watching my back since long before you came along."

"I know; I know… but seriously. I wouldn't go out there if I was you. The HALOs have been talking lately. I've heard things… There's an anarchy patrol wandering around above the bedrock right now. We sometimes get a newbie slipping down through the cracks. Been a long time; we're overdue." BigB mimes pulling a beanie over his hair. "I'm just passing word along to a couple of my friends. If anyone you don't recognize starts asking around for a moth hybrid, just remember… I'm not BigB. I'm Terry."

Lizzie presses her lips in a grimace. "Well, that's certainly not ominous… I thought you weren't loose-lipped."

"That's all I've heard," BigB says, holding up his palms. "The HALOs are talking to Scott tonight. If he says yes, they'll be putting up warning signs around the whole perimeter. Just, you know… Take it seriously. I'm telling you this in case you happen to know anyone who wants to get outside the walls." He's almost smirking, like he enjoys the way his words leave her gills quivering. "Tonight would be a very bad night to fly too close to the sun."

"My husband's blown a hole in his vessel," she points out, not bothering to lace sweetness through her voice. "He needs me. I'll probably be up late working with Etho, maybe up until my chime of phantom hour. What possible reason could I have for wanting to go outside?"

"To see what they're doing," he says, like he's inviting her to grab hot chocolate and chat for an hour; no biggie.

"Why would I risk myself just to looky-loo in on a few strangers?"

BigB blinks, as though the thought of simply not investigating the anarchy patrol hadn't actually occurred to him. Huh. You know, this man used to carry a very particular banner not so long ago… in the hand that wasn't clutching a quiver full of spectral arrows. Maybe the instinct to join a raiding party is still pulsing underneath his modded code. Though the moth man's wings are folded behind him now, Lizzie catches the one visible eyespot blinking too, which she officially decides she doesn't like one bit. BigB opens and closes his mouth a few times, tasting the words, before he finally speaks again. "Well, uh… your day was already ruined. I mean, you might as well hear the news tonight. I'm the town crier for a reason. And seriously… Spread the word around if you know anyone who's thinking of sneaking off. The rules aren't a joke."

"Well, I've not stepped outside the wall since I came here, but I'll keep that in mind should I run across anyone who's thinking of slipping out."

BigB taps two fingers to his temple in a salute. Then he crouches, spreads his creepy cookie wings, and kicks into the air. Lizzie stands in silence until he spirals down another side street to spy on someone else. Ihh.

Mumbo's staying in tonight… He won't be sneaking out until next Monday. I've got plenty of time to pass that warning along. Again, Lizzie would like to reiterate one thing: she isn't stupid. For all she knows, this could be a set-up. BigB or the HALO team might be watching from the shadows to see whom she chooses to scurry off to with this information. That's fine. She won't play that little game. There are far more important things to worry about tonight.

She needs to go. Etho's waiting. Lizzie hugs the plastic case that holds Joel's soul to her chest, inhales deeply, and breaks into a run.

Chapter Text

Etho

Self-Taught Programmer

Full-Time Hero

💚  💛  ❤️

Etho doesn't make a habit of frequenting Jimmy's parties. Tango's? Sure; he loves the guy. Tango knows how to play him like a note block, hitting all his greedy keys and collector's instincts. Tango deals cards of his own making. He customizes every party like a snare. And he themes his snacks; that man does not cut corners. Which isn't a slight at Jimmy; no, no, no! It's just…

… My line of work never lends itself to drinking. Especially on nights like tonight. Oh boy. He's got a whole lot of work to do. As he and PiglinMyNose approach the card shop, Etho pulls the communicator from his pocket and glances at the screen. Right, okay. Three things to note here:

1. One full Overworld day/night cycle has passed since Joel's vessel started disintegrating.
2. He gets twelve before the Between dimension kicks him to his original soul spawner. If it's still standing. It needs to be standing; Etho's hearts can't take another strand of pressure.
3. Three and something hours is not a lot of time to do the aforementioned 'a whole lot of work.'

Well, this is why they think I pull off miracles. He's never failed before… in a way that anyone would hold against him. But as they climb the outdoor stairs towards the roof of the card shop, Etho… presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. So, Pig bailed. If I don't find a new model, I'm dead in the water. Then Joel's going back to spawn town.

Yeah. Because he totally wants to be the one to tell Lizzie her husband isn't coming home.

Etho's comm is still glowing blue. His screen displays a pulsing infinity sign, indicating his player's still online (definitely fiddling around on the singleplayer). All the block updates are logged to the world file and since he's playing solo, Etho technically doesn't need to be there… though his neck twitches instinctively in that direction, and in his newbie days he definitely couldn't have broken the pathfinding pull. That's one of the benefits of dedicating your whole life to a couple singleplayer series, actually. Once you've been around long enough, you've got a system. You get a feel for when it's okay to step away without everything crashing down.

But time ticks regardless. Once he passes into sunset hour, the screen in his hand will glow orange. And when it hits green… Well.

That's phantom hour. And no one ever makes it to the end of modern phantom hour.

Correction: One person has. But that's because Martyn pushes himself farther than his body can handle for the sake of his newest partner in crime. He's stupid soft on them. Not Etho's business; just a rumor he heard floating between Pearl and BigB a couple months ago.

Anyways. Yeah, he's got time to be here. When the big boss logs out, the infinity sign will click over to a timer and start ticking down. Etho's an oldie; he's built up his stamina and he can last in Between longer than most. Maybe… six hours without a break? That sounds right these days. He's pulled multi-play sessions before, and though they leave him exhausted, he'll do it again. He'll do it a thousand times for no one but himself. It's relaxing, honestly. No one can need you when you're the only one in the friend group left awake.

"Pig, can I see your comm?"

Piggy Boy moves like he wants everyone to think he's a newbie, loud and clear. His mismatched shoes smack on every step. Jimmy always hosts his parties in the rooftop garden of Beef's card shop and Pig skirts back and forth, peering over the stairs. They're nice stairs; Scott put a lot of thought into picking a stone design that isn't slippery. Pig leans so far that he drips blue slime droplets on the road below. He stares for a few seconds, then seems to register the question. His comm's on his wrist. He extends his arm towards Etho without looking over. Etho glances at the screen. The timer's steadily pulsing, orange glow undeniable.

I guess that makes sense. He's Joel's camera account… and Joel's player would've been kicked when his vessel broke apart. That's probably what this whole thing translates to in the outside land. A weird bug. Another glitch in the system. Overheated device, maybe. Nothing a little turning things on and off again won't fix. Thoughts and prayers. Give it time.

Etho blinks, quietly, and tries not to envy Watcher Joel.

"Oh! Oh, what in the world? Dude, I've never actually seen the clock tower before! Any other day, I'd spend my Between time with Two or just go straight home. Sniff's so fussy when I'm late; he's just one of those silly gooses."

"Pig, come on," Etho calls softly. "Let's keep it moving. You're gonna drip all over the stairs. Let's keep moving, okay?"

Pig bobs his head and sprints up the rest of the stairs to the garden. Oh boy. Etho keeps right on his heels. There's chatter, but it's pretty mild at this time of afternoon. Even with the break they took after the server glitch, Grian still let them out early and Jimmy's got a couple hours to go before game night starts. As Etho crests the final step, he spots the canary-winged man hanging up a little 'Welcome' banner, chatting with BigB and Tango. Tango's really into it, making wild arm gestures. His flicking tail could knock the feathers off a chicken. BigB sits on the railing with his moth wings twitching, glancing back like he's watching for someone to pass through the streets below. And Impulse stands on Tango's other side, rubbing his eyes with intent to kill. Geez. Somebody squirt hot sauce in them or something?

None of them pay any attention to the two newcomers at the top of the stairs. Bdubs and Martyn, however, snap around like they've been shot. They abandon the azalea they were looking at so fast, it's like they were waiting for an excuse. Ah. They can smell Pig's invisible sync cord ticking down through sunset hour. It's what phantom hybrids do.

"Heeeey, gorgeous," Bdubs crows, ducking forward. He keeps his hands clasped behind his back, his mossy cloak swishing like a cape behind him. Now that they're off the Dog's Life server, Bdubs isn't using his battered, bruised skin anymore. His smile could sink a sandstorm. There's light and dancing in his sugar-brown eyes, and Etho wraps a warning arm around Pig's shoulders. Bdubs ticks his tongue and veers away at a slant. "You're off spectator for the evening, huh? I see how it is! Well, you're in luck. It's party time tonight and you're in the best part of town!"

Pig, oblivious, smiles back at him. "There he is! Well, hello there! And yeah, I'm doing fantastic, actually; we love to see it."

Jimmy's distant voice trails off. He turns. Etho catches one split-second of shock before Martyn's head blocks his view. Martyn straightens, poised as though presenting himself before a king, with a glass of sparkling cyan balanced in his hand. "Aww, it's baby's first corporeal night, then? Come get a drink, Pig! It is 'Pig,' right? We've got 1s."

"What's 1s?" Pig asks, absently brushing Etho's arm from his shoulder. Etho presses his lips together, but doesn't replace it. He steps to the side, a little closer to Bdubs.

"You know! Numbers!" Martyn thrusts his glass in the air. The binary code sloshes around inside. "I guess you don't have this on the spectator plane. It's the blue one. Tastes a bit like sushi and a li'l like chocolate. Give it a sip, if you're up for it. You might like it. Though it's a little flat this time of eve, if I'm honest… It'll perk up once the night gets rolling."

Pig reaches for Martyn's glass, which sends Martyn backpedaling and spluttering, telling him to keep his mitts off and go fetch his own. Etho winces.

"Pig, you might wanna stick to 0s…"

"I want a glass of 1s," he says, pushing forward, and Martyn, beaming, swings an arm around Pig's neck.

"Well, you heard the guy! He maxes out experience points tonight. Let's get him his 1s!"

Sure. Pig's his own person; he can figure things out for himself. He may be fumbling around, still more familiar with the ethereal world and its pomp and colors than the corporeal one and its gravity, but he's also lived in New Star Station for ages. He's not a baby villager. Etho lifts one brow, but says nothing. Martyn starts leading Pig towards Jimmy, yakking up a storm and swirling his glass. Pig bobs along with him, laughing the whole time. Jimmy holds out his arms and pitches up his voice in a show of enthused welcome. He and Pig embrace and Jimmy noogies his scruffy little head. Tango tosses him an apple. Even Impulse looks up long enough to say 'Hi.'

Bdubs hangs back, watching from the corner of one eye, but addresses Etho. "So how bad is it?"

"Pig?"

"Joel." Bdubs bites his lip, tugging hard on his mossy cloak collar. Huh. Why is he so worried about-? Oh.

Bdubs witnessed the explosion. He was standing right there when Joel blew up himself and Grian.

He was nearly collateral.

"You okay?" Etho asks.

"I'm fine! I'm not asking about me. I know more about myself than anyone ever will, including future anthropologists or black holes that tear me asunder. I already know I'm fabulous. Don't need anyone ripping open my code to figure that." His brows knit. "How's Joel, though? Like, is it real bad?"

"… It's real bad." The cheery pre-party atmosphere doesn't feel like the right place to elaborate. Etho doesn't want to, actually. It's somehow preferable to remember what Joel looked like as mostly gone instead of mostly there. In fact, Etho would very, very much like to not remember what Joel looked like when he first came over the spawn plateau and found him whimpering against the bedrock.

"You want company?"

"Not yours."

"Hey!"

Etho swats his ankle with his tail, making Bdubs jump. "Nah, you're fine. I just don't need any extras breathing down my neck, you know? Enjoy your party; Lizzie's with me and Beef and Pause will be home by dinner, so they'll haul me off for food if I'm still up. Just keep an eye on Pig, if you can handle him. Give him a rundown of how we do things off spectator." Etho rustles Bdubs' hair with his palm. It's back to brown instead of ghostly white. "I'll see you when you come to log me out."

He gets a shrug for that, like a rolling wave of moss down the river. "Well, have fun… and thanks for saddling me with the babysitting job, actually. You jerk." Then, flipping tones, "Still playing the role of absent father, even after Limited Life? Never thought that'd be the persona that sticks with you."

"Bdubs, I can be absent in ways you wouldn't even believe." It skips his hearts like stones across a pond.

"My apologies. Get some help." Bdubs turns to flounce away. Etho grabs him by the shoulder. He doesn't yank him, but he may as well have. Bdubs glances back, face sparking in sudden nerves. Etho tilts down his head. He digs in his fingers until Bdubs winces and they flicker through his skin. Pixels brush and blur.

"Now, Bdubs," he warns. "Mind his number intake… Pig is light and he's in sunset hour. Not everybody up here is his friend and you know the games they like to play. I'm trusting you on this. Don't let anyone get him so tipsy that you don't give him a fair chance to walk away."

"I would never!" Bdubs tugs his arm away, shaking his head in a way that scatters his hair all over the place. "We're just introducing him to the party scene! We play! I watch. What's wrong with that?"

"I know you wouldn't take advantage of an unsteady camera boy… but what about Martyn?"

They look at Martyn together. Martyn's already chewing on his own sleeve, which is flashing between white and cyan. There's a long, jagged tear in the seams. As Etho watches, Martyn rips a chunk off with his teeth. Apparently he felt their eyes on him, because he looks up with fabric dangling from his mouth. Oh, snap. The bit of sleeve flickers, then stays blue. He chews it like a lasagna noodle without using his hands. No one else seems to notice and Martyn's automatic response is to give Etho two thumbs up.

"Martyn follows protocol," Bdubs says decisively. "As long as I'm here, he won't make a move. He knows what I'd do to him. I'll make sure Pig gets three warnings. I always do that, don't I?"

"I'm just checking on you. You- You know I like to check. Take care of him. I'll see you around." Bdubs is the reason Etho got himself a balcony. He's a busy guy, but he always stops by for a short chat in the evenings. There are no windows in New Star Station (No sand; no glass) and in the starter base days, Etho set himself up overlooking the phantom hybrid roost. It's a whole clock tower now. Baby custom tree really grew up. Y'know, it's really something to glance out when the chime goes off and all the phantoms launch themselves off, eyes blazing hot jade green.

He likes to think sometimes that Bdubs visits because he enjoys his company. Sometimes Etho even fools himself into believing it.

"Etho," Bdubs says as he starts walking off. He grabs Etho's hand and yanks. It jolts them both, pixels flickering, though the hand passes through his palm half a second later. Etho stops walking even though he isn't forced to. He can still feel the warmth of it in his, even if - or perhaps because - he can't tell where his fingers end and Bdubs' begin. Bdubs' words are always heavy on clicks and saliva. It's because he smiles so wide. He smiles 'cuz he knows he's getting paid… Paid in a full belly and some thrilling kind of satisfaction Etho can only dream of. "Um, yeah. Don't run off and forget to take breaks this time."

Etho throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey hey, now! Listen to this guy… You're- You're turning into quite the comedian, huh? … No, I appreciate it." (He would like to appreciate it.)

"Best advice mine. I give amazing talk. Don't stay up too late. Really, though."

"Aw, you wound me, Bdubs! And I thought you enjoyed our late-night rendezvous on the balcony."

"I do," Bdubs insists, skirting forward. "But I also need to feed, remember. Just don't push yourself. It sours your code when you're clinging to the end." One hand creeps out, pauses in the air… and Bdubs flicks it through his own hair like he wasn't planning to touch Etho's vest at all. "Save some of the good stuff for me."

"Uh-huh. That's all you need me for, apparently. I'm just a notch in your belt. What's this? I could be any guy with a pretty face."

"Yes. You're all food put here for phantomkind and don't you forget it."

That line almost… almost falters him out of play. But Etho blinks and moves on, stroking effortlessly through the conversation to the shore. "Mmhm. You take care now. Don't make me come fish you out of trouble or anything. It's a work night for me."

"Shut up. Catch ya later, jerk."

Yeah. Later on the balcony. Maybe they'll get three sentences out between them before a restless Bdubs lunges with his fangs. Maybe they'll make it half a conversation. Or maybe they won't. Some people are just like that.

Etho joins Jimmy, Tango, Martyn, and Pig by the fence that rings the rooftop… and Impulse, technically, though he's still struggling with all the eye rubbing. BigB takes this as his cue to leave. He flits off in a rustle of wings, sailing down the street. Bathroom break or whatever (Hey, they've all had days their pixels fritz up and you need a minute to steady out again).

"So, Jimmy… Is Grian not here? He's playing in your game tonight, right?"

Jimmy laughs. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Game night hasn't even started, mate! Grian's always late. Which is awful, actually, considering how late we're hosting this tonight."

"Right," says Etho, tucking his hands in his pockets. He exhales… slowly. "Now, do you know where I might find him? It's about Joel."

The cheery smile fades away. "Uh, no… No idea, sorry. But maybe he's filing incident reports? He might be taking them to the HALO office."

It's better advice than nothing, but Grian logged out from the Dog's Life server long before Etho did. He might be home by now, getting ready for the evening game. "Thank you," Etho says, and grabs two cookies on his way out. He munches through one, then holds the other in his mouth like a fox and runs off down the street.

💙  🧡  💚

Grian was a late arrival to the station, so his walk-up apartment is closer to the outskirts than to the central custom tree between two false creeks. And like everything else over there, the house is built from wood instead of bricks. Grian's place is pretty close to the tree farm, actually, and built in a rustic style Etho doesn't particularly care for. As he hurries towards the stairs, he runs his hand across the planks. They need more clay. Grian's a talented builder… Etho would love to see what he can do with bricks. Not that it's Grian's build, but… still. Even though no one but Scott can place blocks in the station, there are still little ways you can spruce things up with a personal touch. One of the open window slots above has a flower pot. That's something.

Taurtis is behind the front desk when Etho comes in. He glances up, but Etho waves and says "Grian" and Taurtis goes back to fiddling with his comm. Easy enough.

Finding the room isn't hard. It's on the second floor and Grian taped a drawing of his own face to the door (two eyes, no mouth… extraordinarily simplified for a guy who's always got goggles and super bouncy curls). Etho pretends he doesn't notice Joel and Lizzie's room across the hall, the doorway coated in dangling azaleas and amethyst shards. He walks right up to Grian's and knocks with the back of one knuckle. Easy breezy. "It's Etho," he calls anyway. "Are you in?"

Footsteps, light and quick. Definitely of the Grian variety. There's a bit of fiddling with the lock before the door flies open, the resident clearly uncaring of whether or not Etho's legit or how much of his apartment he may be exposing. But instead of scarlet macaw wings, this Grian has blue and yellow feathers. His eyes light up. He waves both hands back and forth. Hi Etho! the gesture says, and then he moves his fingers to his wrist to type the same on his comm.

"Hi, Two. You have a nice day?"

TwoMuchGrian is one of those rare examples of the term "camera twin" legitimately meaning looks like a twin. Two has the same puffy blond-brown hair - faded while he's in spectator - though instead of wearing goggles around his forehead, he's usually in a flower crown. His flowers are fresh tonight, so he must have just come from Mumbo's place. Someone shifts in the room behind him and two faces pop over the back of Grian's sofa: equally translucent and watching with mild curiosity.

Two blinks at him, his fingers still hovering over his wrist. Huh? A second later, Etho remembers that he's in Between. Right. The chat messages won't automatically feed into his head. He pulls out his own comm. He keeps most of his chats muted, but not the cam accounts'. It just wouldn't feel right. He opens the message log with a tap of his thumb.

TwoMuchGrian: it's good

TwoMuchGrian: you looking for One?

"Yeppers, but it's good to see you too. Is he in?"

TwoMuchGrian: shower house

"Ah, that tracks." Grian's the only person Etho's ever met who showers even when his pixels are aligned right. The guy's in there almost daily, scrubbing at filth apparently only he can see. Etho considers shooting him another message, but it's probably pointless. Grian's not super chatty on the comm even on a good day, and if he's juggling stress, incident reports, and a shower… talking to him in person is probably the only thing that will get him to respond.

"Hey, BadTime. Drone. You three having a party? I see you've got chips."

TwoMuchGrian: yes!

TwoMuchGrian: lots of footage to work through

TwoMuchGrian: what doing?

That's all he says before he looks up, bouncing on his feet. Right. Etho's probably pulling him away from games and music. He leans against the door frame, glancing around what little he can see of Grian's two front rooms. Kitchen's a mess, but the living area looks great. They've got a cake and a jukebox and everything. "Uh, Joel's cam account turned me down, and if I don't have a model to base my reconstruction on, Joel's going back to the soul spawner. I'm gonna bounce an idea off One. Have you met SnifferMyFeet?"

TwoMuchGrian: I know OF him

TwoMuchGrian: better model anyway

TwoMuchGrian: Pig is slime. All wrong for code work.

"Hey, now… Rude."

TwoMuchGrian: :D

There's a new message ping at the top of the screen. Etho stares at it, heavy-lidded, and tries to decide whether to switch his tab over. It looks like a group chat of everyone in the room right now, so he does.

BadTimeWithScar: Lazy showed us screenshots

MumboDrone: Pig

TwoMuchGrian: he's my best friend so comes with the turf

BadTimeWithScar: Yeah Pig

BadTimeWithScar: he seems like a realy cool dude

BadTimeWithScar: HEY what do you mean best friend?

TwoMuchGrian: Pig was here first <3

Etho chooses his next words very carefully. "Joel's only got a couple hours left before Between kicks him to his soul spawner… and if that goes down, we're definitely not seeing him again for a hundred years. The only way we can prevent that is to plug him back into the system. If we do, it'll auto-update his file and he'll be default-coded to the system without most of his body. Forever. You know how we're allowed to unthread people for medical emergencies… right?"

BadTime and Drone glance at each other. Two simply blinks. His fingers flutter across his wrist-comm again.

TwoMuchGrian: I wouldn't say "allowed."

"It's for Joel, though. The HALOs will understand. Scott's basically given the greenlight."

TwoMuchGrian: Mm

TwoMuchGrian: im listening

"I'm planning to ask Sniff if he'll be my model. He might say no… in which case I have to break the bad news to Lizzie." Which is not going to be a fun time. And then Joel gets dumped back to wherever he came from with a fresh body: stripped of all his mods and years away from home. Which is bad, Etho reminds himself. Not just for Joel, but for the station. Joel's partnership ring ties him to Lizzie. Joel will start making his way back and anyone out there could easily follow him. This could easily lead to New Star Station getting exposed to the outside world, invaded by curious anarchy players, griefed, and thus the downfall of their hub as they know it. But Etho can prevent that simply by unthreading Sniff. See? He's morally in the white. He even respected Pig when Pig said 'No.'

Two grimaces in sympathy. Etho runs his fingers through his hair… there's more dirt and gravel in it than he'd realized. It dribbles to the floor. "And if Sniff says yes, well… that's just the beginning of my troubles. Sniff's not as close of a model as Pig. It's not going to be easy to sort out his Joel parts."

TwoMuchGrian: you need a Grian overlay to blackout his other side?

"You don't have to, but it might make the difference between-"

TwoMuchGrian: I VOLUNTEER

TwoMuchGrian: AS TRIBUTE

TwoMuchGrian: FOR SCIENCE!

TwoMuchGrian: and I want to jump the queue next time I need a mod fix

MumboDrone: lmao

MumboDrone: text us when the halos throw you in the time-out hole

BadTimeWithScar: More cake for us

"I'm not great with people mods," Etho says, raising his brows, "but if you ever want to patch some of those scratches on your arms, I'm your guy. Just let me know."

TwoMuchGrian: ye boi

TwoMuchGrian: lmk if you cant find One and I'll help

TwoMuchGrian: time to break some rules

Two's instincts turn out to be accurate. A few minutes later, Etho finds Grian in the shower house, rubbing his face with a hand towel. His shirt and pants are folded on the sink counter beside him, though to Etho's gratitude, he's at least got a larger towel wrapped around his waist.

This place isn't brightly lit. Just add that to the list of things it would be great for Scott to update. Etho counts ten shower stalls and several dozen lockers (this place is also connected to a skin changing room). Grian's the only one in here. He stands at the far end of the locker room with a small puddle of water forming on the gray tile at his feet. There's a trail of drips all the way back to one of the shower stalls. Etho glances at his sandals, then eases them off and leaves them by the doorway. On bare feet, he tip-toes right up behind Grian and takes a steady breath.

"You busy?"

Grian about jumps into free-cam. There's a little "HWOO-" and Etho spies a flash of bright purple wings. Then Grian pulls his soul together again. "Oh, Etho… My heart! Ohhhh, you scared the life out of me." He smacks the hand towel against Etho's thigh.

"Heh heh… Sorry. Look, um… You're almost a HALO, right?"

"Yeah, if I pass the final exam. It's about two months from now; should be just after we wrap up Dog's Life. Why?"

"You saw how bad Joel was. Pig turned down my request to use him as a model. I have an idea, but we've gotta keep it hush-hush."

Grian turns this over in his mind, tentatively rubbing his face a few more times with the towel. Then he moves it up to his hair. "What do you need a model for? Can't you just dump Joel's soul straight back into his OG body, then put his mods on later?"

"That's normally how I'd turn someone off and on again, yes, but Joel's a special case. He blew up his vessel. I can graft on some Steve defaults if we get down to the wire, but if he has the choice, I think he'd like his natural body parts instead of bits and bobs that need regular upkeep."

"Oh, oh… I see. It's not just the will o' the wisp stuff, it's- it's the base code. That makes sense. So if you brought him back right here right now, he'd flop over and start dying on the ground again."

"Yep yep. It's straight through." Etho makes a gesture up and down his torso to indicate it. "It's been two Overworld days since I started tracking time; he gets ten more before that's it and we have to plug him back in the system. That'll save over his file."

"I mean, if he doesn't like your changes, he can just die and get a fresh start at the spawner. Just do your best and he can hard reset later, yeah?"

"No… That's what I'm saying, Grian. The damage is in his code."

"Oh. OH! I see. Sorry… My mind's a fog today. I barely know any of this vessel recovery stuff." Grian walks over to the laundry trapdoor, presses the button, and drops his towel down the chute. "And can you not dump his soul in someone else's body temporarily? Like Lizzie?"

Etho's tail twitches at the tip. He keeps his tone patient, though it prickles at his chest. I still have three hours twenty minutes. I'm doing fine on time. "That would mean merging the soul crystals. If you put Smallishbeans inside LDShadowLady, now the file you're working from is LDShadowLady."

"Right, right… Got it." Grian does not seem like he's got it, but he doesn't argue. "So what's the plan here, exactly? You want me to try and sway Pig into modeling for you?"

"Not quite. Scott took Pig's side when Pig said 'No' and I want to try one last option before I forgo the modeling and jump into Steve skin grafts. SnifferMyFeet. How confident are you with your unthreading skills?"

Grian pauses. "Scott's warned me twice to stop messing around. I'm already in tepid water. But… I'm listening. Let's go back to my place and I'll load up Sniff and Pig's world. I have the code for it; I've been there in person. I mean, Sniff's got admin privileges now, but I'm the one who made that world. I'll let you in. That okay?"

"… Let me in? For what?"

"To find Sniff and ask his permission to be unthreaded." The flat line in Etho's brain must show on his face (mask or no mask) because Grian points at the shower house wall, indicating the HALO office in the distance. "I'm on my second round of incident reports today, and this one's gonna be a doozy. You know more about vessel recovery so you can answer questions if he has any. Also, I have to be out here if I'm gonna unthread."

"Ah, right, right." Social interaction with strangers hadn't been high on Etho's to-do list for the evening. "Put me in, coach. I don't really know anything about Sniff, though. Any advice?"

"Wear a chestplate," Grian says simply, which isn't the most reassuring character witness that Etho's ever heard.

💙  🧡  💚

Etho joined the game

It's dark when Etho joins the server. He lands with a hard thump on birch wood planks. When he checks overhead, he's underneath a high ceiling. Is that a catwalk? One glance at his communicator confirms it's daytime here. His spacial awareness confirms this place is big, and Etho waits a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. Gradually, he takes in the mostly empty space around him (plus a small tower nearby). Etho turns a full circle. No mobs despite the low light. He's on a raised platform. Must be half-slabs… and carpet down on the lower level. That's when he sees the rows and rows and rows of awkward minecart and trapdoor chairs.

Whoa. They've been busy.

He's standing on a stage, but it's clearly not in use. No audience. No performers. Etho walks around for a minute, running his hand against the backdrop houses Sniff and Pig have built for the stage. They're thin. A few seconds later, it clicks. He actually laughs. "They're stage props! So Sniff didn't have to finish the back!" What a Grian thing to do… and an absolutely Scar move to incorporate that hesitation into a place where it can work. Clearly, those two make a formidable building team. The little tower is probably Pig's. The block palette is pretty simple, but it looks nice for the theater it's sitting in.

Etho: Sniff?

No response. But Sniff's bound to come and check him out sooner or later. It's not everyday he gets fresh blood on his server. Etho walks around the tower, then peeks inside. It's got a ladder all the way to the top. He finds a chest up there, but his hand stops a heartbeat before he can push it open. There's red around the lock. It's trapped.

Close one.

He might as well start walking. Obviously, the two residents of this server have been resource gathering, so they probably have an actual base or two somewhere out there. Sniff might be down in the mines or in the Nether or something. Etho slides back down the ladder and heads outside, where the setting sun immediately rakes across his neck. He shields his eyes.

Sniff and Pig are clearly still in the early stages of developing their server because they've done basically no terraforming. The walking path quickly runs out and leaves you walking on grass. There are still awkward terrain drops, flowers, dark patches, and random natural sugarcane growing in all directions. Torches stand all over the ground. A few small, almost medieval-looking houses dot the area, but after snooping, Etho quickly confirms they're just decorative. They haven't thrown together even basic interiors like crafting tables or chests. No animals. No farms. No beds.

Sniff's character bleed stems from both Joel and Grian's players. Etho hadn't realized how much it would show. He can recognize Joel's build style in the sloped rooftops, which feature gradients all the way up to the spires. The round, gaping windows (accented in alcoves) are distinctly Grian's work. Some of the buildings here were definitely designed by Pig, because Etho can pick out the influence of Scar's player in the nicely blended terraforming. As Etho walks the short path, heading vaguely towards the oak and birch forest in the distance, he slides his hands into the pockets of his vest. It's… it's actually kind of eerie. He's known Scar and Grian for so long… and wandering this place - knowing his friends never laid a single block - is like walking through a ghost town.

I wonder how much of my personality was intentional on my creator's part and how much I've grown into just by being me.

Interesting and philosophical, isn't it? He doesn't think on it too much, though. Not really. He's just never been one of those people who thinks he needs to solve the world.

The buildings are neat, but Etho's exploring quickly turns up obvious signs of damage. Like creeper holes that haven't been filled in. Or trapdoors sprinkled here and there, sometimes twisted and revealing disrupted redstone lines. He almost drops off a rise and straight into lava. One quick look tells him everything he needs to know: Yep… Intentional trap. These two crazy kids can collab on spawn town, but they're clearly trying to get each other killed day to day.

The hazy sun sets behind the horizon, plunging Spawn Town into dark… and there's still no response from Sniff. Hm. Etho withdraws his communicator. He's still got an infinity sign, but… he pauses, staring at the up arrow in the corner of the screen.

My player's on this world with me? What does HE think we're doing here?

Or did Etho himself only get the idea to look for Sniff because the big boss had a plan to show up in the first place? Maybe something leaked down through the sync cord. Creepy.

"ExCUSE you!" pipes a painfully peeved voice from a rooftop. Etho looks up, vaporizing the communicator. He can't make out details in the dark, but there's a definite player silhouette pacing atop the nearest building, moving up and down the stairs. He's making little huffy noises, though they break off into, "Is there something going on here? I don't believe I ever invited you!"

He's clad from helm to toe in enchanted netherite, which flickers with purple, but his armor trim glows quartz white. Ah, says Etho to himself. That answers that. Vex helmet? Snout chest? Raiser boots? This guy's got the exact armor trim I've been considering for myself. The outside world parallel must be that we popped over to confirm this is what we want before we sink the time and resources into gathering it. Not that Sniff's likely to give it to him for a try-on. Oh, no no no… Are you kidding? He's half Grian and half Joel. I'd have to pry this stuff from his cold, dead inventory.

Etho steps back, trying to get a better look at the guy's face. The shadows are the creepiest part of this. An active player's eyes always glow in some kind of color. Even gray and black shimmer bright. But Sniff's eyes don't glow at all. It's worse when they're overshadowed by the bushy eyebrows of the vex armor trim. Etho hardly knows where to look.

Sniff's antennae twitch forward. He pulls off his helmet, apparently squinting down at him. Etho lifts one tentative hand to wave, but Sniff doesn't wave back. He starts fiddling with his shoulder straps, watching Etho the whole time. Then he pulls off his chestplate. His shirt is cream-colored underneath the armor, like Joel's. It's a pullover, like Grian wears. He's very much Grian and he's very much Joel, and it's odd to see one body compensate for such different natural tastes. His newly freed elytra fidget in the air. The wings drape against his back like a cape. Huh… That's weird. Both Joel and Grian have natural wings. Etho sort of thought the blended account's soul would, too. He's got antennae, so… what are the options? Termite… silverfish… He can't be a firefly if he's got straps. Endermite, maybe?

I guess it doesn't matter. If we unthread him, he's guaranteed to come out a vex. Which Scott and the HALOs will love, but… well. Gotta break a few pickaxes while mining diamonds (or however that saying goes).

The silent figure rips a chunk of bread from the loaf in his hand and stuffs it in his mouth, never blinking. It's such a predictably Grian thing to do - Grian always makes eye contact when he eats bread - and Etho almost wants to laugh. And when Sniff's lips tighten, nose wrinkling… it's like he's a Boat Boy again, sitting on the floor of Room 3LF with his tail in his lap, waiting for the game to start while Joel cleans underneath his fingernails with an index card and brags about anything and everything that pops into his head.

"Hey, Sniff. Do you know who I am?" One beat of pause. "Okay, that sounds cocky. I just mean…"

"Save your breath," says Sniff, slamming his shoulder against the chimney. Etho can make out the round face… small nose… short hair scooping up in little tufts at the back. Sniff's eyes narrow like a knife. "I remember you. We're married, right? What do you want?"

Etho… pauses. Ruh-roh.

Recalculating. He doesn't consider anything that happened between him and Joel in the Double Life game to be 'too far' past what the Grian half of Sniff's soul would consider the comfort boundary, but… if Sniff's calling him 'husband,' then some of his wires definitely got crossed. Etho moves his eyes to the one hand of Sniff's that's visible in the white glow of his armor trim. A cold glint of silver shines back at him. And a second warm glint of gold.

Bingo. Yeah, that tracks. Both Joel and Grian consider themselves to be married men. Etho eyes the two rings in silence, clenching and unclenching his toes against the lips of his sandals. That's gonna be an interesting conversation with Scar.

"What exactly do you remember about our relationship?" He wasn't that touchy-feely with Joel… but sure. Maybe they did do a little cuddling in bed. What about it? Joel's a touchy person and Etho's not fussy enough to shove away an opportunity; sue him. A man's gotta sleep and they were spending 9 to 13 days together every single session. So if Sniff thinks they're married…

Oooh boy.

"I ask the questions, you blummin' idiot. You're in my world, and I've already slain the Ender Dragon. Only took me two weeks, so I'm practically a speedrunner. Let's just-just… Yeeeeah. You know, you'd be surprised how wild my Watchers let me run with commands here." So saying, Sniff jabs a finger at the glowing five-dot star on the underside of his wrist. Still doesn't break eye contact, still doesn't flinch… still holds his half-eaten chunk of bread the whole time, nose crinkled up. "You wanna mess with me, Etho? I can blacklist you any time I want. It's my series. Look at these eyes, mate. There is no love for you in these eyes. You're being tolerated, at best." He tears off another huge chunk of bread, then goes into a coughing fit.

Etho mimes being stabbed in the chest with an arrow or sword, stumbling back. He has to catch himself so he won't trip into the ditch with the lava at the bottom. "Oh, come on! You wound me! Is that any way to talk to your longsuffering husband?" The words are effortless because he's playing pretend- effortless in a way they couldn't be if they were true. He can roll with the bit. He rolled with it in Limited Life. He can do it for Sniff.

It's for Joel. Joel has three hours left.

Sniff, after regaining his breath, grits his teeth. "Ugh… You stupid idiot. Why'd you barge into my home, Etho? Why are you here?"

"Looking for you."

Despite the darkness, he can see Sniff's fingers clench into the bread. "Gods… You've no clue how badly I want to down a dozen golden carrots, shove you up against a wall, and swap a few love hearts right now. You're really doing something to my brain, standing there un-armored like that. All day long I work here, you know. I just build for people who will never come back."

Etho blinks, not… not entirely sure whether that rather forward declaration is the Joel or the Grian in him (and honestly a little too afraid to ask). His hands tighten in the legs of his pants. He brushes sparking pixels off his palms to his thighs. Deep breath. He can do this. He can roll with the bit.

"How would you like to join a server hub?"

The sounds of noisy chewing fill the air between them. It's still dark, but the moon's rising in the distance and Etho's eyes have adjusted to the point where he can see Sniff switch the bread into his inventory and scratch his chest. After a few seconds, Sniff glides down from the roof and lands in a beam of moonlight. It's Etho's first time getting a good look at him. One look at this guy's outfit wipes away any possible doubt that this is the person he came here for. He's short… but of course, that's not a surprise considering who he got his character bleeds from. There's a brown undertone to his hair, which is accented in alternating red and green streaks of clumsily applied flower dye. The cream-colored pullover is stained with grass, blaze powder, and mud. There's an azalea tucked behind one ear. The earring underneath it is an anchor.

The same anchor Joel wore when we were Boat Boys.

Sniff brings the bread loaf to his mouth again and rips another chunk off with his teeth. "Okay, okay… I'm listening."

"I can get you out of here." He'd rather file for forgiveness from the HALO team than permission. They'll understand- they have to understand, because Joel is dying and his fate is in Etho's hands. Because sooner or later, everybody needs him. And Etho does not let anybody down (Grian's practically a HALO anyway; this is okay; this is fine). "It'll change you, though."

"Out of here?" Sniff questions. His dull, dark eyes flicker with mild interest. "To… what? Other worlds? Like the one with the Relation ship?"

Etho skirts around that comment. "Are you interested? If it's a firm no, you can just tell me and I'll leave, but I've got a little time to talk if you want to know more." Three hours to get him out, get him home, and rebuild a Joel.

"What would I want to leave this world for? I've got a lot of achievements here. I've built a pretty cool base. It's a flying ship… You get to it by parkouring across a load of floating rocks. I'm a god of parkour. I'm tall and gorgeous and you wanna mess me up right now. You wanna mess me up so bad."

Another sidestep. "Just thought you might be interested. In the outside world, you can hang with some pretty likable people."

"People like you?"

"Like me."

"And Scar?"

"And Scar." He's not lying… though the words do twist his stomach like he's stuffing his insides through a hollow pole of bamboo.

Sniff considers this for a couple more seconds. The elytra twitch against his back. Then he says, "Is this the world that Pig hangs out in? He's such an awful roommate. He only comes home when it's deadly late and he drives me up the wall; I'm so worried. I think he gets a certain pleasure out of leaving me to squirm. Can you imagine? It's like babysitting a… a baby."

"Yeppers. Actually, Pig lived in the outside long before you were even born. We were starting to miss you."

Oh, this doesn't feel good.

Sniff looks down at his left hand, studying his rings. Or maybe the bread, but almost certainly the rings. Then he says, "I'll humor you a bit… Just-just answer me this… What exactly do you mean about me getting 'changed?'"

"You're locked up in the offline world, but there's a way to bypass that restriction. We'd have to get you out through a process called unthreading. It's messy. Basically, we rip your code apart and yank you straight out. Grian's been toying around with it for a while. If that sounds interesting, we can do it… but it guarantees you'll get a chronic glitch in your system. That's kind of how unthreading works: by definition, it means squeezing out what we can and leaving part of yourself behind. You might not be so steady on your feet after that."

"I'll use my wings," Sniff says without hesitation.

"You won't always have wings."

"Then I'll re-learn how to walk."

"I can't speak for this myself, but I can talk to someone who's more familiar if you want more information. You might feel sore every single day."

Sniff blinks. "But I'll have you."

Am I a bad person?

Etho takes a very, very cautious breath. "What if you don't have me, though?"

Sniff inches closer, his breath icy cold in that way of offline players. He squints up at Etho, so very Grian and so very Joel, and it's shocking how well their faces fit together to create this hodge-podge of a man. Even though his eyes are dead and void-black. Sniff has a classic broad-shouldered Steve build to his upper body - like Joel - instead of the more delicate Alex frame of Grian. His hair's waffle-blond at the roots, darkening to familiar mud in the middle before the alternating dye stripes take over. It's Joel's round face with the distinctive curly flops in Grian's hair. In response to Etho's hesitant rejection, Sniff says, voice hushed, "Then I'll have Scar. Have… Have you two just been waiting for me? All this time?"

In that moment, Etho realizes he cannot roll with the bit. Maybe it was fun in Limited Life. Maybe his pretend play with Cleo grew on him after a while. Maybe it was fun to kick back and play the part of deadbeat dad who's moved in with his idiot bachelor friends. But that was okay… because everyone involved in that knew it was just roleplay.

But Sniff thinks it's real. And that's a little messed up.

Slowly, Etho reaches out to take Sniff's left hand. Sniff watches, silent, as Etho lifts it to about chest-height… in his own right palm. His hearts thump so loudly, he wonders if Sniff can hear them. Maybe. It's not like he's wearing a chestplate to muffle the sound. Sniff's antennae are quivering, twitching towards the noise. Etho is grateful for his mask, because it hides the way he carefully licks and then bites his lip. He raises his own left hand so Sniff can see.

No ring.

"… Ah."

"So, I'm not sure how to let you down gentl-"

SHWUMP goes the fist into his cheek. Etho stumbles back, so caught off guard that Sniff gets another heavy swing on him before he even realizes he's being attacked. Etho jerks his hands up in a cross, trying to deflect the blows, but Sniff's light on his feet and gets through the wall quickly, screaming and slamming his fists in nonsensical ways. They're not even all punches anymore, some of them just random thumps and slaps. There are kicks too, and- and slashing fingernails?

"Whoa, whoa, WHOA!"

"For goodness' sakes, OHHHHH! You're in SO much trouble, mister! You wanna poke the Sniffer? You think you can just- just get away with poking him like that? Right- you're gonna WISH Doc had torn you apart by the time I'm through with you! Poultry Man will look like a washed-up scrub compared to me!"

"What?"

"I HATE YOU!"

"Sniff, buddy-"

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet

His back thumps on wooden floor before he's even registered the death message. Which, he's beginning to realize, seems totally appropriate for the chaos of this server. He's back at the spawn stage. Etho lies still, hand to his chest, and takes a couple seconds to breathe. It's fine, it's fine, he reminds himself, giving himself the mental brush-down. We're playing a game. In the outside world, we probably came here to check out Sniff's armor trim. He's showing off. The reward for 'defeating' him will be to try it on myself and see if I like it, but he's gonna manhunt me until I get some gear.

… Sniff's not an active player, though. He's offline.

Everything is real to Sniff.

The respawn painkillers healed any lasting sting of landing on his back. Etho pushes himself up on one hand and checks his comm. He's still got three hours to rebuild Joel's vessel, but it's ticking dangerously close to 2:59. BANG! goes a door on the other side of the theater. Sniff rockets towards him in the dark, elytra wings spread. Uh-oh. Etho rolls to his feet, coming up in a crouch, and takes the full Sharpness V Fire Aspect netherite sword swipe right in the chest.

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet using [PillagerUrToenail]

He poofs onto spawn again, this time standing. Sniff's either out of rockets or doesn't feel like banking around in such a small space, because he skids across the wood on his feet, sword still drawn. He swaps it for his bow and nocks an arrow.

Oh, snappers.

Etho was shot by SnifferMyFeet using [ChickenOutUrRear]

Uh-huh, says Etho, hovering in that span of space and time between life and death. He can feel his sync cord flaring up with heat; evidently, the Uh-huh is mutual. Etho still has no idea what the big man's view of this whole event is considering that the outside players probably don't even know what things like soul crystals and vessel recovery even are (let alone partnership rings), but… he's grateful for the emotional back-up.

Okay, sure. He has no weapons. He has no armor. He's probably about to die another dozen times. But it's okay. Because when you're in sync…

… it's the reason you never want to give up, even when pressure is running high. It's energy. It's home. It's life.

I'm ready, boss man. Put me in.

Click.

Etho drops back into the spawn theater, this time with his hands raised. He spreads his feet, knees bent for balance. Nailed it. Sniff charges across the stage, screeching, with his axe reared all the way back behind his head. Oh, that's not good. That makes it rather difficult to grab his wrists. Etho readies himself for a bit of hand to hand combat…

… and stops.

No, says the little voice inside his head. Let him have this. If he really wanted to be alone, he'd blacklist you.

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet using [RavagerUrBrain]

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet using [HoglinUrSheets]

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet using [GhastUrPassword]

Etho was slain by SnifferMyFeet using [EvokerUrGods]

Every death is agony. It's burning alive on maximum damage, but only for an instant. The respawn painkillers really are something. After another four deaths in a row, Etho finally clicks back in to find Sniff on his knees, shoving all his gear into a shulker box. All except a bed (in its shrunken form) which he hugs to his chest like a cat. Even Etho, who doesn't really consider himself up to date on the going-ons of people's life, instantly catches what he's doing.

"Sniff, wait!"

Sniff thunks the lid back on the shulker box, then slams the bed on the stage. There's a chunk of flint and steel in his hand. He's just about to set his respawn point when Etho lunges at him from behind, locking his arms around Sniff's chest. Sniff shrieks and drops the steel part of 'flint and steel,' kicking and flailing, and tries desperately to smack the bed corner. Etho drags him backwards, but they don't have golden carrots. Sure, the chest area is pretty solid and doesn't phase as easily as something like lips or legs, but the collision threshold is still pretty low. Sniff keeps wiggling free every other second, making a tremendously strained effort even to glance his fingertips off the corner of the sheets.

"LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF ME!"

Etho manages to get himself between Sniff and the bed. The steel sucks into his inventory (so the flint slurps out of Sniff's hand and vanishes along with it). Etho scoops Sniff in his arms for half a second and tosses him off the stage. Sniff goes rolling between the seats, grunting, and that gives Etho enough time to peek inside the shulker box.

Perfect. Good to know Sniff hasn't been sleeping on the best weapon in the game.

He whips a fishing rod from the box and spins around. Sniff, uncaring, makes another attempt to launch himself at the bed. This time Etho catches him with a hook. It lands right on the back of his pullover. He jerks the line and flings Sniff up, up, and then crashing down on the other end of the stage. Sniff yelps, struggling up, but now Etho's running towards him, line in hand and ready to wrap him up.

"Whoa, whoa," he chides, trying not to sound explosive. That's one wriggly kid he's got his arms around. Well, he's a full man, but he's a lot shorter than Etho is and he screams like a phantom. "Sniff, let's talk about this… We'll figure something out."

"I want to switch out! I need my boss! I need my boss! Let me switch out!"

"Charles isn't coming back."

Sniff stops struggling in Etho's arms. His elytra shiver. "Hic-" he croaks. Etho keeps adjusting his hands, sliding them up and down Sniff's front to update the contact point so they won't phase through. Sniff quivers… and Etho wonders if he overstepped. If he's broken any hearts.

"He's not coming," he repeats, stating these words firmly against Sniff's ear. "Grian ran me through the basics before I joined the server. You don't get snap shifts anymore. Whatever creator bleed you have, that's what you're left with now, and it's already bled together… There is no switching out. You're just you."

"I can be useful, though. I can be an extra camera." His voice cracks on that last word. "I'm just as handsome and talented as Pig…"

"… Well, I mean… I don't know the guy. Maybe someday he'll come back."

They stand in silence for a little too long, Etho's arms wrapped around Sniff's unmoving body. In his mind's eye, his comm ticks down under the three hour mark.

But he stays. Sniff's messy hair smells weirdly like chlorine.

Finally, Sniff peels himself away. He squeezes through Etho's arms in a ripple of sparking pixels. His weapons are in the shulker box, so Etho lets him go. Sniff pushes his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly through his nose, and shakes his head at the catwalk above.

"Okay… I'm sorry for being a little… Ah, never mind; I'm not allowed to say that. Right. Let's crack on with it; no point in drowning in the past. Tell me everything."

"Hey, now… 'Everything' is kind of a broad topic."

"Don't patronize me," he mutters, taking the hem of his cream-colored pullover. He rubs it up and down his face a few times, then loosens his elytra straps and pulls it off entirely. He lives up to his name, sniffing once, then brings his eyes to Etho's again. "Okay. Tell me how we broke up; my two brain cells can hardly process this absolutely massive upheaval to my worldview as I am but a lone man on AFK. Then… Tell me how I get out of here."

"You still want to get out?"

"I'm an entertainer, Etho. I'm not meant to grind and grind and never showcase my art. And I miss Mumbo. And Scar, Iskall, Lizzie… Jimmy, Scott, BigB, Ren, Martyn, Xisuma, Fwhip, Gem, False, Pearl. It's not been that long since I started this life, Etho, and I'm already burned out on hearing about the portal hub secondhand from Pig. I miss…" He catches himself, then looks away. "… you know. People."

Etho says nothing.

Sniff waves one hand in a circle, pacing the stage back and forth, eyes on the ground. His elytra keep fluttering at his back and his antennae are twitching up a storm. "I want details, Etho… I remember The Relation. I built us a boat. I built us a home. And I built the Red Velvet Keep for Scar, and I let him keep the pandas nearby instead of driving them off across the map… Bloomin' heck, how did it all come to this?"

Etho scratches very carefully at his nose before following Sniff across the stage. "So, do you know what roleplay is?"

"What the heck is that?"

💙  🧡  💚

"Etho," says Grian, his voice twisting in a squeak. His back's flat to the wooden wall and honestly Etho's doing the same. They each have one arm thrown across Sniff's chest, not letting him wiggle away. Etho can see the beads of sparking blue dripping down Grian's face. "I have a feeling this was a very bad idea!"

"Oh, so now you tell me? Let's not pretend this was ever legal. You knew exactly what we were getting into."

"Ih, naaah," says Sniff. He tries to lean forward, craning his neck like he can see around the edge of the apartment from here, but Etho yanks him back and Grian shoves a shush finger at his lips. Sniff goes to bite him and Etho jerks the wandering trader hood down over Sniff's eyes.

"Shh!"

Etho has the most sensitive hearing between them. It comes with being part fox. He tilts his head very slightly, reading the footsteps on the other side of the wall. The speakers on the other side are lightly moving here and there. One of them's holding metal, which keeps bonking against a leg (and setting off a distinctive fritzing sound). There are definitely three… but are they HALOs? That's the big question. They wait, breath mingling. After a few seconds, Etho glances at Sniff. "Stay here. I'm going into free-cam."

Grian's eyes bulge like bone meal'd melons. "Right now?"

"Shhh…" It's gotta be done.

They're around back of the apartments. Etho lowers himself to the dirty stone, trying to find a good way to sit that won't leave him sore when he's back. Okay… This should do.

Then he steps from his body in a blur of blue sparks. His free form takes the shape of a fox. He's glowing and flickering like a soul flame - and painfully not invisible - but that can't be helped. It's just the way Between works. This dimension is all about souls… and between the spawn temples and all the glowy blue mobs that spawn when it gets dark, it never lets you forget that.

On delicate paws, Etho tiptoes around the edge of Grian's apartment and peers into the street. His eyes slit paper-thin. He was right. There are two HALOs standing in the road- one whose glare hybrid traits have overgrown their snake skin and one who has wings stuffed away beneath a skeleton-themed cloak. Impulse is with them, rubbing behind his neck and saying something in a low voice. There's a can of liquid dye in his hand (the source of the metal sound). He doesn't seem stressed, but maybe a little confused behind the smile. His tail flits back and forth and his wings are fully extended, angled low towards the ground.

Hmm…

Etho stays crouched near the wall, flicking his tail. They can't go this way. If he darts across the street, they'll definitely see him. He turns his head, scanning the apartment's rear. The wood's done up in a nice gradient with plenty of texture and there are little nooks and crannies to give it depth… but if he jumps, chances are high he'll knock over a flower pot.

He moves back, scampering past Grian and Sniff until he can peer around the opposite corner of the building. The HALOs are looking the other way. Impulse is the only one who might see them if they leave in this direction. But this is the wrong way…

Oh, snappers… Okay.

Since he can't speak in this form, Etho dissipates the free-cam. Back in his body, opening his eyes, he points in the direction he'd just wandered. "Okay, here's the plan. Grian, you head out there and distract them. Bring up the incident reports or something. If you can't lure them away, just get them to look the other direction. That should give Sniff and I time to cross the street. We have to," he adds, feeling a twinge apologetic. "There's nothing to jump or climb on."

Grian's mouth twists in a slant. "Next time, we do this from your place."

"Yeah. That would've been the smart call. I'm glad you already sent Two over there. I'll give him cake before I send him back."

They fall silent again. The footsteps and voices are still very much present, and Grian keeps his finger on Sniff's lips. Sniff, in turn, blinks up at Etho from beneath the edge of Mumbo's hood. Etho didn't ask why Grian had an extra set of Mumbo's robes in his apartment and honestly… he's okay not knowing.

"This is fun," Sniff whispers, pulling the edges of the hood together at the base of his chin. "I've never been in trouble before… My hearts are racing. I love it."

Grian's mouth twitches in a smirk at one end. "That's the pesky bird in you. Now… Be good for Etho. After I drag these guys away, I'm going to sneak into Scott's office and plug you into the system. Stay low. And don't touch any portals until your comm comes on. Between is a closed-circuit world; your comm only works once you're plugged into a hub. Lots of people keep theirs on their wrist. I'll get you a really nice watch." Grian points at his own hand for emphasis where his comm rests with its faintly glowing screen. "See this? My light is blue. That means I'm approved to wander New Star. If you take yours out, you'll see it's black. Only when it's blue is it okay to do things like step into the bullet path or duck back inside a portal. If you're outside the system, doing either of those things would kick you back to your soul spawner. Got it?"

"And when your comm turns green," Etho adds, "which happens an hour after it's orange, that's when you've crossed into phantom hour. When that happens, you wrap up your Between activities and head back to your AFK server. No exceptions. The phantoms will come and get you and send you back themselves if you don't start pathfinding home."

"I will punch the phantoms." He's like a scruffy toddler.

Grian snorts. "They don't fight you… They log you out. They take one bite and next thing you know, you're waking up at your home server's spawn point. Your comm goes black and you'll be locked in until your code's been cycled back into the system."

"And how long does that take?"

"Depends who gets their teeth in you. It's really fast with Martyn because he feeds so little. He burns his energy within a couple hours. It can take days, though, if it's Bdubs. He logs out a lot of fellas." Grian makes an up and down motion above his elbow to indicate the glowy flame effect of a phantom hybrid digesting code. "After a feed, they look like they're dripping pixels. Only instead of dripping down, the effect twinkles upwards. They'll sort of sparkle. Anyway, you don't want their fangs in you. It doesn't hurt, but if it's Bdubs… you could get locked in your AFK server for up to a week. Believe me, it really puts a damper on things."

Sniff nods, eyes still bright and shining. He has eyes like a fresh tray of fudge. He giggles, covering his mouth with his fingers. "Oh, Pig would lose his mind if he heard I'm doing this! He's never seen me out before! Now I'll be the one with stories to brag about."

"Yeah, I'll bet. Right; I'm off then."

"Take care."

"Always do." Grian brushes off his pullover. He stands for a moment, hesitating, then meanders out from behind the building like he hasn't been doing anything in particular. Etho listens to his feet, keeping his hand on Sniff's shoulder. Sniff flops against him like an adventurous baby villager and tugs on Etho's upper sleeve.

"Can I have this?"

"My vest?"

"Yeah. You know; for all the memories."

"Absolutely not."

Sniff sighs, but doesn't ask again. Etho waits until he's certain Grian's sufficiently distracted the HALOs, then turns and starts pulling Sniff the way they need to go, across the street and along the narrow walking path between the outer rim buildings and the edge of the bedrock wall. Sniff stumbles, gasping with an "Ulp!" and grabs for Etho's arms. Etho catches him, hoisting him back to his feet.

"You okay?"

"… Yeah. My glitch moved down to my leg. It's tricky, but I'll be all right."

"I'll introduce you to Scar one of these days. He can give you walking tips."

"Carry me?"

"I can't. We don't have golden carrots, so the collision barrier won't hold. I'd drop you." Mumbled, "Sorry."

Sniff sticks out a pouting lower lip. "Carry me on something else, then. Push me in a minecart."

"It would take longer to explain to someone why I need to borrow that than it would to just get you to my place."

"Etho?"

"Yep?"

"Do you have a camera twin?" Sniff's tone is genuine and Etho's glad he's the one walking in front. He doesn't like the jolt he just felt dart across his face.

"Nah… They're a lot of responsibility."

"Oh, don't I know it," Sniff mutters, but Etho can hear his voice ping with pesky curiosity. He hustles forward, bending like a swooping bird, and hooks his hand on Etho's wrist. It's familiar in a way that sends a single shiver up Etho's spine. Sniff gives two firm tugs until Etho turns his head. It's probably the most objectively Grian thing he's done this entire night. Etho wonders if Sniff can tell who he got which aspects of his creator bleed from. Maybe not. He says, "So what happens if you lose your vessel and need a model to rebuild from?"

"Me? I take precautions the old-fashioned way. See, soul crystals file away the rawest, most un-moddable part of your data: like your default soul and personality. Phantom hybrids file away your vessel data. Bdubs backs me up every night, so as long as we still had my soul crystal, I could easily be rebooted exactly the way I am. Not that Bdubs has much my crystal wouldn't." Etho jabs his thumb behind, indicating his swishing silver tail. "I don't really do aesthetic tweaks. Actually, in most worlds I leave my tail out… I only disabled it for the Life series because we do so much fighting. All's fair, even hair yanking and tail pulling. I nope'd out of that after a bad fight in Season 1."

Sniff rolls his eyes. "D'y'know what? I actually can't believe this. You've got an answer for everything, don't you?"

"I mean… you asked."

"I dunno, iihhh… I mean, it just feels like real scrub-loser energy to roll over belly-up for the phantoms. Something about getting 'eaten?' Implies a wee bit of innuendo, if you ask me."

First part's Grian. But that last bit's Joel. Etho wishes his render distance was set even higher. He'd like to stare farther than any player has ever stared before.

"Sniff," he says, changing course. "What mob hybrid were you before you got your first portal invite?"

"I'm not sure I'd call it a bloody invitation. I'm just the one who fell out of the cage."

Etho shows incredible self-restraint in not cracking a fairly inappropriate joke right then and there. Joel would think it's funny, but Grian would hate it, he muses, and that doesn't feel like friendly behavior, so he keeps it to himself. "Yeah, I heard the magma cube spawner's suspended over a portal like that," he says, and holds Sniff back while checking if it's fine to cross the next street. It almost always is, but this is a main road and it feels like every time you don't, that's when you get hit by some minecart barreling around the corner with food and drink.

Flicker of pause.

"Wait. The cage is normal?"

"Every spawn room is different. I don't know much about them. I've only been inside a couple, and one of them's my own."

"Oh." They walk in silence for two minutes more and the clock tower comes into view ahead. Nice. Then, "Etho?"

"What?"

"… I'm hungry."

Etho stops walking, so Sniff bumps into him. Oh, snap. Sniff's a fresh vex and his stomach's dead empty right now. Physical food won't regenerate his hunger haunches. He hadn't thought of that. "Okay," he says, trying to keep his hearts as level as his voice. "Um… Can it wait?"

Sniff doesn't answer. When Etho turns, the scrubby man is staring across the street with eyes the size of record discs. It only takes half a heartbeat to see why. Skizz is lavishing dye across the storefront of his and Tango's restaurant, his wings all aflutter. Etho rotates his eyes back down to Sniff. Sniff is faintly drooling.

And not over their pizza.

"Not a good move," he says, which startles Sniff into looking up. "Skizz's code is very heavily modded. You won't like the taste."

Sniff tilts his head, then jabs a finger at a green slime hybrid standing on the restaurant's roof. "What about him?"

"… I don't think you'll catch that guy. He's well-known for running." It is wildly tempting to muss Sniff's hair with his hand, but Etho restrains himself. "Maybe someday."

"Hm," says Sniff. He loops his arm with Etho's, then tilts back his leg so he can scratch at the base of his foot. No shoes. Sounds about right for him. "I think I'll be okay. For a little while."

"Come on. We're almost there."

Etho's apartment door isn't decorated with fancy crystals or flowers. The letters TM-C are carved in the center, but it's dramatically bare compared to the rest of his neighbors' photos and corkboards. When Etho lets himself inside, Two and Lizzie are at the table, sipping from hot chocolate mugs while VintageBeef regales them with a story about snowballs and a netherite hoe. Lizzie's chair is scooted a little too near the door, but Etho manages to get both himself and Sniff through without asking her to move. Lizzie turns and stares at him anyway. Her cheeks are prickled with worry. Sniff looks at her, curious, like she's a bug under a rock, before he starts wiggling his way out of the wandering trader disguise.

"Well, well," Two sing-songs. He's using his actual voice now that Grian's taken him off spectator. His blue wings flutter. He flaps lightly a couple times before tapping his mug down on the table. "There's our mystery man of the hour… Pig's been talking about you for weeks."

"All bad things, I hope," is Sniff's muffled response, still squirming his way from the robes. For his part, Etho runs his hand down the back of his neck, steadying every pixel he can find, and finally makes eye contact with Lizzie.

"Now, you're probably really stressed about Joel and all that. I'm not sure how long you're planning to stay, but if you need anything… just let me know. Or Beef; Pause is out until dinner, but I think Beef will be here the whole time, yeah?"

"In the back," Beef says, hooking a thumb down the hallway. "My door's last one on the right. I'll have my headphones on, but come knock if you need anything."

Lizzie nods, getting up to rinse her empty mug in the sink. "I'm not worried."

"You're not?"

"You're on the case, Etho. How can I be worried?"

Etho watches the light sway of her pink hair, saying nothing. He doesn't even hear whatever Two and Sniff are quibbling about. After a few seconds, before Lizzie can turn around, he glances off. Not a good idea to stare. He tugs his mask a little higher up his face and tries to count his heartbeats. "So, just so we're on the same page… You know I can't promise this will work, right? You saw how bad it was."

Lizzie clicks the mug handle on its little metal hook. "I won't hold that against you personally."

"Hey," Sniff snaps, currently in a little wrestle with Two as they try to slam each other against the wall. He glances back, vex wings beating hard. "You got me out of the deal! Let's not sleep on what a fantastic success tonight's been all around. HEY!"

Two bursts into giggles as Sniff's hand slips through his arm and he goes tumbling to the floor. Two grabs a chair and pins it around Sniff like a cage, then hops on top so Sniff can't shove it off. Sniff, however, doesn't take that lying down, and kicks and shoves until the chair - and Two with it - topples with a bang against the wall. "Hey, hey," Beef calls from his place by the kitchen sink, and Two collapses to the tile, wheezing and holding his stomach. Etho drops his head in his hand.

"Oh my goodness! Sorry, I'm so sorry!" Sniff scrambles up, licking his palm before rubbing it over a dark smudge on the wall. Two's a whirlwind, his laughter barely muffled by his pullover sleeve and his flowery headband slipping down over his eyes. Etho glances at Beef, debating how much responsibility he should take for his houseguests, but Beef gives him the faintest shake of his head. Don't worry about it; you don't have to apologize for everything.

"Hey, you two," Etho says, and gestures with a sweeping arm towards the next room. The sofa's in there, along with something much more important… his work desk. "Go lie down; get comfy. I'm going to grab a snack and then I'll be in to read your code." He checks his comm. 2 hours and 26 minutes.

"Right, sure, yeah," Sniff fumbles, and scampers off. Two pushes himself onto his elbow, wheezing a few seconds longer, then fixes his headband. He sing-songs "Bye, Lizzie; bye, Beef!" and follows suit. Etho doesn't watch them go, but looks to Lizzie instead. Hhh.

"Um… Are you staying?"

"For a bit, if you'll have me." Then she presents him with a thin, green plastic case. He's never seen it before… but it's raw and familiar. Etho burns the scrawled-on name into his retinas. Smallishbeans…

He takes the case from Lizzie, gripping it by the corners. "Okay," he says. "So, yeah… Bring in a chair. Now, I'm sorry if Sniff causes a fuss. I don't know him very well."

On cue, there's a tremendous crash of bookshelves in the living room. Beef abandons the sink, practically launching himself over the bar counter. Sniff yells "IT WAS HIM!" and rushes out the sliding bamboo door to the balcony. Etho tightens his grip on Joel's player file. The soul crystal inside pulses white, tinted green by plastic, and he's aching and tired and burned from all the coding he's done this afternoon already… and it's going to be a long, long next several hours. But when he looks at Lizzie…

… It's okay.

Beef yanks open the balcony door, talking in a firm voice to Sniff while holding Two by the edge of his sleeve. Lizzie leans in close then - too close, very close in a way that prickles Etho's skin - and lowers her voice. Pointing a faint finger in Sniff's direction, she chuckles and says, "He's so much like Grian, isn't he?"

Is he? … What does it mean if I thought he was mostly Joel?

Etho doesn't love what that does to his stomach. Like he can't actually tell the two halves properly apart. Like Sniff is… well blended.

An individual.

He feels weightless… and airsick as he falls.

Chapter Text

SnifferMyFeet

Baby's first surgery <3

💚  💛  ❤️

SnifferMyFeet, who is a mere 1,584 day/night cycles old since the moment he started counting, is beginning to realize there are a great many things about the outside world he never would have fathomed, even if he'd had a thousand years to consider the possibilities. Surgery is one of them, the whole "free-cam" thing is another, and using free-cam to perform a surgery definitely would have ranked at the bottom of the non-existent list of Extremely Fathomable Things As Far As Sniff Is Aware. Not trademarked, but it's his list. He'll stab someone's elbow crook if they try and take it from him.

Etho's flat is so naked of decoration, Sniff no joke wonders if he's the kind of guy who grabs the Hero of the Village effect before he so much as hands over a clump of sticks. The bookshelf in the corner of the room is full of books and board games, but every one of those books is some complicated subject about programming or cartography. And Etho's obviously no fun, so the games can't be for him. He probably doesn't even get invited to play, even though he has two roommates. Sniff picks out exactly two things in the living room that he decides count as decorations. One is the flower pot beside him on the coffee table. It holds a blue orchid. The other's a salt shaker in the shape of a fox, sitting proudly on his desk. And that's it.

Come on. Even my spawn town has more interior design than this, and I've only been alive a couple weeks.

The flat is also much, much smaller than the flying boat base back on his and Pig's world. Sniff never realized until now that he might be a tiny bit claustrophobic. Gripping the backs of TwoMuchGrian's knuckles and counting things around the room helps, a little, but he quickly runs out of dusty textbooks to stare at. He did pick everything up after he and Two knocked it over, by the way; he's not that heartless.

He and Two sit like decorations themselves on the edge of the coffee table, bouncing their heels against the carpet. The table's equally covered in books, because apparently Etho's social life died a hundred years ago and totally failed the respawn. Lizzie stands in the doorway between the living area and the kitchen. Everyone is eyeing up the massive bright blue crystal bobbing up and down beside Etho's work desk. Everyone except Etho, ironically. Sniff has been informed that if he taps the crystal - possibly even breathes too hard on it - it will explode. If he had to guess, the resulting damage will be real bad. Worse than end crystals. And at that point, only the crying obsidian block it hovers above will survive.

Can you even call what's going on here a surgery? Joel's body isn't even in this dimension. Sniff really doesn't get that part, but then… He's only 1,584 day/night cycles old since the moment he started counting. He watches, saying nothing, as Etho moves back and forth between looking at the crystal and staring at his… bigger… comm screen? (Not sure what that device is called; too freaked out by 'forced proximity to deadly blue crystal' to ask).

TwoMuchGrian shifts his wing, pressing it gently around Sniff's shoulder. His feathers, Sniff realizes in that moment, are actually half a dozen different shades of blue, though it's difficult to tell if you don't bother to get a close look. "You okay?" Two asks.

"Get off me."

"No, no… If you say so."

Sniff drums his fingers on his knee. Etho moves back and forth between his desk and the absolutely massive crystal again. Oh, he's close to breathing on that thing. He's so, so close. Maybe that's why he wears the mask. Maybe it's for everyone's safety, so he doesn't get them all bloody killed.

"Two… Two, if I don't make it… Tell Pig…"

"Yeah?"

"… that I lied about hating his cake. Also, I think he sucks."

Two snorts. "Oh, he gets that from me all the time."

The heck you ribbing on Pig for? He's MINE to torment, thank you very much. Maybe he doesn't like Pig's Between dimension friends after all. Maybe this world's not treating him with the respect he deserves. Where is Pig anyway? Idly, Sniff wonders if he has enough time to build some sort of summoning circle on Etho's living room floor, maybe with a few candles. He doesn't really have a plan. Does Etho have any paper? Sketching ideas on paper sounds like something smart people would do before they jump into work.

Etho shifts away from the crystal, back to leaning over his desk with only one knee propped in his office chair. Sniff burns the thing into his brain. Every scrap of it. The floating crystal has 16 sides. Three are blank, but there's a single letter glowing white on each of the rest. Sniff didn't even realize he was fluent in Illagescript, but sure… okay. I'm now a vex, I eat people, I'm a little bit divorced from Etho despite not actually being married to him like I thought… Learning all sorts of things about myself today. What else is new?

ᓭ ᒲ ᔑ ꖎ

ꖎ ╎ ᓭ ⍑         ʖ ᒷ ᔑ リ

ᓭ

The crystal reads Smallishbeans.

"I'll be honest, fella," Sniff says, still kicking the carpet, "I don't know how you're planning to pull this one off."

"Keep watching, I'll be doing something similar to you in a minute."

"… Lovely-jubbly."

Etho rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. Oh. Now it's getting serious. Sniff glances at Lizzie, then scoots a smidgen closer to Two. He stays dead silent as Etho's fingers flicker from their pale skin tone to cyan blue. Pixels pop. Then crackle. Sniff winces. Etho's hands shimmer, morphing into stubby paws. Ah… So that's the fox in his soul. It's curious to watch, though significantly less impressive at this point, seeing as Etho already, y'know, kind of dropped the whole when I go into free-cam I turn into a fox bit on the way over here. Loses dramatic effect to go from full body to just the paws, as it were. Y'know?

But the paws, apparently, are all that Etho really needs. He steps up to the crystal and plunges his hands straight inside. Sniff gasps, throwing his arm up to shield his face. Two's fingers tighten around his hand. But the crystal doesn't burst. After a few heartbeats, Sniff looks again. Etho is already stepping back, cradling a large, twitching insect in his palms. It's glowing the same cyan blue as Etho's fox paws, wings beating feebly in clear distress. Its rear end glows brightest of all, mostly white.

Are we bugs inside? Sniff moves his hands to his chest. All ten of his hearts are still beating. Are Joel's beating? Somewhere out there? Is this where the expression 'bug in the system' comes from?

"Huh," Etho says. He inspects the wounded insect first from one side, then the other. Then he starts moving towards the coffee table. "I wouldn't have pinned Joel down as a firefly hybrid… but I guess that checks out. He's always saying he used to live in the swamp. I never really thought about it. Sniff, open the lid for me."

"What?"

"The lid on that chest right behind you."

Oh. The chest fell under the category of "functional" and therefore "non-decorative." Apparently, he should have paid it more attention in his initial survey of the room. It's carved from some pale wood, like birch, though he can tell from the smell it isn't birch at all. He inspects the front out of habit to confirm it isn't trapped (You can't be too careful when you share a server with Pig), but it's clean. He hefts the lid up and open and gets a 'Thank you' in response.

"I want to get a glass tank," Etho says, dumping the large insect inside. "But without sand, this is all I can manage right now." His glowing paws fade into regular hands again. He brushes them twice down his shirt, apparently checking if they're corporeal, then shuts the chest lid with a creak. "You know, I'd like to see wild fireflies again someday. Of all Between's mobs, I think I miss them the most."

Lizzie shrugs. "Joel always says they aren't that special."

"Yeah, he told me that too. I think if he were in my shoes, though… he'd see them in a different light."

"What's a firefly?" Sniff asks, staring at the ceiling like he doesn't even care. They say the coolest kids can go their whole lives without seeing fireflies, you know. It's probably not something you can eat. If you can't eat it, it's about as valuable as a secondhand treasure map right now. He's behaving because he's been promised snacks. He's very, very good at behaving, especially when he's told. Maybe. Honestly, no one's ever bossed him around except, like… Grian and Joel. And they barely count because he was hardly conscious for most of the possession experience. They were polite about it; they were helping him get the hang of having a body for the first time and all that, because it is not as easy to control one of those things as you may think.

Yeah. Grian and Joel are the only ones allowed to give him pointers. Not even Pig tells him what to do. Even when they're baking cake.

Etho's already back at his desk, leaning close to his bright white screen. His fox tail ticks a couple times at the end like he's counting silently in his head, but with his tail instead of fingers. After a few seconds with no reply, Lizzie speaks up from the doorway. "Fireflies are native Between mobs. They're beetles, technically. They're quite similar to endermites."

Sniff's fingernails bite into the back of Two's hand. What kind of soul lives inside his chest? Is it a vex now that Grian and Etho have unthreaded him from his home world? … Or is he still an endermite deep down?

Lizzie continues, oblivious to the way his shoulders jumped. "They light the whole swamp up with their glowing. They're really quite something, I think… Actually, Joel and I met up to design our partnership rings at a mangrove swamp. He took a knee and everything. I don't think he realized exactly how marshy that whole experience would be."

"Right…" Sniff looks at Etho again. Or the back of Etho's head, rather, because Etho's tapping on the big comm(?) screen. "I thought you said Joel was a will o' the wisp?"

Etho's head bobs with a nod. "His vessel's modded. His soul's the same. You can't mod that part." He laughs, darkly, like he's choking. "Oh, the amount of slime hybrids we'd have if that type of thing were a free-for-all…"

The significance of this statement spirals over Sniff's head, even when he shoots Two a questioning look. Two just lifts his eyebrows. "Right, sure," he says to Etho. "So, like… Can you mod my vessel into something?"

"That's not really my area of expertise. I'm a healer."

"Okay… Someone could, though. Yeah?"

"Into what?" Then, hastily, "Not tonight… Plus, you're a vex now. It'd be temporary, but yeah."

"A wolf." He picks it at random, just for funsies. The moment he says it, though, it… it feels sort of right. Sniff touches his stomach. It's scratchy. Not, like, the outer texture and not like his jumper… He's just hungry. He's craving something he's not allowed to eat right now.

I bet wolves eat whatever they want and nobody tells them not to.

"No, a wolf's a natural mob. Wouldn't work. Your soul would detect it as a spawnable creature and delete the incoming data to prevent interference. You can only mod yourself into something that can't be spawned in the game."

Etho's got answers for everything. Maybe that's why his house is so empty; he needs the space for his huge, gigantic head. What, has this man never heard of a button and a bit of redstone to swap his interior around a little? Ah, I dunno. "Well, it'd be nice if someone left a bunch of signposts on the wall when I got here to explain all that, but I probably wouldn't read them." He considers his question again as Etho moves his finger from the screen to an open book on his desk. "What if you made me, like, a werewolf? Or a sea wolf? Or a coyote? Are those spawnable? Can I beat the system like that?"

"Very funny," says Etho. He doesn't elaborate. Oh. Sniff isn't sure what that means. But he shuts up, because Etho's frowning at Joel's soul crystal now, and Etho's got the blue paws out again in a shimmer of pixels, and he really wants to watch. Using his leg, Etho rolls his squeaky office chair over to the crying obsidian. The man's old-school, Sniff realizes then. Uncultured… He has no magma cream under his wheels and it's left the wood all scuffed up. Come on. Even he's figured out the best way to grease up wheels, and he's barely old enough to have a decorated spawn point.

There's a rustle in the chest beside him. Sniff jolts against Two. The firefly is stirring. "Um," he says.

"Ignore him."

"Okay." Sniff fiddles with the clasp on the chest's front for a moment. What's this thing made of? Definitely not birch. He pats the lock a few times, sending a consistent ring into the air, and Etho tolerates it without asking him to stop. TwoMuchGrian leaves to serve himself a slice of the cake Beef made. Lizzie joins Etho at his desk, answering small questions that mean nothing to Sniff as he is uneducated in their ways ("It was haste, right?" "Yeah, haste"). Sniff picks at one corner of the not-birch chest with his fingertip. "What kind of wood is this?" he asks, but nobody answers. Too busy. He scratches a little more, then smells his fingertips. It's sweet… but like no tree he's ever seen.

"Do you remember how long his hair was?"

"Past his shoulders. He ties it back."

Sniff rotates the chest, tilting it back to get a better look at its front. There's a distinct blue, yellow, red stripe around its lip. He stares for two or three seconds, trying to remember where he's seen that pattern before, and then it clicks. These are wandering trader colors. Sniff scoots closer, pulling the chest into his lap. He runs his thumb along the stripes.

Why would a wandering trader need to mark territory like this? And why does Etho have it? The urge to pry off the lid is the same one he gets when Pig's placing buttons around their base. His need to touch is on par with that of an enderman staring into his eyes, haunted and hungry for a kill.

"How far over would you say he likes his dye stripe? Like, right down the middle? It was off-center, I think."

"Ooh… That is a question that, as his wife, I would definitely have the answer to. Yes. I am attentive and I know these things."

The chest lid falls back, landing with a smack against Sniff's ankle. The blue firefly rolls out and across the coffee table. Sniff lifts his eyes from the box's base. Breathing. Softly. The firefly pedals its legs in the air, but after a few strains with its wings, manages to turn itself over. Is that a vest? It's got a vest. The bug tilts back its head, squinting up at Sniff - it seems like squinting - with an Oi, what the heck? look across its little face. It doesn't have a mouth, but Sniff had antennae once; he can read the room as they twitch.

He's got a different kind of twitch now. It's at his back, in his spiky wings. In his shoulders. Sniff sets the chest aside, softly closing up the lid, and leans over the firefly. The firefly scuttles backwards, scrambling over itself to keep him in view, and fidgets its wings. One's badly damaged. Makes this easier. Sniff takes a swat at it, but his hand passes straight through in a ripple. It sparks like acid on his skin. Huh.

Sniff pauses to study his hand, opening and closing his fist. The firefly climbs a stack of textbooks. Its wings keep flapping, but they're as silent as the pixels on Etho's screen. Neither he nor Lizzie turn around, still talking in low voices. Two's loud in the kitchen, searching for glasses and knives in the cupboards and drawers.

The prickle in Sniff's stomach presses deeper at his gut. Sniff's not stupid; he can put two and two together. He can't touch the firefly, but if he had blue hands like Etho's fox paws, that might solve his problem. Etho's got a fox soul. Sniff's got a vex one. Or maybe an endermite? He's not sure. He flexes his fingers again, trying to focus them into claws. A small pop rewards him with a single blue pixel, but the hand doesn't change.

The firefly scampers down the other side of the books, bouncing its way across the table. Sniff follows, making multiple silent attempts to snatch it in his hand. On the seventh or eighth try, he succeeds. The firefly wriggles in his fingers, flailing its little legs. Sniff straightens, holding it like a stress-relieving slime ball. It absolutely has a little vest. Cute.

I did it…

"Okay, that should be the right shape… Good enough to get started, at least."

He's not sure what creature his pixel-dripping hand belongs to. It's got claws and that might mean it's vex. That does feel right. Sniff traces his tongue across his teeth, bringing the firefly towards his open mouth.

"We're ready now. Sniff, I need you to- SNIFF, NO!" Etho lunges forward so fast, his chair crashes against his desk and Sniff's been slammed against the coffee table before it crashes. His shoulder blades thump on books, chest corners, and pottery shards. Did he break the flowerpot? What just happened? Thud goes the chair against the desk, and Sniff releases the firefly in a jolt. It scrambles off like a bounding cricket. Sniff stares up at Etho's face, though the urge to hide in the corner like a dog in trouble is- is fiery right now. Etho's hands are clenched in his jumper collar, eyes blazing, and Sniff forgets every word he's ever known.

Ulp!

It's another quarter second before Etho cools off, the flame in his eyes draining back to 'default active player' glow. Oh, geez. What do lightning-bright eyes mean? Was he about to lay waste to me right here, right now? Can he drop me to the void from here? Etho bends his neck, seething through his teeth - This man is seething - and none of that turtleneck-vest-jacket combo he's got on holds back the up and down thumping of ten erratic hearts.

Or… maybe those are mine.

Sniff stays pinned, hiccuping through his breaths, even though one of his wings is twisted underneath him. Etho's about a sliver away from ripping him apart. He swallows. "I… I'm sorry…"

"Oh my goodness, Sniff… I'm sorry." And then it's Etho who's apologizing, tripping over himself even as he bears his weight on Sniff's forearms, keeping him flat to the table. Two's back with his chocolate cake now, standing on his tiptoes to see past Etho's flicking tail, and Lizzie's against the wall clutching the firefly in bright blue hands. Etho shakes his head, muttering apologies over and over, and carefully pulls his fingers from Sniff's skin. "I know. We're gonna get you food. But not that one, okay? You're doing so good right now… Just hang on. Okay? Oh my goodness, oh my goodness… I think I almost kicked my chair into the soul crystal. We can't be doing this."

"I messed up. I wasn't thinking. Etho, I'm hungry…"

Etho moves back, his hands templed up before his nose. "Look, you can have me," he says. "I promise… I have singleplayer work to catch up on anyway; I don't need all my hours tonight. Just wait until I finish with Joel."

Is that a good bargain? It sounds good, though he really doesn't know much about being a vex. It's better than nothing. "Okay," Sniff mutters back. He scratches his leg, wishing for a smidgen more bravery. Just enough to feel okay asking for answers to questions he can't quite phrase.

"Ah," says Two, tongue on the fork tines. "You've probably never been hungry before, have you? This is all new to you. Y'know. Because you die so much and respawn with full saturation."

"Oh, get out."

"No, it's a compliment."

Etho's living room gets a lot less comfortable after that. Nobody says much for a minute. Two keeps eating cake, his bamboo fork scratching against the wooden plate a little too loudly. Lizzie holds Joel and keeps herself pressed to the wall while Sniff gets asked to lie on the hard floor, a little too near the extremely explosive crystal for his own comfort. TwoMuchGrian flops down beside him. He tilts back his head so he can look Sniff in the eyes.

"Does Pig throw slumber parties on your world too? He must be a fun roommate."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, does he not? We hang out at his place all the time."

… That hurts. Two's voice is chirpy and innocent, but Sniff's fingers tighten in the chest of his jumper anyway. He throws parties? No wonder he's always slinking back so late.

Can't be mad at Pig, though. Sniff didn't have an invite off-world until now, so why would Pig talk about parties knowing it might hurt his feelings? Not that Sniff's sensitive about his own feelings. He's an adult. It's fine. If he'd been attending parties, he wouldn't have half as much cool netherite gear as he does back home.

Do he and Pig share a flat? Sniff was unthreaded straight into Grian's portal room, so he hasn't seen his own Between base yet. According to Etho, he'll need to make his way back there soon enough. Couple hours tops. Sniff slips his comm into his hand and checks the screen, but it's still black. Grian hasn't plugged him into the system just yet.

Sometimes Pig doesn't come home at all. Camera accounts don't need to. That's what he's learned so far from this world of "phantom hour" and rules. There are many benefits to being set in spectator mode, and "party all night with no need for sleep" is only one of them. It sucks, though. It sucks massively when Pig stays out without saying anything. It's no fun, being out alone but not by choice. Sometimes he grants himself creative mode, but that's mostly just to plop down different wood and stone blocks so he can study their different textures. He's not too skilled at it, either. He spent days respawning over and over, that mocking "SnifferMyFeet was blown up by [Admin Inexperience]" message playing like honey across his eyes. Pig laughed and laughed, but he was a good sport about it (eventually) and helped wipe all the soot from his face. Still, the creative items are basically worthless. Sniff always throws them away when he's done. There's not so much glory in a working mob farm or a tall castle without the thrill of the chase.

Pig's going to lose his mind when he finds out I can go off-world now. That thought cheers him, tamping down the jealous waves. A little.

Etho gets down next to him, the big comm screen resting in his lap, and pulls his mask slightly from his mouth. Not enough so Sniff can see what's underneath, but enough to make his voice a little louder over the floating crystal's hum. He waits until Sniff makes eye contact (which twists his stomach up his spine) and rests his fingers on the comm screen's little keyboard. "All right. Let's run you through the basics of code reading. I'm going to put my hand under your shirt, straight through. I'll be feeling around in there. It's going to be uncomfortable, but there shouldn't be any pain. If you're feeling pain, stop me."

"Okay… And where does Two fit into this?"

"I'm reading your code, but I can't separate the Joel from the Grian in you. Two is One's twin" - (Etho always calls the red-winged Grian 'One' when he's around Two, Sniff's realized) - "so I'll cross-reference his code with yours and eliminate anything identical. Then all that's left is Joel parts."

Two waves, still lying on the floor with his head tipped back. "Okay," says Sniff. He doesn't really get it, but he can still play along. He stares at the ceiling, opening and closing his hands as Etho leans forward. Why does Etho keep his flat so blummin' cold?

"Hold still. Yep. That's good, Sniff…"

"There's bedrock dust and wood shavings all over your floor, fella. Can I get a pillow?"

Lizzie tosses one from the couch, but it lands out of reach. Etho's hand crackles with blue and white sparks, shifting from fingers into a glowing fox paw. This, he slides up Sniff's shirt and dips it through his skin. Sniff flinches. Ihh. Etho's fingers sort of splash against his pixels, disrupting them in waves, and they're cold as icebergs and polar bears and other stupid chilly things as they tick through lines of code Sniff hadn't even flicked himself before. Two pats his arm, but you really can't tell if that guy's genuine or if he's playing you like a goat horn.

Etho's movements are decisive, lingering only for a moment before sliding to another place to read a little more. Sniff can't see much from his current position, but he can hear the soft tap of Etho's other fingers against the screen in his hand. Taking notes. Learning something. Staying silent.

Feeling his paw in there is like Grian and Joel possessing my vessel all over again. But when they did it, they were warm. And they weren't wiggling around so much.

His stomach growls. He winces again. "I know," says Etho, his voice wooly soft. "We'll get you food. Later. You can have my soul when we're done here; I promise. "

And, well… Etho's just one of those fellas who's really quite easy to believe.

💙  🧡  💚

GoodTimesWithScar

Everybody's Problem /negative

Everybody's Problem /positive

Scar stops dead when he finds BigB's free-cam on the rear balcony of his penthouse. BigB used to be an illusioner before he got his moth mods. Didn't look much different back then than he does now, apparently. He's tall, broad-shouldered… glowing cyan, of course, though they all do that in free-cam. His robe's spattered in so many gleaming crystal bits, you could make a spyglass from the fabric. Maybe two or three. BigB looks twice as shocked to see him, which really makes no sense. Scar's supposed to be here. It's his penthouse!

Scar massages his eyes between thumb and forefinger, trying to work feeling back into his face. He might be seeing things. Maybe he shouldn't have taken that shot of 1s at Jimmy's party. But BigB's still very much standing there when Scar looks up again. Since he's in free-cam, he can't even hear what's going on. His ears are still back with his body. But he's definitely looking for something. BigB can't speak right now, but he makes rapid back and forth Xs with his arms, trying to signal either Keep your mouth shut or Don't come any closer.

"What are you doing?" Scar asks, opening his mouth while stepping forward. BigB makes the motion again, this time with a shushing finger at his lips, so Scar obliges with simmering silence. He glances over the railing. Calling his place a 'penthouse' might be a slight exaggeration. New Star Station is built in a naturally generated (question mark) bedrock perimeter with the slime soul spawner in the exact center. The entire perimeter is ringed with tall buildings (Scott calls it "the bailey wall"), so anyone who wants to reach the walls must first get through someone's private living area. Social awkwardness probably cuts at least two-thirds of curious people out of the equation. Scar's got an apartment in this wall of buildings… but it's the top one, so that's a penthouse, right?

You can see basically nothing from the rear balcony. You can't touch the bedrock walls from any of the buildings, which means there's a road about a chunk wide around the entire perimeter. It's called the "border road." And no one really uses that, because taking the bullet path is faster and there's absolutely no cover on the border road, so phantoms can spot you from a render distance away. If your phantom hour hits while you're on the border road, you'd best believe Martyn's already clocked your location and is banking around to get you. The road's the only place Bdubs exclusively allows him to feed without arguing over it. And Martyn will always come to get you if he isn't playing on a server. If not Martyn, then there are dozens of lower-ranking phantom hybrids who'd be glad to make a meal of you.

… There is someone on the border road tonight. Scar, forgetting for a moment that he didn't give BigB permission to snoop around in here, joins him at the rail, leaning over it with folded arms. It's no one he recognizes. Just some random, meandering player… Probably an American, since this is the western wall and most the Europeans are starting to head to bed. The clock tower will chime any minute now, ticking a fair chunk of the population's comm lights from sunset orange into green.

The public portal hub is near the shopping district, which is on the east side of the station with the clock tower and the tree farm. The Europeans get to be near all the cool stuff. Not really; East Half is just the side that Scott started building from when he founded the station in the first place. West Half gets the museum, aquarium, concert hall, the sprawling farm where they've been getting all their animal products from, all kinds of spas, and the arcade where Scar's enjoyed many an evening playing Friday Night Stabby and Phasmophobia. It all evens out.

And there's no rule saying Scar can't move to a new apartment on the east side. Maybe someday. It'd just be paperwork and finagling (is that a word?) and Scott only has so many hours in the day. Plus, Scar likes his penthouse. He shares it with Cub, and Cub's a good roommate. Plus he's got Impulse, Skizz, Tango, and Bdubs all in his building and it'd be a little sad to say good-bye to that. He can roll the dice and play the slots on room availability, but it might end up with him in some dusty corner away from all his friends.

"Do you know them?" Scar asks BigB, indicating the figure meandering down the road. BigB (again) can't hear him. He's not looking, so he missed the gesture. Scar wonders how long he's been out here. The lone player is walking the border road the way it's intended, which means they're making their way past all the buildings in the bailey wall. Did BigB start off on Scar's balcony, or has he been shifting over little by little and tracking this guy the whole way?

It doesn't matter much longer. From about two chunks over, Scar picks up a phantom hybrid trill. A blur of midnight blue feathers launches itself off a rooftop. Martyn plummets from the sky, zips through the player's body without slowing down, and tears the soul straight out of them. The vessel crumples over on the road. It'll despawn in five minutes, but Scar mutters a joke about dropping property value anyway. BigB doesn't hear it, though his shoulders twitch in disappointment. Martyn arcs back into the air. Scar gets a very high-def look at the spatter of blue code across his lips.

"You know," he says, tipping back his hat, "it really says a lot that Martyn came all this way from Jimmy's party to track a guy. I think we need some kind of PPS around here! Phantom Protective Services! The man's all skin and bones beneath his T-shirt!"

Martyn laughs, banking around on one wing. Scar didn't realize he could hear him, but apparently prox chat extends that far. "Aww, dude! I take donations and I'm not too proud to beg. Are you offering?"

Scar grimaces, backing one step away from the balcony rail. BigB moves with him, following Martyn with his eyes. "I'm good!" He checks his wrist-comm out of habit. His screen's still blue. The phantom hybrids can't touch him until it ticks to green. Martyn chuckles again and glides up and over his building.

Okay, then.

BigB waves farewell to Scar, then disintegrates in a blur of blue. "Okay, bye," Scar mutters back. He would've preferred more of an explanation, but he still struggles with sign language and BigB can't exactly grab an ink sac and write him a note when he's non-corporeal, so… he gets it.

Scar leaves the balcony and starts opening cupboards in the kitchen. The wood's dark. Comforting under his fingertips… It's actually really nice to melt back into a darker block palette after the brightness of Room 3LF, the portal hub hallways, and the HALO office. Five seconds later, Jellie pokes her head around the corner of the counter, peeping up with begging eyes. Her whiskers quiver like a little orphan kitten's.

"No," Scar chides her. "I filled your dispenser this morning, Jellie… after your cruel, mischief-making ways led you to break the redstone and spill everything inside it on the floor. This is the last day you need extra treats."

Jellie sits down anyway, wrapping her tail around her paws. Scar firmly ignores her and pulls down a mug. He mixes a cup of hot chocolate with the cocoa bean powder he picked up from the shopping district last night. Cub left a message on the signpost by the sink, saying he had things to do on Hermitcraft and will be back late. Okay. No problem. Though Scar totally forgot about the sign when he left to play Dog's Life. If he'd remembered earlier… maybe (maybe) he would have lingered around Jimmy's party after all.

But the party's so loud. I think I could use a little peace and quiet tonight. Long cuddles with Jellie might be in order. Unlike other players, Jellie has inherent collision to her hitbox. He can cuddle her in bed as long as he wants, even without golden carrots on hand.

Or he might drop by the shower house. Scar spins his bamboo spoon around his mug, wishing it would give a more satisfying clinking noise. And wishing he had marshmallows, but he's pretty sure he used the last of the sugar on yesterday's pumpkin pie. Is it worth showering? He's got nothing to wash off except a faint amount of grit on his fingertips, but the water's warmed by magma blocks and sometimes it's just nice to enjoy a little steam. Maybe he'll hit the onsen. Or the sauna. Not as much fun without friends, but… maybe he'll make new friends!

Jellie winds around his feet, butting his ankles with the crown of her head. Scar nudges her off with the tip of his boot, reminding her that if he drops the mug, neither of them will have a fun time tonight. He'll sweep her out so fast so he can clean, she'll howl from the next room.

I wish I could sleep in Between. It feels wrong to retire this early in the night. He's only been up for three hours. He's not even sleepy. Mind lightly buzzing from the shot of 1s he downed, sure… but not sleepy.

Technically, he's been awake for less than three hours. More like one, if that… The GoodTimesWithScar who left the apartment a couple hours ago doesn't exist anymore. He got blipped from existence when the server glitched. Scar's just the latest in a long, long (very long) line of replacement Scars. HALO probably has his soul crystal on speed-dial. Maybe there's a transport tube that plucks it straight out of Scott's office to wherever it needs to go by request.

Scar never lets it needle him, though. You could wax philosophical on all the implications - all the paths he's started down, been cut off from - but he is still Scar. It's not even a question. Because he's got all the memories, and his wrist-comm never resets, and Jellie knows and loves him. Jellie always loves him.

He feeds her a treat in spite of his earlier tsk-tsking, crouching down to let her lick it from his palm. Then he heads towards his room, because his personal portal's in there and maybe he'll pop into Hermitcraft and get a little work done after all. If nothing else, he can do some off-camera resource collecting. And Hermitcraft's a beefy world; it's handled every glitch he's ever thrown at it. Hermitcraft laughs in the face of every server he's unintentionally crashed.

On his way across the kitchen, just in passing, Scar glances across the open balcony and stops. Dead. The same way he did when he saw BigB.

Now there are two people on the border road. And they're running. Away from the impenetrable bedrock cliff and towards the bailey wall of apartment buildings. Scar's eyes move from them to the ground under his feet. If they continue that trajectory - and they probably will, since it's the shortest distance across the open road - then they're going to be on his back porch in about seven seconds.

Are they about to break through our back door?

The Teks have the whole bottom floor of this particular tower in the bailey wall. Whatever the opposite of a penthouse is, that's what they call home. Scar abandons his hot chocolate on the counter. Maybe he's getting worked up over nothing. Maybe. But you don't see people… running away from the bedrock very often (Never, in fact!) and it doesn't hurt to sleuth around. Something's weird. And those two probably aren't in phantom hour or Martyn would have sniffed them out while he was in the area.

How do you 'exit' a bedrock wall? There's nothing over there… right?

The thing about vex is that they are very, very good at slipping through solid blocks. Scar blinks straight through the floor, dropping down level after level. This earns him a couple startled cries from the other members of the building, but that's not important. The Teks have a deepslate ceiling, which he recognizes instantly, so he phases through and goes solid again before thumping on their floor.

"Tango?"

Wait. Tango's still at Jimmy's party.

"Cocoa?"

No response from the Mrs. of the house, either. But one of their sons calls "Hi, Scar!" from his place on the sofa, lifting a hand over the back to wave without getting up or turning around. Scar mutters his traditional "Well, hello there," in response, calling the kid by name (Probably, unless he got it wrong). Hm. He blinks himself through the door and into the hallway without bothering to admire the interior design.

Nobody's in the hall, but that's not unusual. Not many people like to waste their "blue time" hanging around and doing nothing (Blue is called "wander hour" even when you get more than one- It's four syllables and calling it "blue" is way easier). Scar scratches behind his head, bumping the brim of his hat over his eyes.

Around the next corner, the rear door clicks. Scar doesn't hesitate. He leaps into the nearby wall and hunkers among the deepslate. There are definitely two bodies stumbling in. They trip over each other, whispering and shushing, and he doesn't glean anything interesting from their conversation. Scar waits until they move past him, then pries his hands and head from the wall and stares after them. They're walking away, brushing off their clothes. He didn't get a look at their faces and he doesn't recognize their backs. One of them has gray parrot wings and the other antlers and a deer tail.

Scar rolls from the wall and dives into the one on the other side of the hall. Being a vex is freeing, in its own way. Unthreading may leave you with chronic glitches on your skin, but limping doesn't slow you down so much if you can swim. Scar's always been a strong swimmer. He weaves through the blocks like a silverfish and tails the duo to the end of the hall. Once he gets there, Scar is reminded again why he likes his particular apartment and why he probably won't be moving out any time soon. All the outer walls are lined with deepslate tiles instead of the cobble block. The texture's a blatant switch. He stops himself from swimming straight out the side and plopping face-first on the road.

"Come on," says a high-pitched voice. "I think we got out of there scot-free."

"And Scott-free," says the other, or at least Scar guesses that a little play on words was the reason to repeat the sentence. Hard to tell without words to read. Both figures laugh and scamper away, moving through the neighborhood like they've done this a dozen times. Scar lingers in the deepslate wall, resting his chin on folded arms.

If they're doing something they don't want Scott to know about… then they're probably poking for loose chinks in the bedrock. Is that why BigB had been watching that lone figure walk the street? Then, Wait a minute… They didn't want to get caught. So was that person Martyn logged out…

… bait?

The implications of that are a little over his head. Where did these two come from? Is there some hidden tunnel in the wall that Scar's casual, off-hand explorations haven't brought him? If they're proud to slip back inside the bailey wall without alerting Scott, does that mean the shrackers didn't go off? And why would you need someone to play bait when the phantoms can't touch you until your comm light is green? Details, details…

He should probably tell the HALO team he suspects a gap in the wall.

He could… Or he could take a look around. See the sights. Investigate.

Maybe go all the way up. Evade the shrackers. Swim up the rest of the way.

See the world.

Scar shakes his head - Hard - and gives himself a mental slap. No. No, he'll do the right thing and report a possible breach in the fault line (or however that saying goes). Besides… As nice as it would be to visit the outside world for once, Lizzie said it's all been ravaged by withers and lava griefing. Stuff like that. Total anarchy. They're safer in the station, playing by their long-time rules. So Scar heads outside to find someone he can report the mystery at the wall to.

The HALO point is a small, tucked away building sitting on the street corner. It's spruce wood and chiseled stone, unremarkable apart from the banner flapping from the highest point of its antenna. There's a landing pad on top for those coming in by wing and the double doors are always open for those in a rush or who have their hands full. Everything's in order (from the front desk to the locked bins on the back wall)… except for one thing. There's nobody here.

"Hello?" Scar clangs the desk bell a few times with his finger, sending it swinging back and forth. "Is anybody here?"

No one responds. Scar glances at the sign-in sheet on the edge of the desk. HALO Cobalt was the last to mark their name… So maybe they haven't come back from sitting with Joel on the Dog's Life server. Scar bangs the bell again, experimentally.

Actually, I don't think I like the fact that no one's showing up even though I'm calling for help. Granted, there's an emergency ender porter he could trigger if he really found himself in a pickle, but… still.

He can hear the rushing noise of the bullet path underneath his feet. The bullet path's a stream of whirling code that weaves like a river underneath the station. You can jump in and it will dissolve you into code. Then you can jump out of it at any of the other HALO points, traveling instantly from one end of the perimeter to the other. This place is only 33 or so chunks across in any direction, but it does come in handy sometimes. If you're not a vex. Scar keeps his feet firmly planted on the spruce floor, but reaches out with his cane and flips open the trapdoor against the wall. At the bottom of the ladder, a bright purple amethyst twinkles back at him. The chime it makes is already worming through his ears. Ooh boy.

One touch of that stuff will scald his skin. Not enough to drop his hearts (unless he spends longer than a few seconds standing on it), but it… vibrates in a way that the vex part of him absolutely does not like. There's probably a fence down there too, serving as a proper barrier, but the amethyst serves as a jolting reminder to anyone on auto-pilot who's dealing with the reality of freshly corrupted code. You can't go in here. Touch the bullet path and you'll be lucky if we can scrape you out alive.

Yeah. He'll stay up here on the main floor.

Still no HALO. Scar waits a second longer, then blinks. "Oh, wait… Scott said the bullet path was shut down for maintenance." Or something like that. It was probably maintenance. Scar heard the announcement while he was out with Lizzie. That's why the HALOs can't reach him even though he's ringing the bell. They'd have to take the long way above ground. Please do not have an emergency at this location. That whole meme. Fine. Scar flips the trapdoor closed again and wanders back outside.

Now, here's the question… Is what he saw important enough to warrant hauling his butt to the East Side where the HALO office is? Or should he go home, which is just down the street?

Scar reaches back a hand, tracing the lower fragments of one wing. Hm. He only drank one shot of 1s. He's not the best at flying, but he's at least "okay" as long as his glitch doesn't move to his shoulders, neck, or back. There's no real way to predict where it moves and it can jump at any time - and dying from kinetic energy or fall damage would be a literal death sentence with the allay soul spawner destroyed - so he usually sticks to walking. Scott figured stuff out in a real big brain move. He covered most of the rooftops in slime blocks so you won't take fall damage if you crash. The slime soul spawner is here in the perimeter, so you see a lot of slime trails out on the roads. Even inside the station's inner halls, sometimes.

The streets aren't too crowded right now. He could probably make it pretty far as long as he skims low. Scar gives his wings a few experimental flaps. They croon from lack of exercise. Welp, that's good enough for him. He'll be quick. He's got nothing better to do anyway… and he did want a little peace and quiet. What's more peaceful than a nighttime flight?

💙  🧡  💚

Let's see here. Scott's office is on the third floor of the HALO building, right? Scar calculates the right spot, kicks on a burst of speed, and melts through the wall. It's the same way he flies into his penthouse; it's a lot easier to reach the upper floors this way than it is to take the stairs.

Warbled voices. Lightly sparking, banter back and forth ("But I'm not even the one who's doing it; why should I take the fall?" and snippets like that). Then brief quiet. Scar pays them no mind. He shifts his way through the blocks, trying to orient himself so he can get his legs and cane out first when he lands in the waiting room… but then HALO Aqua says something that snaps up his head.

"Look, Major. You and I both know who's researching the unthreading procedure."

Scar's code runs icier than the custom mini-biome that sits north of the clock tower. He stops moving. His wings quiver against warm stone. Wait. What does that mean? Is that… someone outside the HALO team?

"If… if you're willing to file an official statement that I can bring to the rest of the HALOs, then we can brush everything else I said under the rug. The perpetrator will get a warning; research isn't a crime, but acting on it is. Just a warning, the same one we gave to you. Nobody needs to know."

There's a pause. It must be Scott. Is this the corner with Aqua's office? It must be. Scar glances sideways, but just because he can blink through the walls, it doesn't mean he can see through them. That talent belongs to the illusioners alone. His vision's obscured by chiseled stone.

"You can think about it, if you want to. I'd just like an answer by dawn, before the meeting."

"No," says Scott. "I'll sign it now. I'll do a lot of things for that man, Aqua, but I won't trade my life for his. He's just getting a warning, right?"

"Yes. Oh, and before you leave… That bat girl from the raiding party?"

"I took care of it when I pulled the bullet path down. Ah, just for safety measures, though, I did message Bdubs and ask him to look around the corner. He should be there right now, actually."

Scar jerks his gaze away. He lingered longer than he meant to. This conversation isn't meant for him. It's complicated political stuff. Maybe that'll be him in Scott's shoes one day and maybe not. Either way, he just heard something he probably shouldn't have and now he needs to play the fool.

Actually, maybe I should go all the way around and come up the hall the other direction.

He swims across stone, glancing left and right, until he nearly falls straight out of the wall and into the road below. He catches himself with practiced ease, but his hat tumbles off into open air. Scar winces. The hat's part of his default code, though. Once it passes outside the chunk border, it teleports back to his head. Hopefully no one saw that.

Okay. He went too far. He's at the corner of the building. Scar reverses direction, wiggling back inside the blocks, and feels around until he pops out in another hallway. No people. Just a painting on the wall and an azalea plant in the corner. At the end of the hall, across from the stairs, is-

… Scott's office door is open just a crack.

Scott's office door has never been open. Scar blinks. Twice. Who knows what secrets the mayoral office holds? Scott always says it's full of cables, but there must be something interesting enough to squirrel away. A tidal wave of longing swells in his chest, but Scar stands his ground, gritting his teeth.

I can't look at a man's private area… That's inappropriate. I've snooped enough today already. Besides… Scott keeps a layer of amethyst in the walls of his office and it's already burning his ears. Scar's not willing to risk the chance the floor's the same. Also, it would just be rude. He walks over to the door. There's an amethyst shard dangling from the handle. Those burn more than the blocks do - they're highly concentrated - so he uses his cane to gently tug it shut. All without peeking inside, thank you very much. There's a soft click, indicating it locked. Scar hears a very distinctive gasp from inside the room, but when he waits a few ticks, there are no other noises.

"Hello?"

No response.

"Is… Is somebody in there? Did I just lock you in?"

No response. Scar wishes again he had the eyes of an illusioner, because he's insufferably curious. He stares at the door, tongue in his cheek.

"I'm gonna walk away… but make some noise right now if you need some help getting out."

No response. But Scar turns back after taking only two steps. The urge to help is just too strong. He moves closer to the door, then reaches out and blinks his arm straight through it. He feels around for the handle. Fingers scrape the metal. He adjusts the angle, reaching lower-

"OW!"

"Scar, are you okay? I can't see!"

"Grian!?" In hindsight, he should have anticipated Grian getting into mischief. That pesky bird will do just about anything with his free time except head back to his home server. Maybe this is why Jimmy's always grumbling that he's late to game night. "Hang on. I'll get you out of there."

"Scar," Grian groans, "the lock is on this side of the door… I'll be fine!" Then, "Oh, did you touch the amethyst? Here… I'll just come out." There's a scuffle of feet. Careful steps, some of them hops. A few bumps. It sounds like Grian's picking his way across a crowded room. Scar stares at the splash of white, disrupted pixels on his palm until he hears the jingle of amethyst. The handle twists. Grian parts the door just enough to wriggle out, his wings tucked as close to his back as they can get. Once he's out, he reaches back inside and replaces the amethyst shard where he found it. "Oh, Scar… Your hand."

Scar presses his palm to his chest, trying to ignore its blazing heat. "Now, don't 'Oh, Scar,' me… What were you doing in Scott's office, mister? I'm the one who should be 'Oh, Grian'ing around here."

"Nuttin'."

"It didn't look like 'nuttin'."

"Right… We'll talk later." Grian books it down the stairs before Scar can say much else. He opens his mouth, then thinks better of calling after him. He mutters something really witty like "We'd better," but leaves him to go. Grian's always getting into stuff, but he's not malicious… Maybe he just left Scott a plate of cookies for being such a wonderful mayor. Grian's never been a fan of chocolate anyway. Makes his tummy go belly-up. Belly inside a belly.

Okay. Scott and Aqua might be done talking soon… Maybe he's good to start walking back towards the office door. They'll probably hear his feet and cane on the floor from a long way's off. If they're talking about anything sensitive, they'll probably hush by the time he gets there. This should be fine.

Deep inhale. Scar runs a mental finger down the list of things he overheard on his way through the walls. From the sound of it, Scott is… whistleblowing someone? For doing a little research?

Is that what it's called? Scar's not sure he's using that word the right way, nor does he have enough information to determine his own feelings on the situation. It's mostly the second part of that statement that gets his hearts thumping. Someone's researching unthreading… and the HALO team aren't happy.

Okay. Um. He's gonna need a few nights to sleep on that.

His comm buzzes on his wrist. Scar stops in the middle of the hall. Huh? He glances down.

Etho: hey scar

Etho: how often do vex feed?

… What? Scar's brain drags through a blot of honey. Why does that matter? Shouldn't Etho be focusing on Joel tonight? He texts back a question mark, then starts walking again. Oh. Oh, he went a little further from the office than he thought. He takes his time, admiring the interior decorations. He makes a point of tapping his cane every time he uses it so Scott and Aqua will definitely hear him coming.

Etho: I met one

Wait. He met one?

Scar rotates his left arm, exposing the underside of his wrist. There's a glowing moon symbol on the last joint before his hand. It's waxing, but it's not full. Not yet (Next Tuesday for sure). Tonight's not a feeding night. None of the vex hybrids should be hungry.

… Unless they're new arrivals to the station.

Because they've been freshly unthreaded.

Like Scott and Aqua were just talking about not three minutes earlier. Scar stares at his wrist until his eyes blur with little blue moons. Then he remembers to answer Etho.

GoodTimesWithScar: where are you?

The tick marks are agony. But he waits against the wall, breathing through his teeth. He's already typing his next message when Etho responds.

Etho: my place

GoodTimesWithScar: Is the vex with you?

Etho: No?? Just curious

Why are you curious? Scar flicks through a mental waltz inside his head. Etho dropped PiglinMyNose off at Jimmy's party. Scar saw Pig there and Bdubs confirmed it, mentioning as Scar downed his shot how it was "such a shame" that Etho never allowed himself to drink. He had work to do; he needs to stay sharp. But if Etho says he's home…

Is he being hunted? Again, the vex hybrids aren't hungry tonight. The full moon strengthens everybody's mob traits. Phantom hybrids need to feed every three nights at least, but vex drain a player harder and last a whole month before hunting again. Scar, like all the other vex, will slip into his red phase when the full moon hits, even underneath the bedrock ceiling. They're still a week away. Only a newly unthreaded person's stomach would be empty.

GoodTimesWithScar: did someone follow you home?

Etho: I'm inside

Etho's the worst at giving straight information. Scar refrains from pointing out that the question Etho answered isn't the one he asked. He adjusts himself more comfortably against the wall and tries again.

GoodTimesWithScar: do you feel unsfae?

He misspelled unsafe, he realizes after pressing the send button, but Etho can figure that out. Scar glances down the hall. He can't see Aqua's office door from here, but he hasn't heard anyone come out.

GoodTimesWithScar: I need to tell Scott something but I can come over

GoodTimesWithScar: actually I can just come

Etho lives in the snowy mini-biome just north of the clock tower. He's not that far from the HALO office… so if he's getting hunted by a vex and wants someone to have his back, Scar can do that. Etho does a lot for him. It's the least he could do to return the favor.

Etho: you don't need to come

Etho: just wondering how much they feed tho?

Why are you so weird? He tries to phrase that better when he types.

GoodTimesWithScar: Why do you need to know this?

What could vex feeding cycles possibly have to do with fixing Joel's vessel? Does Etho know how to unthread someone? Every single time in the last 500 years that Scar's come to him with a vex question, Etho shrugged and sent him off with a gentle prompting to "Ask Cub." Cub's an evoker and a HALO; he's the one who unthreaded Scar in the first place. Etho always insists he doesn't know much about vex and that he focuses on healing- nothing more. Scar envisions Etho pacing around his apartment, maybe with a vex on his balcony and the sliding door barred shut with an iron bar shoved in the track or something. It won't help. Vex can blink through any block except amethyst and boats. If Scott could add a layer of boats around the entire perimeter to block the bedrock off further, he probably would. Scott seems like the kind of guy who'd sleep under a boat. Tuck it in beside him at night. Although boats are girls, right? Maybe he's not into that.

Etho: curious xD Sorry for bothering

… Oh. Okay. Scar lowers his hand and takes up his cane. He starts walking again. But he's only gone a few steps when his comm buzzes again, and the next message almost sends him diving out the wall.

Etho: just saw a guy tonight who was giving me the eyes lol

Etho: ty for your time

GoodTimesWithScar: someone you recognize?

Etho: Nah

Someone got unthreaded. They're hunting him.

Etho: but you're putting a lot of faith in me if you think I know all the vex haha

GoodTimesWithScar: where are you?

Etho: still home

Right. Scar takes one last glance down the hallway, debating if he should barge in on Scott and Aqua after all. If there's a fresh vex wandering the city, the HALO team should probably know. There are little HALO points sprinkled all over the perimeter, so there's always someone on duty nearby who can rush to the rescue when there's a concern.

Although the bullet path is down for maintenance. So.

But will they hurt them? The vex? The existence of the vex isn't really the problem. It's the fact they're hunting Etho that shoves his hearts in his throat. If Etho goes down tonight…

… it won't be good news for his patient.

Etho: doing stuff for Joel. Just got up to stretch my legs

Scar hesitates. They might not be hunting Etho… and Scott IS in a meeting…

Etho: saw a guy and was just wondering

Etho: I'm back inside now tho

He went out. Which means line of sight must've been initiated. Scar starts texting a reply with fingers flying.

Etho: no worries! :D I'm good

GoodTimesWithScar: How many blokcs away were you when he looked?

There's no response to that message, even when Scar waits three entire minutes. His eyes dart between his comm and the end of the hall. Scott and Aqua are still in the office.

GoodTimesWithScar: etho get out

GoodTimesWithScar: your likely getting hunted

GoodTimesWithScar: run to a halo point as fast as you can

GoodTimesWithScar: they have amythyst basement

No response. Even when 30 seconds pass.

Even 60. Scar tries to put himself in Etho's shoes… Etho's probably fine. He's Etho. He's probably been living around vex for a thousand years before Scar got unthreaded. Maybe he's just jumpy because he's been hunting ghosts a lot lately with Grian, Impulse, and Skizz.

GoodTimesWithScar: etho

Even 60 two more times. Which is six minutes since Etho's last reply.

GoodTimesWithScar: buddy

Voices leak through the office walls, like Scott and Aqua are wrapping up and moving towards the door. Scar darts a final glance at his comm, but there's not even a bubble to indicate Etho's in the process of responding. Scar bites his lip, but chooses to interpret that as a sign that Etho saw his warning and immediately booked it from his room. Etho's building is only a couple chunks over from a HALO point, right? That sounds about right. He'll probably message back when he's there. Maybe he needed to shut down whatever he was doing with Joel. Etho's smart. He's one of the smartest people Scar's ever met.

But he won't answer his freakin' chat. Scar hangs his head. He'd rather not set off a panic chain, especially if he's wrong, but stuff's happening with Joel tonight and it's better to be safe than sorry. He messages Gem, asking her to check in with Etho if she can since she has the apartment right above his, and then shoots the same thing to Impulse and Pearl (just in case they have better luck getting ahold of Gem thanks to Soup Group connections). By the time he's done, Scott and Aqua are finally opening the office door. Scar straightens up, gripping the cat-carved head of his cane.

"I'll look into it," Scott is saying to Aqua. "Just give me a few days to finish the MCC teams."

Scar's comm buzzes once on his way down the hall. He glances down, but it's not Etho. It's Gem.

GeminiTay: :o!! I'll def text him and ask what's up

Can't you barge in? Scar wants to plead, but he gets it. Not everybody's comfortable knocking on doors, especially when it's only been a few minutes without a response. Especially if Etho's absorbed in working on Joel's code. It'd be good for my poor heart to get a straight answer, though. And Etho will understand; he won't fault Scar for being antsy. For the sake of closure, Scar sends him one last text.

GoodTimesWithScar: Etho?

"Oh, Scar," Scott says, wrinkling his brow. Scar lowers his arm, glancing up. Scott, looking puzzled, stands with his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. HALO Aqua lingers in the doorway, their head cocked to one side. It's quite the impressive look when combined with the barn owl skin. "Ah… is there anything I can help you with? I've got another hour on blue."

"Oh, yes… Um, I saw some people around the bedrock wall near my place." It sounds a little silly when he says it aloud, actually, but Scar presses on regardless. "Two of them. They ran right across the road."

"Martyn said he's been picking up activity in that area, yeah." Scott glances at his wrist. "I think that's what he texted, actually; I haven't read the whole report. Thank you, though. Um. I'm sorry if you came all this way just for that."

"Oh. And Etho texted ten minutes ago saying he saw a vex. He hasn't replied to any of my messages and I really think that man is being hunted."

That snaps both their heads up. "What?" they blurt together, and then Scott backpedals with, "but it's not the full moon."

"Yeah, I… I think there's an unthreaded one loose in the station."

"Oh, he better NOT have," Scott seethes, and Scar can see hidden wings bristle beneath his jacket. He scoots past, nearly knocking into Scar on the way. "I gotta go… Thanks, Scar. Aqua, I'll get the HALOs. You can wrap this up; thank you; bye."

Aqua nods, though Scott's already scrambling off and probably doesn't see. Scar beats his wings a few times, tongue in his cheek. Does he need anything else while he's here? … He's pretty sure that covers everything. It's not often he pops into this building twice in one day. He feels like he's on a minecart ride, bumping back and forth along a simple rail. Scar checks his comm again, then darts his fingers across the screen.

GoodTimesWithScar: is the vex with you?

GoodTimesWithScar: like

GoodTimesWithScar: do you have coords?

GoodTimesWithScar: did you get to the HALO point?

As frustrating as it is to not get a response… maybe Etho's just working. He might have set his comm aside so he could concentrate better. He's got a one-track mind to recover Joel.

Scar would still feel better if Etho hadn't told him about the vex.

"Mr. GoodTime," says Aqua, "can you do me a favor? I have something for Cub."

Scar replies in the affirmative and Aqua hands over a yellow plastic case. There's a pulsing white shape inside it. Huh? It looks like a soul crystal, but when Scar checks the front and then the back, there's no name scrawled across it. He looks up at Aqua, brows bunched in silent question. "Um. Is this safe with me?"

"It's a dead file; the account it belonged to got deleted. Cub can use it as a base in case he ever needs to unthread someone else. For emergencies." Aqua grimaces. They look like they want to stay more… then don't, and fiddle instead with the clasps on the front of their blue and white uniform. Good color palette. Very icy.

"Ah, of course." Scar tucks the file in the inner pocket of his jacket and pats it twice. "Not to worry… I'll take graaaand care of it."

GoodTimesWithScar: sorry for msg spam haha

GoodTimesWithScar: i know your working but i got worried

GoodTimesWithScar: just lmk when you're save even if its late ok?

He leaves the building the same way he came in: through the wall. He threads his way down to the bottom floor and steps onto the sidewalk. Scott's already gone. Hopefully he figures out whatever it is he needs to do. Scar answers a message from Pearl. She's sympathetic, but ultimately non-committal. Which is fine. Impulse's response is even less helpful, as it simply says Where's Bdubs? Scar shakes his head, but taps an answer as best as he can.

There's another buzz on his wrist. This one's the least helpful of them all.

Grian: we should talk

Grian: see you at timmys party?

Maybe he wants to talk about what he was doing in Scott's office. Though knowing him, likely not. Scar will keep his secrets… but only for a little while. And Grian knows that. They've been revolving around one another this way for years in eternal give and take. Scar swings his cane around his fingers a few times as he crosses the road.

GoodTimesWithScar: I need a break

Come over, goes unsaid. I won't play your silly goose chase. I won't let you trick me into games and drinks in a way that wastes my time or blurs what I know I saw. Come over.

Grian: can i ask you something

GoodTimesWithScar: ofc

Maybe he should get himself a treat before heading home. It's been a rough day. It won't provide any nourishment, but he wouldn't mind a little cinnamon. Maybe he'll get two of something; Cub would appreciate it. Look at him, bringing home the bread and bacon. The… dough? Yeah. Provider of the household- that's him.

Grian: private

Grian: timmys party?

The clock tower chimes. There aren't many people on the road right now, but a few of them definitely scoot along a little faster. Scar checks his comm. He's got a fat infinity symbol in the middle and a little dash in the upper right corner. Still logged in. Probably away from keyboard. Maybe getting a snack. Ooh. That might explain the soft itch in the back of his neck that's been longing to visit Scarland. That's probably seeping through the sync cord. He should check in with BadTime. If BadTime's feeling the tingle too, it's sure to be a fun afternoon.

GoodTimesWithScar: Ive got work to do on hermitcraft

In other words: Come over.

Grian: scar i cant go there

Grian: ill get sucked in and timmys expecting me

Push and pull. Teeter and totter.

Grian: please come

GoodTimesWithScar: we'll talk later

Grian doesn't answer after that. Scar browses the outdoor shopping area for several minutes, debating whether or not it's worth heading back inside the multiplayer hub… then finally picks his poison, as it were. And not only does he doodle on the provided paper, but he also leaves not one, but two tips on terraforming. The lady behind the counter gets so giddy, she sends him off with three sweet rolls instead of two, all of them swaddled in a scrap of fabric. These aren't part of his default, which means no swimming up the walls, but there's plenty of slime blocks around. He can bounce up to a nice platform and try his wings again. All things considered, his glitch is relatively well-behaved today. It's been under his left arm for the last half hour. Might be risky, but he can probably make it all the way back to the penthouse before it moves.

There's a line for the nearest slime block bouncer. Scar takes a bite of his sweet roll and goes to message Etho again, just because the bit is running long and it's making him jittery. Scott's probably on top of it, but Scar's still going to give that man a hard time for flaking out. Gently. They're all friends here; Etho's reserved, but… come on.

Scar stops, sweet roll bite limp between his teeth. He triple checks the message history. Etho hasn't responded in 34 minutes. That's… kind of a long time. Even for Etho.

GoodTimesWithScar: etho im spamming again

GoodTimesWithScar: you can yell at me later but your realy freaking me out here

GoodTimesWithScar: im an ainxis man

GoodTimesWithScar: did you finish with joel?

One minute ticks to two.

GoodTimesWithScar: is the vex still watching you?

Two minutes tick to three. Scar's still four people from the front of the line for the slime block trampoline.

GoodTimesWithScar: etho

People are making a small fuss- one of the slime hybrids got her hand stuck in the stuff and it's a whole process to get it pulled loose. Like four people are crawling across the trampoline to help.

GoodTimesWithScar: ETHO!!!

GoodTimesWithScar: are you okay?

GoodTimesWithScar: is joel okay?

Pick up, pick up… Okay, something's up. He can forgive Etho for being a little slow sometimes to answer messages. He's old-school. Still uses the handheld model, too nostalgic to accept the wrist upgrade. And Etho gets overwhelmed pretty easily. Scar's definitely not helping by firing this many messages at him (especially if Gem sent a few, too).

GoodTimesWithScar: are you in bed?

But, like… this feels wrong. It's been 37 minutes now. Even if Etho's in the middle of working, by this point, his comm's been… going off a lot. Wouldn't he look? Etho doesn't wear headphones while he's working. He should hear the buzz. Feel the vibration. Something.

GoodTimesWithScar: is joel okay?

If anything's happened to Etho… and then Joel doesn't make it… all because of the server glitch…

GoodTimesWithScar: etho please answer

Scar uses the wrist-comm for a reason. If he had the handheld version, it'd be shaking straight out of his hand right now, falling with a splat and cracking its screen on the bedrock below.

GoodTimesWithScar: ETHO???

"Scar," someone calls. "It's your turn… You wanna jump?"

Scar glances at the trampoline. Then at his comm again.

GoodTimesWithScar: I'm coming over

It's not that far. He breaks out of line, sprinting across the town square. He forgets exactly where Etho lives, but it's near the snow mini-biome (because Canada) and he remembers from "mock family dinner" night that the rear balcony overlooks the clock tower. He can see the tower from here, one lone phantom hybrid circling above the banner at its top. This is fine. He'll trial and error it. He'll blink his way through the blocks. Scar rips off a chunk of his sweet roll, shoves it in his mouth, and stuffs the rest away in his jacket.

It's not often he tries to run this fast with his cane.

Chapter Text

LDShadowLady

#temporary widow

💚  💛  ❤️

Lizzie might know more about how to take care of an Etho than Etho does. Etho, whose face has been slumped in his hand for the last 20 minutes (fingers pulling at his lashes, face gray and dark beneath his eyes), does not look like he's slept in precisely four days. Nor does he look like he's eaten anything other than Beef's chocolate cake for a week. Both these facts are probably untrue (as Lizzie's data is, admittedly, quite limited and biased at this time) but he looks it.

Granted, Lizzie wouldn't dream of calling herself the local Etho expert of New Star Station when there are people like Beef, Pause, Bdubs, Tango, Impulse, and Xisuma around. However, since Joel's still a firefly locked inside a chest, SnifferMyFeet is curled like a croissant on the end of the leather sofa, TwoMuchGrian left 40 minutes ago, and Beef is still in his bedroom with his headphones on… Yes. Lizzie feels confident in claiming the title of "most knowledgeable person in the room on Etho's physical health and mental strain." Possibly (though not necessarily) including Etho. Lizzie leans against the wall.

"Um. Well, don't hesitate to inform me whether I can assist you in any matter whatsoever."

"I'm fine." He shifts his hand after that. Straightens up. The type of guy who'd scoff and grumble if you pointed out that he is mortal too. "It's just… been a long day of screens."

She touches the back of his hand in silent solidarity. Etho doesn't jerk his away. I know, she tries to tell him. Thank you for all your hard work.

His fingers tighten against the desk. "Liz-"

Sniff clears his throat at that exact moment. Lizzie and Etho both glance back at him. He says, "I want to go outside. Tell me the rules."

"Outside?" Etho repeats. "For what?"

"Hunting." Sniff bounces on his feet, vex wings flapping out. They're spindly little things and quite frankly, Lizzie's glad she doesn't have any herself. If she had to trust her safety to raggedy little bits like that, she'd probably have a heart attack. "I need food… What are the rules?"

"Rules?" Etho sounds… lost.

"Yeah. Like, is it bad sportsmanship to camp a portal? And am I not allowed to sneak into anybody's house?"

"Oh. Um… Bdubs could tell you more. Or Scar. Scar might be the more accurate resource. As for rules, I think it's considered… extremely rude to 'target' someone without their consent - as in, go out of your way to look for them - but I don't really hunt souls. I'm not exactly on the ball at keeping up with politics."

Sniff frowns. "So, what… You don't even hunt chicken souls?"

"I'm an omnivore. I can eat souls if I want to, but I'm not like zombies, vex, or phantoms or… what's the last one?"

"I think drowned and husks both can."

"-anyway. There are some hybrids who have to eat souls to refill their hunger haunches. 'Anivore' is the word for that, and I'm an omnivore." Then, maybe as a joke, "So don't get on my bad side, Sniff… because I can log you out just as easily as you can get me."

"What about her?" Sniff asks, gesturing to Lizzie. "She's the 'cutest predator,' yeah? Lizzie, do you eat souls?"

She lifts her brows. "I'm an axolotl. I like seafood, mostly. Crabs, fish, worms… Lots of insects."

Sniff thinks about that for half a second. Then he hides behind the couch arm, staring back with squinted eyes. Oh. He may not be an endermite hybrid anymore, but she can't blame him for the judgment. I feel a little bad about that, actually.

"I don't eat souls," Lizzie corrects. "I eat mob drops."

"Oh… Okay." Turning back to Etho, "You said the phantoms get to hunt. I'm hungry. I'm going out." He lifts his hands as though bracing himself for a storm of words, though Etho's fingers are still cupping his face and neither he nor Lizzie opened their mouths. "Hang on- Just-just hear me out before you say 'No way, Sniff; it's way too dangerous if the phantoms make line of sight;' cry me a river, mate. If no one even knows what I look like, how can they tell I'm not supposed to be here? I'll keep my comm in my pocket. Or- or say I just flit around out there in my weird little soul form, and I just look at the people? What then? You're just some fox and Joel is just some firefly. No one will even know it's me."

"Do you know how to go into free-cam?"

That shuts Sniff up. He turns his back, tucking himself into a ball on the sofa once again. His wings twitch at his shoulder blades. Lizzie looks back at Etho, but his eyes are firmly off hers and focused on the screen again. She doesn't push him into voicing whatever thought had danced inside his head.

Etho plays the keyboard on his programmer's tablet like it's a hundred tiny noteblocks. They spark little tick-tock noises in the air and shoot flashes of color across the screen wherever his fingers tap. Lizzie's not sure if that's part of its default design or simply a setting Etho toggled on for dramatic effect. She supposes he's allowed to. Perhaps it's the same reason Joel tags silly names on all his farming tools: Anything to make a dull job more fun.

"Mmmkay," Etho murmurs, but it's mostly to himself. Some of what he does is a little copy and paste. He's pulling from what's left of Joel's code. He's pulling from Sniff. Maybe a little from Two. Maybe a little from his own head. He clicks his tongue and mumbles here and there.

But for the most part, Etho works in silence- only checking with Lizzie on occasion when he runs into something he hasn't memorized. Mostly, that means his will o' the wisp traits. Makes sense. Joel didn't have his antennae, his swamp gas wings, or his poofing ability active on-server during Double Life, where he and Etho were partnered up as soulmates.

After a few struggled attempts though, Etho deletes his drafts, shaking his head. "I… I don't think it's a good idea for me to write an entire mod for him from scratch. I'll just bring him back as a firefly, make a few tweaks, check to confirm everything's working fine… and then he can mod the wisp stuff in if he wants to. Later."

Those last words hang between them like a crooked painting on the wall. With what record of the code?

Maybe Joel keeps a copy of his mods. He's supposed to. But then, he's supposed to do a lot of things.

"I don't think Joel would mind if-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," says Etho, swiveling his chair. His voice is steady, but he shakes his head. "You have too much faith in me."

"Well, that's one way of talking yourself down. I think I have exactly the right amount of faith, thank you very much."

Etho taps a few more keys. "Maybe another day, then… When I can talk to Joel. He might remember things. It's his body. I'm just borrowing it."

Silence.

"Snrk."

"I heard it when I said it," he gripes, and shoves her from his shoulder.

The work goes on. Sniff "naps" on the couch, Lizzie pulls up a chair, and Etho works. For a long time. Out past the balcony, the clock tower chimes and Lizzie's wrist-comm ticks from blue down to orange. She doesn't point it out, but Etho casts her an uneasy sideways glance that she can read too well.

It was then I realized that I wasn't going to be here to see Joel's code completed. And he might not come home tonight. And I wouldn't feel right asking Etho if he can bring him back now when there might still be gaping holes in his code. Lizzie's not entirely sure what she's looking at over Etho's shoulder, but Etho keeps scrolling up and down and making tweaks here and there, and it looks like a lot of what he's doing is replacing filler words with actual information. Loading Joel back into the world right now would probably make him keel over like a gasping fish… She's no stranger to her husband's raw, glowing insides - that just comes with the turf when you change skins in each other's company - but it's… not what you want to see when it has nowhere to go. Code leaks when it's exposed. It dribbles, oozes, and gets all mixed up in the dirt.

But she tries to brush that thought to the far corners of her mind. Etho knows how to format. Everything will be okay.

You can't sleep in the Between dimension. Lizzie rests her head in her arms anyway, leaning against the desk corner. Minutes trickle by as though dripping through honey blocks. After about 20 minutes with her eyes shut and maybe 5 with them open, watching Etho fiddle with the code, she asks, "How did you know Joel has freckles on his stomach?"

Etho jumps. Just a little at the shoulders, like he forgot she was there. "He told me," he says, but there's no heart in his voice.

She doesn't push him. What Joel's comfortable showing is up to him. Etho pulls his hands from his programmer's tablet, though. He pinches a few times at his mask. Then, quietly, "Um… Lizzie?"

"What?"

Etho's gaze falters. It flits down. Lizzie tilts her head, trying to look plain and quiet. Etho's not easily spooked by the outside world, but he's private with his feelings. In the end, he sits back and rubs one hand around his face.

"… I like talking to you. This. I like this."

Is this 'talking?' Lizzie's eyes move from Etho to the tablet to Etho again.

"Not- Not Joel getting a fracture," Etho corrects. "It's not… that. You could've stopped talking to me years ago. You didn't, though."

"After Last Life?" Because I didn't play in Seasons 3 or 4? Lizzie wishes she owned a pickaxe that could mine right inside his brain. Etho's the kind of block you can't break with just a fist. She'd like a furnace that can smelt his raw thoughts and pop out a better material. She isn't close with Etho, exactly, and they haven't played a lot together… but he knows what he's doing. He's earned every silver hair on the fox tail curled behind his chair.

"I meant more like Double Life." Etho says it in a scratchy way like his throat is full of broken planks and nails. "Me and Joel. Paired up as soulmates by the game. At this point, you'd say something if… it was weird, I think. You could've at any time. You don't, though."

Lizzie considers this. In her mind's eye, Joel lifts a tray of cupcakes from the furnace and peels off his oven mitts. Once they cool, he frosts them different colors. Some are pink. Others yellow. Others brown. Others red. Others white. But they're all cupcakes, aren't they? And he likes all of them. "Do you think what you and Joel have is 'weird?'" she asks.

Etho exhales, scratching his fingers against one side of his hair. It flops the rest over sideways. His hair has spikes, but they always sort of flop like that- or at least for as long as Lizzie has known him. "Oooh… Oh, man. Bringing out the tough questions here; I see how it is."

"Well, you don't have to answer."

"No, it's fine. Ah, I enjoy roleplaying as someone who's… trying to keep more people than myself alive." So saying, he turns and points down the hall, where presumably he keeps his personal portal. "No one in this universe is whitelisted on my singleplayer but me. I like my grotto. I like having a hole I can crawl back into at the end of the day. But… I do enjoy the Life series. You get to build alliances here. Joel is part of that in my memories now. And…" He peeks back at her from the corner of his eye. Facing away, one hand resting on his knobby knee. Lizzie waits. Hesitantly, like he's asking for permission, "I'm just glad you never… you know." Louder, "You never resented that. I mean, I think. H-honestly your silence at this point is making me ill."

"My husband carrots with a lot of players, Etho. I'm not going to single you out."

She can't glean the lower part of Etho's face behind his mask, but his pixels fritz around his neck. His hands instantly switch to blue paws and a pair of glowing fox ears snap straight up. Oops.

"That's… Uh, thanks- I… Oh, wow." He tugs on his mask, humming for two beats, then sort of shakes his head. He's active with his hands, Etho. She never paid attention before, but maybe he finds the need to compensate for his lack of facial expressions. "Uh, I was speaking more broadly than carroting, though. More like…" Etho fumbles with the words for a few seconds, then rolls back his chair again and gestures at the room behind him (Sniff rolls over, blinking at them through a squint). "Wow. Hey… I haven't figured out how to say it, but you and Joel have both fallen 'asleep' around me now. I want to keep it that way."

Keep it? Lizzie waits for him to continue, but Etho glances off, carefully tugging down his mask so he can breathe a little easier. His hand flickers from a paw to pale skin again. Um. Lizzie tries to follow his gaze. Sniff gives Etho a weird sort of half-shrug, like Huh? For Etho's sake, she pretends not to notice. After a few seconds, she says, "I think I'm flattered, but I'm not really sure what to say in response to that, so I will bestow upon you a thumbs up."

"I like the trust," he tries again, making eye contact. His hand bunches up the mask. "This is comfortable for me."

Is it? If this was comfortable for you then you wouldn't have your fox ears up. She doesn't say that. She tries not to fixate on Etho's distracted phrasing and instead presses at the emotion underneath. "We appreciate you too, as a friend." That seems like the simple response.

"I mean, you guys never make it weird, you know. You both adapt like villagers to a new workstation. It feels natural. Joel doesn't push anything when he comes over… and you don't ask about it or draw lines in the sand."

"Frankly," Lizzie says, glancing pointedly at the floor, "I think I could draw a literal line through the dust and crumbs all over this place."

"Yeah, that's fair. I'll work on that. I'm just a guy, Lizzie… I eat snacks and chew my fingernails just like everyone else."

"Chew your…? Well, that's almost inconceivable. After all, you're the one person I can't imagine chewing fingernails, considering you wear the mask."

"It's an acquired skill." And that's the end of it. This conversation seems to scratch whatever itch has been pressing on him, and Etho pulls his chair back to face the desk. Then he says, "Oh, snappers."

"What?"

Quiet breathing. Etho stares at the screen for a moment. "Mm… Nothing. I just noticed all the orient points on the right arm are wrong. They're keyed to an Alex skin. There's a section of code right here where Joel ends and Grian begins. I used Two as an overlay and auto-deleted any match-ups, so it didn't pick up the blend line. That's gonna wreck all the muscles." His hand slides up his cheek, fingers crossing over his eyes. He exhales through his nose. "That could've been a disaster. I don't know, man. I'm so upset right now; ohh, I'm kicking myself for not thinking of that. I'm gonna have to triple check everything. It'll be another hour and a half at least before I'm done tonight."

Lizzie checks her wrist-comm. She's six minutes away from phantom hour, her screen pulsing orange. "I… think I'm gonna head home now. Is that okay?" Did Two already pick up Grian's wandering trader robes? Lizzie moves to the kitchen doorway. They're no longer on the floor, so he must have grabbed them on his way out.

"Shoot." Etho turns, staring up the hallway towards his bedroom. "Okay… Shoot. My admin panel's not even close to where I logged out of my server. Hey, Sniff?"

Sniff, who's been draped across the sofa as dramatically as a dehydrated husk, jolts upright like he just got slapped with meerkat mods. "Yeah?"

"You're the admin for your and Pig's server. Do you know where your admin panel is?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Lizzie's going back to her place. Only admin panels can communicate off-world and I don't have one of those in Between." Scott's the only one Lizzie's ever met who has a command star glowing on his wrist in this dimension. Between's not a server. It's a lawless land forever pressing at the boundaries of its own ecosystem. Scott's mark definitely belonged to the Allay Dragon, but the Dragon's been dead for 1,000 years.

There are no command blocks here. There is no grand admin or universal chat you can type in to summon blocks and spawn eggs at a whim. To the best of Lizzie's knowledge, the only two ways to gain the star are to kill the current star-holder or else take down another Dragon… and an uneasy "anarchy is fair play, but no more breaking soul spawners" truce is holding above ground. For now.

How Scott came into possession of the star… Well, Lizzie hasn't wanted to pry. That was before her time in New Star Station. She has her theories. They're not relevant right now.

"So…" Sniff tilts his head. "You want me to go back to my server?"

"No; stay out. I've got all I need for now. I just need to be prepared in case I have more questions- time limit and all. Are you okay with ducking inside your portal, using your panel to contact Lizzie, and playing messenger phantom between us? Get her contact info. If you're not comfy, I can have Beef do it. I just hate to bother him. My Canadian heart, Sniff…"

Sniff blinks. "I don't know where I live."

"What?"

"I got unthreaded at Grian's place. How do I get back to my portal?"

"Oh." Etho picks one finger at his mask. Lizzie watches from the corner of her eye. Careful breath. Then he returns his hand to his work screen, eyes down. Fingers tapping. "You can use the one in my room."

Sniff's mouth drops open. "Oh, what? You can move portals in this dimension? Oh, get out! The implications… That would make such a cool room design!"

The fact that this would be news to Sniff hadn't even crossed Lizzie's mind. "It's easy," she says, trying to keep her voice playful and comforting. "You just have to type the server ID for your destination. If the admin has allowed outside portals - and you're on the whitelist - you can access it from your own room. Just remember that if you're the only one with a portal to a multiplayer open, the system will force it to stay that way as a safety measure. You'll need an override to close it again. That might prevent you from getting back to another world for a while."

"Okay," says Sniff, but Lizzie can tell from his faraway gaze that he's already overwhelmed with information, daydreaming of temples and interiors he could create with portal technology. "Wait," he says next. "I'm not supposed to go in any portals."

Etho shakes his head. "You should be fine by now; I can't imagine Grian didn't get you in the system yet. Let me see." He scoots his chair closer to the coffee table, holding out his hand. Sniff hesitates, then gets to his feet. He pulls out his comm and extends it to Etho. They both pause when they see the screen.

"Uhh… What does red light mean?"

"… I don't… know. Hang on." Etho leaves the chair, hunching over Sniff's hand while Sniff leans away. He turns his head. Lizzie rises on her toes, craning her neck to get a better view.

A row of 10 pixelated hearts beats on the comm screen. All are gutted black except the last one, which still has a sliver left. Etho falls silent. Lizzie sees his hand go limp. Sniff doesn't seem to notice, however, because he's tugging at his jumper collar.

"Sniff?" she asks. "Perhaps you've left a battle wound untreated?" Lizzie traces a line down her arm with her finger. "It looks like you've sprung a leak." It's not easy to get hurt in the station, but it does happen from time to time. Even the most attentive mayor can't safety-fy everything.

Sniff hesitates, glancing at Etho for confirmation. Etho shakes his head again. "Grian and I actually checked his whole body after the unthreading. There wasn't a scratch on him then. I must've pulled something while reading your code. Does it hurt?"

"I…" Sniff draws in a long breath. Then two. Lizzie tilts her head, watching in silence, until he lifts his eyes. They're dark: one brown and one black. "I'm hungry…"

Etho's lifted shoulders and twitching tail betray the guilt his half-visible face will not. Lizzie speaks up again. "Sniff, I think you're dying."

"What?" Sniff splutters out a laugh, jerking back his hand (and the comm with it). "You're just going to drop that on me?"

"No," says Etho, running his fingers through his bangs. "This is fixable… You're just starving."

"'Just,'" Sniff echoes, snapping the word. "Well, thank goodness it's only deadly." He presses the comm to his chest, shaking his head. "It's fine. I'm fine. It's… You're not done with Joel yet. Finish that up. I'll just… eat cake until you're done."

But he's an anivore…

Lizzie glances sideways at Etho. Etho breathes like a warden's heartbeat. He does not return her look. The hand in his hair moves down to his mouth, fist pressed up against his lips. So Lizzie's the one who answers. "That's… empty calories. Vex need souls."

"Etho promised," Sniff says, backing away. "I can wait… For Etho."

Ah. The "warden in the room" isn't going anywhere fast. Lizzie checks again on Etho's face. His eyes are screwed up tight now, hand pressed so hard against his mouth that he might bypass his own collision barrier. The nails of his other hand are scraping at his elbow.

It clunks her head a second later.

I'm his guest… and the temporary widow of the evening. He doesn't want to ask if…

"Take me," Lizzie says, swinging back around to Sniff. His brows shoot up like fireworks, but she presses on. "You'll be sending me back to mine and Joel's server anyway. I'll do it." She can do it. "It's… my first time being force-logged out, so I'm a little unsteady on my legs, but I think it's the best option we have. My comm will crash, but I'm the admin; I can still contact you if you need anything."

"No," Etho says before Sniff can answer. "If Sniff logs you out, all your mutuals will see it, and his name will show up in the log files. HALO will know he's been unthreaded. If they get here before I'm done… I mean, I can't claim plausible deniability."

Lizzie grimaces. "Lucky there's no jail down here."

Sniff picks at the end of his sleeve. "I can wait…"

"Is there anything else he can eat? Animals, maybe?" The farm's not that far, is it?

Etho doesn't have an answer to that. He sighs in his fist, then lets his hand drop like a lever. "Let's do it. Scott and Aqua are in a meeting tonight. Maybe they won't notice."

Lizzie nods. Once. Turning to Sniff, she says, "I've heard it's easier if you swoop down on wing - Scar always says it's about velocit-ay - but since you're new to this, I'll use my free-cam. If you don't mind, that is."

"I don't know the difference, so sure…"

"Okay," says Lizzie. The word creaks out of her, so she licks her lips and tries again. "Okay… I'll just, um… Etho, do you care where I sit? Or lie down, or…?"

"I can get Beef," he says, which wasn't the question. He's gripping both his elbows now, eyes dark and his traitorous tail snitching on him anyway. "Or… a stranger?" He clearly loathes that idea as much as she does, but tests it anyway. "You don't have to do this."

"Joel's my husband, actually. Not Beef's. I'll do it. This saves me a long walk across the station anyway."

"Vex drain a lot, I think… You'll probably be kicked from the station for about a week. I don't know much about their feeding schedule, though. It might even be longer."

"It's okay."

Sniff glances at Etho as though begging his consent to approach. Etho sighs, then turns his back. He lifts one hand to shield his view. "You can sit anywhere you want. Vessels dissolve in five minutes. Maybe not the kitchen. Try to keep the pixels out of the food."

Lizzie nods. She trails over to the sofa, running her fingers across dark leather. Then she changes her mind. She sits down in the empty corner by the sliding door that leads to the balcony. It's better than the purpur tile in the kitchen. It's probably less irritating to clean pixels off planks than the crevices in there. Etho still stands near his desk, covering his face. Maybe he's squeamish. Sniff plods up to her, dragging his toes on every step.

"The flowers you picked for your hair are really pretty," he says, eyes downcast. "I, um… I don't think I told you that."

I don't really have a good way to respond to that. So she doesn't. She melts into free-cam instead, springing her axolotl form out from her hybrid body. Her form isn't damp, but she likes to think she makes a plopping sound when she lands on the wood anyway. Her body slumps against the wall, then slides down to the floor. Lizzie darts back inside, straightens up again, and leaves a second time. Sniff lifts one brow at her when she pops out again. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Just addresses Etho over his shoulder.

"Um. Right… How do I do this again?"

Etho, still behind his hand, clears his throat a few times. "Well, with phantoms, it only takes one bite. It doesn't have to be, um… 'serious' or 'dramatic.' It does need to be on her free-cam form, not her vessel, but you can nibble on her tail or finger. It'll log her out either way."

"Are you sure?"

"I only know phantoms. Um… Lizzie, you probably won't even feel it."

That makes sense. She can't feel anything while she's in this state. Not the scraped-up planks beneath her feet. Not the touch of her vessel's leg against her tail. Lizzie decides the best way to weather this storm is to close her eyes. She can't feel Sniff's hands as he lifts her up, but the weightlessness remains. Somehow.

"Okay," says Sniff. He sounds farther away than he should. Ah. Those are her body's ears picking him up now. Lizzie doesn't know where he bites. She keeps her eyes closed the entire time.

For Joel. Will he even come home tonight?

It feels like a single, deft scrub of a soap bar. Or a zipper, lashing open and spilling everything inside her to the floor.

LDShadowLady was kicked by SnifferMyFeet

💙  🧡  💚

Etho

#touch-starved

He doesn't lower his hand until his comm buzzes against his leg. The comm's been quiet all night thus far, so that's gotta be Lizzie's log-out. Now all of New Star knows you're here, he sing-songs, but doesn't say it.

He decides to look with a jerk of his head. No dilly-dallying around it. Sniff stands in the corner, arms hanging in front of his chest like chicken wings. Judging by his twisted face, Lizzie's soul didn't taste like chicken. Sniff smacks his tongue and teeth a few times, blinking a lot, and scrubs at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Fella, that ain't bro. I feel like I just licked a charged creeper. And it didn't like it."

"Your hair is standing on end." Etho studies him in mild curiosity. He's not often out in public to see phantoms react to a feed (and certainly not vex). Sniff beats his wings, then gives himself a shake.

"Why do you smell so much better than she did?"

"Because you can smell I'm in wander hour. Or… "infinite hour," technically? Lizzie only had 6 minutes before her phantom chime. She was getting… 'stale?' I don't know." Stale doesn't seem like the right word; he's spent enough time with Bdubs to hear all the crowing praise on who's delicious. Or maybe phantoms are like vultures and "carrion" is a delicacy. Who knows.

Sniff rubs his arm up and down, saying nothing. Etho stands in silence, watching Sniff's eyes trace across his body. He doesn't tell him not to. Becoming a vex after a lifetime as an endermite (however short said lifetime may be) must be a massive change. And everything in Between is new to Sniff. Rules are different when you're on-world. Food needs are different there.

Etho changes topics. "Well, now that it's not flashing the health screen in front of your face, what color is your comm?"

Sniff slips the screen into his palm. He checks, then rotates it so Etho can see. Etho blinks. Twice.

"Oh, snappers." The comm is still very, very black. "Uh, Grian must not have gotten you plugged in. He either got caught or had to bail." Etho checks his own screen. No message from Grian… but then, that's the smart thing to do. Better to not tie him to the crime.

I wonder what happened?

"What does that mean?"

"… It means you're sleeping over. On healer's recommendation," he clarifies before Sniff can even process that sentence. "You don't have to. It's just… if you're off the system and the phantoms get you, you won't wake up on your server. It'll be at the soul spawner."

"Okay…" Sniff hesitates. "Are you okay with that?" He scratches behind his neck. Etho stares at him, feeling blank. So Sniff clears his throat and adds, "even though we're, um…"

Allegedly "half-divorced."

Neither of them finish that sentence.

"You don't have to stay," Etho repeats. "It's up to you if you're comfortable. We can make other arrangements… Beef or Pause will put you up for the night, I think? And we've got the couch. There's no sleep in this dimension, so you can…" Play board games? Etho's still got an infinity symbol on his comm. Who knows how long that'll stay on? Six hours of blue time after that. One orange. One green. That's kind of a lot of games. He opts not to suggest that. Mess around on your comm? Can't. Off the system. "… bake?"

"Okay. I'll bake something. Maybe."

Silence. Sniff looks down. He twists his silver ring first one way, then the other. Etho watches. Wary. Guarded. He keeps his hands in tight fists, trying to prevent them from sparking into fox paws again.

He wants me to be the one to say it.

Ring's not off, Sniff says with his silence. I can go either way on this.

Etho tightens his fingers around his comm. It lets out a single soft chirp: Heartbeats spiking; switching into health screen. All ten of those pixel hearts must be trembling up and down right now. And Sniff doesn't stop with the ring, doesn't look up, like he doesn't notice- like he doesn't flippin' care. And then his eyes dart up and…

… It'd be nice to forget how to read a room.

Etho swivels, bearing all his weight down on his heel. He grips the back of his office chair in just one hand. The other tests his chest. See, as much as he wants to believe technology, he's never really sure how accurate the comm stats are. His hearts aren't beating that fast…

He sighs, ruffling his mask with pixel-hot warmth. "I think… you should be the one to make the call on comfort level here. Between is… a new place for you, Sniff. It's a lot. Gem is upstairs. Maybe you can bunk down at her place." Doesn't feel good to drag her into this, though. Sniff's not supposed to be here. Gem doesn't deserve the Q&A session that would follow if word gets out. "Or just stay at mine. It doesn't bother me if you stay… as long as you're quiet while I'm working. I appreciate the company."

"Etho?"

"… I do have Boat Boy memories, but mine are… different than yours. I think."

"That wasn't going to be my question."

"But it's the one you wanted to ask, right?"

No response. Sniff twists the ring again. For some reason, Etho checks his own left hand. There isn't a matching one wrapped around his knuckle. There has never been one there.

Now, whether the big boss is married or not is his own private business. That's not the determining factor here. Not everyone who's married woke up with a partnership one day. Skizz and Vera didn't. And not everyone who did wake with a ring embraces an ooey-gooey relationship with their partner. Impulse and Grian both seem content in their set-ups, and those involve significantly less PDA (from what he's heard). Some folks don't even live with their match… And if you're a programmer, you can code a ring on your hand yourself. Etho hasn't yet. He's not really the type to tie himself down. He's not opposed someday, if it feels right. If he's ready. He's just…

… waiting. For someone with just the right expectations and just the right heart. Doesn't stick him on a pedestal. Sensitive to and respectful of his introverted nature. Present but understanding when he gets overwhelmed. And patient. Patience is very high on that list. It would be easier, maybe, if it wasn't. If he just sucked it up. But he's a needy boy… and he can't.

Sniff does not say anything else about the Boat Boys comment. Etho clears his throat.

"The, uh… The phantoms can't track you unless they see you in person, since you've got a black screen. Going out would be a bad idea. We can't send you back through your portal while you're offline, so it's probably best to stay in the apartment. Unless you really don't want to. My phantom chime is still ten hours from now, at least. I don't need to duck inside my portal until then."

"I didn't get much saturation from Lizzie," Sniff says without looking up. He cranks the ring again. It looks like it hurts. The silver clicks against the gold one. "I'll wait a few minutes to be sure. Maybe it just hasn't set in yet. Pig says it takes your circuits time to read the stomach signals… Do you trust me not to eat you, too?"

"… Yeah. I mean, you've waited this long, Sniff. I trust you."

"You made a promise, though."

"I guess I did." Etho drags his gaze away, back to the tablet resting on his desk. "I need to fix Joel's left side. Progress is going well. Feeling good about it."

"Mm, did we use to grumble over you falling asleep with your head on my arm?"

Hm. Etho scratches carefully at his face, sitting down again. Scratching feels good. It pries underneath his skin, hooking into the code just beneath the surface. Double Life ended five years ago. But it also lasted a full year of his life. Prying that out of his memories isn't easy to do… especially when he shared a soulmate closeness with Joel in a way he didn't share one with Team B.E.S.T. or the T.I.E.S.

Somehow it's… It's almost more intimate to share your base with only one other person than with four. With only two in a team (and one of them significantly more willing to bend than the other), you don't end up with high levels of clutter or the bickering over four very different ways to set up a storage system. Joel built The Relation. Etho was just allowed to live in it, and only so long as Joel tolerated him. Joel's build. Joel's call on how things get stored.

And Etho was fine with that. Oh, he can call the shots if he needs to, but there's no reason he can't roll back and let someone else take command during the games, especially if they want to. Joel is one of those loud types who likes things done his way. When you've spent 1,080 years building up your private singleplayer world, it's sort of interesting to see how other people like to do it. It only took three weeks for Etho to memorize the way Joel liked things arranged, so not a big deal.

He can't discard the memories of heartbeats in perfect sync, twin adrenaline puffs pulsing through their code.

Etho learned a lot about Joel during that year they spent in Double Life. He's seen Joel pull a fistful of his own hair back with one hand and slice off the tips with his axe. At the end of the first week, he read the name Joel etched into his crossbow with a jagged piece of flint. Etho sat beside him the whole time, talking strats, leaning his head against the lopsided stone wall they used as a base. It's all they had by the end of Session 1. Joel kept brushing and blowing the wood shavings into Etho's lap, trying to get them caught in his sleeves or shoes. He's the worst that way.

Don't miss that.

(Fact, or command?)

He's seen this man unzip his daytime skin for his pajamas… he's seen all ten of Joel's hearts beating openly - unprotected - where they float inside his blue, blue chest. And it's like they're both freefalling, because it's the sort of thing Etho knows Joel never would have done in front of him if they hadn't had the soulmate bond. They weren't close. They're still not… not exactly close.

It was different on Double Life. Everything was different. Joel was different. And things hit different with Joel, and all their little routines were different together (sharing splinters, bitten cheeks, burnt tongues, bits of grit stuck in the corner of the eye) compared to the routines he had with T.I.E.S. So they're not that close, but hanging out with Joel ever since then has felt like… wading through a puddle of intimacy. It's damp on his toes even if it's not a lake.

Etho hadn't returned the openly vulnerable skin change sentiment. It's not really his thing. But… since they shared a bed and the ship's brig got stuffy and the wool blankets were layered thick, he did take off his vest. Maybe Joel read into that. Etho can acknowledge he may have confused the guy by pulling off his turtleneck a couple times, too. It was only a couple times, though.

… Joel's changed skins in front of him more than once since the bond was broken, even though he doesn't have to. Etho hasn't said a word about it. If Joel wishes to play vulnerable and expose his beating hearts, he's welcome to it. It doesn't mean a thing.

He tells Sniff, "I seem to remember basing with someone who griped a lot when his arm went numb. That might have happened, yes."

Silence.

"Um… You're a programmer or something like that, right?"

"Something like that."

"Can programmers delete memories?"

Etho zones in again, staring into the tangled code across his tablet screen. His mouth's an underscore right now. "I mean, I'm a healer. Take it up with Scott."

Footsteps. Light pacing. "Ihh, nah… Maybe I don't want to forget. I'll just bother Pig until he sleeps on me. He's so weird about sharing a base, though. He thinks I'll blow him up with a trap at my front door. I would, obviously, as I'm his best friend and he's definitely not safe in my world… but I wouldn't do it all the time. Seems a little unfair to hold that against me. At this point, he's just typecasting."

Etho blinks very, very hard.

Then he opens his eyes and goes back to tapping at his tablet keys. Joel's arm connections are all messed up. They're not terrible, per se… but they're off-center. The shoulder will probably disjoint if he leaves it like this. See, he's got an Alex arm slapped on a Steve frame right now, and Joel would probably like his joints back the way they were.

"I want cake," Sniff says from the other side of the room. "I don't care if it's empty calories. I've never had chocolate cake before."

"All yours."

"I wasn't asking permission."

"My base. My rules."

"I'm eating your cake."

"Mmhm." Etho copies the code for his left arm and plays it side by side against the right half of the body. When it comes to body design, you never want to be perfectly symmetrical. If he's not careful, he'll stick Joel's hand on upside-down (or his foot on backwards). He might split his stomach in half. Or shove his spine down his front. Nope. Not today.

Sniff makes noises in the kitchen, dragging things around. Opening cupboards and twisting off lids. Etho glances over. The angle of the wall doesn't let him see Sniff from here, but he stares for a second anyway. Can he have chocolate? If he's half Grian, won't that make him sick? Grian's allergic to chocolate, but he eats it nonetheless.

Sniff's not half Grian, though. Not really. He's… just got creator bleed from Grian's boss. And some from the Joel who isn't the in-game Smallishbeans. Sniff's got memories of Boat Boys and the Red Velvet Keep and things like that because someone played his account the way they played their own. He's a third party. A separate account, born an endermite and corrupted into vex. He's not half a parrot boy. And he's not a firefly, either. He's…

… sort of like a camera twin. Except from the way he talks, rapidly flipping his turns of phrase from one end of familiarity to the other, you'd think you're watching a player and a camera share a body. The creator bleed is similar, but not exact.

Sniff isn't necessarily any more or any less 'Grian' than TwoMuchGrian is. One and Two are completely separate people with their own interests and social lives. They were just born from the same spawn egg. One isn't less than the other… they were just born with different body types. One of them smugly lies on his back in the air and prattles on without beating his wings just to show off, and the other chews his toenails and smacks his face on window glass.

Etho opens and closes his fingers a few times against the desk, scratching lightly at the polished wood. It's interesting. Bdubs and WellsGlazes are about as far from stereotypical twins as you can imagine. They share a species, but nothing else. Not even pronouns. Rendog and Renbob are in a similar boat: two dogs who can be snapping at each other with flashing fangs one moment, then burying bone meal at the tree farm together the next. Joel and Pig? Total opposites; it's almost laughable. At the end of the day, though, they'd do anything for each other.

It must be nice.

"Pig makes way better cake," Sniff insists, wandering back into the living room. He holds out his fork. There's a clump of chocolate cake clinging to the tines. "Here. Try it. It's disgusting."

"I'm not really a sweets guy."

Sniff shrugs and flops down on the sofa. Etho rubs his thumbs against the inner corners of his eyes.

Then he's back on topic again. Break time's over. Every line of code needs his full attention. He's building out the right side of a body using only the left for reference. Thankfully, Sniff's code was a huge help with that. He's not as neat and tidy of a match as Pig would have been, but he and Joel seem to have the same skin texture, muscle tone, finger length, and code type. The fingers are the best news. There are so many little bits in there and it would take an age to add contact points to a fresh set. Sniff has Grian's height, but Joel's shape.

Not the point.

Joel can play around with mods later if he wants to, but Etho would rather adhere as closely to a model as he can. Joel would flip if he woke up unable to bend his fingers because the joints were oriented wrong.

That's the problem. The Steve skin is a universal base. It's great for grafting artificial limbs onto someone if you need to, but when you're made to fit everyone, you don't really fit the individual.

Etho deletes the line of code (transferred from Sniff) that gives Joel a second partnership ring.

He's grateful Mumbo brought him the trader's chest. In all his travels, it's the only thing he's so far found to be reliable at keeping souls from slipping through the walls. Etho can hear Joel now, alternating between scratching his little firefly leg against the wood or butting the side with his little head. Soon, he promises. You just can't be inside the crystal right now. It's not stable.

Copy-pasting the code cuts down a lot of work for the right-hand side of Joel's body, like color and body hair. Joel used to have an arm scar. Etho can't remember precisely where, nor whether Joel even liked it. He leaves it off, but sprinkles in the freckles. Joints next. As long as everything works, the aesthetic tweaks can wait.

Did I do his facial hair right?

"Etho?"

Etho lifts his head, staring into the glare of his tablet screen instead of turning around. He doesn't need to. He knows half this man too well, and he already knows what he's going to see if he looks back. "What?"

But Sniff is silent. So Etho, insufferably curious, turns around after all. Sniff lies across the couch, one leg draped over the back of it, playing with his silver ring again. His half-finished cake sits on the coffee table. Either he's allergic after all or he just got bored. Either seems likely. He flits his gaze to Etho's and lets out a long, low sigh. "So, um… Is it, like, official?" Beat. "Is there no chance at all?"

Carefully, Etho tilts his head. "For…?"

"Us." He's vague with his words. He's dancing. It's the pesky bird way. Etho closes his eyes, hands balanced above the tablet keys, and tries to envision Grian lying on his couch tonight. There's never been anything between him and Grian (beyond a bit of mutual admiration). And as much as he enjoyed teaming up with Joel in Double Life, Joel isn't…

Well.

Look, he talks to other people too, you know. He has other friends.

Other friends who spend the entirety of their time in New Star logging people out and only drop by when they want something from me. It fits the pattern. Everybody wants Etho sooner or later. Self-taught programmer, full time hero. That's him.

Etho gently moves the thought of Bdubs to another corner of his mind. He likes Bdubs fine. They just… don't work so well in the station, when the phantom instincts come out. It's…

Bdubs has other priorities in Between. It just doesn't work that well. Doesn't mean they're not friends. They are. Just not the kind you can lounge with on the sofa for hours.

… because he'd rather log me out than hear what I have to say.

So would Sniff. Maybe. Etho reiterates a fact he knows to be true: He has other friends. Beef and Pause have their personal portals set up in this same apartment. Doc and Ren are just a couple streets away. Iskall's on the other side of the clock tower, sort of kitty corner. And Joel himself still exists. Things are still comfortable with Joel and he even got Lizzie's blessing that it wasn't getting weird. Joel's friendship is great, and Etho treasures that like he treasures a beacon when he's building. Only a complete idiot would shatter what he has.

"… What kind of 'us?'"

That sentence may as well be a sledgehammer. The hitch in Sniff's breath confirms it. And Etho, kicking himself, wonders why he even said it. Why he's playing like this. But when those fudge-brown eyes dart to his again, and that lower lip trembles in a very Joel kind of way…

"Would you ever want to?"

His comm beeps again, still convinced it knows more than he does about his own heartbeats. "You have to use words, Sniff. I don't attach my name to empty IOUs."

Sniff hesitates. Then, tentatively, "We could cuddle? And, um… go from there? I mean, yeahhhhh… Yeaaaaaah."

"It sounds like fun." Etho tries to make his voice sound like it isn't bending, nearly breaking. He shatters nothing. "I'm open to opportunity. Let's keep in touch after this." That's one of the beautiful things about New Star Station, actually… because it's so fluid here. Roleplay is rampant. For all his aversion to changing skins, Etho can't help trying on a few different hats.

Sniff is only half of Joel. But maybe it's that raw and wild half that Etho had fun running around with back on Double Life. It's a half that's fueled by Grian's chaotic nature… and apparently by very little of the awkward fumbling that Etho's come to know from that man and the emotions he keeps against his vest.

… He could really use a break. Honestly, he's been going, going, going since he got up this morning. All day it was flitting back and forth, catching things up before login time. And he'd gathered heaps of paper, sketching out as many plans as he could think of about stealing a ravager's soul (but that's a conversation for Session 3 or 4). Honestly? Anxiety-inducing. None of none recommend, okay? His player only came online a few minutes before Dog's Life started. Then it was travel to the indoor multiplayer hub, then it was doing a final skim of Grian's code, then the server glitch… all that prodding of the code… And racing back to spawn to find Joel's vessel dissolving, and taking Pig around, and visiting Two, and talking to Grian, and finding Sniff (getting killed by Sniff), that whole "unthreading" thing, the sneaking back, the work tonight…

Ooooh…

He deserves this. Etho's decided. Joel's code can wait for 5 or 10 minutes of snuggling on the couch; Joel would understand, because he and Joel were cuddling every night back when they were Boat Boys and nothing's weird between them.

Yeah. He can do 5 or 10 minutes of carroting. I mean, he can't because there are no carrots in New Star Station and Sniff can't duck inside a portal right now, but…

I could probably do just one cuddle. As long as it doesn't become a habit. You can say a lot of things about Etho, but he draws the line at 'addictive personality.' He's not a gambling man. Come on! He doesn't have a minigame addiction. He can quit his retail therapy cycle any time he likes, no matter how many coupons are neatly clipped in the back corner of his kitchen counter right now. And a single cuddle will definitely not get him addicted to the grubby little ogre whose bare feet are sprinkling bedrock dust all over his couch. He's Etho Slab, for crying out loud.

"… But," he says, speaking clean and plainly, "I think it's too early to decide on anything. You've had a topsy-turvy day. And honestly, I think it's best if you figure out this world before you act like you don't have consequences or boundaries."

This gets him a squawk of disapproval. "Oi! I can choose for myself when I've had a blimmin' topsy-turvy day or not! This! This is really… ah. Fella, fella… I can't understand you." He makes a clicking sound with his teeth, then adds, "That's my impression of myself."

"Mmhm."

The room goes quiet. Etho keeps tapping at the keyboard. He adjusts three more little bits of code, then writes a line from scratch. Joel's fingers are looking lovely, though the thumb needs another tweak. Thumbs are hard.

"Etho?"

"Yeppers?"

"Am I, like… going to live?"

You know what? Thumbs are easy. I've decided. He doesn't turn around. "Yeah, don't worry about Grian dragging his feet. He's a real pest, but he's got good hearts. Even if he had to bail tonight, he'll get your file in the system."

"Not that," says Sniff. "Why did you really go through all that effort to unthread me?"

Thumbs are incredibly fun. "I needed a close model of Joel and Pig said 'No.' You were the next person who came to mind."

"Why is a model so important?"

"Because everyone's body is different. Yours is pretty close to his on at least one side." That's one good-looking thumb. Maybe I should redo MY thumbs… Although I guess you need to see someone else for that. Not so easy to fix your own.

Sniff's breathing gets a little faster. "If Joel had been too far gone to repair and- and time was running out before he gets kicked back to the soul spawner… Would you have considered dumping his soul inside my vessel?"

Etho's fingers stop moving. All ten of his hearts thunk down to mental zero. Just fling him at the respawn screen right now. His breaths cut off. He doesn't say anything.

For a long time.

You can't be accused of telling lies if you don't speak up at all. Maybe you'll look suspicious or aloof. Maybe you're hiding the truth or stretching it in painful ways. But you are not lying.

"The thought never crossed my mind," Etho lies.

"Can I have my cuddle?" Sniff presses. Then, laughingly, "Oh my gods, Etho… you look like you just spawned a wither in your bedroom! Don't have a heart attack. I've already made my peace with it. Ahh, I knew there had to be a deeper reason."

Etho turns around again. Sniff is jittering one of his legs up and down, holding his wrist and staring across the room. The coffee table between them (with its stack of textbooks, wandering trader box, and the single blue orchid Cleo gave him and Etho didn't want to throw out after the flowerpot broke) don't make much of a barrier. He says, "If Joel had been too far gone, I would have caught that before I pulled his soul out. I would have, like, let Lizzie know so she could say good-bye before he wakes up again at the firefly soul spawner. Joel's got two working legs and two working wings; he can find his own way back to New Star. It'll take a while, but it's not the end of the world. I would never do that to you."

"It's okay," Sniff repeats. "I'm just a throwaway account." He gets up and walks over, then takes Lizzie's old chair. Etho wishes he'd moved it. Wishes he'd kicked it far away. It's gut-wrenching when Sniff plops his elbow down on the edge of the desk. Etho craves straight-up death when those fudge bar eyes latch onto his again. Especially when Sniff cocks his head and smiles like he's Grian. "I'm spare parts, you know? It's okay. I don't hate you for thinking about it."

Etho says nothing.

"I think if we were down to the last two minutes… I'd volunteer, actually."

The hackles start to lift on the back of his neck. He can't see the cyan glow, but he can feel them tingle in the air. "It's not your responsibility to volunteer for that," he says. And (gesturing), "Okay, everyone seems to think that I pull miracles out of thin air, Sniff. They throw so much of their faith at me, they even volunteer for it! Lizzie…" He doesn't know what to say about Lizzie. Just, "She didn't… have to get logged out. We could've discussed alternatives. She just felt like she owed me." Sniff is quiet now. Etho turns back to his tablet. "Don't call yourself 'spare parts.' Need I remind you, you're not a 'secondhand Joel.' I wouldn't use your vessel just to spare him a hundred years of anarchy. I'm a healer; I'm a fair guy. I don't play favorites like that, Sniff."

"… You would have hidden from Lizzie."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"You would have run."

Etho stares down at the tablet with two fingers on his temple.

"I know you, Etho," Sniff insists, tucking his hands underneath his armpits. He scoots his chair a little closer. "You'd have been out of here by dawn without a forwarding address. You wouldn't have even said good-bye."

"Mm… You're confusing roleplay with canon. I think you've got 'absent father Etho' memories from LimLife mixed up inside you. That's what I think, anyway."

"Etho…"

Hhhh.

Etho Slab does not like to lie. He glances sideways at what little he can see of Sniff's knuckles. The thick, sturdy silver ring.

All the roleplay is real to Sniff. He's got a bunch of memories that aren't even fully his. So… Are those twisted interpretations, or does he truly have something new? Do those memories tell him he stirred awake one day, only to roll over and find I'd vanished without a trace?

It's an interesting philosophical question. Etho rotates it in one hand like an apple, round and round. When the silence drags on for a minute too long, Sniff gets up and walks to the kitchen. Etho recenters his attention on Joel's code. It's not looking too bad. The worst part is not knowing what you don't know; not catching what's missing between the lines. He probably has enough to start a preview render, though.

Is that smart? A render will suck up at least 10 precious minutes (maybe more), but…

Well, it's probably the safe route when the other option is exporting Joel's file to his soul crystal without double checking his work. Etho thumbs through a bit more of the code, skimming through without reading much of it. When he reaches the end… he closes his eyes.

"Did you want that cuddle? … I could maybe do 5 or 10 minutes. I can start rendering the code. While it's rendering, I can't do anything to it anyway. I'm free for a couple minutes."

Or maybe a few more than that. He still had an infinity symbol on his comm last time he checked. And when that ticks out, he's got six hours of wander time before he ticks to orange and then to green. And Sniff doesn't have to go home tonight. You know, it'd be really, really nice, just once…

… to spend an evening here on the couch with someone who actually enjoys his company. His mumbles, his breathing, his embrace… and isn't just counting down the seconds until they can log him out with a flash of nippy teeth.

(Etho would not lie to himself about Sniff's very unforgettable nippy teeth, because Etho Slab does not like to lie.)

"Huh? Oh, sure." The voice comes from the kitchen. Etho turns around in his chair. Sniff is standing in the kitchen, twisting his silver wedding ring around and around his finger. Etho says nothing. Just presses his mouth against the crook of his arm. After a few seconds, Sniff slides the ring from his hand and into the composter. Then he brushes off his hands and comes back into the den. Etho gets to his feet and pretends he didn't notice. He's an expert at that; even his tail lies still against his heels. See? Not even the tail betrays him.

"Etho? I'm above half a heart, but…"

"What?"

Sniff lifts his eyes from his bare feet. His wings flap. Twice. "I'm hungry…"

Right. That's a problem. That's a very, very big problem. Etho doesn't know much about vex feeding and Sniff doesn't either, which is dangerous and unpredictable. Etho stands with his hands in awkward fists before him. Holding nothing. Punching nothing. Just… standing there, with the toe of one sandal pressed into the ground. He swallows, carefully, and Sniff rubs behind his neck. "I'll message Scar," Etho says. "He'll know what to do."

Sniff's wings flap again. "How you feeling?" he asks, thick and low-voiced. "Do you trust me?"

Etho considers this as he pulls out his communicator. "Yeah." He doesn't look up and he doesn't lie. "I trust you." Also, Etho has an ace up his sleeve if Sniff tries anything on with him. New Star Station was built immediately underneath Lone Spruce, where his mother guards the fox soul spawner. Etho keeps chorus fruit back in the village for exactly that reason. He's lived in New Star Station since its starter base days; he knows what he's doing. He'll be back inside so fast, Scott won't know what hit him. Ladders goes up and he goes down.

Etho: hey scar

Etho: how often do vex feed?

"Cuddles?" he asks, and Sniff says, "Right, sure. Cuddles. Let's do that. Um…?"

"Sofa's fine." The bedroom's a mess. He has a dozen vests and black turtlenecks (and multiple masks, of course) and there are probably several still scattered on the floor. He keeps meaning to pick them up. Etho heads to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Sniff follows, hands locked behind his neck. And Etho asks himself again if he actually does trust Sniff not to eat him.

GoodTimesWithScar: ?

What do you mean 'Huh?' Etho drinks a few sips of water, then goes back to the den. He fluffs around for almost two minutes, adjusting the wool cushions, kicking off his sandals, playing with the zipper of his vest before finally pulling it off and dropping it on another chair… waiting for Scar to type a response. Sniff stands nearby, holding his clasped hands in front of his chest. The one remaining ring on his hand burns the air between them. Etho is well aware that Sniff tossed it anyway, even after the confirmation of a cuddle. He didn't dig it back out or anything. Oh, he knows. But Etho is a greedy boy - and opportunistic - and he does not lie and pretend he doesn't want this. Etho Slab, you see, is very, very greedy.

Okay. Scar clearly wants an actual answer. Hang on here.

Etho: I met one

"Do… do I lie down first?" Sniff asks.

"Whatever's most comfortable. I'm flexible."

GoodTimesWithScar: where are you?

… Is Scar hungry too, tonight? Vex hunt in packs, right? Mostly duos or trios? Occasionally four? Is he jealous? Is he pining for an easy kill? Oh, this might be one of my worse ideas. Etho stares at those three little words for a few seconds too long. Then he throws back an answer.

Etho: my place

If Scar's already forgotten where he lives, all the better.

GoodTimesWithScar: Is the vex with you?

Etho: No?? Just curious

How does he know? Did somebody see us? Grian? Impulse? Technically the fact that Scar's asking a question implies he doesn't know, but Etho hovers beside the couch anyway, staring at the screen. His mind's a fractured blank. He feels blank.

Did his question offend Scar? It wasn't supposed to be hurtful.

Can Scar somehow sense that Sniff is here? If players put out some kind of pulse in the mystical energy field that certain mobs can sense, like whatever urges phantom hybrids get to prowl after late-night visitors, it's not improbable that Sniff and Grian would register as the same person. Maybe Scar can pick up on "Grian signals" in the area, but he can tell that they're a little "off?"

Can vex do that? Etho double and triple checks what he said - how often do vex feed? - then types something else.

Etho: and you don't have to answer if you don't want to

Scar hits send on his own message a split-second later, so it lands with a snap.

GoodTimesWithScar: did someone follow you home?

Etho: I'm inside

GoodTimesWithScar: do you feel unsfae?

Sniff makes an impatient throat-clearing noise from the sofa. Etho makes an equally impatient swishy snap with his tail. "Sorry; thank you; just trying to figure things out with Scar." He stands in silence, counting heartbeats with his tail twitches, as Scar fumbles through two more messages. Apparently he's near Scott. He changes course, offering to drop by Etho's place instead. Yeah… No thanks. Scar can have Sniff for the rest of his time in Between, but not tonight. The last thing this couch cuddle needs is the other ex in the nonexistent polycule.

Etho tells Scar he doesn't need to come, then politely reiterates his question on how much they feed. But Scar's next message sends him prickling again, tufts of bright blue fur springing up along his arms.

GoodTimesWithScar: Why do you need to know this?

Did I offend him?

Etho: curious xD Sorry for bothering

"Don't have all night," Sniff mutters. "Better make it quick."

"Oh, it'll be quick," he says, typing a little more. Firmly, decisively, wrapping things up. "I've only got 5 or 10 minutes, Sniff… It's really risky to push it any farther. I'm only doing this because I'm almost done with Joel's recovery. He's rendering."

"Joel this, Joel that," Sniff snaps. "Oh, get out. Don't you ever get exhausted looking out for everybody else?"

"Who, me?"

Etho: just saw a guy tonight who was giving me the eyes lol

He is not feeling very xD or lol in his hearts right about now. To Sniff, "I just like to lend a helping hand."

Etho: ty for your time

He goes to slide the communicator in his pocket, then stops. He already set his vest aside. A quick survey of his options makes it obvious there's no good place to set it. Just the sofa arm, but he won't be able to read any new messages and reaching past Sniff will be awkward. Cleo today may have pulled off the most epic comm retrieval Etho's ever borne witness to in his life, but that's not a skill he's ever bothered to polish. The communicator won't pass through Sniff as easily as Etho will, so he'll get bonked… Maybe it's easiest to just hold it?

It buzzes. Etho checks the screen again, which earns him an exasperated huffy noise from Sniff and a great roll of his eyes.

GoodTimesWithScar: someone you recognize?

Etho: Nah

"Etho…" Sniff's tone is a warning. He's not a patient boy.

"Sorry."

Etho: but you're putting a lot of faith in me if you think I know all the vex haha

"It's Scar."

"Of course it's Scar. He just can't get over me. Well, bloody invite him over, then."

"You couldn't pay me a hundred diamond blocks."

GoodTimesWithScar: where are you?

"Coward."

Etho: still home

"Hey, we either keep Scar out of this or the cuddles aren't happening."

"Cuddles aren't happening anyway! Get on the couch!"

Etho: doing stuff for Joel. Just got up to stretch my legs

"Inside voice, Sniff… You're gonna draw Beef out here."

Sniff flicks a dismissive hand. "Then I'll eat him. I bet he tastes exactly like his name implies."

Etho: saw a guy and was just wondering

"Etho, stop texting Scar right in front of me. That's a cruel tease; I don't like it! At least step into the other room."

"Okay, I hear ya. I'm telling him good-bye."

Etho: I'm back inside now tho

Sniff grabs a fistful of Etho's turtleneck hem. He doesn't yank, but stares up in irritated silence, breathing like he's found the only air pocket on a sunken ship. Waiting. Which isn't like Joel at all, and Etho's stomach does a backflip. His tail twitches up. His eyes skitter to Sniff's for the briefest heartbeat, then snap away. He can't be looking at those eyes right now.

He wants me to take charge… Oh, that's not the right role for me.

Sniff's fingers trail away. Etho doesn't look at him, concentrating on this final message.

Etho: no worries! :D I'm good

Send. Conversation all wrapped up in a neat little bow. Again, Etho lifts his eyes from the communicator. Sniff's still waiting on the sofa, now propped on his side with cheek resting on his fist. He rolls his eyes. Huh… Honestly, side by side cuddles might be easier. There's not so much phasing through each other when you're beside each other instead of one pressed on top.

"I'm sorry," Etho says again, and this time he does place the communicator on the couch arm. No more looking. He can give Sniff 5 minutes of his undivided attention. Maybe even 10. 10 would be nice. He brushes off his turtleneck. It's stuck with bits of fluff from an inside gash in his vest that's been leaking chicken feathers for two years.

And it is nice, lying there. The couch is leather. Needs replacing. Etho has long legs - long torso too, honestly - and the couch isn't very wide. It'd be pretty easy to lean back and fall off, banging his head on the way down. He's awkward and gangly. They don't fit well together… it's not perfect.

He's okay with that.

For those first few seconds, shifting around each other's limbs, they're quiet. Barely muttering. Etho's comm punctuates their silence with buzzes and beeps. Sniff's wedged in the back cushions like a skittish mouse, and he keeps his eyes pinned open like he thinks he might get slapped. Etho isn't sure how to best to soothe him. His words aren't great. In the end, he simply bundles up beside the guy. His arm (so carefully laid against his shoulder) keeps dropping through his body and landing with a plop on decades-old leather.

Mm. It's nice, for what it is. Cuddles in Between never go well. But Etho is stubborn, so every 30 seconds or so, he drags his arm from a sea of fuzzy pixels and snuggles it back into place up top.

Can't get rid of me that easily.

The air is silent between them, apart from their whuffing breath, and punctuated only by the consistent buzzing of Etho's comm and the predictable dropping of that arm. Honestly? Not much of a cuddle. Without golden carrots, it barely counts as touch. But he stays quiet, and for just a moment… it's a very welcome mental break.

Would be nice to take a nap.

It would, actually. He spent all day prepping for Dog's Life. Helped with the mod. Helped fix the mod after Scar glitched it out… a break would be nice. His tablet's humming in the background; still rendering. He can check it in the morning.

"What is that beeping noise?" Joel gripes. Etho stirs, but doesn't open his eyes.

"My comm. I'm supposed to be in the singleplayer. Those are the block updates I need to take care of when I'm back. It's fine… I'll do it after phantom hour."

"Oh, I see… Can you turn it off?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

They lapse into silence, feeling out each other's hitboxes. They've not used the couch like this before. Etho's already starting to regret trying to cram together on it, but he doesn't suggest they move. He needs to hear the tablet beep. That will be much harder to do if he goes off down the hall.

Tablet's portable… I guess we COULD move…

But the tablet's on his work desk, and that would mean getting up, and Etho's not about to do that. He grunts. Joel's found that spot between his chin and collarbone, pushing his head in there like an overly affectionate fox kit. It puts a splutter on Etho's windpipe, but then he phases through, and the crown of Joel's head is underneath his skin where there isn't any force, and it's okay. If he wants to hold his neck up like that, more power to him. Etho briefly tangles their legs like spider silk before they flicker and give, sinking to the leather cushions. Etho stares at them, yawning, and wonders how Joel's toes can be so clean when he walks around barefoot. His calf is warmer in his own than Etho remembered. Just looking at their legs, he can't tell where he ends and Joel begins.

After a few minutes, Joel starts biting lightly at the back of his hand. Etho tries to ignore it. Joel's done weirder things throughout their nights together. Like reach across him and plop down torches right beside his closed eyes. Joel's nibbles are tentative. Exploratory. Etho can feel his eyes on him, even though his own are closed. And he's fine with it. He can do what he wants, if that's fun for him. At least, until Joel increases bite strength. Etho, instantly aggro'd, bites him between neck and shoulder. When Joel squeals, Etho swats his leg with his tail and mutters, "That one was a heart. Next time, I bite twice."

"Okay…"

Has Joel noticed how close our hearts are to blending? Etho, making his first daring move in weeks or months, edges a little bit nearer. A little bit farther from the edge of the couch. Their chests bump. Joel's hair smells weirdly of chlorine, which is different from his usual saltwater tang. Etho's almost got a mouthful of it. Joel doesn't react to the light bump of their chests, so Etho nudges a little farther, prodding at the collision barrier. His hearts ram up and down inside, because this is tentative and scary and maybe a little make or break. But Joel sucks in his stomach, shying back. Etho concedes.

Joel's teeth move to a wrinkle in his turtleneck, up near the shoulder. He picks at it, pulling… playing with it. A minute passes of Joel simply tugging at the fabric. Then he switches away from the fang tips, mouthing the wrinkle a few times to test it out. Etho responds to that with a warning murmur. That cows Joel into stillness for a few seconds, but he tries again, chewing softly on the wrinkled part. It vibrates Etho's arm. A low buzz confirms he's preening through the physical layer of the fabric with his tongue, prying up the raw code underneath. Etho debates pushing him off for that, but he's comfy. His clothes will respawn next time he passes through a portal. At least he's not biting skin.

"Your shirt or mine?" Etho mutters, eyes still closed. The nibbles stop. Joel pulls back.

"What?"

"Whose shirt? I'm tired of phasing through. Take that stupid shirt off." The couch isn't working out as well as he'd hoped. It's a little too thin and Joel's so squirmy today that he keeps bashing Etho's kneecaps.

"Uh… okay." Joel peels himself up and rustles around in his pullover. A few seconds later, he pops it off. He's got a brown undershirt, which is fine. They don't need skin on skin today. Etho, not willing to risk Joel tossing the pullover aside, grabs it. "Gimme," he says, and Joel recoils. Etho guides him back down so he's lying close, then spreads the pullover over Joel's side. It doesn't give him anything to do with his legs, unfortunately, so those will keep phasing through… but at least the hugs are easier now.

It's not perfect. The pullover is still part of Joel and his arm will phase through eventually, but it stalls the drop a little bit more, and this way he didn't have to go searching for a quilt. Etho wraps one arm around Joel and his new pullover blanket and drags him close. Joel squeaks, then shuts up. Etho can feel him trembling like a squid.

"What's up?"

"I, uh… I like this," Joel mumbles. Is he preening his hair? Briefly, Etho debates pulling his hands away. Maybe even chiding him; now is not the time. But doing that would mean loosening his grip on Joel's torso.

"Yeah?"

"Didn't think you'd want to anymore…"

"Someone's chatty tonight."

"… Sorry. I guess you don't like that, yeah."

Etho snuggles up a little tighter, burying his face in Joel's hair. He smells like The End: cold and unforgiving. He smells like a freshly killed shulker. Yeah. The shape is there around the outside (the shells and all that), but he's empty in the center. Maybe he's a chocolate bunny. His ruffled hair tastes like chlorine. The minutes keep ticking and Etho loses count. It doesn't matter. The tablet keeps humming loud and clear. The render's still in progress. He's allowed to do this. He's allowed to enjoy some company.

I needed this, actually. Was it really just three hours ago that he was fixing that mod for Scar? Busy, busy, busy…

"Joel," he mumbles, "can we switch sides? S'cold and I'm falling off here."

Joel pauses, his teeth embedded in Etho's collar. He's been pulling on it for a while. It drops from his mouth, damp and sticky when it slaps back to Etho's throat. "Excuse me?"

"Mm?"

A stabbing finger prods him in the arm, nearly knocking him off the couch. Etho flickers into the waking world to see a furious pair of brown eyes staring down at him. Not yellow. Not red. Then he gets a huff of air in his face and squints automatically. His fingernails tighten in the cushions. Joel, exasperated: "Did you just call me Joel?"

Etho's brain skips for half a second, slapping him with a gigabyte of memory - The portal trap, Joel's arms around his chest, his face buried, his saltwater hair smell, the whimpers, the lava, the lava, the burns… and Team T.I.E.S. with Impulse, Tango, and Skizz… Joel?

He gets a light swat on the cheek. "It's me, idiot."

"Ohh… Sniff."

Sniff shoves him to the floor; Etho crashes down in a flailing heap of limbs. "Check your comm. Your blummin' boyfriend's been texting. Oh, you are so lucky you haven't finished with Joel yet or I think I'd put my teeth through you right now."

"Sniff-"

"'Not the secondhand Joel,' my wings…"

Etho picks himself up anyway, stammering apologies, and leans over the couch so he can reach past Sniff for the comm. He flicks it to the message tab.

Um. Wait. Is this my comm? Or Sniff's?

This… can't be right. 27 unread notes from Scar. One from Gem. 16 from Grian. One from Impulse, asking about Bdubs by the looks of it. One from Scott. Etho stares, blankly, and doesn't even realize his fingers are in Joel's - Sniff's - hair again until Sniff knocks his arm away. The guy jumps up and stomps off to the kitchen. Etho's hand moves to his shirt, clutching the front and twisting up the fabric as he skims his eyes down the list. His thumping hearts are in his mouth.

GoodTimesWithScar: How many blokcs away were you when he looked?

GoodTimesWithScar: etho get out

GoodTimesWithScar: your likely getting hunted

GoodTimesWithScar: run to a halo point as fast as you can

GoodTimesWithScar: they have amythyst basement

GoodTimesWithScar: etho

GoodTimesWithScar: buddy

GoodTimesWithScar: Etho?

GoodTimesWithScar: is the vex with you?

GoodTimesWithScar: like

GoodTimesWithScar: do you have coords?

Etho, in a flash of stress, flips over to Gem's single message. It's one line, saying she heard about Joel and to let her know if he needs anything. Etho tells her he's good.

Then Grian's messages, just until his hearts calm down again. They're weird and cryptic, like Grian's trying to communicate something without blowing their cover in case his comm is searched. Etho can't make sense of half of it, and Grian's last message is simply, I left a sign at the place you met me today.

The shower house? He texts Grian back a question mark.

Grian: sign gone now

Grian: scott got lizzies logout message

Grian: lets talk later

Grian: busy tonight

Grian: trying to figure stuff out w/ Scar

Grian: sleepy

Right. Scar.

GoodTimesWithScar: sorry for msg spam haha

GoodTimesWithScar: just lmk when you're save even if its late ok?

GoodTimesWithScar: etho im spamming again

GoodTimesWithScar: you can yell at me later but your realy freaking me out here

GoodTimesWithScar: im an ainxis man

GoodTimesWithScar: did you finish with joel?

GoodTimesWithScar: is the vex still watching you?

GoodTimesWithScar: etho

GoodTimesWithScar: ETHO!!!

GoodTimesWithScar: are you okay?

GoodTimesWithScar: is joel okay?

GoodTimesWithScar: are you in bed?

GoodTimesWithScar: is joel okay?

GoodTimesWithScar: etho please answer

GoodTimesWithScar: ETHO???

GoodTimesWithScar: I'm coming over

Sent 9 minutes ago.

Etho's bleary mind registers that last part a millisecond before the fist starts pounding on his door. He slams the communicator face-down on the couch arm and just… stares and stares at the wall until he's got his breath back. Then he spins around. "Sniff, you gotta hide!"

Sniff, who's licking a huge bouquet of silverware, looks at him like he's the one who's nuts. "What?"

If he's too loud, Scar will hear, so Etho makes frantic shooing motions until it clicks for Sniff that this is serious. Sniff drops all the silverware in the sink with a horrific burst of clangs. He darts into the hall and veers left into Etho's bedroom. Etho hears him gasp, jumping back. "Are those alive?"

Those would be the stuffed animals clumped together on his bed, most probably. They're all mobs - he collects them, lines his shelves with them - so he can't blame Sniff for freezing up. At the end of the day, he's SnifferMyFeet, who's probably never seen a plushie in his life… and not Joel, who took one look in that room a few years ago and said "Oh Etho, you have to come with me and see this hideous cow I found in the shopping district."

Etho ignores him, composing himself to the tune of swishy tail flicks. Then Scar vexes himself into the kitchen - can't keep this guy out with solid blocks - and hovers above the purpur floor, wings beating up a storm.

Etho does not turn around, because Etho Slab is a very bad liar. Defensive self-care and inherent Canadian politeness clash like soldiers in his head, debating the pros and cons of croaking out the words Hey, I'm fine; I didn't mean to worry you. And, I'm sorry.

Would that last one be a lie?

💙  🧡  💚

GoodTimesWithScar

#not amused

The first thing Scar notices about Etho's place is the low-pitched hum coming from the den.

The second thing he notices is that he can see Etho from the door, and Etho's vest is off. He's standing with his back to Scar, rubbing his hands up and down his shoulders. Cyan blue fur glitters on the back of his neck, hackles trembling. Etho manages to flatten them back down without slipping into free-cam. He turns around. His mouth's still hidden beneath his mask, but the eyes brim with some kind of emotion Scar doesn't know him well enough to read. He's in his rumpled black turtleneck. The collar's missing a chunk, as is the shoulder. The vest is on the chair behind him. Etho seems to realize it's rumpled, because he tugs the hem of his shirt down a little farther over his hips.

"Hi, Scar… Sorry for not answering your messages. I might've popped into my singleplayer for a bit and fallen asleep."

"You fell asleep," Scar repeats. That doesn't explain the holes in his shirt. He doesn't mean it as an accusation, but the idea of Etho taking a nap while Scar was so worried about him is just. Insane.

"Yeppers."

"Oh," says Scar. He's only been inside Etho's place once or twice. Midway through Limited Life, Etho invited them over for a mock "family dinner," playing into the fatherly role he'd been assigned "by the narrative" (and Scar). It made for a good icebreaker to the awkward roleplay tension, especially with all the teasing everyone threw around. Yes, that dinner had said, Etho cooking steak on the stove and Cleo browsing his bookshelf for board games. We're still friends, even when you call me washed up. Even if I'm a little scared of you. Even if we pretend we're playing favorites or arguing back and forth.

That had been a good dinner, even though Scar politely didn't eat anything. No one made it weird. He's just a vex; steak wouldn't fill his stomach and there was no point in wasting it. He did try a little red velvet cake. If you're going to get empty calories regardless of what you eat, you may as well pick the tastiest things.

Etho hasn't done any redecorating since then. Scar stills his wings and walks forward. He looks around, roaming his eyes around the kitchen, then the den. Etho has a nice bookshelf, though all the books are messily arranged. There's his desk. He's got no knick-knacks- just a salt shaker and a cloth he probably uses to smooth down restless pixels when his palm's been pressed against the mouse too long. Everything looks to be in order. There's no signs of struggle.

Maybe he really did take a nap.

He glances back at Etho. "Is that your programming tablet? Is Joel done?"

"Uhh… Almost. He's been demo-rendering."

"Seems pretty dangerous to take a nap when he's only almost done."

It's said in teasing. It's roleplay. It's jest. But Scar's never seen Etho look more like a wild fox than here and now. Even when he actually is a fox running wild in free-cam. His two-tone eyes glow like someone's stabbed him in the side and he's trying not to leave a trail of loose pixels on every passing leaf. Every time Scar takes a step forward, Etho scoots away, flicking his tail. His hands are in his pants pockets, but Scar can feel the way they shake. Which makes Scar feel kind of mean, like he's stomping all over Etho's personal space.

I guess he feels bad about the nap? He shouldn't - Joel is clearly fine, his file rendering - but the guy's acting guiltier than if he'd been caught with a mouthful of feathers in a chicken coop (a place Scar did catch him, once, because it was a full moon night and even Etho's just a player who can't resist his own instincts without a falter).

… Did Etho unthread a vex? Is that why he's skittering around? Or is that just the fox in him? Honestly, there's no way to tell. Scar traces his fingertips across the coffee table. He's being nosy. He wasn't invited in. He should probably go. But Etho hasn't told him to go… so he pushes his luck a few seconds longer. Vex get slobbery close to feeding time. Scar presses his thumb to a few loose pixels glinting on the table. He inspects them, but they yield no secrets. They simply gleam.

(They'd repel each other if they were vex.)

Etho says nothing. Which Scar doesn't miss. He's known this man a long time, and if Etho's not saying anything, he's probably trying to skirt his way around a lie. When Scar turns around again, Etho's leaning back against the wall, his posture aloof and casual. Sure. But he's holding his tablet, staring with way too much fixation at what is essentially a glorified progress bar. Or, well… a regular progress bar.

Scar closes his eyes for a couple seconds. He's being jumpy. Look at him, just barging in here assuming things without any evidence to back him up. He brushes the pixels on his thumb across his jacket lapel. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just got worried. Oh, if you would've seen the panic in my wings, Etho, you would've been so proud at how fast a man can move when he's concerned about his friends!"

"Any time," says Etho, not looking up. Not blinking. The screen brightness is cranked so high up, even Scar wrinkles his nose at it from across the room. Etho doesn't seem to notice, gazing at the tablet like he's staring through the Void. Or the opposite of the Void.

Scar sighs through his nose. He's being a pain. He moves into the kitchen again. The kitchen's hideous, though he'll never say that. The floor is purpur. Scar rolls his eyes, glancing at a chocolate cake left exposed on the counter. There's a small blue feather stuck to the edge of the plate. It could be anyone's. Vex don't have feathers and Etho's got roommates. On a whim, he plucks it up and turns it between his fingers. He could bring it to Cub. Ask him to run some tests. But that would probably be a mega violation of privacy, so Scar lifts the composter lid and tucks the feather away. His finger brushes against some kind of metal ring. He pulls back his hand without glancing at it.

"Hey, Scar?"

Scar straightens again, shifting his cane back to its proper spot. That's Etho in the other room, though he stays out of sight. "What would you like my help with? I'd be honored."

"… How often do vex feed?"

Quiet falls between them, broken only by the soft footstep of one of Etho's roommates down the hall. Scar squeezes his cane, then wanders back to the den. Etho glances up at him, then back at the tablet.

"Full moon nights," Scar tells him. He watches Etho turn this information over in his mind.

"Do you just… not eat the rest of the month?"

"Oh, I have better things to do with my time. I can still taste food, but it really clogs your stomach and makes you feel all sluggish inside. That's why I usually have my vex traits turned off in Hermitcraft."

"Uh-huh… Okay. Okay." Etho hesitates a little longer, kneading his fingers against the tablet corners. But he still won't look at Scar. "How… how long does it take you to cycle code through your system?"

Now, what does he mean by that? How long until he's hungry again? How often a vex needs a bathroom break? Do vex need bathroom breaks? All, perhaps, some very interesting conversations. Scar asks him to clarify, and Etho starts tapping the tablet's back.

"How long before the person you ate gets their comm online again and can leave their server?"

"Oh. that… You know, I never really tested. I suppose a few weeks."

"Ah."

"Depends on…" Scar's eyes land on the thread of glowing silver vex drool smeared across Etho's left shoulder. His brain stalls. Then reboots. Wait. Am I wrong? Maybe there WAS a scuffle. Did someone try to bite him? Is that why Etho's skittering around? Because he doesn't want to offend?

Etho looks okay, though… Rattled out of his mind, but steady on his legs. He can hold eye contact. Not a single darting glance to the sides betrays whatever direction the vex darted off to. If he'd been scratched, Scar would smell exposed code in the air. It must not have been a bad scrap.

"Are you okay?" Scar asks anyhow. His eyes move from the drool line to Etho's face. Etho's breathing way too fast, like someone's got a sword against his throat. He's always been a horrendous liar. His neck's still concealed by mask and turtleneck, but the tips of his ears are turning blue.

Oh my gods…

"Did I interrupt something?"

Etho's pupils shrink to pinpricks. "What… what do you mean?"

Is he pushing? He's pushing, like he's picking at a sore. Scar doesn't even know why he's asking. He doesn't care. It's not important. But it's very, very important, because Etho definitely had a vex in his house and he definitely doesn't want to let on and he is definitely covering up a very illegal unthreading. Someone's been up to mischief.

Specifically, Etho's been up to mischief. Scar's known Etho for too long - knows this flustered man isn't going to give him a straight answer - and he wonders (for an instant) if Etho realizes just how very red Scar knows his hands to be. Even if they're in his pockets.

"You've got teeth punctures all over your neck, mister. Don't lie to me."

The effect that has on Etho is astronomical. Scar can hear the question mark pop into his brain. Etho brings his palm to the left side of his neck, patting around for bites, then dips his hand beneath his turtleneck collar. He finds nothing, and Scar waits, because poor, poor Etho hasn't quite grasped that the spider's already got him in a web. The fishing rod's a powerful weapon and Scar's hooked him on the line. Etho slides his fingers back up his neck, touching every pixel. He holds his hand out so he can see. He stares for a couple seconds, clearly checking for disruptions in his code… then looks up at Scar again. "Well, I don't see anywhere I got bit."

"Where's the vex, 'Dad?'"

Etho doubles down: "Hey, I don't know where he ran off, Scar. I saw the guy on the street while I was coming home. I dropped Pig off at Jimmy's party; I went out for a while. I had to talk to people. I get lonely. It's who I am."

Scar checks every sentence as they leave Etho's tongue. Every single one of those sounds like something he could argue is true if chopped up individually. In a string, they imply honesty. He says, "Who was it?"

"I… don't know every vex in New Star."

"Oh, come on, Etho. You've gotta know I can sniff out a lie."

Etho's hand, still extended, is shaking. He kind of looks like he might cry, even though he's Etho and Scar's never seen this man shed a tear for anything or anyone. Etho cannot look at him. Etho's in a panic, Etho's trying not to disintegrate on the spot, Etho's sparking cyan blue, Etho's dying inside. He presses his palm to the back of his neck, staring at Joel's soul crystal like he's considering the pros and cons of leaping at it. "Scar, why do you keep thinking I had a vex at my place? I've been inside most the afternoon."

"Because when I said there were teeth marks on you, you looked."

Not even the mask can hide the fact that Etho looks like he's just been stabbed. His mouth drops open. Scar's not trying to be mean - he's just asking - but he can't hold the words back any longer.

"Where's the vex?"

"The…?" Etho's still unsteady, thrown off his game by Scar's investigative brilliance. Was it really that brilliant? Maybe Etho's off his game. Maybe he's just a little bit washed up. He likes Etho; it's fine. It's just a joke.

"Okay, fine… I can't smell when you're lying. But I figured you were lying because you've got vex drool on your sleeve."

Etho looks down. The silver saliva's not obvious unless you're looking for it or unless the light hits it just right. He twists his arm back and forth as though seeing the holes in it for the first time, then says, "Oh. Yeah. Okay, I'll come clean. I've been working all evening and the guy fell asleep on me."

Gotcha.

"Oh." Scar scratches his neck and looks away, pointedly not at Etho's face. "So, you not texting back wasn't you under attack or anything… You just snuck off for a little- a little bit of manly canoodling!"

Etho makes a wet, spluttery noise and drops his face against his palms. "Hey, heyyyy, now. I don't think I'd say canoodle…"

"Schmoozing," Scar corrects. Etho waves his arms back and forth, straightening up again.

"I don't think we need to argue over this. I have work to do, Scar." He shoves his hands in his pockets, pushing past him to the desk chair. "You can stay if you want, but you have to be quiet. I've got a lot to do and it's been a long day."

Scar ticks his mind back through everything Etho's said since he arrived. I took a nap. Joel's almost done… "Wait. Were you really schmoozing up to some vex while Joel's on a death timer?"

Etho pauses, halfway to his chair. Scar can hear his hands clench, even though he can't see them. "It's my apartment."

"You?" Scar repeats, incredulous. That makes Etho turn around, fixing him with the most deadpan stare.

"I'm about to shove you all the way out to that balcony and maybe even over the edge, Scar; oh my goodness. You can stay out there until the phantoms show up."

"No, no… It's cool." Who was it? He was asking odd questions… Either this was a fresh vex who hasn't eaten yet or someone's trying to pull a fast one over him. "It's just…"

"Am I not allowed to snuggle if I want to? Not even in my own home?"

Scar splutters through his own words, dancing about and trying to find a good place to dive in. "Of course, of course! I was just so taken aback, Etho! And happy for you! I mean, of all the wonderful people who love and appreciate what you do, I just didn't think… No, that sounds wrong. Uhhh… Y-you put me on the spot here; c'mon…"

"I'm allowed five minutes to be selfish if I want to." Etho says it like he's reading off a script. He swivels, glaring like a snapping fire. "If you had any idea what a day I've had…"

"What a day you've had?" Scar can't help but splutter out a laugh. It dies off when he sees the frumpy look scrawled across Etho's face. "… Is that a sore spot for you? Do… do we make it hard for you to put down your walls?"

Are you not having fun?

Etho looks at him for a few seconds, then turns back to his desk. "I need to finish this."

Oh. Okay.

Several seconds pass in silence. Etho sits and neither of them speak. Scar's heartbeats start trickling back to a more sustainable long-term pace. He pats his jacket pocket, then withdraws the plastic yellow case HALO Aqua gave him back at the headquarters building. It's a dead player file, even though the white glow inside still beats like it's alive. This person's just… one of many who sometimes don't make it. Scar runs his thumb along the edge, staring for a long, long time while Etho works.

Then he slides the file into his pocket again. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you for everything you do for us."

Etho's still got his fox ears out, both of them glowing cyan blue. One gives a twitch. "You don't have to thank me."

"Thank you," Scar says again, more quietly this time. The words scratch a little on their way up his throat. "Thank you for spending your whole, entire session break to fix the server after I glitched it. That means a lot to me… to have really good friends. Thank you for working with me and Grian to re-code the Dog's Life mod."

Etho's fingers stop typing.

"Thank you for asking me if it was okay to leave me in the lush cave when you ran back to check on Joel. I didn't take offense, by the way. I could tell you were worried it would hurt my feelings, but it didn't. I know it was a long way and you were in a rush."

The ears fold back. Scar watches Etho close his eyes, breathing slowly through his mask. Then the ears dissipate in a puff of pixels. The blue fur still glinting on the back of his neck goes flat again. Then it too fades away. "I didn't really do anything special. It's not like I could fix him, Scar. I kind of just ditched you down there."

Scar ignores him. "Thank you for not taking shots at Jimmy's party when… there's stuff you had to do tonight. Bdubs said you'd come by and dropped Pig off. He said you left sober. I think Joel would appreciate that."

"I mean, I'm not really one to drink."

"Thank you for spending… gosh. It must be hours by now. Thank you for spending hours to try and fix Joel's code. Thank you for being Canadian and polite and basically the best guy I know. We're really lucky to have you here in New Star."

Etho's face is in his hands, elbows on his desk. He doesn't say anything, even when Scar trails off. 60 seconds pass in silence. Then Etho says, very firmly, "And I appreciate that, but you don't have to thank me. And I'm not that great. I'm definitely not more special or more important than anybody else; I don't need that kind of ego following me around. I'm just… a person, Scar."

"I know," Scar says simply. "Thanks for that. I just realized a lot of people probably talk about how great your programming skills are… and I don't remember the last time I thanked you for being who you are."

"Scar," Etho mumbles into his fingers, "you thank me all the time… Like in Limited Life. You acted like it was such a big deal when I rolled with the bit and went along with the roleplay. It's not, okay? I'm just a guy."

"Yeah! You were great fun, 'Dad.'"

"… Thank you. I try."

Scar does not ask about the mystery vex again, even though he's itching too. He lies across Etho's couch, arms folded, and stays very still. With his eyes closed, he ticks slowly through the events of the afternoon. Like Cub staying out late tonight. And BigB snooping around the ConCorp penthouse. And suspicious characters running from a bedrock wall. And accidentally listening in on Scott's meeting with HALO Aqua.

And looking for Etho…

They're not very happy thoughts. But Scar takes this moment to work through them, one by one, instead of slipping into super fast panic mode. Etho's tapping fingers peck the silence like bird chirps. Scar wonders if maybe Etho would teach him a little bit of programming someday. It'd probably be a mess for his dyslexic brain, but it might be nice to learn. Maybe then he'd actually guess right when he's staring at a bunch of code and Grian's waiting for confirmation that everything looks good before he starts a game. Maybe he wouldn't ruin everything for everyone, then.

There's gotta be something I can do to shave off a little of Etho's stress.

Scar tightens his eyelids. He can't magically make every server accessible, and it'd be great if the responsibility for checking whether or not he can play in one didn't fall on his shoulders every time…

… but maybe he'd like to study code. And why not experiment with something that might make you feel better, even if you're not quite sure?

Etho knows a lot of things. There's a lot that Scar can learn.

His comm rumbles on his wrist. Scar waits until the third one before cracking open one eye.

Grian: scar im literally shaking rn

Grian: can we please talk before you log out

Grian: wait that sounds guilt trippy

Grian: oh this is awful

Grian: hang on

Grian: im fine

Typing bubble. Scar closes his eye again, breathing in the rustic scent of his jacket sleeve until he gets the next message. Oh, this one's gonna be a doozy on dyslexia brain.

Grian: Hi Scar. I'm not having a panic attack, I was being dramatic for effect but I realized how bad that sounded. That said this is kind of important to me and I want it to stay private

Grian: bigb and I had a talk about roleplay during break today. I think I'll die if I see him at Jimmy's party. I was doing okay during the game but now it's really sunk in that we had different pov on carrots

… Ah.

Grian: I was in scott's office surrounded by all these files and cables and thats when it really hit me. I don't belong here. I already knew that but tonight I realized that I never will. It's hard to explain but long story short theres a reason I woke up in scott's office. Going back brought up a lot of painful memories and I need someone to cry with

Grian: idk I didn't think I was looking for a cry buddy when i first asked, keep it chill and I was like making jokes I guess to make it lighter on me but wow it came out wrong. I wanted to ask about carrots bc theres no one I'd rather get the talk from than you. I literally trust you with carrot talk more than anyone and that's why I asked you again but I feel really bad

Grian: its okay tho I'm just sorry for msgs bc I know this is putting a lot on you but I honestly do feel really bad and I didn't want to leave it on that. I'm like so sorry.

Grian: anyway let's do this a different day bc I know you had hermitcraft stuff and I made this dramatic and awkward

Grian: sorry for saying I needed you and I won't do it again because thats not fair to you. I'm already feeling better just venting a little but yeah wow i messed up 👍

Hhh. Grian.

While Grian had been typing, Scar had asked Etho if he could have a slice of cake. He's already finished it by the time Grian gets his last message out. Scar washes the plate, musing over possible replies, and then sits at the kitchen table instead of the couch. It's not like Etho was looking at him, but it feels more private this way.

GoodTimesWithScar: Hi Grian. Im realy sorry you are having a hard time tonight :(

GoodTimesWithScar: don't worry about my feelings i honestly saw you saying sorry before i read everything so i knew you felt bad and its okay! we both had a really hard day

GoodTimesWithScar: I cried too but lizzie was relay nice about it

GoodTimesWithScar: oh joel's ok btw i think

GoodTimesWithScar: actually idk i think i scared her but anyway yeah its okay and I'm graeatful that you trust me it means allot

GoodTimesWithScar: your Grian! :D

Quick break to wipe his face.

GoodTimesWithScar: were desert duo and were silly and weird and were still best friends

Grian: ??? don't call us that

GoodTimesWithScar: like i've known you 200 years its okay to have emotions like thats normal

GoodTimesWithScar: lol

GoodTimesWithScar: Can we talk tomorrow? :)

Grian starts typing and erases his message at least four times before texting back.

Grian: ok yeah

Grian: ty

💙  🧡  💚

Etho

#he did it

In the end, the final render takes 34 minutes. It's cutting dangerously close to the 4-hour deadline, but it gets done. Scar already left, muttering something about needing to get home before Cub and Jellie worry for him. He leaves Etho with a sweet roll despite Etho's protests. Etho suspects it landed on the hallway floor when Scar vex'd his way into the kitchen, but Scar assures him it was in a cloth. Etho simply sets it aside on a plate for Joel. Joel's sweet tooth is insatiable; he's never met a guy with one worse except maybe Impulse, who once built an entire candy factory all for himself. And 'maybe' is a crucial word there.

Etho exports the render file to the soul crystal. Then he scoops up the chest where Joel is sleeping and dumps the glowing blue firefly back inside. Joel takes to it like a phantom to the night. He's processing the data. Etho waits for 30 seconds, but everything looks in order. He leaves to get a drink of water. When he comes back, Joel's sitting in the office chair (fully dressed in his default vest and pants and boots), rubbing his eyes. He's got such dark brown eyes, especially beneath the shadow of his bangs. Etho looks him over.

All in all… Joel looks good, especially for such a rush job. His hands are installed right. His feet weren't slapped on backwards. He's got a full face (light beard included; he can change skins if it bothers him that much). His legs look like they bend correctly. Honestly, no matter what else, that's a win.

… I did it.

It's done.

The slumped-over Joel in front of him is paler than any Joel he's ever seen. His code is fresh, his new body not yet tanned by sun. His brown hair is long and rowdy, in definite need of being pulled back into its usual bob (and maybe even trimmed before that). His antennae are black. They dangle forward, bending funny, like tiny lightning bolts. They fall over his face in perfect zig-zag mirror of his green dye stripe. And that, Etho decides, is kind of beautiful. It's the little things, you know.

He's okay.

There are no callouses on Joel's palms. He's lost a dangerous amount of stomach shape (Oops… probably cheesed the math on that one). He looks frail and small in this vessel. Etho will call him back in a few days and ask if he wants more tweaks, bring back more muscle tone and his sturdy legs. The long, familiar scar on his forearm is gone too. Etho's like 99% positive that the freckles near his elbows don't match up to the old body. Neither will the ones on his stomach, though Etho gave it his best attempt. But the way he rubs his face by reaching one hand across to the opposite eye before dragging it around in an infinite sign is so very, very Joel. When Etho sees him, he spreads his arms.

"Heeey! It's Boat Boys hours. Back in the land of the living, huh, Joel?"

"Shut up," Joel mutters. He stands, falters on his new legs, then makes his way across the room. He grabs Etho's arm, pulls him in, and wraps him in a hug. "Just shut up…"

One twinkle of pixels later and their arms are sliding through each other like rocks in lava. Joel's hair, even in a new vessel, still smells like saltwater. "Does anything hurt?"

"Dunno yet. Hug harder, idiot. I'm trying to figure that out."

"Let me check something first. Under your shirt."

"Fine, whatever."

Etho feels beneath Joel's rumpled, silky shirt. It's creamy white- no soot or smoke or dirt to stain it. He runs a hand up Joel's side. He can feel the hitch in his breath. The flutter of an inhale, then an exhale on his palms. "Are these working okay? The…? I forget the word."

"Spiracles. Etho, if I couldn't breathe, I feel like that's the first thing I would've brought up."

Fair point. Etho moves to his stomach. "Okay… I was afraid of this. Sniff's kind of round and Two's pretty thin. I tried to find a middle area, but I think I overcompensated and brought your stomach in too tight. I did put a molting code in you for exactly this reason; it's on by default, but I can toggle it off before you leave. If that will hurt you. I don't know how that works."

Joel shrugs. It's a sort of thank you; mostly consent to let it stay. Etho pulls back, adjusting course, and slides his arms under Joel's. Now they're on the outside of his vest, checking out the back. Joel yawns, muttering something, and leans his forehead against Etho's cheek.

"Can I touch your wings?"

"I dunno. You're the doctor."

Carefully, Etho feels around his shoulder blades. There's a gap in the back of Joel's shirt that exposes his skin. "Okay. I've been really worried about your wings here… I don't have muscles like this and neither does the Steve skin." It's been theorized that somewhere in Between is an ancient man called Steve, who wanders without a hybrid trait to his name. His companion Alex is said to be a shapeshifter, freely taking on the traits of any mob. Whether that's truth or fiction, no one can agree. It's a cute story, even if Etho's firmly in the camp that Alex and Steve were fairytales just like Herobrine. To Joel, he says, "I had to base it all on Sniff and Two, and they're not insects. How does flapping feel?"

Joel gives a flutter, then winces. "Oh- Yep… Ow, ow… Oh, I'm definitely missing something there. It's not supposed to bend that way." He wriggles free, trying to reach back to nurse the sore patch. "I think I pulled a line."

"A line of code?"

"Yeah… Ow. Don't worry about it, though. You can get a patch for that down at the shopping district. Happens all the time with wings."

"Okay," says Etho. He hovers his hands around Joel a few seconds longer. They embrace again, this time mumbling and maybe crying just a little. Etho gives Joel the sweet roll, and they talk for ten minutes before Etho walks him to the door. He holds it open. Joel steps through… and then stops. He turns back, licking one last speck of sweet roll icing off his fingertip.

"So… You and Sniff?"

That statement brings Etho pause. How does he know that? Joel spent the whole afternoon in the chest. He didn't have physical ears… Is there a crack in the chest that let him see out? Kind of weird, man. Get a hobby.

Joel's not forthcoming with any answers. Etho steadies out his breathing. "Me and Beef. Me and Bdubs. Me and Pause… You've gotta be more specific with what you're implying; come on, man."

"I heard you call him Joel," he says, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. He probably thinks he looks all cool. He actually kind of does, but only because it's not his house. So he did hear. Etho's tail twitches higher than he'd like it to. Joel's eyes scan his face… so Etho keeps it as blank as he possibly can.

"He was getting too close. I needed distance. How did you hear that anyway?"

"Ears rendered in."

"Ah. Well, I needed space. My head kept phasing through his arm."

"What, so you actively try to make people's limbs fall asleep during cuddles or something? It's not just 'wrong place, wrong time' when it's with me? My gods, you are the worst." Then he shakes his head. "Are you and Grian meeting up sometime next week?"

Huh? What about Grian? Etho blinks. "For…?"

Sniff? How much did Joel overhear? The unthreading process ended before I started the render.

Joel stares back at him like he's been slapped. "To fix the creeper glitch that blew my blimmin' legs off, nerd."

"Oh. That."

"Yes, 'Oh.'"

Etho shrugs, leaning against the opposite doorframe. He and Joel are like a set of salt and pepper shakers: one pale and widely needed, the other spitting flavor. An acquired taste. "It's Grian's code. He hasn't reached out or anything. I'm not going to volunteer, honestly; it's been a long day. I need a little time to myself."

Joel considers this, biting the end of his middle nail. "Well… I mean, if you're not busy this week and you ever want company, you have my digits. Just remember that."

Etho's heartbeats stall like a puck sliding down an ice hockey rink. Are they really having this conversation with the door gaping open into the hall? Joel shrugs like he doesn't care about anything, including what he just said.

"Just, y'know… I meet up to cuddle Lizzie and Jimmy and Sausage and Fwhip and Oli and Grian all the time, Etho. What's one more?"

"… That's a nice offer." It's the easiest way to let him down. Joel, however, scoffs and flicks aside his bangs.

"Oh, yeah… You, like, probably need to be invited directly, don't you? You don't know how to ask for anything for yourself. Well, I'll text you when I find a good time, mate. We'll meet up at the farm server. Don't you dare mute me on the comm."

"The farm server? Joel…"

"With our eyes shut, Etho," Joel says, rolling them as though this helps to drive the dagger home. "For goodness' sakes; do I look like a guy who needs another AI spark? I'm not even in my 2200s yet. Nah, babe… I made the mistake of eye contact on carrots once and never again. Love hearts are overhyped. Yeah, I just said they're overhyped. I'm all good, if I'm honest. But, y'know…"

Shrug. Etho watches the way he moves his right arm. It looks like it's fine. There's no sign of disjointed code there, as far as he can tell. He hadn't wanted to ask Joel to strip down so he could check for sure. "I know you, man. Know you a mite too well. You're so touch-starved, you could stick your head up your tail end and still feel like you're floating in heavy saltwater with your arms to either side. You'd lie in your own grave and swear you can't feel dirt. Come cuddle with me sometime. We'll make it fun."

"H'okay… You can say that. But the farm server's not really my scene…"

Joel holds up his hands. "And I respect that; I just thought suggesting we log onto Double Life again might be weirder, and I didn't want to presume Hermitcraft and you can't come back to Empires right now because my place is a mess. Look: when I message you, you can just say 'No.' It's cool. I've got plenty else to do with my time, but I offer because I want to, okay? Not because I feel like I owe you a 'Thanks' or anything. I mean, I do… but naaah. You get me. You get it. I'm my own man." And Joel love-taps him. Right on the cheek with his fingertips, gently smacking twice in a way that flickers the 10th of his hearts. "I'd better head off. See ya in a week, Etho; let's not do this again next time. And if Lizzie were here, she'd thank you too."

Etho keeps his arms folded, even though his fingertips itch to graze the spot that just got tapped. "Take care, Joel. Just don't make me regret keeping you around for another hundred years."

Joel scoffs, flicking his hands as though brushing the comment off. Then he walks away down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets. His wings drape behind him like a cape, swishing as he goes. Etho watches for two seconds, then shuts the door. It'd probably be weird to watch.

He's done.

Now it's time to rest.

Etho turns off all the lanterns, then makes his way down the hall. Pause is still out (Late). He lays his cheek against the door to Beef's room. He's playing his jukebox. Etho can hear pencil sketches and rustling paper. Etho stays there, counting heartbeats, brushing his tail across the floor. Then, when he's absolutely sure Beef isn't going to hear him, he creeps across the hall. Sniff left his bedroom door gaping open, which (looking back on it) might've been a big brain move. If Scar came looking for a guy in hiding, he probably would have brushed off a clearly open door. Or maybe not, and Etho's overthinking things.

Finding Sniff isn't hard. Etho checks his closet first and looks around the cardboard boxes, then looks under the bed. Yep. Sniff is hiding in the back, playing with the fox-shaped pepper shaker that matches the salt shaker on Etho's desk. So that's where it went. Etho gets down on his elbows, stretching out on his belly. He rests his chin on his folded hands. Sniff looks up, but says nothing.

"Hey. Everybody's gone. Well, except Beef, but he already knew you were here. I'm done working. Do you want to come out?"

Sniff shakes his head.

"Can I get you anything?"

Sniff shakes his head again. Etho tells himself it doesn't sting.

"Well… I can imagine that Between is a huge change for you. If you change your mind and want to talk, just come get me." He starts to get up again, but that's when Sniff speaks up.

"Etho?"

"Yep?"

"Do you think… Scar would be offended if I told him about my other ring?"

"… I don't know. Do you want to talk to him? I can call him back."

"No," says Sniff. "I need a couple days to think about it. Okay. This… This will sound way stupid, but like, how do you get partnership rings? I want a black one. It's code, right? Can you code it?"

"A ring for…?"

Sniff shoots him a nasty glare. "For Pig, obviously. If you and Scar won't have me, I want you to stick matching rings on me'n Pig so he doesn't forget who he's already got. Look, Pig can run around Between all day long if he wants to, but he's got a king waiting for him at home. He's mine. He's mine and no one else can have him, okay?"

Ah. You might wanna take that up with Two, Etho thinks, but doesn't voice that. Not his drama. "I mean, I don't really do code that affects other people who haven't come to me to request it themselves… That's not a good idea."

"Shut up, idiot. I didn't ask you."

Etho handles this like a professional. He should get a raise. Maybe he can ask Lizzie if she'll trade a few amethyst shards. "Tell you what: you and Pig can come back together and explain your preferred ring designs to me. If you're both here to agree, then I'll code them on."

"Sure," says Sniff, and sighs into the floor. "I dunno, ihhh… This doesn't quite pass the vibe check. The vibes are definitely all wrong. Maybe I don't want a ring."

Such a hard lesson for a little guy to learn.

"Do you want to come out? Your rings are coded on, so they'll just respawn on your hand. I saw you throw the silver one in the trash." He doesn't care. He literally does not care. No one in the world has ever cared about a ring in the trash as little as he does. "Do you want me to take a look at your code again? I don't have your file, so I can't delete the line, but you might have a toggle I can switch off."

"… No."

They breathe, two people, not looking each other in the eye. Finally, Etho tries again: "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sniff sniffs, quietly. Then, "Can I come up on the bed?"

Etho blinks, saying nothing. Then he nods. He's got at least 8 hours until Bdubs shows up to log him out… and Sniff's not in the system yet. But when he is, he'll be on "London time." Which is very, very different from "west Canada time." And there will be fewer chances, if any, to bundle up together in the bed. Sniff's shoulders relax, eyes glittering with relief.

"Good," Sniff says, crawling out. "The phantoms won't find me because I'm off the system. I'm going to eat the one who comes to get you. Don't go anywhere. You're my prisoner now."

"Wait, wait… Is that your plan?"

"Why not? I'm hungry." He does not look at Etho, preening his fingers through his hair. Etho lifts his brows.

"Well, we're gonna be here for a while, then."

"Shut up. I want cake and then we cuddle in the bed."

Filling his belly with empty food? Interesting tactic. "And… it doesn't bother you that it's my bed?"

"Oh, don't get weird on me now, Etho. We spent, like… a year sharing a bed back in Double Life."

"Which was Double Life."

Sniff shrugs, looking away. Etho shakes his head. But, as requested, he shuts up. The first thing he does is move his plushies off the bed and back to their shelf. Then he leaves to get Sniff a slice of cake, mostly because he doesn't trust Sniff to turn on the lanterns and he doesn't want him breaking anything in the dark. It's only when he's slicing that he actually stops. The cake flops off his serving knife and onto the plate.

I wasn't soulmates with Sniff, though. I was soulmates with Joel.

He blinks. Is that messed up? Is he projecting? Or maybe overstepping a boundary that only came down for Double Life, and Double Life alone? Etho sticks his elbows on the counter, his face in his hands, and stays there long enough that he hears Sniff rustle the blankets and whine for his return. Etho doesn't raise his head.

It was never really about Joel, though… or about Sniff. I'm just touch-starved and they're the ones who were bold enough to invite me to share a bed.

He does not particularly like admitting that to himself. I mean, he's always sort of known… Just doesn't like using that word for it. It feels kinda… weird? He likes his singleplayer. He'd rather not get any sideways glances or (Void forbid) overhear BigB whispering about how Etho is "secretly very lonely and very sad." Because he's not sad. He's reclusive by nature; he needs his personal space.

… It's just maybe nice, on occasion… to snuggle up with someone who's not going to expect anything long-term. Someone genuine… who's not impatiently going through the motions, pressing the expected conversation buttons, just to get something "more" out of it. Like a meal.

(Sniff wants a meal. Etho is playing pretend.)

Beef and Pause were right, he begrudgingly admits, and drags his fingers down his cheeks. A few years ago, they teased him relentlessly for his "abandonment issues." For the way he kept piping up, making his little contact calls to confirm they were still around every time they went quiet for too long or else moved around a corner and out of sight without a word. Sure. Maybe Etho played it up for the bit after a little while, but it stemmed from something.

I want to be alone with someone who also wants to be alone.

"Etho…?"

30 seconds is much too long to spend dwelling on his feelings, especially if he doesn't plan to share them. What's the point? It's not like anyone's gonna make him take a quiz. Etho shakes his head. He brings the cake slice back to his room. Sniff insists on eating it in bed, which means he spills crumbs everywhere, and he talks with his mouth full… but it's the least important worry on the to-do list today. Etho sits on the end of the bed, waiting, until Sniff hands back the plate.

"You barely ate half of it."

"You looked like you wanted some. Also I didn't like it as it's incompatible with my new vex tastebuds, I think. This is a massive disappointment. Who thought of this plan?"

Etho shrugs. He takes the plate back to the kitchen, eats the last forkful, and makes Sniff wait while he rinses and dries the dish. When he comes back, he dims the lantern, lifts the edge of the sheets, and tells Sniff to scootch over.

"What?"

"You're on my side."

"Wh-? Why didn't you say something before I got comfy?"

"Wasn't relevant until now. It's always been my side of the bed, Sniff. And I thought you knew me!"

Sniff huffs, but rolls over to hug the other pillow. Etho kicks off his sandals. He's just crawling under the blankets when Sniff says, "If you call me 'Joel' again - even once - then I'm leaving. D'you understand that? I'm arguably more 'not Joel' than I was ever Joel in the first place."

"I won't call you 'Joel.' I know who you are."

That gets a grunt. "Then why are you acting snuggly? You don't know me that well…"

"Greedy," says Etho, flopping one arm across him. Sniff's got a blanket pulled up to his shoulder, and the blanket (the bed) is a non-player entity. It can be touched. It's better than the couch. This time, his arm won't phase through.

Sniff snorts the way a sniffer does when it turns up a torchflower. "Shut up. I'm not Joel. I'm not."

"We're still sort of Boat Boys, though. Right? We've got memories." He can put the hat on again. And he can take it off without batting an eye if Sniff requests it. He can wear anybody's hat.

There's a pause. When nothing happens for several seconds, Etho withdraws his arm and waits for Sniff to tell him off again. He doesn't touch. He doesn't push. Even though there's a very notable strand of hair out of place and fluttery on Sniff's cheek. Then Sniff says, "Can we be something else?"

"'Something else?'"

"I don't know. We'll figure out a name. Not Boat Boys, though. That was you and Joel, and I'm not Joel. It's like… It's like he's green and I'm orange. We're not the same just because we both have yellow, right? Yeah, I'm definitely orange. Grian likes red. Orange feels right for me."

"We'll figure something out," Etho agrees, wrapping his arm around Sniff's shoulder again. Lightly. Checking. Sniff keeps his face buried in his pillow and doesn't protest. Etho lays down his head. "A few hours, though?"

"… Yeah. We'll talk in a few hours. And then I talk to Pig, okay? I'm serious… Don't get too attached to me."

"I won't."

The thing about Between (like all the non-Overworld dimensions) is that you can't sleep in this world. Frankly, Etho likes that. There's a certain intimacy that only sharing a bed without dozing off can give you. They hear each other's every breath. Sniff's an odd one. He's a chatty boy. That probably wasn't helped by the time he spent hiding under the bed. He mostly talks about his floating ship build, his chest monsters, the village he's building around his spawn back home, and Pig. There's a lot of talk about Pig. Makes sense. He doesn't have much else to compare the world to. He rambles like Joel, then shuts his trap like Grian. Etho "Mmhm"s and "That's wild"s at every pause, and Sniff lapses into quiet only when he wants to.

"Etho? Shouldn't you be catching up those block updates on your singleplayer?"

"It can wait."

"… Etho?"

"Yep?"

"I'm still hungry… and you promised."

Etho opens his eyes to slits. Okay. So maybe it's not the perfect set-up. "How hungry?" he mumbles into Sniff's hair. "I know I promised… and I'll follow through. I will. But you're killing me here, Sniff… Can it wait a little longer? I've still got a few hours left before phantom time."

Sniff does not answer. There are many things to be read in the silence. The consideration. The reluctance. The hope. Etho can feel Sniff passing through all five stages of grief within his arms. Sniff shifts among the blankets. Finally, with grandly exaggerated reluctance, "I guess I can wait… a little longer."

"Good boy."

"You call me that again and I devour your vessel too- not just your soul."

Long, long minutes pass, mingled with the occasional noises of Beef (and later Pause) in the apartment. Etho pulls the sheets higher over Sniff's chest, giving him room to lay down his cheek. It's not as comfy as leaning on his neck, but it works. Sniff is wriggly, though. He keeps kicking his legs and plucking at his wings. That's Grian, Etho thinks to himself, watching Sniff with one eye.

You know what? He's okay with that.

They laze around together as the hours pass by. The dark's a blanket in itself. Eventually, Etho's comm does tick off the infinity sign and begin its countdown. It chimes every hour, but neither of them untangle from the blankets. Etho rests beside him the whole time, his arm strewn across Sniff's stomach, and they listen to each other's beating hearts.

"My arm fell asleep," Sniff mutters without opening his eyes.

"I can move?"

"… No."

So Etho stays where he is. It's the laziest "blue time" he's probably had in years. And he wouldn't change a second of it.

Eventually, the comm double beeps. Then again. Etho's lashes flicker. Right… He starts to unfold himself like a cat from the tangle of limbs and pillows and blankets they've ended up in. "Okay… That's my phantom hour alert. I'll go tell Bdubs I've made other arrangements for my soul tonight. I wouldn't want him to come snooping."

"Mm?"

"Stay here. I always meet Bdubs on the balcony…" He yawns, rustling his way out of the thick comforter. "… and he won't come looking for you because he doesn't know you're here. You're not in the system. Be good, okay? I'll see you in a few days. Or whenever my code gets cycled. Beef and Pause should be here if you need anything. And maybe you can get in touch with Grian and find out why you're still off the system."

"Okay," Sniff mumbles into the pillow. Etho's not sure he heard more than half of what was said.

Bdubs, respectful of his privacy as always, is waiting on the balcony rail for Etho to slide open the bamboo door. He's in his mossy hoodie. Bdubs' eyes glow electric green. They light up like polished emerald chunks… and it melts him. It melts him, and he forgets to be annoyed.

"Look at you," Bdubs says, almost purring. He's glittering in that way phantom hybrids do when they've had a recent feed. He jumps down from the rail, reaching out his tiny hand. Etho doesn't stop him. "It's not often you come out so soon after the chime! You look happy… Did you miss me too much?"

"Maybe. I'm ready for bed, in all honesty." Etho holds up one palm. "But just so we're clear, I've made other arrangements for my soul tonight."

The grin drops from Bdubs' face like a misclicked cake, and it'll be just as hard to get it back. "I- I'm sorry. I didn't… I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's fine. You can stay a few minutes. We can talk. We just can't go all the way. I've got someone else tonight."

Bdubs says nothing, blinking up with probing eyes. Somehow, Etho always forgets just how big and soul-searching those eyes are. This close to Etho, he can't help if he's "on." The green glow is eerie, like melting cactus or stained glass shards.

And Etho… crashes.

He's not saying 'Okay.'

He's not saying 'This is fine.'

Why is he looking at me like that?

"That's fine," Bdubs says. He stuffs his hands inside his hoodie pockets. "Us talk; good things happen. What ya wanna talk about?" His bony tail flicks from side to side, wings rustling like battered cloth and branches in a storm.

He does not suggest Etho move his arm to let him inside. "How was your night?" Etho asks instead.

"Oh, it was something, all right. I ate the whole SV family. The idiots were just standing around in the lounge halls. Well, not Impulse… Impulse slammed me against the wall, but he's just playing. I think he's just hype for the new season. He texted me like four times tonight, but all the same thing." Bdubs rolls his eyes. "I'll spare you detail."

Etho brushes past the little ritual that Bdubs and Impulse perform every couple weeks, dancing around each other like figures in a music box. Impulse used to be a phantom hybrid before an injury brought him to the sidelines. He's modded now - doesn't get the same urges that he used to - but he still goes out some nights instead of retreating to his server. Bdubs' favorite bragging right is his streak of logging Impulse out in the same glide that brings him to Etho's place.

Etho ignores all of this because he does not care.

"Oh, really? It's not often you see the whole family get together."

"Yes." Bdubs can't see down the hallway from here. He glances in the direction of Etho's bedroom anyway. Then to Etho again. His wings lift, flapping once. "I smell vex. Hold on… What's the play? Are you trying to get me in there? Because vex can log out phantoms?"

"I… didn't know you could sense that without making line of sight."

"Shut up." Bdubs tugs his wings back in, pacing back and forth on the balcony. "I'm the captain… I'm the captain. Etho, is this guy threatening you? You want me to take him out back?"

"He's just staying late tonight. I owed him a favor. He's been very patient." Etho says that last part a little too loudly. But that's because he can hear Sniff's shuffling footsteps as the vex slips out of bed.

"I don't know," Bdubs mutters, backing towards the rail. "This's got me all kinds of riled up… Let's talk more in Hermitcraft or something. You'd tell me if you wanted me to fight the guy, right? Blink twice if you want me to take the vex."

Sniff's feet stop in the hallway. Maybe because he knows he'd lose.

"You can stay," Etho says, quietly. "That last clock tower chime was for my zone. I've still got an hour before I trickle out."

"I'm not getting cozy when there's a vex around… I've got stuff to do on Hermitcraft and my AFK's with Brittney. I'm not taking a lock-out risk! I'm not Impulse." Bdubs makes a flourish with his hand that leads into a sweeping bow. "I shall return… but the feed tonight, I bequeath to your sweet guest."

He's welcome to go, of course. He can do whatever he wants. Maybe Bdubs doesn't even need line of sight to aggro on Sniff. Etho's never aggro'd on anyone unless they hit him on a full moon night, and even that's not the same as passive background checks for sleepy eyes. It can't be the easiest thing to stand around in someone's apartment while there's a third party setting him off in the back room. It's out of respect, not coldness - almost certainly - that Bdubs declines the invitation to come inside. He flies off instead of staying long to chat. He's welcome to, especially if it's uncomfortable to stay.

But Etho wonders, as Bdubs glides away above the rooftops…

… if it's just another excuse to duck out of talk and laughs and touch - Am I not 'fun enough' for Bdubs? - the days his soul won't be on the table at the end of the night.

Chapter Text

Smallishbeans

- Can’t catch a break

- Very good sport

💚  💛  ❤️

On his way out of Etho's building, Joel stands for two minutes in the stairwell, just looking at the bricks. He presses his palm against them. They're rough against his hand. He pulls it back, stares down at the grit, then brushes the reddish dust against his chest.

I wish we still had clay for the newer buildings. Bricks are such a lovely building material.

As he heads down the stairs, he glides his hand down the cool copper handrail. It's shiny. Not super reflective, but he can glimpse the green streak curling through his hair when he leans in close. Bit smelly, though. Actually, yeah. Smell's undeniable. He kind of hates the way it stinks up his hand, not gonna lie, but it's not as bad as it could be. Joel tilts back his head, staring at the stone half slabs that decorate the ceiling. They fit together really well. They were placed by caring, expert hands. At the platform below, before he turns down the remaining stairs, he stretches up his hand. The ceiling is obviously too far away to touch, but he can pretend. He sticks out his tongue in one corner, straining and grunting. His fingers aren't even close. That's not really the point. It's…

It's just a pretty ceiling design. Okay? He's never noticed it before, and he's popped over to Etho's flat half a dozen times.

On the bottom floor, the carpet bristles like hoglin hairs beneath underfoot. Joel stares at it for two seconds, tongue in cheek, then sits down and pulls off his boots and socks. Technically, they're in a taiga biome. The natural grass around here is off-color (blue-ish). He rubs his feet in the carpet. They do have grass in New Star Station, but it's fenced off in the tree farm. Behind a whole wall, really. Mobs can spawn there because it's not carpet or half-slabs, so you have to tread carefully and always lock the door. Scott loves building walls.

I should go touch grass. People say that's what you're supposed to do when you've been playing too long anyway, yeah?

Joel crouches forward, running both hands along the carpet. Then he sinks down into it. It smells like tree resin. It smells like brimstone and steam. The scent really digs inside his nostrils and pulls him even closer. It tickles his palms when he traces them back and forth. "Scott picked a really nice color for the floor," he mutters, laying down his cheek.

"Oh, thank you for noticing. I remember struggling with this design."

"Wait- Scott?" Joel jerks up his head. Of all the people he thought he'd find down in the lobby, Scott wasn't one of them. He blinks. "I thought you had a meeting."

Scott and Grian stand around the cushioned chairs on the far side of the room, both tense in the shoulders like they've been having a serious conversation and both grit-teethed and glad for an excuse to duck out of it. Must have been whispered, though, because prox chat didn't pick it up. Grian turns away, shoving his fingers through the bouncy flops of his hair. Scott's holding one palm upturned, the thumb of his other hand pressed against the glowing command star seared into his wrist. The sight of them both standing that way, looking ruffled and Scott apparently saying something about his mark, leaves Joel feeling unsteady and nauseous. He almost doesn't want to get off the floor. Scott, curious, asks, "Do you know how long you were out?"

"I… didn't ask. Maybe two hours?" Joel considers replacing his socks and boots, then doesn't. They're part of his default code. Once he leaves the chunk, they'll respawn on his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for Etho to finish with you, actually." Scott's eyes linger on Joel's face, tracing down his neck and along his right arm. He lets go of his wrist. "I was thinking of dropping by his flat to say hi. Grian just got done convincing me that Etho's had a long day and I should hold out for another time."

Joel glances at Grian. If he had to guess by the scarlet feathers bristling up behind his friend's neck, that's not anywhere near the whole story. "That's… probably for the best, then. He told me Scar came over. Scar brought sweet rolls. I think Etho's had enough of entertaining visitors, though. He seemed a little eager to get to bed."

Scott arcs one brow. "Oh, I bet… Well, I'll let you get home, then. To be fair, you've had a long day too. Oh. And don't fly near the ceiling. There's an anarchy patrol out tonight." He gives Grian one last, steady look (and Joel a quick wave) before slipping through the front door. He goes right, even though he lives to the left. Joel wrinkles his forehead. He turns to Grian.

"Uhh… Mind walking home with me?" That feels a little safer than saying What was that about? and nosing in where he might not belong. Joel figures Scott ended the conversation for a reason when he came downstairs. Grian likes to chatter. If he wants to speak up, he'll find the opportunity to do so on the way.

Grian looks up from his nails. His crest feathers fold down again. "Aw, you're going home already? Jimmy's kicking off the first of his late-night streams this evening. You don't want to miss the debut episode, do you?"

Joel throws Grian a disbelieving look. "I'll tell him 'something came up.' I think he'll understand. Anyway, Lizzie wasn't supposed to be at the stream and Etho said she already went home." He hesitates a few seconds longer. I'm going to regret opening this can of worms… "Are you feeling all right, Grian?"

Grian's dark eyes skim across the lobby. He lifts them to the ceiling, then tilts his head towards the front door. "Not… not here. Let's talk outside."

Outside is where the phantom hybrids are. Well… It's not like they can't get inside, but when they step out, Martyn's sitting on the bench across from Etho's building, his arms resting over the back in both directions. He's really doing that whole 'birdspreading' stereotype thing with his ragged wings flopped out to either side. His eyes are glowing, but they're blue… not green with phantom aggro. When Joel and Grian exit, he arches one brow.

"You know… curfew's still curfew. Don't stay out too long."

Joel glances at his wrist. His comm's orange, but flashing on and off. Instead of a countdown timer, he's got three dashes. It's never looked like that before. He rotates his hand to show Martyn. Martyn squints, not getting off the bench.

"… Huh. I guess the rules don't apply to everyone."

"0 of 10 recommend, Martyn. I blew up."

"Fair."

"Wait," says Grian. "I thought…" He pauses, shifting his eyes first to Joel and then to Martyn again. "Did we not have an anarchy breach in the upper corner tonight? Shouldn't you be out there helping Bdubs log them out?"

A breach?

Martyn rolls his eyes. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? Nah… Bdubs has the team with him. I'm the beta male; I have to stay here to lead the flock in case they brought someone who manages to log him out. So far, all I've learned about being a high-ranking phantom is that I was a lot less hungry on the regular when I was lower on the totem pole. I think it's one of those 'unless you're the lead dog, the view never changes' sort of things. Only in my case, it's also ruining my meals. I swear… One of these days, Bdubs is going to get himself hurt or force-logged or he'll go home with a sick tummy and everyone's going to think I did something to him. You just wait. It'll be 'Martyn's never loyal' as soon as trouble starts."

"My condolences," Grian says, edging Joel away. Martyn's half-lidded eyes follow them all the way down the street until they turn the next corner. Joel glances back a few times just to check. Grian rubs his arms up and down, staring mostly at the bedrock roof high above their heads. It's so far away, out of range of the streetlamps and dangling lanterns, that you can't even see the warbled texture of it. Only blackness. It's like a starless, moonless sky. Joel's feet shimmer, then regain the socks and boots he tossed aside in the lobby.

"Can I talk to you?" Grian asks a few minutes later, turning towards him. Joel, who figured that was the whole point in walking home together, meets his gaze in some surprise. They're halfway down a side street now. Grian stops walking beneath a lamppost. "I tried to get ahold of Scar tonight, but he said he's busy with Hermitcraft."

Joel presses his lips together. He scratches at his forehead. You know, two weeks ago, at one of Jimmy's parties, Scar had mentioned something about Grian's late-night rambles. Well… afternoon rambles, in Scar's time. Something about saying 'No' and sticking to it. Grian may be one of his best friends, but Joel hadn't guessed he'd be Grian's top go-to after Scar. Maybe he isn't. Maybe he just picked the wrong night to nearly die.

I mean, he did stop walking, and I'm sure he knows how soon I'd like to get home to Lizzie… Hopefully this won't take too long?

"Yeah, we can talk." Joel leans around Grian, checking up and down the street for any sign of nosy listeners. Mostly one listener in particular, but he doesn't see him. Still, he keeps his tone pretty casual and low. "What about?"

"BigB, sort of."

How ironic. Joel can't help the curiosity that ticks his heartbeats faster. You know, if he were BigB, he'd probably be nosing around the apparent "anarchy breach" location right about now, maybe peering from a rooftop at whatever was going on between the HALOs and the phantom hybrids tonight. That makes sense. He says, "Okay?"

"It's about golden carroting," Grian says, splaying out his hands. "I don't know if you knew this, but BigB and I have sort of… had a little affair going on."

Joel eyes the enamel cookie pin stuck to the left side of Grian's goggle strap. Grian usually keeps the goggles pushed up on his forehead, holding back his curly hair flops, so the cookie is very visible in its place above Grian's ear. BigB, equally, has not been particularly subtle with one of Grian's yellowish-red feathers stuck behind his own ear. "I may have heard a rumor about that, yeah."

Grian nods, seemingly not at all bothered that this 'affair,' as he put it, is fairly public knowledge among their friends. That does sound like Grian. Grian likes attention, even if it's the 'wrong kind.' He paces back and forth, stepping on and off the sidewalk and into the road. Joel doesn't like that. Grian's distracted, so it sort of falls on him to watch for minecarts rolling down the middle track, ready to yank Grian back if anything rides too close. "You're married to Lizzie," Grian says. "You've been married quite a while now."

"About 500 years, yeah. 521, I think."

"How's that going?"

Joel re-evaluates his decision to let Grian reel him into this conversation. "Is that what you were going to ask Scar, too?" Scar's not married. Would love to be a moth on the wall for that conversation. Or maybe Scar's with Cub; at minimum they share a private server, so maybe they're together, though they're both Hermits and Joel isn't really involved on that side of Grian's friend group. His own involvement with Scar is pretty much exclusive to the Life series and when he runs for mayor every year. Sometimes Jimmy's parties, too, though Scar only pops in every now and again.

Grian hesitates. He shifts on and off the sidewalk again. His hands open and close by his sides. "Would you say carroting with Lizzie is… really nice?"

"Pretty good, I'd say."

Grian waits for more information. Joel doesn't know what else he's supposed to volunteer. His wings fidget, overlapping and sliding off each other. After a few seconds, he shrugs.

"I like my wife."

"How's… the bedroom stuff?"

Joel blinks. "I like our stuff just fine. We really wanted to go all-in on the interior, so we put together this custom bed design. I'd have to check the specs at home, but I could show you in a draft world if you like."

"Okay, I phrased that badly. How's the carroting?"

"Nice."

Grian sighs. One of the stray feathers in his hair quivers as though it dreams of taking flight all on its own. "Okay… This might be forward, but Joel, can you be real with me? I need some advice. I want to know how everyone else is initiating kisses. When I talk to Honey and BigB, they don't want to do it; they deflect it to surface-level mechanics. BigB and I have had a few cuddle sessions, but he never wants to take it any further. Honey and I don't even have carrot seeds on our server yet; I need to get some, but it's a whole thing." Grian claps his hands loud and fast, making Joel jump. "Listen, listen. I know we're a PG server, but I'm sick of dancing around it, Joel. We're offline now, you and me, so help me crack this. What exactly is the social protocol for moving from cuddles to kisses? I think I'm doing it wrong. Is there a certain number of carrots I'm supposed to be asking for? Like… Maybe 6 in a row? I have a hard time stomaching more than a couple, so I don't want to make myself sick unless my theory's right and it's worth shoving them down my throat."

Joel waits until Grian pauses to take a breath. Then he says, "What's kisses?"

Grian stares at him, his hands still in the air like he's holding a loaf of bread. His mouth hangs open. Framed in the light of the streetlamp, he looks like a mob selected from one of Zedaph's gameshows that's supposed to be strolling out to kill him. Joel blinks back. Was the question unclear? He doesn't know how else to ask. Maybe he pronounced it wrong? Kiz-ez…

"Oh, get OUT! Joel, I'm serious. I want to talk to someone about this. Please… this is so hard for me already; you don't understand! It's not the time for jokes."

"I'm sorry?"

He's never seen Grian more ready to strangle him than the way he looks here and now. Grian seems to realize this too. He lightly slaps his cheeks a few times, shoving them upwards over and over. "Honey and I have been married for almost 200 years, and not once have I ever felt attracted to her, and not once has she expressed interest in carrots or kisses or sex or any of that. Am I approaching this wrong? I don't know how to go about it, but I'm tired of living in a world where all my friends are falling in love and I'm not, Joel. I want that too! I want to have someone to go home with and adore. I want to look at Honey the way you look at Lizzie. I want my wife to be like your wife. I want to be YOU!"

Joel blinks, a bit sticky and slowly. "Um… Do you want to, like… switch skins for a day? That's a bit weird, but sure… I'm down." He curls one finger around his shirt collar. "Can it wait for another time, though? I've had a long day."

"Keep your clothes on," Grian snaps, bristling his shoulders. He steps off the sidewalk, then back on. He really will get run over by a minecart if he keeps doing that without looking both ways. "Joel, listen… Something's wrong with me. I keep waiting and waiting for these feelings of love to come. I want my hearts to feel fluttery and warm. I want them beating fast inside my chest; I want adoration in my mind. I've spent 200 years being patient and I'm tired of waiting around for something to magically happen to me. I need to take initiative; that's the bare bones of this. Do you have any advice?"

"How do we make your hearts flutter?" Puzzled, Joel mimes holding a solid axe in his hand. He tries to indicate it's heavy; a good weight. Definitely diamond. He hefts this imaginary weapon, gently pointing it at Grian. "Well, are you up for getting whacked down in one hit? I can do that for you; I'm pretty good at crit'ing. I can even chase you. Lizzie and I do that all the time. We'll have to jump on a server, though…"

"No, no; it's…" Grian makes scooping motions towards his chest, his hands trembling. "I want to feel secure and close to someone… Honey would be great, but at this point I'm willing to experiment with just about anyone. I can't live this way any longer, but the affair with BigB isn't working. I either need to take some kind of hormone meds to get up there or find a new partner. Clearly, something got miscommunicated along the way and BigB and I don't share the same end goal. I don't even know where you go to find those kinds of meds… I've never seen any advertisements in the shopping district, but then, you know I don't read. Modding up takes so much paperwork…"

"Um." His head swims with information overload. Maybe he's still too dizzy and drained after the rescue procedure that he isn't ready for this conversation. "That sounds… really complicated. I'd be real careful. Anyone who's trying to sell you mods to be happy might not have your best interests at heart. I only get my mods from a specialist; I don't really look at rando offerings. The shopping district's full of weirdos."

Grian spins around, linking his fingers behind his neck. He walks all the way across the road without checking for minecarts. Then all the way back. Joel watches him, antennae twitching, as Grian does it again. But he doesn't stop. He seizes Joel's arm, dragging him over the minecart track and towards the skin changing room on the other side. "Hey, hey!" Joel tries to cough, wriggling against him, but Grian pulls him through the door. He practically hurls Joel into a changing booth, then steps inside himself. He locks the door and stands there, hand resting on the handle, and… and just stares at him with beady black eyes.

"Joel," he says, lowering his voice. "We're not in front of the cameras. Please… All this dancing around the topic isn't funny. You're making no sense. I need answers and BigB won't give them to me. I… I feel bad about having an affair, but I just feel so messed up and desperate and I didn't know what to do… I want to give Honey a chance; I want to kiss. my. wife."

"I don't… know what that means. Is that a new trap?"

Grian claps one hand to his eyes, growling, then removes it. "Look, clearly I have the word wrong, but you know what I mean. It's some carrot word, I'm sure. I don't know the terminology, but you have a matrimonial server. What makes you husband and wife? No, scratch that. What happens in the bedroom between you and Lizzie?"

"… Sleep?" When Grian doesn't answer, Joel lifts his hands, blocking most of his face. "Don't… don't hit me; I'm still pretty banged up. Was that the right answer? … Let's maybe talk after you're done with Jimmy's party tonight; Lizzie will have the admin panel and Honey has yours. We can do a face-cam."

Grian steps closer, but keeps his fingertips on the door handle. Joel presses back against the changing room wall, hearts thumping. He has no inventory space in Between. No food to take the edge off his nerves, no wool blocks to sit on, no weapons to warn Grian back. His hearts thump so hard, he's actually thinking he might glitch. Like, actually for real life glitch out.

"Grian, I don't like this. I want my personal space… Seriously, what's going on with you?"

Grian stops, planting his feet, and Joel throws a nervous glance at his chest. He doesn't see any pixels flickering with waves of alarm around that area. Maybe Grian's hearts aren't beating nearly as fast as his own. "Oh," his friend mutters. His eyes drop. Joel waits, barely breathing. "So it's… it's just mechanics for you. Your whole world is a game… and you're just a player goofing around inside of it."

He's talking like a coder. No, actually. Not a coder. Joel's a coder too. Grian's talking like a HALO. All snooty-like, all holier-than-thou… Like he's peeked beyond the curtain at something the rest of them never know about. And this is all some sick power play for him. He's flaunting knowledge of binary code and HTML garbage or whatever like it makes him so much better, somehow. Joel tightens his fingers against the wall behind him.

"What am I missing, Grian? What's this 'becoming kisses' level of a relationship? What's that mean and why are you so worked up about it?" Then, pleading… or at least, attempting to sound sympathetic, trying to stretch out and reach that shred of "better nature" that Grian so often keeps locked away, he adds, "Maybe… maybe I can help you?"

That seems to be the magic cue. Grian's wings and shoulders relax. "Um, yeah," he says, dropping his stare to the floor. He wrings his hands. "That… A demonstration might help, actually. Or a test? That might help. I'll just… just-just give this a try. With you. If you're okay with it."

Joel looks at him expectantly, awaiting instructions. Grian preens his fingers through his hair, looking Joel up and down. Joel can see every twitch of his tricolor wings in the changing room mirror. Grian casts his eyes downward. He moves forward, slotting his hands into place atop Joel's shoulders. Grian's a mite taller than he is, though Joel is loath to admit it.

"Okay… So I can kiss you now?"

"Kiss?"

Grian's wings droop a little lower. Nonetheless, he persists. "Try to push against my collision barrier. On my lips. With only your mouth."

Joel wrinkles his nose. Grian leans forward, bending down. His fingers tighten in Joel's shoulders. He keeps moving. He doesn't stop, even as he tilts his head to one side. Joel pulls back his neck, hands jumping up to catch Grian in the chest. Grian stops. "Um," says Joel, fidgeting with the front of Grian's jumper. "I… I don't know about this. This feels a little 'off.' You didn't eat rotten flesh with that mouth, did you?"

"No… Just mutton. And a cupcake, I guess."

"Okay…" Joel tries to remember the last thing he ate. It usually doesn't matter. He's never really had to think about it before (except when he's on Empires and strange new laws get implemented here and there; he still reels when he remembers those weeks he spent under Lizzie's rule, eating nothing beyond cake). His antennae quiver. "You, like… You really want my mouth to push through yours? And we're doing this without any carrots. Am I understanding that right?"

Grian nods, probing eyes impatient.

"Um." Joel tests his tongue against his teeth. His wings kick up. He tries to force them down. He tries to pretend he's Etho. Etho, who is a fox hybrid, sometimes licks the backs of his hands. This is kind of like that. Maybe it's a parrot thing. That's not weird. "Okay. So I just…" Joel lifts on his tiptoes, leaning in to meet Grian's mouth. He pokes out his tongue. Grian halts halfway to meeting him. It's his turn to pull back his head.

"Uh… Try just your lips."

Joel leaves the plip of his tongue dangling for a moment. Slowly, he pulls it back in. "Doesn't that mean our teeth will touch? That sounds kind of gross, Grian…"

Grian's wings hang a little lower. "We don't have to if you don't want to. Do you want to stop?"

Do I? Joel shifts his eyes to the mirror on the wall. He looks awkward and small next to Grian, standing on his tiptoes with his fists gripping Grian's jumper for leverage. Normally, he doesn't feel this small. Grian looks big because his wings take up a huge amount of space. The changing room Grian grabbed for them wasn't meant for avians. His wings are crammed against the corners. Is that painful? It definitely can't be comfortable.

He's here anyway, though… He really wants to do this.

"I'll do it," he says, flicking his attention back to Grian's face. Grian nods, all the breath caught inside his throat. Joel stretches upward. Maybe he's a little too fast, because Grian hesitates, fingers plucking at the spot his vest lies against his neck.

"Um. Joel, can I…?" Grian doesn't finish the word, but moves his palms up to Joel's cheeks. Joel doesn't really know what he's going for, but doesn't protest even when Grian waits a few seconds to give him time. Gently, Grian takes control. Well… As best as you can without carrots, anyway. Joel mostly lets him, shifting on his toes and trying not to fall over. This is fine. He trusts Grian. Grian is his friend.

Grian tips Joel's head slightly to the right. Joel doesn't understand why until Grian's mouth is but a sliver from his own. Oh… Because their noses would bump and tingle. I wouldn't have thought of that. Has he done this before?

Grian's hand slides down Joel's cheek to his chin. He eases Joel closer, parting his lips by the width of a finger. Joel's eyes flit down, then sort of to the right. He blinks and locks them with Grian's again. He's, um…

… H-he's never really been this near another person's mouth before. At least not like… this. Grian's eyes are half-lidded. Joel, trying to be helpful, puts out his tongue again. But Grian shakes his head, so he retracts it and mimics the parted lips instead. Grian closes the gap between them with a tug and a shift. He slots their lips together. Grian's natural body heat, like Joel's, is fairly warm. Different people have different heat levels, though Joel never really bothered to learn why. It never seemed important?

The touch of Grian's lips lasts for but a heartbeat. Joel's mouth flickers against the inside of his friend's cheeks. He's empty inside, like the void. Well… maybe not the void, exactly. That feels extreme. Grian's empty in the way that the upper half of New Star Station's perimeter is. Joel can see the inside of Grian's vessel body straight through to the back of his head. The lighting inside him is all violet, flickering and lit by his soul. Grian has a purple one. Joel puts his tongue out again to taste the air. Despite the faint hum of electricity and pixels, the empty space inside of Grian's head tastes a lot less like a charged creeper and a lot more like the flowery air you find above a meadow. Experimentally, Joel curls his tongue. There's not really anything to lick, but he tries anyway. Maybe it's working? Does Grian like this? Joel can't tell if Grian's licking the air inside him too, but he can definitely feel Grian's fingernails digging against his cheeks.

"Is this kisses?" he asks. His voice doesn't echo inside of Grian. He kind of thought it would. That makes sense, though. Sound waves don't exactly have collision. And they're using prox chat.

Grian guides them apart again, lowering Joel's face back to a reasonable level. Joel rolls back on the bottoms of his feet, no longer straining his toes. Grian is quiet for a long time, standing there with his head bowed. Maybe he didn't like it. Maybe Joel wasn't supposed to lick or talk. Joel stands with him, holding his elbows, and waits for him to say something. His own eyes are on the mirror. It's easier to look at the mirror than it is to look directly at Grian right now. Grian's faintly trembling in his grip, still holding himself up more than Joel is, but his wings are fluttery. And the, um… the emotion's uncomfortable. It wasn't, until it was.

"Joel," he whispers, "Oh, Joel… I'm so sorry."

"What?"

Grian sniffles faintly, pressing his forehead up to Joel's so their hair rustles together. It blends in the same blond and chocolate stripes that he remembers from SnifferMyFeet's little head. "You have no idea what you're missing out on… with Lizzie. She doesn't know either, does she? I had no idea… You'll never know what true intimacy's like."

Joel doesn't say anything. But a cold, dark spark flickers in his chest. Excuse me?

"Yeah," he says a few seconds later. He lets go of Grian's arms, slinking back to the rear wall of the changing room. One of his legs bashes against the bench. "I'm sorry for you, too."

"I know! Joel, I would have been in my 30s if I'd never fallen through the rift… I can't believe I'm getting this old and I've only ever had one kiss and I'll never get to-"

"I'm sorry for you," Joel repeats, looking directly at the spot Grian's eyes would be if they were looking up. Grian stops, still staring at the floor. One of his hands hangs in the air.

"… Why do you say it like that?"

Joel shrugs, not daring to push his words any farther. He's probably said too much. Maybe been insensitive. He doesn't have a clever quip- just something about intimacy in the eye of the beholder or whatever. But it shuts Grian up, which he's grateful for. He may not have full context, but the way Grian's talking about him and Lizzie doesn't sit right in his chest. It sits off-center. Or upside-down.

Grian inhales, carefully, and clutches the front of his jumper with his fist. "I think I misunderstood. I thought… I thought if you ate enough golden carrots, it… I thought it was a euphemism for something else."

Uh. Joel's brain stalls for a second there. He clicks through his mental inventory, trying to think of a single relevant word for this situation that Grian might be hesitant to voice in polite company. Not that Joel considers himself particularly polite. "For… what, exactly?"

There's another soft hiss of hesitation spilling through his teeth. Grian looks away. "For sex."

Joel tilts his head. His confusion must be scrawled across his face, because Grian tries again.

"For reproduction."

'Sex' does not sound like a reasonable shorthand for 'reproduction.' He gets the idea of using one syllable instead of, like, three or four, but Joel couldn't tell you how you connect the dots between one or the other without being told, even if you paid him a dozen diamond stacks. "Yes," he says, still eyeing Grian cautiously. "Golden carrots are the breeding mechanic for players like us." Am I about to get slapped? I'm talking down to him, aren't I? It doesn't feel good, leaving his stomach lumpy. He swallows. How does this man not know this? I've MET his kid.

There is more silence. Grian stares at the floor, slowly pushing his hands inside his trouser pockets. "How does that work when kissing doesn't?"

"It's closest to the villager mechanic. We don't spawn player souls, but you can spawn an AI spark if you're both eating them while you're 48 blocks away from an unclaimed bed. The sparks are white instead of blue like us."

"Oh." This seems to be news to Grian, because he looks up for the first time in what feels like a couple minutes. His wings twitch up. "So what do carrots do if there's not an open bed?"

"… This?" Joel smacks Grian's arm with the back of his hand. They're in New Star Station and they've got double regen from both the slime soul spawner in the town center and the fox spawner high overhead, so Grian doesn't flash or take any damage, but it catches him off guard for half a second. He doesn't stumble, but looks affronted. "It's like that, but on every pixel of your body. It lasts for like an hour unless you spawn a spark." How long have you lived in Between, again? The memory's hazy, but it's been about 250 years, right? Maybe more? I guess it just never bothered him until Honey came along.

He's dying to ask about Mumbo. About the soul-sharing. But he doesn't.

Grian rubs the spot where Joel hit him, scrunching his nose like tissue paper. "I tried to fool around. With golden carrots. It didn't work, Joel. I don't know what to do."

Fool around? When was this? Just now? Tonight? On our server? Surely not… He must mean with Honey back home. He doesn't ask any of that. Simply, "Oh, for goodness' sakes… Well, how many carrots did you have?"

"Like a dozen?"

He snorts before he can stop himself. "It takes way more than 12, Grian. We're not villagers! Seriously, who were you playing with that didn't know?"

Grian paces the two steps across the changing room that he can. Then, turning, he presses the door handle and lets them back into the larger room. He wanders away down the hall. Joel, cautious but curious, tails behind him. Grian walks until the carpet morphs to tile and they pass into the shower hall half of the changing room. There's a lot more room in the open area for Grian to flap his wings, which he does while pacing back and forth. "So… Is the love heart mechanic, like… scary to you?"

This was not the question Joel had expected. He repeats the word - "Scary?" - and Grian turns to him, rubbing up and down his arms. He keeps bunching his jumper sleeves. It leaves Joel feeling itchy inside his own vessel.

"BigB made it sound like… Like if you eat enough carrots, you… you just kind of, like, go for each other."

"Yeah? I guess it, like, varies between people, but… in my experience, you usually get your love hearts around 12. You get the sparkle effect at about 18. You go for each other on 24." He double taps near his eyes. "You know."

Grian stops rubbing his arms. He slightly shakes his head, pulling up, and stares back at Joel with the most confused look Joel's seen on him all night. "Isn't that… kind of creepy? What if you don't want to? And it's an accident?"

"How the hell are you 'accidentally' eating 24 golden carrots while making eye contact with someone else? Who is also eating 24 golden carrots?"

"That's… a good point." Grian goes back to pacing. He scrubs up and down the back of his neck, sighing at the air, and Joel entertains himself by watching Grian appear and disappear from all the mirrors as he works his way from one end of the shower house to the other. The air smells warm and wet in here. He looks around. It's nice to be back here, actually. New Star Station is the only place he's ever been where shower houses are a thing. When he was anarchy, he used to just change skins in the open and scrub himself down in the river. Say what you will about Scott keeping a tight grip on the station design, but he built some pretty interesting things. Then Grian says, "Joel?"

"Yeah?"

"These bodies don't have… Let me rephrase that." Grian walks back over, planting himself in front of Joel again. "Do you ever… feel a physical pull towards someone, deep down in your gut, that makes you want to approach and touch them? Even if you haven't had carrots yet?"

"No. Fireflies don't aggro."

Grian turns around and bangs his hand against the tiled wall. He drags it down, hissing through his teeth. Joel lifts his antennae, not sure what to say.

"The aggro players do," he offers. "Bet you Martyn's still sitting on that bench. You wanna go talk to him? We're not going back to Etho's, though. I think he needs a break."

Grian braces his forehead against the wall, his palms flat to either side. He mutters, "Unless you're about to tell me the aggro players are the only ones with sex characteristics, I don't think that's going to help."

"I don't… understand. Hang on. Why don't you just walk me through what you thought carrots were. You, like… lost your memories when you woke up in New Star, right?" As the story goes, Scott opened his office door one day and found the parrot hybrid sprawled across his desk, completely unconscious, with a broken totem of undying on the floor as though fallen from his hand. "So did you just lose everything about carrots?"

Grian peels himself away from the wall. He paces one more circle, then comes back with a fist pressed against his eye. He doesn't even look at Joel with the other. "I think I had it wrong," he says. His voice quivers like a bowstring. "All this time, I thought the carrots were a euphemism. And I sort of thought… I thought if you ate enough carrots, you'd, like… grow… sex characteristics? Like… breasts and maybe wider hips for girls… And for us, it would be…?" He hovers over whatever he wants to say next, pleading with his eyes for Joel to finish the sentence.

Joel doesn't even know where the hell that sentence thinks it's going. It reads like something that hitchhiked only so far before getting dumped on the street. "Don't we all have a breast? … Grian, I think you were very misinformed on what golden carrots actually do. The rumors that they're good for your eyes are unfounded."

Grian leans back his neck, pulling his hands down his face. His wings flutter out, then retract. Then he tries again, slapping the edge of his hand down on his palm. It makes a satisfying smack, but his face looks anything but pleased. "Do you remember what I told you once about falling into Between through a rift?"

Joel shrugs. Grian says a lot of things. Martyn always says they need to be kind and patient with him.

"Well, where I come from, you don't breed cows with cows. You breed them with ravagers."

"… You miss this place?"

"Ravagers," Grian says, like he's standing on the edge of a very high platform, "are male cattle on my side of the rift. Where I come from, all the cows - like, the cow cows - are female."

He says it like it's significant. Joel shrugs again. Grian's eyes search his face, but Joel doesn't even know what to say. The silence stretches like pudding between them. So he tries, "Wow… You must go through a lot of nametags over there, dividing them up like that."

"They breed," Grian tries again. "And there's, like… pregnancy."

Joel shrugs a third time.

"Right… Okay. L-look, it makes sense over there." He taps his fingers a few times on his head, then snaps them. "You know those stories of Steve and Alex? We have those too. Except in this universe, they're considered a fairytale. In my old world, they were very real. They live in a fort. They're a little touchy, but nice. Funny story about that, actually, I remember the first time I ever heard about pregnancy and stuff was when they came around asking because they overheard the word and didn't know what it was. My dads figured they might as well break the ice with me and pulled me in." Grian stops. His hands droop at the wrists. "… Ah. I think I know why they needed that talk now. I hope my dads didn't scar them for life. This might explain why I never saw them with kids."

"Pregnancy?"

"Yeah, yeah. You know… When a mom carries a developing baby inside her for nine months. It's kind of a mom thing in my universe. I mean, it's… Yeah. We won't get into that."

"How many do you have?"

"Usually just one at a time, but twins sometimes happen. Or triplets."

Joel rephrases: "How many moms?"

The look Grian gives him could straight-up kill a skeleton horse. "What?"

This is exhausting. How long have they been talking? Much too long. Lucky his wrist comm's flashing orange, still dashed out with blank curfew time. Joel tells himself he's curious. He tells himself he's having fun. It's like… listening to someone ramble on about their SMP lore at the bar when he has no idea who they are. He says, "Yeah, you know. Like how we have 98 moms." It used to be 99, before the Allay Dragon died, and before that, it used to be 100. But that was a long, long time ago. Cluckshroom hybrids went extinct long before Joel was even spawned. "Mm, is it about 98 in your old world?"

"… Close."

Ooh. Probably lost a few, then. For politeness' sake, Joel doesn't ask which ones. "Hey, that's pretty good," he says instead. "What's that got to do with breeding cows and ravagers, though?"

"Okay," Grian says, holding up two hands. "There was a real irony in my two dads explaining this, especially since I was like 6 and that probably confused them, but there's, like… a distinction between bodies in my universe that doesn't exist here. The closest parallel you have would be the Steve and Alex frames, but I come from a world where that inborn distinction is even wider. It would be, like, the husband who provides his genes for the baby and the wife who carries it nine months inside her stomach area while providing her own. It's a body thing."

Joel's eyes move from Grian's face down his Alex frame and then up again. Grian splutters, shaking his hands back and forth.

"Okay, ignore that part! That's not important! Um… OH! Oh, duh! I should have led with this." Grian claps. Joel jumps. "Etho and Cleo in Limited Life! They roleplayed a mom and dad."

Joel nods, not breaking eye contact.

"And Scar and Bdubs were their roleplay kids."

Is this a trick question? "Yes."

"Cleo even explicitly confirmed Scar as Etho's child, and I can't imagine Bdubs was adopted in roleplay."

"Yes."

Grian seems to be waiting for Joel to say something else. He eyes him, almost sideways. When Joel doesn't say anything, Grian sort of prompts with lifted, gesturing hands. Go on, he says in silence.

"I, um… don't know what you want me to say. We were their Bad Boy cousins and Martyn was their godfather, I think? I might have that wrong. No, I think he was godfather."

Grian makes the prompting motion again. "What's… what's the story behind how Cleo ended up with Etho's babies? In roleplay canon?"

Oh, so it's a trivia quiz. I know this one. Joel drops one fist in his palm. "Scar and Bdubs were roleplaying as fox hybrids."

Evidently, this isn't the answer Grian expected. He blinks. "That… wasn't my question."

"Weren't they? Or did I imagine that? Well, they can't have been zombies. We know Cleo hatched their spawn eggs, and since Etho's involved in some way, that means he's the one who brought them. The only dragon who wouldn't kill him on sight is his mother. The Fox Dragon," he adds, just in case he wasn't clear, because Grian is holding his face in his hands again. Joel flicks one finger to the bedrock ceiling. "Up there. Actually, I guess Bdubs might be a phantom. Maybe that's how Martyn's involved. Maybe Martyn gave the egg to Etho and Etho passed it along to Cleo. I dunno, really."

Grian stares back like he wants to ask a little more. He gets up, walks away, and slaps both palms against the tiled wall again. He leans against it for about 60 seconds. Dead silent. Then he comes back. "Okay, okay… Let me make sure I'm understanding this. Joel."

"Yeah?"

"So you're saying that no matter how many golden carrots I take, my body will still be this… this PG mannequin, and if I live the rest of my life in this universe, I'm committing myself to a fate of never having sex? Is there really no concept of sex in this universe? Or anything even close to it?"

"What's sex?"

Grian lets out a squawking noise, throwing his arms out to one side. "I don't understand why you all care so much about carrots! I guarantee that if Mumbo showed up with news that someone outside the wall had found carrot seeds, everybody here would lose their minds. If they're not for sex, what are they for? I've been chasing that high in my dreams, Joel! What's the point?"

Briefly, Joel lets his eyes flutter shut. He will never be able to bring Hermes off-world and into Between. The thought of holding his hand, showing him New Star Station's shopping district… game night with Jimmy… It breaks his hearts.

He doesn't say that, though. He bends his toe beneath him, pressing it between the tile grout. "I don't know, Grian… What's the point of changing into my pajama skin when I can sleep in my clothes? Why do I eat dessert when it gives low saturation? Why do I like poofing or flying to reach places I could walk to?" (Why did he like poofing- Glory, he's going to miss the wisp mods; being a firefly isn't quite the same). "There's so much in life that's dull or irritating. Sometimes I just want to indulge in a moment of friendship with another player." He shrugs. "I told you, Lizzie and I usually just, you know… fool around. Chase each other with axes and swords. It's good fun."

Bing! Bing! Bing!

That's the clock tower. Turn of the hour. Joel's wrist-comm continues blinking orange. "'Friendship,'" Grian repeats, his voice rising in pitch. It echoes around the shower hall. "This stupid, PG world and its friendship! I've been stuck here a few hundred years and I'm losing my mind!"

Joel backs away, carefully lifting his hands like a shield. "Are you feeling well, Grian?"

"And you're just okay with pinging random love hearts on people?" Grian demands, not answering the question. "Love isn't really a choice for you, is it? They just-just… They just activate on you? And you approach? On an emotional roller coaster? And you're okay with that?"

Didn't I already clarify this? Not a single word of this feels very good or pleasant or fun. Joel tries to calm down, tries to remind himself that Grian can see into other worlds or whatever (He can't remember the details) and he needs to be patient. It still doesn't feel good, though… Especially when Grian babbles on.

"Doesn't it make you feel like an animal? Where's your free will?"

Joel sighs. "You know how when you aggro on someone, you get the overwhelming urge to strike them back? And you'll pursue long distances just to deliver vengeance? And it takes over your mind and drives your every thought, but you can still pull away or cool off at any time if you wanted to? I don't aggro, but a lot of my friends do. Love hearts are like that, I hear. I mean, Etho and I talked a lot about it. That's free will enough for me, actually."

Grian wrinkles his nose. The crest of scarlet feathers behind his neck, however, does start to lay flat again. "Okay, okay… That's not super useful to me, though, since parrots don't aggro."

Joel, with every ounce of sarcasm in his body: "Well, you'll find the right person someday. Have you tried blind match-ups at the sparring ring?"

Grian ignores him. Which is a real shame, because that was bloody funny. He cocks his head. "You said you talked to Etho? Was this on Double Life?"

"Yeah?"

"About love hearts," he checks.

"… Yes." Where is he going with this? "I think that's pretty standard when you base together, yeah? Most people go over carrot boundaries, I feel. I mean, Etho's shy so you have to lead him through it, but he gave me the whole aggro comparison. Fascinating stuff, actually; I think I'm fine living without it." He scratches his neck. "He did bite me a lot. I, um…" No, I won't say that.

Grian squeezes up his eyes. "I… wasn't going to bring it up, but I did notice the bite marks back on Double Life. So… Hang on." The eyes fly open again, dark and almost accusatory. Grian sets his hands against his hips. "If that wasn't intimate for you, what even was the Boat Boys relationship? How did that happen?"

Joel opens his mouth. He closes it again. Excuse me? "Sorry… Say that again?"

"I said, what was going on between you and Etho if it wasn't intimate?" Grian taps the side of his neck, holding eye contact. "Why were you always walking around with massive hickeys peppered all over your arms and neck?"

What's a hickey? Instinctively, Joel feels the spot on his neck where Etho used to aggro on him hardest. The pixels have long since smoothed over, especially since Etho rebuilt his vessel. Joel's still not used to the way it fits against his form. It's a little too small for his shape. He is tall and strong.

There's no trace of the aggro bites anymore. He runs his hand up and down his neck anyway, saying nothing, not looking at Grian. His hearts beat, each one of them taking their turn to peck at the inside of his chest. "It was intimate to me."

Grian goes silent. He recalculates. "How so?"

Joel shrugs with one shoulder, not letting go of his neck. "I mean, I think there's kind of a guaranteed intimacy when you're sharing hearts? We died together. We healed together. Based together… slept together…" What more is there to say?

"Does 'slept together' mean 'went to sleep next to each other in a shared bed?'"

"What else would it mean?"

"Nothing." Grian's eyes are cat-like and Joel's a little fish on a string. "How'd you get those hickeys?"

Joel bends his hand away from his neck just enough so he can stare down at his palm. It's blank and clean, not leaking any code or pixels. "Um… Etho kept aggro'ing on me. Because I was hurting him every time we took damage. And then he'd aggro on himself because he hurt us both by hurting me."

"… I didn't even think about that. I'm so sorry. You never complained to me, though?"

Joel glances sideways at him, double blinking. "Um… No? Why would I?"

"We probably could have fixed the mod. I dunno. Maybe we could have done something."

"I guess so."

Grian shifts back and forth, fidgeting with his hands. "So was it, um… I mean, since you never brought it up and- and you always had hickeys, did it… end up being really romantic between you two? It must have, I imagine."

"… No."

"But you said it was intimate."

Joel hesitates. "We were soulmates."

Grian scoffs, crossing his arms. He shoves them under his armpits and leans forward, challenge glinting hot and spicy in his black, black eyes. His wings flutter once to catch his balance. "If you can't call it romantic, then you can't honestly think that counts as intimacy. This conversation has been nothing but a massive fumble, and now we're right back to where we started: with no kisses, no intimacy, and no hope for my relationship."

Joel's lower lip trembles. He blinks, looking up. Then away. His fingers tighten in the not-so-sore spot. Offhand, mumbling, "All things considered, I respect how well Etho handled it…"

He's proud of how he himself handled Double Life, actually. The very first night they spent in The Relation, single beds pressed together to form a double, neither of them had known what to expect. So mostly, they sat on top of the blankets and talked. They talked about a lot of things way too late in the night, but time moves slow when you're on-world and somehow, they survived. Joel spent most of that first talk etching names into various tools and weapons he had lying around. Not looking at Etho made talking easier. Etho clearly thought the same thing, because he changed up their chest organization half a dozen times.

It's… funny. In most servers, Joel genuinely does trust himself to fall asleep beside someone and not wake up with a sword at his throat the next morning. On most servers, not stabbing someone while they're asleep and defenseless is just common decency.

It's funny, in a disturbing sort of way, what things like the Life series do to your psyche. These games they play flip your expectations upside-down. They kick your heartbeats up to rampant levels. They leave you jumpy, rip you apart, and for some reason they still come back to play it all over again. Joel thinks he'd call himself addicted. He's addicted to the adrenaline rush even though it messes with his head. He remembers very, very little about Last Life because he spent that whole game on red… but he's pretty sure he had a good time. It's lovely, actually, to cut loose from the shackles of public expectation (Be good, don't steal, don't grief) and embrace a wild time.

It’s lovely to be an anarchy player again.

It's funny how shared health - shared risk of death - can pull you into a stranger's life so completely. Especially when you're sharing a bed, wondering if your partner might off you in the middle of the night. Probably won't since usually you'd set your respawn to that bed and there's not really a point, but still. When your health is your own, iiieeehhh… There's always that But what if? lurking in the back of your mind. Empires has some decent rules, but even there, everything can be bent to exploit The Bit.

Everything is serious in the Life Series. Your life is precious. It's hardcore multiplayer and it's like you shucked off the tutorials and started living for the very first time.

Joel trusted Etho completely, when they were Boat Boys. They spent their entire gameplay coasting through life on yellow hearts. Etho would never kill him in his sleep, because that would drop them down to red and Etho didn't seem like the kind of guy who'd take himself out of a game he willingly volunteered for. Of that, Joel was certain.

Isn't there, like… some psychological thing about your brain insisting you grow fond of people you do service for? I did build us a boat…

Right from the start. Sleeping with Etho felt more comfortable than cuddling up to just almost anyone Joel had ever met. Not at first, but they did get there eventually. Etho was safe. Etho was secure. Etho couldn't kill him without also killing himself.

But Etho did bite. There were multiple nights Joel pretended to be asleep, one arm draped across Etho's blanket-covered body while Etho nibbled softly at his hand. That first night was uncomfortable. Kind of scary? Especially before he understood it was aggro. At first, Etho hadn't made his intentions clear. And Joel (although he will never, ever admit it aloud, because he is tall and strong and brave) sort of… froze. By the time he processed Etho keeps biting me; what the heck? it had gone on so long that piping up to acknowledge it made his chest shake even more than the thought of letting it continue.

Joel had never had anyone aggro on him while he was, like, just chilling there in bed. Etho clearly hadn't expected it either, but… maybe that's just what happens when you bottle up an entire day's worth of taking damage. Joel waited about an hour in the dark and silence, saying nothing at all, as Etho quietly bit his arm like cookie dough.

Finally, Joel stirred "awake" and whispered to Etho, asking what he thought he was doing. Etho fumbled out of bed like Joel had lit his tail on fire. He scampered to the top deck and then took several hearts of damage when leaping to the ground. Joel felt the scratch of grass and thunk of a rock in his back as Etho rolled. The Relation ship creaked, and the relationship strained. Etho just left him. He just disappeared into the night without a word, leaving a silent Joel curled in their bed sheets with sharp breaths inside his chest.

And he lay there, fragile and frozen, until Etho came tip-toeing back with his nonexistent tail tucked between his legs. Etho just… stood there in the doorway. Breathing. Rubbing one arm. And Joel sat up in bed, scratching uneasily at his own bare chest.

"Joel," Etho had said, very quietly. "I walked all the way to Bdubs and Impulse and back. I can't de-aggro."

Tired… Dark. Cozy in bed, muddled with sleep. Ah. Joel had stretched his arms. He stretched for a long several heartbeats, turning Etho's comment over inside his head.

"Okay," was the word that finally left his mouth. "We'll figure something out. What d'you think might help?"

Basing with Etho meant embracing tea party levels of nicey-nice now and then, because Etho's emotions were disgustingly fragile once you peeled the layers back. And sometimes, living with Etho left Joel's hearts in his throat, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run. Like one of those early nights when he and Etho were red names and Etho aggro'd so bad, he lost all control. He slammed Joel against a wall and sunk his teeth in his shoulder, and Joel almost logged out in total panic. The bite ended two seconds later, but the bruise it left on them both seared blueberry-dark on their shared skin. And Etho kept spiraling - spiraling - because every time he aggro'd on Joel, it triggered him to aggro on himself. Which is how it had been for all of Double Life… but the redness…

The redness nearly tore them both apart. Joel can still remember screaming at him - screaming and being absolutely no help at de-escalating the situation - because "red Etho on aggro and also he's your soulmate and oh gods, you might just die in his arms right here, right now" is the scariest thing in the entire Life series, actually. Maybe. It felt horrifying at the time.

That had been a full moon night. Understandable; moon's messy. And red life is messy, and red life full moons are an unfortunate part of playing in the games. There's literally a full moon at least once every time they play, because the Overworld moon is on an eight-day cycle- not 32 days like Between. Every Life series session is nine days, plus a smidgen more on either end for before and after overflow play (Resource gathering, moving livestock, finishing a wall or interior; that sort of thing). Even if they wanted to skip the full moon, someone would have to stay on the server to allow time to pass. Time doesn't flow if they're all offline.

Everyone suffers together. When that time of the week hits, you grit your teeth and bear it; that's all you can really do. Change servers. That's your only other option. And even then, the moon will find you somewhere. Eight days on-world isn't even three hours in Between. No matter where you run, eventually some dimension will bring with it the leering moon.

Joel's forgiven Etho for the two-second bite. Back before he modded out of firefly state, he struggled with the full moon too. He used to get badly flirtatious once the sun went down. Sometimes he felt the urge a little early in the cycle - before his interspecies friends started showing anything at all - and that always left him feeling publicly shamed. Like… No one really addressed it, but yeah. Yeah, it left him feeling weird. He may have been a little too forward now and then. Couldn't help himself. It all comes with the turf of being a species whose best known feature is signaling a mate. Oh, he was aggressive and chaotic in his newbie years, but now that he's a veteran, he likes to think he's got a better handle on things. By the time he started thinking about modding out of his firefly vessel, he could almost go a whole full moon night keeping his hands to himself.

The Boat Boys relationship, Joel figures, was all about mutual toleration. They might annoy each other, but hey- at least they were committed. Etho put up with Joel's aggressively touchy nature. Joel put up with the bruises Etho left on his neck. And when Etho calmed down from that first really bad red mist, he looked so shattered by what he'd done to Joel, Joel thought he might end their relationship there and then. Just up and flee to the farthest corner of the map. Dig himself a hole. Bury himself alive.

But he didn't. Joel suspects a younger, less sure of himself Etho would have run.

Etho stayed that night. He pressed a bit of wool, dripping icy cold water, against the bruises on Joel's sore neck. Joel still remembers lying there in bed, mute and bitter and burned and exhausted with his own soulmate, as Etho scrubbed at every place he'd disrupted Joel's pixels in bulk. The words "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" falling like diamonds and roses from his mouth may as well have been a music disc skipping, skipping… stuck on repeat. At some unknown point, the wool slipped away. The mask tugged downward. Joel hadn't even asked for it. It just happened somehow, and then Etho's arm wrapped around his front and pulled him close, and it was Etho's soft tongue licking the dark blue damage smooth again, and Etho's quivering voice whispering the same stupid apologies over and over until Joel finally took a pillow and shoved it in his face.

Etho's eye scar curves all the way down and over the edge of his lips. Not a lot of people know that. But he knows that, now. No SMP Joel had played before left him feeling quite like Double Life. And nothing ever will again, maybe.

Double Life lasted for a year. Double Life was a lot of strain on his emotions. It was wild and unhinged… and vulnerable and tender. And when Joel spoke up, Etho froze and withdrew his tongue, and Joel said "No, it's fine," and Etho said, "I'm not supposed to," and Joel said, "It's fine; you're not scary," and he said a lot of things to Etho about how much he misses being anarchy. Etho lay in predator's silence beside him, resting his chin above Joel's neck as best he could without any golden carrots. The mask stayed down, wrapped around the base of his neck. Joel brushed his fingers across pale, cool skin. Etho had dots of brown stubble along his jawline.

Then Etho said that before Joel even found New Star, the HALOs rolled out a rule - a "suggestion" - that would short-circuit all of New Star to force-kick everyone out on wild nights until the moon began to wane. Be smart. Stay apart. We don't want you to get hurt.

They were both quiet after that. Joel lay his palm against his neck, touching the messy patch of pixels Etho had rattled with his bite. And he'd turned his head.

"Scott approved that?"

"I think Scott stopped that. I wasn't there, though. I…" Etho paused, glancing at the deck above their heads. The wood creaked in the open wind. Distant pillager grunts rolled down the hill. Always noisy, that hill. Their lovely neighbors weren't exactly keen on taking naps. "I ran as soon as I heard they were even discussing it. I think Scott stopped it. I don't think he was behind it."

"Okay, 'cuz I was gonna say… Scott's whole thing is, like, 'Live your own life as long as you're not hurting anyone and you're being consensual and safe…'"

Etho pushed himself away from Joel then, rubbing his palms against his face. Joel flopped his head back on his pillow, staring at the glow of the furnaces about two blocks from his eyes; staring at the candle flickers. He liked the idea of mood lighting before the mood became, well… this heavy.

He reached back, not looking at Etho, and lay his palm against Etho's leg. "Hey," he said. "Aggro'ing doesn't make you a bad person. Like… Like, you know that. Right?"

"I'm going for a walk," Etho had said. He always went out for "a walk," and he always looped around to the same old place. He practically launched himself off the bed. So Joel waited what felt like half the night for him to come back, clutching the blankets to his chest and worried out of his mind. Worried for Etho, of all people, because maybe Etho would pick a fight or maybe a creeper would take him out and they'd be dead before the sun came out. Red to gray before he could even blink.

I wish I could fight the moon.

He understood the Hermits of Hermitcraft more in that lonely, candle-calm moment than he ever had in his life. Because the moon bloody sucks and roleplaying its destruction would be a weird kind of catharsis he's never had.

Joel thought a lot about the moon while Etho was gone. He probably thought more about the moon in that one night on Double Life than all the other times in his life combined. He tossed. He turned. He flopped around. At one point, he tasted hot soup trickling down his throat and double tapped the back of his left wrist, asking Where are you? in the silence.

Etho responded with a double tap to their upper right arm. Bdubs and Impulse. Because of course he was. Joel knew that. Not sure why he bothered asking. He double tapped his cheek anyway.

Be safe.

Home soon, Etho tapped back against their temple. Joel didn't tap again, but rolled his eyes.

You'd better be.

He blew out the candles, relit them 20 minutes later, went up on deck to grip the rail and snarl at the pillagers pacing the other side of the wall, and flopped face-first in his pillow once more. And in the end, he came to the worst conclusion of them all.

Life was so much easier when he was an anarchy player. Because "Do whatever" was their motto, and everyone was doing just whatever around everybody else, and everybody knew that if you didn't like it, you could go join a server hub. While waiting for Etho to come home, Joel propped his knitted fingers behind his head, counting planks in the ceiling, and had a very funny thought. So funny that he might have cried.

I never thought my anarchy friends would judge me if I stepped away and joined a non-anarchy hub. But if I wanted to go anarchy again, even for just a month or two… Scott would pull my file from the system, throw me in my portal, block my link to New Star, and never, ever trust me again.

"Aw, hell," he muttered, and knocked his fist several times against the wall. "Stupid First Moon City raids, ruining anarchy for everyone… These days, you try to say you miss anarchy and everyone in New Star would lose their bloody minds."

Etho came back that night, because Etho never left him overnight. Joel sat up, blinking gooey sleep from his eyes when Etho's silhouette appeared in the door.

"You're not a bad person." Certain. "Soulmate." That cutesy address less so. Eyeing Etho for a response, the word presented like an offhand thing. Joel's hearts beat red, red, red.

"I don't want to talk about this," Etho had replied, tense and tired. Nonetheless, he trudged around to Joel's side of the room, bending down to lay his palm across his soulmate's forehead. Because they were soulmates. That's why he came back. Joel dragged his gaze upward and Etho stroked back his hair. He said, "I went to see Bdubs and Impulse. I actually went inside this time. They gave me soup… Is it kicking in yet?"

Joel rubbed the sparking patch of pixels on his neck. "I mean, I won't deny it still hurts. I'm not losing health, but nothing you gave me has numbed the pain."

Etho made a face. "Let's hope it does soon." His fingers scritched gently at Joel's scalp. Eyes averted. "From the way Bdubs kept droning 'dearest Impy' and 'my beloved' and Impulse kept shooting daggers at me, I think I interrupted some snuggle time upstairs. They did recently drop from green to red. That probably didn't help their mood, huh? Didn't think about that until I got there. All that for nothing… They'd kill me."

"No, Etho. Shut up. For goodness' sakes- don't blame yourself for something as silly and uncontrollable as an aggro accident when there are bigger, actually horrid problems out there." He pulled him forward by the shirt; Etho stared right through him with half-lidded eyes. "Look- beat yourself up over biting me if you want; I forgive you and you can accept that when you're ready. Can we just agree that there are some bloody terrible things that have happened in this world, like when the library went down, or when First Moon fell, or when" - it wouldn't feel good to say the name; he skips past the name - "when s-someone slayed the Allay Dragon? Those were objectively awful things. Worse things than biting me. I'll be fine, Etho."

Etho's tongue danced across the inside of his cheek. He stroked his thumb across Joel's forehead in silence until Joel's venting wound down. Then he said, "BigB was a raider. He told me all about it when we were in the Red Army."

"That doesn't count. BigB's an illusioner soul. He gets raiding instincts. That… I… Sh-shut up."

They'd bickered lightly back and forth a few times. Etho didn't exactly come out and state a straight opinion, but he paced between their bedroom quarters and the storage room and led Joel on a winding path of conversation that (eventually) made it undeniably clear he still considered the aggro bite a fault of his character, not the moon. After all, he gently argued, when you separate vessel and soul… You're always in control of the soul. There is no 'other half' of you that can still manipulate the vessel while apart. Fox aggro comes from having a fox soul; the soul is to blame, and Etho is the soul, and Etho did a very bad thing.

Joel disagreed. When he started modding his firefly vessel into a will o' the wisp, it took the edge off his firefly instincts. Those instincts belong to the vessel body. Not to him. He compared it to prepping food. If he were slicing meat and veggies at the counter and the knife slipped from his fingers and stabbed Etho in the foot, would Etho hold that against him?

Sure, okay. An apology is allowed. Medical treatment is welcome. Emotional comfort is nice. They can both agree it was a scary situation and ended with one of them in pain. But would it make the situation any better if Joel bemoaned his mistake for the rest of the night, pining for some other reality where he and Etho didn't live together at all? If only he lived alone; then he could never hurt anyone even on accident. Yes, if only, if only… all to prevent something relatively minor in the end.

From Etho's silence after that rant (The fox hybrid was sitting on his side of the bed at the time, one leg curled beneath him and the other dangling off the edge), Joel knew he'd found the comparison that was finally turning Etho's mind. Etho drew a circle on the bedsheets with his fingertip. He heaved out a salty sigh. Then he said, "Fighting the boogeyman curse, I think… has nothing on natural aggro."

"Oh?"

"The boogeyman's artificial. It's, like… a mild form of aggro because it's meant to be suspenseful. It's designed to be a slow build; it starts out with nagging and slowly consumes every part of you. I think Grian even pulled it down from the general aggro knowledge pool. Aggro's different. Aggro maxes out instantly and if your target's not already on the run, you're striking back before you even think."

"How's it compare to being red life?"

"Well, I've been out fast both games, but I usually last a long time before I go red… Unlike you."

Joel whacked him with a pillow. Etho didn't seem to notice, eyes in his lap. "I think it's harder, when it's natural code. I think I understand why so many people opt for new species mods."

"Mm, yeah," Joel replied. His palms itched. His everything itched. Like almost everyone, he'd disabled the most visible of his hybrid traits while they were in Double Life (His antennae; his glowing swamp gas wings). If you're stepping into a server, visual adjustments are easy. You can toggle them off with a flick of the hand. But the internal ones…

… there's no good mod to tone down those urges and psychological pains. None he knows of, anyway. Joel doesn't volunteer any of that to Etho. His firefly past is behind him. Joel likes to think he's not a creep, but he's definitely slipped up in little ways. He's grabbed the arms of people he doesn't know. He's stood too close. He's talked too loud. He always withdraws his hand or steps back or lowers his voice when someone tells him 'No.' It's a clear signal of disinterest; his circuits understand that, even in the silver moonlight. But…

But what if I didn't back off someday?

He liked his firefly body fine. It's why his will o' the wisp one is basically the same thing, right down to the familiar zig-zag in his drooping antennae. Nothing much changed. He hadn't done some huge overhaul like BigB or (void forbid) Skizz. Didn't have the patience for it; just wanted it done and off his back. It's just more comfortable, calling himself a wisp.

A modded vessel isn't like a natural one. The disconnect between vessel and soul disrupts the influence of the moon. He's got his flirting under control. He still tosses meaningless charm around with a lot of people, but he's a lot better now at keeping his hands to himself. The flirts he wraps around Etho like a scarf are silly and distant. It's just a game.

Joel and Etho slot together better than Joel ever would have guessed, and that's good fun. Flirting with Etho's as natural now as teasing Jimmy or Scott or Grian or Sausage.

But that's pretend. His true flirtations are for Lidzil… and Lidzil alone. Not even the phantom hybrids get to see him as a firefly.

He could tell from the curled fingers resting on Etho's knees that something was still nagging at him. But when he asked, Etho scratched his face and shook his head. Try as Joel might to wheedle, he couldn't budge the unspoken words out of him.

In the end, they settled their conflict the only way they could both agree on. Etho crawled under the sheets and curled around Joel, gently locking him in place against the tremor of his stomach. Joel let him. He let him even though it was different, the spooning, since all their other nights had been spent breathing on each other and sometimes grunting or kicking when one pulled the blankets or dug in their fingernails or just smelled annoying after a while. Etho's favorite thing in the world, apparently, was to tug the edge of his pillow over Joel's arm bit by bit until he could nestle his head on top of it. Joel's arm fell asleep beneath Etho's cheek and tucked-under hands more times than he can count. 18 at least.

All of this - all of this - passes through Joel's head in the span of a second. The memories and raw emotions are so burned into his brain, it's the same reaction he gets when Lizzie chooses which wood to burn tonight and the scent of crackling flames - and different wood types - transports him to some other world and some other time. Joel blinks himself back to the present and tries very, very hard not to slap Grian across the face right then and there.

'You can't honestly believe that counts as intimacy.'

Thank gods Grian snarked about what he has with Etho and not Lizzie. The mockery shatters his chest, but not his mind. He can take it. He gets it; he and Etho don't live together and sometimes they go weeks without Joel stopping by his place. Etho rarely visits his. From the outside, it may not look like they care about each other as much as they do. Rude to say that, but fair analysis. It hitches his breath, but kicks his freeze instinct into gear over fight or flight. By the time he registers what was said, Grian is already sliding to a new thought. So he doesn't react beyond a flash of memories and a lifted head. His fists tighten at his sides.

Lost in his memories, he missed his chance to speak up. Grian's clearly got a lot on his mind, and he's been staring at code today almost as long as Etho has. Joel will give him one (1) benefit of the doubt that he didn't mean what he said about Etho. Grian's one of his closest friends; Joel will hear him out, at least.

But if he breathes a word of mockery about Lizzie, then Joel is not responsible for his actions. And they will be significantly less fun on Grian's end than flirty firefly instincts.

What the hell, Grian? Who are you to decide what does and doesn't 'count' as intimacy?

In that lightning split of an instant between Grian's snort of disapproval and the next words off his lips, Joel checks out of this conversation. He has nothing to say to this man and he's not about to pick a fight. It's been too long of a day for that. So Joel blinks in smothered pain and says absolutely nothing. Not even a peep of protest. He probably should. It hurts. But he's tired now and he misses Lizzie and he just wants to check on Hermes and then hurry home.

Grian starts to pace, waving his hand. "I didn't have a problem with it in 3rd Life, actually… Scar and I were doing this whole mycelium power struggle thing in a different server- it's, like… It was so nice to break down the barriers between us and just hang out in the desert together. The Mother Spore persona was exhausting. 3rd Life was my escape. I could be myself around Scar for really the first time since I met him. That was fun, Joel; I didn't mind that. I'm not saying friendship's not valuable. I like having Scar as a friend."

Joel says nothing.

"It's so hard, though, because I feel like Last Life was the last time I was ever really happy. I was laughing with the boys, you know, having fun… It's after Last Life that I made the stupidest mistake. We were wrapping up Hermitcraft Season 8 at the same time, so I guess I just wasn't thinking… I knew we were taking a break before Season 9. It really got to me, I think, because taking a break from the Life series and from Hermitcraft at the same time meant no real SMP with my friends. Ever since I drifted from my build draft world, I've always had Hermitcraft as my AFK server. But we were switching to public release, so when I went to sign the paperwork, I just… put down Honey's server instead of my drafting world. I'd already been paying her visits and we were getting along okay. I mean, it worked out for Impulse and Tango, right? They're, like, so happy all the time, and they didn't choose their wives either. It just seemed like this is what everyone's doing, so I signed the papers and took the leap."

Joel says nothing. He narrows his eyes. Define 'didn't choose,' Grian?

Grian stops pacing. He stares at his wedding ring for a few heartbeats, then turns on Joel. Joel's hearts quicken, his tongue ready to snap a defense if Grian guns for Lizzie next. Instead, Grian lifts his hand and double taps his ring. "Living with Honey is way harder than I ever thought it would be. My boss is in love with her creator. That's undeniable. I can feel it through the sync cord, but when the emotions trickle down, it's like I'm not even in my own body. I keep waiting to feel something, but I turn and look at her and she'll smile and tuck her hair behind her ear, and I just stand there smiling back like an idiot and trying to pretend I'm not dying inside. I try to talk to her and I just…"

Eyes squeezing briefly shut. "Actually, let's talk about that part another time. I can't imagine that bit going over well. Anyway, I just feel nothing even when I try spending time with her, Joel… And that breaks my heart. And I feel absolutely awful when I see how easy it is for people like Impulse, Tango, Bdubs, you, and Lizzie while I'm struggling so, so hard to figure things out. I can't do this any longer. I'm going to die, Joel."

Joel says nothing.

"But I can't just tell her that," Grian goes on, rolling back on his heels. He leans back his head. Hand grabbing wrist (left wrist, thumb where the command star would be- Classic body language signals as brought to you by the bestselling 'How to Tell if Your Grian is Freaking Out'). "Not only would I hurt her, but I'd also be ditching her to the horrors of being permanently offline. I don't think I could live with myself if I walked out and never came back. My… Um…" He hesitates. Then, cautiously, "In my old universe, I had a big and messy family. My parents went Red… No, that doesn't translate well, does it? Oh my goodness; this is so hard…" Grian tugs at the ends of his hair. One foot starts to tap. "I was taken away from my biological parents when I was only 4. Etho's uncles raised me after that. My Etho. He's different."

Wait… His world has an Etho? Does his world have… all of us?

Joel says nothing, even as his eyes flicker in and out of focus. He gets the weirdest mental image of a couple of plant researchers in goggles and lab coats fussing over a newbie soul, though.

"Etho went Red the day I turned 7. He ran off with Ren and Cleo. I didn't hear from him again until I was 12 and Scar was already 1 and on his Yellow life. Losing my parents messed me up bad, and when Etho disappeared after Bdubs was born, it tore Cleo apart. She'd always had Etho since she went Red, and losing him really messed up her and Scar and Bdubs. Well, mostly her and Scar. Listen, listen; if I sent Honey spiraling like that, I'd be continuing this awful family cycle… and I just can't see myself as that kind of person anyway."

Joel… says nothing. He tries to follow the story, but it feels like Grian skipped over about half the set-up he should have given. Like the parallel universe part, which is more than a little creepy. Joel's not even sure he's fully conscious anymore. Maybe he's confused. Or what '7' means (Is that an age or a power ranking? And if it's an age, is that in centuries?) Or he could ask if Grian's being metaphorical or literal when he's speaking about the life colors.

On some level, Joel wonders if he should step back and say 'Wow, Grian… It sounds like you've had a rough go of it. I hear you and I'm sorry that happened, but I wonder if creating the Life series is just one desperate attempt to cling onto a past you're better off letting go of.' But he doesn't know how to say that without being rude. Especially because…

… from the sound of it, their two universes are… locked in parallel? The story Grian's describing sounds a lot like how they played in Limited Life. Like the universes are equally balanced, and Joel hesitates to say something that might hurt Grian's feelings or leave him feeling like he has no control over his own destiny. Joel doesn't want Grian to feel the way that Joel feels when he thinks too hard about his sync cord and Watcher Joel.

Grian's desperate voice is draining his irritation like water in a half-clogged drain, but it's not helping his exhaustion. As Grian rambles on, Joel quietly rubs some overly hot pixels from the corner of one eye. Why are you telling me this? he wants to ask. Couldn't you have dumped all this on someone else? Like… Scar? But that would probably be considered nasty and mean, so he bides his tongue.

"I can't be Etho," Grian repeats. Then, clarifying, "I don't want to be my Etho… Your Etho's great. I just can't be the guy who dips, but I also don't want to pressure Honey into an unthreading because I know she'd probably say yes just to make me happy, and that makes me feel gross and wrong, and I don't know what to do. If I ruined her life and then her having hub access still didn't improve our relationship and I had to consider walking out, I'd never forgive myself. Plus - and this might sound selfish, but I think it's important - my AFK is set to her server."

Joel says nothing.

"If I ended things with her and left, I have no idea where I'd go. I mean, now that Decked Out's over, Season 9 of Hermitcraft should be wrapping up soon and we're closing the server and going on break. I don't know for how long. After that, if I'm going to build a new starter base then I may as well start a fresh server like I'm supposed to instead of clinging on to Season 10…" Loud sigh, the most frustrated of them all thus far. "Your AFK's a matrimony. Most of my friends have mats, actually. Scott's got corporate housing, so that's against his TOS. Timmy, Mumbo, Scar, and Pearl are some of the only friends who aren't married and I'd feel comfy reaching out to" - You really think Lizzie and I wouldn't help you just because we're married? What's marriage got to do with anything? - "but I'd feel weird intruding in Cub's space. And Timmy's going through things… I mean, when Tim ended things with Scott, he made it crystal clear he wants to focus on himself and his server right now."

Joel lifts his head slightly, still bleary and burned-out but this time ready to jump in if Grian starts spitting something rude. It's Jimmy's AFK server and he's the admin; it's his choice if he wants to nudge people off the whitelist and/or casually suggest that Scott file new AFK paperwork…

Fortunately, "admin's choice" seems to be the one thing in this conversation he and Grian can agree on.

"And I get that. Goodness knows I wish I would've taken a couple years to build a proper home server, and I just didn't. I know what Scott's going through right now. It's actually devastating to feel like you have nowhere safe to go and only weird junk worlds to hide yourself away in." Grian throws his hands in the air. "Everyone always told me not to set my AFK to Hermitcraft and to keep my respawn in a home server, but I didn't listen. So now it's either I stick with Honey, I crash someone else's personal space, or I start over from ground zero. Or I leave New Star and go full anarchy. None of these are good options, Joel. So if Tim's feeling like he might wake up with a ring fairly soon, I get why he wants to take time alone and figure himself out so he won't have to do it on the spot." Grian drags his fingers down his face, pulling at his lips. "Eeeiiiuuuugggghhhh… I don't want to do any of this. I just… I want a loving, steady, passionate relationship so, so badly that it hurts."

Oh, thank gods he's wrapping up-

"So I created Double Life. I thought-"

"Grian," Joel cuts him off. Grian parts his fingers, blinking back at him. Joel holds his stare. "I need to go. I promised Sausage I'd check on Hermes after Dog's Life. And it's so late, Grian… Jimmy will get all huffy if you miss his party."

Grian bounces on his heels, scarlet wings fluttering in and out. His shoes squeak against the tile. "Just-just one more thing. Please, Joel… Please. I don't have anyone to talk to about this, and I'm falling apart. I'll be quick, I promise, and I'll totally make it up to you. I'll put in hours of grinding or building the back of your next base or whatever it is you need. Just one more thing."

Joel says nothing. He closes his eyes. Ah, he thinks. So this is why Scar told me and Jimmy he's enforcing new 'available hours' boundaries with Grian; 'no exceptions'… Not a bad idea, in all honesty. Will definitely have to take notes on that.

He can give Grian one night, though. I mean, Lizzie will be grateful to see him either way, and Joel's honestly so tired and Grian doesn't even seem to want solutions to his problems, so maybe it's a win-win. Or something.

"I didn't know what to expect from Double Life," Grian says. Joel's antennae twitch, tracking the shape of him and the echo of his footsteps as he paces back and forth. He laughs, high-pitched, and winds one puff of hair around his fingertip. "I mean, I put 'soulmate mechanic' down on the pitch list, but I… I didn't think it would be a unanimous vote. I dunno, I dunno… I just really, really wanted to roleplay a little while." His voice cracks. "Like… like I was happy in my marriage. I wanted that. But then it was Scar, and I couldn't do another round of Life series with him under my wing. I've already been his babysitter once. I wanted a real partner. I couldn't bring him to the finals with me again… I can't handle another cactus ring so soon after 3rd Life. I need time."

Joel speaks up for the first time in a while: "So… Why are things not working with Honey, exactly? I mean… Have you tried talking to her? I don't, um, know her, but… maybe you should bring this up."

Grian looks at him like he's morphing from player into wither, extra heads sprouting from his neck. "Are you joking? I don't talk to Honey about the Life series. Her server doesn't have PVP enabled, so that's a whole other worldview-shattering conversation I'm not brave enough to start. If I had to come out and tell her I'm a repeat killer - for fun - I think I'd die."

"Okay… Right. I remember you saying once that you two keep pretty close to home. Do you have carrots yet? I'd start with that if you don't."

Grian makes a swatting motion with his arm, flinging the imaginary carrots into the void. "That's not enough, Joel! Is there really no way to have sex in this universe? Like, absolutely none? I… I miss home… and I miss my family. And I've only had one real kiss and I would've been in my 30s if I'd never run off with that stupid totem… Joel, I can't keep pretending I'm happy with my celibate marriage." Grian brushes at his eyes. They're sparking up. "I still think about the people I left behind, and it tears me up when I lie awake at night wondering if I'll ever get to see them again; if I'll ever get to know if they're still alive or how they're doing… and I wish I could have met my Honey. If I could have even half the affection for Honey I had with BigB during Double Life… and that wasn't even that much…"

"Is sex a dessert? Lizzie has a great cherry pie recipe if-"

"JOEL!"

Joel, who is very tired, does not dare ask again what the hell 'sex' is. He says nothing.

"Listen, listen… I'm not saying friendship's not important. I really value what we have; don't think I don't! But we're just friends, and I'm looking for a real relationship."

Joel says nothing.

"I need someone who truly cares about me, who wants to experiment with me, and there doesn't seem to be a single soul in this world capable of that. BigB drew a line with me today- he was all like 'Don't talk about this in front of Ren' so I think I just got dumped, even though he's still wearing my feather-"

Joel says nothing.

Still pacing, "And you just have no idea what you're missing, Joel… And the worst part of all this is that I don't even know what I'm missing, because I didn't even get to make the choice on whether or not I wanted sex until it was already taken from me, because I just woke up one day in stupid hands-off purity culture celibacy land."

Joel says nothing.

"Like, I can't even dream of wanting to maintain this sexually frustrating non-intimate set-up Honey and I have for another thousand years; I've barely made it a handful and it feels like I'm in purgatory."

Joel says nothing. Grian turns on his heel, propping one fist against his waist. He pulls his fingers through his hair, bouncing on his toes.

"Actually, that reminds me. I should have brought this up first. I was just so, like, shocked by finding out you don't have sex in this world that I overlooked the obvious question. Joel, what was the point of you marrying Lizzie in the first place if you're not even having-?"

Joel whips back his hand and smacks him as hard across the face as he can. BOOM! It pops Grian straight into free-cam. His vessel's eyes roll back and the body shlumps across the tile floor. The parrot soul, squawking and flashing starlight purple, fumbles in the air. It beats its wings for a moment, then zips inside again. While Grian blinks his way back into the physical world, blocking his eyes with his hand, Joel looms over him with teeth clenched like shards of glass.

"I'm sorry," he spits. He glances off, clutching his wrist against his chest. "Grian, I… Sh-shut up. Don't talk about Lizzie like that. Or me, actually. Don't talk about me or my feelings that way."

"I- I'm not trying to put you down," Grian protests, nursing his wounded cheek. Down here in New Star, they feed off the regen benefits you get from being near a soul spawner. He'll tick back up to full health momentarily. Grian pushes himself up on one hand, slowly getting his feet back under him. "I'm just saying that-that… that what works for you wouldn't work for me… Oh, Joel, why did you hit me? Excuse you! I don't think it's fair to get mad at me for wanting to have sex with my wife…"

"Then say that!" Joel cries, throwing out his arms. "Grian, I'm not mad if you want some blimmin' sexy kisses thing. Like, that's your private business. Find a partner who likes that and run wild with it. I'm mad because you're just standing there saying you 'feel sorry' for me and acting like Lizzie… like you're sick that I like hanging out with Lizzie! Cut it out, mate; blummin' heck… You can't talk about people like that." Babbling- desperate- "Sh-she's already stressed out of her mind coming back to the Life series, Grian… She doesn't feel like she fits in with our group. I told her we all supported her and- and- Just shut up, okay? I can't even look at you."

"I'm sorry," Grian says, flippant and impatient. He looks away. The scarlet feathers sticking out from the back of his neck slowly start to tilt down. Several seconds pass in silence. Then he says, more genuinely this time, "I'm sorry… This is just really hard for me. I've lost something that I can never, ever get back. It's a big shock for me to take in."

It can't be that important if he's never brought it up before. But that's not fair. Joel exhales, long and low. "It's… It's fine, actually. We're still friends. I'm sorry that I hit you. I really escalated that. I just got mad. And- and- I don't even think I could put into words why?" He rambles on a few seconds longer, then trails off. "S-s-sorry. I've had an absolute mare of a day."

"It's okay," Grian says. "Hitting's pretty normal in this world. Maybe I did cross a line and need a whack." He wipes his eyes on his wrist. Then they hug, pixels flickering against each other (phasing lightly through) and Joel wonders… wonders a lot of things, actually.

He pulls away, blinking up at Grian. "Does it bother you when we cuddle? Like… Like, are you just acting out because you don't know how to open a dialogue or whatever with Honey on adding more cuddles to your life? Because that's fixable. It's like code, Grian… You tackle it one step at a time. You can practice with me and Lizzie, if you want."

Grian appraises him, thinking hard. Then he says, "What was the turning point for you and Etho, when you both started to want, like… carrots? Together? Maybe… That would be enough."

Joel's mind… fidgets. He can still feel Etho's soft tongue licking the lower part of his neck, the "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," whispered over and over in his ear. He can still feel Etho curled around him, his head bent and legs blended. He can still feel the feather-light touch of Etho's fingers tracing down his arm as he checked for disrupted pixel patches. It might help Grian if he gave that example. He might figure things out with himself and his wife.

But he does not trust Grian enough to volunteer this information. Grian might think it's weird.

He never used to wonder if Grian thinks he's weird.

In that moment, Joel realizes he's never seen Grian's behavior change under the sway of the full moon. Grian did not build a nest in Last Life, as far as he recalls. He knows Grian didn't build a nest in Limited Life, even when the moon came calling and Jimmy got the itch. Grian never, ever, ever lets anybody preen his wings.

You know, I think the only person I've ever seen use the parrot enrichment bits in the Xelqua flat… the ropes, the wooden chew blocks… is Two.

Joel draws in a careful breath. "Well, you know Etho… All he really wants is to be bossed around. I'm good at that. I'm tall and strong and brave." Changing course, "Mm, didn't you and I have a carrot talk in Last Life when we were red? And again as Bad Boys, with Jimmy?" Don't you talk about this stuff on Hermitcraft? I know for a fact you eat carrots over there.

"Yeah, but that doesn't count. We barely even spoke. We're just friends." Grian studies him in mild fascination. Like he's staring at a toy some ancient child played with long ago. Joel does feel a little like a toy. Not that he'd say any of that to Jimmy. "So… So you actually did carrot with Etho. Like, back on Double Life."

"Yeah? I mean… We didn't have easy access to carrots, but…" He trails off. Then, firmly, "He's my Double Life soulmate."

"Was it awkward to ask?"

This conversation's more awkward, Joel thinks, but doesn't say so. "We only had two beds, Grian… It's not like we were at risk of spawning anything. I pretty much always keep my eyes closed when I've had more than a handful of carrots anyway." Tired, "Don't make it weird… You're being weird."

"Oh." The fascination is still glittering in those button-black eyes. "So… so you check for beds, then. Like, as part of the prep, you get up and check to make sure there aren't any unclaimed beds nearby. That sounds like an absolutely awful prank to pull on someone- just hiding a bed in their walls."

"Doesn't count unless the spark can pathfind," Joel points out, "but yeah, I've started checking more carefully now. I don't really need any more accidents like Hermes."

"… What did you just say?"

Joel flops out the end of his tongue, sighing through his nose. He doesn't love talking about Hermes' origins, actually. Hermes is an accident undeniable. Tom and Mandy more or less the same. Nonetheless, he says, "Mine and Sausage's kid back on Empires."

Grian pulls back, blinking like he's staring through a window at dripping rain. He looks like he's drinking up the majesty of distant thunder. He brings one fist near his mouth, one finger tapping at his lips. "You think Hermes is alive?"

"… What kind of question is that? Grian, you've met him. You've met him, Grian."

Grian sweeps around him, his wings drooping low and tilted back. It's probably meant to be some kind of non-threatening signal in avian language or whatever, but it sparks every one of Joel's pixels on end. He follows Grian with his eyes. When Grian doesn't circle back to his front - just… just stands there behind him - Joel slowly turns around. Grian's not looking at him anymore. He's looking at the hazy ceiling lanterns, scratching his nails gently at the stubby feathers sprouting from his neck.

Joel did not know the sight of someone scratching their neck could flood his insides with so much fear.

"I've seen him," Grian says. "Hermes is an armor stand."

"Hermes is AI!"

He's screaming. Since when was he screaming? Grian's reaction is stone cold, absolutely nothing - doesn't even stall his scratching fingernails - and Joel spits and brushes his bangs aside with a shove. He stares at the ground, trying to bring his racing heartbeats down again.

"So he's like a pet," Grian checks.

"What on earth? Get your eyes checked, mate. He's my son! How would you like it if I started calling Grumbot just- just a bit of dispensers and redstone?"

Grian stops scratching. He stares back, his face as blank as though his mouth's been wiped straight off, leaving only beady eyes behind. "'scuse me?"

"Not so funny then, is it?"

"But… that's what he is."

"This isn't funny, Grian. Don't say things like that."

"I love Grumbot," Grian protests, backpedaling hard. "He was a good build and a lot of fun… but he's… Joel, I don't understand. Why is it taboo to say he's blocks and redstone?"

"Well, go try that line on Mumbo, mate," Joel snaps back- "See what he thinks when you say that about his son! You clearly don't want my thoughts on it."

"Mumbo and I aren't… That's not…" Grian grits his teeth like he's grinding up redstone dust. "I've never done anything with Mumbo that can spawn a child, Joel! There's no sex in this world, apparently, and even if there was-"

"You shared carrots, obviously. Which a lesser man than I might point out is far less intimate than sharing your soul, which you're also doing with him, but I digress."

"But-! … Wait, did I?"

"Can I go home?" Joel asks, dripping in sheer exhaustion now. "I promised Hermes I'd check on him before Jimmy's party."

Grian's lashes flutter. "Can I come with you?"

"To Empires?" Uh…

"Yeah. You're not recording, right? Can I say hi to Hermes?"

Mm…

"… Okay. Sure. But I don't really want to talk anymore. It's been a long day. You can say hi, but then you're going straight to Jimmy's party. And I'm going home to Lizzie."

"Deal."

Chapter Text

InTheLittleWood

- Card-carrying member of the Broken Hearts Club

- Kept hungry on purpose for nights like this

💚  💛  ❤️

If you're not hearing James Turner cry out "Aww, bat too!" every time Pearl swoops down on his head with wings unfurled, or listening to the constant hum of bee wings in your ear, are you even in Simmers' Quarter? Martyn spreads his arms and wings for balance, meandering across the copper rod rail that spans between the rooftop of one building and the next. Oh, sure… Flapping your wings is easy, but that sort of takes away the thrill and the rush of the tightrope, doesn't it?

Funny joke. I've got 24/7 vertigo anyway.

He takes every step with his eyes shut, tongue sticking out from one corner of his lips. Technically this is the Australian Quarter, but literally no one ever calls it that. Not even Pearl, and she's an Australian Minecrafter. It's just that all the Simmers live together down in this corner: not because they have to (or even because their time zones match up), but because they're such good friends.

Simmers' Quarter also happens to be the edge of the perimeter where Scott assigns housing to the accounts played by fairly young creators who are still learning their way around Minecraft. Basically, you'll never find any fewer than a hundred babies running around, and if you ask Martyn, the Simmers always look exhausted, like managing their needs in mere proximity of noisy children leaves them drained. But if they really didn't like it, they could file the paperwork to move, right?

I mean, they're Simmers… Maybe some of them still think we pay for things with consistent currency instead of doodles and build tips.

Martyn wobbles in an imaginary breeze. His vertigo kicks on a little stronger, a little more demanding. It swirls his stomach and guts in circles like he's mixing homemade ice cream. Whoa. Martyn keeps his eyes pinned shut. He doesn't peek. He only breathes.

I am not falling.

He balances on the copper rod, which Scott probably installed here for the many bat hybrids that call this area their home. Besides little rods and decorative bits like these, everything in Simmers' Quarter is built from wood and chiseled stone. The block palettes are pretty simple, but it works… The young, newbie builders don't often care for fancy designs (and setting them up with pretty stone and wood is a good way to guarantee they won't settle for less tasteful blocks like cobblestone or emerald). Most of the Simmers dump a few leaf blocks down for bushes, but largely prefer interiors, so in the end? It's a win-win.

Martyn's not here to talk to any Simmers. Or any of the hundred kids. At the end of the copper rail, he swings down and drops with a thump on the landing pad. The door's not locked. He waltzes right in. Just without a waltzing partner.

Ah, I'd love a waltzing partner. I oughta talk to Skizz.

The hallway's lit with golden lanterns. He's on the top floor. Nobody else is wandering. Martyn strolls along until he finds Room 810. He sifts through his pockets, digs out his spare key, and pushes it in the lock.

"There we are…"

Home bitter home.

The flat's a lot tidier since Scott packed his things and moved out. That's not to say Scott caused a big mess when he lived here. Jimmy just… never redecorated. Martyn can't even blame him. He's not redecorated in, eeeehhhh… Probably getting close to 300 years at this point. Definitely over 250. Dunno, honestly. Math is hard and everyone's brains are scrambled. There's not really much point in decorating, is there? Jimmy's the one who spends the most time in it, and while Jimmy and Scott were dating, Martyn hadn't seen a reason to get in the way. He keeps his stuff and private portal in his room, but so much of his station time is spent at the flock roost or else combing the perimeter. The flat is…

… Martyn only has a flat at all because of the people he came to stay with.

Martyn kicks his crocs at the front door, sliding into his slippers instead. All the lanterns are off. Jimmy's not home yet, still at the first of many late-night parties. All their games are gone too. There's no food here that Martyn's anivore body will get any pleasure from. And Scott took the blankets and throw pillows. He left the printscreens now framed along their walls - even had the decency not to crop his own face out when he left - but Martyn glances at exactly none of them. He'd just… rather not right now.

His room's the left one at the end of the hall. Jimmy's and Scott's (Jimmy's) is the right. The third door, straight ahead, is the one he came here for. As he walks, Martyn reaches into his pocket and withdraws a letter. He wrote it over break while they were killing time, waiting for Grian and Etho to account for Scar's glitch. Martyn swats it several times against his palm and opens the last door. The purple, wooden N hanging on its front clacks as he pushes through. This room never had a bed. The old occupant never saw the point in one, seeing as you can't sleep in the Between dimension.

It's not as quiet in this abandoned room as Martyn would like. He can hear screeching children playing in the road outside. He can hear Gluon's distinctive bee wings humming very, very near the edge of the flat. Martyn makes a mental note to take him and his fez out first next time he gets the chance.

Ah, well… It's Simmers' Quarter. Whatcha gonna do?

He gives a little love-tap to the sugar glider hoodie hanging abandoned on the hook behind the door. Hasn't been worn in a few hundred years, but it's nice to know it's still there. No matter how hungry Martyn's gotten… he's never been hungry enough to eat that.

With no windows, the room's especially looking dark. A desk and filing cabinet sit against the left wall. Posters decorate the space and a plush llama sits on the swivel chair. Nothing else particularly interesting, though.

Well, there's the portal. It balances at the top of a short set of steps. Definitely the centerpiece of the room, rather than something shoved to the side the way Martyn laid out his flat. The white blocks gleam even in the darkness. Martyn rummages in the usual chest for a torch, strikes it against the wall, and stands with it in front of the portal. Since it's unlit, the torch in his hand offers up the only glow in the room.

Martyn doesn't say anything. He just looks at the portal for a moment, head tilted slightly back. Hm. Then he walks back down the stairs and slides the torch into the sconce set on the wall above the desk. He tugs open the middle drawer of the filing cabinet. Then he starts flipping through the numerical dividers, running his thumb along the tops of the pages just because… I dunno, really. Just feels good, I guess.

"So I hung out with Lizzie and Mumbo today," he says, addressing the empty air. "Timmy came by with Cleo. I told you about Cleo, right? My not-so-cuddly 'soulmate?' Yeah. Well, Timmy actually like, tried to kill me. I wasn't even doing anything to him- just minding my own business. I mean, what was that?"

The dead portal on the wall stays… well. Rather dead. Martyn nods anyway, prying the last labeled divider from the empty ones in the back. Here we are. Proper month. He slides the letter in his hand behind all the rest.

"Yeah, I know… I'll see if I can get along with him next time we play. That'll be next week. You busy, by the way? I'd love to take you out to dinner sometime."

There is no answer. As expected. Martyn, shrugging his wings, pats his paper into place and swishes the drawer shut. It rumbles. He could leave it open. It just wouldn't feel right, though. Everything else in the office is neat and tidy. He'd like to keep it that way.

"Oh, so you are busy… That sounds lovely, though. Oh yeah? Oh, beauty, mate- it sounds like you're doing amazing things in your singleplayer. Can't wait to visit when you're done. I mean, you're gonna extend invites, right?"

The portal exhales with him, in the stillness and the silence. Martyn rubs behind his neck, gazing up at it. He leaves the torch on the wall, but walks back to the foot of the decorative stairs.

"We should talk," he says.

The portal, if it could emote, would probably flinch or tilt its head. Maybe give him a sassy little head flick, chin up and eyes both curious and daring.

"This Friday, if I've done my maths correctly, is… The 288th-year mark of when you went offline. And there's been, like… no communication. Not even on your admin panel. It's… it's getting real hard for me. I'm a lonely boy…" Big sigh. Wings dragging. They weigh him down like a backpack. Martyn glides his fingers up his cheek, dragging them through the spiky chips of his hair. "Look. I know I dragged my feet a lot and you were waiting for an answer. I know we never made it official or anything. And I'm sorry. I wish you were here to yell at me and shake me and let me know exactly how much trouble I'm in. If I'd had the slightest inkling that it was doomed to be our last night, I wouldn't… I might not have…"

His fingers slip away. His palms ooze down again, this time across his eyelids.

"I'm sorry. I was just so hungry…"

The portal says nothing.

"I'll pop inside my singleplayer tonight. I'm going to send you another message on admin panel, okay? And you can just… I mean, you don't have to answer. It'd be nice to hear from you, though. I really don't know if you're ever coming back. And we weren't official…"

I want to start seeing someone else.

He doesn't breathe that last part. Not yet. He's giving himself until Friday, awaiting a response. The children and bee wings outside don't get any less distracting.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles through his fingers. He drags them up and around. "I'm sorry you got assigned a partner who never woke up with a matching ring. I'm sorry I don't have a sync-cord. I'm sorry I let that lack of emotion bleed hold me back. I really am the worst soulmate in the friend group, aren't I?" And he laughs. "Everyone else gets screwed over by Martyn InTheLittleWood eventually, don't they? Martyn's never loyal. He'll never be there for you in the end. It's just… I dunno. It didn't feel right, back then. That was 288 years ago. I'm a changed man now."

A buzz. Martyn blinks, staring back at the dead portal. What?

Then he looks down at his wrist. Oh. He's got a comm message. It's from Bdubs. He clicks his tongue, backing away from the steps. "I'm sorry; I should probably take this." Lovely timing, boss. Any longer and I think I might be sick.

BdoubleO100: Martyn they've got a vex

BdoubleO100: at the corner

Oh. Martyn stares at the comm two seconds longer, then shrugs. "Sorry- I gotta go to work. I'll be back late." He turns his back, rattling fingers across the comm.

InTheLittleWood: is my captain admitting he needs little old me?

InTheLittleWood: don't think I can take someone that spicy :)

"I, um… Yeah. Yeah, I really miss you. Timmy does too. See you soon, I hope. I'm building a lovely server." He pointedly doesn't use the word matrimonial.

BdoubleO100: very freaking funny

"Can't wait for you to see it. It's kind of like one big minigame. LittleCam and I are recording all the voices. You and Timmy'd have fun."

BdoubleO100: get us a vex

BdoubleO100: get us scar

Martyn leans back his head, blowing a raspberry at the ceiling. Of course the meal isn't for him. His wings droop. Nonetheless…

InTheLittleWood: on it, boss

InTheLittleWood: save me a raider? 👉👈

BdoubleO100: judas priest you can have ME tonight. Just bring us a vex!!

Wait. What?

InTheLittleWood: How does that work when we're both phantoms?

BdoubleO100: we'll have Scar pull my soul out for you. He knows how

InTheLittleWood: is that innuendo?

BdoubleO100: Martyn they logged out half the crew

InTheLittleWood: am I getting promoted? :o

BdoubleO100: don't make me look bad in front of scott

BdoubleO100: Scar will be eating your wings for dessert

InTheLittleWood: fair

Martyn closes out Bdubs' whisper chat… and stops. "Wait. Why do I have two dozen messages from Impulse?"

He taps to look inside. They're all identical. The same two-word phrase repeated over and over.

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

Huh. Impulse used to be a phantom before he modded up. Maybe there's a latent instinct pulling him towards the upper corner tonight. Maybe Impulse is mutuals with a lot of phantom hybrids and he's been getting concerning messages texted his way. Or printscreens of good meals that make him jealous or something.

Martyn closes the messages without responding. The last one on the list is impulseSV was kicked by BdoubleO100, so Impulse is back home where wrist-comms won't reach him. There's no point. He makes a mental note to check in when he gets back to the admin panel on his singleplayer.

Right, then. Time to go. Martyn stretches out a kink in his arm, then starts walking back to the door. He reaches out to love-tap the sugar glider hoodie on the door hook again. "Good night, Netty. I'll message you when I'm on-server. I hope to hear back. Before Friday, if you can?"

Or next week's letter might… carry some news that neither of us is eager to share.

Ah, well. That's the way the cookie crumbles. Martyn locks Room 810 again, then sprints down the hall and launches himself off the landing pad. He's just coming up on the clock tower when someone calls his name.

"Martyn!"

Martyn stalls. He flaps once more, letting himself glide low. Then he actually looks. A couple folks mill around the square. As he thought, the voice belongs to Scott, who's standing by the tower base and waving him down. Huh. Martyn itches his wrist, then swerves around to join Scott on the bedrock. He sort of clops to a stop, galloping like a horse. His heavy wings flap. It buffets Scott's hair, making him squint. Martyn folds his arms behind his head. "You rang, boss?"

"Did Bdubs-?"

"-already on it. Said he needed a vex. You seen Scar, by any chance?"

"Ah, okay. See, I must have caught Scar at the same time Bdubs messaged you. I just sent him to the corner."

"Aw… You've really taken the wind out of my sails with that one. I was gonna swoop in all 'Here comes the cavalry' and everything." Scott doesn't react, just slightly picking one finger at the corner of his eye, like there might be loose pixels stuck in it. Martyn studies his face. His skin's all dark and puffy, like it's bubbling against his soul. He frowns. "You okay?"

"Long meeting… I nearly lost my corporate housing."

Martyn blinks. That's not at all the answer he expected. His wings sag low, ragged edges scraping slime-splattered bedrock. "Oh… Can I ask why?"

Scott leans around him, glancing up and down the street. Martyn looks too. They're not exactly in a hidden place. They're just kind of standing around the clock tower. Scott runs his tongue along his teeth, then taps his wrist and looks at Martyn. "Not here. Can I pull you into the Void for a sec?"

"My wings can take it, yeah. Ah, are you…?"

"I can phase the jacket off."

Martyn nods. Scott takes his hand with his left. The command star glows bright, each of the rainbow dots firing at full capacity. In a swirl of code, Scott drops them through bedrock. Martyn flares his wings, catching a scoop of lifeless Void air. Actually, you could argue the air inside New Star Station is just as lifeless, if not more so… Scott drops lower, fumbling his wings, and Martyn watches him kick and flail. Thankfully, Scott's not too far down when he gets the hang of flying. He spirals up again, allay wings crystal blue and gleaming.

"What's up?" Martyn asks, lowering his voice. It's probably unnecessary, but also… he'd hate for Scott to go through all the trouble of trying to keep secrets if he's about to blow it.

"Um… Grian left a few incriminatory papers on his desk in the lounge when HALO Aqua walked in during the Scar break. About unthreading."

"Ah, geez… Aqua called you in to talk about it?"

Scott nods, mouth a tight line. His wings are pretty, albeit fragile in appearance. Kind of cute. "I've already warned Grian twice - twice - not to let the HALOs catch what he was looking at. At the meeting, Aqua said I'd already been reminded three times to approach the HALOs with concerning information, and they suspect I chose not to."

I mean… They're not wrong, are they? "So… What? They're taking your portal?" A worm of unease curls inside his chest. Oh, please don't be about to ask if you can move back to Room 810, this time with me instead of Jimmy… I don't think I can handle coming between you two right now.

"Aqua said HALO might pull back support for me before the election. They also said they might have to consider un-whitelisting me from my AFK server because it's technically the HALO multiplayer, but then, they'll do that anyway if I lose. And I'll have to find a new building. Um…" Scott bites his lip. Martyn is also biting his lip, staring back at him, beating his heavy wings. They sort of thump and crack in the air. It's quiet above the yawning Void. It's real creepy. "They're not going to do it, I think. I talked Aqua out of it in the meeting."

"Okay…"

"Should I either put you on or take you off the mental list of potential people I can bunk with if I do lose my housing overnight?" Before Martyn can speak, Scott holds up his hands. His wings look to be racing in time with his heartbeats. "There's someone else I can ask if you say no, and it's not Jimmy. I just saw you fly past and thought I might ask real quick. Also, you don't have to decide right now. I know… it would be asking a lot."

"Ah, geez…" Martyn pulls his hands down his cheeks, mostly cupping his nose and mouth. "Uhhh… Mm. That's not going to work for me…"

"That's fine! I didn't mean to be invasive, but I wanted to communicate. That's what's going on with me; I'm tired. And we just got along well when I stayed with Jimmy and like during Limited Life, but I don't plan to move back in after-"

"It's not Jimmy," Martyn interrupts. Scott looks taken aback, his wings skipping a beat. "Sorry… Look. I'm thinking of dating again and I can't really… I'd rather not open my home to too many people all at the same time. Might get overwhelmed, if I'm being honest here."

Scott nods in absentminded understanding. "Oh, that's fine. Proud of you; I know you've been wary for a while. But yeah. That's how my evening's been. I need to get back to work, actually." He rolls his eyes. "MCC assignments."

"Gotcha."

Scott lifts his hand, flipping it to show his wrist. Before he can activate the sparkles and send them back through the bedrock, however, Martyn blocks the command star with his hand. Scott glances up… and Martyn's throat clenches like a dry, warped leaf.

"Um. Hey." Oh, I dunno if I should bring this up at all… but if I'm ever going to do it, floating in the Void where no one can overhear seems like the best time. "I noticed you basing with Skizz today."

"Yes…?"

Martyn tips his head to one side. Scott gazes back, his face mostly blank but his wingbeats picking up faster. He doesn't ask Martyn to cut the topic off there, however, so Martyn presses carefully forward. "I may not have, like, a room at home for you to bunk in, but if you ever want to talk… like, about Skizz… I mean, I'm here for you, dude."

Scott exhales, glancing down at his hand. "That's very kind of you… but I think I'll be okay. Skizz gave up on being anarchy. I trust him."

For several seconds, Martyn doesn't move. He doesn't voice the question he wants to, lest it probe too deep. He removes his fingers from Scott's wrist. "All right. I'm one whisper away on comms if you ever change your mind."

"Thank you. I think it's good, though. I think it's time." Scott inhales, breathing in the frosty Void air a lot more deeply than Martyn's ever tried to. "Skizz has never hurt the Slime Dragon. If he says… If he…" Scott's grip tightens around the command star on his hand. Martyn slides his eyes to it, then to Scott's face. It's not flickering with loose pixels, though Martyn wouldn't say this conversation's easy for him. Scott shakes his head. "If Skizz says killing the Allay Dragon was an accident… I believe him. My mum had kind hearts. I've watched Skizz spend a thousand years tearing his enderman self apart, trying to replace everything about his past with something new. He's not anarchy anymore." He says it more firmly than Martyn would. "I think she'd want us to forgive him. I've forgiven. I let him stay. I'm okay playing with Skizz. I'm not scared of him."

"Well, you're a braver man than me, Scott. I think I'd lose my marbles on anyone who lay a hand on my mum. You're real good. Sorry if I'm intruding on your inner peace or whatever… I just noticed you two were clicking and I wanted to hear your side."

"It's fine." He doesn't look like he wants to say any more, though. "Maybe I did need to talk a bit."

"Well, if you ever need to dump feelings where he won't hear them, you can always pull me into the Void again." Martyn doesn't try to hug Scott. They'll flicker through each other and messing with someone's wings while they're flying above the Void - particularly when that person's soul spawner no longer functions - wouldn't be a smart idea. He settles for a shoulder pat. "Are you cool with taking me back up? I wanna see if Bdubs left me any scraps."

"Ah. Yes, I should do that. Let's go."

🖤  🖤  💚

Smallishbeans

- Very cool dad

- Also kind of a god, I guess

InTheLittleWood was kicked by Vu1tureCu1ture

"Huh," says Joel, staring at his wrist-comm. "Martyn went down. That's not something you see every day. We've got an out-of-moon vex hunt going on."

"What?" Grian, who's had less practice on the floating stairway than Joel and keeps tripping on his chiton, jerks up his head. Joel turns, plodding back down a couple steps to show him his wrist. Once he stepped inside the Empires server, it kickstarted his comm and dropped him straight from the blinking orange screen to phantom hour. His comm's green, flashing the warning reminder that Empires isn't his AFK server and he can't stay here forever. Grian stares at the screen with rumpled forehead.

"I don't know who that is."

"Me neither. Some noob, I guess." He swings out his hand. Grian takes it. Joel hoists him up a step. "Come on, slowpoke. You'll make this take all day."

It's not Grian's first trip to Stratos. He's no expert at navigating the floating islands yet, although granted, his Hermitcraft base is decorated in gravity-defying rocks that aren't too dissimilar. This time, Grian hops the gap in the upper stairs like an expert without plummeting to the ground. Good for him. Last time he died.

There's another buzz on the wrist-comm. Joel looks down again. So does Grian. They both read the message, then lock eyes.

Pungence was kicked by Vu1tureCu1ture

"Who is 'VultureCulture' to take out Pungence?" Joel asks, not sure whether that's horrifying or maybe kind of fun. Maybe this Vulture person could use a friend.

"Bdubs won't take that lying down," Grian says, staring at his own comm. "That's his brother… He's not going to let that happen to his brother. Do you have your feed notifs on? Or just your force-kicks?"

"I track Bdubs, Martyn, Cleo, Etho, and Scar." Ironically, all the Clockers. Even the godfather. What a family.

"Same."

They stand on the floating stairs together. 30 seconds later, they have their slaughter.

Vu1tureCu1ture was kicked by GoodTimesWithScar

Joel punches the air. "MVP! MVP! That's our lad!"

"Oh, gg Scar," Grian agrees. His fingers tap, probably drafting a message he'll send once he's back in the station. Joel starts climbing the stairs again.

He's been popping in every now and then, upgrading Hermes' overnight house since recording sessions for Empires Season 2 faded out behind them. It's not very big, but Hermes is pretty good at keeping himself entertained. He's been getting into slime blocks and redstone lately. Ah, the joys of being a child. Joel scratches at his beard. It's longer now than the trim, closely shaven one he'd been wearing when Etho brought him back to the world of the living. He changed into it before he and Grian left the shower house, because why the hell not; it's what he usually wears when he visits Hermes and there were literally skin changing rooms right over there.

He takes the floating side path to Hermes' purple house, Grian right behind him, and knocks on the door. "Hermes! Thunder Daddy's coming in. I've brought Grian; hope that's okay. Knock back if that's not okay."

They wait. There is no reply. Grian, who'd also pulled on his angelic Stratos-themed robes for this, casts Joel a sideways glance and sits down on a chest. Joel gives Hermes 30 seconds, then eases open the door. It squeals. He motions for Grian to step inside. The lanterns are glowing, so Hermes must be around. He clicks his tongue.

"Hermes! It's me."

No response. The front room is simple. As previously stated, Hermes doesn't need a lot. He's got a window that uses banners for curtains. A table. Several comfy chairs. A chest of things sits in the corner, the lid open against the wall. But no Hermes rustling around inside. Joel waits a moment, then tries again.

"Hermes?"

No response.

Grian's unmoving, wraith-like behind him. His black eyes glint like a hunting cat's. Joel's heartbeats pick up, all ten of them pounding hard. It sends code rushing in a waterfall through his veins. His pixels fritz in a wave that stutters from head to toe.

"Hermes, this isn't funny. Daddy Thunder's had a long, long day. Come out here! Please? You can knock if you don't want me to bring Grian down the hall, but I have to check up on you. Make sure you're still okay."

No response.

"Herm-!"

Hermes peeks from around the corner of the hall, tiny and endearingly fae-like in his little chiton. His hair's curly blond-brown, almost the same color as Grian's, actually. As with Joel, there's a streak of dye across it. Hermes' is purple instead of green. When Joel sees him, he leans forward with his fingertips on his chest, exhaling a sigh of relief through the spiracles down his sides.

"Hermes, geez… You scared the guts out of me. I thought you'd run off. It's a bad day for it. I can promise you that. I've had one wild day. I can't lose you right now. Thanks. Um. Yeah."

His son bobs his head, keeping behind the corner of the wall. His eyes glide over to Grian's face. He doesn't wave or greet Grian in any particular way. He springs across the floor and launches himself into Joel's arms. Joel grabs him, grabs him, grabs him and spins to face Grian. Hermes wraps his arms and legs around him, squeezing tight. Joel can feel his own hearts thumping against Hermes' quiet little chest. His huffing breath ruffles Hermes' hair.

"See? I told you he's alive."

Grian blinks with a slow flutter of his eyelids. He doesn't say anything. Hermes snuggles against his chest, leaning his head on Joel's shoulder.

"I see," are the words that finally slip from Grian's mouth. "Can I touch him?"

Hermes shakes his head, not lifting his face from Joel's neck. Joel backs away towards the table. Grian lurches forward, one hand outstretched. Joel stumbles back again, banging his ankle on a chair leg.

"What the bloody hell, Grian? He said no!"

Grian stops. His arm hangs like a wing in the air. "I didn't hear him."

Hermes' fingers tighten in the ruffles of Joel's chiton. Joel wants to look at him, wants to reassure him that Daddy has everything under control, but… but he can't. Grian's eyes are like black holes, sucking in every fleck of his attention. He can feel pixels burning on his lips. He rasps his tongue around them. Can't even blink.

"Joel," says Grian, very softly. "You… you are aware he's just an armor stand, aren't you? Like- On some level, you do know that. You're cuddling an armor stand."

"… Get out." He's never spat those words at Grian before - not like this - but he's spitting them now. It's like the shower house all over again. Only this time, Joel's not the one in danger here.

Grian's feet do not move. He tilts his head. That damn hand is still stretched towards his son, who's now trying to wriggle from his arms. Joel loosens his grip. Hermes hits the floor and scrambles off to hide beneath the table. "I could show you," Grian says, like a flicker-tongued snake. "You really can't tell?"

What does he mean by 'show you?' Joel's eyes spark. He clenches his fists so hard and fast, it sends another ripple through his pixels. He flashes briefly blue. "Get out of my base. Get out of Stratos. Go home. Right now."

Grian's eyes move between him and the table where Hermes is hiding. Joel instantly puts himself between his son and Grian. Grian's mouth is a tiny dash, so small that his face looks like it's entirely made of pleading eyes. He pulls back his arm. "You know, it would only take a second."

"Grian, this isn't funny. What's the blimmin' safeword? Stop it, all right? I want to stop. Or I'll get you taken off the whitelist. I'll do it. I'll bloody message Fwhip right now." He can't. The message won't send across servers. He doesn't have an admin panel.

"Safewords are for roleplay. We're just- we're just chit-chatting, right? Am I scaring you?" Grian looks him up and down, thoughtful and expressionless. "Do you remember the safeword?"

No, no, no… "You touch my son and I'll kill you, Grian. I'll KILL YOU. Kill you so hard, you respawn in AFK. He's only grown his first 5 hearts. Get out of here. Why are you doing this? I don't want to play anymore."

Grian takes a single shuffled step towards the door, lowering his eyes. One hand clenches the front of his robes. "It wouldn't hurt him. He's just wood and shulker shells and a bit of leather, really."

"Grian, stop! For goodness' sakes!"

"You… you really think I'm a bad guy?"

Joel's got his Empires inventory back now that he's on-server. He yanks his diamond axe from his hotbar and whips it at Grian's head. Grian flashes bright red and probably drops at least half his hearts. He jerks backward, clutching his face. A blur of glitched-out pixels shoots from his cheek all the way up his eyelid. "GET OUT!"

The axe clashes to the ground. This time, Grian takes the hint. Wasn't much of a hint at this point, really. He backs outside Hermes' house, shaking his hands back and forth and tripping over his apologies. Joel grabs his axe from the floor, slams the door behind him, and throws his back against it. That's where he stays, huffing and glitching, until the splintery axe handle slides like molasses from his hand. It clatters against the wooden floor. Joel goes with it, dragging himself down the door until he's sitting with legs kicked out in front of him.

"Hermes… Hermes, you know Daddy loves you… You know Daddy Sausage and I love you so very much, right? And Auntie Lizzie?"

It's silent for a moment too long. Joel stares across the front room, saying nothing, eyes bleary. Then, when he's ready - because Joel always waits until Hermes is ready to talk - Hermes crawls out from under the table. He's never seen the child's eyes so wide. Hermes pushes one hand across his nose, wiping loose pixels away.

"I, uh, like, love you," Joel says again. The words get all clogged and bubbly in his throat. That's not mutually exclusive. He curls his fingers in that tiny gap between the floor blocks. "I don't care what you are, Hermes. You could be a creeper or a ravager and you'd still be my son. You're our spark. You're our baby boy. I support you no matter what. Daddy Thunder loves you, he does. I'm here, Hermes. I'm here."

Hermes isn't much of a talker. Joel stays a few minutes anyway, trying to bring his own sanity back under control. He brings the diamond axe into his lap, rubbing the sleeve of his chiton against the edge until it gleams. Finally, after maybe 10 minutes of one-sided conversation, he bids Hermes good-bye. Hermes nods. Joel leaves him with a pat on the head.

Grian's sitting on a weathered chest outside, his head in his hands. He snaps upright when the door swings open. Bloody creaking hinges, giving him away. Grian's face is still glitched out, including the gash where the axe disrupted his code. His hearts must still be low. Nice of him not to rummage around and steal food, though. Joel doesn't even care. Stratos was his main base during Season 2 and it floats above a swath of farmland, so he's far from short on food, but… it wouldn't have been polite to steal, even though Grian's his friend. Still his friend… always, forever. Joel throws the saltiest glare he can muster at him anyway. He keeps the diamond axe in plain sight.

"What are you still hanging around for? I thought I told you to get out. Do you want to get un-whitelisted? Is that what you want? Is this funny to you?"

"Okay, okay, okay," Grian rattles out, clutching his shoulders. "Joel, I… I am so sorry. You're right; I messed up; I'm sorry. I'll go and I'll never come back. I never meant to scare you. I just… I don't know. I didn't know if you were serious. I'm sorry. I promise, I won't do it again."

"Yeah, well… I'm sure you wouldn't like it if I came crashing into your AFK server and started kicking your precious cats. What the hell, Grian?"

Grian hangs his head. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You won't do it again?"

"No."

"You won't lay a hand on Hermes?"

"I won't. Glitch my hearts and hope to get perma-banned, I won't. Do you…? Uh… The safeword is 'nether star' two times, back to back. I didn't know if you actually forgot." Grian makes a double tapping motion on the back of his wrist. "You can do this too. And I'll try to be better at backing off. Especially when the cam accounts aren't online."

Nether star. Right. He didn't really forget- just extremely overwhelmed as he was very upset at the time. Joel kicks the toe of his boot against the shiny Stratos walking path. Then he throws back his head. "Hhhrggghhh… Grian, you know I could never stay mad at you forever. Come on; let's go back to the rift. And not another word about it."

"Not one more. I promise, Joel… I'm sorry. I wasn't a very good friend."

"It's game night with Jimmy at the card shop, isn't it?" Joel asks, ignoring every word. Jimmy loves little more than playing cards. He's always got something, or barring cards then it's a shiny new game in a shiny new place. Good fun, really. He motions for Grian to get off the chest, then rummages inside for spare elytra. "Here. These will get us to the rift faster."

Grian's fingers tighten in his elbow. He looks like a scarecrow with a broken arm. "Yes, it's game night… but I'll be late. I have to get wrapping paper for Honey. My birthday's coming up. She asked for some." Then, for absolutely no reason - probably just nervous - "You can't craft it… and it's modded. I have to get approval. It has to be soon."

Joel glances up. He did find an elytra for himself, though it's an unenchanted pair. He straps them on. They meld into him, immediately strengthening his firefly wings. Ugh. He misses his will o' the wisp mods already. "Surely you don't have to do that now… You know Jimmy hates it when you're late."

"I do, though. The shop's nearby and when I leave the card store, it'll be closed. I'll be along; I'll just be slow."

"Hmph. Well, I'll walk you partway over, then. It's on the way. But you should text Jimmy and let him know."

Grian glances around the floating islands, each one bearing perfect Stratos architecture. Apart from a donkey Joel left tied to a fencepost, there's no one else around. Apparently that's what he wanted. Grian grabs his wrist. Joel jerks back, spluttering nonsense. The man's fingers feel like claws- literal bird talons biting skin. "Please," says Grian, ripping his face apart with those beady black eyes. "Can you just tell me what it's like?"

"What what's like?"

"Golden carroting. With… with someone you want to spend your whole life with. Is it better, when it's with your wife?"

Is he still on about that? Joel stares back at him, hand slack in Grian's grip. "You… you really think it's appropriate to ask that after you almost snapped my son's neck to 'prove' he's sticks and shulker shells?"

Grian frowns. "Hey, hey, hey… I never said I'd snap his neck."

He slaps Grian's hand away. Grian winces, flashing with another half heart of damage. "You're having a giraffe, mate. Go bother someone else. Tango, maybe. Or Impulse. I don't know. Just don't bring this around anymore." He nudges Grian with his hand. Grian stumbles half a step. "At least walk if you want to run your mouth. Or better yet, put on some wings."

Grian bites his lip, wringing his hands. Ih. His eye's still glitched; he really needs to eat something. Joel starts searching his inventory for some food he can toss out. "Listen, listen, listen," Grian rambles out. "I don't feel good at all going back to Honey. I don't think I can ever fall in love with her."

"I mean, you don't have to like her just because your creator married hers. Just because he whitelisted you on her home server, it doesn't mean you're obliged to stay. This 'arranged marriage' you've set yourself up for is entirely self-inflicted."

"Um. Ooh." Grian looks away, still twisting his fingers around and around. "I can't… I can't leave her…"

"Do you even like her?"

He doesn't receive a response, which answers the question by default. Joel cocks his head. "I mean, if you're not in a relationship with her and haven't promised commitment or anything, then it's not really bad to explore your options, is it? I don't know a lot of people who go for strict 1 on 1 commitment anyway. Even then, I don't think I know anyone who's tried that style multi-server." But then, his friend group also isn't a perfect mirror of Grian's. Maybe Grian's seen different examples across the years.

"I don't know," Grian mutters. "It just… it just doesn't seem fair. Honey's never face to face met a non-mob person in her life besides me. I'm not giving her a choice."

"Well, I've never met her, but she'd want you to have a choice, I think." Joel shrugs. He claps his hands, hard. "Up to you, really! But I don't think anyone would blame you if you decided to walk away."

Grian… exhales. He straightens up, moving towards the chest to dig around for an elytra he can borrow until they reach the rift between worlds. "What do you and Lizzie do to make it work? I mean, she… she's not mad about Hermes, is she?"

Joel glances at him sideways. Um. He keeps one eye on the hotbar slot that holds his axe. Number 4. "What does Hermes have to do with any of this?"

"I mean," Grian backpedals, "you and Sausage… You have a kid. How did you and Lizzie work that out without her being jealous?"

"… Jealous of what? Of Hermes? He's never done a thing wrong in his life."

Grian sighs like a storm cloud then, lifting a clattery elytra from the chest. He starts strapping it on. Then, shaking his head, he tries again. "Did it bother Lizzie when she found out you spawned Hermes with Sausage? You know… with golden carrots. Without her involvement."

What? "I mean… We both knew it was more responsibility and that it might put a strain on us, but Lizzie's a gem, really. She's always been encouraging. Is that something to be mad about?"

"So she was fine with it? She wasn't jealous or- or hurt, or anything like that?"

"Why would I want to hurt Lizzie? That's disgusting, Grian. You're sick. Should be ashamed of yourself. I'm loyal and strong and sexy and so, so tall. Lizzie loves that about me."

"Never mind," Grian groans, massaging his temples now. Joel hangs back the entire glide to the rift, wrinkling his nose.

He's such a peculiar fellow…

Once they leave the server and step into the station - the multiplayer halls still active, people flowing in and out - his wrist-comm pings. Joel glances down. It's from Grian, to the group chat they share with BigB, Jimmy, Lizzie, Scott, and Fwhip.

Grian: mate im gonna be late

Grian: im picking out a wrapping paper / ribbon mod for my wife.

Jimmy's response is almost instantaneous:

SolidarityGaming: Send pics >:/

Grian snorts, shooting Joel a mischievous grin as he hurries off down the hall.

Joel sees Grian off a few minutes later, the two of them exchanging a cordial fist bump before they part ways. Joel doesn't loiter. In fact, he maybe hustles along too fast. He's not usually out this deep into his phantom hour. Technically they can't touch him as long as he's pathfinding home, though he's fair game to target if he stops to rest his feet. The phantoms don't scare him. It's the vex he's worried about. You don't usually see them feed outside the full moon, and that's not until next Monday. Joel checks his comm again, scratching unhappily at his hair. That's when he realizes he has a message bubble under Lizzie's name. In all today's chaos, with so many people clamoring for his attention, he'd overlooked that.

LDShadowLady was kicked by SnifferMyFeet

He stops. Etho hadn't mentioned that.

But you can't stop (shouldn't stop) when your wrist-comm's beeping green to signal you're in phantom hour. Joel takes off in a sprint all the way home. At least until his saturation drops, and then he simply shuffles along as fast as he can.

His and Lizzie's flat isn't particularly glamorous. Lizzie's dressed it up nice with pretty things like amethyst shards and potted flowers, but really, there's only so much you can do with access to a limited supply of blocks. Joel (in this order) confirms the dog got fed, gets himself a drink of water, and cooks a hasty meal. That way, his Between body will be ready to go next time he needs it.

While his food cools, he stands in his and Lizzie's portal room and changes skins in front of their full-length mirror. The toga-sporting god of Stratos gets set aside. He pulls his usual vest-wearing body back on… and sighs.

Okay. Yeah. He gave himself a once-over while hanging out with Etho, chatting for 10 minutes and nibbling on a sweet roll. He already knew he lost the arm scar. He already knew the freckles on this new default weren't quite the same. Joel pulls his fingers through his hair and makes a face at his reflection.

I guess it's better than no stripe…

Back before he learned how to code, he used to dye his hair by hand, using crushed flowers as his paint. He still does on occasion when he's bored or lazy. Joel can still remember the first day he ever designed this hair… The first time he added the colored streak. The first time he typed different hex codes to change the color out. "Did it all by myself!" he kept bragging again and again, and pouted when Lizzie licked her hand and pushed it across his hair to make it stick up funny.

It's fine. At least he has a stripe again. His fingers catch on the zig-zag antennae drooping down, though. They're too short to flop in his eyes. The antennae are fine. Bloody hell, even the wings are fine, technically. It's just…

I put so much work into that vessel… That was a thousand years of mod adjustments wiped away in an instant. And the full moon's coming next week. I guess I'll be skipping next game night too. Sorry, Jimmy. Can't risk it. It's been way too long since I've had to fight the full firefly moon sway and I might have a hard time reeling it in. Some other time.

He'll have to thumb through his skin collection and see if he has a recent back-up saved. Maybe somewhere. Sucks, though. So much work.

I feel so naked.

Well, these things happen. He's alive, y'know. He's still on the New Star Station closed circuit. He didn't respawn in Crescent Swamp, subject to his mother dragon who'd probably be less than amused if he explained how badly hurt he'd gotten. He'll have to take a look for back-up saves when he can. That's a job for the Joel of 'a few weeks from now.'

Right now, it's time to eat food. And then go find his wife.

Reuniting with Lizzie is far less dramatic (but no less sweet) than Joel had expected. She's safely tucked away inside their home. Joel sort of thought she might be waiting for him outside, but she's not. She's spread on the couch, scrolling through her admin panel. He finds her there when he pushes open the front door. She looks up, half a cookie dangling from her mouth.

"Hi," Joel says. "I lived. I'm basically the main character of the season now. I'm so tough and hot. There's no one playing Dog's Life who's more special and important than me, actually. Including you. I'm incredible and I won't share the spotlight with anyone."

Lizzie wipes cookie crumbs away with her hand and scrambles over to him. She goes in for a hug. Joel accepts it, snuggling his chin against her shoulder. Lizzie reaches up on her toes and plants a raspberry on his cheek. When Joel squirms, making faces and gagging sounds, she wraps her arms around his waist and says, "You're just a firefly… If you ask me, you're not but a tiny, sticky bug boy. I don't see any swamp gas wings here."

"Hey, stop… Lizzie, I don't like it."

"Smallest mob in the game. Smaller than frogs and silverfish."

"I'm tall and strong," he threatens back.

"Smaller than termites." She double pats his cheeks, rolling her palms back and forth. Her fingers lift to rustle his hair. She combs her hands back towards his antennae. "Stinky with marsh smell."

"Okay, whatever," he mutters, wriggling against her. Lizzie leans a little more weight on him, pushing him into the door. He didn't close it- still open- it bangs against the hooks where they hang their jackets. "Get off! Lizzie, get off. I need room to breathe. We're not doing this here; I'm not a sap or whatever."

"You love me… and I'm going to enjoy every second you're not a will o' the wisp and can't poof out of my arms."

"Mmph…"

She bonks her forehead into his, rubbing up and down behind his shoulder blades, right around his wings. "I'm glad you're home safe. I want to hear all about it. You take a sec to breathe while I get changed. Then we carrot and cuddle all night. This is a demand of your queen, and she will not be taking no for an answer."

Lizzie cracks up as she reaches the end of her statement, but Joel dissolves in a fit of splutters. His cheeks flare with sparks. "Tsp- pss- I- ack- I didn't- I only just respawned! I'm not even in the right body yet! And you got force-kicked- You got eaten- Lizzie, you have to shower before we play. I can't believe I'm even touching you."

"I did shower," she hmphs back. "And who are you putting up this protest for? It's just the two of us now…"

He sighs, flicking his gaze to the ceiling. "Queen doesn't know me that well if she thinks I was planning to refuse. But Lizzie, it's not my right body. I'll touch you, but I don't want you touching, like, my firefly wings or my stomach and stuff. All the stomach's off limits. Only collar and upper chest are okay on the front until I get this fixed… My body's wrong."

"I can work with that. Anywhere else?"

"Don't touch anywhere on my upper back my wings touch. Oh, I blummin' ache. Oh. And not my neck." He opts out of elaborating, trailing off. His hands squeeze. The neck area has nothing to do with being a firefly hybrid again. He just… He doesn't like the thought of it being touched right now, right on the heels of that snappy conversation with Grian in the shower house.

Lizzie's eyes are curious. Nonetheless, she nods. "Gotcha. I'll tread lightly and wait for you to signal yes or no before I press my hand down."

"Right." He clears his throat. "And tomorrow, I'm chasing you through the forest. More specifically, we're flying out to some random point where we've never been. We just strap on some elytra and go until they either break or we run out of rockets. We both start with nothing - no weapons, no armor - and go from there. Last one back to spawn, mm… Well." Joel shrugs, feigning like he doesn't care. "Last one to die picks how the rest of the evening goes, I reckon. It'll be Wednesday. I've got nowhere to be. Agree to the Mad Wizard's terms, Lidzil. There's no room here to debate me."

Lizzie laughs, throwing back her head. She accepts his offer, curtsies dramatically, and leaves the room. Joel smirks. Her footsteps disappear down the hall. Then, because he's starting to crash from both physical and emotional burnout, he scrubs his palms around his eyes and sinks down on the couch. Mm… What a day.

What a day.

He kicks his legs up on the couch, folding his arms behind his neck. The ceiling's pretty nice to look at, actually. He designed it to be interesting on purpose. He set hanging lanterns up there and they drip on flashy chains. Joel gazes up at them with half-lidded eyes until the buzz of a comm jolts him from drifting off. His eyes dart to his wrist. But it's not his wrist-comm. He sits up, hands braced behind him.

Huh?

Oh. It's the admin panel. Lizzie left it on the chest at the end of the sofa. Maybe someone's reaching out, asking if he came safely home. Joel guides the panel to the lip of the chest with his fingertips, then presses slightly on the screen to tilt it up. It flickers into life once he moves it. Apparently Lizzie was browsing beehive and greenhouse inspiration ideas. Joel thinks Oh, that'd be a cute project, for about .2 seconds before he reads the message bar at the top of the screen. It flashes on and off every couple heartbeats, dinging every time.

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

… Huh? Joel stares back, sliding his eyes back and forth. Is that a visual glitch? He taps the refresh button, but Lizzie's the admin for this server. He can't use the panel. He can't even type a response.

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

Joel keeps his eyes glued to the tablet, but turns his head towards the hall. "Hey Lidzil, have you seen what Impy's been texting? I think he's stuck in aggro."

There's a shuffling noise. Seconds later, Lizzie pokes her head around the doorframe. Her daytime skin's halfway undone, the seam open to her middle; she clutches the bundled flesh of it against her bright blue chest. Not sure why she bothers, honestly… He's seen her exposed hearts a thousand times. Joel brings the panel over to her. Lizzie studies the screen for a moment, then tilts her head.

"That… is peculiar. If he's on the panel, he's at home. Does he share a server with Bdubs?"

"I don't think so… He's with Skizz, Vera, and Julie. And their kids."

"Hang on." Lizzie tugs the skin of her hand back on, then rattles out a reply to Impulse- asking (politely) if he's all right and tentatively suggesting he's pressing a copy-paste button. Honestly, Joel expected an instant response. They stand there together, just waiting for it. There isn't one. After a moment, Lizzie shrugs and moves to the other room to finish changing skins.

Impulse's typing bubble flickers into view. Joel grips the panel's sides, squeezing hard.

Plip!

impulseSV: where's Bdubs?

"Oh, he's totally aggro'd…"

Lizzie returns to the front room, pulling back her hair. She twists it in an oversized bun. Wordlessly, Joel passes her the admin panel. "Oh dear," she murmurs, staring back.

"I know, right? I thought portals break aggro."

"That's what I've always heard." Lizzie studies the screen for a few seconds. Then she taps to initiate a video call. She and Joel tilt their heads in sync, bonking foreheads. The flapping phantom icon on the screen stays cheerful and green. It circles around and around and around… then blips away. And the screen remains black. Declined.

Joel shrugs. "That's it, then… Seems a little loony if you ask me."

Lizzie murmurs agreement and gets up to slide the panel into its protective case. Before the lid shuts, the thing starts going off again. Incoming call.

… From Impulse. Lizzie taps to accept. She and Joel move to the sofa and sit down. Joel fishes a golden carrot from the end table chest, tosses one to Lizzie, and bites the tip of his own off in a snap. Crunching noisily in her ear, he leans against her shoulder to watch Impulse's screen swim into life. But it's not Impulse who answers.

"Julienne?"

Now, Joel doesn't really know Impulse's wife too well, but recognizes her by the braided ginger hair and face of freckles. He's met her a couple times, but mostly at parties. She likes building; she does art. Lots of interior design. Bit of aesthetic jewelry crafts on the side. Julie's a hoglin hybrid and her massive tusks leave nothing about those traits to the imagination. Her golden glasses glitter in her hair. When she sees Joel and Lizzie blinking back at her, she grimaces. Big time. Mumbles of greetings are exchanged before she tilts the admin panel towards the black and gold floor tiles. Or more specifically, the person sprawled across them. Joel's brows shoot straight off his head.

"Is… he okay?"

Impulse whimpers like a tea kettle, his knees curled in and hands pressed tight against his temples. His leathery demon wings make an awful sweeping sound against the floor. His tail smacks over and over like a whip. Every couple heartbeats, Impulse sort of jolts and skitters his legs like a dog in a dream. His claws drag down his cheeks. They leave bright white marks down his pixels.

In answer to Joel's question, Julie sighs. "I don't know what's gotten under his skin… He met me and the kids in the hub, but he barely said hello. At least 90% of what he's said for the last two hours is just-"

"'-where's Bdubs?'" Lizzie echoes, softly. On the floor, Impulse whines and rubs the heels of his hands up and down against his eyes like he's screen-printing on a shirt. His legs keep scampering on empty air. His tail's got a mind of his own, and it's one violent snake. Julienne shows this for a few seconds, then turns the panel so they can mostly only see her face. She does not look like a particularly happy camper. Joel isn't even at fault for any of this, but shrinks beneath her glower anyway.

"All I know is, he wasn't acting this way when he met us for dinner. Did something happen? He won't say."

On the floor, Impulse groans and flops his head to the other side. He shifts around, trying to get his belly (apparently) pressed flat against cold tile. His wings beat over and over, though Joel can only glimpse the edges from this angle. Several times, Impulse lifts his forehead only to bang it against his arm. "Day 1 crew," he groans. "Day 1 crew…"

Did something happen? Joel glances at Lizzie. Lizzie glances back at him. His code chills over. He might spit carrot chunks. They say it together, testing the word off each other… but it doesn't sound as far-fetched as Joel wishes it did.

"A glitch."

🖤  🖤  🖤

HoneyLuna

- Player (Offline)

- Called her husband a pet name once (Never again)

It's thundering when he comes slogging towards the workshop, bent over Straws' back. The blonde horse is far from skittish, but with this much thunder and lightning in the area, even that aura of bravado is quavering. Honey watches through the shop windows, sanding the rough corners of a stone block. Straws keeps jerking sideways, fretting in the storm. The ground's slippery. Honey can't really blame her. Grian bends over the mare's neck, patting and whispering. In the end, he drops in the muck and pulls the horse the last chunk to the shop by the reins. Honey lowers her tools. Her wings twitch.

Tell me he's not…

Grian pushes open the door with one hand. His diamond armor clatters with every step. He tugs the horse inside, prompting Straws to duck her neck.

"Whoa," says Honey, holding up her hands. She's glad she threw a pair of work goggles on. If that horse kicks, a lot of things could go flying. "No, no, no… You're not bringing a horse inside my workshop."

Grian looks at her, stripes of soaked hair plastered to his forehead. "But it's raining."

Honey looks at the very sharp stonecutter, the very unstable redstone testing area, and the very hot super smelter. Then at Grian. He makes the same movement with his eyes, then goes outside again (one arm lifted now to block the rain). He pulls the yellow horse towards the stable a couple chunks away, slipping and sliding. Straws shakes her mane and nibbles on the ends of his hair.

10 minutes later, Grian comes back with a purple raincoat on, a blue one draped over his arm, no armor, and no horse. By this point, Honey's cleaned up her redstone tests. She's just sweeping the stone shavings into her palm when Grian joins her in the workshop and holds out the raincoat, like he thinks she has a third hand to take it with. He seems to realize this at the same time she does, however, and lays it across her barstool.

"Hi, Honey… Yeah. Sorry I came barging in with a horse like an absolute mad lad. I didn't think about it." He squints. "I see you cropped your hair."

She did. She admires her reflection in the stonecutter blade anyway. "It's a fresh skin. I kept the old one in case I want to switch back, but I think it's working."

Grian leans both hands on the barstool, examining her up and down. "Yeah… You cut a lot, but I kinda like it. Both skins were nice, but this one feels more 'you.' It's the 'I get down and greasy with my blocks, no longer tying it back' kind of style I guess I always envisioned, but never really thought about."

"Thanks." That's a compliment, right?

"Still pink," he observes, letting go of the stool. He steps away, rubbing behind his neck. Grian's a parrot hybrid - scarlet macaw, to be precise - so his wings have actual feathers. They fidget at his back, prickling up funny. "Did you stop debating blonde?"

"Yeah… For now. It just felt wrong this soon after the cherry blossom update. Maybe later." The stone shavings get dumped in the lava pool under the trapdoor. "How was the 'build until you drop' game? It was Joel and Lizzie's server, was it?"

"Good."

"… Wait, hold on. What happened to your eye?" It's… it's glitched. There's a whole stripe of glitched pixels (still wiggling; still freshly disrupted) spanning from his cheek to his eyebrow. Honey moves forward, pressing her palm against it. "Did you fall?"

Grian looks up in surprise. He brings his fingertips to his cheek, tracing out the mark. He looks like his friend Etho… only, with his gash on the wrong side of his face. "Oh. A zombie got me. Had an axe."

"Let's go get food. I have pretty fresh pork."

He nods, but his eyes wander across her work desk. He frowns. "Were you in my Mumbo shrine?"

Honey blinks, then looks down at the blueprints lying where she'd been sitting. "Was that… not okay?"

"It's fine," he says, but there's a nippy undertone to his words that sinks her hearts. Maybe they were special blueprints?

"I… I'm sorry. I really like his designs."

"It's fine," Grian repeats. "I don't care. Just… be careful. Mumbo and I share a soul, remember? Just be careful not to break anything."

She nods and picks up the blue raincoat. Grian waits until she's pulled it on, then holds the workshop door open for her. She steps out into the rain, gripping the edges of the hood in both hands. She tilts back her head. Distant flickers of lightning dance across gray clouds. The thunder laps at its heels like swirling river water.

"I'm glad you're back," she says, turning her head to Grian. "Thanks for sending messages while you were gone."

Grian nods, reaching to fix the snaps at his raincoat's throat. "Yeah. I think that was a good idea. I liked that too."

The dirt path between the workshop and their manor home is now flooded with mud puddles. Grian comments on it, asking if maybe they want to consider a new design. Bricks or stone, he offers. Honey kicks her boot at a mud glob, splatting it into the grass. She says, "Yeah, that's fine. I don't really have a preference. You can do whatever. I think something flat so I can wheel minecarts back and forth, though."

"Oh." He looks down again. "What if I made a nice path up top but I built a minecart tunnel underground?"

"Sure. That sounds good."

"I'll make you one tomorrow. Boss needs his sleep, so I'm here for the usual month before there's even a chance I go back to Hermitcraft. Do you have any other build projects you've been waiting on?"

Excellent question. Honey skips past informing him the super smelter needs fine-tuning. "I'd like to try a gold bartering farm."

"Okay, okay… So, a Nether build." Grian considers this as they approach the manor door. He hops up the steps, shoes squealing on rain-slicked brick. "That's gotta be easier than kelp… I've done one of those before, but I had help breaking through the Nether ceiling. Did I send you Impulse's notes on that? I think I did, but that would've been a while ago."

"No, but that's a skill I really want to learn."

"Oh. We'll do that together, then."

Lightning flares and thunder rumbles as Grian pulls open one half of the double doors. They duck inside, squeaking even louder on the tile than they did on brick. They shuck out of their raincoats and hang them over a dropper that will catch the dripping water. Grian moves towards the kitchen, understandably hungry. Honey leans against the island counter, watching in cat-like silence as Grian pours himself a shallow bowl of milk. Then he looks up, knuckles pale around the bucket's rim. His eyes move between her and the door.

"Oh," he says. He puts the milk bucket back in the cooler chest and gets out the box of wheat square cereal. "I brought you a new screenshot. You'll like this one. Here." He pulls a rumpled screenshot from his pocket and hands it to her. Honey takes it delicately between thumbs and forefingers. It's damp and faded, but the picture shows a row of people standing together, laughing in cheery familiarity. Grian grimaces. "Sorry. I can try to get you a new one. I bet someone else took one, too."

"Wow… So, all your friends got together for this game? That's so cool… And this picture's really good. Super clear." She can recognize every person in it… maybe. Some names come more easily to her mind. Some skins have changed since the last few screenshots he brought home. Honey tries not to think too hard about the time jump between their server and the Between dimension. He's been gone several days longer than she would like. He didn't message every night… but then again, he'd warned her he couldn't unless he was actually on-server at the time. She appreciates those times he did reach out. He kept his promise. He messaged several times, which (if nothing else) is more than zero. "It's a race, right? What are you building?"

"A big, proper London-y bridge over a big river near their place. Lizzie's been wanting to tear the old one down for ages and replace it with better-textured blocks. Joel kept procrastinating because it sounded like work. Their old one had campfires on the walkway and I thought it looked nice, actually, but I have to say… this one's an improvement." Grian pauses, holding the cereal box in his hand. "We did have a bad scare for a bit, though. There was a glitch that kicked us to the lounge. We're all right now, though."

Honey looks up. "They got a lounge? I thought there weren't any lounges in our neighborhood. Is that a new feature?" Then, "Do we need to get higher bandwidth? How's our ping?"

"No, it wasn't here. They rented one. They have one-day lounges at the station; you just plug in your destination coordinates and you can use the whole place. Good for having so many people there - we store food without clogging our inventories - and lucky we had it or we'd all have been kicked back home."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad you're all okay."

"Thanks." He leaves the cereal box on the counter, picking up his bowl. His spoon clacks against wood. "It's been a really long day, though. I did a lot of paperwork, I'm socially drained, and I'm so stressed… Some people got hurt and my hearts are still pounding. Then after the session, Tim still wanted to play his silly game of Go Fish. I can barely keep my eyes open…"

"Is there anything I can do? … Is Straws okay tonight?"

"No… no. I don't need anything." He massages his face, though, up and down with thumb and forefinger. "I'm going to my office to eat and decompress for a minute. Straws is fine. I gave her apples and told her she's a pretty girl… Oh, yeah. I got you the mod for wrapping paper. It has stars on it. It's cute."

"Oh, nice." In on-server time, his birthday is several painful months away. If they were in Between, it would be whipping at them before they could blink. Honey keeps a custom Between clock and a multidimensional calendar above her office desk for exactly this reason. She's working on converting the clock to her hand, but all the tutorials she's pulled up via admin panel are for players with active comms. Not super helpful when she's perma-offline.

Grian lowers the edge of the bowl, a stain of milk glinting on his lips. "I'll probably be late to bed, by the way."

"That's fine." Honey glances out the window. A creeper's out there sniffing at the edge of their fence. She debates shooting at it, but there's probably no point in the rain. She'd miss and waste an arrow. If it gets closer, she'll fire to send it scurrying. No point in making enemies with it if it's not even being hostile right now, though. "I'll be up for a while anyway, so that works out."

"Oh? Working on something?"

"Mmhm. It's a surprise. Mostly repairs, but I do have a new project in the works."

A flash of irritation crosses his face. Grian gets fidgety when there are surprises on the horizon, but he doesn't press her for details. Instead, he shuffles down the hall to his office with his cereal. Honey wipes a few milk droplets off the counter with her palm, then puts away the cereal box he left out and dims all the lanterns. She leaves her screenshot under a strip of wool and then a few books. Maybe that will flatten it out nicely.

See? Everything can be saved if you tinker around a little.

Since Grian said he'd be late, Honey decides to get him something to wear. Standing in Grian's closet is always a… unique experience. Grian loves playing dress-up with his skins. He owns a variety for all seasons, all types of weather, and all types of mood… some of which are strange and bizarre and she's too afraid to ask about. She hasn't seen him wear most of these. But then, Grian's gone so often that he hasn't seen a lot of her outfits either.

Her eyes flick to the clocks resting on her bedside chest. She has two. Like the set-up in her office, one's custom designed to the Between dimension. She'd like to get another for when he plays his games so she can figure out whether day for her is night for him or vice versa, but when she brought that up to Grian, he shrugged and said it would probably take a lot of regular fiddling.

She'll ask him again while he's home this month. She doesn't mind pointless fiddling.

Honey pulls one of his pajama skins down from the rack and lays it across the foot of their double bed. It's a floral design- dark blue with pink and red flowers all over it. If Grian doesn't like it, he can always put it back, but frankly… he'll spend ten minutes fussing in the mirror if she doesn't make the decision for him. Lights off when it's this late, please and thank you. Nights are too short and private to spend them fretting. There's always time tomorrow to look cute again.

She picks a pattern of colorful vines from her own closet: slightly frilly sleeves, but nothing over the top. She's been under the wool blankets for maybe 30 minutes, checking advancements and stats in her player data, before Grian finally clicks open the door. He leaves the lanterns off. Honey lifts her head just enough to glimpse him before he moves to the closet and starts pulling off his jumper.

"Hey," she calls. He stops, his shirt halfway off his neck.

"What?"

"Turn a light on. I want to see how your scars are healing up."

"Uhhh… Okay, okay…"

He shifts around to her side of the bed and pulls up his jumper, slowly and methodically. A dark red splotch cuts across his middle and all the way up his chest. Honey stares a little, her brain buffering. She reaches out her fingertips. "This one's new."

"A creeper got me."

"Straight through your armor?"

"I wasn't wearing any," he says, yanking his jumper hem back down. Then he remembers he's getting dressed and pulls it off again. He turns away, puffing his cheeks, and starts folding it up. His hands spin as though he's using the table-free crafting method. "It was just a building project. I wasn't wearing it. I had my wings out."

"Did you already apply magma cream?"

"That only works on the server where you take damage." He plops the folded jumper on its usual armchair, then turns around and sighs. Loudly. "I'm sorry… I'm being snippy. I'm really stressed about my friends. I'm not… I'm not trying to be a pest, Honey. I'm just really bad at this."

He doesn't elaborate on what this is. Honey sits up slightly, bracing herself on one elbow. "I don't think you're a pest…"

Grian shrugs, unmoving. "I'm sorry," he mumbles again. "It's been… an awful play session. Joel got hurt by the same creeper that got me. It was pretty bad and I was standing right there in front of him and…" He leans forward, plopping his palms on his side of the bed, and sighs again. "I'm sorry. How was your week? You said you were working on a project?"

It would be easier to show him, but that would mean going outside where it's rainy. She's cozy in bed. "I'm still in the rough stages, but I'm working on a ghast farm. Since I don't know how to punch a hole in the Nether roof, it'll be old-school. But then… If we're making a fancy Piglin bartering farm, maybe we should wait? Then we could each do our own hole."

Grian's face is blank. Stunned. His fingers tighten against the bedsheets. "A ghast farm? For…?"

"… Ghasts."

"What are you making with your ghast drops?"

"Potions of regen?"

His eyes clear. "Oh! Yes. That makes sense." He goes back to fiddling with the seams of his daytime skin. He pries the line apart and runs his hand down the gash, separating the two halves at the front. He flips off the hood, then steps out of the skin… A glowing, pink and purple humanoid shape flanked by enormous feathered wings. The wings flutter, sparkling, and he tucks them close against his body. His single heart beats softly at the left side of his chest. Honey watches this idly, her arm flopped over her head and fingertips resting on her ear. One of these days, she'll have to ask him what their different soul colors mean.

He drops the daytime skin on the edge of the bed, then starts yanking on his pajama skin with record speed. Honey watches for a moment, then has another thought. "I might make a ghast tear necklace. For fun."

Grian looks at her. He's not quite back in his skin yet, so it takes him a few seconds to fit the hood back on and close the seam. Unlike her, he does it top-down instead of chest first, hood last. Once he has a mouth again, he says, "Wouldn't that explode?"

Now it's her turn to stare. She watches Grian fit his soul wings into their proper slots. "Ghast tears explode?"

… He has really pretty wings. Honey's own wings flutter up, scraggly and veiny. They're blue and thin. Grian keeps wheedling her, practically begging on hands and knees to "let him kill the ender dragon and get us elytra," but Honey keeps asking him to wait. She wants to be there to free the End. And she will, when she's ready. She always has projects to work on.

"Maybe you can freeze them or something?" Grian shrugs and bends down, following the seam line with his finger all the way to his foot until the skin is sealed in place again. "I'm not sure."

"I guess I'll be brave and figure it out." Her wings twitch again. "Want to watch?"

"Yeah. That sounds like fun." Grian flexes his arms a few times, tugging the skin a bit until it lays right against his inner soul. He sits on the edge of the bed, legs over the side. He does a bit more fiddling. Honey waits, half debating whether or not she should bring up her mental advancements screen again. She opts against it. She just… watches her husband as he checks himself over and then rubs behind his hair. This week must have been exhausting…

… He's home now, though.

Grian tilts his head. When he shakes his hair, it dumps a lot more pixels than she expected across his pillow. He seems to notice this. He brushes them into his hand and carries them to the bathroom. Honey hears the click of glass as he dumps them in the spill jar and replaces the lid. Then he comes back, brushing off his hands.

"Is everything okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. Everything's fine. It's just… been a really, really complicated play session. I think going forward it'll be easier, though. All the hard set-up's done. Now we can play."

She nods, not sure what to say. Somehow, That's great! and Sounds like fun! both sound flat and awkward on her tongue. She says nothing, just scraping her fingernails back and forth across the sheets. This time, Grian sits more decisively on his half of the bed, pulling his legs up with him. He slides them under the blankets. All very typical things. But then he lifts his pillow by the corner and tugs it nearer to hers. Honey follows this development with her eyes, then looks at him again. Grian gazes back. The feathers that crown the back of his neck and head tremble, slightly sinking.

Neither of them say anything for a couple seconds too long. Honey leans her cheek against her pillow, quiet and tired. Her wings fidget again, folding forward so they cup her elbows. She didn't really intend that. It just feels nice to grip on a bit.

"Can I touch your wings?"

Honey exhales. Her wings flop loose, draping behind her. Grian waits. He could probably wait forever with a stare like that. His eyes are black, but they still glint and gleam in the dark. She sits up, guiding her wings over with her hand, and lies down again with her back to him. "Start at my shoulders. Take it slow. Don't go straight for the tips."

He nods, scooting a little closer on the bed. He slides down until he's lying there, tucked behind her. His hands cup the bases of her wings, right at that spot where they melt into skin. He's warm. Much warmer than she is. But then… that's no surprise. It's always been that way. His thumbs rub back and forth a few times, then ease their way along the veiny bits. Perfectly symmetrical. Grian's always liked symmetry. On instinct, Honey twitches both wings forward. Then she mutters an apology and flops them back. They rub against each other, letting out a twinkling chime.

"Should I stop?"

"No…"

Grian could wrap his fists around the skeletal stretch of her wings if he wanted to. He could probably wrench his hands and snap them off. It wouldn't even be hard. They're basically twigs. Honey closes her eyes. Her nails scratch against her palms. They're creepy, tattered wings like something dead and broken. And they clatter like glass when she folds them back.

"I really like your new hair," Grian says, still tracing his thumbs up her wings in perfect mirror. "I think I might miss braiding it, though. Thanks for letting me touch your wings. I know you don't really… like it that much. I wish you could see them the way I do. They're like crystals. This is such a vibrant tint of blue, too."

"They're useless," she mutters into the pillow.

"So are mine," he says, which feels like a jab. She winces. Grian, however, carries on as though he didn't notice. Maybe he didn't. "Have you ever seen a real, actual allay before? They're… endearing. They grow on you."

It's not the first time he's tried to talk her out of hating the ugly wings. Honey stares at her clocks in the dark and says nothing. After a minute of touching, fingers gliding, Grian clears his throat.

"Um… I know I don't touch these much. Thanks for letting me tonight. I just wanted to ask, um… Does this do anything for you?"

Blinking, she lifts her head. "It's nice. You can keep touching them."

"But does it do anything?"

"I still debate regularly if it's worth going through the pain of hacking them off with an axe only to have them respawn next time I die because they're default code, if that's what you mean."

"Never mind… Can I hold you?"

Hold me? "I thought you didn't like cuddles." Other than from the cats, anyway.

"No, no; wasn't me," he mumbles. His thumbs play against both her wingtips. "I never said that." He waits a few seconds longer for a response. When she doesn't deny him, he wraps one arm around her middle and pulls her closer. She grunts at the touch of his flame-warm arms, but doesn't really protest. Grian buries his face in the short tufts in the back of her hair. Then (still muttering), he says, "You're so cold…"

"Yeah? I mean, my account's been offline for years… I'm always cold."

"I know; I know. I just don't like it, I guess. I hate seeing you this way."

Honey squeezes her eyes. Her fingernails close around empty air. "You don't have to touch me if you're going to be a baby about it."

"Yeah, you'd think that," he says, tightening his arm. She can feel his lashes flutter; feel his eyelids clench. His knees curl a little closer, one tentative ankle brushing against hers. For a moment, silence. No noise beyond their humming pixels and the low growl of the Nether portal on the other side of the bedroom wall. Then Grian clears his throat. "Uh, Honey… I've got a question for you."

"What?"

"Do you feel… safe in our server when I'm gone?" A flicker of a pause. "I mean, you don't… You've never seen any glitches in the world or anything like that?"

"Not that I know of."

"And your player file's clean?" He sounds like he's walking on magma blocks, his feet just as bare for that as they are now under the covers. "I could run some tests on your file, if you want me to. I mean, you can say no. Just let me know if anything comes up, okay?"

"I'm fine." She flips the subject. "What do you want to do on your birthday?"

"What?" he mutters. Then, legs shifting, "Oh… I'm not sure, yet. I'll be out with the fellas. We're actually playing early that day; evening's free, though. Don't really know what that's about; that's just what's pinging on my mental calendar. I…" He yawns, snuggling closer, then murmurs again, "Evening's free. I'unno. Dunno why the meeting's bumped up. We could… we could do something. We could get the horses and go exploring. Or boats. Maybe boats or horses. I want to see the taiga. I think it'd be fun to see mooshrooms, actually. I sort of have a soft spot for mycelium. You've never seen mooshrooms, yeah?"

"No. That sounds fun."

"Yeah, yeah; okay, okay. Let's do that, then. Let's take boats and look for mooshrooms. Maybe harvest paper and craft more maps."

He's breathing in her hair. Grian's hands are coarse, still speckled with dirt and splinters. Not that she's one to point fingers. Her own hands are greasy with gunpowder and glimmering with particles of redstone dust. And he's so tense; his body's tense. Honey nestles against him anyway, because maybe he'll loosen up over time. Grian's fidgety. And flighty like a bird. He's hard to get a read on. He's like a kitten. Sometimes he acts like he doesn't want to see her. Other nights, he can't keep his hands off her.

"Maybe get carrots," he says, drowsy in her ear. "We need seeds. Get some golden carrots and sail away to a mooshroom village. Sit under the stars. Good fun, that is."

"I want to milk the mooshrooms."

"Yeah, you would. Well, we can do that. You'll like them. They're not afraid of players; come right up to you and nuzzle your hand. Especially if you have wheat. Just be careful they don't chew your hair." He yawns again, silky soft against her. "Sleeping now. Just sleeping now."

She doesn't fight him. Her husband's exhausted… He works a lot. Always volunteers himself for others' big building projects. So generous with his time. She moves her hand, gliding her fingertips across the back of his wrist. Grian grimaces, his lashes fluttering like the bump of a bee against the back of her neck. Honey plays with his fingers anyway.

I wish I could see those big builds. I'd love a bridge. And I wish some of Grian's friends were whitelisted so they could visit here.

She starts picking at an uneven patch of pixels on the back of his hand. Grian grunts, squeezing his arms. "Stop touching… Wanna sleep."

"You've just got a weird bit here. I'm just laying it flat."

"Shh-shh-shh… You don't need to. Go to sleep, okay?" He breathes in deep, then lets it out in a long, slow whisper that quivers the hairs behind her neck. His arms relax again, but the cradle around her remains. "Okay…"

END SESSION 1

Chapter Text

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Tuesday

SnifferMyFeet

Etho's Void-black room is a lot more fun without Etho in it, until it's not. Pause and Beef both went offline. Nobody's here to tell him what to do. Sniff bounces on Etho's bed, slapping the ceiling on every jump. He tries to do a backflip, but… too scared. He gets too close to landing funny on his neck and stops bouncing after that.

Bloody heck, it's dark in here…

The room feels like an open night sky. Sniff tests his weight against the mattress, bouncing just a little, and watches the glowing glitter up and down his arms. He's leaking… but the little sparks he's producing are drifting upwards, against gravity. Is that Etho? Is Etho the sparks? Where do they go? Sniff tries to follow them, but they twinkle and dissipate in the air. He pats his head, ruffling his hair, and checks the mirror hanging on the back of Etho's bedroom door. Huh. Yeah, his hair's leaking glittery bits too.

I guess this makes sense? When I ate his soul, he didn't really go down my throat. He kind of melted in my mouth and blended with my gums… Well, maybe just a little of my throat. But he didn't make it to my stomach. So if he didn't get digested like meat or bread, I guess this is how he leaves my system? Etho's mind may be unconscious, but the particles of light that form his body seem to be escaping through tiny gaps between Sniff's pixels. That's his current theory, anyway.

Okay… That checks out, actually. That goes along with what Grian said about getting cycled into the system faster if Martyn eats you than if Bdubs does. Bdubs eats more, so it probably takes a lot longer for everyone to sneak out again.

Huh. Sniff flaps his arms, trying to shake Etho's particles out faster, but that actually stops him from glittering for a hot second. It's a couple minutes before the sparkles start up again. Oops. Maybe all that shaking made whatever's left of Etho's consciousness kinda dizzy. Sorry, soulmate. Boat Boys for life.