Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t the first time he got egged. 

It was a heavily forested world. Where the trunk of the trees was thick as steel and no sunlight could enter into the canopies—an endless forest with no beginning or end. He was hunting one of his targets there until embarrassingly leaped into viscid tree sap, dropping his crystal, to which the fool managed to trap Scarab with the weapon and keep him as his personal Tamagotchi for three days. It was a very unpleasant experience, claustrophobic even.

Restrained from all movement ached his chitinous shell, and he was not going to give in to anxiety. That is until he managed to free himself. Oh, the pleasure he had when he escorted him to Judgement Hall for trapping a god. And he was only but a minor god.

The second time was by a human girl’s cat using her ass. It was the most humiliating defeat in his entire career. How irony clings to him like a leech. Now that confinement came back, the restraint aching his shattered body as that blasted Orbo kept shaking him around like a snow globe.

‘You know, I think I kinda like him like this.’

Exclaims the sun-glassed orb as he watches the little bug sprite shrill angrily at him. Prismo's silhouette lay on the tiled blue floor of what is perhaps Orbo’s office, looking out of place outside the Time Room. Prismo had trouble discerning if this felt liberating or terrifying. But current events are why he got excused from the Time Room, probably for the first time in millennia. He couldn't think much about this prospect as he silently watched Orbo agitating Scarab further.

‘Maybe you should cool down the shakes.’ Prismo said with a nervous smile. Scarab may be his enemy(?), but he doesn’t have to be treated like an egg maraca.

‘But look at him! He’s like a little grub.’ Orbo shows him the translucent egg with a very angry Scarab moving with its only two frames. ‘But I can cool it down. We have some business to discuss anyways.’ Right, this was supposed to be a meeting. He places the egg on a pedestal beside the auditor’s multi-tool crystal. The orb gave the sprite a stern look, his purple shades glaring from its reflection.

‘I told you to leave it be, mate. And look where it got you, egged by your design. That’s not going to look good on your record. If you still have one.’ Orbo tsked. Prismo felt a lump in his throat. ' Uhh, what do you mean if he has a record? You’re not sending him to the Citadel?’

‘After that Lich guy poofed you into dust and banged up the place? Nah, mate, the Citadel is not as feasible as it used to be. Besides, that place can’t hold a guy like him.’

‘Then what is his punishment?’ he asked, a climbing dread swelled in his gut (at least the equivalent of it). Even Scarab is deadly silent; his sprite stands there, unmoving as if he already knows what Orbo is going to say.

‘Well, since he ignored his job, repoing an authorized universe is a major crime. Not to mention he killed some of our co-workers, tried to get you fired. And a loooot of people don't like him. It’s been decided there will be no trial for Scarab and he’ll go straight for the Incinerator.’

Prismo couldn't hold back his shock, darting between Orbo and egged Scarab, who still hadn't moved, let alone made a peep. Prismo feigned a smile, and urgency sifted in his falsely cheery tone. ‘Orbo, dude. Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?’ 

Orbo mulled, his mouth pursing as he pondered. His face shifted from side to side to signify a shrug, ‘Not really. The Boss approved it, so it’s all good.’

Prismo always liked Orbo’s chill personality, but in this instance, that nonchalance is more perturbing than good vibes. ‘Shouldn't he get some type of mercy?’ 

‘His mercy is living his last legs before the big burnout. y’hear that, Scrabby? At least you get to keep ya legs!’ No reaction came from the Sprite. Orbo rolled to tap the egg, causing it to crack and break until it burst with light, releasing the captive from his prison.

The first thing to come out was red shards falling to the floor like broken terracotta. Scarab kneeled on the floor, his exposed fleshy bits wriggling as he grabbed his bearings. One of his eyes was left exposed from his partially shattered mask. He hasn't had much time to heal since the scuffle with Fionna and Cake. He must be livid having to attend like this, Prismo surmises.

‘Wow. They beat you up good, mate.’ Orbo raised his eyebrows while Scarab remained resigned on the floor, avoiding both of their gazes, unlike the auditor not to talk back. He payed no mind as he kept rolling over to Prismo, ‘Welp, I’m gonna talk with the boss about how it’ll go down. Keep an eye on Scarab for me. Not that he’s got much to go to.’

The giant orb bounced away, giving the two some privacy. Whatever’s left of it, that is. Prismo wanted to speak up, talk to him, but the words stayed in his throat. What could he say to him? 

Scarab made the first move by attempting to stand up. Prismo winced at hearing his limbs crack and twist like branches, more pieces of his crimson armor falling to the azure tiles—his movements so mechanic and forced. Prismo frowned, having to see this.

‘Hey man, you shouldn't be moving around.’

‘Shut up.’ Scarab snarled, able to see his gnashing teeth without the mouthpiece. He continued until he stood up straight, fixing his loosened tie and shirt collar. as professional as a fatally wounded person can be. Prismo got a clearer view of his body’s state. His bright red armor dulled into a dark garnet, every inch of his body cracked and broken, pink bits jutted out from the cracks. He looked like a broken porcelain doll. His four sets of arms twitched as he tried to move. Prismo stood there silently, slinking to the nearest wall available.

Scarab closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His biggest regret is moving his legs. His eyes widened as saucers when a loud ‘crank’ on his hip had him almost yelling. He immediately shut his eyes as he held his right leg. He slowly walked to the nearest wall to gain support. Regretfully, on the one Prismo is at.

‘Do you need a chair? A sofa would be nicer.’

‘I am fine like this.’

Augh, why does he have to be so stubborn? Prismo couldn't understand why he couldn’t just let him help. ‘Scrabs, come on, let's talk this out.’

‘What else is there to talk about, Prismo?’ Scarab retorted, slamming his fist at the wall. ‘It’s done. You win, as you always do.’

‘How are you going through the cinder a win for me?’ It’s appalling that Scarab thinks of that of Prismo. ‘I’m not even going to bother.’ The auditor’s reply brings a frown on Primo’s face.

‘Hey, you don’t think for me because this is the opposite of a ‘win,’’ he air quotes, ‘And you’re just going to let this happen?’ Scarab gazes off into the blue and black distance, his expression hard. ‘it’s reasonable.’

The response got Prismo to yell. ‘How is getting roasted reasonable!?’

‘Because I defected, don’t you see!?’

Scarab finally faces him, three fists clenching with one retaining his balance as he looks up to the Wishmaster straight in the eye.

‘I let my vendetta get the best of me and I broke several laws. I am following what needs to be corrected, and if I have to get incinerated so be it.’

He couldn't believe what he was saying!! Prismo held his head, wanting to yank his hair out.

‘Dude, are you nuts!? You and your rule-following, this is a life and death thing here. Can't you go off the books just once!?’
‘Well, sorry to rain on your parade, Prismo, but I’m not you.’ His voice poured more acidity than battery acid.

Prismo scoffs, ‘I don’t even get why you hate me so much!’

‘Oh, don’t pretend that you don’t know.’

‘I did not even ask for the job!’

‘You didn't have to! All you had to do was throw your insipid parties and be endearing to the masses to get your way.’

‘Well, maybe if you were likable, you wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.’

Prismo instantly regretted the moment he finished the sentence, and Scarab had this stunned look on his face. Neither of them expected Prismo to say that. He already began to blabber his apologies. 

‘Oh, crud-that sounded so nasty. I’m sorry, Scrab…’

Scarab immediately cuts him off. ‘I don’t want to hear another word from you.’

Things got quiet between them, save for the droning noise across the void. Prismo kept glancing back at Scarab every few minutes, much to the beetle’s annoyance. His constant fidgeting did not go unnoticed, either. Why can’t he just accept his fate? He poured his entire life into this job since he couldn't be a Wishmaster. Now with that gone…might as well accept his fate.

Prismo just couldn't let it end like this. He refuses to! He kept thinking of a million excuses, a million pleas to stop Scarab from getting cooked. Where would he go? It’s not like anyone would want to take him-Wait, that’s it! Ah!

‘What are you making that noise for?’ Scarab squinted up at Prismo. He must have said that out loud. Prismo slid down to Scarab’s level to elaborate.

‘Scarab, look, I know you don't wanna listen to me any more than you want to. But can you please, please, hear me out.‘

Scarab glared at him, suspicious of the Wishmaster’s motives. Prismo took a deep breath and continued, ‘Okay. So…whatifyoubecomemyassitantasawishmaster?’ He ends it with a nervous smile.

Scarab's eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘You could work for me instead! You get to be a Wishmaster in training like you always wanted! Aaaand you won’t get incinerated! Best of both worlds, a two-in-one!’

That got Scarab laughing, ‘Me working for you? I'd rather burn.’

‘Work with me, man. You can criticize me all you want later. Can you take me seriously just this once?’ Prismo exasperated. Scarab huffed, reverting to his brooding mood.

‘Why are you so insistent on this? Do you still want me around after persecuting you and your friends and almost destroying your illegal universe? Everyone is happy to see me gone. Why should you care?’

It would be better for everyone if you were just gone.

 
Again, the irony of things. 

‘Because I won’t stand seeing you die because of something that was my fault.

‘Pheh, now you have a guilty conscience?’

‘Hey, do not change the narrative here.’ Prismo raised his voice, a pretty strict tone not everyone sees from the lackadaisical shadow.

‘Yes, what I did is vastly my fault, and you were just doing your job, to some extent.  I’m still kind of peeved at you for what you did. However, I’m not the type of guy to hold in a grudge to give them the death penalty. You may be an asshole, Scarab, but I’m not a cruel person.’

Scarab went silent. He didn't expect the dreamer be so stern with him. But he cannot shake the fact that Prismo is right. Scarab slid to the floor, wincing at his lousy leg. The fight in him had vanished the further he sat down.

‘I want you to consider this. And before you start screaming that I’m doing this for pity. don’t. Instead, take this as an opportunity to not get totes barbecued.’

Prismo waited for his answer. He watched and let out a long, tiring exhale. He looked defeated as if either choice were as bad as the other. Scarab hated getting backed into a corner. At this point, nothing is better than being wiped out of existence. 

In the end, he concedes, ‘Fine. I’ll do it.’

Prismo beamed, relieved that he had taken the offer. ‘Oh, thank glob! I promise you, Scrabby, you won’t regret this!’

‘I have a feeling I am already.’

As if on cue, Orbo rolled in between them. Scarab nearly flinching at his return.

‘Alright, Scrabby. Are you ready for your big send-off?’
Scarab stiffened at his boss’s presence. But Prismo raises his body and speaks to the orb. ‘Hey Orbo, I was thinking, throwing people to the incinerator is not my preferred type of punishment. It’s too brutal.’

Orbo agrees ‘Yeah, it’s a real mood killer..’

‘What if I have a better proposition?’

‘With you I’m all ears!.’ Orbo grins. ‘So what do you have in mind, Prismo?’  Prismo elaborates, ‘I was thinking maybeee, if you’d like, you can put Scarab under my management.’

Orbo stared at Prismo as if he grew a second head. He shifted between him and Scarab then back at Prismo again.

‘Sorry, did I hear you right? You want to take him under your wing? After what he did to ya?’ 

‘Look, what he did was bad, but he had his reasons. He was just doing what he had to do. Until he started to go nuts-But take it as a lapse of judgment!’

‘Hmm…’

‘Think about it, dude! Everyone’s been having an issue with Scarab, right? If he works for me, he can learn a thing or two from me. And you said yourself that he needed to chill out. Who better to learn the master of chill than myself?’

Orbo pondered by rolling side to side. ‘Scarab is pricklier than a cactus. Not to mention short tempered. ‘

‘No surprise there, but I can handle it. Besides, do you really want to get rid off your most dedicated employee?’

‘Shoot. He's even the only one who does proper paperwork, too.’ Orbo mumbles. ‘I can’t say no to you. I’m all for it!.'

Prismo looks over to Scarab, the other looking at him in such surprise that he manages to convince Orbo of his offer.

‘As much I agree to this plan, Pris, the Boss has the final say. They made the decision final for sure.’

That unsettled Scarab. He hadn’t considered whether Prismo could pull this off. As much as he has every one’s good graces, even the Boss themselves, the Boss is still The Boss and could very well decline the Wishmaster’s proposal. He tries not to let the rising anxiety show during the conversation. Hoping neither of them had noticed.

Orbo made an apologetic shrug, ‘Sorry, mate. The Boss can’t just reconsider on the drop of a ball.’ 

Just as he says it, a golden phone appears before them, its golden frame lied menacingly on the floor as Prismo, Orbo, and Scarab froze in place. Orbo carefully picked up the phone, placing it on his non-existent ear. 

'Boss! Hey…' he got cut off by his superior from the other end, his brow raising from his sunglasses. ‘Yeah, I think it’s sound. You think it’ll work?’ Orbo asks, then keeps nodding from the way his sunglasses tilt up and down. ‘Alright. Sure, I’ll put him on.’ He turns to Prismo, ‘Says they want a word with you.’

Prismo tensed up and saw the phone appear as a pink shadow beside him. He hesitantly picked up the phone. 'Y-yes?'

Scarab stared intensively at Prismo as he held the phone, twisting the lining to quell the fidgeting fingers. He wanted to stomp out this anxiety building up inside, but with his life literally on the line, it starts to eat at him. He watched the other’s expression shifting from nervousness to concern to surprise as the Wishmaster’s eye got wide. The Boss must have said something to get him this shocked. Scarab was left agape when he saw that massive smile on Prismo’s face.

'I will, yes. Thank you, thank you, Bossman!' Prismo gave them so many thank yous he never thought he’d give before the phone disappeared into the ether.

Orbo rolls over to Prismo, a smile forming on his face. 'Color me surprised. You managed to change the Boss’s mind after all!'

‘Augh, that was so nerve-wracking, man!’ Prismo shook his arms to dispel the nervous energy he held up inside. 

'You got lucky there, Scrabby. Good thing you have a pal like Prismo, huh?' Saved by the mighty Prismo. How much that irked Scarab to the core. He wished he could rip his own eyes out.

'…I expel with joy.' He said sourly, but the orb flashed him a smile nonetheless.

'We’ll see about that. But first, we need to set up some ground rules.'

Chapter Text

Prismo and Orbo went over more with Scarab’s new position as an assistant. Primo’s assistant. It doesn’t sound right, it makes his mandibles click irritably.

Scarab barely commented throughout the discussion, he did pay close attention to absorb every detail of what the job pertains to. Making sure wish makers are welcomed, doing what Prismo tells him to do, keeping tabs on the Time Core, but most of all keeping the Time Cube in tip-top shape. So a glorified janitor/Butler, great.

However, there is one rule he was not fond of is having to be severed from his body. It’s the standard of being a Wishmaster (he knows because he studied the profession), your physical body going into eternal sleep to become a projection of yourself, a dream. 

He did speak up to ask the whereabouts of his body, and Orbo suggested it be held at Judgement Hall. Suddenly, yet again, Prismo got his way and suggested his body be arranged at the Time Cube instead. 

It inflamed him how he effortlessly spun Orbo around like a yarn. At least he’d know where his body is at, for reassurance. The other is his multi-tool crystal confiscated for good. It’ll be hard to get over that. 

Their idle chatting continues, and Scarab often finds himself drowning in and out of the conversation. One droop of his eyes, and he’d jolt up to force himself awake. No way he should be that exhausted. None of the bigger beings hadn't noticed this slight blunder. To prevent another slip-up, he stood up, immediately regretting it when his legs snapped and protested, his right leg being the most stubborn as it locked up. That did get Prismo’s attention as his one eye shifted to him before looking back to Orbo. Scarab winced before quickly straightening up to avoid any more glances and waiting silently.

‘Now that that’s settled, Scrabby’s all yours, mate. I’ll be stopping once in a while to check up on things. Monitoring biz and all.’

Prismo nodded. ‘Fair, fair. thanks for hearing me out Orbo.’

‘No probs prismo! Anything for a cool guy like you.’ Orbo had this funny twitch on his eyebrow which could probably mean he was winking. ‘I gotta thank you too, I think Scrabby working for you is better than throwing him the bender. I do have some doubts but it beats having to deal with the ashes, blegh.’

Scarab stifled as his now former boss rolled his way to him, his mass growing larger by his proximity and his face rolled down to level with his former employee. The same cheery expression he’d always give Scarab. ‘You ready to start working, big guy?’ said Orbo. Scarab jostled, taking a few steps back from him. He looks away, grumbling.

‘Like I have any other choice?”

‘Hahaha, that’s true. Have fun with your new job, Scrabby. And good luck to you, Prismo. You’ll need it!’

Scarab's vision turned into a bright array of colors, his whole being chipping away and buzzing from the overstimulating senses of light until blinding him in yellow violence.

Returning to the familiar chartreuse room, Prismo quickly deflated by slicking his body comfortably back to the floor upon their return. ‘Phew, that was tense, man. Scarab?’ His call was answered when his new assistant got warped into the room. ‘Hey hey, new roomie!’ Prismo greets Scarab excitedly. He stood like a sore thumb as his dulled complexion contrasted dramatically against the bright yellow walls. It made Prismo wince when more bits of his shell fell on the floor. 

‘A good snooze sounds pretty good right about now.’ said Prismo. All four of Scarab’s arms twitched, and he resisted the urge to click at his mandibles. ‘Eager to slave me away now?’ Scarab hissed, and more pieces fell off him like crumbled leaves. Prismo tried so hard not to pull at his hair and sighed. ‘Dude, you’re literally falling apart on me. I’m just asking you to recover after fighting Fionna and Cake.’ His voice strained. 

The beetle’s shoulders slacked, his body waning from overexcusion. Scarab looked away, sharing equal weariness as the bags in Prismo’s eyes. The Wishmaster gazed down at him. ‘Let’s get this over with.’ Prismo opens downstairs, he shifts to Scarab. ‘I’ll show you to your new resting spot. Here, I’ll make an autowalk for you.’ 

‘I can walk by myself.’ said Scarab. ‘Yeah, not with that leg.’ He points out then projects a wooden cane for him. Scarab went agape staring at this atrocious thing. It made him think about his crystal. 

He loved his crystal cane. It symbolized class and elegance (and a tad of superiority). It made him feel like a figure of regality. looking at it now felt like a mockery, like he was inept, weak. 

He throws the wooden stick at Prismo, suffering no impact as it fell onto the floor. Scarab marched down the stairs while avoiding the walkway despite the limp in his leg. Prismo couldn't help but sigh. “This is going to be a long apprenticeship.”

They travel across the infinite halls that led to many rooms that had no distinct form or purpose with only the pickle room that is ventured frequently. From abstracted podiums to labyrinthian hellscapes of staircases going in every direction possible that could send you into a loop, others into potential traps that would leave you walking forever. Prismo is amazed at how well Scarab maneuvers around the pocket dimension. He never took him for a fool, not for a bit, but even the smart-minded have always struggled to navigate through the time cube without his guidance. And those were only mortal wizards or warriors that came on through.

He eyed Scarab attentively as they made their way to the Time Core. The insectiod’s movement became sluggish, and Prismo would try conjuring the walkway again to assist him, only for him to get off it. ‘He is worse than Simon.’ he thought with a set frown on his face. 

Entering the vast white space, Prismo voices his concerns again, his tone becoming less pastoral as his tolerance grows thinner. The insistent babbling drowning him in and out from the Titans constant hammering each other, a violent gush of prismatic showers rained down on them, unaware of the two god's little dispute. 

‘Scrab, come on! You need to sit down!’

The other’s patience also ran thin, not able to take in another syllable from that man. Scarab turned rapidly, his fleshy membrane warped, busted shell sharpening of that of spikes across the edges, oozing with a hostility intense as he were back in Fionna world. It didn't take long for him to bellow his anger.

‘CAN’T YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH FOR ONCE!?’

Another hit reverberated, spectral rain pouring down on both of them. Prismo stared down at him while Scarab heaved rugged breaths. They stood there longer than they should have. With only the time gods bashing at each other gladly not caring of either of their existence as they endlessly perpetuate their violence on one another. But Scarab isn’t done with him yet, he yells again. Even as the heavy pangs drowned out his rage, Prismo got the message.

‘I don’t want anyone to coddle me, especially from you !!’ He points directly at him, his shell raking like a rattlesnake.

Prismo furrowed, his face full of hurt that would have brought the red beetle pure joy to be the cause of his pain. But both parties are nothing but fatigued. Yet Scarab continued his tirade on the poor guy, ‘Yet again, you get off with just a slap of the wrist. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting reprimanded for doing my job. And now you get to decide my fate? I may be working for you, but that doesn't change my contempt toward you.’

Scarab didn't have to be so nasty, he didn't have to. But he had to let out his frustration anyhow, even if he was being an asshole and berated the only person that vouched for him, that happened to be one he had hated for centuries. If Prismo gets to have second thoughts and kick him out and get thrown through the incinerator, so be it. 

Yet Prismo stood there, his face gone neutral. He blinked at him as he waited for him to finish his little tantrum. Maybe he just doesn't know what to say. Good. 

Another heavy pang and the space between them sparkled from the mighty gush of the Titans. Somewhere among their staredown or finding anything else to stare at, Scarab layed down on the white ceramic floor. Not from exhaustion, no, because his leg didn't protest. The flurry of the downpour had pacified him. His carapace responded well to the light, a soothing sensation that relieved much of his discomfort. Even prevented bursting a vessel or two from all the yelling.

Then he realized, when was he lying on the floor? His exposed eye opened to an endless ceiling, an empty white void as space itself. He quickly sat up; his joints did not protest as much as earlier when he stood up, his leg wobbled a tad but was able to stand upright. He blinked as his sight lay on Prismo, rubbing his head before retracting his hand once Scarab spotted him. 

‘Oh hey.’ He greets him, a small smile pursed on his face. However, his sole eye seemed more jaded, strained even. Scarab gave a neutral gaze before turning his back on him. ‘Let’s go. We’ve delayed long enough.’ He spoke, no edge in his voice. He did not even apologize for blowing up at Prismo’s face. He kept walking, and Prismo hovered behind him to pick up the pace. ‘We’re not that far.’ Prismo tells him exiting the core, ‘Just a bit through the spiring halls.’ 

So the whole track had been quiet, Scarab’s footsteps being the only sound or the silent droning of the abstracted labyrinth.

Scarab noted the architecture here is much more distorted, of geometric shapes floating in the air, unfinished architecture and stairs leading to nowhere and everywhere in an endless maze.

‘Ah, sorry for the clutter. I’m still trying to figure out the layout.’ Prismo slid past him, traversing through giant pillars and cubes in his 2D form—a form Scarab will have, too. ‘Since you busted up my hideout, I gotta plan new security measures. A-and now for you too for your body.’ stuttered Prismo.

Scarab said nothing, though he felt a twinge of pride getting the Wishmaster so nervous, only momentarily before stopping at the stairway leading up to the magenta-lit room where Prismo’s dreamer lies asleep.

‘Scarab?’ Prismo turned to him when the other stopped at the first step of stairs. Scarab utters, ‘You’re even more of a fool leading me to your resting place.’ Prismo’s pink form slid up the stairs like a carpet, to a wall where his face appeared. He only shrugged his shoulders. 'I thought it was better to keep both bodies here.’

Scarab was going to give an off-handed comment, but Prismo beat him to it, ‘Besides, you’re not the type of guy to start breaking the rules. Unless you wanna start being me.’ He says before going into the temple. The ex-auditor’s mouth went agape. Did he just sass him? The nerve! He remained baffled, trudging up the steps until he reached the entrance. Blanketed in the darkroom to be greeted by a four-eyed niche that met him with silent foreboding for his soul.

The room is considerably smaller than the Time Room, yet again, why would you need that much space for one occupant? Now two. He walks over to Prismo moving across the walls, inspecting for something.

‘Hmm, I wonder what could be a good spot for you. Any ideas?’ he asks.

‘I’m just going to be put to sleep, Prismo.’

‘Yeah, but what if you like your bed on the wall? Do you like your bed soft or firm? And then there's lots of sleeping positions. Everyone has their way of sleeping.’
Scarab doesn't sleep, he doesn't need to. However, he does rest if he hunts a bit more than he can chew. But he was never sleeping. And since he’s constantly on the move, there was no consideration in wondering what kind of bed he wanted, a sleeping position or whatever mortals partake in the activity.

‘What about a dirt bed?’

That got a deadly glare from Scarab.

‘Just kidding!’ He waved his hands in defense, ‘You seem the type to like fancy beds.’ He snapped his fingers, and a giant satin bed appeared before Scarab, he grimaced looking at it. ‘Ugh.’

‘Okay, not the satin type.’ He snaps again, switching to a waterbed, then a Victorian bed, inflatable, massager bed, bean bag gurney, a love heart bed…

‘At this point, I'd rather sleep on the floor!’

His sudden outburst caused Prismo to fumble his snap. The furniture morphed and glitched until it generated what claimed to be a bed. The mattress was colored black, surrounded by a large canopy dome around the bed, almost resembling a giant shell. Scarab inspected it closer, placing his hand on the mattress. It was plush like velvet, close to acceptable.

‘Uhh, I can change if you’d like.’ Prismo says.

 ‘No, this will do.’ Quickly responded, not in the mood for another game of bed simulator. His patience was waning as it was. It at least pleased the Wishmaster when he smiled. ‘Okay. Could use some blankets, though.’ He snapped up matching black sheets neatly folded on top of the bed. He watches Scarab as he stares down at his new resting place. 

‘Do you need a moment?’

‘If you wouldn't mind….’

‘None of it, dude. There’s no rush here. I’ll meet you up in the time room when you're ready.’ He picks up the other’s mumblings, claiming he’s not his dude . 

‘Scarab?’

Scarab sighs, but he indulges Prismo once more, ‘What is it, Prismo?’

‘You may be angry now, but it’s good that you’re here instead of…y’know.’

Scarab replied with a dip of his head, not agreeing with his sentiments, but it was enough for Prismo to watch him slide out of the room. Finally, alone.

Is that a good thing? Scarab is still determining that himself. The deafening silence rang at his senses (his hidden antenna, too), creating this feeling of consternation in the room. Coming to terms with getting demoted had him vexed. Centuries of blood, sweat, and (not)tears into his job. Even if he got sour that he didn't get promoted to Wishmaster. Even if he barely got praised for his strenuous efforts, he was proud of his accomplishments.

Until he lost it all to the day he got that ping.
 

Everybody in the cosmic world knows it by now, it’s how gossip goes. They would be rejoicing having to know that Scarab is finally expunged from his services. How long they’ve waited for this day, and it rattles his insides like an agitated serpent. 

He turns to the altar, treading over to Prismo’s human host. Emerald eyes watching him from below casting their judgement the closer he went. the old man sunk deep into his comfy confines of baby griffin feathers, cashmere, and marshmallow pillows. Snuggling on the soft blankets and softly snoring without a care in the world.

A storm brewed inside him that unsettled Scarab. It’s the same unruly rancor that got him here in the first place. His eyes bore holes into the small, wrinkly form, unaware of his presence. The storm began to fester as intrusive thoughts began to shape themselves into his mind, an incentive. His fingers twitched with an urge to…

Three voices came into mind: one told him it goes against his principles and he’d be obstructing the rules. The second reprimanded him, saying that this was unprofessional.

The third was the loudest, piercing his folded antennas to do it.

Each digit of his fingers twitched, motioning upwards attempting something. He could stop, he could, but looking at that face that caused him so much turmoil is enough to give him a choice.

‘Don’t lose the only chance you’ve got,’

Scarab froze. He did not expect Prismo’s voice to echo in his head. He forcefully backs away from the sleeping elder like some force repels him and returns to bed. After much stalling, he finally decides to take his rest. If he starts working, it’ll stop his mind from wandering into places they shouldn't, venturing to feelings he knows he shouldn’t.

He removes his suit jacket, and then gradually unfolds his black tie. Folding them neatly so he can settle them on the floor beside the bed. Aside from his busted suit armor, he frowned when he inspected his dress shirt, all ripped and from all the concrete and rubble it suffered from the fight. Scarab sat by the edge of the bed, perplexed how it cushioned his weight so nicely. He can feel his body instantly giving in to comfort. Not yet, his lousy leg protests as he lifts it to remove his shoes, feeling the relief of his clawed feet moving freely, and sets his formal shoes next to his clothes. This is as many layers he allows to remove and reaches for the sheets. It felt spongy to the touch, a plant with such a woolen texture brings to mind. 

‘Stachys byzantina’ Lamb’s Ears. Hmm, not a bad choice, not that he will credit Prismo for it. With a breath he finally lies down to bed. 

The mattress is a perfect balance between firmness and softness. He thinks of another plant close to this caliber.

Ahh, Sagina subulata. Irish moss-wait. Irish Sea Moss, freshly fished from the sea to amass a soft bedding. 

Thinking of it now, he analyzes the architecture that surrounded him. The bed acted more as a strange pod than a regular bed. It reminded him of a cocoon or closed burrow. Maybe that will help acclimate him to rest. Scarab continued stimulating himself in comparing which other plants or flowers are pleasant as the mattress. Enough to get his body numb and heavy like stone, easily giving in to comfortness he’d never thought he could feel. I felt alien.

Eventually his mind felt fuzzy like scratching static and his instincts screamed at him to wake up, he’d hate to admit he prefers not to.

And no one can resist something so comfortable like this. He won’t have to worry about it any longer once the pull of slumber took over, finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness. 

Chapter Text

'C'mon Scrabby. You can do it.'

'I am not some fumbling infant, Prismo.' Scarab fusses, trying to walk to the next corner Prismo is at. It was like watching a crab shuffling the terrain of the tide pools. With a lack of a third dimension, the beetle had this urgency to step forward, to only move sideways. It's frustrating, but it's one of many tribulations he will learn to manage.

'Doing pretty good so far!' Prismo encouraged him as he got closer. Scarab grunted, 'How you managed to navigate like this is beyond me. And I'm sure you're not supposed to be experiencing vertigo in this form.'

Prismo lounges back on the wall, his feet crossing the other side of the room, 'I could say the same to you, walking forwards and backward; how can you do that? And don't get me started with gravity. But you'll get the hang of it!' he smiles, 'Though your form is rather peculiar.' This little observation had the smaller shadow squint his eyes into thin slits. He was always hard to read with his mask, and this new abstract form does less to convey anything.

'What's so 'peculiar' about the way I look?' Scarab crosses his arms.

Prismo chooses his following words carefully. 'When you sleep, your dreams often create this inner being, or this version of yourself made from what you were, what you are now, and some project a version of yourself into what you want to be in the future. I am who I am because my dreamer made me this way. After all, I'm an aspect of him. Even though I'm not really, but sorta am…?' he scratches his chin stubble. ‘We don't even share the same thoughts and memories; maybe it's just a side-effect of him being a mortal.' Prismo shrugs his shoulders. He keeps blathering, not noticing a particular look in the other's eyes when mentioning his human vessel.

‘Though in your case, you can shape yourself as you seem fit. I was expecting you'd turn out red, taller too.' He , now surrounding Scarab like a pink snake as he closely observes the other's form.

'Are you implying I made myself small and blue?' Scarab bared his fists, and Prismo put his arms up in defense.

'Hey man, it's only an observation. Dreams can also deal with the person's current emotional state. It could mean something you haven't known about yourself yet. Unless you're hiding it on purpose.'

'I am not hiding anything.' Scarab hissed. The nerve to imply he's hiding is insulting. Stupid Prismo and his outlandish observations. 'Again, just saying. Once you learn the ropes, you can change forms all you want!' Prismo emphasized this by stretching his arms and bending to a swirling coil before returning to normal.

'With that said, let's start your initiation to the Time Room! You've acclimated to the place already, which skips the tour.’

'Yes, your little distraction to save your friends had me familiarize myself with all the rooms you made me trudge through.' Scarab snides, reminiscing that little detour. He continues, 'No need to explain the functionalities, either. I've studied enough of this place to spare me the details.'

'Dude, I saw that when you took out the goo from the TV, and you manipulated it without effort! It's like you already worked here before. You’re really dedicated to getting the Wishmaster job, huh?'

'More than you ever know.' Something in the other's austere tone made it seem personal. This could be more than a grudge. But asking him could set off a landmine of emotions neither is willing to confront. To save himself from the awkwardness, he summons the remote, now repaired with a new silver finish from the old black model he had.

'Here's a new remote to access the TV. And last, of course, sit back and watch-Aaand. I believe that covers everything!' This continued stillness was not helping at all. More so with Scarab scanning the room like a sentry gun waiting for anything that moved.

He can now notice the Time Room's condition with no crossovers to chase. It's a beer can nightmare, and trays of microwaved food were laid about, wrappers and crumbs spread across the floor. He does not want to imagine whatever is floating around in that filthy pool water in the hot tub.

'I'm going to clean up this mess.' Determined, he marches towards the nearest beer can. 'Oh, you don't have to start right away.' Prismo tried to wave it off, but negligence is not in the Scarab's vocabulary.

'And let this unholy clutter of miscellany fester on longer? I don't think so.'

How dare Prismo think he can slack off on his first day on the job. Ten minutes, ten minutes, and Prismo is already a worse manager than Orbo. At least Orbo is competent when he needs to be.

The most he can do is jostle the can around; he tries again, but nothing. It hasn't even moved from its spot. Prismo had the decency to project a broom for him, and for once, Scarab took it without a fuss. Scarab grabbed the stick, able to sweep the can away. He can't hold a can; that is worse than getting crushed into concrete. No matter, he will overcome this. Prismo can manipulate objects, and so can he.

'Nice, you got one!'

'Don't patronize me, Prismo. Shouldn't you be getting back to your post?'

'Speaking of, I should check on Fionna and Cake!' Prismo went for the remote with newfound energy, 'Now that they're canon, they got their own channel!' He says excitedly as he starts flicking around the channels. Scarab's mandibles almost clicked when the town appeared on the screen.

As if he could rub it into his face some more. He did his best to ignore the television and drowned out Primo's comments about whatever the crossovers were doing (Yes, he still calls them that) to get this place clean. All the cans within reach were collected into the trash bin, dissolving when dumped in. Finished, Scarab made a beeline to a corner filled with cobwebs; it had bothered him the moment he manifested in the room.

The townspeople were still fixing up the damages Scarab had caused. Still, everyone persevered and began reconstructing the town back in shape, better than before, if Prismo had to say so himself. He couldn't be happier to see Fionna and Cake finally living their lives. His creation, his baby (babies?), thriving without hiding it again. It made him feel a type of joy he hadn't felt in a long time. Not since…

That train of thought derailed, picking up the angry muttering of a particular bug. He spotted Scarab trying to sweep out a small web in the corner. How did that get there anyway? Prismo entertained himself, hearing his roommate grumble to himself as he was subjugated to watch the very world he tried to eradicate, rejoicing, all sunshine and rainbows.

'Good to see they're all doing okay.' He finally spoke, but Scarab chose to ignore him. Prismo shuts the TV off to talk.

'All in all, Orbo let you off easier than I expected.'

It was true; Orbo doesn't take punishments so lightly despite his lackadaisical and good-natured attitude around his staff. He would think that he might have been relieved they didn't go through with dumping Scarab in the incinerator. Maybe that's just his own observation. Still, this is a good thing.

'It also helped I put in a good word for you.' Prismo said proudly to himself, smirking as Scarab's internal grumbling went ignored. Y'know, watching Fionna World doing fine gave him a burst of inspiration; it's been a while since he used his creator programs….Prismo summoned his laptop right into his lap. Heheh laptop.

'I think you'll be able to grant a wish in a couple hundred years. But you have to pay your dues first.'

‘Only people that never pay their dues say that,’ grumbles Scarab again, swiping the broom harsher than usual. No success in swiping off this infernal cobweb. Prismo sat there watching Scarab struggle on the same corner for who knows how many hours. It didn't seem very healthy, though he isn't used to his 2D form yet, not to mention he's still pretty sour from everything that has happened. Extending an olive branch is in order.

'Hey, Scarab?'

Calling him by his proper name got the blue shadow's attention, and his eyes squinted with much vexation.

'Why don't you take five? I can show you how to use my character creator program.' He said with a smug on his face, as if to say you know you want to. Scarab stood very statuesque-like. Slit almond eyes and lack of a mouth didn't leave much to the imagination to indicate a positive or negative reaction.

Prismo was ready to turn down the offer after prolonged silence. Instead, Scarab surprised him when he walked his way over. This is…definitely new. He must have really been frustrated with that cobweb if he had to take a break. A smile loomed on his face, and he started typing out a prompt. The more diminutive form watching him set up the program.

'I usually start with an overall theme. We can do true heroes!' He stopped typing when Scarab rejected his idea with a resounding 'no,' almost worrying Prismo that he might have second thoughts. Another surprise comes his way yet again by offering a different prompt as he points down the screen.

'Put in Dark medieval mystery drama.'

'Wow, okay.' Prismo sounded flat in his response, yet wrote in his request. He did not expect him to be so compliant in participating, but this got Prismo excited; he got Scarab, of all people, to get invested in writing. Together!

With a theme set, Prismo pressed 'enter,' and the program began to generate characters, classes, items, NPCs, and other resources that is to build the story's setting. Prismo isn't much for dark stories but anything to keep Scarab engaged, this could also offer the Wishmaster a fresh set of lens to expand his writing.

'Most of the time, I like to start with making up the characters and worldbuilding later. Unless you want to start with that first?' Scarab takes a moment to think, 'Let us start with that first.'

'Okay then, give it a go!' Prismo passes the laptop over to Scarab. For the first time those slanted eyes opened wide. 'You're letting me take charge?' It was puzzling that he would allow him access to his laptop just as much as the other is for Scarab wanting to write. Prismo only shrugged his shoulder in his usual slack style.

'We can make it a collaborative thing. Plus, you have a better insight from being practically everywhere as an Auditor.'

‘That is…precise.’ Scarab says before sitting down. He hesitantly reaches for the keyboard, extending forward until he touches one of the keys. So far, so good. He struggled to push in a key. Curse this flat body! How can Prismo do it so feasibly? Another forceful push and he felt a key press down, another with the other hand; soon, words began to appear on the blank document. 'Hey, you're getting the hang of it.'

'Hrn, it would be easier if I had fingers.' He says, typing one key at a time.

'Don't worry, soon you can use all your fingers.'

Both of them sat in comfortable silence. Prismo paid close attention while Scarab worked on drafting the world description. He noticed the blue figure would often tense up or slouch closer to the screen when Prismo leaned over him.

Despite the beetle’s visible discomfort, he answered Primo’s questions about the kingdom and the layout of the land. Scarab is very particular in defining architecture, Prismo learns.

'Dang, Scrabby. You're good at worldbuilding. Considering your previous job,' Scarab flaunts the praise, even if it is from Prismo. ‘You tend to pick up minute details to universes that are worth to look at.’

'It must be great having to explore all those universes.‘

'You have a TV that oversees everything.'

Even at impossible angles, this eldrich technology can provide absolute insight into every known existence and/or individual, from the greatest titans to an atom's picometers. Prismo agreed, 'True, though it's not the same as being there. Feeling the grass on your feet, the smell of coffee beans at a coffee shop, that thing that people get when they ride a roller coaster, churning butter under your feet. It would be nice to be there than sit around and watch it happen.'

Scarab is not going comment about the additional feet thing. What a weirdo. As he looks to Prismo, there was something in that sole eye of his Scarab couldn't read. He has everything the beetle has ever wanted, isn’t that enough?

'You have everything you want here. What more can you ask for?'

Prismo's eye looks away, frowning. 'Ehh, I guess it’s pretty cool. But give a few megayears…'

Scarab squinted, 'How you even got picked for this position baffles me.'

Prismo’s sullen mood quickly shifts to his familiar upbeat visage 'Good thing I have an assistant!'

‘Humph’

He was about to pat his back to have the other lean away from his touch. 'I'm going to save the current progress. Then I'm going back to work.'

'That web isn't going anywhere; you don't have to work all the time.'

'And you can poof it out of existence, yet life has other plans. I do not intend slacking on the job like some people.'

Prismo chortles, 'Whatever you say, Scrabs.'

Chapter Text

A new routine fell into place for both of them.

Prismo resumed his Wishmaster duties, surfing channels on the TV, the following granting wishes, sometimes erratically, with less than pleasant results on the new realities created. All the while, Scarab cleaned up after him. If there were no other commitments to occupy them, the Wishmaster used the moment as an excuse to pop up the laptop to continue writing. His assistant was less than keen on partaking in the activity. Still, with enough prying, he gets him to sit down to discuss what they'd written so far, and Scarab would proofread for any improper grammar or misspelling.

Aside from collaborating, they hardly spoke to each other in the first week of living together.

Scarab spent every waking moment finding work that had him doing something worthwhile. Even menial tasks such as taking inventory of all the pickle jars. Anything to keep him moving, or else there would be a problem if he needed something to do. It is unacceptable. It was nearly impossible to prevent Prismo's insistence on taking breaks so he could read over his sickeningly tooth-rotting fluff fest he calls fiction.

With his superior input of dark storytelling, it stomped out the sunshine and bunnies into a grimmer, more compelling story of doom and gloom. Of course, some sappy moments were allowed to appease Prismo, but only to break away from some repetitiveness of continuous dread and action. Having complete part management on this project helped give him a form of control. The sheer lack of was discomfiting.

If there were instances where he allowed himself some reprieve, making inspections on the Time Core is undoubtedly one of them. He was less prickly sweeping for cobwebs or smudges on the floor than in the Time Room; best of all, there are no TVs or bothersome Wishmasters here. Occasionally, he would observe the Titans and bask in the rainbow gush. He was reveling in the rays like a leaf soaking from the sunlight. Of course, it's not the same experience in the third dimension. The light would have enriched his carapace, sensing a slight buzz in his body like little jolts of electricity. The nearest feeling to relief, much to everyone's disbelief, not that they'll understand anyway. He can feel a little buzz in this corporeal form. It just did not match that tangible pleasure. 

And of palpable things, he had not checked on his body. He had been meaning to see it at some point. Not that it's going anywhere, saving him the uncertainty of it held up somewhere he had no access to instead. It may be a lack of desire now being accustomed to his 2D form. He'd have to figure out this out-of-body experience, meaning he would have to ask Prismo about this. Ugh. 

But ultimately, this was the only room he sought fortitude in.

And maybe, just maaaybe, this collaboration project might have simmered his sour mood down if only by, say, two percent, three if he's focused. 

Being the co-writer and editor is as close to a job as being Prismo's butler.
Reviewing Prismo's drafts of the story, the overworld, and its characters. Mostly, he has to correct all the grammar. 
The Wishmaster can't help it; his ideas come so quickly into his head that his hands speak faster than his brain, going all clickity-clackity rather than planning out his thoughts.  

In his auditing days, receiving and sending celestial mail was a task he never took lightly. Scarab ensured every report, announcement, invitation, and message was as professional and concise as possible. He does not miss the waves of emails from his co-workers, filled with hologram cards with a corny pun with a cutesy animal bombarded with hearts and glitter, all the grotesque use of slang and unfinished documents, grammatical horrors that can give a bug an aneurysm. 

However, writing a story differs from writing reports or writing work letters. The act of writing never got used in a creative sense. Scarab, on occasions, nab a short read of gothic fiction when he had to wait for appointments once in a blue moon, but only to pass the time, not much to let his imagination run wild, let alone put them into words. Writing was just for work relations, that's it. So when Prismo let him work on this story, it was surprising, maybe startling. It would be the only thing the two have an equal footing. Everything was tranquil. Different.

Scarab needs to figure out what to do with different.

Prismo, on the other hand, finds having a permanent resident in the Time Room very alien to him. He's always used to wish makers coming and going, not interested in having little chit-chats or his bizarre interest in dousing cucumbers in salt and vinegar. When he has actual guests, they mostly stay for his parties until it is time to crash out. The only remaining occupant after the events always has been Cosmic Owl. Who (haha, hoo) is much to a close friend he can have besides, well, Jake. He misses Cosmic's board games, even if he wasn't much of an aficionado like he was, but the owl always had fun with him or just hung out in the tub and talked like they always. In recent years, it's better not to think about him unless he wants to give himself a headache.

Used to living by himself, Prismo behaves like a deer in headlights when he spots the blue shadow struggling with a beer can or finds him swabbing the emerald floors of the pickle room. With a forced smile here and an awkward wave there, he skulks past him so he can tend to his own devices while absentmindedly acknowledging Scarab in the background. He appreciates his presence; Prismo likes having Scarab (or pretty much anyone) here. It's that he's so accustomed to doing stuff on his own that having constant company beside him is unprecedented. 

As days passed, the Time Room gradually became stuffy, almost suffocating. He can barely go on his Jake binge when in the mood with Scarab scuttling about, silently scrutinizing him like a hawk. After having a lengthy discussion on his mishandling of wishes, Scarab kept tabs on his latest wishes. He also noticed he isn't used to being judged on his work ethic either. Not that he had anyone to criticize him before. 
Prismo always got restless whenever Scarab got too pushy or nagged at him for just existing, limiting his self-independence. Huh, now he realizes why his past dates never meshed so well.   

Losing his autonomy in his home makes him uneasy and on the edge. And with certain moods on the rise, there’s not much of his chill to spare.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

A new day and a new week followed. Scarab worked on the laptop today, messing around with the model customizer in manual mode. After being fed up with the character generator, he discovered this feature while tinkering with the program's user interface. The tool is much more feasible to build his character from the ground up rather than spend hours on random algorithms producing sub-par results barely coming close to his vision. Finally satisfied with the character after quite a while, it was time to start crafting the armor for his templar knight (because it has to be a knight). Now, should it be medium or light armor?

'Hey Scrabs.'

Aaand there goes his moment of peace. 

'Go away.' He tried shooing him away, only for the other to narrow their distance. 'That's going to be difficult, won't it?' Prismo said with a knowing grin.

'Much to my dismay.'

'Plus, you got my computer hostage. No rush, though. I'm not gonna take over today. Hey, they look pretty cool! And pointy.' He compliments his half-baked knight before blocking the screen with his stick-figure arms.

'It's not finished.' zits Scarab.

'Better than nothing! Very different from my guy. He's all scarves and robes. The armor would weigh him down.'

'Your character is much to be desired. How come, with all those layers, he is barefooted?'

'Guess it just adds to the aesthetic?' Prismo shrugs, 'I feel like he wouldn't be comfortable with shoes.' That Prismo, always controvertible with his decisions, irks the smaller shadow. He scoffs at him and turns back to the computer to focus on his character, who is missing their pauldrons. 

They went silent. Scarab thought he'd be satisfied with the newfound silence, no talking Prismo. But this type of droning noise got to the bug's nerves. 
If a talking Prismo was annoying, the silent one tested his patience. The more it dragged on, the louder the keyboard clacked by the second. What is that dolt standing around for? He is definitely up to something by how hushed he's being.

'Sooo-I'm gonna tune in on my channels.' Prismo declares, chiming in a projected tone. Scarab ignored this strange behavior, keeping focus on the screen.

'Go on then, I can still work with your gabble in the background.' 

Prismo was not subtle with whatever circus act he formed on his face. He is adamant about expressing something to his roommate. Scarab sighed, shut down the laptop, and darted up at him with those ever-squinting eyes, 

'If you wanted me to leave, you could have just said so. Or does the all-good Prismo have no mean bone in their body?' Scarab chastised Prismo.

'What? No! I wasn't insinuating anything! It's cool hanging around with you.' He tries to play it off. However, Scarab's heightened perception of an octopus with skepticism gives Pyrrhon a run for his money, making him impossible to dupe. Uh oh, he even placed his hands on his hips.

'We've barely spoken to each other for less than a week.' pointed Scarab.

'Man, how do you keep track of that…' Prismo mutters, 'We've been back and forth in our writing sessions. That's gotta count for somethin'!'

'I have to because it is a requirement in a cooperative project. However, it's more of an obligation since I have no choice but to speak to you since you are my boss. But you are exhibiting uncharacteristic behavior; it sounds like you don't want me to see something.'

 'Uhm, no?'

'Then why are you hovering over me? Waiting for confetti to fly out of my pockets?' He exaggerates, reaching for his empty(shell?)pockets. 

'L-look, it will only be the channels I saved as faves. You won't like 'em; it's very cringy to watch.' He stammers. 

'Oh, I've already had a few good hours marathoning your world and others you like. Should I mention the rubber chicken universe?' That still gives him nightmares. 'What could be worse than that?'

Prismo found it hard to answer instantly, darting away from the other's cutting gaze as if he were a child caught sneaking into the house in the middle of the night. He left Scarab speculating, scanning him with only his eyes. If he wanted him to leave, he could just say so. He'd gladly leave to go to the Time Core instead. This walking on-eggshells schtick will not be a habit around him. When it couldn't get worse, some idea must have perturbed the beetle to have those slits go wide as dinner plates. Only one obvious conclusion is causing the Wishmaster to exhibit this apprehensive behavior. Prismo blanched as he, too, came to that train of thought.

'NO. No-That's not what this is.' Tried as he might to stop him from going there, he still went there.  

'PRISMO' Scarab exclaimed in the most scandalous tone,

'Now, come on….'

'Prismo!"  

'Scarab, for real, it's not…'

'I always hated you, but this is all-time depravity!'

'Do you think I would use the TV so flippantly like that?' Prismo spoke so earnestly. "Sure, maybe I peaked at people smooching before, intentional and unintentional-but come on! I know when boundaries cross!'

'I'm not certain. Rarely are you monitored on how you use the technology. While your pickle brewing is stupid yet pardonable, this is a total misuse of the cube. Now I can see how you developed a fancy of such voyeurism.'

Prismo stretched his whole face. Why are they fighting over this? 'My glob, it's not lewd videos!'

'Then what is it, Prismo? Unless you've been doing something illegal other than ignoring your calls and creating that universe behind my back, it's the only option. So what else could it be?.' He questions Prismo, and his throat gets caught. His shoulders are haunched together, feeling cornered despite towering over his smaller blue roommate.

'Cat got your tongue? Spit it out already!' Scarab invokes him again. Augh, he hates when Scarab instigates him for no reason! It was stressing Prismo out. Poor Prismo held his head, feeling like his brain was crushed in a compressing machine. 
 
'It's so easy, Prismo,' He says in a playful, mocking tone, 'You can kick me out of the room with a few simple words, shove me to another room, or you could poof me away with a single snap.' He accentuates this as he snaps his fingers in front of him.

He finally bursts, 'I just wanna use the TV for myself, alright??' Prismo shouted.

'Not so difficult, was it? Stop beating around the bush with your niceties and start admitting your true intentions.'

'Okay, I'm out of here!'

That was the last straw. Prismo opens up the downstairs and disappears down the basement. Scarab pursued him until the gap vanished into the yellow floor. It sends his mandibles clicking loud enough that they can snap stones. He'll chastise himself later because he needs to yell at the floor.

'You can't avoid me forever, Prismo! That goody-two-shoes act will run out someday. You're not trapped in here with me. I'm trapped in here with you!!'

Hours passed, and Scarab hadn't bothered tracking the time locked up in this room while dribbling vitriol of the Wishmaster to no one, kicking at empty beer cans before begrudgingly tossing them to the waste.

'Tch, stupid Prismo. What a nuisance. Think he can walk on eggshells around me, then think again.' Scarab grumbled aloud. He ought to punch something to inflict his anger by hitting Prismo's stupid yellow walls.
Well, at least he's attempting to. Instead, he's waving his arms around like he's in the middle of a rave. Waves became mad flailing. Since that wasn't working out, he tried stomping and kicking until a sudden pressure caused his foot to dip across the floor along with the rest of him.

'Wauh!'

Scarab swerved across the floor. It felt like he was plunging into the ocean depths while simultaneously drifting at the water's surface. No sense can come of this with gravity gone out the window. He wafts on a wall and starts spinning up to the ceiling. Scarab tried to grab a solid surface, to stop gyrating like a damn fidget spinner, but his nubbed hands failed him. Scarab attempted again to regain control, motioning his hands; somehow, one of them opened a gap and held the borders desperately. One touch was enough to suck him into the square aperture, finally gaining stable ground on his feet. Scarab's blue form trembled from all the activity, his whole form distorting in wave-like patterns until it slowly settled back to normal. There will not be a repeat, and he'll ensure that. 

He gazed at this new entrance, a passageway leading to a void. There is no room on the other side or obscure spaces of random geometric structures, no light at the end of the tunnel—only pure blackness.

He squints; he cannot even detect any distinct smell. It's as good of an exit as any, so Scarab enters the corridor until only his blue form walks across the black canvas. As he goes, the concept of time and space has yet to pass. Looking behind wasn't an option either, as the Time Room was a mere golden speck the last time he checked. After a while, Scarab perks up, taking notice of a blue square opening in the middle of the room. He hastened the pace to reach the exit, not taking into account that touching the edges sucked him out from the voided space into a world of floating rock, ice, and twinkling stars. 

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

The first thing is to calm down. It didn't matter where he went as long it was somewhere reclusive. Prismo roamed for a while to expel the anxiety from his system. He ended up in an area with swirling platforms spiraling in on each other, stretching his body like a pink carpet. He did some breathing exercises rather poorly, but it brought him to a point where he wasn't visibly shaking anymore.

He glanced down at his hands; his donked-up wrist felt like someone was scraping it with a cheese grater. Then bits of color came, fingers glitching and warping as he flexed it. He forgot he was supposed to ice them. On the other hand, a few shades near purple trickled from his fingertips; luckily, that receded quicker than his busted wrist—a normal pink hand.

'That was a close one.' he sighed before beefing out, 'Ugh, he's such a donkey's butt!'

Prismo coiled into himself, crossing his arms, adorning a deprecate frown. His brows knitted tight as he sulked. 
What does Scarab think he is? Trying to goad him on like that is so uncool. They were doing well writing fics together, and Scarab was doing okay working alongside Prismo; he thought they made good progress. That is until the beetle did a one-eighty and snapped his head off. He could easily be to blame, yet Prismo enabled it. 
He did want Scarab to leave the room but didn't want to kick him out; he had the right to live here now. Yet sharing the space is the struggle because Scarab is already on his ass with how he handles his job, and no doubt he would question his feeling about a particular yellow dog. Seeing how he acted earlier, who knows what he'll say about it? Who knows what he'll do if he says anything regarding him.

Placing his hands over his eyes, he heaved a big, shaky sigh, 'What am I to do? I wish you could help me out, Jake.'

If he were here, he'd say, hey man, give a dog a bone here, pun intended, and get Prismo to honk out a laugh. The thought made him smile a bit. Prismo popped a beer into his hand, tossing the grog down his throat. Beer never sat well on the tongue. Anything more potent than that could really affect his performance on the clock. It's why he always drank light at parties. You can't be a good host when you're a drunk host. Yet, repeatedly, he's been tempting himself to break his rule. He should be allowed such frivolities, right? Right? A few gins won't hurt anyone...

He drinks up the rest of the beer and wallows before getting another can.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Eventually, he returns to the Time Room, his usual self, though slightly buzzed. He spots Scarab sweeping the floor, startling the bug with his presence. He seemed more skittish than usual with the way he fidgeted around his broom. They may be nubs but he can read the language as they swerve around the handle. It's odd but humorous. 

'Scrabby'

'Prismo'

They addressed each other like two co-workers by the water cooler, a shuffling of feet here, a crude cough there. Gotta love them awkward vibes. 

'You're drunk.' remarks Scarab.

'Huh?'

'I can smell the beer.'

Prismo looks away, waving it off with his hand. 'It was only two cans. Besides, it's three-two beer.'

'Even with the average percentage of three-point two is ample enough to impede your performance. It's enough concern that I might have to intervene.'

'Trust me, it won't reach that point. So you don't have to get your bug pants in a twist.'

'Hmph, I find that doubtful.'

Scarab kept cleaning. Thankfully, he hadn't brought up their spat from earlier nor apologized (again). Prismo was going to mention it, but he hesitated. Because that would bring up the discussion, talking this out was out of the question, despite the events that transpired was not okay. 

Prismo was unsure what to do; he still felt icky and didn't have much motivation to scramble his thoughts for his fics. Oh, he can, however, mess with the character sheets! He had been meaning to change his character's color palette. That'll get him out of his funk for sure.
 
He hails his computer and boots up the program. At first, he only accomplished little. He'd stare blankly at the screen with the file open when he last saved it. Then his hand slowly moved to the paint bucket tool and unraveled a giant color wheel, hovering in a rotating disk as it displayed a layering tower of colors starting from primary followed by secondary under it, tertiary, every shade and hue in the existent spectrum, even the ones simple mortals cannot see in the naked eye. He toggles the little icon meant for color palettes; four colors should be enough. Okay, it's time for some coloring. 

Sometime later, Scarab gets tagged in when Prismo has to ask him what they should do with the color scheme of their medieval story. He would answer while sweeping, explaining to keep the colors muted to convey its dreary mood, with only red being the most visible color. Scarab would cease his work when Prismo suggested a 'change in the environment' to pique Scarab's interest and get him to sit down. They fell into a writing groove, returning to their routine days later. 

Prismo and Scarab never resolved their matters from that day, whereas this was the closest to the peace they'd ever gotten.

Chapter Text

The hunter had been walking since nightfall, sparing himself from the sun's heat early on the journey to the next town. The scalding star burned everything in its wake like a thousand heat lamps. Thankfully, his clawed, leathery talons are designed to withstand hot surfaces, quickly striding through the sand easily. His cloak aids safety from the sun, or he'd be roasted alive. Though, like all creatures of flesh and bone, or in this case, exoskeleton, he thirsts.

He drinks only a trifle from his reserves, still full. He had collected enough moisture from his elytra of the night's winds to keep him going for hours so that water didn't become an issue. However, he will have to hunt for food soon. He'll be able to stock up again once reaching the next point of civilization. 

Sealing the canteen, the hunter climbs the mighty dunes like spongy mountains; the winds have been picking up a lot this season. Beach sand intermingling with desert sand. He can smell the quartz and seashell sediments against the feldspar.

Reaching the top, he begins to scope out the land. The outlands stretch far beyond the eye, an eternity of sand. Entire ergs and dune fields spanning as wide as hills, ancient rocks that were once ocean reefs, bereft of vegetation, a dead world. Makes one think you're the only living thing left. 

But this hunter has read enough stars and felt every stone enough to know his way to other traces of life. Or to whatever sorry sod had left behind in their travels. He would never be lost without them.

Something caught his eye enough to bring intrigue. A structure jutting from the plains, sticking out like a sore thumb. Buried ruins are nothing new, yet a tower piercing out in the middle of the desert calls for attention. Maybe find valuable artifacts to sell. A little detour won't hurt.  

The closer he got to the tower, the taller it became. It canted to its right as the soft sandstone could not support such a structure. The tower shadowed him like a giant beast glowering at him. A hand traversed across the old stone, carvings of geometrical patterns in perfect symmetry, and figures of unknown creatures. This must be one of the many fabled lost ruins of the ancients. Whomever they were.

Unsheathing his claws, he stabs at the slabs and begins his climb to the top. Making his stop at the edge of the chamber, he surveyed the torn rope and broken, rotting wood of the yoke, remains of a bell tower. Peering down, there was a spiral of steps to total darkness. He takes a stone and throws it down. He listens to the rock clack and echoes at the bottom. It's not a steep drop. 

He pulls his crystal globe from his cloak with his second pair of arms. The hunter shakes it rigorously, and the orb buzzes with light with bioluminescence. He takes his first cautious steps; some of the steps are missing in his descent, sliding down the rest of the way. He does a flip and lands perfectly on a solid floor.

Scanning the area, there are open slits that deliver light to give a better scope of the place. The hunter can smell old pages, mold, and dust and identify a library's dwellings. Filled with rows and rows of books and scrolls on immense shelves as tall as buildings supported with a collection of columns. Many books stayed in place, others scattered in piles or covered in ridges of sand. The middle section led to more levels of the library. An endless pit of lost, forgotten totems.

Reading and studying them all will take forever. Any of these paperweights should be something of worth.

The hunter climbed on the shelves, skimming the pages of indiscernible text, sometimes putting them back on the shelf or throwing them aside. Opening scrolls with letters and hieroglyphics, scribblings of what could be words of an extinct language. Statues of gods once worshiped now crumbling away in their limestone and bronze, forgotten.

The library rumbles around him. He has overextended his welcome; he would have to leave quickly.

Leaping down from shelf to shelf, he prepares his exit with only a few scrolls and books that are at least worth a shilling or two. He almost trips from a pile where the stacks fall off. One caught the creature's attention by its reflective colors. The hefty tome of solid leather and metal is heavy in his hands. But it is the cover of the book that made him pick it up in the first place. The cover had a harpoon on the right, a seashell on the left, and a skull on each side with an indent in its center.

He touches the cover for it's opening. He flinches when the cover begins to spin and reveals eight colorful gems, each unique in its material and color, surrounding a central gen in the center that is bigger than the rest by some odd inches. Its creamy opaque colors make it unmistakable that it is a pearl. It startles him again as the gems shine and project shapes of lights, showing objects, planets, and geometries drift and rotate around him in this red glow. The pearl hails a ray of light, and the other gems follow along, shining their colored beams at the white ray until it forms a prism. His antennas were going haywire, sensitive to the light. 

He reaches for his sword; something is coming out from the prism. A hand juts from the light, struggling to get out. 

He won't let a little spark get to him; he is ready to fight whatever aberration comes to the other side.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

'Okay, We just made something awesome.'

'It's only the first chapter, Prismo'

'Yeah, but this is a lot better than we had before. The desert punk getup is very cool.'

Scarab huffs. Gotta agree on that one. There was a lot of indecisiveness creating their dark medieval mystery drama. Many details and the constant addition and omission of the worldbuilding made the setting more complicated than needed, partially on Scarab focusing too much on ruling the kingdom; others were that the characters were flat and one-dimensional. So, they returned to square one when a change was needed and went with something simpler.

A dark, surreal fantasy drama in the desert came out better than the ex-auditor expected. And by a stroke of luck, they both agreed on it. 

Prismo made a good call, though Scarab will not admit that, let alone acknowledge it. 

'It is sufficient.' Scarab admits.

'Sufficient as in, surfing-chant- leeee cool!.'

Scarab held the urge not to burst at him. Not only does he have to painstakingly sort his shoddy grammar, but his malaprops are just as agonizing; he doesn't even try! Before he thinks about gouging his eyes out, he makes the final revisions of chapter one. 

Once done, they can start chapter two next.

'So how will Dyna engage Spectra once she crosses over?'

' Dynastes is going to retaliate by striking her with his sickle.'

'Gee, already? She just got out!' winges Prismo.

'He's not going there and let a potential enemy take advantage! Would you not react the same way if an entity popped out of a book?'

'Well, I wouldn't attack them if they just woke from a thousand-year nap; that'd be rude.'

'Besides, he'll only leave with a scratch since you wanted to start it safe .'

'You'll get your gory fun later. Oh! We should totally do a musical number singing about having a friend like her.' Prismo chimes up with the idea.

'This is not a musical, Prismo. How are you supposed to listen to a song by reading ?'

'Duh, make a music sheet for it. Put it in the notes!'

'Ugh' 

Scarab writes it into the notepad labeled Mine and Scrabby's Super Ideas and some of his own drafts to write the action scenes; now that he can have his fingers again, Prismo can witness how efficiently swift the beetle can be on a keyboard. He can imagine him sending and replying to emails in his little cubicle, and he doesn't have to look down at the letters! What a wiz!

Difficult to visualize Scarab sitting on the computer; he's never the type to sit around idly. Yet, seeing him focus on the laptop, he seemed in his element, navigating through the programs and documents; he almost looked comfortable working like this. Prismo makes a mental note to give him more office-type work. While Scarab adds the last footnotes, Prismo stretches his arms and grunts when a crack or two is felt moving his neck. 

'Ahh, all this buildup calls for a break, doncha think?' asks Prismo.

'Maybe for you, I still have fifteen more minutes revising until cleaning duty.'

The Wishmaster shakes his head with a smile. He still thinks writing is part of the job. 'Well, I'm feeling rather peckish, so I'm gonna get my munch on.'

'Since when do you need to eat?' Scarab turns to him incredulously, and Prismo only shrugs his shoulders.

'Since, like, ever? Eating food is great; the best perk is that you don't get tummy aches or go to the bathroom constantly.'

'But you gain nothing from it.'

'I know, right? I once ate a thirty-two-foot-long sandwich and haven't gained a pound.'

'I was referring to the exchange of energy.'

'Oh, there's that too. Food is mostly a luxury for me. You must have had something you like to snack on.'

'I don't have to when I don't need to.' Not anymore, anyway.

'Suit yourself. But if you feel a certain craving, hit me up!'

Oh, he'd gladly hit him.

Prismo conjures a set of ingredients; a loaf of white bread alongside two jars of very peculiar spread. Usually, people would eat bread with butter and then add ham and vegetables, he recalls. But this is Prismo, the opposite of ordinary that either perplexes the beetle or enrages him, almost always both.

'What is that?' Scarab points at the dark purple spread Prismo takes with a knife. He looks at Scarab, darting between his snack and Scarab. 

'A sandwich?'

'I can see that, but what is that slop of condiments you 're spreading on the bread with.'

'Oh! It's peanut butter and jelly. Its roasted peanuts turned into mush with grape jelly. It's quick and tastes supes good.'

'It looks repulsive.' comments Scarab.

'Only know when you try one. Here...'

Prismo slides him a perfectly cut piece in a perfect triangle. He watches Scarab inspecting the sandwich as if it is incriminating evidence from a crime scene. He sniffs at it, smelling the strong nutty aroma and mushed fruit, creating a noxious, sweet scent. Scarab extends his mouth (face?) to take the first bite. 

His tastebuds are hit by an overwhelming sweetness and saltiness. However, mashing the flavors and moist bread is unpleasant. 

'So whattaya think?' asks Prismo, watching his face contort in many ways to convey emotion on what the shorter shadow is eating.

 '...could use less jelly.'

'Guilty, I like adding loads of it. What about the peanut butter?'

'It is fine, not particularly a fan of it." He says while taking another bite, still needed to figure out the taste of it.

'But it's not so bad, huh?'

'I would not try these again.'

He says this as Prismo sneaks another piece, acting as if he's not tantalizing him with it. Nonetheless, Scarab swipes the offended piece and brings a more forceful bite.

'I despise you.'

They continue eating in silence. The vibes in the room right now are peaceful. Until Prismo speaks, the crumbs fall onto Scarab.

'Ishit troo that yew khan collecht water fum yur wengs?'

'Ugh, Prismo! Shut your mouth when you speak!' He steps away from Prismo to get away from the rain crumbs.

'Oop, sorry, dude.'

Scarab huffs and cleans himself off. 'If you must know, yes, I've done so considerable times in my youth. Many worlds and planets of hot or humid temperatures had me devise more traditional tactics to keep myself hydrated. Even places like the Nightosphere can get stuffy for a celestial being.'

'Mmm, I know that one. Simply watching it already makes me sweaty, and I don't sweat. Actually, there's barely any temperature here. I don't even have sweat glands.'

Scarab continues before Prismo wanders on a tangent, 'Typically, I would wait during the night, collect moisture gathered from the winds or fogs either on my elytra or my wings where I would mostly store my reserves.'

'Cool, so you're like a camel for bugs.' Prismo said, intrigued, lying beside Scarab as he kicked his feet.

'Hrn, they don't collect as much as a hump would, but it's suffice enough to carry out my job without dehydrating.'

'If it were me, I'd have two gallons of water to rehydrate myself.'

'I'd just drink tea.'

'How could you drink hot tea after under all that heat??'

'Not my fault you are so weak-willed.'

'Hey!' Prismo whines, 'Also, you just admitted you like drinking tea.'

'Drinking is not the same as eating.'

'But it still stands as indulgent since we don't need to drink either.'

Scarab almost brought up the beer, but he must justify drinking tea first. 

'That is because ingesting solids doesn't revitalize as much as drinking does. Water has more benefits as it is the source of life.'

'True. It still doesn't explain why it is so essential than food.'

'Unlike food consumption, tea can replenish the body; you can get varied effects and flavors by combining various herbs. It keeps me alert, enhances cognitive performance, replenishes my body faster, and...' He pauses, choosing not to say the last part.

But Prismo knows, 'It actually helps you unwind.~' he says as his grin grows wider.

Scarab scoffs, 'If it's prepared correctly, then...it may provide some alleviation, especially after dealing with ignoramuses like you.'

'Suprised you even used the word ignoramus as an insult.'

'I can do worse, but my etiquette prevents the usage of offensive vernacular.'

Sure, until those etiquettes don't apply when you bully people, presumed Prismo.

'Suuuure. I'll make sure to put tea on the agenda next time. At least it has more flavors than beer.'

Scarab hummed and resumed eating. Once he was finished, he wiped his hands from any crumbs. He walked to his broom in a corner, waiting to dust out pesky cobwebs.

'I'm going to work.' declared Scarab. Prismo kept looking at him with that annoying smile. Suspicious. 

'What are you smiling about?' His eyes squint into fine slits. 'You didn't put anything in that sandwich, did you?'

Prismo is having a hard time holding back a chuckle, 'Pffft. Nothing is just...it's funny you haven't realized it yet.'

'Realized what?'

'You took a break!' Prismo exclaims in excitement.

Scarab felt his mind go blank. Enough that his mouth spoke for him.

'Shut your face.'

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Scarab stood watching the asteroid belt slowly encircling the Cube. With a closer eye, you can see that they are not meteor chunks but massive earth fragments, leftovers of a planet that once used to exist, now surrounding the yellow Cube in its little orbit. He shouldn't be out here; it's not technically escaping, nor is it vacating the premises when you're still within the proper parameters of the Cube.

He used a good time to open his secret door when Prismo rambled about making music for the story, something about a banjo he had or whatever, and waited until he left the room. The dark corridor was unfurled and passed onto the outer walls. It may not be the Time Core, but he can't be picky about the scenery. At least he could stargaze here.

Does this also count as a break? Sure, a break from the Wishmaster, though he shouldn't be shirking off on his duties so flippantly like what happened with the peanut butter jelly moment earlier. 

And what is up with that? Willingly taking another piece, talking about tea and storing water in wings, with Prismo of all people. That's just wrong, most of all distracting. He can't let these trivialities deviate from his duties. He has a job to do. What little is of it, anyway.

(Probably) Two months into his new position, he could feel his body buzzing with anxiety. With his sole job cleaning only two or three damn rooms and nothing else, what else is he to do? Prismo doesn't provide him any other instructions, and if he has to hear him say chill out or take a break, my dude , one more time, he will definitely break something. He'd wring that pink moron's neck. Twist him like a pretzel. 

Orbo would have given him some directive when he's not slacking off for once. Why, oh, why did he have to end up with the worst managers ever. If only they were like his superiors back at Auditus. Those were real professional and respected personnel. 

Hmm, it's been eons since he thought of that place. He walks across the borders, reading out the stars until he finds a certain point; this star always glows consistently, never once flickered. Even lightyears away, they managed to stay proficient. His apprenticeship at the Auditus Academy was the best time of his youth, from intern to trainee under the most prestigious cosmic scholars in the cosmos, which turned him into their most lauded student in the academy. 

How will his old superiors think of him now? Despite having the best memories at the academy, Scarab had left his tenure on a sour note because of his... personal issues. This is in addition to the other reason Scarab transferred to be an auditor in the first place, which led to said issues. It brings him very unpleasant feelings.

He needs to figure out what else to do, or he'd be driving himself mad with his thoughts. He cannot sit still like this. 

Scarab moves again, ignoring the bright star to look at something else. He spots a distinct shape floating among the space chunks. An upside-down duck. He's here to escape Prismo, but he guesses he has to think about him to distract himself from his other thoughts. Great.

Speaking of, Prismo never brought up the fight from weeks ago. Neither did he. He'd expect Prismo to bring up the subject at some point, as a boss should have. Yet the man kept on like it was normal. Despite the mug on his face, he couldn't hide the sheer exhaustion in his eyes, his pink form a few shades off from its lighter hue. 

Such abnormal behavior from the Almighty Prismo, the always chipper, cool, nice guy. He's had his prognoses as to why, of course, he has. He was an auditor; he would have found out eventually. Instead, he got this information through the everpresent malady of office gossipmongering. He remembers that, at one point, everyone blabbered on about Prismo's new friend, who made the life of the party in his parties. A mortal no less, easily musing the celestials with their goody-goodness and chill attitude that was just as infectious as the Wishmaster. 

Total Dudeness , Prismo would say.

Scarab felt himself cringe; he could not believe he let such contrived lingo garbage seep into his brain to describe a person. This place is getting to him.

However, something about that yellow fool has affected Prismo significantly enough to make him less efficient than usual at his job. What was so special about a mortal anyway? He had known they would expire someday. Yet it's the reason it caused him to end up on his roster that led to the chase with the crossovers. Wait, so that means…

Oh, how the stars align. If mortals can never escape fate, neither will the celestial kind.

Sighs. It should be time to head back. Prismo might be looking for him soon to pander him to get started on the next chapter. With any luck, he will stay focused. He won't let anything distract him again. Unless with own hubris will.

Scarab takes one last look at the stars before going back inside.

Chapter Text

The halls are always so desolate, in empty spaces with no sense or purpose in their function. Not even a buzz or a hum for background noise. Yet in these eerily quiet halls, its sole resident gave it a voice as he hummed, drifting by making up random rhymes and notes as he went along. 

'Ba-bada-baa-ba-baa-baaaa…what was I looking for again?' He scratches his stubble. 'Right! My banjo. Now, where did I put it?' Prismo darts around to the giant field of squares and grids. He knew he left it somewhere in some random compartment where his other scrapped hobbies go. He keeps searching until he realizes he doesn't have to find it.

'Oh-pfff-, hah. I can just poof it in my hand. Silly me.'

Prismo raised his hand, and in a burst of color, the instrument warps into his palm.

It's completely covered in the dust. How did it get dusty anyway? It's been so long since he held it, to feel the weight in his hands. Many hobbies have always come and go in his lifetime, and the banjo lessons are close to being a consistent pastime aside from pickle making. But once his motivation began to dwindle in alongside for writing because of ahh, reasons.

Prismo inspected it some more, making sure nothing was broken. The headstock is good; there are no signs of tears on the sound plate. Now, check the strings. He takes on or two fingers on the strings, one flick. One or two cords twang softly from the sound plate. He smiles wide. A sudden burst of motivation swelled on his fingers to play more. His inspirational juices are returning to him; he thought he had lost that. But a tiny seed of inspiration is better than nothing at all.

'Okay, time to make some noise. Let's hope I haven't gotten rusty!'

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

After a core inspection, Scarab returned to the time room and picked up these twanging noises. The notes are messy and chaotic, and it messed with his antennas as they shook like maracas. It's like someone was rubbing sandpaper on his forehead. To his exaggeration, anyway.

He catches the pink blob playing around with some old acoustic instrument. One random note after the other with no proper rhythm.

Scarab decides to disrupt the other's concentration. 

'There are musical sheets for a reason, you know? Maybe then you would make proper noise this time.'

Prismo gives him the side eye before closing his eye and keeps on playing. 'You're just jealous that I can get totes rizz with my musical skills.'

What? The beetle felt like he got physically assaulted by that remark.

'I...I'm not even going to bother with what that word means.'

'Hence why you got no rizz.' Now, that agitated Scarab more.

'Kidding, kidding!' The pink shadow laughs. Soon enough, Prismo creates more consistent notes of only little ditties. 

'How come you're just only making these random intervals?' Scarab questions.

'Uhh, because I can, duh.'

'But you are just making noise.'

'Famous songs started as noise too.'

'They're complete compositions, orchestrally designed to make a symphony. Where you are failing with your little musical bit you're making for the story.'

'Nothing wrong with a jingle or two, Mr. Mozart. Besides, I need to get the right vibe for this song before I have a more set idea. Is it going to be sad? Hopeful? Perhaps inspirational!' The music transitioned to a chipper mood. 'I'm just a little rusty now, but once I get back my groove, I'll-ahh!'

Prismo almost dropped his banjo. He jerked at his wrist to shake the pain away.

'Good. Now let's hope the string breaks the next time.' Scarab muses in Prismo's moment of distress. You could swear he was smiling behind that blue rhomboid face.

'Mean dude.' He chides with a frown, 'Glob, that was like fresh, hot pizza cheese dropping on my hand! You don't kid around with your spells.'

'That is because I designed them that way.'

'To hurt so much like heck?'

'To weaken my targets down. Cripple them so that if they do escape from my restraints, it gives that hopeless belief they could get away, which is why the healing process is so prolonged. Rarely no one was able to get out of my traps.'

'Jeez, did you have to make it so harsh when you had to cube me?'

'I wanted to revel in having you prisoner in the palm of my hand.'

'You have a very distinct way to define enjoyment, Scrabby.' Prismo pouts. Scarab hums in delight.

'Still…' He mulls over, 'No one has ever punched their way out of my spells. That was unanticipated. I'd be almost impressed if it wasn't for dropping on me.'  

'Is that the sound of flattery coming from that tone?' smirked Prismo.

'It shows you aren't as fragile as I thought.'

'Heyy, I'm plenty jacked. Look at these bad puppies.'

Prismo flexes his good arm, twisting them in a series of knots. There is nothing to find anything impressive when his only audience would rather rip his wings out than find any commodity of the Wishmaster alluring in some existing capacity. The silliness ends when his wrist glitches out, causing a stinging pain enough to make the man recoil onto himself.

'Prismo, you should have handled this issue months ago.' Scarab tells him, 'In fact, you could have gotten Orbo to provide you aid for your wrist.'

'I guess I kinda-sorta forgot to mention it.' Prismo looks away, chuckling nervously.

Again, the case of the stupid razzles the ex-auditor's brain. 

'What do you mean you forgot??' He sneers and Prismo raises his hands up in defense.

'I dunno, mang! There was so much going with your punishment and stuff. And I was having a lotta fun making up our fics, it kinda got lost on me.'

'Then don't just stand there, you giant buffoon. Solve the issue now .'

It didn’t take a second for him to poof in an ice pack onto his 2D plane. He puts it on his wrist and then leans back his body down until his head reaches the floor. The icy feel on his sore spot already is so relieving. 

'Ahh, that's nice.' He sighs.

'By the Boss, Prismo. You are so absent-minded, even to yourself. I'm more of your caretaker at this point so that you wouldn't do anything stupid.'

'Better reason you're here, then.'

Scarab folds his arms and looks away with a huff. 'Tch, whatever.'

'Are you still committed to this musical bit?'

'Yeah, it'll be more fun that way. Plus, everyone likes musicals.'

'Not everything needs to have a song, Prismo. It's unrealistic; no one breaks into a song out of nowhere.'

'Well, there are a considerable amount of universes that say otherwise. Can't I just have one song?'

'Fine. One song, and that's it. And don't think about including my character in this. He will not be doing any singing.'

'Okay, okay. But Dyna could have handled the baritones just sayin'.'

' Dynastes . And it will only be two minutes long exactly.'

'Man, I wanted to do a five-minute epic!'

'This is as courteous as I can be, so take what you will.'

'Thank you, almighty Scarab.' Prismo said sardonically

Scarab took some pride in bringing this win, 'With all my work, I deserve a thank you.'

'Riiight.' Prismo rolled his eyes

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Heat descended upon itself to scorch the land of its inhabitants. The light emitting from the star is ever so bright you'd have to painfully squint your eyes to see what was in front of you. Dry air made the heat unbearable, and not even the protective padding of the arthropod's feet could entirely give relief from the scalding sand. It always hits hard once the sun peaks midday. Hence, why Dynastes had to travel so early in the morning, it's uncomfortable, but it's doable.

Not much to say about his captive, though.

Dynastes grips and tugs at the rope to force the captive to move faster. The other was less reliant, primarily because of the many vexing complaints from the heat and being severely underdressed for these conditions with her light, see-through garments and a poor excuse for drapery, which she calls a 'skirt.'

'You're too slow. We're burning daylight.'

'The daylight is burning my feet.' Her whiny tone is more annoying than her normal one, his mandibles grinding at each other in agitation. 'Can't we just sit down, please?'

'I'll gladly leave you to fry then. Less of a burden for me.'

'Augh, you're so mean! At least let me have some of your water.'

'No.'

'...Can I ride on your back?'

'Absolutely not.' he hisses, his wings buzzed to express vexation.

'I can't go on much longerrrr.' She drags her head back, thoroughly regretting it as the sun's light hits her face, closing her eyes shut.

Dynastes kept walking onward until a sudden weight from the rope caused him to stumble backward. He whips back to the woman dropped dead on the ground, as purpureus and other cooler shades of purple reflect light from her hair like an entire pearl.

'You're not dead, get up.' The arthropod kicks at her side.

Her cries of protest damped with her face in the sand. 'Noooooo.'

'I will not repeat.' The second kick made her turn to her back; the decorated shells on her celeste clothes crackle like wood chimes. 

She squints up at her captor. His harsh figure blocks the sun from her face, a buzzard looking for scraps. All four hands twitched erratically to hold the will from doing something damaging.

'Get. Up.' His mandibles clicked.

'Make me.' she pulled her tongue out.

'Rrargh!'

The woman flinches as the flash of a sickle rises to the sky, serving as a guillotine as it plunges down to her neck. She waited for something to happen, a burst of pierced flesh, thick red ooze and gaping arteries expelling from her body to dry in the sand banks. Yet, the blade was only mere inches from her face. The Hunter gazing down on her with such petulant fury, she almost thought she'd die on the spot. He clutches her silken garb to lift her upper body with ease.

'I swear if we hadn't made that deal in that temple, I would kill you. I would kill you.' Dynastes asserts with much acrimony, accumulating all of it into his fist, shaking vicariously like a sputtering engine. Multiple maxillipeds and teeth grind and clack through his tone to add to his very, very fragile patience with this creature.

'Is that a promise?' The girl stammers with a nervous smile.

'Ugh!' He drops her to the floor and yanks the rope enough to lift her body briskly in the air. 

'Hey, hey! Watch the wrists! It's your money maker, remember?' 

'You'll still be enough for a pretty face when I'm through with your hands.'

'Gee, glad to know that you care for my well-being.'

'When I get rid of you, I don't have to care what happens to you.'

'No wonder you're such a loner-Wahh!'

He tugged at her bonds, making her almost trip. After enduring so much of this social prattle, it'll be the only form of musing he will have for today. 

Dynastes scout ahead, the canyons visible from its towering rock formations beyond the horizon. A sense of relief comes over him; he has spent days in the open and has been lucky so far. He can find some reprieve in the sedimentary landscape's narrow-maze-like routes, keeping them hidden.

There, he might allow the straggler to catch a slight pause before moving on ahead to civilization. Sighs, he damns himself eternally for opening that cursed book.

‿‿‿‿

Eugh, sand leeches. It is not the Hunter's meal of choice; it's fat and gamey, with barely any nutritional value, but food is food. One cannot be picky in the desert. He lets it cook more in the fire to get it to a specific texture that makes it tolerable.

Dynastes looks to the side, and the woman slumped on the cliffside ledge against some rocks, looking more depressing than the sand leeches he's cooking. At least she's not whining anymore, finally. Hopefully, it stays that way for the rest of the trip.

He stands up from his sitting spot, strolling to the edge, and throws the grub on a stick to her side. She glances at it with much disinterest, then at him, to look off again into the vista. Dynastes shrugged his shoulders and went back to his spot in the fire.

'This used to be so blue...' she finally uttered, earning little attention from the crustacean, 'Right here.' she pointed with her bound hands, 'Massive coral reefs and kelp trees as far as the eye can see. The rocks here, so full of soft seagrass and sponges, like lying on a jellyfish's bell.' The thought that such a bastion of life could be diminished into nothing made her heart sink.

Dynastes kept eating, not interested in engaging with the stranger more than he already had.

'Do you know what happened?' she asks.

Dynastes bit into his food, munching away, giving a slack reply, 'I already told you it was like this when I was born. Don't know how don't care.'

She made a face. This guy is reluctant to talk with her like she is the plague. What kind of stick went up his ass. 

'Tch, your people used to have better manners.' she grumbled.

Something about that little mention got the other's antennas to flare up, and he swiftly went up to her with great urgency as he nabbed her shoulders.

'You, what do you know of them?' He demanded.

'Oh, so now you're interested?' 

he proceeds to shake her like a ragdoll, yelling like a maniac.

'TELL ME, WOMAN.'

'I have a name, you know!'

'As if I'll give you the courtesy, wench.'

'Tough pickles, then!'

He could throw her from the ledge right now, let her drop hundreds of feet so her bones may implode into the rock bed below. Instead, he growled in frustration and shoved her to the ground.

'Argh, forget it. You'd be the last person I'd want to ask.'

He returns to sit next to the fire, taking a more forceful bite of the cooked grub. The woman looks at the other, scrutinizing the guy from the back. A small exposure of his wings flutters softly from the elytra. The wings are undoubtedly new; their swimmerets were crucial for locomotion in the ocean depths, propelling forward from their jet propulsion. They were spectacular aquabatics at festivals—another bleak reminder of what was once lost.

'Have you ever seen any of the others still around?'

Dynastes did not say anything. She pries again. 

'You're as out of place as me, right?'

A harsh note of his wings.

'Not another word from you.'

This guy just doesn't wanna budge! You'd think that with an apocalypse, she would at least end up with someone she'd like. Maybe some of her friends. But that is another type of dread she has to deal with later, not tonight. She sits upright, scowling at the stranger's back, who might as well be talking to a spiky stone wall.

'My name is Spectra, by the way. Now that we're gonna be stuck here together.' Spectra announces herself to the crabby crab that is ignoring her entirely, snares another stick, and eats. She tries to pick up her tossed dinner with her tied hands, holding the end of the stick with both palms. The grub in front of her looked more unpleasant by the second. She blows away any strand of dirt on it. She only licked the skin, and her body started recoiling inward from the shocking, leathery taste.

'BLeuughghGhhh'

She could use some water now to get the taste out of her mouth, but Mr. Stingy keeps all the water to himself. Now that she realizes, Spectra has barely ever seen him drink at all. Maybe a sip when he had to share a trifle with her. That's not good. His kind would always bring water canisters to keep themselves hydrated on dry land. Then again, it's another new thing the guy has adapted to.

Giving in with a whistful sigh, Spectra discards her dinner and turns back to the view, the winds carrying the sand over the dunes like evening phantoms of a place now alien to her. 

What happened to this once-blue planet? All of the water had disappeared, and all of the ecosystems, creatures, islands, and trees, everyone she knew, was gone. All she did was nap, to wake up to all this...was she under a sleep spell? Will she ever find the reason for all of this? Would it even bring her closure? Maybe it never will—a wall of many uncertainties that makes her stomach twist into knots.

The only thing she can take away from this is that she has company. It's unpleasant company but better than suffering with these thoughts alone. Seeing he is the only person who can navigate this new world, she will need him to discover what happened to her home. Here's to hoping she'll find someone she can actually talk to and have better manners with when they reach civilization.

Chapter Text

'Ah, chapter three done!' 

Prismo smiled, checking on the final revisions of chapter three. He had spent a good while going back and forth with Scarab on handling Dynastes' rather assertive personality, but they got to boil him down to a more 'temperate' mood as much Scarab would allow. 

The guy sure likes to make his characters violent and dramatic. He's seen that mischievous look when he writes on his own stuff when he has the laptop to himself. There's a glint of joy in his eyes when he gets fixated on a scene, and sometimes, he hears him doing his evil little gremlin laugh.

Prismo isn't sure how to feel when he writes that kind of explicit stuff. Scarab ensures he doesn't see it despite not being interested in reading them. Because he pointed out a typo for a stabbing scene he has peeked at since then, Scarab makes sure he never sees a single syllable on the screen. If it gives him a good time and some privacy, then it's OK with Prismo. 

As for himself, he is happy enough that there has been steady progress with his creative mojo lately in making two chapters in one sitting. Nothing like good motivation to get the blood flowing. And he did it upside down, too!

 Now, to save the document...Done-o! 

Satisfied, Prismo declares this achieving moment for hot tub time. He easily pops away the laptop from this plane and slides down the floor under the water. Ahh, that's nice. 

He feels so refreshed today as if some of the nasty gunk he had washed away. It sucked being stuck in that funk for weeks, so now he's less...gunky.

Prismo checks on his wrist, which is still bruised and clippy, but it's not acting as erratically as before. He glimpses up to the surface of the water. Strings of light danced, warping the outside world as the jet bubbles swerved the water in little waves. Prismo closes his one eye, listening to the hums of the jets and rising bubbles.

He picks up the sliding doors opening, indicating his roommate coming in. 

The beetle was quiet, not like a neutral quiet or focused quiet when he was working; this had an outlook that spelled,  I will bite your face off if you speak to me  vibes. Still, the Wishmaster offers to join in anyway, even if he will just say no.

'Scrabs! You finished your inspection so quickly. You should come on over and take a dip with me!"

'No.' he spits, sounding surlier than usual, 'We don't even feel the water in these forms.'

'Suspense of disbelief, dude. Have a bit of imagination.'

Scarab then snarled. 'It is not,  dude.  And you're the stupid one who wastes space with a hot tub.' 

'Glob, you're so testy today, are we?' He teases, big mistake.

'You can test  this!'  He attempts to kick right at Prismo's shins, pulling a nat 20 as he actually hits him. Immediate pressure swarmed Prismo's leg; electric static passed through his whole being like an overwhelming force consuming him. His body responded by jolting away from Scarab. 

'Ow-Ow!!  OW!' 

The first instinct is to hold his poor foot. How the hell did he feel that? How did he even feel  it at all?

Scarab kicks at his other leg before he can register that he can register pain. OK, now it's getting irksome. 

'OW! Hey...What the-Scrabby?'

Prismo glances at the only six sides of the room that lacks a blue figure parading, kicking people's shins. Did he come up here to insult him and then leave? What the hell...But what was that? How did Scarab manage to do that? Hell, there's been a lot of surprises the beetle's been pulling on him as of late. 

He had noticed that he had become more accustomed to this dream form than initially thought. He thought he would have had difficulty getting used to being in a two-dimensional space. But now he can slide open doors and shift effortlessly through walls in various spaces and dimensions, though the beetle had admittedly stated it gives him a lot of vertigo when he does it.

Recently, he had seen him make a double of himself to do another of his shifts while he was on the computer. However, that proved to have made the other exhausted the more he prolonged it. The way he's so well-adjusted to the Cube's environment is freaky. Almost he knew the functions of his home itself.

But the notion is that Scarab can hit him and feel the impact. Or that Prismo can feel pain in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. He cannot appropriately digest this when you have a bug kicking your shins, damn.

But Glob, he actually  felt  it. A sensation. That...

Tending to his busted legs, he hadn't realized the open chamber on the upper corner of the ceiling.

'How did I not catch that?'

Prismo goes to the new entrance, a dark crevice leading to nothing.

'Uhh, Scrabby?' He shouts to the void, but no one calls back. Unsure, Prismo decides to investigate this new door. Better make sure Scarab didn't get stuck or lost in here. Further along, he sees a small square window in the middle of nothing, increasing as he approaches the doorway. Prismo felt his soul leave his body the second he saw those twinkling stars sprinkled across the black and blue canvas.

'OhcrapOhcrapOhcrapOhcrapOhcrap...' Prismo let out a wheeze. Keen to book it back to the time room, but Scarab is out there! And it could only mean trouble for the both of them if he's out of bounds. 

'AaaAahhhhh-Scarab!' Prismo started freaking out. Not able to look away from that ample, vast, endless space to sweep some poor, pink 2D sucker to their endless skylight.

Glob, there's so much space.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

He is not in the mood for this, especially for Prismo's cheery optimism. Scarab has been on edge for days now. As much as he did to scrub off the floors, going over the core in circles, smother the living daylights out of those persistent cobwebs, he couldn't scratch this constant itch beneath his plates. It's been driving him to the wall. Metaphorically.

He kept marching onto nowhere, ignoring where he went or what he wanted to do. The indications made him more irritable; why did he bother going to the time room when Prismo would only drive him up the edge. To the point, he didn't care for the consequences of hitting his 

boss' shins, or he left the secret passage outside unabated. He needed to go somewhere. The screaming was no help.

'When I want to get away from you, I actually mean it.' Scarab chittered irritably as he faced Prismo, not moving from his corner. The pink blob leaned close to the entrance, acting sporadically as his eye darted in a panic.

'A-are you crazy!? You're gonna get us both in trouble!' Clamored the Wishmaster. Scarab is not in for the other's antics and tells him straight.

'Do you think I can go anywhere when we're in the middle of nowhere without my body, no less?.' The beetle pointed to the vast emptiness, making Prismo freeze up momentarily. 

'OK, I see your point. B-b-buuuut you could fall off. We need to go somewhere with better space!'

'The Cube is nothing but space, you nitwit. What are you on about?' 

'Yeah, hmm-mmm. But there's no stars, or anything involving them for that matter.'

'The more you talk, the more I want to peel myself off the wall.'

'No-no-don't do that!!' That got him crawling out of his hidey hole. 

Scarab squints. 'What is the matter with you?'

'Nothing is the matter!' He tries to play it off, clearly failing, 'Everything is peachy. But really d-don't do the thing.'

'Your idiocy alone is much of an incentive. Besides, if I had detached myself from the wall, I'd just wake up from my body.'

'You don't know that.' Stuttered Prismo. 

Something is up with the Wishmaster, being so erratic for no reason. He can see why he would get concerned about thinking of an attempt to escape, but this whole avoidance from being on the exterior of the Cube is bizarre, almost as if he's...A smile creeps behind his faceless form. 

'Oh, I know so. Watch.' He lifts a hand, making more effort as the edges buzz at his fingertips like they were stitched to the wall. His forearm jerks out of the surface, flexing his fingers as the other end of the blue side is littered with stars and nebulous gasses like a spectral serpent.

He did not expect the other to scream. 

'AAHHHH!' 

'OOooOohh! My arm is going away...oops!' He let his whole arm loose.

'DUDE IM NOT KIDDING STOP. GASP' Prismo held his head close enough to rip his hair out.

Oh, Scarab is enjoying this. Seeing the legit fear on his flat face. If he'd known sooner, he could have solved this crossover fiasco ages ago, maybe before that, too. He returns his arm to the wall and places his hand over his hips.

Prismo tried to plead with him. 'This is so no cool, Scarab. Can we please head back inside??'

Scarab ignores his request and keeps the ball rolling. 'Prismo.' In his fake-friendly tone, he says his name so connivingly as he questions him, 'Do you have an issue with being outside?'

'Me? Outside? Psshhh-nahhh. I loooove the outdoors. Especially stargazing! It's, like, my all-time favorite thing, yup! Looking at stars and stuff, hehe...' Oh, how such a terrible liar he is; it's delicious.

And Scarab plays along with this little charade. 'Well, you can't see the constellations properly while you're just hiding back there like a frightened rabbit.'

'Uhhhh, I like to lean by the door while I stargaze. I can easily point out worlds 1234-A to 1094-Z alphabetically and numerically from here.'

'Then you'll miss out on the Florp Cluster, which is on the other side of the platform. It's only visible in space every couple of centuries. But since you're so comfortable there, I'm afraid you'll miss it.' Scarab walks away, baiting Prismo to come out.

'Oh...'

The Wishmaster's throat throbs. The Cube stretched before him like a winding road across the infinite sky above. He's gotta show this bug who's boss! He is his boss! 

Prismo puffs out his chest, then shaky exhales. He gradually comes out from his hiding place. 

So far, so good, he says to himself. As long as he doesn't look up, he should be fine; yeah, he'd be fine. It's even better when he closes his eyes; he can move faster, no sky or space above! It'll be fine!

'Hahaha, it's gonna be fine!' he laughs nervously, 'It'll be...'

Prismo made the mistake of opening his sole eye, and that little act of bravado completely dissipated. 

The stars glowered down on him menacingly as if they were playing a cruel prank on him. His innards shrank inwards as some force compelled him to push out, or were the constellations themselves pulling in closer to him? Anxiety flooded his bloodstream to render him into a fresco painting. He hadn't noticed his breathing was off, that he registered Scarab talking to him, or that he was still on the Cube. All he could do was stare at space. Prismo started to feel fuzzy, like a buzzing on his limbs. The edges swerving as wet soap across a slick surface. Eagerly skinning themselves off from the wall. A hand, a foot coming off.

This is all in his mind. It has to be! But Prismo doesn't know that.

He hadn't realized he had let out a wheeze, but the act finally had his lizard brain respond to the stress he had been holding on to.

'OHWELLyoulookatthetimeigottagetbacktoworksoibettergoscrabbyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!' 

Prismo zips faster than the speed of light back inside into the shelter of the Time Room. Scarab is left to himself out here, relishing his new little discovery.

'This is just too good.' he chuckles. Okay, this definitely dulled his sour mood. 'To think, the almighty Prismo is afraid of being outside. How ironic.'

Such good spirits allow for some evil cackling. Loud and proud

'Hehehehe...hahaha. HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA- CHIRP .'

Gasp

The menial laughter ceases. 

Uh-oh

Chapter Text

That was tense. Like, really tense. 

Actually, it's more than tense. Like that one time a wish maker caught Prismo dipping his head into a jar full of pickle juice. Okay, it's not a viable comparison, but it's close enough! No, wait- that time when farm-world Finn almost destroyed the entire multiverse, that's a better comparison. Oh yeah, that deep. 

He spent most of the day in the deeper levels, mainly in the pickle room. It's closed off from guests since this is his more private place for his hobby. He'd hoped no one came for any wishes today so he could grab his bearings from the situation . And Scarab won't have to find him, which is a confrontation he does not want to have right now.

Prismo shuddered and rubbed at his arms. Thinking about it got him antsy again. Enough to get a beer. He held his hands to his face, trying to think of something else. 

'Okay, think-think. What to do when I'm like this.'

Hey, why don't you make those pickles of yours? That always does you some good. Said the voice of Cosmic Owl.

He blinks. That is a perfect idea right about now. Prismo scurries to the Pickle Room and approaches one of the empty mason jars collected in a corner. The 3D object gets sucked into the wall and into the 2D plane effortlessly. He goes over the list of recipes he has jotted down on the corkboard on the wall. The list is written with his personal notes and stickers, such as stars and smiley faces regarding tastiness for the more savory batches. One note contrasting his simple handwriting is marked in grandiloquent calligraphy, bolded with a big, fat 'NO ' and ' NEVER AGAIN '

Scarab had to swab the entire room after experimenting with a jar of blue cheese and balsamic vinegar that uhh- toppled down the other jars from one of his stacks. Only Glob knew how many air fresheners and lemon pledges he used to fumigate the whole place to eliminate the smell. He was really miffed for days. Somewhere in his subconscious, he said he deserved it for scaring the living daylights out of him for coming outside. 

'Concentrate, Prismo. What are you going to make today?' He told himself. Looking over at the list and chose one that marked his fancy. The regular? Nah, there are plenty of those. 

Gherkhin, no. Half-sour, maybe. Bread and butter...aha! Good ol' sage and cumin! Perfect .

It all starts by filling a quart of water from the makeshift sink until it reaches the filling point. Where does the water come from? Who knows.

Then, add two tablespoons of salt and stir. Once done, it's time for the main component, cucumbers.

Raising his hands, Prismo summons the prolific vegetable from thin air. Eight even cucumbers rotate around his hold; He makes a chopping motion with his arm, and the cucumbers turn into perfect slices. He starts to spin them into a vortex as he uses his other hand to summon the herbs needed. The bustling leaves of sage spun alongside like being caught in the autumn breeze mixed with the spices, black pepper, and cumin spreading like a tornado.

Heheh, pickle-nado . 

Everything gets dunked into the jar of liquid, gently stirring it with vinegar and whole-grain mustard, aaand voila! 

He watches the cucumber slices sink into the bottom. It's pleasing to watch them float down to the bottom. Finally, he seals the deal by screwing the lid in. 

'There! Now I just let it soak it all in.' He nodded to himself.

Making pickles did some good. Some nerves had ebbed away while there was something to focus on. Maybe make a killer sub sandwich with them once it's thoroughly marinated. Ooh, another thing he can do while waiting. He just has to wait until they're done...for a couple of weeks.

Prismo sits patiently, looking around the room as he hums to himself. Should he make more? There's always for more; they can be full whole dills this time. He should recategorize his collection again- wait, Scarab has done that already...

…….

Okay, heading further would make him feel better. Better safe than sorry.

Prismo leaves the room and enters the hallway filled with his hundreds of self-portraits on both ends of the wall; he doesn't remember why he has so many of them arranged like this. Oh, that's right. It was when he had his zoetrope phase and wanted to make the biggest one imaginable, which is why this hallway is so long. 

'Man, I was so weird.' he says to himself. 

Out from that room, he crosses to the abstracted zone that leads to the temple-room-thing, visible just a few yards away from the floating cuboids across the grid. He flows over the disjointed steps into the darkly red-lit room where the old man is.

It's as much of an enclosed shelter as any, and quiet company is better than none.

The room looms in the dark lighting; oddly, it feels relaxing if it wasn't for the dancing emerald eyes and marble fangs on the terrace. This is going to need a total makeover soon. Something friendlier, like adding some plants or something. The red light stays, though; it gives pleasant vibes.

He places himself in the center wall of the niche where the bed is. The human snuggled so nicely in his cotton sheets as the larger pink being looked down on him.

'Hey Jake.' he whispers to him. Even if unable to respond, it fills some emptiness in Prismo's metaphorical heart. 

'It's been forever. It's been a couple of years now, but who's counting?' He says, putting up a smile for him.

'Hey uhh...Sorry, I used your body as a siphon for an interdimensional portal. It was the only way to help Fionna and Cake get home before things got wack. And Simon, too.' he adds. 

The other kept snoozing away. Something about it made Prismo smile a little. 

'Glad to know you'd be cool with it.'

Prismo keeps staring at him (himself? Jake?). 

'Hey...do you remember when I told you about the thing ?'

'Uhmm, well. Kinda happened again, haha.' He chuckles nervously. Man, the silence makes it more awkward.

'So I tried making pickles to relax, which it did for the most part, but then I got those nervous jitters again. So I thought I'd come by and...yeah.'

'...I miss you.' he rasps, 'A lot, actually. I-I'm sorry I don't visit as often as I should; it's been so hard. All right? And I feel like pushing Owl away and Scarab being a total butthead is making it harder I...' he rubs at his healing wrists that started to shake, 'I really need you, man.'

No amount of inner turmoil will disrupt this old man on his snooze cruise.

'It would be nice if you could give me at least a sign.'

'Hrrrrnnn. '

'Huh?'

Did he(him?) make that noise?

'Wait, did you...' he moved closer.

'Grnnnn... '

Pretty sure he doesn't growl- ahh.

'Oh, it's you.' Prismo said in monotone. 

He spots the shifting figure on the far end of the room that had kicked off the sheets to the floor. His frown grows deeper; he can't catch a break without being around. Scarab would say the same thing to him.

Prismo begrudgingly goes his way over to the pod bed. He saw the irony of how the bed closely resembled an egg. It's more akin to a chamber than a sleeping place. 

The sleeping bug shifted to the side. If the guy wasn't already so stiff as a dream projection, it's even harsher in his body. Scarab lay on his side, almost defensively coiling onto himself. His hands are close to ripping the mattress with how he grips it. He still wore his mask, but he could see serrated teeth coming out from his face, gritting and grinding so harshly that Prismo winced, hearing them clack against each other.

'Dude can't even have decent sleep.' he expresses.

Prismo got a good look at him, probably being the few people who've seen him so still for once. It's funny to see him in only his work shirt. The lack of a vest and tie made him less intimidating, maybe more if he slept without his mask. Only half of the uniform exposed more of his joints and clawed toes, so much so that one forgets he's an insect.

Feeling like he's been fixated on him for too long, Prismo picks up the abandoned blankets, throws them over Scarab, and tries to tuck them back in. One touch caused the other to flinch. He startled Prismo when a voice entered his thoughts. The tone of his voice became a mix between his regular voice and the other more guttural, higher pitch he had heard when he watched him through the TV at Fionna World.

'D-Don't....you...da-re.' he snarled.

Prismo let go of the blankets and held his hands up, 'Dude, this is getting freaky with how quickly adept you are getting this.'

Scarab's body did not reply, returning to a less hostile position.

'How come I can't do that?' He always had that question in his mind. He tried various attempts to establish a connection to his body. As powerful as Prismo is, he cannot get in that thick skull of his. And when he did, it would only relay empty thoughts, like he was going into an empty house, with no trace of whoever lived there previously. Other attempts had the old man spew the nightmos or almost wake him up. 

It was confusing, but at that time, he didn't have much of a problem with it and went doing his own thing or hosting parties. He tried it again months after Jake left the world of the living; he would get blocked out entirely. His desperation led to...undesirable emotions, and he stopped from ever trying again.

Yet Scarab can send a mind link with nearly any trouble at all.

Then he's reminded that Scarab is an eternal being capable of breaching impossible boundaries, unlike the old man, who is nothing but mortal. Human. Kept alive with the convenience of the absence of time within this pocket dimension. And the only source of the Wishmaster's sentience. Should Prismo feel envious of him? No, but it all seems unfair. 

These negative vibes are really messing with him. His fingers twitched for something that wasn't in his hands, like a beer bottle. 

'I should make another jar.' 

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Over the past few days, with nothing but rock, sand, and a grumpy shellfish, it became a miracle that there was life other than the two. 

Glancing at those familiar high buildings, seeing them leaning out of place, so downtrodden and neglected, it breaks her heart to see them in such a condition. 

Passing through the gates, they get caught in the bustling movement on the streets. The townsfolk of all shapes and sizes zipped and scurried to get where they needed to go, like watching a giant school of fish swirling in its personal vortex. The bazaar blazed with marketplaces and eateries of the like. Working and bargaining with vendors that kept everything busy.

The buildings are missing pieces like a broken roof or chunks of wall, some of which are patched with random fabrics or other materials to keep them standing. Many of the beautiful aqua textiles had been destroyed. Yet somehow, the townspeople did however they could to use these ruins to survive these wastelands.

To these people, they're just living out another day. To Spectra, the city was fine a few days ago. She walked with her elderly neighbor in the morning to help carry her wares from the marketplace. After that, she ran back to the plaza where Pincer was waiting for her so they could harvest some waterberries together. Instead, he covered her eyes with his forearms. Spectra laughed, questioning why he was being so sneaky and silly today. He answered with a second pair of hands taking hers, and she felt something light and weighty. He uncovered her eyes to glimpse a shiny shell necklace. 

'Hey.'

Dynastes petulant tone got her out of her daydreaming.

'Enough sightseeing.'

He tugs at her bonds, and Spectra frowns. 

''In a rush to get rid of me?'

'Yes, now shut up. We're here.'

They walked in front of a large garden. If you can call it that. The entire property is filled with, you guessed it, more sand. But these small dunes are gathered in spaces that used to host ponds and pools with servants forming patterns around them. Decaying fountains being nothing more than decor. Guards patrol across the estate at every turn. Up ahead led to the main building that seemed akin to a place of importance, now a giant ruin where all its pillars sunken in on itself, like someone stepped on your sand castle you worked so hard on.

'This used to be a temple.' She tells this to Dynastes.

He shushes her.

'Why are there so many guards on sacred...'

He cuts her off. 'Shut it. Not here.'

Spectra frowned; how rude. Now passing through to the main hall, where guards stood in their posts or walked past them. Once they were clearer from prying ears, Dynastes turned to Spectra and went over the plan they had made from their deal once more before going to the palace doors.

'Let me do the talking; the Sultan is a very inquisitive figure but gullible.'

'But how am I going to escape? He's also got guards up the wazoo.'

 'When the transaction is done, you can escape from a balcony in the guest room. Make whatever excuse you want, make up a disease, fake a broken limb, anything. He'll fall for anything, guards too.'

'Is that why you come here often? Just to scam him?'

Dynastes goes over her bonds and loosens them. She can feel some of her magic slowly coming back. 

'He's a hoarder, and he only trades for things no one else has. Make sure you bring my rope back.'

'Fine, fine. Glad to know you're concerned for your rope instead of the person tied to it.' Spectra says sarcastically.

'From this point on, you will be quiet.'

The guards standing by the doorway let the both of them pass through a man-sized hole from the more oversized broken doors. The inside was less than stellar as it was seen from the outside. The sunken columns crumbled into one another, blocking the rest of the hall behind the throne room. 

A man sits in a towering stack of fancy cushions that look large for his size. Fixing his luxurious golden brown hair before adjusting his fancy Sultan hat and puffs up his fancy vest against the jingling golden baubles on his robes. Grandly, the Sultan waves his lavish cape to his subjects. 

'Ah-ha! The crab man returns!' he welcomes with open arms in a very overtly excitable tone, 'And what is this? You got something more than valuables, I see?'

'I found her in some of the ruins. Claims she knows magic.' 

Dynastes presents the woman in front. Spectra shifts her feet, looking between him and the Sultan. The man scratches his chin as he looks at her incredulously. 

‘A magic user, you say, hmm? Then how come she's tied up in some dinky rope? She could easily get out of that with her powers. '

His mandibles twitched. 'It's designed to cancel magic out.'

'Pfft, there's no such thing as anti-magic rope. Who would make something so lame like that? Are you two trying to scam me of my riches?'

Now his eye twitches. The man is in a prying mood today. He goes for another type of excuse until a voice cuts in on him.

'I'm allergic to rope!'

His wings fluttered erratically as he turned to Spectra with a wild look in his eyes. Yet the girl keeps on blathering.

'He was trying to make my capture sound cool because what really happened is pretty embarrassing. But really, this is making my skin itch like crazy. Oof!' She acted to scratch herself all over.

'You seem perfectly fine to me.'

Gosh, he really is inquisitive. 'T-that's because I'm using a spell to hide all my hives! You do not want to see how bad it looks right now, it’s like a balloon grew on my face.'

He seems to have fallen for the bait easily as he made a face of disgust. Even the guards behind them took a few steps back. 

'Huh, a wizard weak on the rope. That is pretty peculiar...' he rubs at his chin meaningfully, 'So what tricks can you do?'

'Uhhmm. I can make things sparkle in my hand! I also dabble a lot in alchemy.' Oh, and if there is any water I can...' She gets cut off when the Sultan puts out his hand. 

'But can you juggle?'

Spectra blinks. 'I do actually, yeah...?'

'And can you pull out gold behind my ear?'

'I can do gold coins...?'

The Sultan clapped his hands. 'I do not know what that is but you mentioned gold. I'm sold! I want her, tell me your price!'

Wow, that easy? Dynastes quickly steps in to make his offer.

'For the treasure and the female. Five hundred and fifty shell cuts.'

The Sultan gasped. 'Have you gone daft? Do you think I am made of shells or, most importantly, gold??'

'Please, as if you haven't collected those two thousand from the little fundraiser you made from that festival the last time I visited here.' 

That got the man's nerves alright, but he couldn't deny it either. 'Grrr, alright! Give him the cuts.' He signals his servants to fetch a large bag of money. Dynastes tugs Spectra closer to him, his eyes unwavering.

'And I want my nuts.'

Spectra just looked at him aghast. What now??

The Sultan slapped his own knee. 'Ugh! You're so demanding! Give the man his nuts!'

The way they spoke it so plainly had her stifle a laugh; a swift back-kick at her shins made her regret that choice.

The servants hurl over giant shell nuts to the hunter, that are, in fact, coconuts. Three oversized coconuts hauled in front of them. They've gotten twice as large in this world than the ones Spectra knew. Does that mean that palm trees are still around, or a type of sub-species? She hasn't seen a speck of green yet, so perhaps they're grown elsewhere.

Why would Dynanstes want giant coconuts?

'You're fortunate you got a good haul to let you have this many cuts. Now, the girl.'

Dynastes throws one of the servants the rope and kindly leads her beside the cushiony throne. They offer her a smaller one for her to sit on. She takes a seat, pretty awkward. 

'Nice to do business with you, hunter.’ says the Sultan, ‘And the next time you come by it better be twice the findings if you wanna get a cut out of me.’

Dynastes only replies with a grunt as he picks up his rewards and gives a short but court bow.

'Farewell.'

Dynastes leaves, not bothering to look back at Spectra's longing gaze as he reaches the exit.

‿‿‿‿

The hunter did not waste during his stay in Glarea. He uses the acquired cuts to restock the food supply for the next trip and goes to a blacksmith to sharpen his dulled swords. He used his money well and saved the remaining two hundred and twenty for emergencies. 

Not once had he thought about the sorceress or her well-being. What kept her in his thoughts was when he would get his enchanted rope back. A real charmer, he is.

Dynastes sat on the roof of the butcher's building, where he wouldn't be bothered by anyone as he handled the shelled nuts. Carefully poke a hole through the hardened shell with his sole claw. Once there was access to the inside, he drank only a trifle before storing the rest of the water in the canteen. Then he cracks open the whole shell to dig out the 'meat' of the nut. During this process, his thoughts decided to bring back the girl who soured his half-calm mood. She can take care of herself; there's no need to care. However, she is, instead...unique, as he can put it nicely. Yet again, he wouldn't care less, even if she was a thousand years old. He will keep doing what's been keeping him alive on his own. Change will only affect his chances of survival. 

He gathers the shell casings on a string and then coconut 'meat' into cloth. This will do to pay for his dinner. 

Later in the evening, Dynastes goes to the last stop at the inn and uses his extra earnings to buy a hefty bowl of boiled dryereel and prawns. An anthropod's gotta eat.

He tunes out to the commotion in his surroundings, standard inn, and bar rowdiness he tends to ignore. Then, a flash of blue and pink caught his eye, and he turned to the jovial mass gathering at the current spectacle. It's none other than Spectra prancing at the dining table, giving a show to the menial crowd with cheap parlor tricks. Streams of light followed her like long ribbons of sages. The people make applause while thanking them.

His biggest mistake was looking over as her eyes met his, and the woman was waving madly at him. Dynastes quickly ignored her and continued eating. Hopefully, denying her existence will make her go away. But life doesn't work that way.

'Hey, you!' Spectra slides right next to him with a massive smirk on her face. Dynastes doesn't give her the time of day and slurps a dryereel like a giant noodle. It won't stop her from engaging with him, no sir. 

'You were so right about that guy. He is so gullible! All I did was ask him if I could go for a tinkle or else I'd explode, and he let me go around the castle just like that! Then I used my magic to disguise myself as one of the guards until I found that balcony and jumped out! That’s when I went around town meeting people until ending up in this place!'

'Good for you.' grunts Dynastes.

He tenses as Spectra pushes his personal space more, leaning closer than needed. 'Hey, thanks for finally loosening up the ropes for me.' she thanked him, 'They were starting to hurt!' She says as she rubs at her wrists, 'But it helped to use my magic to disguise myself as one of the guards to get to the balcony you mentioned before.'

Then she talked some more. 

'By the way, here's your rope back.' Spectra places the neatly coiled azure rope on the counter in one piece.

Dynastes looks at her incredulously. Hard to believe that someone would return something of his when he would have to fight, steal, or haggle it back. He hesitantly takes it back and sets it in his holster in its rightful place. 

'Much appreciated.' Even showing gratitude felt strange on his tongue. Not often he thanks someone.

'No probs. How'd you get ahold of magic rope anyway? Did you scam it off from the Sultan, too?'

'I earned it.'

'Come on, you still acting all taciturn on me? We already finished our deal.' 

'To which our mutual transaction has ended since this morning.'

'I barely call it mutual, but that's beside the point.' She utters that part out, then says, 'That doesn't mean we can try to be friends.'

Even when he sort of kidnapped her and hauled her about the desert like a carcass? This woman is very bizarre. Or she's probably insane.

'I don't deal with sorcerers. Or witches.' He bites down on a prawn with a satisfying hard crunch of shell and meat between his mandibles, where others would find the display gross and abhorrent.

'Yet you have a magic lamp and rope. That sounds very counterproductive if you ask me.'

'Irrelevant.'

'Can you at least throw me a bone here?'

Dynastes tosses her an eelbone.

'Hilarious.' Spectra responds flatly.

Then a coconut rolls over her way. Huh?

'For complying with your part of the deal.' he says while he slurps up the remaining eels.

'Oh, thanks?'

Dynastes finishes his meal and stands up from the stand. He leaves extra cuts for the meal before making his exit.

'Hey, wait!' 

She rushes after him as he is already outside the establishment. Gosh, he's fast.

'Are you just gonna skip dodge just like that? This whole trip was tiresome. Can't you stay a while?'

'I don't need to sleep in some shoddy inn.'

'Well, sleeping in a bed is better than on a few rocks. And the company's been nice here!'

Now it's Dynastes turn to walk up to her space and poke her roughly on her chest. 'I don't need anyone. Especially from the likes of you. Now, how about doing both of us a favor and sounding back to your drunken little posse.' He huffs and marches off.

'Until never.'

He departs as he fades into the darkness of night from the sole light emanating from the inn. Leaving Spectra alone with the door and the stars for company.

Spectra puffs up her chest, baring her fists as she shouts to the dark.

'Oh yeah!? Well...smell you never!!'

She goes back inside to the warm light and music, crossing her arms with her nose up in the air. Even as much of a hardass as that guy was, she couldn't help but feel disheartened at their parting of ways. 

This can't be how things end.

Spectra takes the coconut from the counter, the familiar brush of its hairs on her hands, and she feels the weight of the water move inside as she pivots it around. Her thumbs tap around the shell.

'Tomorrow, Mr. Grumpypants.'

Tomorrow, she will set out to find him.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuaaauuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuUUUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhghhhhhhhhGHHHhh, there's nothing on to watch.'

An infinite sum of channels, a gazillion possibilities, yet Prismo is bored out of his mind. Flipping channels by the microsecond until he found a universe to watch that could fuel some serotonin in this low-maintenance brain.

Suddenly, a violent flash of colors and noise passed by him, and he started backtracking to that channel.

This universe is in the middle of a full-out birthday bash, as told by the giant neon sign spelling out 'Happy 30 Steve!' with the letters dancing in sync while loud and fast electronic music played. The partygoers were these strange humanoids with the appearance of being molded out of clay. Raving, dancing, and gorging their squishy faces on junk food without a care in the world. Damn, they even have a giant disco ball.

'Man, Steve is having the party of a lifetime.'

Y'know, it's been forever since you've done a party. His inner thoughts spoke to him.

Yeah! You gotta get back to the party scene, man! Time to step up your game!! Time to turn this sad pad into a rad pad.

It has been years since he’s hosted one. Would anyone even come over here?  

Everyone will totes come! They’re gonna be happy to see you no matter what because you’re Prismo .

'Hey, you’re right. I am Prismo! And I’m gonna host a better party than Steve’s!'

He's been wallowing in this cube for too long; he gotta breathe life into this place! Prismo prompts up his laptop and pops up his graphic designer program to make a virtual card; everyone likes being sent animated invites on their email. He began creating the design post haste, implementing flashy graphics, a big and bolded fonts and maybe dancing cat gifs holding glow sticks. Just to hype up his party. And this time, it's gonna be bigger and louder than ever.

'Perfect.'

Now, compose the email in his mailbox. He led the mouse to the send all checkmark and clicked the send button. A pop-up showed up in the front of the screen delaying his invitation.

[Send to all?]

His finger hovered between the 'send' and 'cancel' options. He paused for a moment. Shouldn't Scarab know about this too? 

Ahh, who cares what Scrabby thinks. He’d say no anyway.

He never got invited to one, so you'd be doing him a big solid by giving him his first-ever party!

Prismo thinks about it...no. He should at least- nahhhh.

'A good enough excuse to me.'

Through the sheer might of impulse, he presses send.

Chapter Text

Scarab took a long, long,  long  stroll on all eight sides around the cube. Seven hundred and forty-nine times. Busy focused on his counting rather than the pathetic noise he made earlier. At least he had fun taunting Prismo.

He doesn't remember the last time he did that. Perhaps he was an intern, and what he was before...It doesn't matter; Scarab is more sophisticated than doing such uncouth habits as chirping. It is unacceptable. 

After another four hundred and fifty more, Scarab finally returns inside the cube to return to his duties.

The first thing Scarab noticed was that the Time Room had expanded ten times its original size, close to the size of a basketball stadium. Pliable tables stacked one on each other like a stack of cards arranged against the wall's far side end. Each table had rows upon rows of varied junk foods imaginable; the table supporting the rest of the stack had a fountain spewing punch across the bowl. Stairs support platforms formed from the floors like polygonal stalagmites to a flat surface with a coffee table and bean bags for chairs.

Each of his findings aggravated him the more he scoped the area. Many lights filter the walls with a soft glow streaming fluently in their set path. Following the lights, he eventually leads to the passageway with large, flashy arrows that spell out the 'Fun Zone.' Crossing over is another room with the same space and dimensions. The center of the floor is filled with changing neon-colored tiled miasma every three seconds. Prismo is spotted creating columns scattered around, poking them as they change in various options. He took a moment to consider the Greek statues, then looked at dragons holding crystal orbs. Another poke, and he instantly got charmed by the giant lava lamps.

'Oh, that's staying. Gonna have them in different colors, too. They should probably be taller, nice, nice!' smiles Prismo as he raises the glass higher and higher. 

'Rather chipper today, are we?' Scarab walks in in a way that is too friendly for someone like him.

Prismo replies with a more genuine tone. 'Yup, been chipper all day.'

Scarab hums. 'And does this mirthful occasion require tacky snacks, punch bowls, and a dance floor with a giant disco ball in the center?'

'How can you  not  have a party without a disco ball?'

If dream projections could break a blood vessel, Scarab would be the first.

'Prismo.' He utters his name, gritting his teeth like they're being passed through a cheese grater as he drops the act, 'Did you even think of informing the other person currently residing in this very room, in this very space?'

'Think of it as a surprise party then.'

'You may do whatever you want here, but now I have to live here; the common courtesy is to inform me of any activities you plan to waste the Cube's potential to use for an unnecessary trivial get-together because you felt like it.'

Prismo only stared at him.

'Nice speech, man. The party is still happening. You can be my co-host if you want.'

'If you think I'm going to partake in this event, you're gravely mistaken.'

'Come on, Scrabby. You said yourself you've never been invited to one.'

'It does not indicate I desire to be in one.'

'You wish. Hehe, wish. If you do, you can boss around everyone just like in your old job.' 

'A tempting offer, but no.' Scarab stood his ground. 

Prismo sighs. 'Look, I'm not going to force you to, can you give it a chance atleast? There's going to be lots of food, games, and dancing. Not to mention a lot of people.'

'Which are the same people that would rather see me burn to the stake, or did you forget that detail?'

'Ohhh,yeahhh.' Prismo winces. 

Scarab copies in a mock tone. ' Oohh, yeah. You big buffoon. They'll only make a spectacle of me rather than 'party hardy' with the nice and friendly Prismo. So you can count me out.' 

He turns his back onto Prismo, looking away in defiance. Prismo can't cancel it but can't leave Scarab out of the party. As much as he is still upset with him from earlier, he does his best to extend an olive branch.

Then, an idea came up—a really, really dumb idea.

'Not unless...you were someone  else .'

Scarab's slitted eyes became wide as saucers. 'What? Wait...NO. I'm not even allowed to wake up!'

'You're a shapeshifter! No one will be the wiser.'

'I am not going to violate my parole, which we both agreed upon, by the way, for your stupid party.'

'Almost everyone in the celestial sphere has been invited, and you know how upset they get when a party gets canceled.'

'Even Orbo?'

'Yyeesssssssss.'

'Boss almighty, you never run out of stupidity.'

'Scarab, I would owe you so many solids if you could just come to the party. It won't be right if you get left out, especially now that you live here.'

'Doesn't make a difference to me.'

'Scrabbyy pleaaaaaaaassssseeee.' begs Prismo.

Scarab's annoyingce increases, and so does his voice. 'I told you that I am not going to your insipid party! Even if you're my new boss, there is nothing you can do to make me go, not in a  million yea- '

'I am going to nail him against the wall, permanently.'

Scarab is close to crushing the solo cup at his hand's mercy; this flimsy plastic is no match for a god, an angry one. He stood against a corner, surveying the partygoers dancing with several scrutinous eyes with their sporadic dancing and aggravating trance track that might as well be chicken scratches to the beetle's ears. Not one even bothers to sync up to the rhythm. It's maddening.

'Tch. Idiots.' utters Scarab with bated breath.

Why the hell did he even concede to this? This is an excellent excuse to throw him into the bin sooner, with Prismo lighting up the match. However, it's better than getting humiliated by his 2D form. Everyone would have seen him as easy pickings from his minuscule size, and then he'd be the death of the party.

Speaking of, it's rather strange to be back in corporeal form after months of acclimating to his ethereal one. To have dimensions again as he maneuvers all four of his fingers, to feel the weight of his vessel and squishy guts festering inside and limbs shifting both voluntarily and involuntarily like a machine that just began to operate, figuring out what to make of this shell it has been admitted to. Besides this out-of-body sensation, it feels good to take back his body again, even if for a short moment. If only it weren't because of this.

It's too late to cower now, so this is as good as he can get. He would find some tolerance in this cacophonous stink chamber just as long no one talked to him.

'YOOooOOoooo Mummy Maannnnn.'

Great . A being made out of styrofoam with dopey button eyes and a stupid pepper mustache sidesteps his way into his personal space, hearing those lurid squeaks that seem to overpower the music and torture his antennas. His paper-thin pompadour wiggled up and down as he stepped forth to Scarab, desiring to rip that stupid strip of black paper from its stupid head.

'Did you just come out from the sarcophagus? Because I'd love to get into your organ jars. Unf!' Terrible. Styrohead proceeds to swirl around his obscenely squeaky hips at Scarab.

Scarab strode closer, getting Styrohead's interest quickly, only to rip the paper haircut and his knees, causing the man's legs to crunch and snap back until he fell to the floor. Then, he dunked all of the lukewarm beer from his cup. 

'Still pretty hot.' was the last pathetic groan he heard from Styrohead before leaving his corner to delve into the energetic crowd. Stiding across the walls to avoid getting caught in the massive rave. The room changed colors between green, yellow, and magenta as the reflections from the disco ball sparkled on the entire room.

Having enough of this place, he ventures out from the Fun Zone to get to the other side of the room.

This section is more 'lounge-like' than the chaos from the flashy area, where people don't bump into each other every five seconds. It will be just as irritating as the other, but beggars can't be choosers here. He threw through the crowd, seeing co-workers from the office mingling and having a good time in their little circle jerks as they yap about nonsense while shoveling cheese puff down their orifices. Disgusting.

He spots Prismo's tall visage towering in the enclosure, leaning at the top of the seating areas with a promiscuous drink. Scarab makes a beeline to the wish master, bumping and shoving his way through even if he gets nasty looks.

'... wasn't here. Scarab would have shut this place down.’

Scarab pause as the mention of his name. His hidden antennae picked up chatter as he strode closer to a group’s conversation.

'First Scarab gets knocked down a peg and now Prismo’s making a comeback with this deck out party? To think I didnt believe in miracles. So glad he finally got toasted.' A strange coney shaped-like figure drinks some bubbly drink down her long neck, visible enough it passed her stomach, which boiled greatly until a door opened, summoning freshly baked bread. She barely reacts when the person she's talking to takes it out to stuff their face. After a mouthful, they speak.

'I wish he did. But apparently, Orbo gave him a second chance, he works for Prismo now.'

'What like as a butler?'

'I think so. I bet Prismo is teaching him a lesson; now he'll know what it is like to get bossed around.'

'As if, that guy is like a pet mascot that loves to grovel with our bosses. I bet he’s loving it.'

’What if Prismo has got him on janitor duty? No Prismo, please! Do not make me scrub the public space toilets. it is beneath me!!’ 

The group laughs in their little merriment, unbeknownst that there are hole being bored into their heads.

How much he wants to rip those ingrates to shreds for making a mockery out of him. They don't know how good they got when he was under their watch. They don't know what actual discrimination is like. They don't know anything .

Eventually, Scarab saunters from their hearing radius, making a slight detour to the snack table. He peruses the snack options as he serves himself a new cup from the punch bowl. None appealed to him, as they were all but chips, more chips, dips for the chips, and boatloads of cheesy crackers. Ugh.

He begrudgingly pulled his proboscis from the bundle of rags and slurped the punch up like a straw. His whole frame jolted up by one sip. This punch is spiked; he can taste the throws of alcohol quicker than most. 

His multiple eyes moved to the back of his head to observe the crow more closely. No wonder he felt something off by the awful dancing. When he turns back to the table, he notices rows of bottles catching his eye on the far right of the table. The bits of stars swirling in a black liquid within a crystal bottle made of celestial crystals. Lunar Whiskey.

Oh boy. He'd be having a field trip if he were still an auditor.

Scarab marches up the steps where Prismo's cult is gathered around him. He was sitting around bean bags. He leans beside the giant lava lamp and hears their cheerful chatter, drinks in hand, and Prismo taking center stage. Always the center of attention. Typical.

'Hahaha! Please, please, you  have  to do it again!'

'Alright, I can do another one.'

Handstand Man climbs to the coffee table, performs a handstand, and begins walking with the fingers of his one hand. It was the dumbest thing Scarab had ever seen, yet everyone applauded him.

'No one can handstand quite as you, Handstand Man.'

'Thank you, thank you.' Handstand Man flips backward and back, sitting on the green bean bag.

Tch, nothing but a parlor trick. Can he do it with one finger? Or walk around with two? I don't think so.  Scoffs Scarab to himself.

One of the celestials in the inner circle speaks out; she had a bird for a head with a birdhouse serving as her body. 'We can talk about his awesome tricks all day, but let's get to the real question.' she points to Prismo with much excitement, 'Prismo, you gotta give us the deets. How's it like living with Scarab?'

The others swarmed to Prismo as their curiosity about the roomie situation with Scarab died. The beetle swerved the cup vicariously; as predicted, those nosy gobblers could resist gossip at any moment. At least he saw Prismo being so off his guard as they demanded to be answered. The pink figure scratches his stubble before coming up with a response.

'Weeeell. It's more like if you moved in with your boyfriend or girlfriend, but then you broke up a week later because he/she didn't want to eat pickled pickle sandwiches daily. Still, you're both broke, and neither of you has the choice to move out, so you exist around each other while making ends up to pay the rent on your expensive apartment.'

'That's oddly specific.'

'Ugh, it reminds me of when I had to live with my ex. But I bet living with that pompous jerk is a nightmare.'

'Aww, come on guys, Scrabby isn't that terrible. He's just prickly most of the time.'

A being, simply a magnet with legs, sat upright and responded to Prismo. 'You don't have to be so cordial, Prismo. The guy is an ass, a huge one. I bet he's quivering in some little corner because he can't boss us around no more.'

'Speaking of, where is that guy?'

'He didn't want to come, so he's hanging out on the lower levels.

'Typical Scarab thinks he's too cultivated to mingle with the common riff-raff, as he'd put it.'

'I'd given him a piece of my mind if I saw him. He almost had my friend sent to the cinder because he didn't put away his coffee mug in the coffee mug drawer. During his lunch break, I add you!'

'He threatened me to the incinerator for slurping my soda too loud.'

'He threw me down an elevator after I begged him to stomp on my face.'

Everyone gave the last guy questionable looks.

' Right . Honestly, it's for the best Scarab doesn't show up at all.'

'I probably wouldn't have come if he had.'

Prismo frowned as they gave more comments about Scarab.

Of course, they had to brag about my suffering. Not going in your favor now, Prismo?

'Face it, man. That guy is a terrible roommate.'

'I don't...' Prismo hesitates, and Scarab starts painting a target on his flat, stupid face. 

Yes, tell them how you really feel about mean old Scarab. Come on, say it.  

'HEY, Yoouuu!!'

Scarab jolted, turning to see Styrohead climbing the long stairs with his busted styrofoam legs.

He rasps. 'I'm not done with you until I got some-AHCK.'

Scarab kicked him hard enough to send him back down the long stairs. The commotion got the rest of the table's attention as they all looked in his direction, especially a surprised Prismo.

'...He tripped.' was all he could say.

Prismo suddenly broke out into excitement. 'Ooohhh, my Glob! I thought you'd never come! Get over here, take a seat!' He says it with way too much enthusiasm than needed. Scarab got closer to the group circle but refused to sit down as he was beyond sitting on something so unsophisticated as a bean bag.

'Guys, this is...' Oh, shoot, they haven't thought of a secret name! 'A auuuhhh ...Greenie! I met them when I needed help with the plumbing! They've been a real-life safer. Coulda had this place looking like an aquarium!'

One of the seaters questions him. 'I didn't know the Cube had a plumbing system?'

'Yup, always had it.' Prismo quickly responded, 'But he's cool. Say hello!'

'Hello, Greenie.' They all greeted them as they raised their glasses and cups.

'Listen guys, I need to talk with Greenie over the leak that's been going on. We'll be right back.'

Prismo drags 'Greenie' to a corner to gain some privacy. He then looks down and starts some small talk. 

'Hey, uhhh, guurrl. Do you have a map? Because I got lost in your wrappings.'

Scarab only blinked at him with several eyeballs, and Prismo hunched his shoulder inwardly.

'...Okay, that was bad.'

'Uh-huh,' he tutted, 'Did the lights make you colorblind? Because last I checked, my bandages are not green!!'

'But you're eyes are! I couldn't come up with a better name on the spot! They at least bought it. Anyways, how is the party life treating you?'

'I hate the people here; your preference in music is atrocious, and beer still is the most disgusting thing I've had to put down my throat so far.' He says in one go. 'And are you also aware that your guests are bringing in heavy-handed alcohol such as Lunar Whiskey?'

'Oh yeah, I told them it was okay to bring their stuff.'

'Lunar Whiskey has been banned in several quadrants in the multisphere.'

'Not in this cube, it isn't!' He takes a swift drink of his shot.

'You are supposed to be the host, and you're drinking?'

'I'm just taking a couple sip-sips, honest!'

'Those  sip-sips  are enough to get you inebriated for days. I've seen how you chortle those beer cans like water, and it takes two to get you buzzed.'

With no other type of excuse, Prismo replies. 'Well, maybe I wanna get buzzed.'

He stared at the irritated mummy, trying to get at his skin. Then he realized how stern he spoke. That made him feel weird. 'Look, you like bossing people around, so just keep doing your sleuthing, and if anything happens, just report it to me. I'll take care of it. But the booze stays.'

'So that you can dismiss me later like you always do?'

There is that feeling again! He can feel his whole form shaking as if something wants to get out. Inhale, Prismo. 'Just...do what I ask of you, please.'

'Argh.  Fine .'

'Thank you so much, Greenie! You're the best!!'

The nerve! Galavanting along just so he can get drunk with these ingrates. Pathetic. He got so busy grumbling about the gigantic mess he would deal with later that he didn't notice he'd crash into someone.

Scarab's whole frame froze as he knew that sizeable white orb and those purple shades anywhere.

'Oh, sorry about that, mate!' Orbo apologized, turning to face him. 

His instincts had him going there thinking he got caught, and the relief came quickly as he looked down at a stranger and not his employer. Scarab regained composure; he began using a voice with a higher pitch that made him sound youthful. 'It's alright! Even with plenty of eyeballs, I still can't see where I'm going! Haha!' 

Orbo shook his head. 'Nah, man, I sometimes forget about my size.' Orbo naturally shrinks down to wrecking ball size. 

'That's better. Hey, I haven't seen you around before. You new?'

'...Sort of. I tend to work around the sidelines.'

'Ahh, inside jobs, got it. Which department?'

Damn it all. '...Plumbing.'

'Is plumbing still a thing here?.' He rotates to the side but easily shrugs it off, 'Hey, if it's just as important, then keep up the good work!' He compliments Scarab and then attempts to bump against the Scarab's shoulder with his body, making the beetle flinch inwardly. It amused Orbo and reassured him.

'Haha! Don't worry, mate, I only do the crushing while on duty.' He bumps him again.

Scarab fakes a small laugh. 'Ha. Ha.'

'So you enjoyin' the party so far?'

'Yes, it's very lively.'

'For sure. It's been a while since Prismo's done a party this big.' 

'And it's so cool, and awesome and...fun. So much so that the fun's drained out of me.' Scarab wiped his forehead. 'Better get going now. Those pipes don't fix by themselves.' He excuses himself out of his way. Orbo stops him, that unwavering smile plastering his view.

'Hold on! Did you get a charge for a drinking game? I got some mates that need an extra guy.'

'Thank you for the offer, but I'd better return to my job.'

'Come on, I promise it won't take much of your time!'

'I'm not so sure...' 

'These guys are a buncha of lightweights, so it's easy bettings. Whattaya say?'

Scarab hesitates. Orbo is always insistent with people participating in mundane party activities. Shoving the beetle into a circle he doesn't want to be in, and neither do his co-workers. But if he can get something out of this party, he might as well watch some idiots make spectacles of themselves getting plastered.

'Alright then.'

'That's the spirit.' cheered Orbo, 'Come on, the others have set the table by now. Scarab follows the rolling orb to a swirling ramp that reaches the top, where he's met with some recognizable co-workers and one floating head of hair he despises, Party God. That mutt always manages to get on his hit list and out of it. 

'Awoooo!! You found an extra guy!' Party Wolf yells.

'Heck yeah. This is ahh-shoot, I didn't catch your name.'

An excellent chance to change his name from goddamn Greenie. It did not take long for him to decide.

'...Ma'at.' 

'Glad to have you with us, Matt. Take a seat so we can start this game!' Party Wolf nudges his head sideways to offer him a free space.

It's not Matt. Grumbles Scarab under his breath and sits cross-legged.

'They came to watch you sods fall off the edge.' Orbo rolled to his side as he teased Party Wolf.

'The one who's gonna be rolling down the stairs is you, bowling boy! Haha!'

Various glasses were dispersed as they approached the table; some gurgled or sparkled out from the lids. One of them leaked so much that it almost melted the table off.

'A lot of exotic libations for a game of beer pong.'

'Hahahaha! Did you hear that? He said beer pong!' Party Wolf barks up a laugh along with the rest. 

'What a funny guy!' 

'They're a riot, Orbo. Where did you find them?'

Scarab could not catch what was so humorous. Is it not the point of this dumb game? This aggravated him more than usual, like some ancient memory crawling out of his mind to remind him why he should be mad. An instinctual reaction is caused by a similar situation. A reminder of why he never went to parties and hated people even more.

Fortunately for the group, Party God slightly sated the hidden rage as he elaborated more. 'Hahaha. Beer pong is for squares now. This is a test of those who know the real color of the forbidden liquid that many would tarnish the fruits of its labor.'

That is the first time he's ever heard Party Wolf usually talk.

'A mystery drinking game.'

'Yep, you pick one; you and your opponent must taste it and guess what drink it is. And since most of us have had a large history of booze-guzzling down our belt, we have ourselves an assortment of the likes that would put a mortal in a forever coma. Or explode. Do you have what it takes, Mattie??'

Again, it's Ma'at .

'I have partaken in some promiscuous concoctions.'

'Really now? Bet it can't beat my superior tastebuds.'

'Oh, I beg to differ.'

'That'll be proven once you play.'

If outcompeting Party Wolf in a test of alcohol intake is the only way Scarab can get some entertainment from this hellish event, then he'll play this stupid game.

'Here's the rules: each of us is paired with one another, and both will consume the same one hidden in these cups. Each will have a taste and call out the name of the drink. If you guessed wrong, you have to take another shot. The goal here is to know their stuff and not pass over.'

'Orbo, you and Bobo start first.'

Orbo picks out a cup from the far left, and so does his opponent. Once in hand, they took the shot; it was very potent when his rival threw a coughing fit of smoke. Orbo only got a slight buzz from it as he placed down the empty glass.

'Glob. Why'd it have to be Bombsmoke?' Bobo coughs.

'Nah, it's Lavamade!' Contests Orbo.

'Orbo is right! Bobo's gotta take another shot!'

'Damn it! I also thought of it too!'

'Better next time, mate!'

He pats Bobo on the back while being served another shot of Lavamade. 

'Up next is Frank and Mattie! You get to pick Mattie.'

'Ma'at.' He corrects him before inspecting the glasses. He picks one in the center, and then Frank takes the same one. Uncovering the lid, the liquid is a deep purple with bits of unknown solids floating around the liquid. He can pick up the instant smell of Lilacs from the surface alone, and the starlight twinkles under the purple miasma. But it was that other hidden flower that Scarab. Frank dunked the whole glass into his mouth while Scarab simply sucked his with his proboscis sliding from the bandages, detecting the textures and ingredients across his sensors.

'Lilac Paint!' Frank exclaims.

'Ooh, you're so ri-'

'Hyacynthus.'

It's Lilac Paint, bro. I've guzzled this stuff almost all the time; I instantly recognize the taste of the flowers. It's in the name.'

'You are correct, but both brands use lilac. And Hyathyntus has an aftertaste of bitter space grapes that overpowers the lilac, which is why people mistake it for wine rather than a liqueur.' 

Everyone at the table stared at him until someone pulled out the purple bottle of the same name Scarab described.

'Well damn. We got ourselves a savant here!'

'Finally, some good competition.~'

'Is this all to this little game? Honestly, I feel a little disappointed.'

'Alright, Mav. Let's keep the drinks coming.'

One by one, the contestants would get beaten by Scarab as they had to take double the shot. The drunker they got, the more they had trouble with their guesses or focusing, for that matter, as they spent it laughing over nonsense. Scarab was only scratching the surface with a tad buzz here, a warm sensation there, but his senses were still sharp as a whistle. Orbo held out on his own despite having taken the Green Fizzle twice, a drink that can give multiple punches to the gut in the most literal sense. He knew his boss was no lightweight; he's been known to ride out even the deadliest of libations, primarily thanks to his body absorbing it before anything takes effect. Sometimes, he likes to feel the effects for fun. It always made for great competition since he's impossible to beat. 

Party Wolf had also held his own despite letting the alcohol control him more. It was down to the three of them now since the others sank back into the bean bags plastered out of their minds. 

Then they got around the more potent stuff. Scarab doesn't usually go for the heavy-handed alcohol, but he had to expand his palate at some point. Nonetheless, he was on the lead again. He could feel that prideful snobbiness crawling out of him now with enough alcohol in his system.

Then, Orbo pushes the last glasses over to Scarab and Party Wolf.

'Alright, this is one of the strongest of the strong. But I will warn you, do not be deceived by its sweet nature.' 

'Oh, offering us a hint?'

Scarab and Party God confidentially scooped the glasses and downed them without hesitation. 

One sip sent his entire mouth shattering like glass. Scarab five molts simultaneously, a tingle in his chest thrummed with energy. Then dread struck him like a whip at his back as he knew that thick, sweet syrup anywhere. From the saps of the rare looping loop trees in universe G 196-3 B.

'Oh glob, this one's tough. I've tasted plenty of breakfast whiskeys, but the fire lamps, it's gotta beeeeaaaaa-Basket Case!...'

'Maple Loops.' he slurs out as he can barely feel his jaws pivoting, all his facial muscles turning into mush.

Orbo presents the bottle itself, a giant bottle seeping with loads of dense amber liqueur from the bottle. The font is spelled out in simple cursive calligraphy with multiple suns smiling under a canopy of trees. 

'Color me impressed! You got them all right without getting smashed! New guy wins!'

The drunken gang hooted as they raised their glasses and shook their immovable winner.

'Dang, I haven't had a good match since Scrabby before he quit drinking. Nice one, Ma'at.' Orbo congratulated him with a bump on the shoulder.

 'Is that so?' Scarab responded rather sluggishly. Oh crap, he's almost drooling by his maw. He needs to leave now before-

'...I'd like to take another shot.' he asks.

'Dude, knock yourself out! A roomie of mine brought in a boatload of this stuff.' He presents the bottle before him. Its amber-brown glaze inside the honeycomb-shaped glass with sticky syrup running down the bottle's surface is like tempting a tiger with fresh meat.

Without hesitation, he grabs the bottleneck, pulls the cork with his teeth, and shoves his whole proboscis inside. Swirling the whole appendage, vacuuming the bootle whole until it was licked clean. The whole group was speechless. 

'Dude, one shot is enough to send a mortal popping faster than popcorn, let alone deep guzzling down the whole thing!'

'Mattie is a savage! That's awesome!'

Scarab’s whole frame vibrated violently before tiny sparks of ember emanated from his bandages. He puts the entire flask on the table and glares at the giant orb. 

'Mattie needs another bottle.'

Chapter Text

'Okay, okay, I have another banger, PgGhffftt. Knock, knock.'

'Who's there?'

'Pfftftttnt. COME IN.'

Prismo almost coughed out a lung laughing.

'Hahaha! Oh-ho Glob. I think I snorted my drink!' He chortles through his fit. Once he could breathe, he made his signal to keep moving on. Also, his cup was almost empty.

'Okay, I gotta keep moseying about, but first, I gotta refill this baby up. I'll definitely remember that one, later you party animals! Man, that was too good. Come in, hahaha...'

Man, he missed being in a good crowd. Got to see new faces and hear new jokes; he thought he’d heard all the knock-knock jokes. It’s refreshing to have actual conversations that don't end in a fight or awkward debate.

Prismo slithered down from the column without a hitch. A significant perk of being so much like a shadow was passing through the crowd, like going around a bathtub filled with rubber ducks.

His vision got a little wobbly, and he tried stabilizing himself first. Man, those gins were doing a number on him. How was he able to get intoxicated when he didn't have a liver or a brain. Not even a nervous system. He just found out he could get hurt (Prismo hadn't processed that discovery yet). Why worry about being a little disoriented? As long it made him feel good, and he could recover from the next day without a hangover, it would be fine. It was fine!

Prismo headed to the snack table, wondering what to snack on, and noticed an empty bowl with only a mess of crumbs.

'Aww, outta cheesy crackers!' a guest whined; they picked up the bowl and lift it up to the host. 'What are we gonna do without cheesy goodness, dude!?'

Prismo took a long moment to react. The being had black beady eyes in their little leaf-shaped body. The fact that they were entirely yellow almost made him think…

He barely had to think about it and a mountain of cheesy crackers spilled into the bowl; their tiny arms could only hold so much cheesy goodness, and they soon became encumbered, and then buried by the teetering pile of cheesy crackers.

'Tunks, Prumu!' A big thumbs-up came out of the pile.

'Don't mention it,' he responded flatly, and he moved away from the table.

Okay, that was... something. Prismo kept moving to the Soda Cube, where people could grab drinks. Like an abstract soda fountain/bar but in a cool cube hut thing.

He planned to get another cup of gin and place it under a floating green polygon. Instead, it dispensed a thick, sticky substance with the consistency of honey, which slopped right onto his cup.

'Okay, this is new,' he muttered, but he drank it anyway. Prismo felt the dense, sweet liquor envelop his tongue, and then heat manifested in his throat enough to send his form whizzing out before he coughed out bright pink smoke.

'Oh-ho, wow, that is smokey. Who would drink this?' Prismo protested. Then he went for seconds.

'Hoo! That stuff can give you major jitters if you take it in too fast, dude.'

I’d know that hoot anywhere. Prismo blinked, then turned to see a familiar owlish face.

'Cosmic Owl! Oh my Glob!' Prismo shouts. 'Wh-what're you doing here?'

'You invited me, dude. Invite to all remember?'

'O‐Oh! Right, right! I almost forgot for a second, ha.' Prismo scratched his stubble nervously, 'Dude... It's been forever.'

'Too long.'

Neither could come up with anything to say; Prismo looked away while Owl spun his cup around. Prismo was excited to see him again, yet with how abruptly things ended between them, he couldn't just say, Hey, how's it going, bro? Are you up for some Parchees!?

Fortunately, Cosmic Owl spoke first. 'Hey, uh. You wanna hit up a corner, chill out, catch up on stuff?’

'That'd be cool, yeah.' Prismo immediately agrees.

The pair found themselves in a corner of the room with some breathing space. Prismo lowered himself down to be at eye level with Owl.

'So, uh... how are things?' Prismo asks.

Cosmic Owl fiddled with his cup. 'Oh, y'know, same old, same old. Flying through dreams, foretelling them, the usual.

'Cool, cool.' Prismo nods. 'You uh, still into board games?'

'It wouldn't be me if I weren't! I still collect them. I've actually been getting into retro games with Za'baby, lately. But uh, well... y'know.'

Prismo winces.

'EEeeeeeuu-Yeaaaahhh. On Scarab's behalf, I'm really sorry about that. But I hear he's been recovering steadily at the Oblong Springs. So that's something.'

Cosmic Owl waves a glittering wing. 'Yeah, I visited him a few weeks ago. The guy's living the lap of luxury, with all the back massages and green spring water he could ask for. I would kill to get one of those foot massages.' Then he scanned the room, looking skittish enough to take wing. 'N-Not that I want to get beaten up by Scarab, haha...'

Prismo focused on the less controversial thing Owl had said. 'Wouldn't blame ya with all those fancy pools. They've got way more space than the hot tub.'

'Exactly.'

They go quiet again. The music meekly cut in to fill the lull in the conversation.

'... So, uh. How're you doing?' Owl asked.

Prismo waved his hand around as he feigned a smile. 'You know me! Still making wishes, and all that jazz...'

Owl peered at him curiously, but he didn't bring up the elephant in the room. Or even seem to want to bring up the topic. He knew more about the Wishmaster's situation than anyone else at this party,by Cosmic Owl's reckoning, he didn't look so good—not least of all from all the drinking.

'Ahh, that's cool. To be honest, I was surprised to hear you were throwing a party, after so long since the last one.'

Prismo winced. Shoot. So he noticed, too. Might as well rip off the band aid.

'Hey, uh. Listen, Cosmic Owl... I, uh...'

'Prismo! Just the bloke I've been looking for!'

Orbo rolled in between the two of them. How was he able to hold that glass in midair?

'For a giant pink wall sticker, you're pretty hard to find in a crowd.'

'That's me. I'm always all over the place!' Prismo laughs, 'You enjoying the party so far?'

'Been having a blast! You've really outdone yourself with this one. Better sound speakers, cool, glowy decor... The music could be better, but the alcohol is a nice touch, too. It's been a while since I could kick back with a good drink.'

'Hey man, you can drink the night or day away if you have to.'

'That'd be the day, eh? Though I hit my limit on a drinking game, so it's gonna be steady from here. Also, I've been meaning to ask, how good ol' Scarab doin'?'

Oh crud. Prismo started to panic a little.

'Erhmm, Scrabby's doing fiiiine. Being a busybody, as he usually is. You can never catch him taking a break. Or even wanting one...'

'That's classic Scrabs, lemme tell ya! You should see how bitter the guy gets when I give him annual shore leave. What a piece of work.'  

Prismo nodded and hummed in complete agreement. 'Hmmm, HHmmm, Hhm! You're telling me. It's hard to convince him to chill out. Like, he would rather stay in the Time Core than be here.'

'Ah, don't fret it. Scrabby's never been the partygoer type... And with a crowd like this? He wouldn't go near this place.'

Prismo shrugged with commiserative lament. 'I dunno why he's such a downer about parties.'

Orbo tilted his body and threw a sympathetic smile Prismo's way. 'Eh, don't take it personally, mate. It's probably just 'cause he doesn't want a repeat of last time.'

Huh? Last time?

'Wait,' Prismo said with a frown, 'I thought he said he was never invited to parties...?'

'Well, it was an attempt to socialize the guy on my part... Scarab was wrapping up his internship at the Auditus Academy. He was about to be assigned to my department, and I thought having a party to celebrate would be a fun way to welcome him to the profession. He was pretty against it, so it took some convincing to get him to even show...'

Prismo leaned forward, rapt with attention. 'Then what happened?' he asked with bated breath. Beside him, Cosmic Owl listened with a neutral expression, like he'd already heard this story.

'This beauty happened.' Orbo stirred his glass, which was filled with maple liqueur. 'Maple Loops—same one you're drinkin', in fact.'

'What,' Prismo said, 'it gave him a nasty hangover?'

'The opposite, dude,' Owl quickly interjected, 'Bugs go crazy for sugar. Give 'em a single grain, and they could run for miles.'

Orbo's body tilted forward in an enthusiastic nod. 'No kidding! And saps like syrup, honey—that stuff is like catnip for insect-types.' He took a modest sip of the concoction in question, evidently not nearly so affected.  'Mix that in with alcohol, and let's just say... they have a little too much of a good time.'

Orbo continued, 'Maple Loops are made from a pretty high grade of trees, gathered by firebugs that make explosive fire lamps. It's put in the liquor for an extra kicks. We didn't suspect it then, we thought it was just a fancy present to give him. Next thing we knew, Scarab almost wrecked the Academy's ballroom.'

That didn't sound good.

'Good thing he didn't come up then, haha...' Prismo laughed nervously.

'Oh, for sure,' Orbo agreed. 'I heard one of Party God's mates brought a boatload of the stuff to the Fun Zone. He would have been in a feeding frenzy! Not to mention the nasty withdrawal he'd go through...'

Oh, crrrrrrrrrrraaaap baskets.

Prismo's smile was strained. 'Can you excuse me for a minute, Orbo? I'm gonna-ahhhh, I have to go check on a friend of mine. The fountain's gone a bit funky, so I'll probably have to have them check on that plumbing.’

'Oh, you mean Ma'at? They mentioned they were a plumber.'

'Wait, you mean Green—?' Prismo pulled up short, recalling how Scarab had objected to the name out of hand. Evidently he had given himself a new one. 'I mean... you saw him already?'

'Yeah!' says Orbo. 'They were takin' part in that drinking game. Which, I tell ya, they were a pro at it! They might almost give Scrabby a run for his money... They guzzled an entire bottle of Maple Loops in the final round! They're pretty cool.'

Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.

'Then I better grab him quick before he drinks himself silly!' Prismo chuckled nervously, gliding away and leaving Cosmic Owl and Orbo sharing confused glances.

He hurried to the other stadium room, desperately searching for Scarab. Oh, glob, why hadn't Scarab told him about that specific detail!? For all Prismo knew, he could be wrecking up the place by now. Yet no one was panicking or exploding, so maybe nothing bad had happened yet.

Swimming to the far end that leads to the giant dancefloor, Prismo saw a large crowd surrounding the area, chanting someone's name. That was when he spotted the bandaged shapeshifter leaping up from the crowd, spinning at all angles until he landed perfectly in a handstand. Everyone went crazy when he lifted himself up with one finger. Was this even really Scrabby?

'Damn, he got moves,' Prismo quietly admitted.

Scarab used his sole finger to jump back up on his two legs.

'Thank youuuuuuu, Simpletons!' He bowed to the audience, soaking up the attention like a flower beneath beneficent rays of starlight.

'Matt-man, that was wicked!' Praised Juggo, the living jug man.

'Yeah, yeah, whatever—give me the stuff.'

Scarab opened his giant maw as Juggo leaned over, pouring that same maple concoction into his mouth. After a quick dose, Scarab shook his head and body until he burped out a large gust of glittering fire.

'WOOOH! What are you fools standing around for!? LETS PAARTYYY!' Scarab raised his fists as he yelled. The rest followed along to Scarab's frantic dancing as the music's rhythm picked up the pace.

'Scrabby!' Prismo hurried over to Scarab, watching him pinning his right leg and placing his left leg behind the right. He bent his right leg down and pinned it to the floor, then lifted himself up with a spin right to the Wishmaster’s general direction.

'Hey Prrrrrrrrrrrrismo. Nice of you to drop by, hahaha! You can't even do that! Hahahaha!' Scarab cackled.

'Scrabby, how much of that maple stuff have you had??'

Scarab scoffed. 'PSHHHhhhh, it was only a little bit. Goodness, can't a guy have a drink every once in a while? YOU BETTER HAND THAT OVER,' He abruptly shrieked at a guest and swiped the drink from their hand. They backed away as he began to shudder violently after swallowing the glass whole. Billows of smoke come out of the wrappings.

'Gaugh, that hits the spot...'

Prismo took a good look at him: Scarab was a twitchy mess. He kept scanning the people to see if anyone had a drink in hand. Even the wrappings were loosening up, as he could clearly see some patches of red. Crap.

'Uhh, Scrabs. We should…’

Suddenly he was surrounded by guests hyping around his excitable friend.

'Prismo! Your plumber friend is totes awesome!'

'Making all those crazy flips and everything. They're a maniac on the dancefloor!'

'Where'd you find this guy, Prismo?'

Prismo stuttered, 'Well uh...'

Scarab scoffed. 'Ha! We practically shareeee the same—hic!—room. Making me clean all his garbage on the floor...'

Double crap.

'H-he sometimes likes working overtime when he-they doesn't have to do that!' Prismo covered hurriedly.

'Aww, they're just looking after you.'

'Mattie's such a great friend.'

Scarab roughly poked the misnamer in their apparent marshmallow squish face. 'It's Mawt...M-math...Mets?...Molt? Molt, that's it! I'm Molt! Anyways, give me your glass before I kill you,' he said, with so much chipper enthusiasm that it almost didn't sound like a threat.

'Hahaha! You're so funny, Matt! Down the hatch!' He was going to pour the sticky, dense liquor, but Scarab opened his whole maw, tentacles, and claws, chomping the man's arm off. Leaving a perfect incision.

His benefactor gasped with morbid delight. 'I'm never regenerating this arm ever again!'

'Let's hope you don't!'

Now Prismo really had to get Scarab out of here.

He smiled wide, getting Scarab’s attention as he called his nickname. 'Matt, I need you to check out my sink. It's been having some issues.'

Surprisingly, Scarab agreed. 'Alright, let's fix the darn thing.'

Prismo escorted him outside the dance floor. Immediately starting with, 'Dude, you gotta cut yourself off.'

Scarab made a scandalized noise. 'Oh, now you want me t-to leave?' he archly demanded. 'I thought you wanted me to have fun.'

'I do! I do! But not like this! You look like you're ready to beat someone up!'

'Yoo don't bosssssss me around,' Scarab hissed. 'You're hardly sober, either.'

'We're both drunk! But I'm not the one going on a binge!’

'You're just... jealousss,' Scarab slurred.

Prismo frowned, taken aback. 'What?' He nervously laughed.

'You're jealous because I'm finally garnering attention, and you feel so tretten-tret...intimidated by my cool flippers that you feel the need to dispose of me. It's no fun when you're not the center of attention, is it?' 

Prismo gripped his hair. 'I-gah-that’s not it! I’m trying to stop you from doing somethin’ embarrassing!'

'Save your petty excuses, Prizmu. Either you dance like a square or flop like a f-flopper.' Did he just try to talk slang to him? Then Scarab startled him by somersaulting away from him and into the pulsing crowd on the dancefloor.

'Scarab!' Prismo hissed.

He tried to search for Scarab, but it was hard to find him in a sea of people grooving the night away. Around the walls and through the available surfaces he could slink to, Prismo still couldn't see him. He considered shifting to the floor, but then he'd be looking up peoples' skirts and togas. And that'd be rude. How was he going to fix this? 

You’re really in for it now, Prismo, the Wishmaster thought with dismal dread.

'Whattup, party people? AWOOOO!!'

Prismo turned to the center stage of the DJ Stand. Party God howled out. Everyone got pumped up by his presence.

'Is this one fantastic bash or what? All thanks to Prismo!! Who's made an awesome comeback since he fell off the radar.'

Everyone turned to smile at the startled Wishmaster. He waved his hand to everyone with a nervous, crooked smile.

'And we made up a little surprise just for you, bro! Roll it in, guys!'

A group of humanoid dogs in backwards hats and denim vests pushed in a wheelbarrow carrying two massive flasks, glistening amber through the glass with the glowing flames of Maple Loops.

'What's a party without a chug challenge? Oooohhhh! It’s even made out of ice glass to make it extra, boooiiiiyyeee.' Party God hyped up the gift, bringing out a tube funnel connected to the jugs. ‘Show us what you got, Pris my man!’

Oh, boy. Prismo feigned a smile as he politely declined, 'Oh shoot. I had a couple of these bad boys, it’s definitely not vibing with my bod.’

Party God barked out a chuckle, 'That's okay, man! Good thing we got a crazy contender, already... Let's go, Mattie!'

Scarab leapt onto the flasks from behind,, his claws clasping covetously around the thick glass—hard enough to leave cracks on the surface. 

Mega crap!

'Can you drink this entire gallon of maple liquor in under thirty seconds?' Party God nudged him playfully, and Scarab gave his answer: 

'Make it fifteen.'

Party Wolf’s hat spun.  'YOooo, this guy is wild, haha!' he hollered. ‘Let’s get it on, then!’

The crowd chanted his name as Party Wolf handed him the funnel. Instead of taking the tube, Scrab lifted one of the flasks and punched a hole through the chilledglass, affixing his wide-opene maw to the jagged opening.

Prismo couldn't do anything but watch in horror while the crowd cheered for the mapleaddicted beetle. 

'Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!'

Scarab leaned his body back the more deeply he chugged the thick liquor. His talons broke more of the glass casing to release the golden ooze of the sap, leaking from the cracks and dripping down his arms. It had only been seven seconds, and the tank had gone empty.

'Holy shit, it was barely ten seconds!'

Prismo watched the ex-auditor throw the flask to the ground, shattering it into millions of pieces. Scarab’s whole frame trembled, like some hidden force was clawing out of him. His several eyes dilated like crazy, and he bared his fists as the trembling increased in speeds nigh impossible while billows of smoke and flickers of ember escaped from his wrappings like an engine on the verge of catastrophic combustion. A second pair of arms ripped out from the disguise, and Scarab held his head as if it were about to fall over.

Then he bellowed a guttering roar and, with one swift punch, shattered one of the giant lava lamps that stood conveniently near-at-hand for his impulsive, wanton destruction. All the heated water and wax spilled across the floor. The crowd cheered for their chug champion, unaware of the danger of enabling it.

'YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! LET'S GO!!'

Scarab stomped the floor, and a pillar rose beneath him, raising him as high as the tower-sized surround speakers in the middle of the dancefloor. He raised all four fists triumphantly, laughing maniacally as syrup and drool dripped from his exposed teeth. Prismo gaped, seeing the bandages were peeling off in Scarab's wild, disheveled state. A few ribbons were slanted across his face, enough to see one bright yellow eye and his wide grin, flashing teeth.

Then Scarab turned his back to the audience. His arms shuffled, doing something. That was when he turned again to reveal the mask in his hand.

A red rhombus mask.

COSMIC CRAP. NO!

'Looky what I have here~' Scarab snickered, 'NOW WHO WANTS IT!?'

Someone yelled out. 'I do!' 

'Then CATCH!' Scarab wound up a pitch and chucked the mask at an insane speed; whoever got it had their face stabbed deep by its sharp edge. Good thing their face was made of foam...

'Look, I got it, I got it!' They pointed at their stab wound with tremulous, manic excitement.

Okay, Prismo probably had to do something now. Without a second thought, he dipped to the floor, moving across the soles, feet, talons, and whatnot, spiraling speedilt up  the pillar where his assistant was cackling and dancing about on top.

'Scarab! You gotta stop before you really do some real damage!' Prismo cried, only for his warnings to fall on deaf ears. Scarab blew a raspberry at Prismo and leapt off the pillar to escape him.

'I'm trying to stop you from getting caught by Orbo, you crazy maniac!' Prismo yelled after him. That got the other's attention. He spun on his heel to face Prismo at lightning speed. His exposed eye ran wild, staring at him like a crazed animal. For a second, his sudden anger waned, and he almost seemed to come to his senses.

'I'm... Don't have to listen to you, Prismope. I'm done! If you don't have more maple, I am going to—ughh!' he groaned suddenly, clutching his stomach as if with a sudden cramp. The Maple Loops clearly weren't agreeing with him. '... destroy this prison cell until I clean this place dry!'

Scarab's turned away to make a quick escape—and ran smack-dab into a giant chunk of ice with legs, its body reflecting a riot of colorful lights from the disco balls and lava lamps scattered around the room. 

Prismo tensed as he watched Scarab rear back. Scarab stared into the shifting colors of his own reflection. The effect was a prismatic collage, a mish-mashed stranger he could not fully recognize. His face had no emotion, and his lack of reaction concerned Prismo. Scarab pulled the wrappings from his multi-eyed head to a rounded, soft-faced thing. It was terrifying how wretchedly still he was.

'Scrabby...'  Prismo called to him, but didn't know what else to say.

Scarab’s voice was scarcely audible from the clamoring music. 'Where is it?'

'Calm down, we can-'

'Where's my 

FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE?!'

The entire stadium shook from Scarab's roar, bringing everything to a complete halt. Scarab took the spotlight as he looked back at everyone with wild eyes, his bandages loose and disheveled.

'Which of you ingrates has it!?' he heaved, pointing at the confused crowd. His voice was rough and shrimpy, more high-pitched than his usual baritone. No one made a move, as they were not sure what this crazy guy was accusing them of. The first one to move damned himself as the de facto culprit—and Scarab leaped high into the air after him. 

He sprang right onto the unsuspecting fuzzy creature, twisting his fists in the collar of their tacky tie-dye shirt, shaking them aggressively.

'Give it back,' he wheezed out at them.

The fuzz creature bawled in fear of getting their face bitten off, 'I—I don't have it, I swear! I swear!!' 

'Yipes!'

Scarab's head snapped around faster than an owl's, spotting a small goblin-esque man making a run for it in a forest of legs with a red mask on his face.

'HAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!' Scarab snarled, skittering between the partygoers' legs and quickly gaining on the goblinoid.

'Oh, shit—!'

He tackled the short being to the ground and ripped the mask off their face band-aid style.

'OW!' the short guy screamed, but Scarab didn't care for the other being's pain. In fact, in his volatile state, he felt compelled to compound it. He crunched him down into a ball, then threw him forcefully to turn the short guy into a living projectile. Everyone dove out of the way of his line of fire as it zipped by them. They all stared into the large crater formed on the wall, cracks and all.

Scarab huffed; he suddenly felt hot and stuffy for some reason and immediately began peeling off hiswrappings.

'Wait,—wait, Scarab, don't—!'

Prismo's cries fell on deaf ears as the bandages dropped to the floor, disclosing Scarab's true form—but Scarab didn't care; his mind was focused on that mask, and he plopped it back to his face where it belonged.

'SCARAB?!'  the assembled crowd clamored. Not a soul in attendance could believe the one cool plumber dude was the jerk Auditor all along!

’He’s crashing the party!’ someone wailed.

‘I-It’s okay everyone!’ Prismo stammered. He tried to gain control of by situation by retaining his positive attitude. ‘He’s not a party crasher, he’s just very, very drunk.’

’Someone will be crushed if no one hands me more Loops!’ Scarab cut in, spoiling Prismo's attempts to regain control of the room. 

Despite the fearful stillness that had fallen over the room, that threat was enough to have a bottle of it thrown at the crazed bug. Scarab snatched it smartly from the air, and he bit the cork and yanked it clean out of the bottle, spitting it into the crowd with enough to put out an force eye. Having freed the way to the sticky-sweet core, he up-ended the bottle and gulped it down without stopping. But ins.de the bottle some sticky-sweetness still clung, and he probed it thirstily with his proboscis-like tongue. Dissatisfied with its drink-numbed reach, he snarled and shoved the bottle into his mouth, crushing it with his rows and rows of hungry teeth. 

'BRBRBBRBRBRBBRRR!' Scarab warbled, shaking his head rapidly at the powerful taste. Then he threw his head back and began laughing hysterically. 'Aha... AAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAAA!!'

He laughed and laughed, but this small pint wasn't enough. It was never enough. There had to be more. 

‘Must have… need... MORE!’

He scanned his surroundings, though the room swam with the effects of powerful alcohol. Every pair of eyes looked out at him with tremulous fear or cowardly anger.

For a crucial moment, his vision clarified. That was when he spotted another large barrel across the room, still left undrunk. gotcha! 

Scarab and Prismo's gazes locked as they followed each others' line of sight to the barrel. 'No,' Prismo said in a warning tone, as if Scarab were a dog raring up to chase after a squirrel.

Scarab made a mad dash for the cask—but Prismo had the greater reach, and he managed to swipe it away before Scarab could reach it.. He cleverly sank it over to the 2D plane for good measure. Scrabby wouldn't be able to get it now.

But that doesn't stop Scarab from giving chase, pouncing onto the wall after Prismo. He would not be denied his precious poison. 

'You better guh-givve that back Prusmo. If you know what's good for you...!' He contorts his body with a series of bright cracks to better spider-crawl along the wall, and stalks ominously toward Prismo, pointed legs clicking like knives. 

Prismo clutched the cask closer to his chest. 'No way! This stuff is making you cuckoo-bananas!'

'Give it here!' Scarab snarled. 

Scarab leapt after his prize, startling the pink projection when his hands sank into the wall like water; blue claws swiped through the yellow wall snatching the cask and then hauling it back into the physical world. 

'You've had..... quite… enough!!' Prismo struggled to take it back, but Scarab's stubbornness proved stronger.

’It’s mine!’ growled Scarab.

Scarab's legs snapped straight, pulling hard enoand bending his back far enough to break a weaker being's spine. Prismo gasped as Scarab pulled the barrel and his arms into the physical world. The beetle laughed in his cramped state like a prospector taking back his gold, then sank his teeth to the glass casing to suck the sap.

Prismo yanked the cask back through the wall into the two-dimensional plane, roughly dislodging Scarab's teeth. And thinking to remove temptation, he began drinking from the dripping holes left behind by Scarab's bite.

Scarab gawked at him. 'GASP. You greedy little—!'

Scarab plunged his arms into the waagain in and started scratching Prismo's ha like a furious felineine. The immediate stinging pain almost caused Prismo to lose his grip.

'OW OW OW,' Prismo cried, and maple liquor dribbled down his chin. Despite Scarab's ferocious assault, Prismo kept drinking, the alcohol taking a toll on his faculties as the raging embers of the fire lamps fuzzed his senses, made his chest burn, and turned his body a darker shade of pink.

With no signs of Prismo letting go, Scarab sank his claws cruelly into his wrist. 

'RRRRGH... That's mine!!' Scarab petulantly cried, baring his teeth, 'You think you can have everything, don't you? Get away with doing whatever you want.d..? Well, no more!'

Scarab surprised him by yanking the pink-and-starlight ribbon off the arm that had  his injured wrist. The crowd gasped at the display before them. The beetle glared fiercely at each arm-lock, tightening his grip .

Scarab smiled behind his mask as Prismo's expression transform with fear as he held his arm in that perilous grasp. ‘Now you'll know what it feels like to have something taken from you,’ Scarab darkly declares.

No way Scarab was actually capable of maiming him, right?

... Right?!

Prismo doesn't even have bones! 

Scarab wringed his arm like a towel. Twisting and twsting, more and more, until it reached it’s limit. Scarab pulled tightly at each end so he could hear the constellaneous flesh as he gets closer to the-

Suddenly, Scarab was encased in a jelly-like spherical swell, constricting his movement as he struggled frantically in his bubbly prison.

'AAAARGHHH!! ORBO!!' he screamed while the bubble harmlessly drifted down, bouncing over to the celestial orb. Orbo took center stage outgrowing the rest of the crowd as he expanded in size. His blank face behind his purple shades as he watches Scarab uselessly biting his way out.

'You really donked up, mate.’ Says Orbo.

Scarab retaliated by punching, kicking, and trying to bite his way out of the bubble, to no avail. He snarled and flailed wildly like a furious lion.  In his raging tantrum, Scarab bursted his face inside and out—like a meaty worm mouth, chomping at the thin yet impenetrable surface of his prison. .

'Orbo, wait! I can explain—' Prismo burped, fumbling on his words mid-sentence as the burn of recently-imbibed alcohol ached in his chest.

Orbo faced him with carefully restrained fury. 'I'd certainly like to hear you try, Prismo.'

'I-I woke himm and uh, thought he would hafff fun mingling...!' Man, that liquor did a number on him. 'I didn't know the uh... maple... stuff... would make him like that!'

Orbo's frown deepened. 'This is quite the dilemma for you, mate.'

Suddenly, Scarab burst into a laughing frenzy.

'This is perfect! Better than I planned! Hahahhaaahaa!'  He slid uncoordinatedly at the bottom of the bubble, struggling to find his footing, but eventually gave it up and simply craned his head back to narrow his eyes at Prismo. 'Everyone here gets to see you make a fool of yourself!'

'That's enough out of you, Scarab. You need to be in quarantine.'

'What I need is for you to shut up!' he snapped at Orbo, ignoring the agitated surprise from the orb.

'Wuh—?! W-why you have to be like this!?' Prismo shouted. Everyone was caught off-guard by the Wishmaster's sudden outcry. They had never seen him look quite so distraught. Watching two gods drunkenly quarrel was probably going to be the highlight of the grapevine's discussion for weeks. But in the moment, it was shocking, and a little terrifying. 'So is this going to be every day with you? All I wanted was to have a good time! I thought you'd appreciate that!'

Scarab heaved himself painstakingly into a seated position, wiping drool from the corner of his mouth as he sneered, 'I never wanted this stupid party! Do you think we can be buddy-buddies just because we wrote some stories together and ate putrid sandwiches!? You think a gathering of people you barely even socialize with will fix your little problem??'

Prismo frowned, holding his injured arm protectively against his chest. 'A-And just what do you mean by that?'

Scarab scoffed with derision. 'Don't play dumb. You must know why you're doing all this. Your clear desperation, the stench of misery that looms over you like excess fat as you hide it with false cheerfulness...  It's written all over your face. Trying to chase that moment you can't have again. Creating this little facade so you don't have to think about that stupid dead dog.'

Gasps from the crowd erupted throughout the stadium. Someone even muttered:

‘Gasp. Audible Gasp.’

Prismo stared at the captive Scarab. A rising pressure was forming in his chest, more than what the heat from the liquor generated inside him. It was painful enough to swallow him whole.

Prismo struggled to speak. 'You... Don't you dare talk about him.'

'I can and I will!' Scarab slammed against the bubble, 'You never cared for their fleeting, dispensable lives! Oh, but one can change your mind with insipid jestery? You're so naive it's like watching a comedy. It disgusts me.’

Prismo’s senses began to shut down. His injured arm trembled greatly

'Don't like what you hear? Tough pickles, Prismo. You knew what was coming to you once the expiration date came. And I'll keep reminding you—Jake the Dog was NOTHING!' Scarab snarled with venomous intent. 'And he NEVER LOVED YOU!’

Snap!

And just like that, Scarab was gone.

Chapter Text

The stadium was quiet, not a hum, a peep, an awkward cough. Nothing.

It was as if time had frozen in on itself more than The Cube already had. All of the cosmics and mortals stared open-mouthed at the spot where Scarab raved like a madman and vanished without a trace of his presence. Orbo slowly veers to Prismo, his fingers still poised in that snapping motion. Dark shades of black come down from his fingertips like bleeding ink.

Prismo's expression was blank; he might as well have been a painted mural on the wall rather than a person. The orb was caught off guard by the Wishmaster's drastic display.

Before anyone could even register the gravity of the situation, a voice interrupted the stillness.

'Holy Fuck, he popped the Scarab!'

Silence.

'WHOOOOO'

'YEAH!'

'HAHAHAHAAA!'

'OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHH'

Everyone spontaneously burst into hardcore dance mode. The music was brought back louder and more upbeat, causing a thunderous dance of frenzy in a cacophonous sea of rowdy party animals having a night on the tiles to the most epic execution ever.

Only two did not participate in the riot after what had just happened. Orbo rolled over to Prismo, who finally moved. He stared down at the hand he used to snap Scarab away as if it were a loaded gun. The people nearby weren't helpful as they approached him with way too much enthusiasm about the ordeal.

'Prismo! That was awesome!'

'You burst him like a balloon, haha!'

'Who would have known he would give us such a sensational display!'

'That's what the Wishmaster is all about, suuuuppp!'

'If only he could pop out my zits like that, huh-huh.’

'Ewwww.'

They all lauded him for offing Scarab. Cheering the Wishmaster for offing Scarab. Do they not see this as a bad thing??

Orbo was ready to lay off on Prismo until the guy began shaking with laughter.

'Hahahaha! Yeah! I did it! What a surprise!!' He waves his arms in his panic. 'D-Don't wear it out, guys!.'

The guests cheered and then went back to dancing. Orbo dashed over to Prismo before anyone else could get to him.

'Mate, you don't look so good.'

Prismo gawked at Orbo. 'Whattaya mean? It's fine, I'm fi-hi-hi-hine! Totally not freaking out about this. I am NOT freaking out. IM NOT FREAKING OUT! I AM FREAKING OUT! AHH!' He shrieks in hysterics, then pulls up the beaten cask he still holds to drink it. He didn't care how terrible this goddamn liquor made him as long as he had something substantial in his throat.

'Do-hoo-de! Stop!' Cosmic Owl flies in on Orbo's head, his feathers puffing out. 'You already gulped half of that stuff. Quit it!'

Prismo mammered hastily. 'I am stopping! T-trust me- L-look at me, look at me! I'm Prismo! It's all chill-I'll fix it!' he tried to laugh, but it sounded painful from the flames coming out of his mouth as he spoke. 'If you give me more, I can't stop worrying, and we can have fun again! I just need another...'

'No, I think you had quite enough Prismo.' Orbo enounces acutely. His glowering complexion and set brows made the gleam of his shades ever so fierce to give Prismo and Cosmic Owl the heebie-jeebies.

'Cosmic Owl, get him to the lower levels while I care for the guests.'

Prismo tries to protest. 'Orbo really I'-'

'Ah-ah! You will settle down, Prismo.' mandates Orbo with a tone of authority he rarely uses to get the Wishmaster quiet. 'What you just drank can get a cosmic feel like they're getting pelted by a meteor shower, and right now, you are beyond sober. So I suggest you drop the booze, mate.'

Prismo pulled a face that was indistinct of his mellow nature. Keeping challenging his boss in this little staring contest only takes so long. He finally concedes, and Prismo drops the bottle in defeat. 

'Y-yes, Sir.' Prismo says solemnly. He rips out the stairs and quickly slides down further into the deeper levels.

Orbo looks up to Cosmic Owl. 'Cosmic Owl, I'm gonna need you to keep an eye on him.'

'Don't need to tell me twice.' Cosmic Owl flies down from Orbo to the stairs. Orbo stopped him halfway. 

'Make sure he doesn't sneak another beer or gin. He's had enough of those, and we need him sober enough to know where and get back Scarab.'

'Got it.' Cosmic Owl nodded and proceeded down the steps, walking straight through the immense corridors filled with giant paned rectangular prisms littered across the negative space. Usually, he'd have Prismo to help him guide him in the never-maze, but with the person in question currently inoperable, he tries to at least remember some of the spaces he was familiar with. Luckily, Prismo didn't venture so deep into the Cube as he heard distant blabbering echoing the halls. He flew toward the noise until he found Prismo traveling across different platforms, twisting and turning his body across the surface like mismatched photography until he settled on a half arch resembling a tunneling wave, hiding between the curves. Yet, he could not find himself able to sit down from what had transpired earlier.

'Oh, glob-ohglobohglobohglob! Oh GLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOB.' Prismo gets hysterical again, unaware of the dream owl's presence. Cosmic Owl makes himself known as he approaches him.

'Pris, come on, let's try to sit this out...' Cosmic Owl tries to reason. Prismo suddenly faces him, yelling like a maniac. 

'I KILLEDED SCRABAB howamIsupposedtocalmdownI'mgonnagetthehammerandImnevergonnagetthatretirementplan-DO WE EVEN HAVE RETIREMENT PLANS!?'

'DUDE.' Hoots Cosmic Owl. "If you really poofed him, the Citadel would have been on you already. Not even those scary guys from Auditus showed up! So it's safe to say you haven't done anything. Yet.'

'YET!?' Prismo shrieks in fear.

Oh boy. 'Look, you probably sent Scarab somewhere rather than the latter. Maybe a nasty place, based on how upset he made you.' It was the most he could guess with how Scarab could get the most easygoing person to his limits like that. The way Prismo looked at the ex-auditor like he was a phantom was pretty spooky. Actually, it was terrifying.

'I don't know, maybe??' Prismo stammers, 'He made me so mad, man. All those things he said about Jake-hic-what the hell? H-how could you say such a thing when-' he sniffed, then scowled. A sudden burst of emotion erupted out of him at the mention of his name. Even just picturing him had his head stirring in a slew of thoughts. He had never begun to think of a person so severely.

'You know what? No, screw him! He deserved to be in a nasty place. I hope he...he trips on his own two feet or, better yet, eats his own feet!' Prismo crossed his arms as he fulminated, unaware of his hand going completely black. Cosmic Owl feathers puffed up when they bled further to his forearm. And the more he let out his anger, the more it traveled to his shoulder. Even his hair had gotten slightly pointier...?

Cosmic Owl tries to assuage his friend gently. 'Hey, that doesn't sound like the Prismo I know.'

Prismo gave him the eye in a way the owl had never seen from him. He was genuinely angry. Even sounded angry, too.

'How could you possibly know about me after you ditch me, huh??' A terrible hiss can be heard as he starts dissing at Cosmic Owl.

'Prismo.' Cosmic Owl starts, 'You're still drunk....'

He gets startled when claws physically scratch against the surface, leaving marks against the arch.

'Maybe if you weren't such a jerkoff like Scarab was, I wouldn't be drinking so much!!'

Cosmic Owl could only give a sympathetic look against all that frustration. This was just like how things ended with each other. It was months after Jake's passing, and Prismo had been off the radar since that day. Cosmic had tried checking up on him once in a while, but he would find him either drinking, crying, or having no motivation to do anything whatsoever. It was upsetting to look at.

He came by one day, trying to coax him to play a game. He spotted his friend crying in a corner, more intensely than what he'd seen from him. At the time, he didn't know how to console him, but he couldn't just watch him wallow in sorrow like this. But he tried.

'He was a cool dude. But we all knew he wasn't going to last long.'

Prismo's crying stopped, and he gazed at Cosmic Owl aghast. His eye was broad like a mantis staring into your soul. Ready to rip your head off.

'Get out.' whispered Prismo in his blank expression. Cosmic Owl can feel the dread taking over him.

'Oh, glob. Prismo, I didn't mean that way, man.'

Cosmic Owl jumped when his fist slammed at the wall to shake the room with a boom.

'I don't care! JUST GET OUT!'

Cosmic Owl jumps. He looks down, feeling ashamed. Then flew dejectedly out the door and never came back.

Cosmic feared going back to the Cube again. Thinking Prismo would never want to see him again. Yet he should have been a better friend and come back for him. But that was years ago, and this time, he will not back out on him now. Despite Prismo's harsh words, Cosmic Owl stood there, now more prepared to face him. He knows Prismo doesn't mean anything by it. Also, he is way too plastered to control his emotions.

Prismo stared at Cosmic Owl with disdain as if he expected him to leave, maybe fight back even. But as he stood his ground, eyes full of worry. Soon, the Wishmaster's mouth started to tremble, his brow furrowing as he realized he was yelling at his buddy.

'I'm so s-sorry.' he hiccuped, 'I'm so so sorry, man. I didn't mean to say that.' Tears dripped out of Prismo's eye like a leaky faucet. He planted his hand to his face, then sank into the floor, curling himself into a ball. His edges got sharper as the black matter slowly enveloped his chest and neck.

'Glob, I'm so messed up!' Prismo wept, 'Everything hurts so much. I'm so angry, but I'm also sad. What is wrong with me? I'm P-Prismo, I can't be like this. I can't be...this.' he continued to sob into his drunken delusions, his once friendly body blackened as dark matter itself.

His entire frame glitched like a corrupted pop-up tab, or a child using the clicking paint bucket tool immaturely across the canvas until Prismo was like in a black and pink mess. Only his face and most of the left side remain pink.

Cosmic Owl could only watch as he changed. This had never occurred before; yet again, many things were happening to Prismo that no one knew. And it seems Prismo isn't aware of going through the changes either. In addition to that, the man is heavily drunk and going through some severe depression. Was he like this for years now? Cosmic Owl's crop tightened with guilt for leaving him alone for so long.

He carefully trudged closer to Prismo.

'Hey man, it's okay...'

'No, it's n-not okay!' wailed Prismo. His blue, now pink pupil attempting to blink the tears away was all in vain as more kept coming. 'Nothing about this is, is-Hurk-!'

Primo glitches up, coughing smoke from the maple liquor's fiery effects. It was like hearing the distortion that happens when you watch TV when the signal is poor, the screen sizzles the audio, and RBG pixels go out of place.

'W-w-wuh-wh-y c-can't I st-stop f-f-feelling like -this...?'

'You're still going through the alcohol's effects.' says Cosmic Owl. He pats him on the shoulder, though it's more like he's touching the floor since Prismo cannot feel it. But the simple gesture is appreciative enough.

'It's gonna suck for a while. The last time I had Maple Loops, I puffed smoke the whole day. My neighbors thought my apartment was on fire. And there was also heartburn. That was only a shot or two, but you had almost half a gallon. You're gonna have a rough ride, my friend.'

'It's so-ho-ho bad, Cosmic Owl.' Prismo shivered, 'I feel like I'm going to pop like a balloon or a piece of chewed-up gum. And my wrist is-huh?'

Cosmic Owl stands up, watching Prismo observe his black hand, the fingers of which have modified into sharp claws.

'Pris...' Cosmic Owl starts calmly.

The other seemed calm about it. 'W-when was this happening?'

'Pretty much after you made Scarab disappear. B-but the progression only happened just now.'

'Ah...'

'Did this happen before?'

'I...I think so?' even Prismo wasn't sure about it from his stodgy reply. 'I remember having...a bad time, and I felt fuzzy? But it wasn't like this.'

'Do you know how to make it go away?'

'I remember just watching old videos? I don't remember much of what happened, man. I have just been feeling like this a lot. Like right now.' he didn't dare to move as if moving around would make it spread faster.

'Okay, we'll just find another way, then.'

'How can we fix this when I don't even know? You can't fix it with a board game!' Suddenly responded harshly.

Cosmic Owl raised a brow, 'I didn't even mention board games.'

'Glob, I know you didn't, but I just-Argh! What the Golb is wrong with me? Why can't I get these bad vibes under control!?' He says this more to himself exasperatingly. Another wave of anger and sadness surged as he held his head, trying to contain something he couldn't control.

'Scarab is right; I was escaping away my problems because I couldn't stop thinking about Jake. I just wanted feel good for once but now I feel even worser!' Prismo goes back to sobbing, his body fizzing as he convulsed, whimpering from heartache.

'I miss Jake!'

Prismo tore up, hugging himself, then sank into his little pity ball. The black edges seep further in. Cosmic Owl could only sit next to him as he cried.

'I miss Jake too-hoo.' he hooted sadly. 'He was a cool dude.'

'The coolest, man. Why did he have to go like that?' sniveled Prismo.

'... It's tough to say, dude. Mortal lives tend to end abruptly without a warning.'

'And that sucks.' gasped Prismo.

'It does.'

Aside from Prismo's silent whimpers and occasional coughs, they remained quiet.

'Y'know, I kinda feel what you're going through in a way.'

Prismo gave a doubting look, 'How could you relate to how miserable I am right now?'

'Prismo, did you forget what I do for a living? I go into people's dreams.'

'I know, but what does that have to relate to this?'

'As in, I visit all types of dreams mortals have. Good ones, bad ones, the weird ones that can get pretty freaky.' it made his feathers bristle thinking about it. 

'Sometimes, I end up in their last dreams, too.'

'O-oh....'

Cosmic Owl exhales. 'Yeah, I haven't thought about it at first. Flying in through their last moments. Typical stuff: the life literally before their eyes, a happy memory, some wandering around in nothing until they go over to the death realm, the works. But I never fully realized how much that last time mattered to them.'

'Was it when you were crushed from turning down that girl you chased around?'

Cosmic Owl scratched the small part of his neck, almost flustered, having to think about her again. 

'Ah, sort of. It was actually someone else's dream that helped me see things a different way.'

'How so?'

'It started out doing what I normally do, I just left one that involved a party, and the premonition was that he was gonna embarrass himself. So flying to an old lady's dream baking cookies is quite the tone change. Which lemme tell ya, they were so awfully delicious…'

Cosmic Owl had been flying above the forest until a whiff of fresh baked goods entered his nose. He followed the scent trail that ends at a small cottage house. The tiny home was shaped and painted to look like a giant toadstool.

He quickly lands and spots the open window with the tray full of freshly baked gingerbread cookies. It's no chocolate chip, but they smelled and looked delicious all the same. It had his beak grinding for a bite.

'Oh, hello there, giant owl.' an old woman peered outside the window, startling the celestial owl a tad. Her smile expressed such tenderness that it could make even a god feel at home.

'What brings you here, young man?' she inquires. 

'If you count a thousand years young, lady, that's a huge stretch.'

She laughs at his retort, 'Ahh, you sound like a delight. Come, come in! I have a second batch in the oven already, and there's no way I can finish these cookies alone.'

'Oh boy, would I? Then I'm coming in!' 

Cosmic Owl was going to welcome himself inside through the window but decided to be kind enough to go around to the door. The old woman watched the giant celestial bird beeline his way to the kitchen, now having the tray on his wings and hands-thing. In just one bite, all that spicy-sugary goodness sent his body into a wild dopamine rush! Even his feathers sparkled and twinkled from how good it tasted.

'Oh suhh, guhd!' he moaned out then decided to take another.

'I'm glad you like them, Mr. Owl.'

'It's Cosmic Owl, actually.'

'That is quite an uninspiring name, but I've dreamt of bizarre creatures with more bizarre names; Cosmic Owl is the most ordinary one I've heard.

Cosmic Owl hoots at her. 'Hey, it's a well-established name. And what kind of dreams have you been having?' he asked as he sat by the table.

'Oh, I like to exaggerate my hikes into more wild adventures. Makes things a little less boring these days.'

'Would it be the same for your baking?' Cosmic Owl immediately regretted saying that. 'Uhh, I take that back.'

She laughs about it instead. 'No offense taken, that was funny. But I do take my cooking seriously. As long as I see the smile on my husband, my children, and my children's children, I am happy.'

'Hey, speaking of which... Shouldn't you be dreaming of your family coming by or something?'

'I should, shouldn't I?' the old woman acknowledges. 'My sons and daughter are living well with their families, and my grandchildren have grown up and are just starting to live their lives. But they're all doing okay, and they come by every often. A nice reassurance for this old Prudence's chapter to come to a close, so dreaming another ordinary day at home is enough.'

'No regrets whatsoever?' Cosmic Owl asks, 'I know it's a thing mortals often have.'

'Maybe a few, but what is life without a few regrets? Though it would have been nice if I lived out my Daredevil career. I would have made some sick stunts.' The old woman had a moment reminiscing on the thought. 'Despite it all, I've lived a good life. Have done enough good to lay these old bones to rest.'

'Huh...' Cosmic Owl stopped eating mid-crunch. 

She seemed to notice his little conundrum as she leaned back on her chair by the table. 'You seem unsure about this. Something on your mind?'

Cosmic Owl takes a moment to think about it. 'Well...where I'm from, I'm just a guy doing my job. Actually, I'm on the clock right now.'

'And what do you do?'

'Navigating through dreams like this one. Mostly ones with a strong feeling that something will happen to someone, whether good or bad.'

' Oh, a premonition!'

Cosmic Owl hums in agreement while tossing another cookie down his beak. 'Bingo! I've been doing this job for a really long time. Like we live forever kind of deal. So it's weird when I go to a dream that foretells it's gonna be their last one, and once they cross over, they're gone without a trace. Then again, sometimes people come back as zombies, phantoms, ghosts, demons, vampires, poltergeists, angels, killer cyborgs-Woah, there are a lot of ways to come back now that I think about it. B-but lingering spirits aside, most that just die ever come back.'

There's also that whole recreating thing that Life does, but that's a topic for another time. Cosmic Owl lets the woman have her moment to take it all in as he takes a seat at the table. 

'Hmm, you must have seen many people come and go then. Is death a thing where you're from?'

'Erhmm, yeah. But for a god or a cosmic being, it's more permanent. Not have to own a soul or access to the death world. Poof, you're done and gone.'

’Ahh, I see.’ she surmises. 'Are you curious about the concept of life after death?'

'Kinda. I have this friend who has lived as long as I have, and we had another friend who used to hang out with us. He wasn't immortal like us, but he was cool and was good at playing board games. Long story short, he died not too long ago, and my buddy is devastated.'

'But you're not as much in distress as he is.'

'Exactly, it's normal for all of us, even for him. Though something the guy's passing made it…different.'

'He must have been a special person to your friend to have such an impact.'

'Crazy big. And well, I tried to help him, but I didn't word things right, and he got really upset with me.' Cosmic sighed. Then, he realized he had started talking about his problems to her.

'Oh jeez, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be spilling my personal shizz while on your last dream.'

'Don't worry, dear. I've always been a good listener. The company is enjoyable so far. Oh, my goodness, I forgot to get you a glass of milk.' She stands up from her table. 'Keep talking, dear.'

'Well, that's just it. Ever since that day, he didn't want to see me again. Or anybody, for that matter. Things haven't been the same.'

'Hmm...' she hums as she pours in a glass, 'Let me tell you this, seven years ago, my husband passed away. It was a regular day, and we were ready to do our morning routine, but he never rose from the bed. He was already sick, and even as I tried to prepare for that day to happen, it was still hard. But no one was as distraught as my youngest grandson.'

She set down the glass for Cosmic Owl and then continued.

'He didn't have much time with him since he was young then, but in every visit, they were attached to the hip. They would do Everything together, even just sit outside doing nothing, and still enjoy each other's company. But when he died, it was like the end of the world for him.'

'Nothing was ever the same. No special bait to catch a big fish, no more special wooden sleds he would craft for the kids to slide down in the snow, to hear him play the harmonica. Even those awful jokes he'd make. All those things he would do just ceased. No one could do the things he could.'

'And now he'll never have your cookies again.'

'That's right. Imagine how your friend must feel not having to do all the fun things with him again.'

Cosmic Owl looked down, his feathers drooped. Then, he placed a hand on his wing and looked up to see the smile on her face.

'It's an awful feeling, but it's not all bad. Sometimes special people come into our lives, they stay for a while, and then they have to go. As long as I remember his time here, things have been a little easier. The same for my grandson.' 

Knock-nok-nok-Knok. Knock, knock.

Cosmic Owl and the old woman turn to the door, not expecting anyone else. But for Cosmic Owl, it's a sign that their time together had run out. It hasn't been that long, though... 

'That must be for me.' she sighs, then stands up from her chair and grabs her cane. First, she heads over to the oven to pull the second batch from the oven, which they magically sorted into a nice box for Cosmic Owl to take. 

'I have one last thing, hang on.' she heads over to the counter and then hands him a small flipbook of her notes. 'If you ever feel like baking, try some of my recipes. Make sure you keep it a secret for me, eh?' she gives her a wink.

'Farewell, Cosmic Owl. I hope you can help your friend in his time of need. Maybe you'll think of us mortals more fondly in the future this time.'

'Hey lady, wait!' he stops her. 'I didn't catch your name.'

'Oh right, I didn't! It's Prudence, dear.'

'Okay.' Cosmic Owl nods, 'Goodbye, Prudence.' Then he waves goodbye to her.

Prudence waved him back and watched her go out the door. It opened to a flash of light; the tears flowed down her face when she heard the voice of a man calling her name. With a job done, Cosmic Owl exits from his television and watches her dream disappear from the screen. 

He looks down at the flipbook in hand, flipping through different recipes that also include the ingredients for the gingerbread cookies. He went to the closet, retrieved his secret shoebox for his more personal stuff, and gingerly placed it there. There was no way he could make the same batch as she could, nor could he even have the chance to have how they tasted in real life. But maybe one day, he can find the courage to make them. But this small memory of her is enough... 

'That was really touching.' Prismo sniffled, 'Like a happy ending to a sad movie.'

'Kinda is like that, doesn't it?' Cosmic Owl guesses. 'Since then, whenever I go to anyone's last dreams, I try to give 'em a good time and hang out with them before they cross over. Though it feels pretty icky once it's over. So, I write their names in a list on a hard drive. You wouldn't imagine the amount of gigabytes I have now, wow.'

'That's cool of you to do, Cos.'

'It's the least I could do.'

Prismo fidgets for a moment before he can ask. '...have you been to Jake's last dream?'

'Well, he was still alive the last time I went to one of his.' he mentions. 'It was mostly a premonition about his and his wife's anniversary since he was worried he gonna ruin some weird salad Jake was making, and he wanted my advice about it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sorry, dude.'

'Oh... That's okay.' he hugs himself further. '...how do you get over someone being gone forever?'

'I don't think you can, dude.' that wasn't an answer Prismo wanted; he didn't notice how he huffed out loud. Cosmic Owl waved it off, then thought about what Prudence said.

'You just remember the good memories, appreciate their days there. I still get a little sad about that girl, but I try remembering the nice time we ate shrimp cocktails. Or Prudence's cookies and her presence. It doesn't take away that they're gone, but I guess it's good to think about.'

'When I do, it makes me feel bad.'

'But the parts Jake was here were good, weren't they?

'Yeah…'

'Maybe that's enough.'

'I don't know if it can be for me.'

'You may need to find new ways to approach it.'

'Like what?'

'I wish I knew. Wait-I didn't mean that as an actual wish...'

That got Prismo laughing in a bit of a deadpan. 'Don't worry, I get what you mean. It's pretty funny.'

'It was, haha.'

They sat without a word once more, but now the air is much more breathable than earlier.

'I'm sorry for you yelling at you all those years ago, Cosmic Owl.' Prismo starts, stroking his dark arm. 'You were trying to help, but I was so caught up in my own stuff I lashed out at you instead.'

'That's okay, Prismo. I'm also sorry that I didn't come back. I wanted to, but I thought you were still mad at me, I should have been a better friend.'

'Nah, dude. I was the one who donked up.'

'No, I'm sure it was me.'

'No, me first!'

'Me second.'

'Me third'

'Me fourth. Jinx! Double jinx'

The two of them laughed at their silly antics.

'I guess we both kinda donked up in some parts.' Cosmic Owl declares.

"Ha, yeah. Oh glob, here comes another one...!'

Prismo acted like a chimney, coughing out all that smoke from his system.

'This is taking forever to go away.' he complains.

'At least you won't go through it alone.'

Prismo smiles at that. The edges of black slowly receded back to pink again.

'Thanks, Cos.'

'No probs, dude.'

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

They bided their sweet time, waiting it out while making small talk. Though Prismo refuses to talk about Scarab whenever he is brought up, Cosmic Owl understands and lets it be. Still, they will have to get to that point eventually if they will get Scarab back from wherever Prismo sent him. At least he's back to his pink self with only his hand still black.

Soon, their little talk about customizing playing dice ceased when they saw Orbo rolling in. Prismo and Cosmic Owl straightened themselves out and exited their little hiding spot to meet him. His complexion was stern, but he was his mellow self again as he spoke.

'It took a while, but I managed to get everyone to go home. How are you holding up, Prismo?'

'Still terrible. But better a little headache than a burning chest.' Prismo smiled weakly before hacking up a bit of flame. 'For the most part.'

'That's good to hear, mate. You had me really worried back there.'

'Ah, sorry...'

'It's okay. Though you're not out of the woods yet. After what I've seen, you and Scarab have much to explain.'

'Can't we just take a rain check?' Prismo bashfully asked, but one frown was enough to indicate otherwise.

'There's a time and place, Prismo. Charms are not in your favor today. Especially after snuffing out the Scarab like that.'

Prismo deflated onto himself, looking down dejectedly as he was reminded what he'd done.

'Where did you send Scarab to, Prismo?'

Prismo refuses to answer at first.

Cosmic Owl spoke up. 'He's still upset with him, Orbo.'

If Orbo had hands, he'd lift his shades to pinch the bridge between his eyes. He sighed, 

'Pris, we need him back. What he said was beyond respectful, but poofing people away is not in your job description. Not only was he under heavy influence from the Maple Loops, but it also affected his sense of restraint. Again, I'm not excusing what he said, but he wasn't partially himself.' 

Orbo makes sure that Prismo is paying attention. He watched the Wishmaster twiddle his fingers about before continuing. 

'Do you at the least know where you possibly have sent him?'

Prismo takes a moment to respond.

'I think I know where he is...'

'Any place is as good as any.'

'...Even if it's Nowhere Space?'

'Oh boy.' Orbo heaves a sigh.

Cosmic Owl turns to Prismo in surprise. 'Woah, dude, you sent him there?'

Prismo flapped. 'He pushed my buttons, bro! It was the first thing I thought of instead of...you know.'

Orbo was displeased by it, but it's better than nothing. 'Well, it's better than killing him, or else you'd be in hot water.'

Prismo gulped at that.

'Okay, I got a lot of calls to make and have to retrieve Scarab from Nowhere Space. Cosmic Owl, watch Prismo for me until I return. After that, you can head home.'

'Y-yes, boss!' Cosmic Owl nodded.

Orbo then turns back to Prismo. 'This is far from over, Prismo. Once I get him back, the three of us will have a nice, long chat.'

Prismo wishes he could sink instead of slinking around the floor.

'You had your chance of doing things. Now's the time I get to the bottom of this.'

Now, it is a matter of bringing Scarab back from Nowhere Space. 

Chapter Text

The last thing he recalls was sitting down with Orbo, swirling the previous cup in his hand as did he. Scarab had delighted himself boasting to those fools powering through their dumb drinking challenge, shoving all types of concoctions down his throat.

 Everything was going fine until the last shot. Scarab's senses dulled fast by the sticky, sweet sensation rushing on his taste buds like a disgusting disease swelling his fleshy insides. Before he could panic, everything fuzzed down into a pool of black. Letting himself sink into its dense trap like the tree sap.

More time passes, and Scarab finds himself floating in darkness. No air nor sound or anything solid came of it—just nothing. Akin to the space he and the mortal Simon ended up in, along the festering dwellings of the accursed god of Chaos drifting within this endless black cavity of nothing. 

In Nowhere Space 

Despite not needing to breathe, he felt a slight sense of tautness for a moment; something about this plane rendered him slipshod—not a good feeling at all.

At some point, he felt gravity pulling his feet into a solid mass—finally, something concrete in this infernal void. Scarab's legs got going to walk on this unknown trail, wherever it may take him. Gradually, the floor began to feel soft yet firm, almost like soil. He can pick up the smell of earthy geosmin mounds, spider silk, petrichor, and old furniture with

that mildewy smell; many distant yet familiar scents wafted his odor receptors as he recognized them—a sensation redolent from a time he used to travel in these spaces lived in it.

Scarab felt the walls around him, dirt crumbled by his touch. He twiddled his fingers, getting its residue's texture, and peered straight ahead the tunnel, no- a burrow. Yes, that's right, a burrow.

Something's amiss. Wait, Scarab is supposed to be back in the Cube, right? Dealing with that stupid party Prismo is hosting. Seriously, why did he even bother attending that? Why did he even bother joining Orbo and Party Wolf playing party games? How is he not upset with this at all?

Scarab couldn't keep track of his current whereabouts, let alone his thoughts; his only prerogative was to keep walking forward. There had to be an exit here somewhere.

No progress was made the further Scarab trekked in the tunnels. Not even a fork in the path, a sign or light indicating his whereabouts, and rarely any indication of life. Still, a small, squeaking creature would be welcome company. It was starting to agitate him.

And if he has to dig himself out, he will. He considers it until he sees a figure in the distance. It was facing their back to him. Oh, but once the outline began to set in its finer details, it caused the beetle to boil. Even with the best or poorest eyesight in the world, he can never forget that silhouette: the more than average stature, the flowing greying curls

from head to torso, loose cotton silk robes, and bright fabrics that tormented his eyes like sour vinegar.  

'You.'

Scarab vocalizes the personal pronoun with much rancor in his throat. Not even hatred can measure this intense intenseness based on his feelings about them. Just seeing him is already too much to handle. The figure starts to walk further away from him, but Scarab won't have it. He won't allow it.

'Come back, here!'

Scarab hounds after them, but suddenly, he is confronted by two giant pairs of shoes that sprouted from the ground. Standing in the way of his vengeance! 

The first thing that repulsed him was how they were disgustingly green with shiny black tips and metal plates affixed to the toe and heel of the soles. And that wasn't the worst part; they even spoke to him.

'Hey, look at me! I'm a pair of giant green shoes. Wanna watch me do flips?' 

Both pairs did a bunch of flips that ended with a rimshot out of nowhere.

'HAH!' it was enough to spook the unspookable God Auditor to backtrack from the violently neon green shoes. He runs back to the path he came from, looking for anything to escape those accursed shoes. A sight that he never wanted to see again or remember. 

Scarab sprinted as much as he could until he started to fall. There was no indication of a bottom to this pit, but eventually, a platform became visible just a few feet down. Scarab's eyes slit and homed into the platform. He posed and flipped to make a smooth landing.

His shoes clacked against the marble flooring, scanning his new surroundings. Pieces and fragments began constructing themselves like building blocks with every step he took, forming a deep chasm of astronomical proportions. Giant composite columns that can tower the skies were aligned and segmented, toppled with ideally segmented fractals that connected the pillars as they filled the vast space, a sight Scarab found all too recognizable. The endless hallways he'd trekked to get from one place to another day in and day out, encountering other suits wandering to their next post, to the next meeting, another audit, walking with stacks of paperwork. A consistent flow has kept this tower working like a well-oiled machine, all to keep the multiverse in order.

But as much as this looked like Auditus, the place threw Scarab off. This place is a powerhouse, and as he could always see its bright presence within the constellations, he'd gaze outside the Cube. People always worked nonstop; It always stayed light. It never goes dark.

And he cannot return here while he is still being punished.

All of this is not normal. It doesn't make sense. This place must be investigated. But before Scarab could go any further, a sudden tug at his feet prevented him from pursuing further. He looks down to find his legs sinking into the marble floor. He jerks and pulls at his legs to get out, but the marble becomes tough as taffy; there is nothing he can do to stop him from sinking.

Then, a clawed hand popped from the marbled tar and grabbed at his ankles. He swats it away, but more hands and appendages emerge from the surface like leeches, finding a fresh host. Soon, faces emerged from the attached limbs and hoisted themselves to Scarab's body. Those haunting yellow eyes never escaped him.

'So you think you can just up and leave, huh?'

'You used to be one of us!'

'Why did you stop caring?'

'Get off of me!!' Scarab thrashed about, but no force of godpower could deter these creatures. So many hands dragged him into the pit, their weight ceasing his retaliation. No, this is beneath him! He will not let these things claim him; he is a god! Not a slave to the infinite machine no longer. They're not his equals anymore, yet they always come sprouting out like weeds. No matter how much he tried to bury it down in his subconscious.

'That vizard is but a quandong poisoning your face!'

Scarab bared his fangs as one of them intended to remove his mask physically. All the flesh, muscle tissue, and nerve endings tugged as the creature tried to pry at his face, burning each facet of the epidermis like removing super glue or duct tape trying to cling on with its viscous rubbery glue to keep the mask welded to its person. In an act of desperation, Scarab was able to headbutt the assailant, getting it to fall off until it crawled back with more fervor to pick at his face again.   

It all ceased when the ground began to tremble beneath them all. Scarab's eyes jotted open, gaping at the ceiling as the column had inclined like nasty femurs that pinpointed to the four rigid, towering subirach figures gazing down at him. Coming to life in their bodies of ample bare stone, completely Gauditian in nature. Their suits and armor are cut into simpler, dynamic styles than their real-life counterparts. Their masks were carved harshly as if they were chiseled bone. Even without faces, their masks exuded upon Scarab with great apathy that still controlled his immortal mind, his soft, fragile brain. 

Because what use is a soul when gods don't have one? 

'Scarab, Scarab...' One of the statues slowly shook their head as they spoke. 'How could you prevent illegal crossovers from disrupting the spacetime continuum? You've gotten sloppy.'

'Really, is this how you decide to waste our time after we straightened you out?' Another statue retorts in a shrill timber. 

'I did everything I could! Hrrng!' he raved to the powers that be while struggling with the swarm pulling him down. 'I had the right justifications. I had it under control!'

'Until they became canon!'

'Tsk, tsk. This is extremely disappointing, Scarab. We expected better than this.'

'I told you we shouldn't have had a lousy Servitor joining the ranks. It should have stayed where it belonged, like fixing pipes or some thingamajig.' one of them wistfully shook their head.

'Since when do we use plumbing?'

'Yeah, we don't even do that anymore.'

'Alright, whatever, but it is apparent that we all agree on the same thing...'

All four statues nod in agreement.

'He should have stayed in the dirt with the rest of his kind.'

Scarab had never felt such dread for the first time in eons since the day he found out he had lost the position he had slaved so severely for.

'Wait, don't...!' he panicked.

'Useless.'

'Drop the shoe!!'

Three figures lurked out from atop the edifice. Their masks were almost identical to Scarab's framework of geometric shapes, dress code, and assorted primary colors: Green Square, yellow triangle, and that loathly blue circle—his so-called co-workers. 

The three auditors step aside to make way for the one figure Scarab had been chasing, who has sent him further into this hellhole. Their expression was void of emotion, though the face being so featureless made them In their hands the same giant green shoes held up high in their dainty, human hands. The trepidation that claimed Scarab a moment ago contorted back into anger. Even in the face of his demise, he still can't stand looking at that face.   

At that moment, the shoes took a nosedive like a dropping anchor, and their weight alone made Scarab fall apart right then and there. Macerating and crushing every bit of exoskeleton as it crunched as loud as candy canes, soft bits mashed and ground against the others that got caught in the crash in an arthropodic meat puree. White blood gushed out within the organic mess, limbs twitching and contracting as rigor mortis crept in.

Is this how things are supposed to be?

He never got the to prove himself worthy. Not that he had a chance to begin with.

He probably deserved it after all that he's done. After all the things and people he left behind.

Oh, he just realized he got squashed down by a giant shoe.

Squashed like the insect he is.

Funny how Irony can be sometimes.

...

…....

……................

Waking up sucks. 

But waking up from a major hangover, however? Sucks even more. 

It turns your head soft as an egg, and your brain is the yolk. Pulsing viscously as it gets stabbed with several ice picks like a brain freeze. Then your body is as good as roadkill or a lump of ground meat because movement is as good as torture, with your brain still all gooey and runny. A god shouldn't feel this type of anguish; this is mortal stuff. Then again, gods need to feel something once in a while.

'Ughhhh.' 

Scarab groaned on the floor. He can barely feel his everything to even move a muscle. His brain fuzzed about with little snippets of imagery between reality and fiction slid across his eyeballs as if his face were strapped with a stereoscope. Did he have a dream? He must have been by feeling so limp and groggy.

Scarab slowly lifted himself into a sitting pose like a disjointed mummy rising from its sarcophagus. He tried to hold his spinning head but couldn't feel his hands on it—or his arms, for that matter.

'Hah!' He gasps at the open sockets of his torso. Scarab scans the area to find his missing limbs, taking stalk of the empty, grey room he finds himself in.

'Don't worry about your arms, mate.'

Scarab turns to the sound of Orbo. Currently, the size of a basketball is on top of a table. On his left are his arms perched nicely next to each other.

'I'd say they're in good hands.' he says emphatically as if he's been waiting to say that sentence.

'Ugh, Orbo.' Scarab protests, 'I'm in no mood for your railleries right now.'

Orbo rolls to the side. 'Hey, I'm only trying to lighten the mood here.'

Scarab could only scowl. He then questions, '...Did you take my arms?'

'Ah, yeah. Had to secure ya from breaking the room. I know the maple had you out of the loop.' Another zinger. This time, the orb couldn't hide the smug grin on his face.

Scarab could grab and throw him down a basketball hoop that leads down to a giant pool of piranhas with spikes at the bottom to leave him but a tattered husk, only that his

aching head disrupts his dark fantasies. The least he can do is reprimand him candidly.

'I hate that you.' he scorns his boss, which only makes him smile wider, his purple shades emphasizing his beaming personality.

'C'mon, I know you love it. You still drunk?' 

Scarab takes a moment to look at Orbo, really look at him. After staring and a ton of thinking, he replies, '...No.'

Orbo is not convinced in the slightest with that grin on his face. 'Pffh, sure you aren't. Can you tell me the time for me?'

He observed Scarab as he sat there. Then he calmly stood up, not wobbling or stumbling on himself. It all seemed normal until he walked away from Orbo and wandered aimlessly around the small room.

'Where are ya going?' Orbo stops him in his tracks when he asks him a question. Scarab faces him with a seemingly blunt answer. 

'To the Time Core, duhh. I have to tell them the time.'

Okay, this is rather funny, Orbo surmises. The fact that the guy said something so improper as 'duh' is a gift.

'You dingus, we don't even use time anymore.' Orbo laughs. 'Well, at least you're mostly back to your grumpy self. C'mere and get your arms.'

Scarab grumbled over to the table and returned his arms to their sockets. Once one got in, it was easy to grab and snap the other back into place. He flexed his arms and then the fingers for a motor skills check. Scarab's functioning body didn't take long to plop smack-dabbed on the table as if the short walk to the table had spent him significantly.

'How out of it was I?' Scarab drones with his face on the table. Orbo rolled to his face upside down next to him.

'Really out, mate. You were even break dancing and everything.'

That did not bring Scarab any sort of comfort. He starts thinking about those ugly ass shoes in his dream. That thought alone soured his mood more.

'Great.' Scarab scowls as he rubs the back of his head. 'Ughhh, my mouth still feels that disgusting, fuzzy, sweet aftertaste of the liquor. I couldn't possibly have had that many.'

'An absurd amount, man. Like a lifetime supply of Maple Loops to get you on a full-on bender. Hey, at least you didn't wreck the place. Not entirely, at least.'

'Ugh, I don't even recall anything that's transpired.' the beetle's limp body gradually deflated the more he spoke.

'Do you feel a little shaky, still?' Orbo grew to marginal concern as his brows furrowed upwards. He could hear the other making little bug chittering as he shifted in his spot. 

For once, Scrab had been compliant with his current condition. This is a sign he is spent beyond relief to even be blatantly open to Orbo. The last time he had been like this was when he was an intern. 'I can feel a tremor occasionally, but it's very minimal. Were the convulsions that bad?'

'You were spasming faster than a dwarf star on burnout when I had to find and drag ya out from Nowhere Space-.'

Scarab's head turned so erratic that Orbo heard his neck snap. 

'Nowhere Space? How did that happen?' Again, too.

'Prismo happened.'

Orbo couldn't see Scarab's eyes furrowing in confusion. A lot of times, people would pick up those slits as nothing but an intimidation tactic prospected onto the mask to create that same effect on his victims. Most of the time, no one picks the time of day to pick off those specific cues when the god himself tends to scare everyone away or fails to cognize any daily social gesticulations normally. Mostly the latter.

But when you're used to working with someone like that, wearing a mask to hide true expression, and being able to ride through the rage bait 24/7, you tend to pick up considerable gestures no one else can pick up on. 

For example, Orbo can tell that he needs clarification on slanting his head sideways or that processing information takes a full minute before he can digest it properly. However, his reactive sense is delayed quantifiably because he's still drunk and hungover.

'Prismo? He's not even allowed to do that sort of thing.' Scarab says, feeling almost gobsmacked. 'How was he able to do that?'

'Do you need me to answer who made it happen?'

Scarab sneered behind the mask. '...He had it coming.'

'Phhh, yeah. Right.' Orbo dismisses. 'Okay, how much do you remember before blacking out on a drinking spree?'

His head shifts. 'Only glimpses, patches of memory. Like pressing fast forward on a movie. I remember being upset over something. My mind is too sozzled to recollect any part of it properly, but I bet it involves Prismo.'

'So you have an inkling of the scuffle between you two?'

Scarab kept staring at Orbo as if he was delaying his answer.

'I know you're holding back, mate...' Orbo observed the red bug's shoulder stiffen, meaning he was holding back a crucial detail.

'Erhn, partially.' he finally rebukes. Hating the fact that Orbo knew his behavioral pattern. A little too well. 'I recall you trapping me in a bubble, then I was yelling at Prismo, perhaps? That's all I know.'

'It really sounded like you were aware of what you said.'

'Even if I did, It's not like I'm gonna hold back the truth.'

'Yet you still need to be reminded that your harsh truths have impacts.' Orbo relays. 'I know you well enough that you tend to be blunt with your wordings because you have trouble filtering them out.'

Scarab clicks. 'I do not struggle with anything when I'm telling the truth. Why should I hold back for anyone?'

'Because it's common decency, Scarab.' Orbo glowers, and the purple shades grow dark to compliment his upside-down frown. 'Listen, you manage to get a lot of people pissed off. But getting someone as mellow as Prismo to be this livid is quite the feat, mate. And what you spouted to the guy was way over the line. These are some Magdoline types of levels, dude.'

Just mentioning her name had the auditor's shell in a fervent rattle.

'Did you have to dig that up again?' Scarab snarled.

'Oh yeah, because that is exactly what happened. Probably a lot worse.'

'Great.' he rasped angrily. After spending so many centuries getting over that PR disaster, only to have it bite him back in the ass one more time. An old gash of many trivial instants in the most prolific years of his career that is not worth visiting again. He was mostly at fault for it; despite that, it was easier to blame her. She wasn't as innocent as many would think. That witch...

But never again.

'Please give me the mercy that this fiasco hasn't breached through the Extranet…' It was pointless to ask that, but anything to prevent any further embarrassment.

'It's the hottest trend at the moment. You don't wanna see all the memes everyone's posting.'

'UghhHhh!' Scarab banged his head on the table. Why did he bother asking that?

'I thought we got rid of those.' he groans.

Orbo chortles at Scarab's wishful thinking. 'Mate, not even the Boss can eradicate those viral buggers. Do you really want another meme inquisition on our hands?'

'...no.'

'Then no. I was able to mitigate it around the workspace, but unfortunately, everybody got a glimpse of Party Scrabby.'

'Isn't that just peachy?' Scarab adds rather sardonically.

'Then why'd you have to drink the damn maple liquor?'

'Oh, how silly of me that I happen to participate in a mystery drinking game.' he adds more in the sardonism.

'Oh yeah, right.' Orbo realizes, and Scarab turns away from him. As much as he would love to lay vengeance on social media when he would rather curl up and die from the imaginary needles stabbing his brain like chewed gum left on the sidewalk. Why, oh, why did he have to partake in that stupid game.

'So, just spoke to the Council of Order...'

As if being humiliated wasn't already jabbing his ego. 'Let me guess, they're unhappy.'

'That's a more pleasant way to put it. They're still vexed by the whole unauthorized universe fiasco. It's more like you added more fuel to the fire.' Orbo rolls back up from being upside down. He continues. 'I placed a plea that you were you had little to no self-awareness under the influence. This is true; they can't rebuke you since that detail is under your profile. I mean, I watched you place that disclaimer in bolded letters.'

'And what is their final verdict?'

'That is yet to be decided. We're on hold until we gather everything.'

'Until you get the full scoop, how congenial of them to take this case with a non-partisan glance.'

'That's why I'm here. I also wanted to check up on ya.'

'Oh, how considerate of you.' Scarab gests some more.

Orbo could pinch the bridge of his nose if he had fingers from his employ's derisive comments. Or even have a nose, for that matter. 'Come on, Scrabby, I've been working my butt off into this case because, if you haven't noticed, you don't have a lot of people on your side.'

'Spare me your pity. Why don't you give it to Prismo instead? He must be imbibing on his little pity party as he does with his alcohol, sucking up their sweet nothings like a vampire.'

Orbo heaves a sigh. 'Dammit, I hate it when you get this stubborn. Scarab, you had all this time to get your head out of your gutter assisting Prismo, and this incident is not helping you at all.'

'Oh gee, I wonder why.' Scarab responds sardonicly. 'Prismo should have known better to allow roided-up partyholics to bring illegal substances.'

'Hey, he was kind enough to defend you when everyone else wanted you roasted.'

'Thank you for telling me the entire multiverse hated my guts; now I've finally solved the eons-old mystery.'

'Hey, I didn't recruit you to be an Auditor to waste time.' Shit! Orbo just realized the lousy choice of words. He couldn't take back as noises of a snake's rattle emanated from Scarab. His mandibles crackled like snapping stones as he slowly rose from the table. His whole frame shook with anger.

He spoke lowly. 'You think...I wasted my time at the Academy? Training under your apprenticeship? Like some frivolity!?' Scarab began to yell, 'I didn't quit the mail room so that I come to you to audition because I wanted to fool around like some idiot! Is that what you think??'

'Calm down, I didn't mean like that.' Orbo's tone started to match Scarab's.

'Then what did you mean to say, hmm?'

'Because you're so petty over things that don't matter!' Orbo blew up. And he was far done from speaking out. 'Nobody wanted to say it, but it's true. You're so damn petty, Scarab. You work hard, but ya tend to gravitate to things that don't even matter! It's so damn aggravating! I at least took the initiative to listen and let you squabble down my ear when Space Relations couldn't handle you. 

I've tried navigating that negative energy to something more productive, like your job, so you'd be right on track. And despite your winging, you are focused on your job. But once Prismo's name popped up on the roster, it was like you got possessed! All logic broke loose 'cause you wanted to peg him down a notch. I still have yet to learn what you have against the guy to get this exacerbated, but this has got to stop. I've had it up to here  to go through another PR stunt with you.'

Scarab looked at him. Hard. Orbo could tell he was oozing with so much rancor he could suffocate anyone in this room like a gas chamber. He wanted to grab Orbo's basketball-shaped body, burst the air out of him, and rip him to shreds. Instead of doing any of that, he faced down towards the table, fists scratching the table's surface until he silently lay back down.

After inhaling and exhaling softly, Orbo's demeanor became more calming than the strict persona from earlier. He gently rolled off to the table and sized himself to Scarab's level.

'Sorry I blew up like that, man.'

'...Why would you be? You meant what you said.'

'Maybe, still, that was harsh. Even for you.'

'Doesn't matter. I'm used to it.'

That's the first instance of honesty he's gotten out of Scarab so far that made Orbo's galactic innards quelch with guilt. The other has gotten a full read of him by his expression. 

'Stop looking at me like that.' Scarab growled. 

'You know you could have told me these things, right?' Orbo said with genuine care in his voice.

'What good that'll do?'

'C'mon, don't be like that, I've been fair with ya many times.'

'Tch…' Scarab looks away. 

It's so easy, isn't it? Give a sliver of vulnerability on who you think you can trust. Orbo is many things. He is reliable and the closest to understanding Scarab in some aspects, but there is a limit to that breach.

No one will make a fool out of me again.

'I consider your regard, Orbo, but I don't intend to divulge personal concerns.'

'Ah, so you do have concerns.'

'I was referring to-'

'Nah-ah, not work stuff. Personal stuff. No takesies backsies, I got you almost spilling hungover.' Orbo cuts him off.

Scarab chittered agitatedly, then lay back down on the table. He regretted doing that small action as it made his head spin. Man, does he hate this.

'Now come with me. I want to have a word with you and Prismo, and he's waiting for us already. Can you walk?'

'Ugh, yes.' he replied, refusing to budge from the table.

'Hmm, let's bring Prismo over here instead. Wait here.' Orbo drops down from the table, rolling away from Scarab's periphery as he lies there.

His hidden antennae twitched a few minutes later, picking up Orbo's rolling down the stairs. No doubt Prismo Prismo followed after him. He didn't bother looking at them as they became fully present in the room so as not to make everything spin again.

'Now that I finally got you two in the same room, it's time to give the rundown.' Orbo observes Prismo's discomfiting fidgeting and Scarab's unmoving carcass on the table. He takes a deep breath and gives these two a once over.

'Y'know, you guys are trending on the extranet today a lot. You cannot believe the damage control because of hot gossip. And I'm really not looking forward to handling paperwork. How is that even a thing we still do? But I gotta tell ya, you dropped the ball on that party today.'

He turns to Prismo, who has been looking away from his prying purple shades, sinking into his little corner the more he approaches closer. Orbo looks at him straight in the eye, his gaze making his specs a little ominous.

'So I have one question for you, Prismo.' Orbo rolls gradually in size, almost towering over the Wishmaster, doing everything to look away from his Boss.

'Do you want to keep being responsible for Scarab?' asks Orbo.

The question felt uncertain when the other answered. 'I…well…I dunno.'

'I don't know ain't an answer. Does Scarab overwhelm you or not? Is this a commitment you want to keep working with?'

This time, Prismo lingered with his response. Then Orbo goes over to Scarab, and the beetle surprises him when he flinches. Only slightly. He hasn't seen him flinch since…

No, he has to be impartial about this right now.

'And you? Are you fed up with him, your new job? Or both?'

Again, he is surprised when he refuses to answer. You'd think he'd used this situation as a ticket to shame Prismo even more or make up any excuse to get away from him.

'Nothing witty to say against Prismo this time? Okay then. Here's what I think…' Orbo takes a big huff of air just before letting out.

'YOU TWO ARE BLOODY BANANAS!!'

He looks over at them wildly. 'I should have foreseen this earlier, but I'm surprised you didn't kill each other first before the drunken kerfuffle I had to watch! And right now, I'm not convinced you two should be near each other. BUT. But...you two are in really need of some help.'

'Okay, so I'm heading to part two of this meeting. So when I come back here, you better come up with a damn good reason why you should still work with each other, or the Auditus Council or the Boss will take matters into their own hands.'  

Neither of the gods wanted any of that as they sat there silently. 

'So better get on it.' he huffs. He rolls out of the room. Pray to Golb that they make up their minds.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Prismo doesn't quite remember having this room. Or making it, either. This must have been one of the original rooms when he was conceived in the Time Cube. Actually, it was the first room ever made...? 

As much as he was born with a lot of magical power, enough to bring the Cube the way it is now, he wasn't so imaginative. Yet again, he was just born, so he couldn't blame himself for making such a lackluster room. After all, all creative minds have to start somewhere.

Though, this place…it makes him uncomfortable, stuffy even. As if he's been here before. Why is that? Like those memories in early infancy that you'd lose for more impactful ones. Though he's never been a kid, it's close to that feeling.

His body started to shake while he was deep in thought. Oh, right, he forgot about the liquor after effects. Who's idea was it to add globdamn fireballs to it? 

'Ouughhhh.' bemoaned Prismo. He's seen people gunk up after they had a bit too much booze. And in his case, he can feel the upsetting nausea, the stinging in his supposed gut. He can feel the rise in his throat. But he can't spew out his inside since he doesn't have insides. Instead, he just has to feel the torturous boil and gagging that makes an absolutely miserable experience.

'Could you just…complain quietly?'

Oh, right, he's here, too. 

Scarab had crawled under the table a while ago, listening to his weird little bug noises as he writhed on the floor. Very un-Scarab-like. Then again, the guy is having it worse than Prismo since he went on a full-on bender.

Prismo pursed his lips, eyes half-lidded, looking down on him.

'It's my Cube. I can complain all I want…broooo.' Pirsmo held his head, buzzing feverishly in his entire frame. At least he's not puffing up smoke anymore—

'HACK!'

Scratch that. Prismo focuses on the little pink puff floating upward until it dissipates into the ceiling.

'Sure, you seem to be handling yourself just fine.' Scarab drolls in his misery pile.

'Hey, you don't get much of a say in this, smashmouth.' Prismo bristled. 'I don't know how I'm still talking to you. Moreover, sharing the same room! After what you said to me...'

The bug let out a faugh. 'If you have so much autonomy in this place as you claim you have, then just leave.'

'I wish I could.' Prismo said lowly.

There it is, the moment of truth. But goddamn, that confession made the bug turn bitter (Because he is not going to say that he was hurt by that sentiment).  

'About time you dropped that stupid facade.'

Prismo flared from that response. 'No, no, no! You're not gonna make me the bad guy here! Do you have any idea how much turmoil did you cause me? Huh? HUH!?'

Scrab covered the top of his head. Man, the man is so damn noisy. 'Augh. I warned you that the alcohol was a terrible idea. But no, your impulses work faster than your stupid flat head.'

'It could have been fine if you hadn't been so…so—'

Scarab cuts him off. Now facing the other with thin slits over his mask that could cut fingers. 'What? Oh, you mean the part where I had no self-control? Or I didn't hit the right 'vibes' because you didn't want to be embarrassed in front of your crowd of peons the moment you couldn't control a situation, was that it?

Prismo went silent for a moment. In a way, Scarab was right. He wasn't self-aware most of the time, which prevented making a spectacle of himself. Yet still…

'Even so, what you said about Jake…' he trembled, 'Were you meant all of that, did you?'

No response.

'Did you!?'

Scarab slammed a fist against the floor and flipped the table off him. Screw the headache.

 'So what if I did? I'm not going walk on eggshells for you, ingrate.'

'Ohhh, don't you even start…'

'Are you gonna snap me off to Nowhere Space again?' Scarab combated Prismo with such scrutiny. And Prismo wavered.

'Y-you don't tell me what to do.'

'You could do worse. Send me right to the Incinerator if you're feeling vengeful.

'STOP THE CRAP MAN.' Prismo bellowed, 'Why do you always have to instigate me to hurt you? You freakin' masochist!'

'Hasn't stopped you before. Anyone else would talk smack about your dear dog friend, and then you'll poof them to someone's universe to be endlessly tortured because you couldn't handle the truth.'

He knew about that last wish he granted, and he is definitely using it as leverage right now.

'Cat got your tongue, hmm?'

'This is the opposite of what Orbo wants us to do.'

'We're hashing things out just like he said. What else do you want? A party? That's a big catastrophe. It's too bad that neither of us can make a wish. Oops, I almost forgot; you already have it. The one that got us into this mess.'

'Ohh, you had to bring up my universe again.'

'And I'll keep reminding you just like how I did-'

'Don't'

'With'

'I'm telling you!.'

‘J-a-k-e.’

Prismo seethed. 'You want to play that, fine. I can fight with fire. You still on speaking terms with Magdoline?'

Scarab's fists curled, and his teeth flared behind the mask. Fighting over the headache with rage in the mix.

'Doesn't feel good now, does it, Scarab? I should be asking her that since you're the one who crumpled her heart like undone paper mache right in front of the entire Gala. Yeah, I watched that fiasco from all angles, buddy. That must have been really humiliating for her, wasn't it? I can see why she knocked you down a peg…'

Headache be damned. Scarab latched his claws on the grey concrete floor, tearing a chunk of the material out and chucking it at fleeting speeds like a soaring comet. Prismo moved out of the way as the chunk exploded with a resounding 'CRONK,' and millions of pieces of what remained flew across the room.

'That woman was a control freak!'

Prismo scoffed, 'And you weren't? You guys together were more cuckoo than Orgalorg going on a planet-killing spree. The party and the Gala show how much you have never changed at all. Face it, Scarab, you're nothing but a train wreck.'

Prismo yelped as a winding fist came towards him. Leaving a crater in its midst. Scarab's whole back jittered. The hangover came back with a vengeance, piercing his brain as if it were an ice pick. 

Scarab groaned and fell when he held his head, dropping into the floor half haphazardly.     

'You think you've got the upper hand. Stating the obvious.' writhed Scarab, 'Everyone stopped feeling sorry for her when she returned to being insufferable as always.'

'Well gee, whose fault is that the stick went further up her beehind after she spilled all her emotions during her speech.'

'She was a fool to even open up to her weaknesses.'

'Oh yeah, Magdoline confessing her feelings for someone other than herself is such a huge crime.'

'At Least she got to admit her feelings. Shame your dog friend never got to know what you really felt.'

Prismo falters. 'You-you. You better…'

'Are you telling me to shut up? How unbecoming of the cool and fun Wishmaster.'

'At Least he cared!!' yelled Prismo, 'Unlike you, Jake cared for his friends, and they would have his back. A-and he cared for me as I did for him so much.' Prismo's voice wavered. 'He was mortal but a better friend than you could ever be.'

'Keep on believing that.'

'It's no wonder no one wants to be your friend.'

Scarab stood up; a headache won't hold this bug's fury.

'Ohhh, you think you had me all figured out. But it turns out THAT YOU'RE NOT ANY BETTER!!.'

Scarab laughed harder than finding it so humorous. He sneers up at him, his eyes aglow with. 'You're an absolute joke of a god.' he jests. 'It makes me baffled how you even got this position over anyone. I mean, you are a ridiculous, immature, half-wit moron. But ever since that fall of grace, I have never met someone as sadder, more attention-starved, most dependent, derelict, living off of booze and synthesized microwavables. That is saying a lot because I've lived on this plane of existence before you, and that corporal meat sack of a vessel or whatever lineage he came from was even conceptualized!'

Scarab seared into Prismo with words that ultimately had the Wishmaster stunted in place. But the cantankerous janitor was far from finishing this rant as he added the last fuel to the fire.

'At least I had a relationship. You couldn't even have one with a globdamn talking dog! And by the Boss, I wish you could have withered away in the deepest pits of this geometrical hell—but it's one of KUMAIL'S BEST JOKES THAT YOU CAN'T DIE—UNTIL HE DIES AGAIN FROM A CHOKING HAZARD OR WORSE.'

Scarab heaved like he had never taken in a breath before. So much of his pent-up aggression took him over; he barely registered the blank, empty stare Prismo had. He definitely looks like he's about to cry.

'You got nothing to say to me now, mouth?' he snarled.

'Who are you talking about?' Prismo managed to ask as he was clearly hurt.

Scarab blanched. He withdrew immediately to the opposite wall of Prismo. To Prismo, it was the first time he had seen the ex-auditor so full of dread. It was as if he said something he shouldn't have said.

But a breach was broken with all that was said and done.

'None of your business!'

'You can't just drop a name like that and expect me to brush it off!' Prismo tried to raise his voice despite his voice trembling and his eyes stinging with tears. 

'Who is it, Scarab? Who were they, huh?'

Scarab's shoulders stiffened.

'Look at me when I'm talking to you, man!'

'Scarab. Scarab.'

The auditor's shell has never looked more constricting. Head aching.

'Scarab!! SCARAB!!'

He grits his teeth behind the mask, mandibles snapping. 

'It's the old man, isn't it? You knew all this time??'

No, no, no!

'I'M GOING TO KEEP YELLING AT YOU UNTIL YOU ANSWER ME!! SCARAB.'

'SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP!!'

Scarab flailed about, facing Prismo in a frantic spin. Even his mask turned askew, baring his teeth in total exposure.

'All the stars of the divine, you are insufferable!!' his voice broke, 'It doesn't matter which of you it is; I can't stand either of you!'

Prismo inhaled a dramatic gasp. 'So you did have kind of beef with him!'

'I have nothing to say about that fool!'

'Then why did you bring him up then?? That totally screams years of pent-up aggression! Is that why you have a hate boner for me!? Huh??'

Scarab reeled back in disgust. 'I am going to kill you if you say another word. Right now.'

 'Hate. Bonerrrrr.'

'AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!'

Scarab charged at Prismo with such unforeseen speed that he almost took Prismo down the wall he was in. He bashed his entire being against the grey concrete, completely shattering into pieces. A wide grid field exposed itself in the empty space. Scarab kept charging each surface and crevice, decimating each side like a wrecking ball going out of control. Making sure that any shred of pink was gone.

...

...............

They wait. And sit. And wait some more.

Prismo stayed on his side, and Scarab on his. None of them wanted to invoke any type of conversation. It was surprising that Orbo had yet to come down to check on the commotion the two had caused. Well, mainly on Scarab's part.

After a lot of head-bashing, it was enough for the angry beetle to drop onto the floor. Writhing in agony from a killer headache, stabbing his brains out. Prismo was curled up in the standing remains of the wall, looking off into the empty grid while ignoring the silent tears streaming down his face.

Just waiting for that giant white orb to come rolling in at any moment. Give the final judgment of their partnership. Internship? Mentoship? Who could tell anymore? 

Whether the chance they were going to be roommates together is uncertain now, and the grey room's disaster is proof enough that this isn't working out. They won't have to put up with each other anymore if they get separated.

No more dumb arguments, constant company, and bullying. Then back to being alone again with those dark, lonely thoughts...

Does Prismo really want that? Does Scarab?

Man, they still need to write their story further, too.

Spectra was still determined to go back to Dynastes after all that crap she went with him...

Would Prismo have gone after him if he was in her shoes? Or feet since neither wears shoes.

Augh, what a dilemma.

Prismo wipes out another large tear-shaped tear from his face. What's bothering him now more than what's happening now is the new fact that Scarab dropped the notion that he knew his human host. Glob, he mentioned his name in the middle of his rant.

How long has he been keeping it from him? And why wouldn't Scarab tell Prismo the one thing he's been trying to know for the longest time. And all he could gather from his friends and co-workers was that the human was such an extraordinarily cool and wise old man. Did they even know his name back then? If they had, they would have mentioned it long ago. He wished he could have been more observant with that detail when he was born. So much to unpack there.  

So much to think about.

Prismo looks at Scarab, lying face down on the floor like a stiff mannequin. Prismo starts. Albeit rather phlegmatic. 

'Ugh, Scarab. We have to think of something. Orbo would be here any minute now.' How long have they been down here, anyway?

Scarab lies there, not a sound or a twitch of a muscle.

'Scarab.' He calls for him again.

Prismo sighs. 'Come on, man. Throw me a bone here.'

An arm gets tossed over to him. Prismo's eyelid drooped. 

'Ha. Ha. This is the first time you've been actually funny.'

Prismo walks over to Scarab, his frame broken in zigzaggy patterns by the broken rubble and concrete debris around him. 

'I don't want to start another yelling match, dude. Can we actually have a conversation? Please?'

'Scarab?' he calls to him. And Scarab finally gives life as he looks down on him. 

'What could you possibly want now?' He wanted to sound angry, but he had no energy for it. So tired and annoyed would have to suffice. 'There is nothing else to talk about.'

'I believe there is.'

'Alright, I'll humor you. I quit the job. I'll see you at the execution.'

'Okay, that is warranting a yelling.'

'I'd rather you don't.'

'Then give me a good reason why you're going cold turkey.'

'...'

'I thought so.'

'Why must you be such a pestilence in my life?'

'Why do you have to push everyone away?' Prismo deflects, 'Seriously, you treat everyone like they're a criminal. And when someone tries to be friendly to you, you think they'll stab you in the back!'

'If only you knew what it was like...'

'What was that?'

'You trust people far too easily. That's what makes you so naive.'

'There's nothing wrong with giving a little trust.'

Now Scarab pulls himself up with his one arm. He only looked at Prismo once he started talking.

'What a farce. No matter what existence you're from, everyone always wants to get something out of you. Take advantage of weak, soft-minded people like you. It is why it's better to keep people at bay.'

'Sure, some people are like that. But not everyone is out to get you y'know.'

The bug scoffs. 'Of course, because you're not ever looked down. You're not the one who has to pull the hard punches. Your wishes twist on how the wishmaker says, but you don't think about how they live out the consequences. Have you ever had to go up to someone and tell them they can't work anymore? That you have to drag over to the citadel and watch them crystallize into a forever standstill? Or are you tasked to send them to the Incinerator? Do you think that's the kind of job that earns friends?'

'You think it's so feasible to trust people just because they're cool or have good vibes, you can watch all the drama that happens to others on your TV, the scenarios, tropes, plots, and fluff in every multiverse. Still, you would never know the feeling of being deceived by someone, people always talking down to you because you're weak and small, getting backstabbed by the one person you thought you could rely on for once…'

'All these niceties is all but a manipulative tactic just so when you show even a sliver of vulnerability, a modicum of trust, they'll strike and strip you bare with none of the scraps, and you're the one at fault for being an idiot to let them mend you as you please.'

He said too much.

'I do this because I get results. What good is respect when they don't even return the favor? Striking fear is what got me this far. No one will make a dupe out of me again. Never.'

Scarab felt like the fumes had exhausted him, the droning noise ever present on his antennae as he kept staring at the crumbled floor.

I have to look and act big, or else everyone will see how small I am…

'…Did you talk about it to someone before?'

Scarab looks back to his shoulder. Despite the small room, Prismo felt so far away on the other side. He had an ardent stare as if he just realized something.

Prismo asks again.' Not anyone?'

'Why should it matter? It happened a long time ago.'

'Dude…but you must have at least had someone to talk about these things, right?'

Scarab doesn't answer.

'Not even Orbo?'

'…I don't need to rely on all of my personal issues to Orbo. It's unprofessional at best.'

'Then to who then? I bet not to anyone at Auditus. Certainly not the other auditors...' Prismo ponders. 'Did any of it have to do with old man me?'

The other's response was immediate and sharp 'No, and there is nothing to about that matter.'

'I'm gonna be talking your antennas off since this is why we're here, mister!' Prismo wanted to sound more scolded, but he ended up sounding shrill. 'You wouldn't be spilling your guts out like what you've been doing over the past few weeks. Especially between back at the party and now…I couldn't imagine how long you've been keeping that junk inside. It is bad for you, let alone have it manifest for eons.'

He pauses. Looking for any sign of the beetle getting agitated. Instead, Scarab looked at him, daring what else he could spew out next. But nothing comes out of him, so Prismo continues.

'People… shouldn't endure like that forever…' he laments, almost as if saying it to himself as well.' They start to get messed up if they endure things for too long…'

Prismo looks over to Scarab, who is altogether avoiding eye contact. He looked like he could summon his laser beam eyes and make a hole to escape this room. If he can do that, he totally would. 

It started to concern Prismo a little when the other hadn't dared to move or speak for some time. It was as if what Prismo had said caused a malfunction in his brain. Was the concept of talking to someone about their feelings mind-breaking for Scarab? Then again…

Getting backstabbed by the one person you thought could rely on for once…

Who could have hurt you, Scrabby?

Prismo has one guess, right on the nose. But Scarab refuses to speak about him at all. The one mystery that he had always wondered of and Scarab knew this entire time. It just took some heavy-handed alcohol to spill the beans.

Prismo shifted closer; Scarab made no sound or movement on his part. 

'Scarab?' he calls to him. And Scarab finally gives life as he looks down on him. 

'What could you possibly want now?' He wanted to sound angry, but he had no energy for it.

'Look, you were right on some things. I can't just expect you to change at the drop of a hat. It's just...When Jake died, it was the most intense thing I've ever felt in my life. Okay, the part of me dying to the Lich is the second worst thing, but to actually lose someone I kind of…held so close to. It's hard.' rasps Prismo. 

'And I drove everyone away and…the things you can think up in your head when you've been isolated for so long, it's scary. I thought maybe having a roommate could have been cool.'

'Even though I tried to defame you and eradicate your once unofficial universe?' Scrab's inquiry was genuine, and Prismo huffs in frisson.

'Heh. Even that.'

'... You're delusional.'

'Haha, so is the world. I was also desperate. I thought…'

Prismo looks away for a moment. His body tightened for a fraction.

'I'm not some other Jake you can replace with.'

That caught Prismo off his guard. He didn't expect Scarab to say precisely what he was thinking of. Prismo looks down on himself.

'I know.' he admits. 'You're nothing like him. You don't dance, play board games, or even like pickles.' 

Scarab huffs at his little list.

Then Prismo smiles to himself.

'And that's okay.'

Scarab finally turns to face Prismo, his mask hiding whatever expression he is pulling, but his slight movement suggests he was taken aback by his statement.

'When you're not being a total butthead, you can be nice to talk to. You're wicked smart, always seem to know what you're doing, and have proven to be an amazing writer. Heh, you tend to be funny when you write in your notes. Like that once, you wrote in 'pickled out' on one of the jars just so you can go over to the Time Core.'

'Hurm.' Despite the little huff, Prismo could detect the amusement from the response. 

Prismo gets closer to Scarab, the most the bug can allow him to. He gives him a good, long look. The type of glance that the pink shadow wants to be serious. But his waning eye made him look tired. And that soft expression he's giving off. That sympathetic look. It's genuine. 

Scarab hated that look. Mainly because it reminded him of the same look he would have when…

Now's not the time to think about that. 

'Can't we…' Prismo starts, though rather somber and quiet. 'Can't we just try to get along? Aren't you also tired of arguing all the time?'

The slits of Scarab's mask grew thinner. Then, 'I guess so.'

'Finally, some honesty!' Prismo claims with a sigh of relief. He then puts his hands together, brewing and developing a plan.

'Okay. Let's do this: You know more about old man Pris than you lead on. It's got to do with him based on how you are with me. And I've always wanted to know more about the guy's life, so you'll tell me everything. Not only do I get to know more about my past, but I can also get to understand you better. Is that something we can do?'

After a tempting seventy seconds, Scarab slowly comes to a retort. '...Only when I feel like it. And when I want to stop talking about it, we drop it. Got it?'

Prismo swears on his 2D fingers. 'Scout's honor. But you have to do something for me. It's a fair trade.'

'What?'

'... Could you be less hostile with me? This has been a crazy couple of months with us, but these last few weeks were just...a lot.' He rasps out. 'I know I had my own things to deal with, but today just took a lot outta me. Because of, you know.'  

That is a habit he cannot easily let go of, unfortunately. A millennia of deep-rooted doors that would take millions of years more to burst at least once. But if they need to work together...

'I don't expect you to change on the fly, though this could be the start of a good do-over. So whattaya say?' 

Scarab thinks and thinks some more. Is this what he would want? Probably not. There are endless reasons why this will never work. How he spent most of his life rejecting any ounce of this being and the projection that came with it. The one that ruined his life forever.

But what else is he to do, then, burn to a crisp and be forgotten forever?

There are worse things to end up in. Or even to exist, for that matter.

Still, trauma is a hard thing to get over. And Golb knows he has plenty of them already. He'll take this as a challenge. A test of his resolve.

 Scarab's whole frame heaved at the final moment, then he said. '...I will consider that more often.'

After a long time, Prismo gives his all-out smile. All warm and genuine-like, it would make Scarab puke. 

'Alright! Shake hands? More of a high five in my case.' the Wishmaster chuckles, giving out his hand.

Scarab relented, but a deal is a deal. He places his available hand on the hard smooth surface that had the visible pink hand. Their four digits linger on each other for longer than they should have. 

'Awesome sauce.' Prismo smirks. He curiously glances at their hands. 'Huh. You're not doing the thing.'

Scarab tilts his head. 'What thing?'

'Back in our drunk fight, you did this crazy stunt where you sunk your arms through the wall, projecting them right into 2D to snatch the liquor bottle off of me.'

He watches the mask's eye widen. 'Did I? It was only a working theory in my introspections studying my new form.'

'Hang on, you've had that in mind for a while?'

'Yes, but only vice-versa. How peculiar.'

'See, that's what makes you so cool.'

For the first time in a good long while, Scarab released a huff that was not close to a laugh but had clear amusement in the gesture. 

'Bloody Golb, what did I come back to?'

Prismo and Scarab turned to a surprised Orbo returning to a room of sabotage. Prismo simply waved at him in his usual merry self, ignoring the chaos around them.

'Oh hey, Orbo. We just worked some stuff out.' he says. Orbo quirks a brow.

'Did ya now?'

'Yeah. I think we started to get on equal footing now.' Prismo looks over to Scarab. Again that kind, sympathetic smile is sickening. Outright repugnant, Scarab thought to himself. 

He then adds. 'Call it...a lapse of judgment.'

Orbo took a long, good glance at the two of them. Uncertain if they did achieve close to an understanding. However, the growing smile on his face proves otherwise. Looking pleased with this result. 

'Alright. I beleive you two.' he nodded, and the duo released a sigh of relief they hadn't realized they held in for so long.

'So, uh, did higher up at Auditus make up their minds?'

'Don't worry about them. We've reached a mutual agreement. Turns out they liked a lot of my suggestions to give another opportunity.' Orbo assured him.

Scarab inquired next. 'What sort of agreement?'

'Seeing how you lot been faring. We've decided to have an outside source keeping tabs on you.'

'What?' Primo and Scarab voiced in unison

'You're gonna put us up with a babysitter?' Prismo whined.

'Absolutely.' Orbo's shades flared as he beamed. 

'Look, after what I've witnessed, you need some help working some stuff out/ And I know for most that Scarab has way more baggage to sort through, which is why some intervention is needed. I wanted to volunteer, but unfortunately, this whole shebang has given me a lot on my plate, so I will need someone to report to me to see if you guys are actually getting along. Somebody has to look out for you.'

'Does that mean Galactic Relations is going to be watching us or...?' asks Prismo. Because if Magdoline gets involved then, that's going to cause a lot of problems.

'I think we all know having the head of Cosmic Relations is an obvious choice. But Scarab's personal history with a certain someone would be...sensitive to give an unbiased rapport.' 

Scarab bristles idly.

Orbo keeps elaborating. 'But that's up to the Council to decide. Though I did recommend someone for the job. This is the best deal we've got. It's rare for them to agree to terms like this, so you better make this count. Capiche?'

'Okay. It's better than nothing.' Prismo nods. 'Scrabby?'

Orbo turns to Scarab.

Scarab took his turn belatedly. Eventually, he agrees with his roommate.

'Understood.'

Orbo beams. 'Excellent! I'm gonna go give the go-ahead and get things into gear. Things will change for the better; I can feel it in my bones!'

Orbo rolls out of the grey room with haste.

Prismo can finally deflate onto the floor. 'Ahh, thank Glob for that.'

And so does Scarab as he sits down. They take in this moment to reflect until Prismo realizes something now.

'Wait. How does Orbo even have bones?'

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

This was alright. The space is roomy and not so airtight. Yes, it's a good spot for his icicle-laden body. It could have been worse. 

It's odd how there are these little chilly pricklings that Scarab can sense in this form even as he's not freezing. It was as if he were swimming through concrete (and yes, he has done it once before to make that comparison). 

As much as he hates to admit this, he preferred Prismo's made-up bed. It was convenient and met the parameters for his body, even if it was ugly. Ultimately, Prismo's human gets the lovely magnetic bed, of cashmeres and down feathers of baby griffins while Scarab becomes a fossil exhibit in the basement. 

'Why me.' Scarab rubbed at his temples as he groaned.

Why him, indeed. Worse, he didn't even have the energy to be angry; he looked forward to crushing stuff with his bare hands. If only he wasn't so flat-footed right now. 

One of the particular symptoms of hangovers is when your body crashes down into this state of lethargy that renders you inept. The worst one is when it gets you thinking of those pervasive thoughts that lead down a road that Prismo likes to avoid by getting wasted, only to crash harder when it wears off. Glob, no wonder he's so pathetic.

Enough of the guy. Scarab inspects his frozen body. It lay ramrod straight and taut, indicating no such form of comfort. The ice resembled more like frosted quartz carved into a generic cuboid prison. It still had smoke coming out, then spilled across the floor like ghostly lava. Scarab sneered at the oversized chain links wrapped around the ice block with a giant lock on the top. As if that would do anything better than dry ice.

Hey, at least he didn't get iced by annoying ice princes. 

'Hmmm…'

Speaking of pervasive thoughts and ice made him think about his first on-hand experience with such magic. The training was part of encountering the magical forces in their respective environment. Ice was the last magic to confront, being the most powerful out of fire, slime, and candy. To say it was challenging is a misconception; the millions of years it took to transcend to godhood was a trial of faith and perseverance without your spirit and body breaking. The challenge of becoming something beyond one's mortality. It's not that Scarab was mortal before; in his case, he'd be more impenetrable. Untouchable even. Better than the fools he called his peers who got left behind in the flames, ooze, and sugar rot. 

But if there was one thing he would say was a test of will, it was the long months on the ice. 

'Keep up slowpokes, or the storm will do it for you!'  Yellow Jacket stood by the end of the mountain peak. Utterly unbothered by the harsh currents of snow and wind throwing at him, none could be said for the other trainees who struggled to get one step in. 

Scrabby could barely see a thing when getting your face sandblasted. It worsens matters when they only wear suits and ties on the hike. Not only was it improper wear, it was unideal for this condition. Still, he was determined to push onward, reaching the Auditor despite his legs protesting against the frost.

'This was but a cakewalk to The Grandmaster Auditor themself. You're lucky that you're able to walk this far.'

It was true. Out of three hundred, one hundred and forty trainees and interns had already been buried in snow, slipped off, watched some blow away like discarded candy wrappers or snatched by its living inhabitants. He did not like the encounter with the musical ice trolls. And that was at the very start of the hike. Now, only fifteen managed to reach the summit.

Their godly mentor, however, was blasé with the casualties as he gave the next objective. No obituary, no congratulations. 'Now it's time for your assignment to begin: You will retrieve an Amethyst guarded by Gem Gobblers who reside in that cave down there.’

Yellow Jacket points to the giant, ominous hole at the bottom of the cliffside. The flurry of snow blurred just how massive the ice pit was, along with the lack of light. It still had some of the trainees shaking in their fancy leather shoes. The current god auditor reached for his inner pockets, presenting them with a small beacon of green, shedding its glow around them. 

'These shiny aquarium pebbles don't look much, but if you want those fancy mystic toys you want so much, then you have to fetch them yourselves.

'Where the hell are we gonna find it in that?' one of the interns yammered, staring down at the scary hole. 

'Like this.' Yellow Jacket kicked the poor fool down the hole. The others watched as he screamed down until they could only hear echoes.

'It's your job as sleuths to figure it out. Life isn't about giving you freebies, no less a criminal of order. So I suggest you get going before I encourage you like I did with Logo.'

Everyone tensed up, not wanting to be another crash test dummy, yet their legs kept them glued to their spot. Scrabby looked down at the icy pit. His exoskeleton had been hardening into steel in these conditions, another degree lower, and he might as well be part of the scenery!

'Going cold turkey, Scarab? I'm perplexed!'

Scarab whipped at his teasing mentor, grimacing at those okay slits of the mask that pierced him with such rancor. He is no coward! He'll gonna show that loudmouthed pestilence what's what!

The young god straightened himself, zeal surging in his rimy flesh as he plopped open his wings, laden with frost, and plunged into the cold abyss of the caves. The rest would follow after.  

The pain he went through in those caves was…agonizing at best. His wings froze, making his little dive, and his body fizzed and cracked at every movement. The amount of freezer burn he gained. Against the frost and almost getting mauled to death by those beastly creatures was how he evolved the ability of his re-attachable limbs. Along with the mighty force that was his crystal that sliced one of those creatures like sliced ham, climbing back to the peak, stunning Yellow Yacket as he spat out several gems from his mouth, covered in blood and slush like a rising basilisk. And what did all that effort go to? 

All for getting the coffee machine at management run forever. 

Okay, there was also the part where it helped the surviving interns forge their weapons, but the coffee thing still annoyed him. Orbo had a field day with the Council that day. It was the rare occasion he saw the always lax orb so miffed. 

He also fueled the fire when he rejected the amethyst over his crystal. He could never forget the look on the other intern's faces and the toothy grin he had that day. 

Why would he need a mystical weapon when he had the next big thing? That crystal was more invaluable than their flimsy swords and hammers when his crystal could turn into anything at his convenience. The gem was a nice add-on at the end, giving it a lovely teal color. 

Scarab wonders where it could be, probably at The Vault. Bless the Auditor of Stock and Inventory to have fixed that landfill. And that's as much of a compliment as he would give that green idiot.

'I'll be out of this cubed prison. I’ll count on it.'

He leaves his frozen catacomb in the darkness.

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Scarab eventually had to return to the Time Room to check on Prismo. After being in the dark for so long, his eyes were violated by yellow. Why does it have to be so damn bright? He spots Prismo on the floor, busy on paper. So thoroughly engrossed to notice Scarab walking in; he was scribbling some crude drawings with crayons scattered across the floor.

'Shirking off your duties, already? Then again, I shouldn't be surprised at this. 'Prismo's groove broke when Scarab called him out. He smiled before he went back to drawing. 

'Oh, hey, welcome back.' Prismo greets him with the same cadence of chill amidst his weary eye. 'No one's come in yet, so I’m just drawing to kill time.’ 

'You have that character creator at your disposal, yet you're going through this effort through traditional means.' Scarab huffs, walking over to Prismo. The closer he got, the more clearly he could see the drawing, even from this awkward angle on the wall.

'Right, but this way feels more intimate, you know? Nothing wrong with the old-fashioned way. Sides, I'll scan and fix it on the program later.’ Prismo adds as he picks out some blue crayons, ‘Back in the day when Finn and Jake would come over to the OG universe, we'd draw characters for Cosmic Owl's roleplaying game. We would even sometimes draw out scenarios with them despite the gameboard being able to project the characters and overworld. Plus, it's a lotta fun that way.' Prismo smiled fondly at those moments. He should see if Cosmic Owl would be up for it.

'As long as I don't have to clean up after you.' Scarab lours disapprovingly at the crayon stains on the floor that have clearly missed the paper.

'I'll make sure to clean up my mess, Mom.' Prismo rolls his eyes.

Scarab peers down at the doodle. The drawing was of a happy 2D creature with a snout in front of the face. It had fins for ears and warm colored beach clothing that complimented her pale teal skin. The clothing indicates that there should be a lot more detail, yet the simplicity of the drawing leaves it barren. There was water floating around the creature to suggest it can wield magic. Despite being so simple, its design's intent is apparent to the audience. And a lot could be said in terms of anatomy...

'Is that Spectra that you're drawing?' Scarab points out.

Prismo confirms it. 'Mmm-Hmmm. Trying out outfits for her that fit her vibes.'

'And what type of animal are you trying to simulate here?'

'Oh! Since her theme is all nautical, she should resemble some sea creatures. Sea horses being my favorite. Though I can see how you might confuse them for Sneep Snorps.'

'Hmm. So it's whichever those creatures you mentioned.'

'Hang on, I'll draw a quick one.'

On one side of the paper, he draws the quickest silhouette of the creature by memory. It doesn't show the complicated structure of its bony plates, though.

'...how can this thing swim?'

'It doesn't.'

'What do you mean it cannot swim underwater?'

'Sea horses mostly latch on to seaweed or anything they can wrap their tails around from getting blown away by ocean currents.'

'But does it even have any special attributes for hunting?'

'They just chill around and wait until something drifts near them.'

'That's just…stupid. It is a waste of evolutionary progress.'

'Yet they could live out for millions of years doing nothing. I count that as a win.'

'You always had to pick the lamest things. Apparently, even animals.' Scarab crosses his arms.

‘Super lame.’ Prismo jokes.

They remained silent, just the sound of paper shuffling and colored wax spreading it. Prismo was making some good progress on Spectra’s clothes. And the shell earring added on gave a nice touch!

As he marveled at his drawing, Scarab spoke up. 

'... you're missing the shells.'

Prismo blinks at him. 'Huh?'

'She wore a necklace, Prismo. You wrote that in chapter two.’

His nose wrinkled, and he stared back at the drawing, then at the ceiling; what was he talking about? Then he realized.

‘Crapballs, you're right! How did I forget that?' He quickly switched to a red crayon to draw it over the neck. Prismo looks up to Scarab. 'You have impeccable memory, Scrabby.'

'Because I'm not as forgetful as you are.' said Scarab, crossing his arms with a huff.

'That's what references are for! Now I'll make sure I will remember with it.' 

'The blue obscures the shells of the necklace a little, but it's there.' an idea pops into his head. 'Hey, you should draw Dynastes while we're at it.'

'I don't need to draw anything.'

I’ll draw him for you, then.' Prismo grabs a new piece of paper.

Scarab lets out a huff of air that could be bemusement. 'As if. You won’t get his features right.'

‘I have a grasp of his design to flesh it out.’ Prismo replies, already drafting shapes with a pencil.

‘What are you doing? You need to draw the torso right!'

‘You mentioned that he was pretty bulky.’

‘Only because of his back-HIS LEGS ARE NOT LIKE THAT AT ALL.’ 

‘The way you put it, made it sound like grasshopper legs.’

‘He has a fossorial makeup congenial to his environment in the desert!’

‘If only there was someone more knowledgeable in bug anatomy to show me how.~’ Prismo waves a sheet of paper in his face.

After a hiss and a growl, Scarab caved in by snatching that damned sheet from his pink fingers. 

'Fine. Give me the paper.'

Scarab grabbed a black crayon to go on his corner and grumbled his drawing away. Watching Scarab begrudgingly participate in an activity that did not involve cleaning amused the Wishmaster. Grinning wider as the other told him to wipe that grin off his face. After a while, the blue shadow lessened his grumblings to focus on the work. Prismo leans over him to watch the progress.

'How's the drawing going, Scrabby?' Prismo asks. Scarab covered his work despite his see-through body, unable to conceal it.

'It's not finished.'

'C'mon, just a peak?.'

'No!' 

'Pleeeeeeeeease. Please, please, please, pleeeeeee-zuhhh."

'Ugh, there.' Scarab swats the paper to his face.

Scarab's drawing had Dynastes in a frontal pose. His poncho draped across the chest and expose the rest of the body. The rest of the fabric went to his back. His anatomy was not much diffrent from his roommate aside with the large forearms and clawed feet. And if the masked face wasn't any more obvious but he decides not to comment on that. If this Scarab's way of expressing himself then that fine with Prismo. But he will let him know how much he is hyped that he even drew this.

'Yo, this is pretty good!'

'You can stop pretending to be nice about it.'

'Honest, man. You went out with the desert style with the cape and gazillion straps.'

'...Are the straps too excessive?'

'Considering that he must carry stuff, it works for his role as a traveling hunter. And with him being all red, it makes him stick out.'

‘Hrnn.’

‘But all in all, it’s good!'

'That's it? Just good?' Scarab squints at Prismo. 'Then I must redo it.'

'What? I already said it's good; why would I have to start over?'

'Because good is not close to perfect.'

Ahh, now Prismo gets what he means. 

'Alright, Mr Perfectionist. How about you don’t worry about it an absolute masterpiece.'

'But I have to if I'm going to produce it perfectly…'

Prismo waves him off. 'Chill, dude. We don't have to nail them on the first try. Leave it as it is for now.'

‘But…’ 

'-As we keep working on the story, especially when we flesh out Spectra and Dyna some more, we can consider revamping them later. Besides. There's no deadline for it, so don’t worry.'

Scarab looks between his own drawing and Prismo.

‘It’s not even a finished drawing. Even the sketch lines are still there.’

'I call BS, that already looks like a finished product.'

'Hrn'

'Just trust me on this. You'll find something new to add later on.'

After much contemplation, Scarab places his drawing on the board next to Prismo's.

Prismo raises his arms in glee. 'Yay! The first stage of our OCs hath begun!'

'First stage?' Scarab quizzingly asks.

Prismo nods. This marks their first step of development. In a few months, they might look slightly different from now.'

'What makes you think they'll change over time?'

'Anything, really. Time may be irrelevant to us, but change is always constant. We'll just have to see.'

For once, Prismo said something intelligent, and Scarab took in those words. He returns to face the drawings

'We'll have to see indeed.'

Prismo then remembered something. 'Oh, oh! I've been meaning to tell ya. Your stuff came in while you were out. It's not much of a big box.'

'So soon?'

'Uh, sorta? I didn't track how long it's been after Jack left. I do feel a little less crappy, though.'

'Lucky you.' Scarab sneers. 'Nevertheless, I must ensure all my personal belongings are there. If my book goes missing...' No. a Servitor would never falter on quality control. 

'I did see a giant purple book just jutting out from him. Looked supes old.'

Thank Glob.

'Good.'

'What's so important about it?'

'Mainly the reason I can adapt to this environment so feasibly.

'Hold on…' Prismo pauses. "You mean the Wishmaster's instruction manual?

'Yes, with my personal notes. But this copy is an older edition, unlike the one given to you, if you've read it.'

'Of course, I’ve read it many times that it’s practically ingrained into my brain. I've been very competent until recently until, well, recently. I can be responsible too, you know. Just in the way you don't like.'

'Your way is unprofessional, and you bend the rules.'

'Been at it for thousands of years, no one upstairs complained. And there's nothing with going outside protocol.'

'That's what the rules are for, Prismo, To prevent these issues.'

'Easy for you to say, hippo-crips. You went AWOL tryna get me axed.'

'It was within reason.'

'Even after the Boss told you to leave it alone when my universe got canonized.'

'I hate that pie-hole of yours.'

Scarab gives his back to Prismo, crossing his arms with a humph. Preferring to stare at the drawings set on the corkboard instead. 

'Generally speaking, Scrabs: nothing bad about going outside the rules. Of course, rules are necessary; on the other hand, I think no one's gonna flip a hernia if you don't follow them a hundred percent.'

Prismo continues. 'Like, let's say. Rule eight-hundred and eighty-three states that you're only allowed to create rooms if it is accepted by the Auditius admins or for planning boring old conferences. The latter has stopped being a thing. And you know that I know that my pickle room violates that law, and you weren't even upset about that.'

Scarab's narrow slits widened into two circles. That's true; he did give him a pass on that. He was so engrossed toying with Prismo during his time of plight, meandering at those stupid jars.

How could he let that slip from him?

But, of course, Scarab will not subdue to such admittance. ‘The crossovers had more precedence than your menial pickle room. Besides, you use those liquid disasters as a transportation tool that renders rule eight-hundred and eighty-three null.’

Prismo jested with him. 'Aah, you don't wanna admit that I was right.'

'And you don't want to see me angry.'

'Okay, Grumplestiltskin. Let's go get your stuff.'

Prismo gestures for the other to follow. Scarab takes one last look at the drawings. Both differed in style and use of the material. One had bright pastel-like colors, and the other used shading so that the character's silhouette stood out more. He still thinks he could fix his illustration, but who knows what other changes he would have in a few months? Would the change be that much in just one month alone? Would Prismo and Scarab? A lot of answers are yet to be revealed.

Scarab turns away from the board and follows after Prismo.

Chapter Text

Chaos, Order, and Harmony.

During the early million years of life after the Great Bang, gods were born from stars and universes, and the elements soon after, followed by the very star stuff, all through The Boss' watchful eye. No one questioned it, and everyone knew they were all-powerful (And the last guy who tried messing with them lived with the consequences). Initially, things were weird and primitive, but it was filled with so much veal, mirth, and parties that lasted for decades!

So, nobody expected Golb to ruin all those good vibes. A blight created from the deepest, darkest reaches of dark space, from the hubris of the gods, fueled by the disarray of early mortal life and the long-living elementals. Golb did not take long to start spreading Chaos like an infectious mold you'd find in your basement.

It was, if not only, a moment in history that The Boss had ever engaged in battle. And the fight between the two entities took a really long time. Really long. Until the solution was found: Harmony. Who or how Harmony was brought into the picture was lost to time.

Even then, it wasn't enough to bring Golb down; it was a stubborn thing. And their skirmish had caused so much destruction in the world that The Boss finally struck it back where it came from. Where the light never touches. Nothing is needed to satiate the Chaotic God's hunger, as no suns or stars could be born. Not even life or death can manifest where there is no reason for it to exist. Forever stuck in a stalemate, floating in nothing for the rest of its life. Nowhere Space.

Since then, Golb's influence dispersed through the universes wherever it may thrive, and it has left so many newly-formed gods fearful of the spread. Then, one day, a group would congregate and devise a new way of authority to weave out the Chaos that the impotent God had wrought. A world of Order in the Boss' honor that would lead to the creation of the Auditus Tower. 

The tower is the most prestigious building where Order is law. Straightening out celestials would cause a threat to the universes, who would dare spread Chaos in Gold's name. Prevent those that stray off their godly duties, stopping double dippers with the same chip, leaving their garbage floating around space, ruining the environment, and, worst of all, jaywalking.

The small department grew until it backed the colossal Zig Zag Moderne building that it is today. High, high up on the upper floors is the VIP lounge, three floors dedicated to top-notch workers who can lounge more leisurely than the ones on the lower floors. It consists of five floors, even a spa! Some millennia ago, the top floors were nothing more than extra cubicles or storage spaces. After discovering the results of staff improving work in more homely and social environments, and y'know, having to rest. Ultimately, the higher-ups, the Order Council, permitted the renovation of the extra floors, much to their reluctance.

The busiest floor is on the third level, and the entire space is a big cafe lounge. Workers flock there to relax or have a different work environment from being stuck in a cubicle and enjoying a boiling or cold beverage. Of course, they have no need to eat or drink, yet hot coffees, fancy lattes, teas, the crunch of avocado toasts, and sweet rolls are indulgences. In some way, it's the closest to a mortal feeling.

But today's usual peacefulness is met with much commotion about Prismo's party fiasco. None were as mirthful as two of the most high-ranking auditors who couldn't keep quiet as they were scrolling through their gemstones, looking at videos and memes from the party. One of them almost spilled their drink, slamming the table laughing, watching a drunk dancing Scarab blow up with poorly placed stock footage of an explosion edited over the video.

'Oh, Glob! Oh, Glob! Play that again!' wheezed the green-colored auditor. The squared mask on their face rotated clockwise to different sides as they laughed.

The other auditor in blue snickered as she replayed the Scarab exploding again. Both auditors reeled back into their really high chairs. And despite the blue auditor's circled mask conveying sadness, her galactic guts burst as she couldn't control her laughter. She may be a professional, but she loves good ribbing.

‘Ohh, I don’t know how these people can make up this crap, haha!’ The blue auditor sighed, ‘Where did you stumble upon this one, Pez?’

'It was posted a couple of hours ago, and I knew I had to show it to you.' Pez snickered.

Scrolling for more memes, Magdoline spots the familiar yellow auditor coming out from the elevator.

'Well, lookie here. It's the bug of the hour.' Both auditors look yonder at the rifts of the longue, spotting Yellow Jacket walking straight to their table. Pez presents the video to Yellow Jacket.

‘Oh man, Jackie. You’ve got to see this vid!’ They chirped.

'Pez, you know I detest memes.' Yellow Jacket nagged as he took his chair and spun it like a spinning top, then stopped in place the moment he sat down. Sitting adjacent to the blue auditor.

'If Mags can laugh at one, surely you must have seen one that touched your funny bone.'

‘Alright, that one from Za’baby got a chuckle out of me.’

'Oh, I have to check that out later.' Pez puts away his gem to place his attention all on his coworker. 'Anywho, you've got to tell us what happened with Scarab.' Pez leans further into the table. His mask turns upright, correctly facing Yellow Jacket.

‘Yes, give us all the details.’ Magdoline rests her chin on her knitted hands together with devilish delight. 

'He is absolutely livid.' tittered Yellow Jacket, 'When I told him about the temp job, poor thing couldn’t do squat being plastered on the wall, haha.'

A server came by to the boasting Auditors. Ignoring their hee-hees and ha-has as they served the yellow auditor's Order, a nectar macchiato. The server left quietly, the same way they had come.

'I love it when true justice is served,' said Magdoline, raising her tea to her face. 'Today has been a Boss-send. It was a matter of time for Scarab to screw up.' She took a big, long sip of her tea. 'I should send The Wishmaster a gift basket for knocking him down a peg.'

‘Impressed that he’s lasted this long with Scarab.’ said Yellow Jacket.

‘The guy’s probably a masochist.’ Pez claimed. ‘Maybe he was lonely or something.’

'Even a masochist wouldn't want Scarab for company, Pez. Now poor Jack has to share the Wishmaster's burden as well.' G contemplates dramatically to feign anguish for her coworker. 

Yellow Jacket barks a laugh. 'Ha! If I were an energy vampire, I'd be dining for ages! He values his pride too much to give it up; even Prismo's down-home personality could break that chitinous shell.'

‘Please, that carapace is as fragile as his ego. He went against regulations for his revenge fantasy, failed to be on house arrest, he’s not going to make it through having monthly therapy sessions.’ 

‘In Scarab’s defense, he was under the influence at the time of the party.’

‘Don’t start giving that jerk sympathy points, Yellow Jacket. It's his own fault he did it to himself.’

‘Poor fool didn’t even know it was Maple Loops. It’s in the report, Magdoline. Orbo was a witness.’

‘Odd of you to come to Scarab’s defense.’

'Because I had to do my job and read the report. Unlike you, I like to take advantage of my enemies with concrete information.'

'Ugh, whatever.' The blue auditor dismisses Yellow Jacket, the yellow mask creasing into fine slits. A faint buzz can be heard, a sound of composed irritation. Little things get him riled, but sometimes, that blue auditor can test his patience with her belligerent ignorance. 

‘Though I must admit. I’m mighty jealous, Jackie boy.’ Magdoline absentmindedly sips her drink. ‘Having to keep Scarab on a tight leash every month or so sounds like an absolute dream. Why, if I was given the chance…’

'Ain't that quaint? As to why Orbo placed an Information Systems auditor instead of Celestial Relations that is apropos to their credentials, is anybody's guess.' Yellow Jacket said, cooly. Absentmindedly observing the single honeycomb he plucked from the comb wedged in his glass. He could already feel the woman's eye twitching behind the discus mask.

‘It should have been my case.’ she sneered.

'Orbo picked me, still. Boo hoo.'

This is how their banters went with Magdoline. When she sets on something, especially Scarab-related, Yellow Jacket has learned to play around her. Let her have her way, vent about petty crap, and then Jack would interject with neutrality to fish G out of her angry echo chamber. It never plays in that order, but it's effective. Well, most of the time.

'Besides, you two can't stand each other for five seconds; you wouldn't hold up an evaluation for an hour.'

'I've regulated my temper since. I have been more amicable, have I not?'

‘Woman, you don't even know the meaning of that word if it hit you in the head. It's like putting a hippo in anger management class.'

‘You wound me, Jackie.’ Magdoline dramatizes her reaction by placing a hand on her chest. ‘Preventing my bloodlust with my past beloved.’

'Believe me, I would give anything to watch you shake his core, but considering this is a matter from Orbo and The Boss. This is a stringent case.' And when you have The Council, Orbo, and the main honcho himself summoning you for this request, that is a case one shoulder never make shoddy work of. And coming from Auditus, it's an honor that he can humbly brag about.

‘Coming from the big guy, I’m glad I wasn’t handed that assignment.’

‘Of course, because you’d rather let your Servitors do your job than make the effort yourself.’ said G sardonically 

‘Hey, hey, auditing mail is not easy. You don’t have to worry about the lightyears and parsecs for shipping and handling.’

Yellow Jacket rolls over behind his mask. Pez seemed to detect the gesture and called him out on it.

‘Don’t act so high and mighty yourself, you showboat. Always such a glory hog.’

'Then I can gloat about I’ve done your job better before you came along.'

‘Ugh, you still pester me about that.’

‘As long I get a reaction out of you, yes.’

‘In the end, this is a win for all of us.’ Magdoline interjects. ‘With Scarab out, the Investigator position will be up for grabs. And we are going to make sure it stays that way.’

‘What are you saying?’ Yellow Jacket inquires.

'I'm talking about forgery, sabotage, a bout of chicanery.' she speaks so candidly in a public area like it's a regular Tuesday. 'And a bit of embellishing with Yellow Jacket's reports, we can make him worse than he already is.'

Yellow Jacket scoffs, ‘What makes you think I’m going to break client confidentiality with you lot?’

‘Because it’s Scarab. Duh.’ she replies.

'Think about it, Jack, we know Scarab's triggers to use it as leverage that Orbo and the Boss would have to revoke his status indefinitely, even better if he gets thrown in the Incinerator. It'll be taken care of useless baggage.~’

'Hmm, either he stays trapped in the Time Cube forever or potentially gets burned into smithereens. It is so dastardly…I love it.'

‘Will we count on you, then?’

Yellow Jacket leans back in his chair, ruminating. ‘Hmmm, I’ll have to think about it.’ he says. ‘Even if I said no, it’s not like I’d stop you. Take note that I won’t make it easy. I may let some things slip under the counter, but if you make a stunt that makes a fool out of me, there will be retribution.’

‘Note notably taken.’

‘It’s close enough to a yes, so I’ll take it.’Pez raises up his pink latte glass towards the others.

'A toast to Scarab. May his misery bring us joy.'

Their mugs clashed with a loud clink.

‘To scarab!’

₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪₪

Finding his stuff was easy enough; the drab cardboard box sat beside a fancy marble podium by the entrance. Scarab didn't own a lot of things. He'd sometimes admire the plaques on his office wall of all his promotions, others minor trinkets from his favorite hunts that he would brag to his co-workers when placing his authority. But now they were nothing more than knick-knacks collecting dust. His actual valuables, however, are composed of just a few black ties, his work shirts, some small exotic plants in glass, and the giant octagonal-shaped book that looks ready to pop out from the box at any moment.

His attention to the box was cast aside to the humongous atrium filled with paraphernalia. From jewels, handcrafted figurines, candies, incense, toys, Prismo-shaped maquettes, and animal plushies. Art pieces, sneakers, and handmade friendship bracelets of multiple materials and colors. Then, furniture and a questionably vast amount of front yard decorations littered the place. A parade of garden flamingoes snaked across the standing pillars, some saddening, some carelessly lying on the floor. The entire place closely resembled a shopping mall. A really tacky shopping mall.

‘What is all this junk?’ Scarab inquires.

‘This is Doodad Emporium.’ Prismo said with much pride. 

Scarab did not share the other’s enthusiasm. ‘The Doodad Emporium?’ he phrases it sharply. 

'Yup. Losta people bring me stuff as a token of gratitude or worship for granting wishes. That godly praise stuff weirds me out, blegh. I couldn't just say no, so I store 'em here instead.'

'How much space is there to accommodate so many knick-knacks?'

'Uhhhh, probably lotta miles, a couple of kilometers…Kinda lost track of how much stuff I got. Think of it as junk mail. Wait, that sounds pretty mean when you put it like that…' Prismo rubbed at his chin, his eye wandering as he pondered.

'I feel like I'm trapped in a tacky antique shop. Most things here are ghastly and atrocious, and they’re not even organized in proper categories.'

'Hey, this collection comes from all types of universes, which are cool. Theming is the least of my worries.'

You'd think the Wishmaster had this much free time to bring pickles to organize his endless paraphernalia.

‘It would be a nightmare to organize this place.’ Scarab flares as he drags the old book from the box.

‘You’re welcome to try.’

‘As if.’ scoffed Scarab.

He's going to do it anyway, Prismo thought. He watches Scarab glance at the purple cover with the golden engravings of the book, the lettering crafted in the all-glorious comic sans font, titled: The Wishmaster's Guide: An Introduction to Dreams and Wishes.

‘It’s incredible that you kept it near mint condition. I only got the big, fat, navy one.’ 

‘The modern edition is better systematised.’ Scarab informs him.

‘-But a drag to read.’ Prismo adds.

'This manual is merely more than a pamphlet, a handout for anyone interested in being the next Wishmaster. Most of it ended up in the recycle bin.'

'Pamphlets don’t have five hundred pages to advertise something. Though you'd think everyone would rush in to take that position right after the previous one retired.'

‘Things were different back then, Prismo. In the beginning, many were comfortable sticking to their lanes. So when the former Wishmaster announced their retirement, the gods mostly envied them for their promotion.’

‘Oh right, the transfer to the Fourth Dimension.’ said Prismo.

‘Yes.’

He remembered that day; it was the shock of the century. All the neighboring gods were given that manual at their front door post haste if anyone was interested in the position, but they ended up in someone's garbage can. However, it wouldn't take many centuries before the open spot was taken with more consideration when wishes began to take precedence.

'That’s when you took the chance to take the Wishmaster gig?'

Scarab nods. ‘Other candidates didn't bother studying for the exams, let alone know what they’d be in for when facing the trials. The idiots.' Scarab sneered.

'I didn't know how to be a Wishmaster, either.'

'You had the decency to study and learn the profession.'

‘True, no one would have bothered configuring architectural streams so feasibly. Wait…Did you give me a compliment?’ Prismo widened.

‘No. It is an acknowledgment.’

'I dunno, sounded like an appraisal to me.' Prismo leaned ever closer, much to the blue silhouette's annoyance.

'Prismo, my hate for you can fuel a thousand suns, but I can attest to my enemy's legitimate efforts. With you, it's a very tiny list.' Scarab informs him as he flips open the old book.

'I'm still taking it as a compliment.' Prismo grinned, then he peered at the manual. 'Oh my Glob, are these your personal notes?' He points to the little notes on the pages, the color-coded highlighters marked across certain pieces of text. The little charming doodles lay across the empty spaces. A stick figure Scrabby is making gestures and manipulating the cube's surface. It is soooo cute!

Scarab coughs. 'Yes. The pamphlet was a bunch of slapdash pointers, rarely useful information. So, I had to get a little innovative.'

'That's so adorable, Scrabby!' Prismo exclaimed. His pink hand hovered over the book, passing over the pages, each filled with the ex-auditor's anecdotes along with drawings of ideas of possibilities to do in the Cube. Some Prismo could already do; interestingly, Scarab had jotted them in while not being a Wishmaster a few million years early, too! Instead, he looks at the more ambitious concepts from dimension-hopping, surface landscaping, forge mode, multi-TV towers, and implementing weather within the Cube.

'Ah-hah! This one! It's the one you did at the party! Shifting your dimensional makeup within the confines of the Time Cube.'

‘It was merely a theory when I wrote this.’

'Consider that theory busted because that is a thing you can totally do. Though it only works when you’ve got a physical body.' A pencil warped into Prismo's hand, and they started writing on the page.

Scarab widened, darting at the book and then to Prismo. 'What are you doing??' he queried in haste. 

'I'm writing an update.'

'This manual is hundreds of thousands of years old; it's practically obsolete.'

'But there's always room to update. Look at all the awesome stuff we can try, man!'

'We? You're not thinking of including me on this.'

'Yeah! Witnessing the stunt got me thinking: we can test all these theories to test more of the Cube's capabilities. I mean, look at this one. Ghost projection. The ability to turn from your 2D plane to a three-dimensional plane. You're already ahead with this kind of thing; the modern edition didn't have this.'

‘You are more than capable of doing these yourself without the manual’s assistance.’

‘Arrrmmmmmm-for the most part.’ Prismo looks away.

'What do you mean by that? You should be capable of using all these techniques now with all the available time you had.'

‘Eeeee-yes. About that…’ Prismo chuckles nervously.

‘Prismo.’Scarab gritted his teeth.

'Come on! There is plenty of time to learn! If I learned  everything, then stuff would be so boring.'

‘You’re such an idiot.’

'But I'm a lovable idiot.~' Prismo smirked after watching Scarab flip some pages. He then adds.

‘Well?’

'Well, what?’ Scarab looks over to Prismo. 

'Would you be willing to try this stuff out?’

‘...no.’

‘No?’

Scarab closes the book. 'No. You can learn it yourself if you want to, but I won't abide by some foolish endeavors from my youth.'

'But you wrote everything that the modern manual only dreamt of having. Aren’t you a tiny but curious to see if your theories are true?’

Prismo continued. ‘Think about it, Scrabby. If anything, we can show Yellow Jacket some cooperative skills. And he wouldn’t have to check on us as often.'

‘Argh…you do have a point.’

He couldn't deny it. It would make Yellow Jacket not revise as much, and Orbo would be convinced enough that they could be by themselves. At the same time, he'd have to work and train with Prismo. It's either playing shrink with your arch-rival or working with your worst enemy. Argh, why'd The Boss put him up with this crap?

'Scrabby.~' Prismo calls his name melodically, with the broadest grin ever on that flat mug of his. He held the book to a blank page containing an old drawing of a young Scrabby, giving a thumbs up with a derpy smile with the teeth jutting out. 

‘Who knew you were so cute back then?’

‘That’s it. I’m killing you.’

‘Killing me with affection?’ Prismo grins.

‘More like malice.’

‘So what’s the final verdict?’

‘Fine. We can try them out. But nothing illegal.’

‘Oohs-yes!’ Prismo threw a fist in the air in victory. ‘This is gonna be a lotta fun, bro. I can feel it in my cosmic gelatin.’

‘That sounds disgusting.’

'How else can I call my flip side?' He pulls out his hand a little to show off the cosmic side of his flat body.

‘Your essence?’

‘Nah, that’s boring. How about…my space jelly?’

‘No, that’s foul. And you just wasted your last question.’

‘What!? NOooooo… I still have so many questions to ask! Aaahhhh!!’

He still had ten left.

Chapter Text

“Have you seen this crab man?”

A crude drawing of the insectoid bounty hunter, drawn with big buggy eyes and a furious set of eyebrows. The large elephant-esque merchant shook her head. 

“Nope. Sorry.” 

Spectra deflates along with her drawing. “Aww. Thanks anyway.”

She looks over to her makeshift mug poster. Maybe she didn’t draw him angry enough. Spectra goes over to the next merchant.

“Have you seen ‘im?”

“No.” 

“Nahh.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeeeeeeaaa-noooo. Noooo.’

"Hey, I saw ‘em!"

"You have?"

"Yeah, yeah! Wasn't he in a boy band?"

“Ughhhhhh, how could one big red crustacean be this hard to find?” She banged her head on a signpost before dragging herself down to the floor. For a small town, no one has seen the guy. Should this count as child abandonment? Wait, she ain’t no kid. She’s been gone a long time, so…elderly abuse? Augh, why couldn’t she die off with the rest of her old world? Save a lot of trouble.

Okay, that went dark. Spectra could only deflate further into the sand, staring up to clear skies and the sun sizzling its bright orbness at her darkening skin. She’ll be dark blue the longer she lies here. And that's okay.

“You missed him leaving town last night.”

A lanky man creature pointed to the drawing left discarded. Spectra scattered up from the ground to stare face-to-face at a creature holding up a giant basket filled with all sorts of brickabracks mounted on his large back.

“Please, sir, tell me where he went!”

“From the looks of it, I saw him heading East to Fishbone Canyon. Wouldn’t recommend it though, lotta nasty bandits and critters hang around there. Even experienced travelers don’t cross there alone.” 

“Well, if you must know, I happened to be an experienced PCQC. Passive Closed Quarters Combat.” Spectra showed him her arm-chopping moves.

The merchant was not in the least impressed, but she humored them. “Very skilled, I’m sure. I don’t mean to pry, but I heard a bit of your scuffle back in the cantina. He seemed pretty keen to be rid of you.”

“Oh, he’s a total jerk for sure,” Spectra confirmed. “As for the why I wanna keep tagging along, well, I’ll figure that out later. Right now, I really need his help.”

"Then you could use a map."

The merchant reached for his basket, its sides had scrolls hanging out. To which he pulled one of them out.

“Ahh, as well as this.~” He handed her a simple wooden slingshot. With it came a bag of odd-looking seeds.

"Seeds don't hurt much, but leave a gnarly smell."

"Oh, but I don't have any money for this..."

"Don't worry about it, stranger. Besides, not a lot of folks buy 'em anyway. The only exchange is one tiny favor."

"Of course, what is it?"

"Should you come across Lemonbridge, give this package to my friend, Cosmo. He is a seer. Tell them it's from Billym." Billym hands her a bag made of canvas and silk ropes. 

"Absolutely, Billym! Thank you so much for your help. I'm Spectra."

"Nice to have a name to this beaming face. You'd better get going now, the peak gets dangerous in the dark."

"I will, thanks again! Goodbye!"

She waved goodbye to the merchant as she made her way out of town.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Oof. Now I see why ya gotta travel light.”

Spectra panted, then swept her hair back. Luckily, her arts and crafts skills got her to make makeshift sandals from the hot sand out of old bark. "Ah, if only there were water. Even a puddle sounds nice." She can walk around on land as she pleases, but she's still a sea creature by default. Would she end up all pruney and dry from all this exposure? Probably. 

Spectra holds out her coconut, feeling the water slosh inside its hairy shell. She can't drink it now, she's not even thirsty yet. A surprise, really.

Spectra gazes at the giant wall of rock and sand. Shadowing over her with its monstrous peak gaze. The wind invited her to the narrow crevice, skeletons and equipment left abandoned in the sand.  

"It looked so tiny far away," she gulped.

After much deliberation, she puffs out her chest. She can do this. 

"Square up, Specs."

After a long exhale, she marches to the trench.

Now she knew why Billym said it was so perilous. The path led to a mountainous terrain she had to climb over. It’s so much worse than walking in the desert. The shade is only a few mercies.

After more hiking. She perks up to a clamor of screaming right over the edge. Spectra trekked up to investigate. As she got a view, there he was.

Dynastes was on the ground, all of his limbs surrounded by ropes held by a circle of bandits that spun him continuously to have their fun with him.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Spectra presses her cheeks. “Okay, Spectra, think of something quick! Ah, the slingshot!” She quickly grabs her slingshot and the seed bag. Spectra places the seed on the rubber band, then pulls the band as far as her limbs can.

"Steady..."

And snap! It ricochets straight to a straggler's face and screams as yellow gas explodes into his face.

"Ahh! What the fart!? AUUGhh, it smells terrible!"

Another hit, one of them about his super cool jacket being ruined. Dynastes looks around, grimacing at the smell of the gas. Looking for the assailant of the ambush. Wouldn't be long until they make themselves sooner.

"HA!" She yells. "Take it, you meanies!"

 Dynastes and the bandits all look up at her. Her cover was compromised.

"Oh, rice cakes." Spectra squeaked.

“Idiot” Dynastes snarled.

"Get her!!"

"Yipe!" Spectra climbed for her life as five bandits pursued her up the rocks without so much as an effort. These guys are slinkier than lizards!

With only three towing him down, the red bounty hunter pulls at the ropes, causing a straggler to trip and lose his grip on the rope. Dynastes made short work of using his restraints to drag the other two down. He used his free arm to whip crack at the bandits. All of them flinched back from the hot snap laced on their hands.

"Ow, that hurt!" They yelled as they nursed their hot, swelling hands.

Dynastes stood and twirled into a red spinning top, lashing at anyone who dared come close to the ropes.

Meanwhile, Spectra had the worst luck traversing through the rocks.

"I knew I should have taken that hike instead with the gang!" she wheezed. "But nooo, I made it like a squid and crocheted with the elderly instead- Ah!"

A straggler caught her leg when she tried to grab for the next loose rock.

“Let go of my leg!” she started kicking wildly until one or two of her kicks hit them in the face. The bandit fell from the cliff to then exploded on impact.

“Wow, that’s…wow.”

Spectra quickly reached the top, only to meet a sheer drop on the other side.

“Well, that’s just fantastic,” she bemoaned. Soon, the bandits caught up to her; nowhere to go but down. “Hey, uhhh. How about we call this a truce?” 

They only stalked closer. If she used her magic now, she’d lose most of her moisture. What she’d give for a bit of rain. In this situation, it is what is called a last resort. She puts out her hands, readying her form. Then a buncha of ropes flew up from behind. All conveniently bow-tied up to their chests. They all looked down, then at each other, before they were whisked away in a clatter of screams as they were dragged back down. Spectra blinked. 

She followed the sound of roughhousing and yelling. She peered over to the edge. A pile of knocked-out bandits surrounded the red bounty hunter; others scampered away with their tails between their legs in whatever path could lead them away from the fight. Spectra slid down to him, a smile spreading to her face.

“Woo! We showed those guys!" Spectra made her little victory dance. "They know not to mess-withaaaaAAAAAHH YOUR ARMS!” Spectra screams and points at Dynastes' limp arms. His main left arm was dangling loose, and the underarm twisted on the right.

“It’s fine,” he brushes off her worries. “I tore them when I crashed on a wall spinning.” Dynastes grabs the useless appendages with their lower arms and gives them a hard tug. 

“WHAT ARE YOU A SAVAGE?? DON'T DO THAT!” Dynastes' eyes shot open when Spectra slapped his hand away.

“I told you it's fine!” he hisses back. “I’ll grow a new one.”

“Yeah, it’ll be supes slow and you’ll feel like crap for days. You just gotta snap it back in the socket…”

Dynastes scurries away from Spectra. “Don't touch me-”

“Come on. I’ve been around your kind twenty-four seven. Now c’mere and let me fix it.”

Dynastes looks between his arm and Spectra. To his reluctance, he lends her his arm. Spectra holds it, carefully positioning it into the socket…

“Wait.-” Dynanstes hesitates until his body jolts up when his arm clicks back with one big CLUINK!

“HRNG!”

Dynastes watches his limp arm suddenly operate when he rotates it, then extends his fingers. Like he never broke them at all.

"There! Time and energy well saved."

“Hmm.”

“I think a thank you is in order.~” She swung back and forth. “Haven’t you been taught this when you were a grub? It’s Scarab one o’ one.”

Is that what he’s called? “...not a method the elders knew, no.”

“How could you have all forgotten that? How much more of your history had been blotted out?”

Dynastes could only shrug.

“You’ve all forgotten…So I am what’s left of ‘em…” she casts her head down.

Dynastes shifts, feeling awkward as she stands there looking all mopey. He isn’t built for all that sensibility stuff. Though this has got the bounty hunter’s attention. So, he steps closer, and questions her. 

"Why’d you bother looking for me? You must have wanted something from me to go through all this trouble."

"Not everything has to be a freakin' exchange with you, jeez! But I am asking for your help. You look like you’ve been around the block, finding the temples ya found me in. Somewhere in these places, there's gotta be a reason why the whole world is a dustball. I mean, I know certain details why, but something doesn’t add up. I can only find more clues if we find the Capital.”

Dynastes stared at her before he could submit a response.

“So you know what happened before this became a wasteland,” he states, and Spectra nods. “I’d be willing to tell you, but that’s if you’re gonna help me.”

Dynastes thought about it. Would he want to be around this thorn on his side for who knows how long? And yet…consarn it.

“I don’t work for free. Or share the profits.”

Spectra rolls her eyes back and groans. “Oh my sand dollars! Bro, look, I can offer more information about your people. And, and, I can use my magic to do all types of tricks and illusions for your bounties. Like a sidekick! Free of charge! The only thing I ask is let me in on the spelunking."

Dynastes taps his claw on his chin. Thinking about it some more.

“…I get all the shares.”

“You got yourself a deal!” Spectra happily shakes his hand. Dynastes takes his hand back from her.

“Just don’t be annoying.”

“No promises. So, where were ya headin’ before this kerfuffle?”

“I'm heading to Lemonbridge.”

“What a koinky-dink! I was gonna head there myself."

"Without a map?"

"I wouldn’t have found this place if I didn’t.~” She waves her rolled-up map to his face. “Better get a move on, we’re burning daylight!” 

Dynastes watches her storm off into some random pathway. It took several seconds to come back and take another path. His wings twitched.

 “I’ve definitely gone mad.”  

Chapter Text

“Oh Glob…this….sucks.”

In the inner outskirts of the Time Cube, where empty spaces and misshapen polygonal faces scatter across perspectival grids and tunnels. Time is at a standstill and life is non-existent. Yet there are streaks of pink all across the area as if someone went wild with the paint roller. At the bottom, Scarab was walking across platform to platform, following the streaks. Looking way, way up, is the faint figure of Prismo struggling to stretch further as he already is.

Scarab had been watching him stretch out for half an hour which for being like them is like thirty seconds. 

“Come on, you can stretch farther than that.” Scarab huffs. Prismo’s being shook like wire rope the more he moved.

“I feel…like I’m gonna…rip…!” Prismo strained.

“You’re not going to chicken out, are you?” Scarab began to tease.

“Chickens are actually scary, you know that?”

“So is mycelia, but you don’t hear me complain about it.”

“Not as much with a lot of things-HEY!”

Scarab pinched a part of him, almost throwing off his concentration.

“You started it.”

“Ugh, baby-STOP.”

Prismo is mere inches, fingertips away from reaching the rubber ducky hooked up on the ceiling. He then stretched his pinky finger to get to the beak. plink.

“Just lemme…reach-HOO! I did it! I did-iiiEEEAAA.”

Like a rubber band that hit its stretching limits, Prismo snapped and rewound all across the walls until he was back on the floor in his unstretched base form.

“Man, if I knew I had a limit on how far my body could go. I should have gotten to those yoga classes.”

“You’re a dream projection. That should not be a problem.”

“I told you, it's your noggin who sets the limits. My current mental state is what got my powers all funky.”

“I was able to stretch out just fine.”

“Yet you still can’t make yourself big when you tried multiple times earlier.”

“That is only a setback.” Scarab tittered.

“Your determination helps use this plane so easily. But your mental and emotional state is what’s holding you back. Since ahh- Kumail and I don’t share the same body and soul completely, we can balance it out. You, on the other hand, are whole in both aspects. That means you’ve got the range, but you lack the flexibility by keeping your inner emotions on lockdown.”

“So you’re saying I should allow myself to expose my vulnerabilities?”

Prismo shrugs. “Basically, yeah.”

Scarab clicks his mandibles together. ‘tik, tik, tik’.

“Yeah, no.”

“Hey man, it’s only you holding yourself back.”

“I do not hold anything back. And if you know so much about it, why can’t you reconfigure your depressive state?”

Prismo put up his hands. “Whoever said things are done as easily as they’re said?”

Okay, he had to give Prismo that one. Not that he’ll admit it. He placed his hands on his hips. “Tch, whatever. Instead of talking about some meaningless shortsightedness, what else do you want to do in that book?”

“Don’t you wanna suggest one? You wrote it.” Prismo asks.

“We’ve been doing the basics. Nothing more complex we’ve done already.”

Prismo skimmed through the pages. “Hmmm, I do like that ghosting idea. I always wanted to try the third dimension. ”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you do it before once past inspections.”

“Yeah, but it’s like I’m a floating piece of ribbon, or a magic carpet. It's cool and all, but like, I wanna use my feets, man!” He stretched out his foot to show his wriggling toes.

“I liked the shooting projectile better.” Scarab walks away passing through platforms. Prismo followed and protested.

“Man, you’re only saying that because you didn’t like my suggestion!”

“No, I think it’s boring. A skill that requires more complexity gives way more merit. Besides, it would make fights in this plane more interesting.”

“Maybe exploding stuff is kinda cool.” Prismo fesses, “But hey, we’ve got all the time in the world to learn ‘em all. Good thing we’re immortal.”

“How reassuring,” Scarab replied sardonically. “Fine, let’s do the ghosting theory. At least I would enjoy watching you fail.”

“Alright! Okay so in your notes, past you wrote that it’s required to have the figure stand and then shift within a dimensional space to create a dynamic figure.”

“It was mostly an afterthought. Thought of any sensical part of physics in order to theorize what could have been possible. But I’m not a Wishmaster so it was left in the back burner.”

”In a way it was able to prove an aspect of it during the fight at the party.”

Scarab nodded. ”It has. But I had my physical body at that time.”

“Why not try it now?”

Scarab didn’t answer. He stared between the floor and Prismo. With a sigh he slowly took his time to press forward but only led his walking sideways. It was annoying at first, walking and walking and more walking. Until he saw the surprise on Prismo’s face. Followed by an audible gasp.

”There! You go it!”

”Huh?”

”He looked at himself, his hands flexing out from the wall and then to his abdomen. Then in an instant, he was on the wall again.

”What?” He said in disbelief.

”Dude, you had it for five seconds until you went all 2D! So it has to work!!”

”Hmm, maybe.” He mumbles, but agrees. Still looking at his nubby hands.

”Okay let me try it!” Prismo began to shift to the center of the flooring, and instead of shifting out the wall like Scarab did, Prismo easily removed himself from the floor. Like a giant sticker peeling out from the surface. He was all wiggly and moving, like an inflatable trying to keep itself up. Yet the Wishmaster is more than determined to get it right on the first try!

“Hrnnnnn! I almost…got it…!” he struggled as he tried to straighten himself out.

Scarab stood up when Prismo snapped. He was able to stand upright, though not fully. Prismo was still 2D and his feet still stuck to the floor while the rest made him look like a cardboard cutout. His face stood still in that neutral expression.

“Prismo?” Scarab squinted. No answer. “Finally, I could have some peace and quiet around here.”

It didn’t take long for Scarab to come over and pinch his legs that were still hooked onto the floor. 

“Ow!”

“Prismo, you can’t feel pain.”

Prismo struggled to speak back while maintaining this strict form. “Well, it’s not comfortable either way. OH-” Prismo snapped again, contorting.

“Prismo, give it up, it's not working.”

“I…gotta try. Oh GLOB”

“Let it go, Prismo!” Scarab yelled.

“Almost…there…I think I got it!”

Just as he says that his body contorted until his limbs flew down like falling ribbons, it placed him back on the floor. Prismo blinked.

“That sucked. But I felt it! The layers! Are they layers? I have to keep trying!”

“One attempt is enough for today. The last thing I want is to be blamed for murder. As tempting as it sounds.”

“Right, baby steps. We should head back to the Time room to see if there is anyone coming up for wishes.”

After some of the tasks have been said and done, Prismo and Scarab reunite to discuss the things that should be reported to Yellow Jacket upon his arrival. They were still a few weeks away, but they had to be prepared for anything should the Tech Auditor test them. 

Prismo starts. “Okay, okay. List up what we’ve done so far.” 

“We’ve worked through basic methods from my old book. And worked at our usual posts.”

“C’mon, gotta give more detail.”

Scarab huffs. “As you were completing a stupid wish for a pillowcase, I was cleaning the jars from your pickle room.”

“Good, what else?”

“What more is there? All I’ve done is clean the same spaces over and over again.”

“What about writing the new chapters on our fic? All the editing work would be good development work.”

Prismo expected to get a grumpy look from Sacrab, and did not meet his anger to no fanfare. Probably getting used to the guy’s avertedness. 

“No, I won’t be talking about what we’ve been doing on the side of that insipid insect. You better not mention it.”

“Jack’s not gonna buy what we’re selling if you don’t be at least a bit more tactful, bro.” Prismo swirls around Scarab in a serpentine angle. Prismo offered a thoughtful gaze and almost placed a hand on the shoulder, but pulled back, knowing it would set the other off. “You’re gonna be stuck forever in here anyway, might as well shorten it. So would you rather tell him something personal that you don’t like talking about to anyone than write stories with me to save you the embarrassment?”

There was something in how Prismo looked at Scarab so wholeheartedly. Like he was looking at a set of flowers or a pile of puppies that filled Scarab with utter revulsion. He placed his hands on his head, crazily scratching that non-scratchable itch in his brain. 

“UghHhhh, it infuriates me how you can be right whilst being an idiot. It’s like nothing's ever changed all these years!” Scarab yelled.

“Oh, potential lore drop!” Prismo slinked closer. Scarab crossed his arms and looked the other way.

“No, we're not going there.”

Prismo insisted anyway. “So was he this charming in the waking world? Ohh, the handsome suave with the rapid hothead, I like that kind of dynamic! Next to like friends to lovers.~”

“I’ve met fleas with better flattery than you.”

“Mental ouchies. Come on, tell me he is a bit convenient looking. Especially with that giant beard.”

“Pav was anything but convenient! He was annoying, nosy, and so damn nice all the time. Waving at everyone and everything he saw. Giving away compliments like pamphlets. It was disgusting! He had character, I’d give him that.”

“Then he must have given you a handful if you obsessed this much over me.”

More than I can count. Scarab thought begrudgingly.

“He must have told you nice things about you.”

Scarab’s eyes widened. Now noticing how close Prismo is. He swatted his face to gain space.

“Enk, he does that with everyone.”

“That far-off look says otherwise.”

“I’ve already had someone playing therapy with me with no credentials; I don’t need another one.”

“Can you at least satisfy me with one thing between you two? I promise I won’t mention the fic to Yellow Jacket.”

Scarab sputtered in anger.

“Look, he just seemed to throw them more at me than others, that’s all. Some were…flattering.”

“You mean to inflate your ego.”

“Mostly yes. I do deserve the highest praise.” Scarab saunters. Of course he deserves only the best of praises.

“It's gotta be more than simple praise. He must have been flirty with you. No one gives compliments to someone all the time without some intent behind it. I know it by experience. Were you friends?”

”Associates at best.”

”Did you live together?”

Scarab’s face flared with fury at the mere notion of it. ”Boss Almighty, no!! And I’m offended you even suggested that.”

Prismo thought of another question. One where he leaned up close, his eye half lidded and his smile as though it could fill his head. In an expression that Scarab couldn’t possibly read that made him annoyed and unsure of whatever he was going to ask next. 

“Was he your *ahem*…bed bug?”

“Wh…” Gears shifted in his head, the Golb is he on about. But as Prismo began to wiggle his eyebrow and then look away with that devious little smirk of his. He was going to demand him to wipe that smirk off his face until it dawned on him at what he was really implying here. In an immediate reflex, Scarab revulsed in horror, now feeling utterly disgusted by being in this room. 

“HOW DARE YOU INSINUATE THAT WE WERE EVER-THAT WE MIGHT HAVE-UGHHGHHGHGHHHHGHHHHH! NO NO MORE OF THIS.” He pointed at his accuser, damning him outright and Prismo only raised his hands.

“Hey you could be friend with benefits for all I care it’s not really-No, no, NO!”

Scarab punched at his sides, causing Prismo to recoil onto himself. It didn't hurt at all but it was weird how he can physically feel the impact. A new factor Prismo wasn't used yet.

“I was only teasing, man!” He yelled after Scarab who stomped his way up the stairs.

“I AM GOING OUTSIDE.”

“You gotta admit, that was kinda funny.”

“IT’S NOT.”

”Alright, I’ll see you later for the next training session!”

Scarab was already gone, leaving Prismo to his lonesome. But it wasn’t so bad at the moment. It just felt good that things went okay for a few hours. A few debates here or there but Prismo could see that Scarab was trying, Prismo is trying. At least for today, Prismo takes it as a small win.