Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Missa hadn't been told what his job was, and he was starting to get a little nervous about it.

Everything was white and clinical, the lights a sterile white that hurt his eyes, the tile cold beneath his bare feet. The chains he'd been dressed up on jingled with every step, making him all the more aware of their presence wrapped around his wrists and ankles and throat. The clothes he had been made to wear were light, nearly sheer things, draping loosely off his body in what was supposed to be an enticing way. The hand leading him by his chains was white furred and clawed, their bear-like face expressionless as their single black eye was fixed ahead of them.

He'd been bought, which in and of itself wasn't a new thing- he'd been in circulation for some time now, as both a laborer and decoration. The last owner he'd had made sure he could play the part of decoration very well, molding him into posture collars and corsets until he could hold poses by himself. His skin was mostly unblemished, save for the faded whip marks criss crossing his back, but those were commonplace on older slaves like him. Pretty enough to be bought as a prize for another winner, if what he'd gathered so far was correct. These new masters didn't seem very forthcoming with information, and Missa couldn't only hope they weren't the kind to punish missteps that he might make as a result of their silence.

Most places typically required similar things, but he wished for the security of knowing those things before he was just thrown into the deep end as it were.

He'd only needed to be whipped once to learn his lesson, and he didn't want to be hurt like that again if he could help it.

There was a dull roar ahead of them, the hallway opening up to a naturally lit area, though it was too bright to make out where exactly they were headed. The roar only grew louder as they continued on, soon becoming identifiable as the distant cheering of a crowd, thunderous and almost instantly nerve-wracking the second Missa identified it for what it was.

A crowd? He could feel his hands grow clammy, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he thought about being witnessed by a crowd. Was he supposed to perform his duties in front of them? He wasn't- he couldn't remember ever hearing about something like that, but it certainty wasn't unfeasible. He could feel his hands shaking, though he didn't dare falter in his stride. He could be good, he could be good here, he needed to be good here. Even if it meant-

The light from outside was growing even brighter, searing Missa's eyes as the cheering became thunderous, the ground beneath his feet shaking with it. He stumbled blindly as he passed through the threshold, his new master's grip and stride never faltering even as he struggled to regain his bearings. He blinked his tears away, letting out a little squeak as he was pulled forward again, and caught sight of the window letting sunlight filter in from outside, and the crowd who's cry was still thundering in his ears.

They were high above some kind of arena, or a coliseum or something, Missa didn't really know the difference if there was one. This high up it would've been difficult to make out what was happening below if it hadn't been for the giant viewscreens circling around, showing off what was clearly some kind of gladiator battle in dramatic close-ups. There were three men fighting to take down a huge beast, almost as tall as the three of them together with huge buzzing wings and a dark chitinous hide with cyan highlights that almost seemed to glow in contrast.

The three fighting it were clearly experienced with this scenario already- a man with feline ears and scars all over his arms slid underneath the monster's legs to slash at the back of its legs with a large knife, sending off balance. Another man with blonde hair and shorn black wings had worked his way behind it and sank his scythe into the back of it's shoulder, where it's hulking size made it impossible to dislodge as it was yanked down by the attaching chain, already overbalanced enough to send it to its knees. The third man, one who had green skin and stark white hair, wielded a sword that looked like it had been frozen in the process of being snapped in half, the shards of it hovering in mid air as he ran forward to hack off the beast's strange protruding mouth. The pained screech it let out was loud enough to be heard over the roaring crowd, its strange yellow blood splattering the dirt beneath it.

In its pained rage it forced itself back up onto its feet, jerking the chain out of the blonde man's hands as he yelled something, but the green man didn't flinch. He planted his feet into the ground, his sword lowered at his side until the last possible moment until he flicked it up, skewering the beast's large fist on his blade. It wailed again, reeling back away from the green man as the blonde man pulled the chain again and the feline battered against its legs again, sending more yellow blood to the ground. It fell heavily, kicking up plumes of dust, and then more as it struggled on its back, its frantically flapping wings sending its body skittering a few feet.

The green man was hit and sent skidding backwards while the other two took advantage of the beast's vulnerable position, clambering on it to slash at it's exposed throat and chip away at it's armored chest, the blade of the blonde man's scythe finding purchase and sinking deep with another gush of yellow blood. His expression was set and dangerous, the close up on his face making Missa aware of his intense blue eyes as he shoved again, the beast beneath him falling limp and still.

The crowd's thunderous applause was deafening now, enough that it nearly distracted Missa from realizing that they'd stopped in front of a sleek metal door. His owner pressed their singular eye up to the door's security pad to be scanned, which then opened to reveal an observation room, with several other beings that looked like the one that had bought Missa out, as well as a dark figure who towered over the rest, lounging in a large chair with another slave kneeling at his feet, a spider hybrid from what Missa could tell.

The dark figure's eye slid over to rest on Missa, and his own eyes flicked down reflexively.

Be good, be good.

"Our second prize, I presume." The dark figure said, his voice deep and almost growling. He must be the real master of this place- Missa swallowed heavily, suddenly even more nervous. The person who still had a grip on Missa's chains gave a short nod before they prodded Missa to stand before the dark figure before quickly unshackling him. The small bit of freedom felt nonexistent as Missa trembled lightly under his intense gaze. "He seems sufficient enough."

There was a large hand tilting Missa's head up, turning it slightly to be better observed and he bent to the touch placidly, his hands folded primly in front of him. The other slave was staring at him with two of his eight eyes, his gaze curious and a little distant, dressed similarly to Missa. He was very handsome, a strong jaw and thick eyebrows over dark and alluring eyes- it was clear why he'd been picked, whether their purpose was for presentation or pleasure.

"Yes, I do think our lovely little competitors will enjoy their gifts." The figure said, and a few things suddenly clicked into place at that. Missa's eyes involuntarily skated over to the viewing window, where the feline and the winged man were being shown off in their victory, arms held above their head by one of the workers while their faces stared grimly into the camera. Oh. "For now, I think a tie breaker is necessary. I'm sure the crowd will love it."

Missa was tugged to the side, the figure's large hand coming down on the back of his neck until he was kneeling by the side of his chair, the floor cold and unforgiving beneath him. It was familiar in its own way, just like the way the figure's hand lingered on him before retreating.

Maybe he could take some comfort in that, even in the face of everything else.

It wasn't like he had much of a choice either way.

There was something up with Etoiles today, though Phil didn't have an idea what it could possibly be.

He threw that last fight, which was a day Phil had been convinced he wouldn't live to see, let alone take the victory for. Etoiles was a fighter nearly obsessed with the concept of fairness, normally bent to his own rules even to the detriment to all involved, because the Observer had made it very clear he hadn't nabbed them for fair fights. They were in unfamiliar territory, forced to compete in battles rigged against them from the beginning, and yet Etoiles kept things fair and won, every single fucking time. So the fact he'd thrown this one away now- Phil wasn't sure what it meant, but he was fucking dead certain it couldn't mean anything good.

Etoiles' expression didn't lend much of an explanation as he was dragged out of the arena, where he'd be whipped for the loss, as was customary here. In fact Phil wasn't sure this kind of thing had ever happened before- Cellbit's expression was equally disbelieving as he stared between Phil and Etoiles' retreating back. They'd only been offered a thumbs up when they'd been shown off following their victory, and Phil's stomach hadn't surfaced from where it'd dropped since then, lingering somewhere around his toes, if he had to estimate.

"What the fuck was that?" Cellbit muttered to him as they were corralled back to barracks to prepare for the finale, and Phil could only shrug at him helplessly in response, at a loss for words. They didn't have much time for talk though- whatever wounds they got in the last battle were ones they would have to suffer through to the next, and even further if they somehow tied, which had only happened one other time before.

It hadn’t been good for either of them, to say the least. It was the thing that had preceded his and Bolas’s debut, and he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of those old fighters since that day.

"Couldn't fucking tell you, mate." Phil muttered as he wrapped the still-bleeding scrape along his arm. Cellbit had fared far worse, but it wasn't anything that they weren't collectively used to- no broken bones and no concussions meant they were both already better off than their worst days. He handed off the rest of the gauze over to Baghera, accepting his scythe back, newly sharpened by Jaiden, who was already working on Cellbit's knife. They worked with an efficiency that came with familiarity, moving around each other with practiced ease. "Thanks Bags."

"I never expected you to win that one Philza." She said in lieu of a reply, sounding both impressed and disbelieving somehow, which was fair. "Etoiles had a clear shot, I thought."

"We made sure he had a clear shot." He said, not quite able to curb his own frustration as he readjusted his bracers to sit more comfortably along his shins. The metal had gotten scraped up from being tossed around a bit, but it only really added to the mess that was already there from constant use. "I'm not really sure what happened there, I'll be honest."

"I mean, I'm not going to complain about all the skin we're going to see in the next few days from him." Charlie grimly joked, wheezing a laugh as he said it. He already wore his own host of scars on his back from many battles lost- they all did, really. A hazard of being forced to work for the Observer, the fucking sadist. "We could do with a couple more shirtless men around here, right Phil?"

"What the fuck are you talking to me for?" Phil sputtered, laughing even harder as Slime leaned up against his shoulder and batted his eyelashes. Phil shoved him away, straightening and stretching out his wings before he shook them out. He didn't flinch at the fingers suddenly buried into his sheared down, the fingers familiar and efficient as they picked through and straightened the worst of the mess. "Thanks, mate. They were feelin' a little off."

"Oh, yeah, you really messed them up huh?" Baghera murmured. "Just make sure you return the favor later, alright?"

"Gotcha. An invite to the dinner party, right?"

"Noooo!" She yelled, lightly tugging at his primaries in reprimand and making him laugh again. Cellbit was smiling as he accepted his knife from Jaiden, and Charlie was beating up against his upper arm, jumping in place where he was clearly hyping Cellbit up. Phil sighed, glad he at least had these people for the few moments they were allowed together, even if Baghera punched him in the arm as she circled to his front. "No! Philza, you know what I want. You know what I want."

The distant bell of the arena chimed, echoing out across the arena, and the crowd's roar rose to meet it, clamoring for the next and final round. Phil's eye met Cellbit's narrowed in grim determination, and they both offered the other a short nod.

Etoiles won, and they often did what they could to trade off the loss of being whipped, to at least keep up the appearance of equal ability, but this time it would be anyone's game.

"I'll see how much coal I can smuggle out of there." He reassured Baghera, who pumped her fist in excitement before shooing Phil out behind Cellbit, the other holding the hilt of his knife with a white-knuckle grip. He side-eyed Phil before he flashed a good-natured smile, holding out his arm. Phil knocked his bracer against Cellbit's offering his own smile as one-eyed employees came up on either side, insurance for any fighter who wanted to protest the coming battle. "Good luck there, mate."

"Same to you old man." Cellbit snarked, the roaring of the crowd almost too loud to hear him.

Then they stepped into the ring.

The final battle was always something extravagant, showy and especially dangerous for whoever was left. Or at the very least that was the idea behind it, but the sculpted body of soulsand didn't make that intimidating of a figure, and even when the skulls were dropped in a line, completing the summoning ritual, that didn't change much. The crowd was eating it up, as they always did, and Phil already knew what kind of spectacle this kind of fight looked like from here, with explosive skulls flying as he and Cellbit were forced to dodge wildly to keep themselves intact.

Before Purgatory Phil would've had no issue with a monster like this, given the proper resources and armor and such, but this game needed to be exciting, so they were given the bare minimum, which in and of itself was a number that had come from plenty of sacrifices before Phil's time here.

Slime boots to absorb the shock and make sure their knees were still in good shape the whole time they were being put out for fights, and the rest a hodge-podge of diamond and iron, and even a leather scrap across their chests, just to make it even more interesting. He was grateful at the very least today's monster was a wither at the very least, who's attacks were so uniform to Phil that he could probably recite them in his sleep if he had to. Sometimes they would somehow manage to bring up a Warden just for fun, and those were always the nights that ended with someone breaking a bone or worse. Phil didn't think he could ever forget seeing the footage of Cellbit being caught by a stray sonic blast, how the blood had pooled underneath his head as he lay motionless on the stone floor.

He still had nightmares about that sometimes, but even those kind of just blended in with the mesh he'd been having since he got here.

His train of thought was derailed by Cellbit shoulder-checking him into the range of an explosion, and he wheeled a bit, off balance as Cellbit laughed at him for getting distracted.

"You better be careful, old man, otherwise you're just going to end up letting me win." Cellbit called over his shoulder, leaping to sink the blade of his knife into the Wither's whipping bone tail. It hissed in either pain or threat, Phil had never really been sure, and started firing a barrage at Cellbit, forcing him to fall back. Phil used that moment of distraction to press his own advantage, face set in determination as he hefted his scythe and hucked it as hard as he could right into the Wither's center skull, the bones splintering as his weapon went careening to the side. "Que é isso!"

"Sorry mate!" Phil laughed, his feet sliding in the loose dirt beneath him as he flung himself towards his scythe, sliding it closer with its attached loop of chain. The Wither was still screeching its outrage, the crowd was screaming their own excitement, but Phil could really only hear the rush of blood in his ears, could feel his own heart beat mimicking his thunder steps as he bent to snatch up his scythe from the ground. "Watch yourself!"

Cellbit jerked left, neatly dodging another Wither skull as it flew over his head, the explosion as it landed sending up bits of dirt scattering about. Another head would tip it over the edge and force it into close combat, but it wasn't eager to let either Phil or Cellbit close in that close, spraying them down with more explosions to keep them at a distance. Pressing in close wouldn't lessen the impact, so they might just have to tank a few hits anyways, and of the two of them, Phil would rather it be him-

Of course in the time it took to form the thought Cellbit was already bullrushing the Wither's flank, throwing himself to take a swipe at the still-moving tail rather than risk throwing his knife. He was trying to taunt it into close-range combat, but it wouldn't go easily, not for something as simple as losing its tail, but they were limited to a single weapon when then entered the ring, and most long range weapons were virtually useless in close quarters.

That and Cellbit would rather stab someone before he traded in his knife, from what Phil had seen.

Phil jerked left to avoid another flying skull and tossed his scythe again, using Cellbit's distraction to his advantage as he himself pressed in a little closer. The blade became wedged between its ribs, and Phil used his leverage to pull it down into Cellbit's range, beating his wings as he strained. Cellbit got a few more hits in before he was bodily forced away by the Wither, shoved back and away by the solid cage of its ribs. Phil held it in place before it could chase after Cellbit, and swiftly turned its attention onto Phil instead, but he used its momentum to swing it into the wall with a loud crack.

He jerked his scythe up, wiggling it free as he looped the chain around his arm to keep it clear of his feet as he put some distance between them.

Cellbit stood beside him, breathing heavily as he held his arm away from his body, clearly injured if the angry red of his skin was any indication, but when he met Phil's eyes he just grinned.

"You got this Phil? You're looking a little bad there."

Phil took stock of himself enough to notice the sting ache of his ankle, and how his bandage was already soaked through with blood, the scrape he'd gotten across his cheek at some point. He would undoubtedly start hurting a whole lot more the second the fight was over, but as it was the adrenaline would carry him until then, so he simply shrugged in response before they were forced apart by the advancing Wither.

"Not bad enough that I can't finish this before you." Phil shouted after him, circling around the wither as it chased after Cellbit.

"Oh, damn, really?" Cellbit laughed, hefting his knife before he turned on heel and threw it into the socket of the Wither's left skull, dislodging it from its place a bit before it eventually reattached. The bone was fractured around the blade, buried too deep to come out on its own without Cellbit risking closing in and pulling it out himself. Which he could do, and might even try, but it was a pretty big risk even for Cellbit. "O caralho!"

Cellbit jumped back just as Phil pressed his advantage, freeing the chain of his scythe and swinging it in a wide arc that landed squarely against the Wither's ribs, sending it even further off balance. It was just enough of a break in the Wither attacks that Phil launched himself up and onto the thing's ribs, using his wings for extra leverage as he looped the chain around its body. It got caught on its shoulder blades when he pulled, and Phil grinned down at it as it struggled to get its bearings.

"No!" Cellbit shouted, his smile wide still even as he lunged for his knife, but Phil wasted no time in pulling the chain taut, beating his wings again as he drove his feet into the Wither's rib cage. It splintered, the jagged bone scraping along his legs a bit, but it dissolved into nothing before it could do any substantial damage, leaving a single glimmering nether star in its wake.

The crowed roared in its excitement, and Phil tipped his head back, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

He'd won.

Chapter Text

Phil couldn't remember the last time he'd won a tournament like this, if he ever had.

There was all the normal theatrics- red confetti raining down on them, hands held high above his head, crowd screaming his name- it was all very thrilling, but his eyes were fixed on the back console of the coliseum proper, where he knew the Observer was lounging. There was something different about this and he couldn't help but worry over it. Was he being replaced? Was that why Etoiles threw? The man loved winning, but not as much as he loved the few people he'd committed himself to. He was the person who won most of the battles, but he still called Phil his 'captain', still did everything he could to express how much he cared for people he considered his.

Vegetania was a land that was ruled by it's devotion to it's God and Church, he had explained once, so that kind of whole-hearted devotion came naturally to him.

There must have been something threatening one of them in some way, perhaps. A threat for one of them to be replaced- or maybe the Observer had wanted Etoiles to fail, just to test how far he'd go to prove a point. It wasn't unlike that bastard to pull something like that, to play mind games with the people trapped under his 'care', if it could even be called that.

The only issue was that Phil fucking sucked at mind games.

He glanced back to where Cellbit had been forced to kneel, his pointed ears drawn back as he stared up at the crowd surrounding them, but the look in his eye was distant enough that Phil knew he wasn't alone in his anxieties.

After the showboating they were forced to partake in, the crowds slowly dispersing the longer they lingered, the group of employees that surrounded them both prodded them up and then to the left, the exact opposite direction of the barracks. Both he and Cellbit exchanged looks, but didn't protest. Not just yet.

They were afforded mild protection as the top dogs of Purgatory, as they had to be alive and well to be present before the crowds, but even that wasn't a full-proof thing. The masses would just as quickly latch onto whatever new meat was forced into the ring for as long as they lived, and not a second past that. It was just the way of this place.

They were offered the illusion of freedom in exchange for playing their parts in the little show the Observer put on, acting out the part of blood-thirsty warriors eager for the next bout of blood shed. It helped that the fights were a good way to blow off steam for all three of them, which was probably why they had lasted as long as they had. Phil was sure he wasn't a good enough actor to pull that shit off if it hadn't been for his love of near stake-less fights, where he didn't really have to worry about winning or losing so much as surviving. There wasn't much better than pure thrill, Phil had found, and at least he had plenty of that here if nothing else.

The lights of the interior halls felt cold and foreign after fighting in the warmth of the ever-setting sun, and Phil shivered as his sweat quickly cooled against the back of his neck and along his bare arms. The bandages he'd put on had already bled through, but not so much so that Phil felt they'd become an issue before he could wrap them again. Hell, if he was lucky they might just spray him down with health potions or something- Etoiles said they did that sometimes when the Observer was in an especially 'forgiving mood'.

And much to Phil's relief, they were each splashed with a single red potion before being ushered towards an engraved iron and amethyst pad that shot them all up to the above floors in a blink of an eye. Phil bit back a sigh of irritation, wishing they’d been handed the potions instead. It was better to keep things that rare for emergencies.

They were directed towards the door, sleek and metallic and coded to open when one of the employees scanned their single eye in the pad, and there was the Observer, the grand bastard himself, already towering where he stood to greet them. He was as imposing as ever, a staring shadow standing in contrast to the rest of the too clean room. There was no mouth that Phil could see, but that didn't stop him from speaking anyways.

"Ah, our lovely gladiators. Glad to see you were considerate enough not to spill blood down my halls." His voice was deep and layered, and way too smug for Phil to take seriously. "We appreciate your agreeing to meet with us, as I imagine you must be very busy."

It'd been a bit since Phil had encountered this fucker face to face, so he'd forgotten just how much the Observer liked the sound of his own voice. Phil refrained from rolling his eyes, the urge staved off by his own slowly heightening anxiety about the situation. Cellbit was similarly silent beside him- they'd both learned the hard way that keeping their mouths just generally safer than making smart comments back.

It was the one thing he could say that he missed about Cucurucho- at least he could take a joke without immediately twisting it against them.

"We would congratulate our beloved Sinners on their fight, however I don't believe this match was hard won. Not that it matters." The last part was tacked on with a snooty air, and Phil could already feel his worry for Etoiles tightening in his chest, a cold sweat overtaking his exertion. "We have already graciously prepared a gift for the winner, as well as a consolation prize for the second place, whoever that ended up being."

Okay, that was suspicious as fuck.

Phil and Cellbit exchanged another wary look between them, but Phil could feel his previous worry condense into a resigned dread, because they'd been engaged in nothing but mind games since they'd been fucking nabbed. They wouldn't be given much of a choice either way. The only thing he could really hope for was that the gift was going to be something bearable, something that could at the very least be first considered as a gift and not just another punishment in a loose wrapping.

"Philza." The Observer boomed, and Phil frowned at him, but couldn't do much else. The big fucker raised both his arms in dramatic fashion, his long sweeping sleeves spreading out like large wings, and when he dropped him there were two people kneeling on either side of him, and Phil's stomach dropped in kind. "Pick your gift."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Phil breathed, looking at the two men, heads bowed demurely. They almost could've been statues if they hadn't been breathing and Phil felt suddenly like he was on the verge of throwing up. Cellbit's face had gone cold and distant, and expression Phil hadn't seen in a long fucking time, an expression he'd never hoped to see again. "You can't be fucking serious."

"I am serious." The Observer insisted, his one eye narrowing. If he had a mouth Phil would bet his fucking life that he would be smirking right now, the smug fuck. "Would you decline my gracious gift? Would you really insult me so openly Philza? I think you'll find that's less than wise."

"Of course we wouldn't." Cellbit said, his voice flat enough that the hairs on the back of Phil's neck stood on end. Phil felt a hand on his back, pressing him forward. "Philza is very lucky to be receiving such a gift."

He looked back at Cellbit, wild-eyed and nauseous, but Cellbit just shook his head, not even turning to meet Phil's eye. He looked back towards the two men still kneeling beside the Observer, swallowing roughly.

Right.

Mind games.

It was something about life here that Cellbit never forgot, never let Phil forget either. Refusing something so blatantly given- it was obviously a test or a trap or whatever this fucker liked to do. A game to see if either he or Cellbit would crack, would abandon 'proper manners', a trap to see if they could incriminate themselves past the point of no return.

They had all learned this the hard way, even before they'd fallen into the hands of the Observer.

There was something about this place and its people that was so concerned with the proper way of doing things. Phil chafed under it, and he was far from alone, but none of them had any choice in the matter. Not for a long time.

He looked between the two, caught on having to choose, on having to decide between two different people- there wasn't any room to guess what they were for either, their clothes made that very apparent. He pressed on hand against his stomach in a useless attempt to quell his own disgust, taking a hesitant step forward. Movement caught his eye- the man with the long dark hair flinched back from him, a small, scared noise escaping his mouth.

Fuck this.

But apparently the Observer took his stare for interest, or more than likely just willfully assigning meaning where there was none, as he often liked doing, the fucker. His eye focused on the man, still kneeling, his body trembling in obvious fear.

"Oh? This one?" The Observer turned his gaze to Phil, who felt frozen under his gaze, something cold and hard caught in his throat. "He is quite a beauty, I will admit. I was unaware that you liked them so noisy, but to each their own, I suppose. Shall I have my employees escort him to your room, or shall you take him there yourself?"

And that was enough to get Phil going again, his heart leaping high enough to dislodge whatever had been caught in his throat. "No! No, no, I'll- I'll take him. Have- may I request food for him be brought to my room too?"

"Why of course, Philza." The Observer said, his tone condescending and amused. He straightened where he'd been leaning over the man, fingers reaching down to touch, but the second he withdrew Phil made quick work approaching. He dropped to his own knees, pressing a hand to the man's shoulder. He flinched again, but rose before Phil could withdraw, his own face a pale mimicry of Cellbit's distant expression. "I hope you enjoy your gift."

"I'll-" He choked a bit, but forced the words out. "I'll do my best."

The man's hands were rough and warm where they rested on Missa's back, leading him down a well-lit hall with large folding windows that showed off the moonlit landscape around them.

Any other time Missa might've stopped, fallen behind to admire the sights- the outside would've likely looked like a barren wasteland under the harsh rays of the sun, but under the gentle light of the moon it seemed beautiful. Not that it mattered much what he wanted right then- in this new place, under the hand of his new master. He knew how to behave, he knew what to expect from this.

The roughness of his new master's hands made him worry, but everything else about him seemed... fine. Almost hesitant if Missa had been so bold to assume.

He was silent as they walked, his breath coming steady as they walked. Missa didn't dare look, keeping his hands folded primly in front of him.

There were other people following behind, more of those same one-eyed and white-furred folk who seemed to make up the majority of the population here, almost like an armed guard. It both made sense and seemed strange to Missa that they felt the need to guard the best warrior in this arena- he'd seen just how prolific of a fighter his new master was, had seen how easily he'd handled that Wither, which was a creature Missa had only ever heard in horror stories before. It'd been terrifying, to see if fly up high enough to brush against the protective dome of the arena, and for a moment he'd been convinced that it would escape and wreak havoc on everything, but-

Philza had won, they'd said. He'd watched with his own two eyes, wide in disbelief as the skeletal remains dissolved into nothing but a glimmering star.

It was impressive.

It was terrifying.

His master stopped, and he wasn't so lost in his thoughts that he couldn't follow along with the motion, standing still and waiting for instructions to appear in the tense silence between them. Perhaps Philza wasn't used to owning slaves? His first words had implied something along those lines, his voice crushed and incredulous as Missa had been offered, but he didn't think it would be wise to expect kindness just from inexperience. Missa's heart felt like it was lodged in his throat, and he was grateful his role didn't often require him to speak.

"This is um-" His master started, sounding unsure. "This isn't my room? What the fuck is this?"

A pause, and then one of the one-eyed guys passed his master a book, which he flipped open to quickly read over. His shoulder slumped, his face still twisted in obvious confusion, but he passed the book back. "Alright then, I guess. Man, you fuckers do love just throwing me off, don't you?"

There was no reply, but his master slid a little card into the slot by the door and it swung open easily, revealing a dark interior beyond. Missa could feel how hard his heart was pounding, the rough sandstone cutting off to slick marble which gave way to plush carpet as he allowed himself to be led further inside. His master's hand left him as he moved over to the fireplace, already loaded up with wood and kindling, while the strange cyclops-bears went around lighting a few candles decorating the room, casting everything in warm yellow light. Even with his face down turned he could see how beautiful the room was- sandstone gilded with gold, drapes of sheer white and what might've been gold pulled away from floor-to-ceiling windows.

The bed at the far end of the room almost felt like a kind of ominous threat, imposing in how it took up more space than Missa would know what to do with. Certainly more space than what two people needed, right? He hoped that didn't mean anything either, he was already dreading the thought of keeping one man's bed warm, he didn't know if he could handle more people on top of that-

"You can sit on the bed, mate." His master called, standing up from a smoldering pile of logs but not looking away from it. Missa jumped as he realized that he and Phil were the only two people in the room now, the strange bear creatures having left sometime during Missa's rumination with eerily silent steps. The door behind him when he dared to peek was closed, but strangely there didn't seem to be a way to open it up again if needed- no knobs, no scanners, nothing. Swallowing nervously, Missa gingerly took a few steps forward, freezing when his master spoke again. "Or on the couch- just, wherever you feel most comfortable, alright?"

Oh, he was being given a choice?

He nervously looked towards the bed, dreading the thought of getting the answer wrong, afraid of taking too long to answer. 'Feel most comfortable?' Was he supposed to account for his master's comfort as well? Stupid, of course he was. The couches, while made of fine cotton so white and clean that Missa was afraid of touching them, were not really big enough to hold two people if they were to lay down, and if he wanted Missa to service him with his mouth... He walked over to the bed and sat down, not sure if he should start undressing now or if he should wait for his master to give the command. He fussed with the hem of the loose fabric skirt he wore, rolling the rough fabric in between two fingers before folding his hands in his lap again.

Better to wait, even if his heart was sitting somewhere inside his throat.

The silence between them stretched out an impossible length the longer his Master trundled about the room, patting his hands free of dust before moving away from the fireplace and towards a tray full of a small set of medical supplies. Missa worried for a moment that it might've been his job to patch up the wound that his master was now rewrapping- a wound he'd been too distracted to notice, much to his horror. His master still didn't say anything, not even as he heaved a sigh and then finally turned to face Missa directly, though he didn't move any closer.

"... I don't know where to start." The man said, then laughed, rubbing his face. Which was... somewhat encouraging, because Missa didn't really know where to start either. He didn't even know if it was part of his job to initiate- most masters seemed to know what they wanted and weren't afraid to enact their whims as they pleased, but his master had been gifted a slave unexpectedly, so it would make sense that he was unsure in this situation. Should Missa say something? "Uh, food should be by soon. We can eat first and then figure stuff out after that."

As if on cue, Missa's stomach growled, and he could feel how his face heated his embarrassment, but his master only laughed.

Silence fell again, but it was a little more comfortable this time, with Missa's master circling the perimeter of the room, poking through cabinets and drawers idly as he went. Missa was used to sitting and being ignored for long periods so he settled himself slightly on the bed and locked his limbs in place, breaths coming slow and steady as he waited for the time to pass. His last position had him often used as either decoration or furniture around his master's home as needed, where he would've been punished for speaking out of turn, but she still enjoyed the little noises she could spook out of Missa when she caught him off guard.

He hoped Philza was the same, or at least was forgiving in his retraining, and then he stopped thinking about anything at all.

After an indeterminate amount of time there was a knock at the door, which Phil answered promptly before Missa had the chance to react, retrieving a tray from a person who was decidedly not one of the cyclops-bear things, but instead seemed to be some kind of feline hybrid in a blue jumpsuit. He and Missa's master exchanged a few words before Phil ran back into the room proper, set down the tray of gently steaming food, snagged a blanket and two rolls and presented them back to the servant who still stood at the door, waiting. He grinned at Philza, waving once in a familiar and overly-casual way before turning to go, allowing Philza to shut the door behind him.

"Ah..." Philza said after he caught Missa staring, and thought Missa was quick to look away, he doubted his curiosity went unnoticed. "It might be kind of a big ask, but do you mind not tellin' any of the Purgatory people what I just did? I'm pretty sure they already know, but- they'll turn a blind eye most of the time if nobody brings it directly to their attention."

"Of course, Philza." Missa said, trying to make sure his inflection was admissible at the very least. He was far more comfortable in spanish, but that was never a factor when it came to his masters- Philza had spoken only english and so would Missa. But the silence that met him only made him more nervous. Had he not seemed sincere? Or had the sentence been wrong? He didn't know how to convey it better though, his mind suddenly empty of any words in any language in his panic. And even trying to say anything else might just make him look more guilty, and-

"Right." Philza said awkwardly, a nervous laugh falling out of his mouth before he gestured to the food. "Uh, food's here though. There's plenty for both of us so don't be afraid to eat as much as you want."

Generous, but probably insincere. Missa didn't really know what to make of that, but he stood anyway. A suggestion was just as good as a command in most cases and he already felt like he was failing before he'd even really started. At least Philza was telling the truth; there was plenty of food to be had between the two of them. The tray was covered in bread rolls and thin slices of roasted meats and cheeses, as well as an entire pitcher of what looked like cold tea which Philza grimaced at when he peeked inside. Missa stood politely back, watching as Philza tucked a few slices of meat and cheese into the roll he'd torn apart with his fingers and had a moment of panic when he remembered he was likely to have inherited the serving role the second he'd been given over.

A panic that quickly dissolved into confusion again when Philza handed that same roll to Missa.

He blinked blankly down at the food in his hands, much more than he could remember having at once for the last couple years at least, and then back up to his master, who had already moved on to making another one. He caught Missa staring again, the turn of his head much to quick and almost bird-like for Missa to avoid, and he paused, which made Missa freeze too, already dizzy with anxiety again. Had he seemed rude? Had he done something wrong? Maybe he should've just eaten the food as soon as it had been handed to him, but he had just been confused- was it for him? Or was he just supposed to hold onto it? He didn't know, he didn't know anything-

"Uh, that's for you, if you want it, mate." Missa's master said slowly, cocking his head to the side. "You can just pick out the parts you don't like if you want? Sorry, I should've asked before, I'm just used to just givin' a bit of everything-"

He cut himself off when Missa slightly shook his head, and he again froze, because why was his master pausing for Missa??

He looked up through his eyelashes, biting his lip slightly before he forced himself to say, "Forgive me, master. I didn't mean to seem ungrateful."

"I- uh, okay, well first things first, don't call me that. Please." Philza said, his voice pained, and the panic was back in full force as Missa scrambled for what he might've possibly said to offend his master. Because Missa had been very careful to only call him master, right? He hadn't accidentally called him something else. Of course he hadn't. Oh gods, what if he had though? "I mean- you're not in trouble or anything, mate, just don't fucking call me, master, it's fuckin' weird."

Oh.

"Oh." Missa breathed, a little relieved that he hadn't accidentally said something worse. "What should I call you then, sir?"

"No sir either, just- Phil's fine, alright? And what's your name?"

"M-Missa, s- ah, uh, Philza?" He managed, wincing at how he stumbled on his own words. Philza just laughed, sounding both nervous and relieved somehow, and Missa allowed himself to incrementally relax. Then he remembered the food he still held in his hands, a little bit too tightly, and quickly took a bite before he made an even bigger fool of himself. Philza did the same, leaning back against the little side table he'd set the tray on. He was holding himself a little gingerly, probably still a little injured from the fight before. Missa cast half a hope to the thought of him maybe being too tired to expect Missa to perform his physical duties, but he just as quickly set that aside.

Better to prepare and expect the worst- his master had been kind thus far, but he couldn't continue to expect that.

Things had a tendency to drop out from under Missa the second he started to lean on them, and he's already had that lesson beaten into him the hard way. He wouldn't shirk his duties so soon after receiving them.

The food at least was filling- the meat was seasoned nicely, still tender and warm enough to melt the slices of cheese that had been laid out on top. The roll had a slightly crispy outside while the inside was still white and fluffy, topped with butter even, a kind of luxury he couldn't remember ever having. He savored the food he'd been gifted, even as his empty stomach demanded he scarf it all down, and it was gone before he even realized what happened, his stomach on the verge of being almost uncomfortably full as Philza licked the last of his own crumbs from his fingers. Missa could feel his nervousness lurking in the back of his mind, but he did his best to shove it down.

He could do this. He could be good.

"A-Are you tired, Philza?" Missa murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady. He hadn't needed to speak this language in a long time- or at all really- so the words felt strange and foreign in his mouth. "If you are ready, we could-"

"Why don't you go take a shower, mate?" Philza interrupted, startling Missa into looking up at him again. Philza was staring out the nearest window with a strange look on his face, a hand pressed to his mouth before he glanced back at Missa. "Just- actually, I'll take a shower first, alright? You get ready for bed. I'm not going to- I don't- fuck me, why is this so fucking hard."

The last part of his sentence was punctuated by him running a hand through his messy blonde hair, and Missa could feel the way his own eyes lingered on the gold of it, some strange, strangled feeling in his chest. Philza still didn't look at him, simply pointed towards the bed.

"You take the bed, I'll take the couch. I'm not- not I'm not doin' that with you, alright? You can fuck off with all of that." His voice was vitriolic as he said it, angry enough that Missa flinched back and away from him involuntarily, and now Philza's eyes were on him, cold blue and filled with something close to regret-

And then he was gone, disappearing into a side room that Missa was only now realizing was the bathroom, leaving Missa feeling small and cold and bereft of purpose.

He rubbed at his eyes, stress making every inch of his skin ache, and then settled back down on the bed, not sure what else to do.

How had he managed to fuck this up so bad already?

Chapter Text

Phil wasn't sure how he'd fucked that up so bad.

He'd just panicked, he was pretty sure, worse than he could remember doing in a long time, which was a fucking stunning time to pull out that little gem of a reaction, because fuck him-

The fear in Missa's eyes turned his stomach over, and he was a little regretful he'd loaded his sandwich up as much as he had.

He tried to drown out the worst of his thoughts by turning in the water as hot as it would go and just letting it pour over him for a while, the static feel and sound enough to drown out his loudest anxieties for at least a moment. he was going tor regret it later when he preened his wings, but he didn't care much right then. He was just trying to punch some common sense into this thick skull of his, but even that seemed like a lot of effort for a minimal reward in this case. He'd always been shit at comforting people, although never this shit, and he had an awful feeling that he was just going to make Missa worse. He hadn't even raised his voice really and the other still looked like Phil was going to eat him right then and there.

Phil sighed, his breath disturbing the clouds of steam that surrounded him.

He didn't want to get out yet, knowing the person that was likely still waiting for him. If he was lucky then Missa was already asleep, but luck wasn't the god that favored him most of the time, he'd found.

He stayed under the spray for a few more minutes, just for good measure, before he shut the water off and shook his wings free of a good portion of the water before he reached for a towel. He looked over himself, noting the few nicks and scratches that still remained before shrugging them off. Nothing he needed to worry about. The potion had done most of the work and a little sleep would probably take care of whatever was left, so long as the wither effect he'd gotten wasn't too bad. He dressed quickly, raking his hair away from his face before rubbing over the scruff that was quickly turning into a proper beard. He’d have to have Cellbit help him with that again, and hopefully soon..

He tugged lightly on his emerald earring, just to remind himself that it was still there, then tossed his hair in a loose ponytail.

Missa was still sat on the bed when he finally left the bathroom, just as Phil had feared, eerily still and distant. He was almost convinced that Missa didn't blink either, before he reminded himself not to just stare.

He cleared his throat, and Missa tilted his head towards Phil, still keeping it lowered demurely. Baby steps, he reminded himself, even had his hand crushed the fabric of his towel between his fingers. "Shower's free if you want it? I should have another set of clothes in here you can use- those things they put you into do not look comfortable mate, to be honest. Just head straight to bed when you're done, alright? I have training in the morning, and then we can have breakfast and go from there, alright? Should give us plenty of time to ourselves."

And hopefully enough time for Phil to figure out what the hell to do with him, though he definitely didn't say that aloud. The poor guy was probably already going through enough.

He ushered Missa through the door, shortly but succinctly explained to him how the knobs worked, and then left him to it.

The room he'd been given was far more extravagant than the room he'd had before, but it made sense- what things he'd seen get passed off from Etoiles were always flashier than Phil and Cellbit's. It was probably the room they gave to the winner, though it seemed as though the employees would die if they were forced to explain themselves even once. It made living in this hell that much harder, but there wasn't much they could do about it. There weren't a lot of extra things that could be passed off- just blankets and pillows, which they already should have, new torches to rip apart, which was better than nothing at least. Carre would be back to pick up his food, and he should be able to pass at least some of it back to the others without being caught.

Or 'caught', as it were. These fuckers seemed to only enact punishments when it served them in some way.

He went through the dressers, where all his clothes had been placed, all still neatly folded like they had been last time Phil had seen them, albeit in his old room. He really didn't want to run the risk of being woken up by a snowstorm in the middle of the night, so he made sure the fire was properly built up and stoked, tossing a few more logs on for good measure. He would have to wake periodically throughout the night just to keep on top of it, but he was used to that by now.

He just hoped he'd be able to get Missa to the fire before the cold could get to him- maybe it would be better to have Missa just sleep in front of the fire for the first couple nights, actually. Might be safer in the long run, even if it felt a little... degrading.

Phil grimaced at himself, looking down at the clothes he had in his hands.

Would it be better if Phil also slept on the floor? Just so he didn't get the wrong idea? It would be weird if he tried to explain that sometimes this desert biome they were stuck in sometimes had freak snowstorms every few days, right? Fuck, he should probably just explain that this whole place was kind of weird in a 'constantly tries to kill you' way before a disaster actually happens, right? It'd freaked Phil out when he'd first got hit with a sudden intense hunger and thirst, or when the atmosphere shifted just enough that the sun was suddenly hot enough to send what little foliage there was ablaze.

Gods, he needed to procure an entire second set of emergency gear for Missa too- and ask Cellbit if he'd done the same for the guy he'd been given.

He took in a breath to steady himself before he could panic further. One step at a time.

Missa was fed and should be done with the shower soon, and Phil already had clothes for him, so that at least was taken care of. He sorted through his inventory full of items, most of which was already well-used equipment from previous disasters, things that would last at least one more hit before they needed to be either replaced or repaired. He wouldn't need to worry about the acid rain, because Missa probably wasn't going to go outside- oh, but what if he did? Better to give him an umbrella just in case. They didn't last nearly as long as they needed to, but it might be enough for Missa to at least get to cover. He didn't have another portable campfire though-

The door to the bathroom clicked open, fully derailing Phil's panicked worries. Missa was poking his head nervously into the room when Phil turned to look, and even from across the room he could see how the robe Phil had given him was a little too big- or rather it was more like Missa was just thinner than he'd thought. Thankfully Phil was typically well-fed enough that Missa might be able to gain some weight after a while, though he did worry a bit about what that might mean for the others. Then he forced himself to shake the thought off- it wasn't like he was the only one being fed enough to share.

"Hey, mate. Feelin' better?" He asked, a little caught on whether or not he should get closer. Would that make Missa nervous? He knew that Cellbit didn't like anyone approaching him from behind, but that didn't necessarily mean that Missa- he was spiraling again. He stayed where he was, just in case. "I uh, have a few things I need to talk to you about. This place is a little fucked up, so it'll be better for me to give you some stuff before anything really bad happens, because the health care around here kind of sucks ass, if you know what I mean."

By Missa's expression it didn't seem like he did know what Phil meant but... well, he was bound to learn sooner or later, even if the thought saddened Phil. 'Fucked up' was sure a light way to put it.

Still, Missa came over when Phil beckoned him, and sat on the couch where Phil gestured, his back completely, almost unnaturally straight, his hands folded in his lap like he was some kind of doll. Which Phil was going to ignore for now, because imminent disasters were a little more pressing. He swallowed down the sick feeling in his chest and sat himself down opposite of Missa, folding his hands out in front of him as he searched for a good, semi-calm way to broach the subject.

"So uh, again, this place is kinda completely fucked, and there are a few disasters that happen. You know how we're in a desert right now?" Missa nodded. "Right, well sometimes we still get freak snowstorms that just come out of fucking nowhere. And then sometimes we get just a cloud of poisonous gas that blows into the area that we have to wear gas masks to avoid, or floods, or acid rain or-"

"Uhm..." Missa said, his voice hoarse and shaky and scared, and yeah it might've been the appropriate reaction to the news, Phil still felt fucking bad about it. "I don't..."

"It's okay, though!" Phil rushed to add before Missa had the chance to really panic, dipping his fingers into his inventory and pulling out a few of his extra items. "We have some stuff to circumvent that kind of thing- well, not so much the earthquakes, but we have like gas masks and umbrellas, and other stuff that can kind of help a bit. It's not much, but it should tide you over until we can get you your own stuff tomorrow."

Missa looked thoroughly overwhelmed with the amount of stuff Phil was suddenly dumping on him, but it was another one of those necessary evils. The look didn't go away as Phil spent the next twenty minutes trying to efficiently summarize the bullshit that was likely to either wake them up in the middle of the night or greet them in the morning, but Missa didn't say anything either. He nodded when Phil asked if he thought he got it, even though his expression was less than convincing, but most of the stuff was pretty self-explanatory, right? Sudden cold front that rapidly turns into an outright blizzard? Just bundle up as best he could a hop in front of the fire, easy.

If they got lucky then the worst thing that would befall them was dehydration or hunger. Even burning sun wouldn't be that bad- Phil was pretty sure the sun hat was the least confusing item of the bunch. That and the fucking nerve gas or whatever it was that fucked with their limbs seemed to be the most common, so- It was probably just his head anyways, blowing things way out of proportion again. Even if that kind of worry had served him well, the last thing he wanted to do was scare Missa even more.

The entire spiel was at the very least enough to ease Phil's worries so that the silence that fell between them felt awkward and cumbersome again. But it was also late, and he knew if he was tired MIssa probably was as well.

"But, uh, anyways." Phil coughed awkwardly, standing as Missa tucked the last of the gear into his own inventory and quickly stood with Phil. He gestured Missa to the bed, then remembered that he needed to use his words here, especially about that, so he clarified. "You take the bed and I'll just sleep on the couch, alright? I'll go over stuff in the morning when we're both awake."

"Yes Philza." Missa murmured, confusion still set in the lines of his face, but it was both a relief and a stone in Phil's stomach that he didn't question it further. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Missa gingerly laid himself down on the bed, over top of the blankets and everything, looking viscerally uncomfortable, but Phil wasn't sure there was much he could do about that. He busied himself with making up the couch to sleep- too long and narrow for anything close to a nest, but he was used to that by now, after years of having to make do. His wings were going to be the most irritating part of it, eventually hanging off the side limply in a way that would result in them being uncomfortably twinged when he woke up.

Ah well. It wasn't like they were much use as they were anyways.

He caught the sound of something outside his window, or more specifically on the new fancy balcony this room had. The curtains were drawn, so he couldn't make out who it was, but he already knew without looking. It seemed as though Missa had heard as well, his entire body stiff with obvious fear. His eyes fixed on Phil as he drew close, and Phil awkwardly patted his knee as he passed the bed on the way to the glass doors, pressing a finger to his lips and doing his best to convey calm.

He opened the door slowly, glancing towards the door behind him, but there were no sounds from the hallway. He shot Missa one last look before he slipped outside, letting the door click softly shut behind him.

Etoiles was already there, lounging again the railing like the fucking show off he was, and in an instant that frustration and anger he'd felt after that first match came boiling up again, and his fists clenched where they rested at his sides.

"Fucker." Phil spat through gritted teeth, gripping him by the shoulder and shoving him up against the nearest wall. Etoiles went with no fight, smirking up at Phil with all the smugness in the world. "You fucking knew we'd be getting prizes today, didn't you? Is that why you threw that fight?"

"Wha- Phil!" Etoiles said with exaggerated indignation, which really could’ve meant anything, knowing Etoiles. "Do you think I would throw a fight, man? After being so generously told we would be receiving what the Observer thinks is a great prize? I would never."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Phil said flatly, taking a step back just to rub a hand over his eyes. Etoiles' hand came up to pat him on the arm in a sort of pitying way, though it did little to budge the yawning hole of guilt and dread that opened up in his chest as he remembered his situation for what it was. "Why? Why would they think that this is a fucking good idea? We've been fucking fine, I don't-"

"You are questioning a mad man, Philza." Etoiles said, point blank, and Phil had to concede to that. These fuckers never made any fucking sense. "They like playing with us, yes? It's that."

And Phil knew that too, knew on an intellectual level that messing with them and playing mind games was the only way the fucking Observer and his underlings seemed to get off. But he could still see the submissive posture, Missa's dark, scared eyes, could hear the fucking Observer's voice in his head. 'Pick his gift.'

His face scrunched in disgust, and he released Etoiles who rolled his shoulder gingerly.

Oh fuck-

"Fuck me, mate, I'm sorry." Phil blurted, suddenly remembering the injuries Etoiles was still likely nursing. He put his hands on Etoiles' shoulders to gently shift him to get a better look and hissed in sympathy, the wounds still raw and red, clotted with time but not much else. He hadn't even put bandages on yet. "Lemme take care of this alright? Fuck-"

"No thank you." Etoiles said primly, but he was watching Phil with a calculating look in his eyes, something sad in his expression. "But does this mean I have your forgiveness, Philza? My bro? I don't want you to be sad."

"Not much you can do there." Phil huffed, dismissive as he shooed Etoiles towards the side wall. Better not to get caught having left his room if he could help it, though he was definitely willing to tank a punishment just to make sure Etoiles was taken care of. Another drop in the ocean, really. They could only do so much to mitigate. "It's just a shit situation, mate."

"True. But I will say that it was a joke Phil. I uh, didn't want to lose that fight, really, but I'm starting to play a game I have never played before, I think. You might have to take some wins from me, my captain." Etoiles sighed, effortlessly dodging Phil's attempts to prod him along. He sent a sidelong glance off the edge of the balcony, but the courtyard was empty save for the cameras in the far corners, constantly on a swivel. Hit or miss whether or not they were being watched, mostly to keep up the paranoia, but Etoiles wasn't afraid of taking these kinds of risks. "Though maybe it is better for you and Cellbit to take this L, Phil. I am not a people person, as you know."

"Now you're just fucking lying." Phil laughed, but that in itself was a joke. No one talked about it, but Cellbit had the kind of background that made him uniquely aware of the kind of things both Missa and the man Cellbit had been given had gone through. He would probably know what to say better than Phil would, but definitely better than Etoiles. Phil imagined Etoiles being handed Missa and cringed a bit- the man's enthusiasm would overwhelm Missa immediately, he could already see it. "But I don't fucking know what I'm doing here, man. You guys put way too much faith in me."

"Nooo Phil, we always put the exact right amount of faith in you, which is 100%." Etoiles groaned at him, punching him lightly in the side as if to punctuate his point. Phil caught his fist on his forearm, and his eyes lit up in an instant. "PvP check?"

"No?? What the fuck Etoiles, you're still hurt?" Phil sputtered, his laugh wheezing out of him. He shoved at Etoiles again, harder this time, fully ignoring the man's puppy dog eyes. "Go. Patch yourself up before you get infected. And send Foolish this way if you see him. They set me up with a new room, so I'll try to smuggle some stuff down to the others."

"Fine, fine, Phil, I'm going." Etoiles sighed, waving halfheartedly behind as he went, finally, throwing his legs over the railing. He caught himself on the other side to look back at Philza, like it was some kind of romantic parting from a couples secret rendezvous. Etoiles would be dramatic enough to pull that shit. "I hope I will die of heartbreak on the way there, Philza."

"Oh, shut up, you're fine." Phil laughed again, waving back before he glanced at the door to his new room.

Where Missa was still waiting.

Fuck him.

This night was going to be a lot longer than he'd thought, he just knew it.

Missa was facing him when he finally scrounged up the courage to go back inside, his exhaustion getting the better of him as the chilly desert night air nipped at his skin through his thin robe. Thankfully the inside was still warm, the fire he'd built doing it's job.

"Just a friend mate." He murmured quietly to Missa, tugging his robe closer around himself as he made his way to his couch-bed. "Nothing to worry about. Just get some sleep."

Missa obediently closed his eyes, and Phil made his way to the little corner table that had been shoved up against the wall. There was a vase of some strange almost skeletal looking plants and some candelabras that he swiftly nicked the wax from, but he set them all aside and pulled out his own candle, speckled with plant material he’d picked up around the place, and a single stalk of wheat.

He lit the candle and set the wheat before it, closing his eyes for a moment as he offered a prayer to Rose. It was brief, an impression of a question and a swelling of gratitude before he blew out the flame and settled himself as best he could on the narrow couch. Despite his worries, it took him very little time to fall asleep, but his dreams were dark, whispy things, and when he woke he found he felt no more rested than when he'd gone to bed the night before.

Chapter Text

Waking had always been a quick and quiet affair for Phil, especially after those few months he'd spent sharing a bunk with the rest of his group.

Cellbit and Etoiles were both incredibly light sleepers, just like Phil himself, so he'd gotten very good about tiptoeing around his room while getting ready. Missa was still sound asleep when Phil slipped out, having curled himself into a little ball on top of the comforter sometime during the night, still looking horribly uncomfortable.

He'd hovered a hand over Missa's shoulder for a minute, debating on whether or not to just wake him anyways; training was a mandatory practice for all gladiators, one he'd be punished for missing, but it also involved fighting and... Well. Missa was already scared enough, and Phil was a little nervous himself to expose Missa to fights that up close and personal so soon. The thought of a disaster nagged at him, but the worst of them wouldn't even permeate the building they were safely tucked in, and Phil would only be gone for an hour or so besides...

He tossed a few more logs onto the coals, making sure they caught a blaze before he finally headed towards the door, just in case.

The two employees stationed outside his room followed him on his way down the hall, as per usual. They were rarely, if ever allowed to wander unsupervised. Typically it was only in emergency situations, though even then it was more due to Phil ducking his 'guards' in the midst of the chaos, but he always did his best to make the most of the limited freedom.

It was a short trek to the training room, where the employees peeled off from there, standing guard outside the room to let the gladiators do their work.

The training room wasn't as empty as he thought it might be, at this point in the morning. Etoiles should already be done with his routine, having made it his thing to be up when the sun was to train. Cellbit normally took a little longer to get himself together, too busy worrying about the internal workings of this place and how the employees worked. He was going to drive himself crazy one of these days, Phil was sure, But it hadn't happened just yet. However, just as sunlight was starting to come in from the windows overlooking the vast biomes that surrounded their desert, both of them were present, as well as a third person- the man that had been gifted to Cellbit yesterday.

He looked much better now, confident as his hands gripped the sword he was holding, his hair held out of his face by a bandana, and thought his smile was a little nervous, he was smiling.

He looked much better off than Missa had, that was for sure. He couldn't help the aching little pang that settled in his chest at the thought.

Etoiles noticed him first, and dropped his own sword to his side to wave, drawing the other two's eyes to him as well.

"Good morning my bro!" Etoiles shouted, sounding like nothing had happened the day before. He didn't wince as he raised his arm, which settled the little bit of background worry Phil had been carrying. Logically Etoiles was a grown man who knew how to take care of himself, same as Phil, but he couldn't help worry sometimes. He bumped forearms with him as he approached, and Cellbit was smiling at him still friendly, though a little brittle as he glanced over towards his 'gift', who in turn looked even more nervous the second he'd realized Phil was there. "This is Roier! He is so cracked at PvP man, he is insane!"

"Oh no, another partner to spar with." Phil laughed as he exchanged a fond glance with Cellbit. "Try to get some sleep in between, yeah mate?"

"Oohhh, Phil, but sleep is so boring." Etoiles protested loudly, making them all laugh. "You just lay down for hours and hours when you could be fighting instead. Stick fight me Phil? Please? I want to show Roier how training works so he can see how little I care if he beats the shit out of me."

"We might do that later Etoiles." Cellbit cut in before Phil could respond, stepping closer to Roier who had gotten a vacant expression on his face, his mouth a thin line. "He's still not used to how this place works, alright? You need to be easy on him."

"Of course, of course. Do you think me and Phil can still fight though, or- Ah, Phil? Where is your man? Still sleeping?"

"Don't just call him 'my man'," Phil laughed, a little awkwardly as he shook his head, stretching his hands high above his head. "His name's Missa. I don't know if he's asleep or not though. I figured he wouldn't want to hang out around here though- he seems a little skittish."

"It might be better if you take him with you anyways, Phil." Cellbit said after a pause, his expression serious. "Or just- don't leave him alone too long, you know? Better safe than sorry with that kind of thing."

"You think the Observer is going to try something?"

"I don't know. It's possible though, so we should be prepared for that. They gave us these people to 'use', right?" Roier didn't flinch like Phil did at the phrasing, a sour taste pooling on his tongue, but his face was still carefully blank. "We need to at least seem like that is what we're doing, otherwise they might try to interfere."

"Yeah, that's..." Phil hesitated, glanced at Roier again before glancing at the door he'd come in through. It made sense, followed the twisted kind of logic that the Observer and all his little underlings would use too, and every bone in Phil's bone knew that that was the exact sort of bullshit that they would pull trying to make this worse for everyone involved. But still... "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll just let him sleep today, and then... We'll figure it out from there."

Cellbit nodded, a knowing and sympathetic light in his eyes, before he turned to Roier again. "You want to go again? Or you can rest while I go a couple rounds with Etoiles or Phil here."

Roier slowly thawed into something a little more lively, that smile back on his mouth as he met Cellbit's eyes in a way that Missa didn't seem to be able to meet Phil's. He nodded, hefting his staff in his hands before adjusting his stance. He wielded his weapon like it was an extension of himself, and Cellbit's grin widened in excitement. Phil's attention was pulled away from the two by Etoiles though, still bouncing in place with enough enthusiasm that he didn't need to say anything to convey what he wanted. Phil laughed at him, shoving him away slightly.

"Lemme do my stretches, then we can go a few rounds, alright mate?"

"You are the best Phil. You are the goat, you are everything I need in life." Etoiles enthused, and Phil laughed again.

Training was easy, and even fun most days- Etoiles was enthusiastic, and though Cellbit sometimes got caught up in his head, they'd all known each other long enough to have a kind of method to deal with that on the days it got bad. He really missed when the others were in here as well, still having fun even if they clearly didn't know what they were doing. They'd been relegated to lower roles after the three of them were singled out for their combat prowess, which was for the better in the long term in a way. Less food and less luxuries because they couldn't bring in crowds like Phil, Etoiles, and Cellbit could, but they also weren't getting beaten into the ground again and again either, whipped again and again as they failed.

There was only so much they could do to help with that, especially since the more they fought, the more opportunities the Observer had to learn their individual weaknesses and exploit them. That last fight had been a messy one, intercut with another of the fucking disasters that plagued this place every now and again. He'd almost been convinced that they were going to lose Baghera, and nearly did if the volume of blood lost was anything to go by, but the Observer wasn't eager to lose his playthings it seemed.

So she didn't die, and had joined with the others once she was well enough.

Foolish had certainly gotten the better end of the deal, possessing very useful architectural knowledge while also belonging to the Observer. Saved the bastard from having to hire a new guy every time a disaster hit his little palace, and to make sure the entire area was structurally sound he got free reign of the place, so long as he had his assigned 'escorts' with him. He was kept in check by the fact that his closest friends lived under the same roof as the Observer and his lackeys did, but he was also the one that ran supplies from Phil, Cellbit, and Etoiles to everyone else the most, when he could manage it. Pros and cons, a little give and take where they could afford it.

It wasn't easy but they managed.

Phil caught the blade of Etoiles' training sword with his hilt, but was pushed back a bit in the process, just managing to keep himself from over-balancing. Etoiles didn't give him an inch, coming at him with blow after blow that shook through his hands and wrists, up until he managed to thread his blade around Phil's, hitching it on his pommel and twisting right out of Phil's hands. It flew to the side and Phil breathed a sigh, a little winded from the fight. Etoiles was grinning at him, teeth as brilliant a white as his shock of hair was, standing in contrast against his green skin, and held out a hand to shake.

"Good fight, Phil." He practically crooned, and Phil huffed a laugh at that, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Everything about fights with Etoiles felt familiar to him, in a grounding kind of way. It was nice after the stress of yesterday, Though he couldn’t help but feel that something was a little off today Etoiles was reacting a little slower, maybe, or his aim was just slightly off. It wasn’t enough to swing the odds in Phil’s favor, but it was certainly noticeable. He frowned a bit, looking Etoiles over, but he seemed fine, acting as he usually did.

Something else to keep an eye on, he supposed, though Etoiles was normally pretty good about keeping on top of his health.

Phil watched Roier and Cellbit's match out of the corner of his eye as he took a swig of water, noting that Roier was indeed holding his own. He even seemed to be beating Cellbit for a second, but then he visibly faltered and allowed himself to be beaten back. Better in the long run, considering the cameras they'd put up in this place and what the Observer did to his best fighters, but disheartening all the same. Having Roier go against Etoiles might be the only way to actually allow him to go all out if he could stand against Cellbit like that.

Etoiles hummed beside him, as if thinking something similar as he drank his own water, and Phil nudged him.

"Go again?"

Etoiles grinned at him, but it quickly faded into a frown as he took in a breath, lifting his head as he scented the air. A bad sign if Phil had ever seen it- Etoiles had always been a little more sensitive to airborne effects than everyone else. He dipped his fingers into his inventory to retrieve his gas mask on instinct, and was rewarded for it as Etoiles brought his out only a moment later, fitting it on before snapping his fingers at the other two.

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" He yelled, though his voice grew soft the second Roier froze, nearly getting knocked over as Cellbit jolted mid-swing. They both looked over just as the alarm blared overhead, confirmation of a toxic fog rolling into the area, and scrambled to put on their masks. Phil was quick to scoot over to Roier, and though he was relieved to find Roier had already been given a mask, it was clear he was struggling to put it on properly, his hands shaking as he struggled with the straps. Etoiles came over just as Cellbit adjusted his properly into place, taking it out of Roier's hands with a gentleness Phil hadn't seen him display outside of their group. "Here, here man, it's cool, you know? A little tricky but you are the best. You will be safe in no time."

Phil looked out towards the entrance, his own anxiety suddenly crawling up his throat. Despite his best efforts to warn Missa, the fact that it was a fog for their first disaster was really fucking stressful. Normally they'd celebrate something they'd decided tied them all together, yelling at each other through the masks and having as much fun as they could despite the circumstances, the sudden appearance of two people put everything in stark perspective. This shit had always been dangerous, but it felt even more so somehow now. He swallowed, tugging at his mask as the air steadily became more and more purple-tinged, before he decided 'fuck it.'

If they employees had an issue with him leaving before the alloted training time was up, then they could fuck right off. He would take a punishment if it meant making sure Missa was okay.

"You guys alright?" He asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet as both Cellbit and Etoiles were crowded around Roier, making sure the mask was properly in place. He waited just long enough for them to shout muffled affirmatives before he was out, pressing against the door. It slid open under his touch, much to his surprise, but he took off down the hallway before he could question it, his worries buzzing in his mind like flies around a corpse.

"Missa!" Phil yelled, trying to project loud enough to be heard around his mask. He could feel cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck as he ran through the halls- he'd explained some of this last night, but he knew as well as anyone that a simple explanation wasn't enough to really prepare someone for this. For the air growing sour and choking within seconds of taking your next breath, the poison purple of the gas making it almost impossible to see farther than a few feet in front of you as your watering eyes obscured the rest. He could hear coughing as he drew closer to his room, and his heart seized with worry. "Missa!"

He was half collapsed on the ground when Phil finally got close enough to actually see him through the haze, the mask on his face off-center and skewed enough the poison almost would've had the same effect if he hadn't worn it at all. Guilt gnawed in Phil's chest, but he set it aside for now, cupping Missa's face in his hands to tip his head up so Phil could get a better look. Missa's eyes were streaming with tears, his chest heaving with every breath and cough, and he briefly struggled against Phil's hold until he shouted again.

"Stop, mate, Imma fix it for you, just hold still!"

He didn't have the time to focus on just how eerily Missa stopped underneath his hands at the command, didn't have time to focus on his tone or his wording, but that was fine. He could worry about that when he was sure Missa was actually going to live through this. He wrenched the buckles free, probably accidentally pulling out some hair with it, but neither of them flinched. He adjusted the mask to sit across the bridge of Missa's nose, guiding the lip to sit just under his jaw, and then adjusting the lenses one at a time, like how they'd been stupidly designed. The fog wasn't any less present by the time he was done, and Phil grit his teeth under his own mask, frustrated.

Missa fell into him the second he tried to pull back, pressing his face uncomfortably against Phil's chest as he heaved with sobs, and Phil was gentle as he brought his arm over Missa's shoulders. Guilt was eating him up, worsened now by how scared Missa clearly was, clinging to his robes like he might disappear any second now. He rubbed his hands down Missa's back in an attempt to sooth him, patting him a bit when his sobs caught on a cough that sounded too painful and wet for Phil to be comfortable with.

He wouldn't be able to tell how long the filtration disk would last, and he didn't know if Missa was in the kind of state right now to tell for himself, and either way, they would have to go to the infirmary, to make sure Missa wouldn't suffer any long-term effects from breathing the gas in. Phil's heart sank at the thought- they sometimes, rarely, spared healing potions for the winners of tournaments. There was no way in hell they would give up something that expensive just for Missa.

Still though. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing.

"Come on, mate." He grunted as he tugged Missa up, hoisting his arm over Phil's shoulder to help walk him down the hall and ignoring the two employees that had followed closely behind him. It was slower going than he'd liked, but he didn't think he could push Missa any faster with how labored his breathing was, and save for maybe trying to carry him there wasn't a good alternative way of getting around this place. The hallway seemed to stretch out an impossible distance before them, and Missa's breathing wasn't going to get any easier, and so Phil stopped them just long enough to brace his arms behind Missa's knees before scooping him off his feet, hefting him a bit before taking off down the hallway again.

The infirmary was a big place, considering just how fucking easy it was to get hurt here. Beds lined the walls, piles of bandages and radiation medicine were laid out behind thick glass windows, away from the 'sinners' needy hands. He shoved the door open and laid Missa out on the nearest bed, moving to scrounge around the drawers for anything that might be able to help. It'd been a while since any of them had been inflicted with poisoning via toxic gas, having learned the hard way to keep themselves and each other safe since the employees and the Observer didn't seem to care enough to put in more effort than the bare minimum.

There was nothing though, not even a bottle of water, though that wouldn't be of much use until the fog cleared. Missa wouldn't die just yet, he was pretty sure- their was an amount of time a person could be exposed and not just fucking kick it, and if Missa was still alive then he was probably going to stay that way, but-

Well fuck him, he still felt bad. He wanted to do something, finding anything that might help ease Missa's discomfort a bit.

"Oh, Phil? What the heck are you doing here?" A cheerful and muffled voice came from behind him and Phil could've nearly collapsed at the amount of relief he felt turning around to face Foolish, standing in the threshold of the infirmary. He'd served double time as the resident doctor as well when it came to disasters, mostly out of default as he was the only one among them to had even half of an idea of how to perform surgery. (Phil was hesitant to call what Cellbit did surgery, but suffice it to say he was happy Foolish had taken up the mantle.)

"Foolish!" He greeted, unable to contain his excitement, and Foolish gave a little 'oh?' followed by a squeaky giggle, reaching out to pat Phil's shoulder. "Thank fuck you're here. Missa didn't know how to put on his mask correctly so he got a couple of lungfuls of poison in him, and I- I don't think he's going to die, but I wanted to be sure."

"Oooh, man." Foolish hummed, coming over to the bed where he'd spotted Missa laid out, leaning over him and taking his wrist in hand. "Uh. Hm. Well, if he's not dead yet then he'll probably be fine. We just gotta wait out the gas. Health potion might help? But uh, we still have to wait for the fog to clear up for that too. Man. I wish they'd just fucking seal this place up properly, but this fucking Observer guy is a cheapskate or something."

“Can’t say that’s a fucking surprise.” Phil sighed with no small amount of exasperation, though he was distracted by Foolish rifling through his clothes before he pulled out a little bottle of fluorescent pink liquid. Phil took it reverently- he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a potion with his own two hands. "Gods-damn, Foolish. You don't mind?"

"Hm?"

"Sharing a health pot?" Philza pressed, a little nervous. Those things were hard to come by, harder still if they were actually given and not just splashed over them, and who knew where Foolish had gotten his hands on one. He glanced to the far corner, where a camera was still on the swivel, the flashing red light above it like a beacon through the haze.

"Oh, I mean yeah. Anything for you, captain." Foolish said, lackadaisical and laughing again, and Phil shoved him at that with his own laugh.

"Shut, none of that. I haven't been your captain in a long time." He heaved a sigh, looking down at Missa's limp body. His eyes were squinted like he was doing his hardest to keep them open, and he felt a burst of crushing fondness for the gesture. "Still though. Thanks."

"Nah, it's no big deal. Agent 18 is pretty nice to me, so he gives me all kinds of free stuff. I don't know if I can give you the whole thing but, you know. A little is better than nothing at all!"

Phil kept himself from sneering at Agent 18’s name, but only just. That fucker had been bothering the lot of them basically the whole time they’d been here, though Foolish seemed to be the only one who could get on his good side. All Phil seemed to be good for there was pissing him off, but that went both ways, so eh.

"Anything would be better than not, so I appreciate it mate." He decided on.

"Yeah... Who is this guy anyways? I didn't know we were getting new people in." Foolish mused, dragging a chair from the desk and sitting in it backwards. He propped his chin on his crossed arms while Phil settled himself on the chair next to Missa's bed, his eyes drawn to how tightly he was gripping the sheets underneath him. Phil took Missa's hand in his own, threading their fingers together after feeling just how cold Missa's hand was. He didn't notice Foolish's raised eyebrows under his mask, but he did hear the sudden mischief in his tone, his voice pitched higher with his teasing. "Ooohoho, Our captain has finally found himself a little pal, huh? Took you long enough-"

"What the fuck." Phil wheezed, almost wishing they were closer so Phil could kick the chair right from under him. As it was he dug a stray stick from his inventory and tossed it at Foolish instead, who batted it away with a laugh. "Don't fucking say that. It's-"

He grew a little more solemn as he glanced down at Missa again, mouth twisting at the reminder of their situation. That Missa belonged to him now, to do with as he wished, no matter what either one of them wanted. There was a heavy weight that settled in Phil's chest at the thought, and he heaved a sigh through his mask, not sure how best to explain it.

"The fucking Observer gave him to me as a prize." he said finally. His voice was dower but Foolish wasn't the best at following along with the mood of the room at the best of times.

"Oh, niiiice." he said, and Phil could practically hear him grinning, and this time he stood up to smack at his arm, rolling his eyes with a tired laugh. "Oh, what? I just thought- you know, since you have him anyways..."

"Absolutely fucking not." Phil said flatly, and Foolish raised his hands in surrender, giving a little shrug. "I guess I should just be glad that you didn't win the tournament, huh?"

"Oh, well, I mean, I'd love to have a guy I could just boss around, but like... I don't know. I can get Slime or Jaiden to help me out if I need." Foolish shrugged again. "It's probably better that you ended up with him, I guess. You'll figure out what to do Phil. You're the captain after all."

Phil huffed a laugh at that, though it was half-hearted at best. The trust his friends had in him was gratifying, but also a little nerve wracking if he were being honest, and this incident had only made Phil feel worse about it. It didn't matter that Phil had tried his best to explain how things worked, or that he'd done the best he could considering he couldn't even remember the last time they'd been plagued with a toxic fog, because Missa had still gotten hurt. Because that fuck up was on Phil, no matter what the circumstances around the situation were, and it was his job to protect his people as best as he could.

He looked to Missa again, his face mostly obscured by the gas mask, his breathing labored for his exposure to the gas, and burned the sight into his mind.

He wouldn't let something like this happen again. Not if he could help it.

Missa had been fully convinced he had been about to die.

When the air had suddenly started to sting with every breath, when his vision turned purple at the edges, slowly becoming more saturated that longer it went on, and then the final blare of the alarm, loud enough that Missa had almost instantly gotten a headache from it- well, Philza had told him what to do, right? Missa could follow instructions when they were given, especially since Philza had made a point to lay everything out in almost excessive detail in Missa's mind. But following orders was something his whole life had depended on, something that had been ingrained into him for as long as he could remember.

But everything about this place was new and terrifying, and even when he'd done his best to put on the gas mask, to try and adjust it even as his hands shook with fear and adrenaline- every breath continued to burn.

He could practically feel his own health starting to slip away, wracked with coughs that nearly knocked him to his knees, his hands shaking for an entirely different reason now. He'd made it as far as the door before he collapsed, sobbing from fear and choking on his own breaths, both loud enough he'd entirely missed someone calling his name. And then rough, warm hands had bracketed his face, titling it up and pressing the mask into place, and even though Philza's face was obscured by his own gas mask, Missa knew it was him. He was still trembling as he foolishly clung to Philza's robes, to the warmth and solidity his body provided as Missa pressed himself closer, even knowing how improper and selfish it was of him.

He followed when Philza eventually dragged him up, the motion far more difficult than it should've been. By the time he'd struggled onto his feet he was out of breath, his throat burning with every gasp, his chest aching from a mixture of what he could only hope was made up of crying and coughing, and nothing else. Philza said something, he could feel it rumbling in his chest where they were still pressed together, but his brain felt like it'd been stuffed with cotton, everything distant and muffled in his ears. He allowed himself to be led, was vaguely aware of being lifted, carried and then laid out on a flat, comfortable surface. He felt weightless and floaty, any words spoken sounding like an unintelligible garbled mess, and then there was a hand in his that was holding onto him so tightly it might've hurt if his hands hadn't been so numb.

He squeezed the hand as best he could, and got a squeeze in return.

'Well.' He thought, and even that felt like it'd taken a gargantuan amount of effort to form in his head. 'At least I'm not alone.'

Chapter Text

Missa dreamed of noxious clouds of purple and woke to gleaming white, confused and in pain throughout every moment of both.

He was laying in an unfamiliar cot, the gas mask still pressing rather painfully into his face, with his right hand clammy with sweat as it was held. Held by Philza, for some inexplicable reason- the man was sitting beside the cot, head tilted up as he softly snored in his sleep. Missa winced at the position, then winced in pain as he attempted to shift himself upright, every muscle sore and shaky as he tried to support himself. They were in some kind of infirmary, everything a painful and almost inhumanly white, and out of the corner of his eye was a little paper cup, half filled with some kind of bright pink liquid.

A healing potion.

He bit his lip before nervously looking back towards Philza, most of his features obscured by the mask he wore, and he felt a twisting sort of admiration claw up through his chest. He wouldn't dare touch the potion on his own, not without permission, but the fact that he was here, that Philza was still here- Missa could feel tears welling his eyes under the mask and cursed himself for it. He tried again to push himself up, and this time his squeak of pain and shifting of the bed seemed to be enough to accidentally jolt Philza awake. He was on his feet in an instant, looking down at Missa with wide eyes before he seemed to shake himself out of his surprise. He sat down in his chair again, reaching out towards Missa before he pulled his hand back

"Missa!" He exclaimed, and the happiness in his voice made Missa's chest flutter a bit, his cheeks burn. He suddenly wished that Phil had touched his hand, or his arm, or- anything really. He gripped the sheets tightly in his hands to curb the stupid urge and ducked his head a little, remembering his manners. "You're awake! How do you feel? You inhaled a lot of the toxic gas, so you might have a hard time breathing for a bit, but-"

'I'm fine!' Is what Missa attempted to say, but the burning in his throat caught his voice and suddenly he was bowled over himself with coughs, feeling like he was hacking up a lung as he went. His eyes were really watering now, blurring his vision past the point of being able to make anything out as he struggled to get his breathing under control. There was pressure on the back of his head for a moment before his face was being tilted up with strong hands, cold air wafting over his face as his mask was removed. He immediately did his best to wipe his tears away as his face burned with mild embarrassment, taking a heaving breath as he slowly got his breathing somewhat under control.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, mate. Fuck me, lemme get this off you-" Philza soothed as he unlatched the strap of MIssa’s mask, gingerly removing it as Missa struggled to compose himself. But even beyond that he could feel the way he burned under the gentleness of Phil’s voice, of his hands where they were suddenly resting against Missa's back. Philza pressed further into Missa's space for one heart-seizing moment and came back with the little paper cup, the potion swishing luminously inside. "Here, drink this. It's not much, but it's the best we can do, alright?"

He hesitated before taking it, swirling it around as he glanced at Philza just to make sure that he was being absolutely, a hundred percent serious, and then downed it as Phil gave him a too-endearing smile. The tingling of the health potion almost seemed to blend into the little butterflies that had made their home in Missa's chest, soothing his burning throat even as his expression crumbled in disgust at the acidic sweetness. Philza laughed at him, which was gratifying enough that he could almost ignore everything else for a minute, and then Phil was pulling back to sit properly in his chair again, and Missa felt a little disappointed.

Which. Was bad.

He should not be disappointed that he was being given space here, especially in a room with a bed, clearly alone with the man who owned him. But even that thought sent a weird little thrill of excitement through Missa, which he then promptly shoved into a little box in the far corner of his mind, where it would hopefully stay.

"Better?" Phil asked, and Missa nodded shyly, rolling the cup between his hands in favor of making eye contact as guilt and dread rose up to replace his previous embarrassment. "That's good. I was fucking worried about you for a second there, mate. Fuck, I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner to help you, I didn't fucking think that we'd have the gas so soon, but-"

"No, no! It's my fault." Missa protested, shocked at how self-deprecating and woeful Phil suddenly sounded when he'd been laughing only a moment before. Missa didn't like it at all, especially when Philza shouldn't be the one apologizing here. "I should've listened to your instructions better and then you would've had to waste that health potion-"

"That wasn't a waste." Philza cut in, his tone firm and brooking no room for argument, and Missa crumpled under it a bit. "Fuck, I just- Look, I stand by what I said. It wasn't a fucking waste alright? You're a part of us now, and we bolas fucking stick together, alright? And that means sharing healing potions."

"...Bolas?" Missa giggled nervously, fully derailed, and Phil wheezed a laugh too, seemingly just as caught off guard as Missa felt.

"Sorry, sorry! Bet that fucking came out of no where- it's uh, a little hard to explain. Well, kind of. It's like a team name? For me and my mates, you know. Bolas rojas." Phil said, still struggling to keep a straight face as Missa mouthed the words 'bolas rojas' in a state of something close to awe at the fact that this was his life now. He hadn't thought it was especially strange up until now, if he was honest, but perhaps the ridiculousness was the point? I didn't seem like something Philza would be a part of, but what did Missa know, really? "It's... so you know the people I was fighting with? They're some of the bolas members. It was a name we came up as a group before we landed here, and now it kind of just means 'anyone who's not on the fucking Observer's side' you know?"

"O-oh." Missa said, still feeling at a bit of a loss, but Phil just waved it away.

"Anyways, we bolas fucking stick together, alright? And since you're a part of it now, that means we stick with you too, alright?"

Phil's expression was serious and set, his eyes a pretty blue that Missa somehow hadn't noticed before. Suddenly that little box in the back of his mind felt like it wasn’t near enough to contain the warmth of admiration in his chest as he averted his gaze, his face heating all over again. He pressed his hands to his face, almost afraid to name what was wrong with him, though he could already tell that it was bad. Phil made a concerned noise, pressing his wrist up against Missa's forehead for a moment.

"You sure you're feelin' alright, mate?" He asked, and Missa nodded furiously, trying again to shove the useless tangle of emotions down. it wouldn't do any good to wallow in emotions now, not here when he was a gift given to his master. He'd heard stories of slaves who got too attached to their masters, too devoted, too willing to please, and how easily they were taken advantage of and discarded. Philza tried so hard to put up a front, so hard to be kind- Missa didn't think he'd survive if that kindness suddenly turned sour and disparaging instead. Because who was Missa to feel like… this for a man like Philza?

Cowed by his own thoughts, Missa dropped his hands and nodded. It was true enough- physically at least he felt completely fine, well enough that Philza didn't have to waste his time fussing over him. Missa could kind of understand the sentiment, seeing as he was new, but it was better to act as normal as he could before Philza grew tired of worrying on his own. It was fine, because Missa had been doing this for almost as long as he could remember; he could play the part of a proper slave, or maybe even something different if Philza wanted.

When Phil removed his wrist the relief that Missa felt at the distance drowned out any disappointment he might've felt otherwise, and he clung to it.

Familiarity. He could do that. It's all he'd ever been doing.

Missa found that his legs were a little unsteady as he put weight on them, though he subtly tested them before he properly stood if only to ward off more of Philza's worry. He braced himself on the bed and locked his knees long enough to reassure Philza that he was all fine, and then braced himself against the wall when his back was turned. Thankfully the longer he stood the easier it became, and he found it was easy enough to keep up behind Philza, since that man already seemed to have slowed down a bit as he kept shooting glances back. The fluttering warmth in Missa's chest was summarily ignored in favor of the nervousness he felt as the two bear-eye things fell silently in line behind them both.

Missa kept his eyes frontward facing, but he couldn't shake the creeping feeling of being observed. Everything about the bear-things seemed creepy and off-pulling in a way that Missa hadn't experienced before, a kind of terror that was a far cry from his normal fear of reprimand. The walk back to Philza's room seemed terribly long, even as Missa found his footing along the way, but even when they reached the room proper Phil was stopped by a clawed hand on his shoulder that he quickly shrugged off.

"What?" He said flatly, sending a jolt of reflective fear through Missa, though he knew logically the tone wasn't directed towards him. The bear-guy scribbled something in a book and handed it over, the other quietly summoned what looked like a baton to their hand. Philza's feathers bristled threateningly as he glared at them both, snatching the book when it was offered and quickly looking it over. His face screwed up in clear frustration, and he glanced towards Missa quickly before tossing the book back to the bear, scoffing at them. "I know it's time for that shit, but Missa isn't going. He just fucking woke up from being poisoned, he's not going to do fucking manual labor after that."

Philza's voice was stern, no nonsense and clearly intended to not be argued with but the next book he received made his frown even more severe. Missa was tempted to look over Phil's shoulder, just to get some idea of what they were speaking of exactly, but he couldn't eavesdrop on a conversation so blatantly. He looked at the bear brandishing his weapon, and swallowed nervously. While Missa was very aware that Philza was his master, it was clear that Philza himself wasn't the highest authority here, though the fact that he seemed to be outranked even by the people guarding him felt a little strange. Missa had assumed the two bear-things were for his protection, but...

Philza sighed, snapping the book shut and casting an almost apologetic look to Missa before he gestured Missa inside.

"Let us get changed at least, we won't take long." He said, following after and letting the door shut behind them both before the bear even had a chance to respond. Missa stood awkwardly off to the side, still not sure what he was meant to be doing as Philza busied himself by going through his drawers. Missa was tossed a bundle of cloth that was revealed to be common clothes, already worn and stained as Philza pulled on his own set, tying up his blonde hair with a bit of string before he tossed his robe on the bed. He paused when he noticed Missa staring at him, and offered a huff of laughter. "Fuck, sorry- they want us to go do our turn in the fields today- I was trying to get them to leave you behind because your lungs are probably going to be fucked up for a bit, but they weren't having it."

"Oh." Missa said aloud, looking down at the clothes he'd been given again before tugging them on himself.

Philza handed him a straw hat with a half a smile that disappeared the second he opened the door, and then they were both out again, Philza taking the lead while they were backed by the two bear-things. The realization that they weren't actually for protection made Missa feel a little odd now, though he couldn't quite put a finger on why. What was their job then, if not to escort people place to place? He didn't know if he'd ever seen something like it outside of... well, outside of slave and livestock markets, where the owners didn't want their goods running off before they could be handed off, but that couldn't be right, could it?

He studied Philza again, his clipped wings held high, like he was used to their being more to support, his general attitude towards... everything so far. Missa didn't know if he was smart enough to draw a conclusion to all of it, but he did know that his chest hurt the longer he worried at the thought. Something about it was distinctly uncomfortable to him.

He jolted when Philza caught him staring, ducking his head as he gave a little squeak. Philza made a strange clicking sound, the hitch of his shoulder almost making it seem like he was laughing before he faced ahead again.

When they finally made their way outside, the blaze of red that made up the sky burning Missa's eyes something fierce after the never-ending white of the halls inside, it was clear why he'd been handed a hat. He was quick to put it on, and found that Philza had done the same, though he still shaded his eyes with one hand as he looked out towards the horizon in a gesture that was endearingly redundant. The heat was oppressive as it beat down on them, the sand beneath their feet reflecting the heat well enough that it seemed inescapable. Already Missa could feel the burn of dryness in his throat, could feel sweat gathering under the brim of his hat and against the back of his neck.

He hadn't done labor outdoors in a long time, and even then it had been nothing like this- the air there had been almost unbearably cold, and the work had done a lot to warm him. He was already dreading whatever they were meant to be doing out here, but kept his mouth shut. Complaining would do nothing to help here, especially when Philza was apparently also supposed to be doing work beside him. It would be strange to work alongside with the man who owned him, but he supposed if Philza was so adamant that Missa wouldn't assist him in the matters of the bedroom, he could at least do this. He had to, if only to not be seen as useless.

Being a useless slave was a death sentence in most cases, and he didn't dare assume this place was any different.

It was safe to say that Phil was fucking pissed.

He'd known, logically, the his opinion didn't mean shit to the employees of Purgatory, not when he was just another cog in the fucking machine they'd been curating before Phil's time, but still. He didn't fucking think they'd force Missa right out and into open field work- not after being caught up in the fog. And maybe part of that reasoning had come from the fact that Missa had been given to him, because as shitty as the whole situation was, he’d had some vague hope that at least meant he could spare Missa for the worst of life living under these fucker's thumbs.

But apparently not.

"If your concubine is well enough to leave the confines of the infirmary, then they are well enough to work as well. This is nonegotiable and failure to comply with result in punishments for both parties involved," the employee's book had read, and though it was inline with the way they'd always run things- sue him for fucking hoping!

He glowered at nothing as he led the way towards the fields, working his way through the courtyard as he slapped his straw hat onto his head, only slowing to make sure Missa had done the same. There was something strange about the atmosphere here, it made the sun feel that much more intense. Phil wasn't scientifically minded enough to know how it worked but he knew it had something to do with the atmosphere. There were times when the air shifted enough that anything the sun's light touched caught ablaze, when the air felt so thin you were convinced you were suffocating on nothing. He was glad he wouldn't have to worry so much about that particular issue today, as the employees had learned the hard way that trying to work burned slaves was less effective than letting them take an afternoon off or whatever, so he wasn't worried about that.

He was worried about Missa though, because even if the sun wasn't on the list of concerns, just about everything else was on the table.

He hadn't felt this stressed since that first week they'd arrived, when the landscape and its horrors felt so random and alien, where every disaster caught them off guard. It was a while ago now, and everyone had their own ways of figuring out how to deal, but they were self-sufficient enough that Phil could focus more on himself than everyone else for the last few months. And now Missa was here, just as new and scared as Phil and his group had been when they'd first arrived.

At least this time he wouldn't have to worry about Missa being put through the tournament grind- or at least, he hoped not. Patching up Jaiden, Charlie, and Baghera in those first few weeks had been some of the most disheartening, knowing there was nothing he could do to prevent the punishments they received from their perceived 'failings.' Carre still didn't speak much after his trip to solitary, and they all had scars from everything else.

He slowed a bit when he noticed Missa lagging a bit behind, heaving for breath, and Phil could only wince sympathetically. He might have to take the last place today, just to make sure Missa wasn't hurt any worse. Maybe he could ask Etoiles to escort Missa back- he sure as fuck didn't trust any of the employees to do it without pulling some shit.

"We're almost there, mate." Phil said, offering a brief pat to Missa's shoulder as he tried to wave Phil off, looking as nervous as he normally did. "Just over this next rise and then we can get you to work. A rhythm might help sort you out a bit."

The surrounding landscape was originally a desert as far as Phil could tell, surrounded by mountains from every side, but there were some sections less than a mile away that had been cultivated for farmland- a way to be somewhat self sufficient, he supposed, but it also doubled as a punishment for all the people the Observer had under his thumb. That and just general labor to inflict on people. Twice a week for champions and three for the ‘worthless', collecting resources for the good of Purgatory and all involved. He was honestly almost convinced that the Observer and his fucking lackeys didn't even need to eat, but forced them out into the fields just to fuck with them anyways.

Definitely wouldn't be the shadiest thing they'd done thus far, that was for sure.

He could see how the fields stretched out farther and farther as they finally crested the hill, and could already see the decent harvested patch where his group was working, slowly growing outwards from their starting points. Missa stopped where he had, a little more behind than beside, and looked over the fields with wide eyes.

"Wow. Do we have to do all of this?" He asked hesitantly, still very out of breath and Phil clicked his tongue, trying to estimate how much was left.

"Not all of it, but I'd say about halfway down to the farthest field or so? The rest will be collected on saturday, before the tournament, just to make sure everyone else is too tired to kick up much of a fuss." Phil explained, looking down at his friends as they worked.

Cellbit had his head down right alongside with Roier, Etoiles lingering close by as Baghera and Slime tossed sheafs of wheat at each other, laughing loud enough that Phil could hear them from the top of the hill. He grinned, horribly endeared by them and their stupid antics. Jaiden was taking a break off to the the side under one of the few trees that hadn't been cleared out, fanning herself with her hat as she laughed along with Bags and Charlie. Foolish was missing, but that wasn't out of the ordinary considering the job he'd been given- honestly if Phil had to guess he would say that Foolish was probably being forced to redo the air seal on all of the Observer's highest priority rooms, which was certainly worse in a lot of ways.

He sighed, then offered Missa another pat before he set off down the hill before the employees got impatient. At least this was familiar enough, being worked to the bone while surrounded by his people.

That in of itself was better than a lot of things, and he was still a little grateful for it, despite everything else.

Chapter Text

Jaiden was the first to notice them coming down the little footpath they'd sectioned out, apparently having taken a break from harvesting to wipe her forehead. She raised her hand to greet them, shouting, "Phil!" as she did. And then everyone else was joining in, lowering their various tools and bundles of crops and such as they all greeted Phil with various levels of enthusiasm, though they were all clearly happy to have him. He hated to worry them, which he probably had because the last time someone had been late they hadn't been seen until nearly a week later, badly hurt and nearly incoherent, but Phil was just grateful everyone else seemed to have made it on time.

Even Roier was there, in his own hat and ragged clothes, working very closely to Cellbit while the others surrounded them while also keeping a bit of distance. They were a curious bunch at the worst of times, but they listened to Cellbit almost better than they listened to Phil, and it was clear he didn't want to overwhelm Roier with the full force of everyone all at once.

An observation that suddenly made him all the more aware of Missa following at his back, and instinctively he raised his wings to provide a bit of a buffer as the others grew closer.

"Hey guys." He greeted bumping forearms with Charlie and Jaiden while Baghera tugged at the sleeve of his clothes, blubbering and near-tears in her over dramatic way. Cellbit was a few steps away but offered his own smile and wave while Etoiles looked torn between the two. "Sorry I'm late, but there was a bit of a situation that I needed to be taken care of-"

"Oh, we know all about situations, don't we Phil." Charlie said, elbowing him hard enough to knock him off balance as everyone laughed. "But I mean... look, we'd all understand if you gave into the call of the fog and took a few huffs, you know? There's no reason to be ashamed."

"Oh, of course not." Jaiden agreed easily, though she looked sly as she added, "But like, does this mean you're taking the punishment today? Because uh, we're already like halfway done."

"Oh, true. And I see you didn't even bring presents for us Philza." Baghera said with raised eyebrows, and Phil rubbed his face, guilt swamping him immediately. In the mess he'd totally forgotten the scrap he'd set aside. They had very limited times where they all got together, especially doing a job where they wouldn't be scanned for contraband prior. Tournament days always had too much security to smuggle bits and bobs, as the employees didn't want to run the risk of their paying customers getting hurt, but the employees didn't give that much of a shit about what they managed to smuggle out into the fields, so long as it wasn't so obtrusive they couldn't get away with the negligence. "That is very bad manners, you know? You have a better memory than a goldfish, so you have no excuse either."

"I'm sorry, Bags." he moaned. "Look, I- okay, I'll take the fall for today, but someone else has to take Missa back to my room, alright? I don't trust the employees to not pull some shit while I'm not looking."

"Smart." Cellbit nodded sagely, as Missa hesitantly tugged at the back of Phil's robe. He reached back to squeeze Missa's wrist briefly before he stepped aside, incorporating him into the circle they'd formed. The others hesitated a moment, for once clearly not sure what to say, but Cellbit stepped forward with a kind smile. "It's nice to meet you though, Missa. Sorry you're stuck here, but we bolas stick together."

"Oh, yes!" Baghera exclaimed, clapping her hands together as he bounced on the balls of her feet. "Are you going to bring him to initiation, Philza? Cellbit already said Roier was coming!"

"If- okay, I'll explain it and then if he yes it's cool then yes, I'll bring him." Phil said with a sigh, glancing back to where the employees were still keeping watch. They wouldn't directly interfere with them, which was one of the few nice things about working out in the fields, but they kept watch and tracked how much work was done by each. Whoever did the least was summarily punished, and if the field wasn't finished, then they all would feel it. He squinted out at the sun, which was about an hour or two from paralleling the westward star, and then started rolling his sleeves up.

Best to get it over with.

"Here Missa, they have some stuff for us." Phil directed, taking him over to the nearest chest. There were plenty of tools to be had, though all stone as to be mostly useless in any other situations. Phil got a little nervous as Missa took the handle of a sickle from his hand though, his grip practically projecting just how unfamiliar he was with it. Inexpirience paired with fucked up lungs... it might be hard for Phil to help make today's quota while also carrying the least- which might've even been the point of sending Missa out here with them. Those fuckers always took a mile when an inch would do, it seemed, and this was starting to prove as no exception. "Um, just gimme a sec and I'll show you how to use it, okay? It's not that hard, just try not to let it slip and accidentally cut yourself."

"Right." Missa said, clearly trying to at least sound more confident than he looked, which Phil appreciated more than he could say. Etoiles lingered nearby, occasionally glancing back as Phil led the way to an open section of the field that the others had left for him. He did his best to demonstrate the angle, how to keep it contained in its sheaf and then tie it off. It was something Phil had been doing even before he’d been brought to Purgatory, something he had to teach a few of the others when they'd arrived together, so he was patient in his instructions, even as Missa seemed more and more nervous everytime Phil gave him pointers. "This- Is this right? Sir?"

"Yeah! Seems sturdy enough." he exclaimed with a little extra enthusiasm, trying to reassure Missa indirectly. He hefted it in his hands, bounced a bit to make sure it held together and then tossed it onto the pile. "It's one of those things that'll get easier the more you do it, but that's pretty good for your first try! Here, you can do this patch and I'll just be right over here- there's water in the chest and if you get too hot or if it just gets too hard don't be afraid to take a break, alright?"

There was a part of Phil that was a little skeptical that Missa would heed that last part, as even members of his group seemed to have an issue knowing their limits sometimes, but he resolved to keep an eye out. It was part of his job as the quote-unquote 'leader', and the worrying part was one he had down pat. He turned to his own wheat patch and started methodically cutting through it with an almost mindless efficiency. Cellbit was on his left, and beyond him was Roier and Etoiles, in a similar way to Phil, though he doubted he was the only one who was worried about getting the rest of the field sorted out before sundown. If it wasn't Phil in charge then it was Cellbit or Etoiles, and most of the time it was enough to get one ahead of the employees and their stupid punishments.

If they could they would've tied this task too, try to play the system so no one was last, but there was some incalculable variable that the employees were primed to sus out, whether it was the amount of sheafs made, or the size of each one, or even by counting each fucking stalk of wheat that each person individually cut- Phil didn't know, but it was enough that there wasn't anyway to beat it, so trading off was the next best thing they could do.

"Captain." Etoiles said lightly, his head still down as he worked. Cellbit's ear twitched to show he was also listening, but kept his head down too. "May I ask what the 'situation' you ran into was? And can it be fixed by hitting it with a sword perhaps?"

Phil laughed, the lightness and levity that Etoiles always brought doing a lot of ease the ache of worry and guilt in his chest. He tied off another sheaf before tossing it onto the ground, starting a new pile that both Cellbit and Roier immediately added to, and then knocked elbows with Etoiles before shaking his head.

"Nah, nothing like that mate. I mean, if you want to try and throw a sword at the Observer's head then I wouldn't fucking stop you, but-"

"A sword Phil?" Etoiles said with offended incredulity, and Phil laughed. "Are you sure you are Philza Minecraft? He has played this game before and wouldn't say such stupid things."

"Bruh, you said a sword first- right, I'm not going to argue about this. It was just-" Phil hesitated, looking back to where Missa was working, lingering over his heaving chest as the guilt swept over him again. "I just- fucked up. I did a shit job explaining the masks and Missa inhaled some of the fog. I just- it feels like the fog never rolls in, you know? I was more worried about a fucking snowstorm or the acid rain, but- it doesn't fucking matter."

"Mano." Cellbit said, his voice flat, a complete denial of what Phil was saying, which he should've expected. They'd each had their turns with the downward spiral, the flux of depression that would reach up and grab at them with iron claws. There wasn't much they could do about it, but make sure they were never alone for as long as they could help it. "No way Phil, that's fucking stupid."

Phil almost laughed at that, at the bluntness. It sounded like something he would say, though that could be why Cellbit had said it like that.

"Everyone is allowed to make mistakes, captain." Etoiles said, his voice warm with sincerity as he lightly punched Phil's shoulder like he was trying to fight the sadness away. It would be a very Etoiles thing to do, and Phil couldn't help but smile at the thought. "It fucking sucks, yeah, but also you did your best, you know? There is so much that even the greatest of all time can forget somethings Phil, we all know this. And Missa is alive and kicking and being the goat at collecting the wheat. It will be fine, Phil."

"I know." He sighed, because it was true enough, even though he had to fight the urge to refute the praise. The fog wasn't deadly unless you marinated in it for too long, and while Phil had gotten there later than he would've liked, had missed the most basic fucking step in explaining that specific disaster- he didn't say it aloud though, knowing his friends would argue fruitlessly against his own anxieties, and the last thing anyone needed was him bringing the mood down. It was one of the few things they had to make it all at least a little bearable. "It's whatever, I guess. At least he doesn't have to go through that part of initiation now."

He said the last part as a joke, and laughed at it with everyone else, though the laughter died quickly for something more solemn. They worked in silence beside each other for a time, Phil keeping track of other people's piles as he worked a little slower than he normally would have to make up the difference. Since they'd gotten here late it was guaranteed to be either him or Missa on the line here for the end of shift, and if nothing else he was determined to make sure he did the least, even if he felt a little guilty not pulling his weight.

But that feeling was always present when it was his turn, when his normal workflow was disturbed in favor of taking on a different responsibility.

But speaking of that, though.

"How're things with Roier?" He murmured, sawing methodically through another fistful of wheat and tucking it under his arm. Cellbit didn't pause in his work, but Etoiles did, only for a moment, but enough that it was obvious to Phil. "If you've got any pointers, I'd love to have them, mate."

"I mean- " Cellbit hesitated, though his hands were steady as they went. He tossed another tied sheaf onto the pile behind them and sighed. "I don't know if they're similar enough to compare notes like that... well, maybe. Roier knows how to fight, too well for just a servant, so I thought that maybe he was in a pit like ours. He kicked my fucking ass when we got back to our room that first night, actually."

“Holy shit, really?” Phil blinked, utterly taken off guard by that. Cellbit wasn’t a slouch when it came to combat by any means- he fought with a ferocity that reminded Phil of an animal more often than a person, with a precision that had clearly come more from practice than anything taught. He wasn’t really someone who could be taken off-guard, or at least not easily.

"Would explain how much of a try-hard he is, yes?" Etoiles said, pointedly loud enough for Roier to hear, and he glanced over with two of his eight eyes, the other six still trained on his own working hands. "Yes, we are talking about you, pendejo."

"Etoiles-" Phil started, his heart leaping up to his throat at just how unexpectedly and unusually callous his friend was being, but Roier interrupted him smoothly.

"The only fucking try-hard I see here is you, pendejo."

"Wha!" Etoiles squawked, the noise bringing to mind a particularly offended seagull. Phil closed his mouth with a click, some part of him realizing it'd fallen open in his shock. "I cannot believe you would say this to me, Roier, my bro. You are so fucking toxic man, I cannot believe it."

"Oh, so he just-" Phil couldn’t finish for laughing, throwing his head back in delight. He'd been worried that Roier had been something closer to Missa, a person beaten down and clearly afraid of saying anything out of line. He'd never been so glad to be so fucking wrong in that regard.

"Calma, calma, Guapito." Cellbit said with his own laugh, playful in his way as he waved over to Roier, who promptly stuck his tongue out at Cellbit, though Phil did note the way two of his eyes skittered nervously towards the employees still holding vigil in the distance. "Yeah, it's- I told Roier how evil the Observer and his fucking minions are, you know? And that they’re in charge of us too, so we both need to be careful, and that lends... como se diz credibili- credibility, that's right. It lends us credibility and trust."

"I can fucking understand that." Phil said with no small amount of appreciation, and that made sense then, if Roier really had come from a background similar to what their own was now. There were more opportunities to beat the rules into gladiators than in regular servants- their group specifically was just lucky that the Observer seemed more interested in messing with them than using brute force to get them to obey. Phil offered a hand Roier’s way, which he took after a moment of hesitation. “It’s good to have you with us mate, even if it’s under shit circumstances.”

“Yeah… Phil? Felipe?”

“Either’s fine, mate.” Phil chuckled, the noise clicking in his throat, shaking the other’s hand once before going back to shearing wheat. "Yeah, I don't-"

He hesitated, looking over to where Missa was nervously but efficiently tying off his own sheaf, looking nervously between Baghera and Slime as they rattled back and forth at each other. It would probably just be better to just ask point blank, to just have Missa lay it all out there so Phil had at least some idea how to navigate... everything really. It felt like Phil was failing every conversation they had, like he fucked up every turning point that might've made Missa loosen up and trust that Phil wasn't going to hurt him.

He hated the feeling, and hated even more every single time he'd said something that caused Missa to visibly shutter himself away again.

He sighed, feeling fully out of his depth. "I don't know how to help him."

“Give him a weapon and let him kick your ass.” Etoiles suggested, his tone casual enough that it rode the line between a joke and a genuine suggestion. Phil laughed anyway, bumping elbows again, this time hard enough to make him rock to the side.

"I mean, I don't really know how to help Roier either." Cellbit said nonchalantly. "Just let him know he'd got us, I guess. Give him as much information as you can, explain as much as you can, and, you know. Be nice."

It sounded so simple when he said it like that. Phil laughed again, a little relieved to have some kind of instruction to follow there, a list that made sense, a list of things he could do, so he wasn't just shooting in the dark.

He looked over at Missa again, the determined glint in his eye that belied the meek slump of his shoulders, and felt himself settle into the idea.

This he could do. This way he could help.

"So... what does it meant to 'take punishment'?" Missa murmured hesitantly, looking over his shoulder at Phil. He was still speaking lowly to Cellbit, both of their faces close and concerned, and his heart jumped a little in his chest as Phil cast his gaze over him, eyes severe until he caught Missa looking back. He gave a little wave before Missa could drop his eyes, and Missa scrounged up a bit of courage to mimic the gesture. "You said it like... is that normal?"

"Oh, yes, very normal." Baghera nodded, and then gave a little sigh, straightening up as he wiped the sweat from her forehead. "They just like fucking with us here, you know? I normally like a little pain, but the way they do it is kind of inconsiderate- they only hurt us to hurt each other, see?"

She turned and hiked her shirt up, revealing scarring across her back and hips, wrapping halfway around her ribs as well. Both old and new, and Missa couldn't help but wince at the sight. He could vividly remember the first time he'd been whipped, as a punishment for some slight disobedience that he could no longer remember, but it'd been enough that he'd done everything he could not to feel that pain again.

"Oh, are we showing off our battle scars?" Slime- or Charlie?- called, already halfway through stripping down, and even half turned away, Missa could see his back was a similar tangle of scars as Baghera was. He tucked his hands close to his chest, a small noise escaping his mouth as Slime cheerfully showed them off. "I call 'em my tiger stripes, or something. Or maybe that's stretch marks? I don't fucking know."

"I think Cellbit's are tiger stripes, right?" Baghera said, her voice thick with amusement.

"Oh, yeah, cause he's a fucking cat-"

"I'm not a cat!" Cellbit yelled from his side of the field, making everyone else laugh.

But Missa was still stuck on their wounds, healed and faded as some of them were, remembering how bad his had been. A mixture of fear for himself and for these people made his gut ache with nausea as he worried at his lip.

"Do they still hurt?" He asked quietly, swallowing heavily as he turned back to the wheat to at the very least keep his hands busy. Baghera and Slime both looked a little thoughtful, though the second they looked at each other they broke out into giggles again. Baghera shrugged first.

"I mean, yeah of course they do, but we bolas. We suffer, you know?"

"Better to laugh than cry, right? Because then your bitch of a wife will start crying too, and then the sex kinda gets a little too wet and-" Slime cut himself off with a laugh as Phil suddenly appeared at his side, elbowing him in his ribs with his own snort of laughter. "What, what? Can't a man overshare in his own fields, Phil?"

"Can you guys fucking stop already." Phil said, still laughing as he reached over to offer Missa a pat on his shoulder. His hands were damp with sweat and a little firmer where they rested, but Missa couldn't help but lean into the touch a bit. "You're gonna fucking scare him off."

"I mean, better the sex be too wet than dry right?" Bagher said with her own laugh.

"Oh my god, you're so right Baghera. God, I don't think I could handle it if I fucking dried again. I think I might have to go back to Mariana if I get dry a single time- fucking, Phil do you think wet sex is like, the way to a toxic marriage? What would dry sex do?"

"What am I hearing?" Phil muttered to himself, staring down at the ground with wide eyes. "Can we not be talking about this please?"

"I think if sex is too dry then maybe you just don't love each other enough." Baghera poisited thoughtfully, with all the sincerity in the world. "Like, you get wet when you are attracted, right? or is it only when you're sad, Charlie?"

"I mean, I wouldn't say sadness is the emotion, it's more like... blind rage and lust and then water just starts pouring out of our eyes. And then we just start going for it." Charlie paused. "Man. I kind of miss it though."

"Wait, what're you guys talking about?" Cellbit asked as he wandered over, and Phil shook his head at him a little too late.

"Wet sex." Baghera and Charlie both replied in tandem, and Cellbit laughed in clear surprise, a little awkward as his eyebrows raised in disbelief.

"Uh, okay then. Um, how're you doing Missa? It's not too hard, right?"

"Oh." Missa said, having been completely lost in the back and forth. He looked down at his single handful of wheat and then back up to Cellbit, guilt swamping him. "I'm- of course not sir, sorry. I'll get back to work right away."

"No, no!" Cellbit said quickly, waving his hands slowly as if to wave Missa's words away. "I didn't mean it like that, it's just I know you breathed in some of the gas and I know that kind of makes it difficult to work, yeah? You can take breaks if you need, it's not a big deal."

"Oh..." Missa said slowly, brows furrowed, though he continued shearing through handfuls of wheat, just in case. He didn't know how to answer Cellbit, really. His lungs ached a little bit, worse now that he'd started gathering the wheat into a vague approximation of what Philza had shown him. But it wasn't so bad he couldn't keep working- that was definitely not an option. "I'm fine sir. Thank you for worrying."

"You don't gotta thank us for worrying about you, mate." Phil said, his voice strangely stressed as he said it.

"Yeah, it's natural you know? We worry about each other." Baghera grinned at him, shearing her own wheat to tuck under her arm and gently tugging it away from him to shape it better before she tossed it onto the pile behind them. "We bolas together."

And it was- maybe it was the sincerity in her voice, or the kindness he'd been shown since he'd been given to Philza, or maybe just a combination of so many little things that he couldn't hope to name, but he couldn't help but believe her. Believing that she really meant to include Missa among their numbers, as a person to worry over and laugh with and... he swallowed thickly, his eyes burning as his chest ached anew, though this time he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with the gas.

He wasn't sure what to say, what to do, how to express the welling of gratitude filling his chest and throat. And then Philza's hand was on his shoulder again, steady despite the roiling emotion in Missa's chest, and he took a breath.

Bolas. It was silly and strange and... his too now. Something he had in common with these kind, strange people.

He brushed the tips of his fingers over Philza's, dirt-caked and rough, but warm.

Chapter Text

There was something about harvesting that Phil had always found soothing.

It was rhythmic, old fashioned, and familiar down to his soul, mind numbing enough to take up space in his brain but far from mentally straining. The only shit thing about it was the fucking sun beating down over them and giving Phil a gods-awful sunburn, but that was more the fault of the Observer's choice of biome than the work itself.

He paused a bit, wiping the sweat from the bare parts of his face and then wringing the sash of his robe that he'd tied around his forehead. They were almost done now, the end of the field only a few feet away, and while Phil was dreading the coming punishment a bit, he more hoped that they'd get it over with quickly so he could just fucking go to bed. It had almost felt like this day wouldn't ever end.

"Etoiles, you still good to take Missa back to the room?" he called, and Etoiles tossed him a thumbs up from where he was downing a bottle of water, his expression blank with boredom. It'd be alright then- as much as Etoiles insisted he wasn't a people person he had an air about him that really drew people in, and an enthusiasm that was infectious to the nth degree. Missa couldn't be safer. "Thanks mate."

"You don't have to thank me for something so trivial, Philza." Etoiles groaned, flicking what little water was left in the bottle at him. Phil laughed, flicking one wing out to smack at his shoulder before he hefted his sickle and got back to work.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cellbit and Roier quietly talking amongst themselves, smiles lifting both their mouths as they tied off the last of their sheafs. Even Missa had loosened up some, smiling hesitantly at Charlie and Baghera's antics, and even exchanging a few words with them. He seemed to have finally gotten the hang of the work, tying off his own sheafs a little slower than the others, but they stayed in one piece and were big enough bundles that the employees wouldn't get after him for it.

He glanced at the piles Baghera, Charlie and Missa had made, trying to estimate how much he still had to do. Just on his own he hadn't done that much, but- fuck he should've had Missa make his own pile, just to make sure that Phil got the least done today. He glanced up towards the distant employees keeping watch, then shrugged, tossing his newest sheaf onto Missa, Baghera, and Charlie's pile. Neither of them commented, used to it already, and though Missa tossed him a quizzical glance, he remained silent as well.

The sun had just barely brushed the mountains in the distance when they finished, both Etoiles and Charlie pulling a little extra to make sure everything was done in time. It was closer to the wire than Phil liked, but so long as it was done then he wouldn't complain, since it was partly his fault in a sense. He doubted the others would see it that way, so he kept that bit to himself.

Everyone was gathering now, enjoying the last few minutes they'd have as group before they were all dragged off to their different quarters, and Phil smiled as Missa hesitantly took the space provided to him in the circle, looking at everyone with a brightness in his eyes that made something in Phil’s chest squeeze a bit, though in a good way.

An arm was slung over his shoulder, sending him a step forward, but Etoiles was more than strong enough to keep both their footing as he leaned a little closer into Phil's space, his lips brushing up against his ear.

"My bro, my captain, I thought you should know of something these putains de putes like to do to winners like you." Phil arched his brow, a little concerned at that because he couldn't remember hearing about anything besides the dinner party the Observer held two days before the next tournament. Which- fuck, he really needed to figure out what he was going to do with Missa in the during that whole thing- he might be able to shove him towards the kitchens for the evening or something, somewhere outside the Observer and the employee's usual stomping grounds. "Because they have no life and like to show off the things they stole they will probably walk you around to be looked at Phil."

"What the fuck does that mean?" Phil demanded as he turned to face Etoiles directly, his previous thoughts fully derailed. "Like, outside the party, or...?"

"Outside the party, yeah. They will probably come get you in the morning. It's really annoying you know, because they will say things like 'look nice' and 'be good' but I just want to hit things Phil. It's very annoying."

"Yeah, all you want to do is fight." Phil agreed absently, the playfulness in his tone more a reflex than anything else. But he didn't think he'd heard Etoiles mention them getting him in the morning before? Which was disconcerting in and of itself because Etoiles was a chronic complainer but he also had a martyr complex a mile wide. Phil eyed him suspiciously. "And why is it you're only telling me this now?"

"Phiiiiilll." Etoiles groaned, loud enough that everyone looked over towards them for a moment. "Can you just shut the fuck up man, I am trying to help you? Why are you asking questions Phil, can I not just help my bro? My petit frère, without all of this shit, man?"

"What the fuck?" Phil laughed, somehow both expecting such a reaction and being fully taken off-guard by it. "Wow, okay, I think we're going to have to have a talk about this later, Etoiles. You can't just fucking pull this shit with me and expect me to just let you fucking breeze right past it mate. Of fucking course I'm going to have questions??"

"You should just be normal Phil." Etoiles said, almost pouting in a way that drew a giggle out of Phil again, something Etoiles especially seemed skilled at. "You should just accept my help. Perhaps you have heard of this? Helping your friends? I hear it's something that many people do, Phil. Am I not allowed to help you?"

"I'm not saying that mate, I just-" Phil sighed, a smile still lifting the corners of his mouth as he knocked his head lightly against Etoiles shoulder. He was a stubborn fuck to put it lightly, but then again they all were- it was how they'd survived as long as they had out here, where everything seemed out to get them. But information was important to have, and they'd have time alone later. "Fuck it, what were you going to tell me?"

"Thank you Phil. So, as I was saying, they will probably come get you in the morning and show you off to many different people. They are all losers, Phil, so don't worry about them, but you will probably have to go to the party right after."

God. Cool, no time to destress from company then- it was something Phil could deal with if necessary, but he was already wincing at the thought of it. He was going to crash so hard afterwards, and he couldn't even imagine how bad it'd been for Etoiles. And that made the whole thing with Missa a little more complicated if he was going to have to be handed off and kept out of the employee's eyes for an entire day rather than just the single evening where most of the employees would be occupied rallying their guests anyways.

"Okay." Phil said, and then again, to solidify the schedule in his brain. "Okay. I might have you look after Missa then, if I can't get him to the kitchens, since Cellbit will be busy with Roier-"

"Phil!" Baghera called, hands cupped around her mouth as her whole body leaned forward. She waved them over once they were both looking in her direction, grinning eagerly as they wandered closer and then slinging an arm around Missa's neck, which made him squeak in clear surprise. A noise he seemed to make often, though Phil didn't know whether to find it endearing or sad. Maybe a bit of both. "Philza, you didn't tell us Missa knows how to sing. He has to come to our bolas party now, right?"

"Yeah, man, our duet was getting a little dry, but I think a third will moisten us up plenty, don't you think Baghera?" Charlie chimed in, and Phil rolled his eyes with an unwilling smile.

"Oh, yes. Being dry is very bad for singers, you know Philza? You wouldn't let us sing like that would you?"

They were both looking at him with wide eyes, and Phil laughed at them turning away to avoid their pleading gazes as they did their best to shuffle further and further into his line of sight. He could hear Cellbit and Jaiden laughing, and Etoile's breathless squeaks from behind him, and even Missa was smiling, albeit clearly nervous, but still there. Phil flashed him a smile, and his widened in response, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with it.

Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as Phil thought. Maybe just being in the presence of people who liked having him and didn't like bossing him around would be enough, for at least a little bit anyways.

"Fucking hell- it's not up to me, man! If Missa says it's okay, then it's fine by me, he doesn't have to have my permission." Phil said, shoving Charlie away as they both giggled madly.

"Yeah, he's not a dog." Cellbit said, crossing his arms over his chest as he squinted up at the employees, who were working their way down towards them. "If anything I'd say he's like a mouse or something."

"Por que?" Roier said, though his voice was more subdued than it had been earlier. He was also looking up towards the employees with an expression of apprehension,

"Oh, you know what? I can see it." Jaiden said, then laughed as she nudged Roier. "He kinda squeaks like one, just a little bit. it's kind of like when Cellbit meows, and then we all call him a cat."

"Ohhh, es verdad." Roier said, nodding his head sagely as Cellbit's tail puffed up a bit behind him, wagging in irritation. "El Gatinho."

"I'm not a cat!" Cellbit protested, his triangle ears angled back as he angled his head up and away, the very picture of snootiness. "Mano, I don't know where you get that from, but you should stop teaching Roier just obvious lies Jaiden."

"Oh, that's my bad." Jaiden apologized, her tone sly. "I was probably dreaming when I caught you rolling around in that catnip-"

"Yo, Cellbit, and you didn't even bring any to share?" Charlie said, his face crumpled in exaggerated disappointment as he slowly shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you man."

"What is more bolas than all getting high together?"

"That's what I'm saying!"

"Bro, it wasn't fucking catnip- mano, whatever man, I'm not going to argue with you guys."

"Oh, is it because you know you will lose?"

"No! I just-"

"Please line up." The robotic voice of one of the employees rang out, cutting their conversation short. Baghera and Cellbit both made faces at them, but they went all the same, clearly as visibly caught off guard as Phil felt when he noticed several actual guards among the employee's numbers. They weren't often used outside of tournament days, though they had been a constant presence when Phil and the rest of them had first arrived, indignant and scared and angry and everything else in between. They'd fought a lot in those early days, wasted a lot of time and energy pissing them off and getting hurt, before they learned it was better to keep their heads down, to learn more about this place and how it worked.

Most of the employees were nameless, their single eyes all the same as they stared, their reflective vests all identical, and similarly had the combined goal of keeping Phil and his under their thumb. Something like that was difficult to fight against outright, but they got away with small things when they could, bolstering their morale with every small act of rebellion.

Of course, barring the fact that the employees seemed to pride themselves on being indistinguishable, Phil could recognize Agent 18 and his stupid fucking fishnets anywhere.

Phil crossed his arms, sneering a bit to himself.

"Thank you for your efforts today, filthy sinners." The employee said, the name distorted and tonally disonante from the rest of the monotone. Phil could feel Missa jump beside him, and he rested one hand on the other's shoulder, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Your work has been calculated accordingly, wait one moment for the loser to be announced."

"Loser?" Missa breathed beside him, the fear in his voice plain as day. Phil could feel his chest ache a bit with it, and he saw that Cellbit and Baghera were looking over too, their eyes pitying and understanding all at once. Phil leaned into Missa a little bit as he gave Missa's shoulder a light squeeze.

"It's alright, mate." He murmured, eyes still tracking the guards who stood stock still behind the regular employees. There was something about all of this that struck Phil as odd, something suspicious about the whole situation, but so long as Etoiles kept on Missa, then it should be okay. "Just-"

"Consort Sinfonia has made the least progress today." The employee's robotic voice rang out, and Phil's heart stopped dead in his chest, a wave of dread so strong it made him dizzy sweeping down from the top of his head and spreading to his toes. He distantly felt Missa's shoulder hitch in fear against his palm, could see how his eyes widened in fear as he fixed his gaze on the ground, refusing to look at the employees or Phil. "And as such will receive just punishment. The rest of you are dismissed."

Missa let out a squeak, and the others around them were as silent as Phil was. For about a second, anyways.

"What the fuck? No!"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"This is rigged! You can't fucking do that!"

"You're not fucking taking him." Phil said, his voice colder and steely, a tone he hadn't heard from himself in a long time. He stepped forwards, wings spread out protectively as he gently nudged Missa behind him. He could feel the itch of every feather standing on end, could feel everyone else stand with him, their grips tightening on their sickles as they stared the guards down.

Because it was one thing when it was them, when they'd already bent their lives around this fucked up lifestyle as much as they could without breaking, without just fucking giving it up. They clung to their little riots, their meager protests, and it'd been enough for them then, but maybe it was just because it'd been a while since they pulled some bullshit like this, or maybe this was just the straw that broke the camel's back.

It was a useless battle, one they'd already fought countless times, but it was one they were willing to pitch again. "Not on your life, you fucking pricks."

Agent 18 already had his gun drawn and aimed directly at Phil, and the other guards were quickly following suit, but Phil and his weren't really ones for waiting for the other side to break the stalemate.

Cellbit jumped first, ducking low to catch the guards by surprise before he swept in, keeping low and swiping at their legs. Baghera and Etoiles weren't far behind, while Jaiden and Charlie bull rushed them straight on, yelling about as loud as their lungs would let them. Etoiles was beside Phil in an instant, helping him pull Missa off to the side as Agent 18 fired, before they were both swinging at the nearest employee.

Part of the reason most of their efforts at rebellion had been such shit was because it was clear that the employees were literally made of tougher stuff than any bolas member- their fur was deceptively soft but as Phil drove the curved point into the employee's shoulder, it hit something solid about an inch under the skin, the wound bloodless and near invisible the second they shoved Phil off. Etoiles had better luck, having carved the top part of the employee's forearm off and leaving it loose enough to reveal the strange bone white shell beneath it, but even then the employee didn't slow.

They pulled out their taser and fired, and Phil jerked away a little too late, catching one of the little strings on his arm. His grip spasmed as electricity shot up his arm, making his feathers bristle as he dropped his weapon. He groaned in both pain and irritation as he balled up his other hand and punched the employee as hard as he could, but Agent 18 was right there, pressing the barrel of his gun to Phil's shoulder and sending a bullet through the meat of it.

People were screaming, a cacophony of pain and fear and anger muddled into one single cry to combat the employee's eerie silence as they made quick work subduing the rest of them. A glancing blow of Charlie's forehead sent him to his knees were he was held, and Baghera was pulled off the guard she was viciously clawing at, thrown against the ground as she struggled fruitlessly. Cellbit and Etoiles lasted longer, but eventually they were shoved back by the employee's overwhelming numbers, and Cellbit had fixed himself stubbornly in front of both Roier and Missa, who both seemed frozen in fear at the fight that had just broken out.

Phil fell back onto his ass, pressing on hand to his shoulder to staunch the flow of blood as he snarled up at Agent 18, but he was already coming at Phil again, pressing his foot against the wound as he held Phil down, pinning his hand in place as Phil struggled in furious agony.

"Phil!" Etoiles shouted, holding off at least two employees as he tried to keep the off Jaiden, but he was as vulnerable to their guns as anyone else was, and he was shoved back as Jaiden was finally shoved to the ground and held there, his wings flapping franticly in an instinctive move to throw them off to no effect. Their sickles were confiscated quickly, even as they wrenched it out of Etoiles 'blood' soaked fingers as he backed away to stand beside Cellbit as best he could with a hole through his leg. "This is a fight we cannot win, my bro!"

"Get off me!" Phil growled, his own wings beating against the ground as his hands scrambled uselessly against Agent 18's leg. "Get off!"

"Please do not resist." The employees and guards said as one, an eerie echo that rang out louder than their collective cries. "Consort Sinfonia, please come with us to receive punishment. The rest of you are dismissed."

"Fuck off!" Phil yelled back, his voice weakened by how breathless he was. He could feel his fingers starting to tingle numb, and he knew his struggling probably hadn't been doing his wound any favors.

He could still hear the others yelling as they fought, and even knowing in his gut that this was over, that it'd been over before it even began, he threw himself up with a sudden burst of strength, knocking Agent 18 off balance enough to get himself up and back onto his feet, pressing back against the few others who were still standing. Etoiles' shoulder was steady against his own, and Cellbit rested on hand on Phil's other shoulder, holding his ribs with a heavy wince.

The guards were already pressing closer, having handed off Charlie, Bags, and Jaiden to the employees, their guns up and trained on them. Phil could feel his own helplessness welling up inside him, crawling up his throat and sitting sour on his tongue. Cellbit was grabbed first, wrestled to the ground as Roier flinched back and away, his eyes far away and his expression frozen in fear. They took advantage of their protectiveness of each other, using Phil's attempts to kick the guard off Cellbit as an opportunity to send him off balance.

His wings were wrenched back painfully as he was held down, but this time there was no leverage he could angle, no way he could wriggle out of the guard's hold, already breathless and injured.

"Consort Sinfonia, please come with us to receive your punishment." The employee's voice rang out loud and clear as Phil panted into the dirt, coughing and spitting the grit out of his mouth. He could see Missa being dragged off out of the corner of his eye, could hear the others shouting obscenities and curses after them, could hear Charlie desperately propositioning in an effort to get them to redirect their attention, but it didn't matter.

It never had.

It took a bit before any of them were let up, not until Missa was fully out of sight, and even then they held Phil down a little longer, until the others shoved them off and away. And the guards allowed that without any fuss, because of course they did, watching as Baghera and Etoiles helped Phil back onto his feet. Baghera clucked at Phil's wound while Etoiles kept one arm braced around Phil's back, both supportive and something else.

Phil snarled after the guard's retreating backs, clearly content to let the employees take care of the rest, following where Agent 18 was standing at attention at the top of the hill, and even though that fucker didn't have an eye to stare with, Phil could still feel his fucking gaze itching along his skin.

Etoiles caught him as he lunged forward, catching him before his first step forward even landed and holding him in place.

"Phil- Phil." Etoiles said, his voice insistent as he held Philza's shoulders, trying ineffectually to turn him away from where they'd taken Missa. "He'll be okay- it's his first punishment, and he's still hurt. They know that, okay? He's probably just going to solitary, he'll be okay."

And Phil knew what Etoiles meant by 'okay' in this context- of course solitary was better than the whipping post, but it was worse in different ways. A dark, cold and cramped space, where the only noise was the sound of your own breathing and the only thing you could see before your eyes started just making shit up was pitch black. He'd be there for hours too- Phil could remember his time in solitary with a horrible clarity. It'd been the first time in a year that he'd been convinced that the Ender king had found him again, the hallucinations and everything else along with it- it was too much like the end, just without the off-white end stone to break up the never-ending void.

Phil had thought he'd been losing his mind in those agonizing hours. And now Missa was in there.

Phil slumped against Etoiles, breathing heavily into his dirt-smeared shirt and shaking with what felt more like fear than rage. The urge to go back to his room and pray was insistent, but even that felt like a waste of time, when he could be doing... fuck. Nothing. There wasn't anything any of them could do about this.

Everything about this place had already made that incredibly clear.

They were only allowed to wait for a moment before the employees started pressing them to move again, deflecting the few potshots Charlie and Cellbit aimed at them without flinching as they corralled everyone. Etoiles helped Phil onto his feet, leaning against the other as they hobbled their way towards the building, their defeat tasting like ash on Phil's tongue, though it could've just been the dirt.

The sun was weaker behind the mountain peak, but it wouldn't be there for long, and they already had a ways to go.

Chapter Text

Missa thought he knew what solitary confinement meant.

It seemed pretty self explanatory for one, and his previous masters had used something similar in the past, though rarely on him. He didn't like the silence that came with it, and how much more intense everything felt afterwards. But it wasn't something outside of his limits, something he couldn't handle. Or he assumed as much anyways; the room that the bear-things brought him to was no bigger than a closet really, smooth metal walls and a solid metal door that opened smoothly on its hinges. Missa' steps hitched for a second before he was roughly guided inside, turned so he was facing out. One of the creatures, the one with weapons and no face at all, reached a hand towards him, the claws on each finger making him shrink back in fear.

But it just held Missa's chin and lifted his face to stare into the eerie blankness of its own for a moment, before it dropped its hold and the door was promptly shut in Missa's face.

Missa could feel cold metal at his back, and when he tried to stand upright, he could feel the door brush against his nose and chest as well, close enough that Missa could feel his chest constrict with panic. The door was seamless enough that no light came through what cracks there might've been, no noises greeted his ears except for his own heavy breathing, suddenly too loud in the small space. He forced himself to calm a bit, forced his breaths to even out. This was a punishment after all, they wouldn't kill him like this, surely.

Though Philza and the other people they'd been working with had resisted the bear-things before Missa had been taken, and it was very possible he was also being punished for that. It'd happened before- it was what slaves were good for, if nothing else- being the willing scapegoat for their master's failings. And there wasn't anything Missa could say about it either, then or now; he could only hope that he would be allowed to live after all was said and done.

But the more seconds ticked by, the more agonizing the time felt, the metal at his back and front and beneath his feet slowly but steadily leeching away his body heat as if he were surrounded by ice. He'd been convinced he would pass out from heat stroke or some such when he'd been working in the fields, but now here he was, shivering with cold what couldn't have been a half an hour later. His teeth chattered, a sound that vaguely echoed in his ears, and he tucked his arms as close to himself as he could manage.

He was torn between trying to stand straight and leaning against the walls to give him just a little bit more room, or at least the illusion of it. The shadows in front of his eyes seemed to squirm, sparking with iridescent colors when he shut his eyes as hard as he could. There were faces in the dark, impressions of empty eyes and gaping mouths in a nonexistent distance that dissolved the second his nose touched the door. His fingers and toes hurt with how cold they were, shivers wracking his whole body and making him all the more aware of just how small the space was. Time stretched endlessly before him, and the work he'd done before was beginning to weigh on him. He rested his forehead against the door, but standing as he was he could only get the barest shocks of sleep, conscious time and not bleeding into one another.

He’d always had nightmares, and even with sleep so fleeting it didn't seem to be any different, his thoughts muddled and confused enough that he was never sure when he was truly awake. Those wide eyes haunted him, the featureless faces of the warrior employees, the claws on each of their fingers, the images of the people getting cut down with brutal efficiency before his very eyes. He was always freezing, even when he dreamed of the burning sun hanging far in the distance, and his teeth ached with how much they chattered.

His mouth was dry, his stomach felt as though someone had filled it with spikes, every joint felt bruised and pained with every shift. The thought of being left here to rot was one that frightened him, but there was no leverage he could gain, nothing to grip, not room enough to slam against the door or walls for attention.

He couldn't even begin to guess how long it'd been when the employees finally came back, the light that was let in the second the door was pulled open leaving him a blind, squirming thing. His knees gave out from under him the second he didn't have the support to keep himself upright. He could hear himself whimpering as he was finally allowed to curl into a ball, the rough stone nearly unbearable as it scraped against his skin, the furred hands of the employees even more so. He was forced up, and then dragged when his legs wouldn't support him, their fur bristling and too-much against his arms. He couldn't open his eyes, his head felt too heavy to lift, his mouth parched and his stomach howling.

It'd been hours at least, perhaps a day, and while that wasn't the longest he'd spent in solitary before, it was by far the worst way he'd experienced that kind of punishment.

Missa didn't know exactly what these people thought solitary confinement meant, but it certainly wasn't that.

They paused, Missa jolting limply in their grasp as one of them moved away, though his blurred, watery vision couldn't make out much. He could see shadows deepen as the door whirred open, could see a green and blonde smear and hear a gutteral hiss that felt more animal than anything, and he flinched back instinctively. The noise stopped and then after a pause, a robotic voice piped up from beside Missa.

"Gladiator Philza." The voice was too loud like everything else was, and Missa let out an involuntary whimper as he turned his head away, trying to escape the noise as much as he could. His legs were still shaky and stiff, but he could at least keep them underneath him, still aching with cold. "Consort Sinfonia has served his time. We wish to remind you that the next punishment will be even more severe following any more failings."

"Yeah, I've fucking got it, alright?" Philza snapped, his anger as clear as day, and Missa wrestled with the urge to flinch back. He was in trouble, he already knew, though the circumstances around this situation still sent his head spinning. He'd turned it over in his head, trying to make sense of it all and coming up blank. But an angry master was familiar ground- Missa knew how to handle those, even if he didn't know how to handle an angry Philza specifically. He straightened his legs, trying to fight just how bad they were shaking under him as he at least tried to seem presentable. To have taken his punishment with a grace that represented his master. "Give him here."

The hands on Missa's arms didn't release though, their grip tightening enough that their claws caught terrifyingly on his skin, and Missa let out another involuntary squeak before he could stop himself. He blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear the smears from his vision only to be met with a very furious Philza, still within the threshold of his room, holding on to the sides of the door hard enough to slightly dent the metal frame beneath his claws. He didn't move, his eyes fixated on Missa- or rather, the grip that the employee had on Missa.

"... give him back. Please. Agent 18." Philza said slowly, pained, as if every word had to be forced out of Philza's mouth. Like he was an animal being taught restraint and good behaviors. A sight and scene that felt wrong in a way that Missa didn't even know how to begin trying to explain, but before he even had a chance he was released and lightly shoved into Philza, who quickly caught him and shuffled him quickly into the room, the door whirring loudly shut behind them both.

He shook involuntarily as Philza's hand brushed over his arms, the touch tingling and burning imprints into his skin as they went and suddenly his resolve to behave felt like it was dissolving into nothing as a great swell of emotion pushed painfully against his chest. His nose ached and his throat burned as tears sprang into his eyes, making it even harder to see as his shaking legs finally gave out from under him. Philza caught him with a strength that belied his stature, supporting him easily as he lowered Missa to the floor. He almost choked on how helpless he felt, his legs and arms trembling uselessly beside him as he laid, half slumped, in Philza's lap, his skin burning as warmth slowly soaked into his clothes.

He could feel his own panic rising up inside him all over again, even as he fought the urge to screw his eyes shut in instinctive fear- the memory of the dark was too near to ignore, the faces he saw...

Philza was saying something, his burning hands gripping Missa's upper arms, and Missa didn't think he'd ever been so aware of his own helplessness before, his limbs useless, his breath coming out in pathetic, wheezing gasps. His mind felt clumsy as he weakly clung to the warm folds of Philza's robe for dear life, knowing it wouldn't do any good if Philza wanted to have his way with him. His thoughts felt like a matted mess in his head, fear and resignation and hope and nausea- he wished Philza would just fuck him now, just to get it over with. He was scared that Philza really would, with Missa so helpless and limp. He knew that no matter what happened, nothing here had really changed.

The only thing he could do now was wait.

In Missa's mind it was almost like he was back with his last master, convinced that the hands still on him, brushing lightly through his hair, were either about to start hurting or wandering to places he didn't want anyone to touch, but... Philza's hands were hesitant, but they didn't move farther than Missa's shoulders, barely brushed the sides of his face. His voice was still distant and muddled, lost under the whine of panic still ringing in Missa's ears, but it was slowly coming back into focus, the more Missa allowed himself to relax, bit by bit, into Philza's hold.

"Shhhh, shh, you're alright mate, you're safe. I've got you." Philza murmured, his tone a strange mix of distant and desperate. The movement of his hands was so gentle that Missa almost forgot about the talons that tipped each of his fingers. Missa's eyes burned as his tears spilled over, his grip on Philza's clothes tightening despite knowing how foolish he was being, but Phil pressed against him too, lightly squeezing Missa's shoulders as a shudder ran through his useless, limp body. "You're fine, you're safe, you don't have to worry about those fuckers anymore-"

The rhythm of his voice, as confusing as it was, was consistent enough to be strangely soothing to Missa's ears. He still shook with cold, the grip it had on him bone-deep and inescapable, but Phil was warm, rubbing against him as if to share what he had with Missa in a gesture that was likely far more functional in reality than the dream Missa's mind briefly indulged in. His skin was slowly thawing from its numbness enough that Missa could actually feel the worn softness of Philza's robes, the plushness of the carpet they were both lying on.

He should get up, remove himself, stop being a nuisance, but he couldn't bring himself to do so, not as quiet sobs shook in his chest.

That place called solitary was nothing like what Missa knew. He’d never felt so weak and helpless before, never so drained and defeated- he’d been in for days before, and nothing, nothing had come close to feeling that awful.

He buried his face in Philza's lap, trying to hide and muffle the worst of his annoying little whimpers, and Philza graciously didn't shove Missa off of him immediately. Missa knew this was a dangerous game to play, testing Philza's patience like this, especially after... well, Missa still didn't know what to make of how everyone had seemed to fight against the bear-things, but he knew that he'd failed in the duties Philza had given him, hadn't kept up with the demands being made of him. The fact that Missa hadn't known there was such a demand didn't matter, nor that he was injured, nor that he had arrived latter than the others. All of those had been entirely his fault- he hadn't listened to Philza, hadn't followed his instructions, and his work had clearly been lacking enough to be punished.

It wouldn’t have been an out of place situation in any other new house, even if it was one that Missa typically did his best to avoid.

The main difference now, the thing making it irrationally difficult to pull himself back together was the shock of the newness, but also the strange... kindness that Philza was showing him. The same kindness he'd been extending to Missa the whole time, even after Missa proved time and again he wasn't worth the effort. It was scary, in a way that Missa didn't know how to describe.

Safety wasn't a luxury afforded to people like Missa, and yet here it was, even as he rested in the cradle of his master's arms.

And that was the thing that was scaring him the most right then, even as he couldn't untangle his hands from the soft folds of Philza's robes.

Missa didn't know how long it took for him to pull himself together, but he knew that it was too long, and that Philza had held him throughout. Missa struggled to get his legs underneath him and Philza was right there, shushing MIssa and even trying to coax Missa back into his lap, though that only lasted a second before he helped Missa lean back on his knees, his head still bowed low as he sniffed. He was still shaking, but warmth and feeling were both slowly coming back into his limbs. Against his better judgment he hooked one hand in the crook of Phil's arm, that little bit of deliberate touch anchoring him.

Phil, graciously, didn't remove Missa's hand.

"You okay, mate?" Phil murmured, as though Missa was asleep, and he felt like it a little bit, his throat sore and his head feeling as though it'd been stuffed with cotton. He nodded limply, even as he struggled to pull himself together. Philza hesitated a moment, his hand rubbing up and down Missa's arm in a soothing gesture that Missa felt stupidly, hopelessly grateful for, the force of the emotion making even more tears to his eyes. He tried to brush them away, even though there was no discreet way to do so, and Phil let out a sad sound. "Oh, mate, you're alright now, okay? I've- you're- you're safe now."

"T-Thank you, Philza." Missa managed through still-chattering teeth, swallowing thickly as he had his own moment of indecision, not wanting to dislodge the hold Philza had on him, but knowing he should. He needed to pull away, put some distance between them, even as a bigger, more scared part of him just wanted to sink into Philza's arms again. It was selfish, he reminded himself. He shouldn't rely on a man like Philza, who's kindness he'd already taken advantage of enough. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Don't fucking apologize!" Philza laughed incredulously, his eyebrows high as he heaved for breath, shaking his head in disbelief, and Missa flinched at his volume before he could catch himself, making regret flash across Philza's features. His grip on Missa loosened a bit, and he pulled away, though he was still quick to murmur the apologies and reassurances that felt so strange to hear, coming from a master's mouth. "I'm sorry, you're alright mate. I didn't mean anything by it, it's just... fuck me, you don't have anything to apologize for, alright? That was all my fault, not yours."

There wasn't a speck of impatience in Philza's features as he spoke, even if what he was saying was confusing, but he couldn't ponder on that too much, because suddenly Philza's hands were wandering, squeezing Missa’s fingers and trailing up his cheeks to rest against his forehead, a concerned furrow between his brows.

"You're still fucking freezing... A bath might help. You good If I let you sit for a second?" He asked, his voice a distant kind of quiet and Missa struggled for an appropriate answer, because Philza shouldn't be the one drawing Missa a bath. But everything else was just telling him to go along with whatever Philza wanted, to not inconvenience the man by taking up any more of his attention than he already had. He nodded, and Phil gingerly shifted him onto the carpet as he rose, quickly disappearing into the bathroom.

Missa let his head drop, his arms still shaking a bit where he was holding himself upright. He felt unnaturally exhausted, like someone had sucked all the strength right out of him. His eyes burned with his own tiredness as he angled his face away from the bright blaze of the fire, his mind swimming in abject bewilderment.

He didn't understand this place, these people, Philza. The bear things were proving to be the most familiar, even if their methods thus far were a little to the left of what Missa was used to. Outside of them though, everyone he'd met had been strange and loud and most of all unfailingly kind. To Missa, who had only met a few people who paid attention to him to offer kindness, and even fewer freed people.

The whine of the water pipes went silent as Missa did his best to pick apart everything that had happened thus far, trying to untangle it even while his fingers were still tingling numb.

Then Philza was back in the room proper, wiping excess water from his hands with a short towel and pausing just before he stood before Missa. He didn't raise his head to look, but he could feel Philza's eyes on him, considering.

"You think you can stand, mate?" he asked, and Missa felt dread rising in him again at the question, knowing from the exhaustion still lingering in his body alone that the answer was probably no, but he couldn't just say that. He leaned forward a little more, trying to brace his arms to push him more upright, but Philza was there before he could try, one solid arm wrapped around Missa's back and holding him in place. "Forget I fucking said anything, that was stupid of me. Up we go."

"I can-" Missa tried, his voice weak and strained with his own distress, with the overwhelming feeling of uselessness settling along his back like a wet, heavy blanket. He snapped his mouth shut as Philza lifted him onto his feet with ease, dipping his head again as his face burned.

Philza sounded... strained, stressed, angry enough that Missa didn't want to push any more than he already was just by existing.

Missa shuffled as quickly as he could beside Phil, the tile of the bathroom tacky with condensation as steam curled up from the bath's murky waters before leaving him to rest against the rim. Missa hesitated a moment when he remembered he needed to undress, nervously glancing at Phil who was grabbing some towels from the stack from their place on the shelf, before he tugged the sides of his borrowed robe loose. It hung off his frame even more obviously, and he let it slip off his shoulders, catching the fabric in his hands and folding it before setting it aside and doing the same with his borrowed pants. He did his best to subtly track Philza as he set the towels and a bundle of new clothes aside, and froze when Phil did, having caught sight of Missa.

He didn't say anything though. No reprimand or exclamation or anything, and Missa let himself incrementally relax up until Philza stepped towards him.

Old instincts kept his head bowed, though he felt irrationally aware of the hand Philza offered out towards him, his skin tingling where it might've made contact if Phil had moved a few inches closer. Missa took it with only a moment's hesitation, though he couldn't help the goosebumps that rippled over his skin at the contact. He was similarly aware of how naked he was- it was something he'd become accustomed to under his last master, who had liked to have several slaves on call to serve as tastefully nude decoration, but this felt different. More intimate.

Philza had said himself he wasn't interested- or just that he wouldn't engage with Missa?- but this felt a little like tempting fate. Philza's hand was warm and rough, and Missa could practically imagine it stroking along his arm, brushing across his tits and down to his slit. There was a thrill of excitement that came with the thought, one at odds with the simmering of fear weighing heavy on his shoulders and in his gut. Missa had been groped and touched and ogled, and it'd all been something he'd put out of his mind as soon as it was over with, but here...

He didn't know what he wanted. Didn't know how to classify the heat his own imaginings was giving him.

"Easy does it. There we go." Philza's voice was low and steady in his ear as he helped Missa step into the tub, not seductive or teasing or scolding, and Missa let himself relax just the slightest bit as he was allowed himself ushered into the warm water. It enveloped him up to his knees, so warm that it felt more like a tingling burn as Philza helped him sit, and he could feel his confusion rising up to the surface at the kindness before he shoved it down again. Everything about today, about what was happening now even, felt like a distant dream.

But it'd all been real, and he couldn't understand why.

He was a gift, a prize that Philza had won and had been encouraged to use accordingly, and even before then Missa would have never, in a million years, believed that someone would fight for him. That a group of people would fight for him, over something as irrefutable as a punishment. Especially one that had made so much sense- he hadn't done as much work as he should have, had fallen behind and proved himself useless, so it followed he would be punished for that. The second it was announced he'd been convinced that it would be Philza himself who would dole out the discipline, considering he was Missa's master, had selfishly hoped that man's kindness would continue even after Missa had disappointed him.

But Phil had stepped in front of him. Had shielded him from the employees.

There was a picture that was coming together in his mind, and he wasn't sure what to make of it, if he were honest. He'd lived a relatively simple life before, albeit one that witnessed a good amount of complicated politics and such. But it had served him to not get involved in the way that some other servants tried to, because even if they were entrenched in complications and secrets, their lives were still expendable if they toed the line too much. Missa did his best to be good and useful, because that seemed to be the safest way just to continue existing. He didn't bring attention to himself. He got by as best he could.

He didn't know what it would mean if just existing meant he was deep in some kind of struggle for power here.

Not even that- Philza and his people had been ferocious, terrifying, throwing themselves at the strange bear-things with reckless abandon, and all for Missa's sake. But they'd been quickly overpowered and subdued, their strange, unexplainable anger no match for the guns that the employee's wielded.

Against them. Missa’s betters.

And then the door to Phil’s room, the certain way he’d phrased things, the wya he seemed to regard his own escorts with such disgust. Him fighting them at all, when… if the employees were guards, they should’ve listened to Philza. But they hadn’t. He’d fought- they all had, him and his people, against those who… were giving the orders. Who had been, the whole time.

But Phil'd still fought it for Missa, even when his punishment was entirely justified.

His head was starting to hurt.

"Tip your head back mate?" Philza gently directed, his voice still soft, like he was afraid of waking someone when they were the only two people in the room. Missa did as he was bid, letting Phil cradle his head as he soaked his hair with water. There was a tenderness to Philza’s touch that felt wrong to Missa, like someone else should be in his place, accepting this generosity, if it could even be called that. It felt wasted on him, like every other nicety was, and maybe that was what was causing so many snarls in Missa's mind. "Okay, scoot towards me a bit."

Philza's fingers as they worked a lather through Missa's hair felt indescribably pleasurable, Missa's eyes slipping close as he greedily drank in the touch. He swallowed as Philza brushed a hand over his throat, an act that felt so intimate that it brought tears to Missa's eyes all over again, his selfish gratitude filling him like mulled cider in a wineskin. It was something he'd seen done for other people, had even done it himself on occasion when it was required of him, but this felt different. It felt meaningful in a way he couldn't describe, the twist of emotions forcing a noise from his aching throat.

Philza paused, and without looking Missa could tell he was leaning closer, his warm hands dipping into the water on either side of Missa's shoulder before they came up to cup his cheeks.

"Oh fuck, did I get soap in your eyes?" Philza asked, a kind of panic in his voice that felt out of place, and Missa might've laughed if he hadn't been convinced it was more likely to come out as a sob. "Here, let me get-"

"No, don't." His voice made Philza freeze, and that felt wrong too, having that kind of power over his master.Because that was still who Phil was to Missa, no matter what his and his people’s relationship with the employees was. Philza being his master was maybe the only thing he was sure of. He swallowed roughly, brow furrowed as he struggled to form the proper words. "Forgive me, Philza. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I can... I can do this myself. You don't have to trouble yourself."

"Aw, mate." Philza cooed breathlessly, like a relief, and then he made a vague noise of dismissal. "Don't worry about that mate, it's not any trouble. I'll be done in a second."

Missa sat frozen for another moment, heart in his throat as he felt torn between insisting on the familiar propriety he knew and the clear order he'd been given, before Philza hands were stroking through his hair again, scratching lightly against his scalp, and he let himself go boneless in his master's hold. The water was warm around him, feeling was slowly but surely returning to his extremities, and Phil was breathing steady and calm.

In the muddle of it all, Missa forced himself to think, in the absence of anything else to do.

Because what was he doing here? He was a gift, a prize, a slave, and one that Philza seemed adamant on not using. The only reason Missa had failed in his task in the fields, the only reason he had been in the field period was because the bear-things had insisted on it. Philza had wanted to leave Missa behind. Philza had Missa take the bed while he slept on the couch. Philza had given Missa his clothes to wear, the most his skin had been covered in recent memory. He could feel himself going in circles again, running each point in his head over and over again and coming up with nothing.

Asking for clarification was discouraged, a sign that you were either too stupid or too lazy to understand your task. He didn't want to ask Philza what his purpose was here, because it didn't seem like he had one.

Useless slaves weren't worth keeping. That was an undeniable fact.

Why was he here?

He wasn’t even sure he wanted an answer.

He jumped as Philza tapped his shoulder, nearly sloshing an inordinate amount of water out of the tub with his flailing, but Philza pressed a hand firmly against his shoulder as he forced himself calm and still again. Philza's hands were solid and still warm even after Missa had been soaking in the bath, and it was as stupid to want as it was to ask, and Missa’d never had any leverage anyways. Especially in a place with incomprehensible rules like this.

He stalled by dunking his head underwater as Philza directed and then really became distracted as he rubbed the water from his eyes, finally seeing Philza as he sat at the head of the tub. He was quiet but he had a strange look on his face, his eyes dark and tense underneath his blonde bangs as he looked off to one side. Missa scooted a little closer, brushing his hair away from his face as he did, and as Philza reached out towards him as if to continue, Missa had the insane urge to take Philza hand in his own.

Instead he held still, letting Phil run his own fingers through Missa's wet hair, and giving a heavy sigh.

"You don't seem to be shaking as much... Do' you think you could finish the rest up yourself, mate?" Philza said, his voice strangely quiet as his brows pulled together over his blue eyes. He'd stripped down to his under shirt at some point when Missa hadn't been paying attention, though it was all Missa could think about now- the tight black fabric pulled taut over Philza's muscled torso. His face was flushed with the heat of the steam, and Missa was glad he was still sitting, a kind of heat of his own making his slightly more steady legs even worse. Still though, Philza had always been beautiful in an untouchable kind of way, and Missa was more desperate to be good than he was to look. He nodded. "Cool. I'll leave the rest to you then? I'll be sitting right here, just let me know when you're done."

The sudden distance between them felt yawning, and whatever reckless courage Missa might've scrounged up to speak quickly dissolved in the face of it.

Missa couldn't even allow himself to mourn it as he quickly finished washing himself. He knew better than to pine for things he could never have.