Chapter Text
The next time that it happened, the server had been having a post-sleepover breakfast.
Sitting at the table, Joel sliced his French toast. There was so much food on the table. He hadn’t actually thought about who had made it, though if he had a guess it had to be Impulse. According to Skizz (and what Joel had heard from Grian and Jimmy during Limited Life), Impulse made some mean French toast. Something the Soup Group—or, well, only Gem and Pearl, because Impulse was too humble to say it himself—also corroborated. They had a whole banquet in front of them: bagels, bacon, eggs, some sort of fascinating casserole type thing he couldn’t identify, sausages, fruit salads, so many different things.
No offense to the Emperors, but the only thing Joel usually got when he woke up after one of their server-wide sleepovers was pranks. Either he was the one being pranked, or he was the one doing the prank. It was a guarantee. Last time, the last person to wake up had been Oli, so they covered his face, arms, neck, and chest with multicolored doodles. It had been too easy. Scott had brought the markers. Now, the Emperors knew that they ran the risk of being pranked—it was actually why Jimmy hadn’t attended that one, because he needed to work. As for Shubble, Katherine, and False, they had all skipped out, too—False had headed back to Hermitcraft early and the other two were just not in the mood to be pranked. But the people who remained leaned all the way into the chaos.
The Hermits were completely different, and he loved the differences. They were just—it was nice. So, in the meantime, Joel was going to wolf down as much French toast as he could. He was going to regret it, because he was piling on the powdered sugar. He knew it was going to give him a headache. Or a stomachache. Or both. He didn’t care, though. That was a problem for Future Joel. He was not currently Future Joel. He was past Joel, and he was going to enjoy his French toast.
Beside him, Grian shifted. Joel glanced at him. In his hand, Grian had something in his hand. A ring. Scar’s ring, actually. Looking at him, Joel waited until Grian looked at him. A smug grin crossed Grian’s face. Leaning over, he murmured to him, “It came off when he was asleep. Picked it up from his sleeping bag.”
“And he’s never once gotten you?” Joel whispered back, glancing at Scar across the table. He and Grian always ate across from one another for some reason. Actually, no, not “some reason”—Joel did the same thing with Lizzie. He just liked looking at his wife. Grian and Scar liked looking at each other. Anyways.
Snickering, Grian shook his head. “He’s never gotten me. I don’t usually take my ring off, to be fair, and showers and baths are off-limits.” He pushed his chair back and got up, moving to saunter back to the buffet table where had staged the food. As he went, he passed by Scar and brushed his husband’s shoulder. Scar turned to look at him.
Grian dropped to one knee.
“Oh, no—” Scar checked his hands, pockets, and then around his neck. With a groan, he hid his face in his hands. “Grian—”
“Scar.” Grian began dramatically. “You have the brightest, most creative mind I have ever known. I would like to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you please keep your fricking wedding ring on your finger for once in your life?”
“It’s not my fault!” Scar lamented, though he held out his hand, anyways. Next to him, Pearl giggled and then shoved his shoulder as Grian stood back up. Looking at her, Scar pouted.
Pearl lifted up her plate, filled with powdered sugar, and blew it in his face.
“Oh, that’s it! Food fight!” Scar roared, grabbing some extra strawberry syrup. In a move that could easily have been a bit too much, he slapped the syrup across Pearl’s face. Grian scrambled back.
Laughing, Pearl grabbed more powdered sugar, “Sorry, Griba! Don’t want to make you a widower, but no guarantees!” She lunged.
The food fight was immediate.
Grabbing his plate, Joel leaned back and shouted, “Don’t touch my French toast!” Beside him, on his other side, Skizz cackled and then slipped into the path of Etho’s throw. He took a pancake to the face. Cackling, he grabbed some scrambled eggs and hucked them back at Etho. Etho dodged behind his plate, dragging Beef into the fight. Beside them, the rest of the Hermits launched into chaos. Xisuma sat back in his seat, burying his helmed face in his gloved hands. To his left, Keralis sympathetically patted his shoulder. A sausage patty landed on Xisuma’s shoulder, sliding down his armor. Before it was even on the floor, Tilly was lunging to grab it in her teeth. The other food on the floor landed where she and the other dogs could get to it. Joel saw Katy Bee launch up onto the table and start eating some of the eggs. Joining her, Mr. Finnegan stole some sausages. He slipped away and brought them to Jellie, who was waiting patiently in the kitchen, away from the chaos, with her tail wrapped around her paws like the elegant queen she was.
The food fight continued, though it was mostly food that would have gotten eaten by the dogs and cats anyways. It was just...being delivered differently this time.
Hypno ducked down with a yelp, leaving False to take Jevin’s spoonful of peach yogurt to the face. Head snapping to the side, False turned and then stood up, stealing a bowl of egg scraps from Wels. Pouting, Wels stabbed his sausages with a fork and met Joel’s gaze. With a smile, he shook his head, rolled his eyes, and then flicked a strawberry that had fallen onto the table at Ren. He then took a pointed bite of his sausages as Ren stared at him, betrayed. Tango took a croissant to the face. Joe grabbed a doughnut from thin air and then shoved it in his mouth before throwing more syrup at Doc. Launching up in his seat, Doc grabbed a whole bowl of yogurt and dumped it on Cub’s head. He promptly got shoved to the side in retaliation and leaned on Ren for help. Bdubs squealed as Grian and Scar teamed up against him. Gem blocked an onslaught of Impulse’s French toast with her plate. Turning, she whapped Mumbo in the face with another piece of toast. He yelped. Not a moment passed before he was attacking her back. It was with the same slice of French toast she'd hit him with.
Looking over at Keralis and Xisuma, Joel met the former’s gaze. The man smiled, shaking his head well-naturedly. Carefully, ducking under a thrown blueberry yogurt spoon, Joel shoved more French toast in his mouth. Then, he turned, yelping, “Stop stealing all the French toast and syrup!” Grinning wickedly, Etho went to flip the bowl. Grabbing him by the wrist, Cleo dragged Etho across the table over to her and then shoved him into Grian. When she turned to look at Joel, she grinned and winked at him. He managed a sheepish, grateful smile. The chaos continued.
Joel kept eating his French toast.
Because he had chosen not to participate in the food fight, Joel had the privilege of watching everyone get hosed off by Keralis and Xisuma.
Well, “hosed off” was generous. It was more like they were being pressure washed, because Xisuma and Keralis were walking down the line of arranged Hermits with giant, firehose-like hoses. The water sprayed them all. Somehow, neither Grian nor Scar had managed to lose their rings during the food fight. Just when Scar was sleeping. Still, Joel sat on the picnic table with a plate of more French toast in his hand. He looked ahead at them all.
The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and it was nice and warm. Honestly, they might be able to do some messing around in the river after this. I wonder if I could call Lizzie, Joel thought, nibbling on a corner of toast. The slices were as thick as the tip of his thumb. She would probably enjoy seeing her friends. And I'm sure Xisuma would be willing to whitelist her...
“Do we have to do this?” Ren asked, complaining.
Raising the hose, Xisuma sprayed him in the face.