Chapter 1: Those Who Came Before
Notes:
Tango & Jimmy + Grian & Scar can be read platonic or romantic. There's an acknowledged age gap between one of these pairs, but handled safely (Adults are there to oversee the meet-up). Enjoy!
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Multiple non-graphic death mentions (Old age, dragon, fall, wither, TNT)
- Implied/referenced divorce
- Grian explodes and his soul goop gets splattered before it pulls itself back together (This story written by a hemophobe and I personally handle thick sparkly purple goop okay, but if you also have blood sensitivity then tread with caution)⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Those Who Came Before
Year - 1.17.16
🖤 🖤 ❤️
The first Totem of Undying in the Four Lands passed through the wrinkled hands of many wealthy folks in Crimson City before falling into possession of a princess who went Red young and fled her home. She kept it all her life, but when the time came to breathe her last, she unwound it from its place at her bosom and clasped it around the neck of her only son.
"I've lived enough," she simply said. "I've led so long and you've been faithful. Go now and do as you see fit with your given lives."
Steve Wandering watched his mother die as he had watched his father, burying the memories of both with shovel and silence. He'd always been a silent man. He took up his sword and from then on traveled decade after decade, sharing food with the needy and braving the hissing creatures of the night. He invented many things, discovered many treasures, and died glorious in a fight against the Dragon That Ends All.
And lived.
And lost those memories like the wind.
The second Totem of Undying in the Four Lands belonged to Alex Wolftamer in the east, who claimed to care not for the treasure passed down through her ancestral line of Wolf Kings and Queens. They had no palace, but called themselves such titles in their stand against Kingdom Crimson. Rather than flaunt that totem around her own neck, she wrapped it like a collar at the throat of her dog. Across the years, far too many people of sinister desire fought sword and pick to win her hand or win the hunting hound. It's with a shout and diamond axe that she lunged at the cloaked stranger who ventured through the valley forest. With cheery, bellyaching laugh, Herobrine caught her hand and spun her dangerously near the mountain drop.
"Why should I take from your beloved she-wolf?" he asked, and dangled a totem from his own wrist where she could see. "I've already got one. I did not come to take what loved ones gave unto you, but to inquire of your wisdom… for I have no one I love as much as you care for your dear wolf. I am but a cowardly man who's worn the totem for himself for security and peace. I cannot imagine surrendering it. Tell me, warrior… How did you find such inner peace?"
"Who says I have?"
"What ails you, then?"
"I fear the encroach of the Red Army. Their farms extend ever nearer to our forests. Their high-ranking officers, bearing the Hand mark upon their chests, come demanding tribute and insist we raise their banner. So many from our village have sought the safety of their walls. I wish for nothing but food for my dogs, repairs for my roof, and safe passage through the land."
"Ah… What have you done to incite their displeasure?"
"I haven't raised hand against them unless they've come directly in conflict with me."
"How frequent are their conflicts?"
"They've claimed our cows. They flood the roads to market with lava and have taken two lives- nearly three. They harass the trades I make with my own neighbors of my own free will."
"Let us go secretly, then, and burn the walls that have reached your valley's edge."
They married two years later, and it was four after that that Alex fell from a great height, one arm wrapped around her canine companion and the other reaching for a husband who lunged and missed her hand vanishing from the cliff. Alex hit the ground a block away from the rushing river that saved her dog.
And lived.
And lost those memories like rain. Not even the dog recognized her then, growling and nipping when Alex rose to her feet, and Snowflake followed Herobrine when they parted ways. They say he never took Snowflake's totem from her collar, but that Snowflake wriggled out of it the day after Alex died, took the chain in her teeth, and presented it to him with grief in her dark eyes. It may be just a story - a personification of a ragged beast - but it's a prettier tale than the alternative of how he got his back.
That third Totem of Undying, the one that Herobrine Mapcrafter wore on his wrist for much of his life, originated from the North. It tumbled through the hands of wizards and they say Herobrine was gifted it for his proven mastery in breaching the Nether dimension- the secrets of which had only been held by the Westlands until now.
Prior his apprenticeship beneath the wizards' eyes, he'd been raised a cartographer. Following the death of Alex, he took up mapmaking again with Snowflake by his side. He entered the Nether dimension for what he knew would be his final time. They never came out again and no record survives depicting full details. People speak often that he perhaps saved a community of Netherborn folks from a hissing, snarling Wither Boss that clawed its way out of the ground. Others whisper he released that Wither himself out of grief and wished for death. Witnesses claim he leapt before the beast, taking the hit on Snowflake's behalf.
And lived.
And lost those memories like they'd been scorched alive. They say he went mad, never the same again. Some claim they've seen Snowflake's white fur dashing through the Nether even now, her howl weeping for her masters and the moon and the feel of grass beneath her paws.
The last Totem of Undying in the Four Lands (rumor claimed) lay hidden in the Southlands. For three decades since the rise of the Dragon That Ends All, the unremarkable little thing drifted and tumbled and snagged or… something of the sort. Details unknown. It passed into the sewers at some undefinable point, where it floated until it didn't. It caught and clung to the sewer's edge year after year after year.
There it stayed until a ragtag tangle of friends - a trio - sought shelter in the tunnels after their brotherhood of Bad Boys split and turned against each other. They trekked without hesitation into the grime, for they were Red of name and disgust could graze them not. The youngest, with his gray and yellow wings, sat down near the entrance to clean an open wound. The eldest began to organize their meager food supply. The middle child, aged only 16, waded deeper through the passageway, wandering with little purpose but to scout for things to have; things to take. Red Lives, as a rule, are very, very greedy.
The totem lasted exactly 4 minutes and 36 seconds in Grian Ties'g's possession. He found it tangled among the filth and wasted no time taking it for himself. To prevent his fellow Bad Boys from sniping it away, he scrambled up a dirty shaft to the surface like an eel gifted flight. His wings were soaked from sewage water, so he did not fly. He bolted across the open field, laughing like a madman.
"Yes! YESSSS!"
His foot crossed a boundary line he never could have seen. Grian charged straight into a shrieker trap laced with TNT. Set them all off. He died to the gasping cheers of a Red who'd only just finished all the set-up. The last thing he ever heard was the "OH-hoh-hoh-ohhh!" of a shrieking onlooker. He blew up instantly, scarlet feathers and blobs of purple soul energy scattered in all directions. The central core melted free from flesh and dribbled to the ground in a gooey heap.
In a word? Perma-killed. The totem vaporized before anyone ever confirmed he had it, so people seek it in the Southlands even now (It might be right here; it's been hiding right here).
This story is not about that Grian. Not anymore. It's about the one who lived… whose memories do not match this world at all.
Tango Rancher (2nd of his name) was only 19 years old when he got his first kill. He crowed in glee as his explosives fried this stranger to his soul. With lashing tail, blond hair sparking into fire, he leapt the fence without confirming every shrieker had been set off. He did not care for the thousand warnings his father gave him not to run. After all, the first thing he did this morning was lead the ravagers to a different pasture. This one was to be retired for the season. No beasts could deter him now. With arms pumping, feet flying, he raced across the grass with arms outspread to absorb the wispy white heart said to spiral from those who perma-die. He had never seen it happen before, but he knew the stories, as they all did.
But the purple soul did not take its final form. It gifted him nothing at all. Tango slowed his sprint to a gallop. Not from concern, for he'd been titled Red and could feel no such thing for other people. But the bits lay unmoving, like the spirit itself had died without so much as passing into the spectator state.
"Whoa… Did I splatterificate him too hard? Can that happen?"
No response from the unmoving soul. Not so much as a sputter. Huh. Tango tromped around the unmoving, blobby lump in the center of the field, his hands linked behind his neck. After circling, he nudged it with the muck-covered heel of his boot. He did not pull his foot away. The purple goop held his weight momentarily, but his heel began to ooze through the longer he pressed on it.
Can you pronounce the question mark sound inside your head? Because I'm definitely doing that right now.
Souls… don't usually take this long to fade into spectator (on Red) and they certainly don't take this long to dissipate and respawn (on Yellow or Green). Tango pulled his boot from the blob and scratched behind his head. Was this not a perma-kill? Had he mistaken the flashing red eyes of this wild creature who had tumbled from the outhouse, shrieking with laughter the whole time? He twisted on his heel, walking back towards the rather foot-shaped building in the distance.
"DAAAAD!"
Father and uncle had long grown accustomed to the sound of explosives in the fields, so the yell became a necessity to prevent mimicry of the boy who cried wolf. But Tango did not have long to ask questions of the open air. No sooner had the word left his tongue then every hair behind his neck quivered on end. The heat swept over him like the dark of a storm cloud. Tango whipped around so hard, his tail smacked around his own leg like a lasso.
Huh?
Movement. Little bits and pieces of exploded purple soul began to bounce towards its central core. They slipped into familiar places, reforming details like fingers and hands and battered face. Tango gawked, then shifted aside as a tiny purple tumbleweed rolled past his foot.
"Oh, no way…"
The core began to glow in the outline of a solid form again. Tango blinked. This stranger who died in his trap continued to reform… right in front of him instead of waking in his own distant bed.
The core of it swelled stronger, "very shape" as they say, and lifted off the ground as though pulled upward on a string. Flecks of purple whipped about as though a whirlwind seized a steady hold. The wind even pressed at Tango's back, yanking his tail around. He braced his bent knees to hold steady, forearms crossed to block his face. Curls of flame leapt from his hair (normally so blond and tame). He maybe, y'know… let out an unmanly little whimper. And to be honest? He might've peed himself. Through his fingers, Tango Jr. squinted up at the searing purple light as tiny pieces found their place again, and not all on the humanoid bits.
No way… No way! Oh-hoh…
The soul floated like a dead thing, like a ship, with head drooped forward as though it had no bones. The lanky arms and legs flopped puppet-like around him. And it didn't keep its position using nothing but air alone… sort of. Those purple bits threaded themselves into what must have been the invisible wings of spectator form. They reattached, finding their place - finding home - and the beating, beady wings kept the limp soul sustained, like a man construed from mosaic glass. A storm of bright blue polka dots flowered across its goopy violet body. Tango's eyes skipped back and forth, asking stuttered questions his tongue couldn't find the chance to voice…? And the heart…
The boy's heart, with all its guarded secrets, split into 10 pulsing shards.
Uh-?
The wings, so allay- and mosaic-like, kicked up a burst of dust. New flesh erupted from the surface, coating this… this foreign blue soul in mortal form. Skin flexed across the soul fingers. The shoulders twisted, muscles on full alert. The spindly bird legs seized, gray claws clenching at the air. Tango fell back, yipping, and threw out one arm to block his eyes. Not fast enough. A rainbow of parrot feathers burst into view like a thousand butterflies all spreading their wings at once. Legit, there must be hundreds of feathers all across those scarlet wings. Maybe hundreds in the kinked-up sea of red alone, not even counting the sludgy blues and yellows at the tips.
Like a naked destroying angel, the remaining skin took its color again. Pale arms unblemished. Unscarred. Talon-tipped fingers opened and squeezed. Lashes fluttered. A ribbon of a tail lashed whip-like in the air. The avian flared open his eyes… which seared electric green. Not a hint of red between them.
And Grian lived.
This story is about that Grian. The one who came back blue, like Steve and Alex and Herobrine did. It's not about the Grian who had the purple soul. His life was spared, and he is here no more.
Grian Xelqua is awake.
To be continued when Secret Life SMP concludes…
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- This chapter references Steve and Alex (the two original default skins in Minecraft) and Herobrine (part of social Minecraft lore)
- The Crimson Kingdom (west) parallels Dogwarts. The Southlands and Magical Mountain (north) are from Last Life
- Alex stands in for 3rd Life Joel: living with a wolf army, wanting roof repairs (the thing that turned Joel's loyalty to Scar over Ren and 'the Hand' Martyn, who demanded tribute from him), and Joel lost his Green life in that season because he died in Tango's "floor is lava" minigame (as did Jimmy). Also, Martyn scolded Joel for trading his enchantment table to Scar. Joel later lashed out and burned Scott's wall. Joel also prefers the axe as a weapon. Additionally, Tango stockpiled cows in 3rd Life and everyone else struggled because of this
- In regards to the idea that the totem "could be right here," Grian and Mumbo (Southlanders) had a running gag in Last Life of saying "The diamonds are right here" while mining and failing to turn up diamonds
- The Bad Boys (Joel, Jimmy, and Grian) were a team in Limited Life; Grian ditched the team after Jimmy died and Joel went rogue
- In Double Life, Tango was part of Team Rancher (consisting of him and his soulmate Jimmy); Tango is also associated with ravagers because of his Decked Out game on Hermitcraft
- Scar and Grian lost their Yellow life in Double Life when Scar set off a voice-activated TNT trap
- Grian stepped away from Evolution SMP by making his character into a Watcher (part of Evo lore) to symbolize he was no longer participating on-server, but observing. The lore we're working with here is that two Grians from different universes swapped places, therefore being outsiders in their new worlds who watch others to learn the new customs. The other Grian now lives in my Pixels Imperfect universe if you are interested in seeing more of him
- Everyone native to the NW universe has a purple soul and everyone native to the Pix Impf universe has a blue soul. In the Pixels universe, everyone has 10 hearts as a nod to the health bar having 10 hearts
Chapter 2: Stick the Landing
Summary:
Grian Xelqua and Tango Jr. search for common ground. Freaks /affectionate.
(Posted January 6th, 2024)
Notes:
And we're back, folks!
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Canon-typical threats and violence (Red Tango threatening to kill Grian with a sword)
- Implied/referenced Grian backstory trauma (Evolution SMP = Authoritarian server hub and manipulation Grian doesn't necessarily recognize, Yandere High School = Halloween & Taurtis 2 arc - i.e. Taurtis and Rowan getting stabbed in front of Grian; presumed recent since Grian is high school age in this story)
- Minor body dysphoria (Grian confused by his new body but he’s from a world where it’s normal for bodies to change after respawn so he’s puzzled but okay with it)
⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Stick the Landing
💚 💛 ❤️
There's a great, shuddery bit of heaving, apparently, when the universe says "I love you" and "You have played the game well." The sun's so glaring high above, the sizzle sounds like cricket ambiance. Grian sweeps his wings down in a scoop. His head… fuzzy. Sky blurry, but the injuries from that dragon fight seem to have worn away. He feels refreshed, at least, and that's something to whisper home about (Not really; no one cares).
He flaps again, stretching out one leg. The movement's… off-kilter. "Huh?" he mumbles, and by the time he looks down, his scaly gray foot has already landed in soft grass.
That's…
… not the same foot he stepped into The End with. Two hooked talons, enormous and black like those of an enderman, tip the front. Another two toes curl from the back. Grian scrunches his foot like a fist, massaging the dirt beneath. The toes respond as effortlessly as though he's worked them every day of his life.
Well… That's definitely his foot, then. Grian wiggles the toes, then bends to touch. His trousers are soaked. They're mucky from the calves down and he reeks like an animal pen that's not been cleaned in months. His butt's a little damp too, but it's not nearly as bad as the hems. His hands slide all the way from his knees (hidden by his trousers) down to his ankles. His limbs click and pop, body straining. New respawn. Still needs a bit of fine-tuning here and there. At least the skin fits. He's really been filling out lately, not so much newbie flab on him as he used to have. This wandering trader he used to know (Mumbo) literally - literally - kept his own loose skin under control with pins and ties. Ah, the unbearable lightness of being young…
It's not just the foot, actually. His entire leg's been replaced by what looks to be a real parrot's leg. Even standing, he feels wobbly. Heavy. Very heavy, like someone's filled his arms with syrup. That'll take some getting used to. Timmy walks around with bird legs all the time, though, so at least there's one person he can turn to for advice. And hey, at least they match. If walking's new on bird legs, imagine walking with one bird leg and one human one.
Am I in my waxing moon form? He palms his cheeks, but no feathers sprout from the skin. Although… his neck crest is missing. So are his laurels. Is that a stray feather in his hair? It's firm, like it sprouted from his scalp. Okay. Yeah… Okay.
He stands in an empty field, though the ground's been scorched in a patch and heaps of dirt are thrown in all directions like scattered loot after a failed night of AFK. Something's weird about the textures. The hole's smoother than most, though he doesn't remember slapping on any new shaders. If it's a new version of Minecraft, it doesn't fit his memories on which one comes next after beating the dragon.
He glances left and right. The color of the grass has mostly been left up to the imagination (Nowhere near as green as his old feathers) and this place has clearly been used for cows before. It smells like them. Creases wrinkle the soil like a mussed-up blanket. It's like looking at a painting. Although, there are… mob drops, to put it politely, spread in all directions. And they're hefty leavings! Stink something awful. Grian stares at the nearest little pile, soaking in the sight even when his vision blurs.
How's someone managed to get away with this so long? It's a mess. Am I still in the EVO hub? Oh, get out… They'd bop us all on the heads if we left their turf looking this way. And that's putting it mildly.
In the distance, a crop of sunflowers wafts back and forth with petals lifted high to face the sun. They're shielded by wooden fence slats. Grian flaps his wings. Color sparks in the corners of his eyes, and when he turns his head, he catches a solid look at them for the first time. They're scarlet now.
What-?
Well, tri-color, technically. Red and yellow feathers coat most of the surface, leaving ocean-blue only at the tips. The wings shimmer with gold and green glitter, but when he gives a flap, all that aesthetic dissipates on the wind. It swirls away. His wings shrivel up, taking limp position at his shoulder blades like hats on hooks.
He's had green wings all his life, still wrinkly and soft with newbie down. Huh… Maybe all that survival play and killing the ender dragon flooded so much XP through his code, it jolted him up in the aesthetic department. No biggie. He can get that turned down. Get the human legs back if he wants to, though maybe it'll be fun to try talons for once. He shifts his weight. Oh, these will be great for branches… and holding things while he flies.
But the tail? Yeah, that's almost certainly getting modded off. That'll just be extra preening work. And inconvenient to work around when it comes to chairs. It's extra weight. He's had years of practice flying without one, and although it's pretty, it'll just get in the way. Imagine spilling gunpowder or redstone dust on that while scrambling away from freshly lit TNT…
Same red jumper, though.
Footsteps thudding over dirt stir him from his musings. Heavy boots, buckles clacking. "You should be dead," growls a voice (Teen, masculine, slightly older than he is). Grian flicks his gaze up. The thudding steps kick into a trot. The speaker's a tall, wiry blond boy with goggles bouncing at his chest and redstone dust smeared across his gloves. He scampers like a ferret. He's even got a tail, though it's rodent-like or something with a tuft of blond bristles at the end. His face's been tanned by the sun. A distinct pale patch around his eyes confirms those goggles aren't just hanging around for show.
Though Grian's only met five or six blaze hybrids before (and only in passing, skirting their turf), this guy checks all the boxes. A crown of swirling rods rings his head. Smoke trickles out between pointed teeth. He even bounces when he moves. Grian says "What?" (because… what? Who is this? This rando's not part of Evolution SMP).
The boy jabs his sword, sun glinting off the iron, and stalks forward through a huff of smoke. It waterfalls from his mouth like gunpowder. "I killed you! You were Red; that was your perma-death!" His voice zig-zags into a shriek; it's bound to aggro everything in range. Grian winces, wings lifting. He puts his fists up on instinct, readying for a blow like the kind Sam was way too fond of throwing at him. It doesn't come, but the blond kid jabs again. Grian shuffles back, stumbling on clunky bird legs, and almost lands in a squishy manure heap in the grass. Someone didn't clean up. His eyes dart back and forth, images of a particularly bad Halloween flashing through his mind as the blade sweeps again near his face, but he's wearing no chestplate. No gloves. He can't exactly punch a sword out of this guy's hand. Can I kick it? Not likely with these feet. He's wobbly as it is.
"Listen, listen, uh-"
The teenager swipes the sword forward. It halts an inch from Grian's throat. Grian freezes. Hot, sticky pixels trickle down his temple. EVO has a roleplay safeword, but this stranger won't know what it is. And he looks ticked. Smoke curls from his nostrils like his hybrid side's a dragon. Grian flicks his gaze up and down him again, searching for any kind of weakness in the red jumper, black vest, and baggy pants, but 'At least the guy threatening me doesn't have a chestplate either' can only take you so far.
"Um…"
"I should be on Yellow now! That was my kill! But… you didn't die?" The blaze hybrid looks a sliver away from glitching out, if not straight-up imploding. Uh, what? He's not an Evolution player. Grian doesn't even recognize him from the EVO server hub's dorms. Who is this guy? And how did he get here?
Where's everybody else?
Scalding, toothy iron trembles a few pixels from his skin. Grian eases back, trying to roll onto "heels" he doesn't exactly have. "Hey, can we not do swords? I, uh… I've got a thing about blades…" He stretches mental fingers through his inventory, but hits a wall. His mind's a little fuzzy. It's hot and insect-filled out here; can someone turn ambiance noises down?
Where am I?
"If… if you have a bow and arrow- if you want to threaten me- Look, can it please not be blades? I kind of…" None of your business, actually. Grian glances aside, checking for watchlings. There aren't any. So I must be still on server, but I don't remember hearing we were getting any new players… "Can I check my message logs?"
"What?"
"I'm just- I'm just getting my comm; it's just my comm." Grian keeps one palm up in surrender, but reaches towards his hip to feel for the communicator in his pocket. The boy doesn't move - doesn't even growl - though his eyes squint up and his nose wrinkles like he's just been smacked across the face.
No communicator. Grian feels both the front and back pocket of his trousers. Comms are blacked out in the hub, though missing entirely is certainly a new one. His comm's always on the left side- He keeps it there so it's easy to grab when he's got a sword or something in his dominant hand. He doesn't try to touch his right side, but from the touch of his hip against cloth, he'd guess that pocket's empty too.
Not empty, exactly… Grian withdraws his hand, pulling a small wool bag from his pocket. He's not sure what's inside, though it's way too light to be his communicator. Maybe it's… mashed-up cookie bits? The little pieces are about that size and shape and when he rubs his thumb and forefinger through the wool, he can feel crumbling in response. He pushes it away again.
The blaze lowers his sword by a sliver, but doesn't back away. So Grian, with a swell of courage (No watchlings peering from the shadows to intervene) says, "Can you put down the sword? PLEASE? I'm working through some serious blade-related trauma and I really don't feel comfortable with this out of roleplay!" (Things went downhill fast in the Sakura Valley hub- Taurtis needed soul grafts and Sam pranced about like a teacher's pet; he could do no wrong in the admins' eyes).
The boy stops. His mouth clamps shut, jaw smacking and teeth a-clatter. He looks at the sword in his hand. Then at Grian. With a snap of his tail, he staggers back. "Who are you?"
It's a fair question. Grian hasn't seen his reflection yet, though his arms and build are familiar and he's pretty sure he's wearing the same skin design he's kept for years. Still, the legs are new… and he's better known for his green wings. "Grian Xelqua? Room 98? … What's yours?"
"What?"
"What?" Man, do I itch. Why do I itch so much? Is that usual after a respawn? He didn't die in that dragon fight and he can't feel the painkillers rolling through his system. He folds back his sleeves, then fixes his belt while the guy simply… stares.
"Uh, Grian," he says. His tone tilts as he shifts slightly out of character (a little to the left). "It's me. I wasn't… It's not 'Who are you?' It's 'What's changed you?'"
"… What?" (Echo of a word. Sounds funny when you chirp it that many times back to back. Maybe it's a parrot thing.)
Finally, the blaze hybrid blinks. The sword tip (finally) tilts downward, hovering beside his ankle. It might be possible to kick it aside now, though Grian refrains. The blaze is tense, but tolerating him. No point in unnecessarily angering him. There might be a watchling he missed keeping an eye on him from somewhere out of sight. Or maybe this is all some organized test to catch him breaking server hub rules. Honestly, he wouldn't put it past them at this point…
"It's Tango Ties'g," Tango says, tightening his grip on the hilt of the blade. "C'mon! What's this? You go forget-icating me or something-someth'? … Born Tango of the Hills? I'm Red now and I guess I do my hair differently… got a new wardrobe change."
"Uhh…" He picks through his memories like half-rotted berries in his hand. Between Sakura and EVO, he and his twin (TwoMuchGrian) made their home in Emerald Hills, building movie sets and helping with the cam work. Emerald Hills is a busy hub… always people coming and going (a real hotspot for professional cams and filmmakers- a thin spark of hope in an otherwise desolate, picked-through, anarchy-ridden world).
Do I know this guy? I think I remember all the blaze hybrids… They're viciously territorial. Probably the most territorial mob in the game apart from guardians and maybe iron golems (if those even count). You learn quick where blaze mark territory and you don't cross their lines beneath the full moon again. Once fireballed, twice shy.
Tango snorts, twitching his tail like he stung it on a bush. "Whatever. Look, I don't care- All that big city garbage - bleh - that's behind us now." His knuckles bulge beneath his redstone-flecked gloves, sword squeaking as it rocks. Each squeal's the final grunting breath of a piglin run through. He bears most of his weight down, grinding the point into the grass like skewered meat. "I'm going to kill you."
"… Okay?" You can try. Grian eyes the sword. If Tango swings, he'll jerk his arm up and try to deflect it as best he can. He can't feel his inventory. It's either empty (lost after death- maybe he did respawn) or he's in the Between dimension, where you're allowed one single soul slot and that's it. He touches his chest, where his hearts sputter like birthday candle flames. Tango just wrinkles his nose… crumpled tissue paper of a man.
"Aren't you scared? Aren't you gonna beg or try to run? No mention of everything we've been through together? … It's more fun when you run."
Seriously, I don't think I know this guy. Ties'g? 'I'm Red now?' Does that mean 'anarchy?' He's drawing more blanks than NPC_Grian planning a mid-century modern house. "I mean… I'll respawn?" It doesn't really matter if he's on-server or off. If he's still on-server, that's no great loss. He's used to starting over; setting up somewhere else for another round. You're not much of a Minecrafter if you can't have a little fun in the starter days, right? And if he's somehow been kicked from the server and this is the Between dimension (albeit some field he's unfamiliar with), he'll respawn at the parrot soul spawner when all is said and done. He hasn't seen his mum in at least 15 years; she's probably quite upset about that. Yeah, maybe he'll ask the Watchers for an escort so he can see his mum.
Tango stares at him with lifted brows, stares at his feet, and peers at his face once again. Then he sheathes his sword. There's no scabbard bouncing at his side, but the blade dissipates in a shower of white sparks as it slides into whatever inventory slot's his favorite. "Listen… I want all the details. You took that POW! BLAM! Like it was nuttin'! Huh? What gives? How do that?"
"Uh…" It sure didn't feel like "nuttin.'" Grian, with careful breaths, drags his fingers across his forehead. Warm, damp droplets spatter his brow. Is that from touching his dirty trouser legs? Gross. "I just shot the ender crystals? … There are like a ton of them in the version we just finished, but the ender dragon's easy after that. Just a lot of grinding, really." It is nicer to have the sword put away, though Grian watches Tango in tight-lipped wariness. If he jerks his hand, blade flashing, then I'm outtie. And what about the fireballs?
For the first time, Tango's eyes clear with understanding. They're deeply red, like apples or cherries. Grian didn't catch that before in all the movement and flurry. "You slayed the dragon. Like… the dragon dragon?"
"Yeah, yeah… I did kill the ender dragon. I guess I just respawned here?"
"… Huh."
The word leaves a question in the air that Tango doesn't particularly seem inclined to answer. He steps lightly in his chonky black boots, circling like a phantom in the sky or a guardian in the sea, and Grian wishes he had a better idea of where he is. Surely Tango knows this field better than he does. Trying to bolt wouldn't be wise… There could be mob farms around, and even if he jumps the fence, who knows what ravines or traps are out there?
Seriously, I've absolutely no idea where I am… This doesn't look at all familiar. The view matches nothing in his memories, even from his dorm window. Even from BigB's window, or Netty's. Spawning outside Sakura Valley's walls seems real unlikely. Should he sit and wait for one of the Watchers to come get him? He feels like a newbie clinging to his mother's feathers, waiting for permission to leap from one branch to another tree.
If I had my comm, I could check the coords, at least… Since when can you lose a comm? It must be here, buried in the soil.
His eyes trail over to the smoldering, exploded divot in the ground. Unless…
"Look," says Tango, fiddling with his goggles strap. "You are Green… and yeah, you are my brother… so I guess I can give you a free pass to walk away. I know I'm Red, but-"
"WHAT? Excuse me?" Grian snaps to attention, cutting through Tango's words before Tango even completes the thought. His arms shudder like lifted hackles. They feel funny (heavy; whole body heavy) and he double blinks. What? WHAT!? His hearts flicker up, head swimmy. Arms heavy. Grian takes a step forward, but the joints he has now don't match his instincts. He wobbles, then slumps forward. Tango makes no effort to catch him, though he does lift one brow. That's… almost like sympathy. Ugh.
Grian huffs into the dirt, then pushes himself into a sitting position. At least he didn't topple face-first in a cow pie. He's no stranger to getting dirt all over his hands, though it is nice sometimes to pop back in after a respawn and enjoy not having anything crunch between the creases. Standing sounds difficult. He stretches his legs to one side. "Whoa, hold on a minute… I'm being gaslit. 'Brother?' Oh, get out! Don't pull that on me- You've got an American accent!"
"… A what?"
"You are not my brother. I only have one brother, and certainly not a blaze." He stops. Tango's tail twitches twice. His clamped mouth wriggles, grimacing tight, as lips pull back from little fangs. Grian lowers his voice. "Look, I'm sorry; it's been a long day… I've just killed the dragon. I need some time. Two? Two, if this is all special effects to show off to your friends, I'm about to be really cross."
Tango says nothing for a couple heartbeats, curling his tail this way and that. The bristles at the tip glint like gold beneath the sun. There's not really any breeze. It's far too hot and far too bright to take a nap, and straight after a respawn, Grian's not sure he could even if he wanted to anyway. He squints up at this… this weird blond stranger claiming they're related, somehow, until Tango says, "I mean, yeah… I get that. That looked like a bad respawn." He glances at the invisible scabbard at his waist. His fingers trace across his hip as though searching for a reason to draw the sword again.
"Is that your base?" Grian asks, pointing across the field. Way, way out there in the distance (far beyond the fence and waving sunflowers) looms a weirdly foot-shaped building probably crafted out of birch. A beat of inborn British politeness catches him from requesting food or a bed when his sleep and hunger haunches should both be up to max. Instead he says, "Would it be possible to get a cup of tea? Black. Milk and sugar too, if that's available." The milk seems likely- this whole place reeks of cows and a few black and white shapes (some of them even fully black) roam the pastures far from here. Sugar? … Doubtful. Apparently so, because Tango barks a laugh.
"Sugar? Well, I don't know what the Southlands have been feeding you, but up here, we do without. But yeah." His shoulders relax. And for a moment there, as Grian peers up at him with tilted-back head, he can see the gleam of mischief in this boy's red eyes. His hearts lurch forward. It strikes something in him too, like a match.
"Can I use your comm? Well, can you use your comm? I just… Just the coords. I seriously don't know where I am." Again: Is this the Evolution server? It wouldn't shock him (painful as it may be) if the Watchers allowed others from the hub to check it out. Living in a private hub has left them out of touch. They're awkward, but… it's not like they don't care.
"We don't get comm signals out here." Tango's stubborn, pulling up his goggles now so they actually fit in place against his eyes. "But I mean, Pop's always building doohickey thingamabobs and Skizz still travels a lot, so he can tell you all the landmarks."
"Do you travel much?"
"I'm about to travel to the house. Are you coming or what?"
"… Uh." Grian sets his hands to the dirt. The swathes of grass prickle beneath his fingertips. He presses down his weight, pulling and twisting his scrawny gray legs, but that's easier said than done. After a few seconds of fidgeting while Tango stares at him, Grian slumps his shoulders. "I'm genuinely not sure I can walk like this. My legs are weird right now."
"I'll carry you." It's not a question. He's not even given time to insist it become a question. Tango swoops down and slides his arm beneath Grian's ankles. His skin's hot. His gloved hands are rough and the redstone prickles and snaps as the particles brush together. Grian tries to pull away, but Tango pops upright with a "Hup!" now with Grian in his arms. Grian's legs sling forward, his body curled like a baby's and cradled in the pits of Tango's elbows. Grian blinks, grabbing the blaze's neck for balance. Then he lets go. Forcing extra collision will burn their pixels too fast; Tango will drop him with a splat. That won't be fun if he lands in goopy cow leavings.
"Uh, don't we need golden carrots for this?"
"Say what?" Tango swivels and sets off across the field. Bodies jostle together, elbows bumping… skin and clothes rubbing…
… and the collision holds, even when Grian pricks at Tango's jumper collar with his fingernails. What? He turns his head, but no pixels spark even where he and Tango are in direct physical conflict. It's like… It's like he's not a player, but some sort of object, like a shulker box. Tango can pick him up. Tango can move him. Even without wolfing down golden carrots to get his love hearts up.
Uhhh…
"Daaaad! Skizz! Grian came to see us!"
'Dad?'
"Wait." Grian's toes clench and unclench at empty air. He squeezes Tango's shoulder, trying to sit up, and flits his stare around the farm again. Cows nibble grass far off and ravagers - actual ravagers - swish their tails from not all that far away. Flowers line the walkways. There must be thousands of them. Is this a flower valley? Is there a flower valley anywhere near the EVO hub?
Beyond the upcoming fence, the door to the foot-shaped building swings open. A tall man steps out, brushing his hands as though ridding them of flour or gunpowder. His hair's dark, as are the swirly marks wrapped around his arms. "Grian!" he calls, beaming bright, and a second head pops around the edge of the door. This man's blond, face tanned and weathered, and he looks no less excited. Not even by a smidge. A red bandana hangs from his neck. They're both too far away to confirm their hybrid species, though if he had to guess, the tall, dark-haired one is an enderman. And the other… looks like Tango, so maybe another blaze?
"Hey, G-man!" The blond guy beats his hand back and forth in exaggerated hello, still gripping the doorframe like he's afraid it might collapse. "How's Southlands life treating you lately? We thought you might never come back! Come on, come on! We still keep tea around just for you."
"… Ohhh, nooo…"
What's happening? Where is everybody? … And where am I?
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- In 3rd Life, Tango built up a massive cow supply. In Double Life, Tango and Jimmy are known as Team Rancher and their starter base (built by Tango) is described as “looking like a foot" (and they also kept cows there)
- Grian has (had) Room 98 in the EVO hub dorms in reference to his IRL birthday (9th of August)
- In Secret Life, Tango and Skizz form a team called the Heart Foundation and make multiple references to polyamory (Ex: Skizz scolding Tango for wanting to 'ask out Scar' while they were 'on a date with Bdubs' and Tango promptly giving Bdubs his number and saying it's been a nice night).
--- They’ve also teamed together in 3 of 5 seasons. Last Life is also notable for Skizz remarking to Tango that if they ally with Cleo, they'll "get to date her along with the other 50 people she's dating" (in reference to Cleo forming lots of alliances).
Thus, in the Neighborhood Watch universe, Tango Sr. and Skizz are in an open poly relationship. Tango has happily put down roots and enjoys wrangling livestock. Skizz comes and goes as he pleases (nod to his cartography work in Last Life plus Solo Skizz adventure vibes). Skizz sells things in town, especially flowers (reference to him covering the Heart Foundation’s base with cherry blossoms)
- Watchlings are a mob from Minecraft Earth that are covered in purple eyes, and frankly it's shocking that I've never seen Grian portrayed as one. There is a Watchling Grian in the NW universe and we might see him in another story
- In my Pixels Imperfect universe, players phase through each other because their bodies are made of pixels. Golden carrots are the player "breeding food" over there and allow players temporary solid bodies, but you also need golden carrots if you want to pick someone up and carry them. Grian doesn't yet understand what the Neighborhood Watch universe is, so he's surprised that Tango can hold him without first "getting his love hearts up."
Chapter 3: Foreign Family
Summary:
The Heart Foundation ranchers welcome Grian "home" and set him up with tea. Skizz and Grian look at maps.
(Posted January 13th, 2024)
Notes:
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Canon-typical threats / violence / murder urges
- Anxiety & emotional discomfort
- Unfamiliar body parts (Grian taken aback by his new body now that he’s no longer a pixel person)
- Implied/referenced character death
- Implied/referenced soul eating (cycling pixels through the system back in Grian's other world)
- Implied/referenced scavenging (i.e. hybrids rumored to have eaten a dead king)
- Ambiguous Grian-Scar relationship set-up
- Mentioned background relationships: Martyn/Mumbo, Joel/Lizzie, and mentioned Crimson King sleeping around
- Image with alt text (It's a map)⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Foreign Family
💚 💛 ❤️
The ranch glints with dust in the pale sunlight and they're not even inside yet. The wood planks fit together imperfectly. They squeak from footsteps alone and the color's faded, in serious need of magma cream. The two figures Tango called "Dad" and "Skizz" crowd at the door, gushing over him, and Grian can't remember how to fit his head on straight. Deep breaths? Those might help. He clings to Tango's neck a moment longer, bunching up his claw-tipped toes.
The blond man looks so similar to Tango, they probably drew inspiration for their skin designs from the same source. The clothes differ, with Tango in a red jumper and black vest while the other man wears plaid and a red bandana. Despite that, the crinkle in their eyes when Tango huffs and Mr. Rancher smiles is pretty much identical. They've both got a dimple on one side.
This must be Tango's "dad." He fits the bill of a rugged adventurer. Oh, he's definitely the one who plucked Tango's spawn egg in his arms and bid the Blaze Dragon a courteous farewell. So did Skizz hatch it? Or… is this backwards? Skizz is the traveler, Tango implied, and blaze are warm. So Mr. Rancher is probably the one who hatched it… but Tango's a blaze? Wouldn't it have to be Mr. Rancher who snuck his egg from the nest? How did Skizz get it without the Blaze Dragon taking him out? She wouldn't let a stranger close.
Either way, they're definitely both blaze hybrids. It's evident in the circlet of tiny golden rods they wear between tufted blond locks. Mr. Rancher might actually be a wildfire, but that's still a kind of blaze. The tails are new, though. At least, in Grian's limited exposure.
He doesn't recognize the enderman hybrid who scoops him out of Tango's arms. He wears a sleeveless suit… Is that even a thing?
The man is definitely an enderman. His hair's void black and thick with wild curls, and even though his eyes glow yellow instead of violet, the black swirls that wrap like tattoos from wrists to shoulders don't lie. "Hey, homie-buddy," the man chirps, and this must be Skizz.
"Skizz travels a lot," Tango said back there. Useful. Okay. Grian rubs his toes together, testing out the talons. Tango now says, "I caught him in my shrieker trap. He had this weird explodey respawn? … Didn't do anything for me, though."
Mr. Rancher's caterpillar-fuzz brows lift high into his hair. "You pulled off a shrieker trap all by yourself? Not even a scratch on you?"
"I guess."
"Oh, that's awesome-sauce! Skizzleface, look at him! That's my boy!" He squishes Tango in a hug, his tail waving behind him like a banner in the wind. Tango stands and takes it mutely. His tail doesn't so much as twitch. Grian observes this all in silence, gripping Skizz's lapels and trying not to fall through his arms to the floor. After a few seconds of this, Mr. Rancher pulls back and smacks his hands on his son's shoulders. "Aw, you're gonna get back up to Yellow in no time! I remember my first mass explodey…"
"Pat my head," Tango says, so Mr. Rancher does. Sharp fingers rustle through crackling blond hair. Embers glow among the roots. Grian keeps one eye on him, even as he Skizz starts to turn. If Tango's actually pleased, it doesn't show on his face. He wanders away, looking bored, and starts unscrewing the knob off a kitchen cabinet.
He carries Grian through the door. The ranch interior is long and crowded with tables and counters, but it comes together all right. Grian's breath hitches and he squeezes his fingers in Skizz's tie. The enderman carries him across the kitchen and into the den at the other side. Without much ceremony, Skizz flumps him down on the nearest armchair, then plops himself on the loveseat beside it. His arms fall back like widespread wings. Grian reorients himself, still testing out the bird legs, and Skizz offers him a cheery sort of smirk as he settles in.
"Come up to see us for New Year's tonight? I doubt you'll have as much fun up here as you would smuggling drinks with your boys, but hey… always glad to have you for the holidays! We've kept you around this long, right?"
What?
"I don't know where I am," Grian cuts in, because something weeeeird is going on… He glances left and right, fighting for every taste of it. Do I out myself? Is this risky? Tango just had a sword to my throat- Mr. Rancher isn't my 'dad'- "I mean, I- I've just woken up here; I'm absolutely lost. Is this Between?" Surely not… The sky's too blue, right? Between's sky is pink most hours of the day. Except for when it isn't.
Grian flicks his eyes back to the kitchen. Mr. Rancher's at the counter, rummaging for packets of chopped-up cocoa beans he can dump in the coffee pot. A small stalk of sugarcane sprouts from a flower pot by the sink. There's definitely cows around here; they'll have milk. Tea does sound nice…
"The ranch," says Skizz, looking taken aback. Grian wraps his hands around his knees and tries to find his breath. Skizz's smile slips into a frown. It's not angry, but it's puzzled. "Puzzled" prickles almost worse.
"Where's that, then? Like… Like, where are we? Have you got a map?"
From the kitchen, Tango splutters a laugh, then starts gagging horrendously. Mr. Rancher spins towards him- "Hey!" He smacks his son on the back of the head- Tango coughs out the knob he'd been eating. "Get that out of your mouth."
Skizz sits forward then, hands clasped between his knees in dancing concern. I was too obvious, Grian thinks with a hiss, and he wonders - seriously - how he's gotten himself into this. When you slay the ender dragon and free The End, you're not supposed to get flung back into the server hub or anything like that. Certainly not halfway across the Between dimension. The ranch and rolling flower fields are completely unfamiliar, and Grian's next uncertain theory is that maybe… some code got crossed along the way. Can you get dumped into the next server on the hub's list?
It's either that, or this is some other test the Watchers are putting him through… but if that's the case, it might be the weirdest one yet. Not impossible. Not even improbable. Grian thrums his fingers on his knee. What reason could the Watchers have for messing with his head like this, with these ideas of "family" (yuck) and people who claim they recognize him? He doesn't need a family. He's got his friends. And he's got Two.
Skizz says, "Do you want the coords?" and his eyes are so soft with golden concern, Grian shrugs and nods.
"I don't really know where I am."
Skizz gets up from the loveseat, motioning for Grian to follow him to another room. Grian hesitates. After a few steps, Skizz looks back. "Oh," he says, and laughs at himself. "Oh, right… I'll carry you! You okay if I carry you? Up you go!"
It's like a whole fwump of air getting knocked out of him. Grian grabs Skizz's neck again, flapping his wing, and coughs until he calms down. Skizz is strong… There's no question about that. Grian can feel the cold brush of exposed biceps against his shoulder. Skizz keeps one arm behind Grian's lower back, the other scooping his awkward bird legs.
"You good, buddy?"
"Um… Y-yeah. Thanks." He'll get the hang of this soon enough… but maybe he'll work on that in the privacy of the toilet or something. Uh, these fellas don't need to see him jumping and struggling like a newly spawned chick.
The next room over is clearly an office, though Grian stares stupidly at dark shapes lit only by hazy window light until Skizz manages to swish the lanterns on with a flick of his hand. There are four of them. They jolt to life with a puff and a spark, like napping dogs tied to a sled who just got kicked awake. "Oh," says Grian, and twists to take in every wall. "I see- I see! Ohh, so this is why Tango laughed at me when I asked if you had maps."
The wall is covered in them. So is the desk, and so is every drawer. Paintings and screenshots are mingled with them, some of them signed with the name Tango in the corner. Fields, forest, mountains, deserts… even cherry trees and mining tunnels bloom against otherwise barren wood walls.
With permission, Skizz lowers Grian in a padded swivel chair. As they chat, Grian's careful with his back and forth. I mean, why play his hand too harshly? Why give too much away when… I mean, Tango had a sword to his throat out there, right? You gotta keep some things tucked away.
"Here," says Skizz. He grips the back of Grian's chair and twists it around, then points at the largest map hanging on the wall.
The map brims with color, though most of it's assorted greens. Blue rivers snake through the landscape. The upper right corner gleams gold, indicating sand, mesas, and foothills. Gray mountains (some of them capped with snow) march along the north. Skizz guides his finger to the west. He taps a certain spot somewhere in the middle over there- a small gray patch near the place two rivers link up and meld into a larger one. "That's Dogwarts."
"Ah."
Skizz shifts his hand, adjusting position at the same time. He keeps his pinky pinned on Dogwarts and taps another spot just to the city's northeast- a flower fields biome. "Here's where we are now. I call this place the Heart Foundation, after the lake out back. It's got a heart-shaped patch of land right in the middle!"
"Where's the Southlands?" When Tango carried him across the field to the door, Mr. Rancher and Skizz referred to the Southlands. It's where Grian's supposed to be right now, apparently. Or at least, where he's been before? That's near spawn, maybe? Grian searches the map, but nothing here indicates spawn in any notable way. Unless spawn is Dogwarts?
Skizz moves his hand again, indicating the thick stripe of water that leads into a river delta. The water curves around a cliff, separating east from west overall. Skizz walks his fingers east of the river, indicating the sprawling fields and forests that cover the general southeast segment of the map. Grian nods.
Everything underneath those brown-gold foothills, I'd bet?
Grian slides from the chair. His bird legs wobble beneath him, but he catches a grip on Skizz's wrist and pulls himself closer to the wall. The labels on the map are faint, but a framed paper lists a few dozen names along with what Grian assumes are current addresses. Flower Valley. Bean Hill. Magical Mountain. Fairy Fort. West Ridge… Towns and cities pepper the whole map, and isn't that just baffling?
Are these all server hubs? I still can't figure out if I'm on a server or in Between. But when in EVO…
He soaks up the names in silence. Only two locations truly seem important, if one is to truly believe their absolutely massive names on the map (and the sheer amount of residents scrawled across the address page). One of them is Dogwarts, which Skizz already pointed out. Grian scratches through old memories, trying to pull up synonyms for "big important city," and finally settles on the word capital. Look- If that isn't right, it's close enough.
The words Four Lands coil across the map's upper edge. Dogwarts sure looks like it can throw its weight around. A dotted line indicates the northern mountains, the west, and the Southlands all fall under the jurisdiction of the Crimson Kingdom, and the crown symbol painted in red dye above Dogwarts essentially confirms that's where you'd find a castle and its king. The dashed border blatantly excludes the eastern woods and northeast desert.
Huh.
The city of Four Towers stands in the Southlands, right beside what looks to be a harbor or marina where the river empties into the sea. Grian definitely commits that name to memory, as well as the nearby ones towns and villages he can see. If these people think he came from the Southlands, so be it. He'll gaslight his way out of here if he has to. If he can reach another city, maybe then he can start asking questions… and if this is some test put forth by the Watchers, then meeting up with the rest of the Evo SMP crew without angering the locals is probably all there is to it. The map's behind a safety glass, so Grian can't resist resting his thumb near Dogwarts and its little crown.
Oh, yes… If the Watchers want them meeting anywhere, it'll be in the capital. A game of survival and navigation. That's what this is.
Skizz indicates some vague territory within the Southlands, watching Grian the whole time. The area's been labeled Greatwood Mansion and stands directly beside Redwood House. Tapping twice, he says, "You know, you're almost 18." - 18 what? Levels? Um, excuse me- "Hey, while you're up here for the holidays, we should probably talk about your parents' will."
"Yeah, may as well." Why, though? It's info string after info string, all if it swirling inside his head and sparking questions he really shouldn't be dealing with on the very first night. He hasn't even crafted tools. Parents? Don't these goose eggs think they're my parents? … Will for what? Like, to receive full rights to remodel someone else's old build? Probably full of out of style blocks, outdated redstone, and chest monsters? Great- that'll be fun. He's never had a father. Or a second mother outside his real mum. He hatched in the Parrot Dragon's nest ages ago - sharing his spawn egg with TwoMuchGrian - and he's quite content with his upbringing, thank you. He squints. Why would I want someone else's build? If they want to preserve it, shouldn't that go through the HALO team?
If this is on-server roleplay, that's a wild thing to drop on a guy. But creative. He'll give them props for that. A starter base might be nice, actually, even if he ends up ditching the place later. There must be a load of resources there he can use. His predecessors won't mind, probably. Past server members? Yeah, yeah. They must've retired from playing here. I guess I got invited in to fill their spot.
Grian leans back, evaluating the map from top to bottom once again. The North, West, and South seem to be aligned under one banner (judging from the real-life red and white banner hanging in a case on the wall). That leaves the mangrove forest, foothills, and desert standing on their own. Well… At least the desert and the mangrove swamp. They're outlined in bold. The foothills are labeled Secretmounds and seem to be their own thing. No addresses are marked there. It's devoid of life. Or at least of Skizz and Tango's friends.
But the desert looks to be outside Four Lands jurisdiction entirely, and Grian takes a mental note of that, too. If something goes wrong and he needs to flee the Crimson Kingdom, well…
Then the desert's where I go. Fewer people to mess with him, by the looks of it. Towns dot the fringes, but seem to be clustered around the northern mountains and mangrove border. Hmm… You'd need a lot of supplies to hold out there. Food and water, obviously, not to mention a spare change of clothes. His red jumper and trousers won't be any good out there.
It's a gamble, and will hopefully remain an emergency plan, but it looks like a safe bet. Judging from this map, if you're looking to flee the influence of the Crimson Kingdom, you only have two options: either northeast across the desert to who knows where, or southeast into the jungle (equally unknown). Either will be hot, so it really depends whether you prefer dryness or humidity. Grian skims his eyes across other maps depicting neighboring kingdoms, empires, or whatever else is out there. Anarchy, probably. Either way, the Crimson Kingdom seems to stretch across a decent portion of the known western world.
Hmm. Rules.
I'm a parrot hybrid. I'll gather supplies for hot weather, but if something goes wrong, I assume the locals will expect me to take off into the jungle. Especially since he'd be crossing the Southlands on his way out. Apparently, the Southlands are "home."
It's better to keep people on their toes. If the cold rules in the EVO hub have taught him one thing, it's that becoming predictable will get you caught. Grian elects not to play into the back-and-forth loop of debating whether or not one should expect the unexpected.
"By the way… I don't mean to put any pressure on you - I'm not, I swear I'm not! - but… Have you made any decisions about Oscar?"
Grian blinks and looks up. Who's Oscar? Some kind of alliance proposal? A location? … A horse? The other half of the missing parents, I'd bet. We're both going to get that starter house handed to us, and we'll be expected to share. In the EVO dorms, he was roommates with Timmy and Martyn. Tim's always a laugh. Martyn? You can forget that guy staying still. Phantom hybrids gotta prowl, you know. It's a whole thing.
Skizz watches him with a stare so deep, it's like Grian's standing there scooping all the emotion out of him with a plastic spoon. "Um," Grian says. "No, not yet."
"Ah." Skizz does look a mite disappointed, but nods regardless. "Well, we got a letter when you first went Red. I'm supposed to give it to you… I never got around to sending a phantom. It feels rude opening your mail! I think I still have it sealed shut." He peers around the office, tapping one finger to his lips. Grian doesn't have a response for that. Um…
Not important; he resolves to put it out of his mind. First things first, he's gotta nail down where he is. He needs to get to Dogwarts. It's as good of a place as any to start asking for information, and surely there'll be plenty of farms. He can put in the work- he'll mine for diamonds to trade.
All of this, of course - This whole "fly under the radar" plan - backfires immediately when Mr. Rancher opens the office door. He hands the steaming cup to Grian and says, "How'd you get back up to Green?"
"Um…" The offered cup looks like it was carved from an animal horn. Maybe a ravager's, or if not that, at least a sheep's or goat's. Grian holds it close and looks up at Mr. Rancher standing there, with Skizz guarding the maps and Tango peering in through the door. "What?"
"I saw him explode," Tango insists, lurking behind his own arm. His nails tighten in the doorframe. A thin trail of smoke curls from their claw-like points. "It was like gyoooosh!"
I need an out. I need to breathe.
"Can I use the toilet?" When he gets a nod, Grian stands, taking his cup with him, and wobbles towards the office door. No one stops him. He denies assistance. Moving the legs isn't that difficult, especially now that he's had a while to adjust to them. He moves towards the tiny room he spotted on the way over with Skizz. There's no shower, no bath, and really just the toilet and the one cabinet, but that's all he really needs. Half-bath, right?
He can hear Skizz, Rancher, and Tango conversing behind him, but whatever they're saying doesn't matter. Grian tries waving at the lantern a few times. On the third attempt, it sparks to life. Perfect. The coffee cup goes down. He starts unhitching his belt. Gods, he's a mess… Just needs a minute to…
… to…
…
Well.
That's new.
In a snap, Grian's yanking up the zipper, fumbling towards the door, and practically falling out all at the same time. Everyone's like, on their way out of the office- Skizz and Rancher with their heads bent together, Tango playing with string he probably wants to shove into a block of TNT. Grian grabs the door before he can fall. One foot slams down. Talons scour across wood. Everybody turns to look at him. The words crackle off his tongue, but they're meaningless and wailing.
"What?" Mr. Rancher asks, and Grian gives up on all the pretense.
"Hh- Hh- Where is my body!? Something's wrong- I've got the wrong skin on or- This isn't my body! I've changed. Am I a slime? How long have I been a slime? Why didn't you tell me!?"
No one seems to have a reply for that, though Tango cracks his tail in a flutter of curiosity. Honestly, Grian feels like he's fluttering away too. And falling. Plunging, really, straight to the Nether far below. Since nobody's moving and no one's getting it and no one's freaking out, he goes for his unbelted trousers and starts to pull downwards. That spurs Skizz and Rancher across the den. They rush like a pack of wolves. He may as well let them tear him to the ground.
"Grian, Grian-" That's Skizz, sliding to a stop right in front of him. He's so tall, he half-crouches by bracing himself against the wall. "Are you okay? What do you need?"
"This isn't my body!"
"Yes?" Skizz looks lost. Why's he lost? "Er… I mean, no? What's wrong? How can we help?"
What? They're treating him like a newbie. It's like pebbles raining down against his skull. Listen, listen, listen- I can't even listen to myself right now. Grian makes a vague up and down gesture with both hands. Heat's swelled up in his face. Like, it's so absolutely fiery that it's spilling down his cheeks. He grazes his finger across one, wiping at the other, and tries to fight through the words again.
"Why am I here? Now, I know this ain't right. This isn't my body. What's happened to me?"
All three of them exchange startled looks. In that moment, whatever emerald they're toying with between them suddenly drops, clicking around the pan.
In some undefinable way, Rancher and Tango defer to Skizz. Skizz holds out his hand for Grian to take. Grian's fingers bite the belt loops of his trousers for a heartbeat more, but he complies. Skizz leads him and his wobbly legs over to the loveseat. Rancher swipes the tea off the bathroom counter and brings it over too. Tango pounces on the armchair and sits like a cat. Grian, who's got no reason not to comply with whatever's going on, sits statue-like at Skizz's side. He barely takes the tea from Tango's hand.
"You know what's going on with me? I'm just- I don't know how to get out of here…"
"Okay," says Skizz. He looks Grian in the eye and keeps his distance on the seat. He doesn't touch, doesn't force, but he's so genuine in his efforts that Grian wants to hold his leg anyway. "Do you have a name?"
Some hot, scratchy part of him worms up through his chest. He could flee to the desert. He could run. He could just…
Keep running.
Grian takes a slow, steady breath and holds the cup against his stomach. "Grian…"
"Okay. That's good. Do you have any other names?"
"Um… It's Grian Charles Xelqua." That's what he uses on his paperwork those extremely few and far between times that "Grian" alone won't do.
"You were asking about the maps. Did anything look familiar to you? … Any of the cities, or anything like that? Any names you recognize?"
Grian's fingers tighten against his cup. Are the Watchers doing this? Am I failing the test? It'd be real weird for the Watchers to drop him in a new location, slap a new body on him, and expect him not to ask a few questions along the way. He frowns.
"Well, names, yeah. Um… Solidarity? InTheLittleWood? NettyPlays?" He pauses for a breath, trying to remember the proper alignment of letters and numbers in BigB's username - he usually just calls him BigB, or maybe BigB Stats - but while he's busy spelling it out in his mind, some new, grim look wafts over Skizz's face.
"Okay," he says anyway. "Um… Geez, yeah. All right. I've never met Lord Littlewood, but I know of him… I mean, you could try to see him, but… He's probably setting up the ball right now."
'Lord' Littlewood? Yeah, somehow that tracks for Martyn. What's he been up to? What ball? Grian wrinkles his nose. Tango watches, his tail ticking like a kitten's.
"I heard Littlewood killed the Crimson King. Chopped him right up- went whack, whack, whack! Snap! He's dead. Probably ate him, too."
"Tango!"
"What? We all know it was him!" Grian, uh… has no words - Martyn? What? - and Tango turns on him, cheek cradled in his hand. "I mean, it's possible. I bet he ate him. Lord Littlewood's, y'know… One of them."
Grian examines Tango from head to toe. "A Red?" he guesses, and Tango snorts smoke, rolling his eyes around his sockets. Skizz looks incredibly antsy right now, though Mr. Rancher's tolerating this in silence, rubbing one hand up and down his son's back.
"No, not that… He's a… Well, you know." Tango flaps his arms in exaggerated wings. When that doesn't get the immediate point across, he wiggles his butt and chomps the empty air. Fangs flash. Oh.
"He's a phantom?" Martyn is a phantom hybrid, but… He's got lore here? That's like, way fast- even for Martyn. Leave it to him to crawl his way into a nobility title and start messing around with the government. It's just like the simulations. Am I late to arrive or something? Have I dropped in the middle of some other game? Maybe the Watchers put him to sleep for a while. Maybe something took his memories. Maybe he blacked out. "You guys don't like phantoms?"
"Look, I don't care," Tango growls back, stubborn as ever. His tail smacks the armchair, whacking dust into the air. "I'm not scared of him or something-something. Just, y'know… He eats dead people. C'mon, I bet it was him. Maybe he and the Red King ate the Crimson King together. I heard he's both their dad. I mean, Littlewood's a phantom… His mom was probably some skank the king pulled out of the gutter."
"Tango-"
"No, no! It's all true! I remember talking to Etho about it. Etho says the Crimson King's actually Lady Shadow's dad, too- they're all half-siblings. That's why Lord Redwood and Littlewood got hitched overnight." Tango swivels back to Grian, smirking conspiratorially in a way that flits embers through his bright hair. "Lady Shadow got knocked up by your wolf prince friend and they had to swap fiancé's at the last minute, even though she's Redwood's real, actual soulmate. Mm-hm! Mmm-hmm! And then, when he went Red-"
"Tango, stop it," Skizz says, pinching his brow. "You set traps around the gossip bell too often. Maybe you need an early curfew so you won't lurk late."
Tango shrugs. "I mean, I'm Red, so… I don't have to listen to you."
"Early curfew," Mr. Rancher warns.
"Yes, Pops."
Grian drinks slowly. Technically, 'Martyn eats people' is true. 'Dead' is the questionable part. Martyn's an anivore- in the Between dimension, his hunger meter only refills if he eats someone's soul. Once the, y'know… Outside players start logging out, then Martyn starts hunting down anyone who's slipping from online activity into AFK. One bite, one lick of his lips, and he's cycling their pixels back through the server hub's system until they're refreshed and ready to log in again. It's what phantom hybrids do. Maybe a bit "scary" for a newbie who hasn't seen how it works before, but everyone comes back. Everybody lives.
"I'll watch my back," Grian assures Tango anyway. His hearts pump against his chest, but this is good news. This is great news. Martyn's here. Somewhere… Apparently having already cloaked himself in lore, so this must be an SMP- not the Between dimension at all. That explains the new faces. Not the memory loss, unless…
… Wait. Can the Watchers do that? Grian sips his tea, mulling over that thought in silence.
Did I just log into a new SMP for the first time - late - and my memories were taken from me because I'm supposed to be in character? He's played with a "fresh mindset" a few times before, although mostly in Watcher simulations. It's just easier to be "Grian the pesky bird" all the time, across every world. That persona fits him like his current skin. But maybe…
Maybe that's it. That could be exactly what happened.
The test server simulations were preparing me for this. Everyone's memories have been locked up. We've been dropped into a big ol' SMP. Potentially a long-term one? It'd be a lot of effort to pull memories if only for a short while. Maybe it's a behavior study. Martyn, obviously, has wildly successful promotion-chasing behavior. Grian studies the cup in his hand, wondering what animal it came from. He's pretty sure it's either a ravager horn or a goat's. He takes another sip of tea. Mr. Rancher made it exactly the way he likes it- beans, milk, and sugar. That's wild.
Why would he remember the Watchers, though? That's an odd thing to let slip through, unless-
… I'm not late. I've literally been here this whole time. That other Grian is me. His memory files must've been jostled out of place. He'll have to bring it up with the Watchers when he logs out. He won't run out early on their test - that would be rude - but when they call for him, he'll come. Next time he logs in, he'll probably be back to normal again.
Everything is okay.
"Have you been to the Secretmounds?" Mr. Rancher asks, watching Grian. He's still rubbing Tango's back, which Tango shows no reaction too. Especially not emotion. Grian shrugs and decides to answer honestly. This can all be fixed. If the Watchers want to pull him out, they'll signal him and get this fixed. Until they do, he'll try to adopt the roleplay of 'Grian' as best he can.
"Uh, you might have to refresh my memory on that one." Both in and out of character.
Skizz rests his hand to Grian's shoulder, looking at him all the while. "I'm pretty sure there's a spectator in your body, dude."
"What's that mean?" Is that where Two went? Is his soul stuck in my vessel right now? It's not like TwoMuchGrian to leave him lonely this long… After all, they are twins. Grian can do a lot of camera work using only his own eyes, but Two is a proper camera account. Grian glances down, reaching for his throat. If he unzips his skin, that might make it easier for Two to slip free. Why not just say that, though?
Skizz, misinterpreting Grian's hand gesture as a plea for holding, catches his fingers in his own. "I guess you don't know what that is, huh?"
"Uh, no-"
"It's a spirit- a pink one, from the Secretmounds. That's where we honor the perma-dead, right?"
Perma-dead is familiar. It's like, deleted accounts and stuff. Or final Hardcore deaths, on Hardcore worlds. Keep that in mind- this is Hardcore until proven otherwise. "Oh. That's really cool."
"They whisper secrets in your ears; they try to possess your mind." Skizz watches for a reaction, which Grian doesn't give him. At least, nothing more than the tightening of his fingers against Skizz's hand and the animal horn cup. He sips slowly, processing the words, while Skizz, Tango, and Mr. Rancher all watch with very tight lips.
"Okay… It wouldn't be my first time with an extra soul in my vessel. It's usually just Two, though. When he's not on the clock, he usually curls up inside my head. Um- Listen, listen- I take all my anti-virus protections. I update my vessel to all the new versions as they roll out. I'm pretty safe, I reckon. Is there something wrong? Is it stuck?"
They're all looking at him. The cup's so warm in Grian's hand, his wrist starts to shake. So Skizz tries again.
"This isn't your body, dude… I mean, I don't want to make any assumptions for you, but you're probably a spectator."
"He can't be," Tango mutters. "His eyes aren't pink."
"I'm the player account," Grian corrects, pointing at his eyes. When he waves his fingers back and forth, the green glow illuminates the curve of his hand. It's not his usual color, but it could be. He used to have blue eyes. Then he had black. He's probably wearing the wrong skin. He didn't exactly check the mirror while unbuckling his belt and stuff. "My twin's the camera; he's on spectator." Easy mistake to make- they are identical.
Are we still identical? Grian glances at his scarlet wings. The feathers ripple from red to yellow to dark blue. There's even a bit of green in there, if you squint. Hmm…
"You don't have a twin."
"Out of character, I have a twin, I mean. Sorry… I think I've lost the thread here."
"What?"
"Look, I don't know what's going on-"
Skizz pulls him down before he can get up. Grian nearly drops his tea- he glowers at Skizz for a beat, but Skizz keeps talking. Oh, Skizz keeps talking.
"This isn't your body, dude… The world is different now than you remember it. You've taken Grian's body. I'm, uh… I'm guessing he didn't need it anymore."
All the heat of tea and face comes crashing down in a shower of sparks. Except there are no sparks. Grian almost drops the cup, catching it against the heel of his hand just in time. "Wait. Fellas, fellas, we can talk about this- Listen, wait, wait- Are you saying I'm-?"
"Grian, I'm sorry, buddy… but all the signs are pointing to it. I think you're perma-dead."
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- Skizz spends a lot of Last Life making maps for the Team B.E.S.T. secret bunker. Skizz being vaguely familiar with Martyn references Skizz’s allegiance with Dogwarts in 3rd Life
- The locations Grian names while looking at the map are canon to the Life series, with the exception of West Ridge, Redwood House, and Greatwood Mansion. West Ridge is the cliffside location several ‘fics in the Neighborhood Watch series take place.
Redwood House is a sizable chunk of land owned by Mumbo and it's the reason he's a lord. It's a nod to Martyn and Mumbo's ship name being Redwood (or alternatively, Ahasbands)
Grian's mansion in Hermitcraft Season 7 was called the G-Mansion. Apparently Grian bought the lordship title Lord Grian Dreamslayer IRL, so he gets to be a lord in this universe too. Dreamslayer is the surname he used while Red in this universe (cutting ties with Team Ties'g for Red reasons)
In the NW universe, his middle name is Harvestmuch- a nod to Scar calling him "Grian H. Dreamslayer," although I forget where. Also a nod to Mumbo's canon middle name being Killsalot, although he goes by Mumbo K. Jumbo because "it's embarrassing." Harvestmuch references Grian's ability to put in the grind for a project, especially resource gathering
- Charles is IRL Grian’s real name. Xelqua is Grian’s old username on YouTube, though I don’t remember if there’s any story behind it or if it was just a series of randomly generated letters
- In this universe, the Red King and Crimson King are both inspired by Ren. Technically, “Martyn’s Ren” is the Red King (Red Prince in their youth) and the Crimson King is Ren’s father- we’re playing a semi-realistic world where Dogwarts has been established for a long time, so the role of king is hereditary
- In 3rd Life [Martyn’s Episode 8, Ren’s Episode 9], Martyn beheaded Ren with the Red Winter axe. It took him three hits (Whack, whack, whack)
- In Double Life Session 2, Ren and Martyn roleplayed a bit where Ren refused to go to the Deep Dark with Martyn unless he received confirmation that his date with Martyn’s mom was still on. Martyn makes a show of being irritated about the whole thing, insisting that his mother needs a real man and Ren is acting like a boy. Since Ren and Ren’s father both draw from the pool of Life Series Ren canon, well… there ya go. I’m sure there’s a joke to be made here about Martyn calling “his dad” for advice while playing the Chick Chance betting game with Jimmy during 3rd Life.
- Martyn and Mumbo were married during Last Life, even laughing at the idea of being married without an engagement period- “We’ve skipped a step!” Martyn gained his lord title through marriage.
- In 3rd Life, Joel built a dog army and considers himself the Wolf King. Joel and Lizzie are married IRL. They're Hermes' parents in this universe since this is a 3rd Life series and Sausage isn't here.
Spectator souls are discussed more in “The Children of Dust and Ashes.” It’s a Gem & The Scotts piece about Impulse getting possessed by a dead builder who’s forgotten their identity except for their obsession with cherry wood.
I hope you're enjoying this story as much as I am! The map was my New Year's eve project and honestly, I'm pretty happy with how it came out :)
Chapter 4: Feeling Red and Blue
Summary:
Grian reviews basic world lore with Skizz. He helps his hosts prep dinner while Tango repairs the TNT damage he left in the field.
(Posted January 20th, 2024)
Notes:
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Another reference to rumors that phantom hybrid Martyn may have eaten the Crimson King
- Implied/referenced soul eating (from Grian's past in the Pixels Imperfect universe)
- Canon-typical violence and background Red drama⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Feeling Red and Blue
💚 💛 ❤️
I am dead.
This is news to Grian. And it's still news as he lies across the crafting table out back by the barn. Pink-white clouds ripple and stretch like pieces of wool picked apart. A frog eyes him up from a nearby heap of logs. You know, the weather's warmer than he would've guessed. Apparently New Year's hits tonight, but… that means little to his mental calendar without a firm grasp of this seed's biomes and seasons.
This world's seasons. Gosh, it's like trying to plan a party for an entire SMP when you don't even know one person involved. There's so much to juggle, it's like catching bubbles with a tiny sample spoon.
Skizz (with some hesitation) allowed Grian to take one of the maps from its item frame after they both discovered Grian couldn't take screenshots with his eyes in this world. His pupils flick wherever they need to go, he can't zoom his eyes in like at all, and losing the ability to flick his 360° vision toggle on is really throwing off his self-positioning. He doesn't even have TwoMuchGrian to crawl inside his head and share recordings or anything…
Two.
His hearts thump into his throat. Can they jiggle around until they fall out if he keeps hanging upside-down on the crafting table like this?
Am I ever going to see Two again? That thought pinches at his eyes. They blur with warm energy. He squeezes his fingers in his hair. He's never been without Two before. They even hatched from the same spawn egg.
Is this some kind of prank he's playing over my eyes? Did he record all of this?
That question's hollow, like a warden's gaping chest. He coughs.
Did he ask me to get dumped in a portal and sent somewhere else? Did I offend my friends? Did they hate me in secret and report me and now I'm being punished until I fight for survival or crash and burn?
… Did I do something wrong?
At least he's getting better at using the bird legs. He hones his attention in on that, struggling a little with the breathing upside-down. I could do without the tail feathers, but maybe I can get those cropped. He only slipped once in the muck, and that's mostly because Tango bumped into him while crossing past with the shovel. Mr. Rancher tasked him with filling the TNT sinkhole in the ground where Grian apparently died. Tango keeps snorting as he works, but at least he's left Grian alone to think.
No scattered pixels soak the grass where Tango's working. Why would they? Bodies here are "flesh" and "bone." No pulsing, writhing thing seems to indicate he ever blew up at all. Grian opens and closes one hand, reaching towards the sky. The respawn cleaned him up. No calluses. No sunburns or tan lines. This skin fits tight, evidently tailor-made.
It's not so bad, being dead. Surprisingly, it feels a lot like being alive… apart from the crushing realization that he's landed in a world where the mechanics have shifted (where ravagers breed with cows; where creepers are raised for eggs and bacon), comms aren't long-range, Nether and elytra travel are basically nonexistent unless you rub shoulders with some extremely high-ranking people, and there's no going home. This world is home now. It doesn't update to new versions. Its ores are finite. Mob farms require months or even years of build-up before the rates are even that effective. You can't pop out to visit friends in the server hub for lunch. Creative mode does not exist.
This is it. It's the only world its residents have ever known.
And it's his world now.
While Tango shovels, Grian slips a hand beneath his jumper. Each time he tugs down the collar, he can tell the jagged scar across his chest glints with gold. He's not taken the time to get a good look at it yet (Kind of waiting for the whole "Why does my body look like that?" anxiety to die down), but he's certain that got left by a Totem of Undying… Like, that's basically guaranteed.
Ten minutes ago, when ideas were pitched back and forth across the living room as to how Grian could've survived that massive explosion up close and personal, he voiced the totem possibility. He expected nods, but Skizz and Rancher exchanged pained glances right in front of him- Two We know better than you glances that could curdle milk or toes.
"That's certainly a theory," Rancher mused. "I don't think that's it, though."
"People spend their whole lives searching for the last totem. You're young, G. Sorry… That just seems far-fetched."
Only Tango stayed silent, picking grass blades from the bristles at his tail tip. Grian sat in silence with his tea, but after both adults left, Tango leaned over and whispered that he believed him.
"You do?"
"'Course I do! I'm the one who saw you die and live to tell the tale!"
Maybe he isn't dead. Maybe when he falls asleep tonight, he'll log out and mingle in Between again. He'll eat in the cafeteria. He'll do his homework. And when the Watchers call for him, he'll log back onto this server and do his tasks, just the way it's supposed to be.
Or maybe the server admin lives in Dogwarts. Maybe the admin's roleplaying as the king. Maybe they'll help him out of here. Maybe his friends are making their way towards the city even as they speak. Maybe Tango, Skizz, and Rancher are all in character and too well-paid by the Watchers to break. Maybe it's all a test. You could wallpaper a room or a deathtrap with the amount of Maybes floating like jellyfish inside his head. And Grian stares up at the clouds for a very long time as the sun sinks lower in the rosy sky, twiddling his thumbs.
What if I still have my ability to log off a server, but my memories are seriously, genuinely blocked? Is there any way to prove it? Tricky… It's not like you can take items in or out of that dimension.
Keeping within line of sight of other people would probably be the wisest way to test this. Yeah, these ranchers seem the type to be surprised if he blips out of existence right in front of him. Or they'll have some web they'll spin - some lore - to sort the whole thing out. Maybe logouts are only allowed at night when you're drifting off to sleep, and they're so deeply in character, they've forgotten how life really works.
I can leave myself signs to read. I can note down clock times. This world's multiplayer- the clock keeps ticking if I leave. He needs ink and a quill. He needs a book.
Tango groans from the other side of the fence. One palm drags down his freckled cheek, leaving a smudge of dirt behind. Grian watches him only because it's so little effort to adjust his eyes. The blaze hybrid's half finished filling in the hole, though he stands right now in a slouch. Bundles of loose pixels visibly roll down his bare arms. He's not made of pixels. They can't be pixel clumps, but Grian doesn't have another word for them.
I guess these bodies drip water like my old one dripped light. Strange world, so far removed from the norm. What a weird mod installation that would be.
Tango rolls his shoulders. They gleam, and for just a moment there… he does drip light like the sea. The sun catches his hair in a way that melts it into butter. Tango pats his bicep, swiveling to Grian, and gripes, "I had plans tonight. I'll never finish this in time."
"That's the way it goes sometimes. Don't forget to take 20 seconds of break every 20 minutes."
"You're not gonna help?" he asks, tapping the shovel against his palm. Grian laughs. He snorts.
"Uh, you tried to kill me with TNT, dude. Perma-kill me, actually. You can handle this one on your own."
"Awesome happy fun sauce. You're amazing." But Tango goes back to work. The scritch of boots and dirt is almost soothing in the way it glides up to the edge of the barn. It laps like an ocean wave. Grian unrolls Skizz's map again.
The yellow paper's thin and flaking. It feels older in his hands than the one behind the display glass looked, though that might simply mean it's been well-loved. This map displays the landscape at a much smaller scale than the one for the Four Lands hanging in Skizz's office. Some of the ink's grown smudged and faded, but the borders stand clear. That's all you really need.
According to this old thing, the Crimson Kingdom oversees every square chunk of rolling hills, farmland, and ranching prairie west of Poppy River. This goes on for thousands and thousands of blocks (even if you were to build a one-wide road to cross it). Territory doesn't end because of rival kingdoms or precarious climates, but because the southern cliffs eventually curl around the west side of the Four Lands and stretch towards the north, which abruptly marks the end of the peninsula.
Yikes.
Every minecart rail leads downhill into Dogwarts. Every easy road for horses through the woods… Sitting up, Grian says to Tango, "I get the feeling the Crimson Kingdom would claim the underwater turf too if they had the means. Not even for resources, but just because they can."
Tango's less impressed, not even slipping out a chuckle. He may as well be carved from candle wax (He's certainly hot and melting like it). His tail snaps to the side. "Hey, you see that archipelago way down southwest? Should be very bottom corner of your map."
"Yeah?"
"That's the Coral Isles. That's ours too."
"Of course it is." The Westlands have their hooks in everything.
Dogwarts has its hooks in everything. Why even call it the Four Lands when it really boils down to Dogwarts and Non-Dogwarts Fringes in the end? This map doesn't label individual estates and country houses like the one hanging on the wall. It probably wouldn't matter even if it did, because it would still be Dogwarts in the end. Even these fancy nobles plea the king's favor for their daily bread.
Okay. Let me think. The Secretmounds are sacred land: politically neutral and uninhabited. The northeast desert pads out hundreds of thousands of square chunks before it fades into the Kingdom of Mezalea. You'd need a skeleton horse or a camel to cross it effectively on foot. Even by wing, that looks like it would take days. Or weeks. That's assuming heat exhaustion doesn't get to you, though…
… and the map doesn't depict anything beyond Mezalea's border. Grian took a look around Skizz's office, but the map in his hands stretches as far east as Skizz seems to have reason to go. It's drawn in ink- not generated accurately by the world itself the way they work on most servers. There's no telling if these measurements are even accurate.
Nothing in this map indicates why Dogwarts hasn't seized the Eastlands, so Grian asks Tango that, too. "Pick up a shovel and help me fill this hole," Tango snips back, scooping soil by the bucketful. He dumps it with little care or fanfare. "Maybe I'll tell you."
Uhhh… The blast radius left a long, ash-filled scar across the field. Grian glances over. "Yeah, I'm not doing that."
"Tough luck, buttercup." Tango bends down to pick up a rock, then stuffs it in his pocket. His tail flits like a feather in the wind. "Look, you should know this one- Prince Joel is your friend."
"I don't think I've met a Joel in my life."
"Well neither have I, but you don't see me complaining."
And you certainly don't see me budging for a guy who blew me up. Grian's not cracking over this. Neither does Tango. So the Eastlands defenses (either physical or political) remain a mystery for now. Pity.
He runs his finger across the creases in the map. Traveling southeast would lead him through denser and denser jungle. The area opens up again, but the landscape looks mountainous in most places and there's no indication that anybody lives there. A small cluster of hermits at the absolute most, but that's a big if and entirely uninteresting. Hm. Grian rolls the map up back up, then tucks it away in the satchel Skizz gave him. The leather's pale and bare of decorations. It's certainly no replacement for a proper inventory, but at least it's a start.
Tango's occupied for now. Placated? Probably not. Grian slips off the crafting table and leaves the barn, heading back inside the ranch. Mr. Rancher went out to do other farm chores, but Skizz is there chopping vegetables for soup. "Hey, Grian," he chirps, and Grian leans his shoulder in the kitchen doorway.
"Hey… Um, I didn't want to ask with Tango in the room, but is he, like… okay? I mean, that whole 'setting random traps on your farm' thing- that's… that's weird, right?"
Skizz sighs, flicking on the sink. Water bursts out, filling the copper sink, and Grian flinches at the noise. Skizz glances back then, checking behind Grian rather than at his face, and Grian wonders if maybe the water's not so much there for the soup, but more to add one extra layer of noise to the air to confirm that Tango can't hear them from outside.
"Tango's on his Red life. Does that sound familiar?"
"I dunno. Vague context clues from our chat earlier, but just…" Grian rolls his shoulders and walks over to the counter. There's another crafting table in here, but this one's clearly just meant for touching food- it's smaller than the one by the barn. "Take me through it."
"Right, okay… It's been this way for as long as the library's been standing in Dogwarts, so it was probably a thing for you too and you can stop me if I'm mansplaining."
Right. Because "Grian's soul is perma-dead" and "Grian's body maybe got taken by a spectator before a scavenger could get to it first." Eeeesh… It sounds so massively messed-up that he wants to pull his hair out.
"He can't be a spectator," Tango had protested. "His eyes aren't pink."
"Well, maybe Grian's possessing his own body? Maybe that reset his system. Maybe he wasn't Red anymore anyway. Grian, were you Red?"
"Um…"
What a nightmare of a day…
"Mansplain all you like," Grian tells him with a shrug. He joins Skizz by the sink and takes a tiny kitchen sword. By the time he's done beheading strawberries, they've covered all the basics: this is a Hardcore world where everyone spawns in with three lives. Right. So… three lives and you're finished. You're perma-dead.
"Green, Yellow, and Red?" Grian checks. "After the eye color?" Skizz and Rancher both have shimmery golden eyes. Tango's on his Red life and Grian's still glow emerald when he holds up the back of his hand. At least the glowing's familiar, even if the color's wrong. Maybe this body's not so different after all, even if underneath the trousers it's a mite…
… yeah.
"That's right," Skizz says, reaching for the potato peeler. "I'd say most people hit their Yellow life by the time they're my age. Green's not unusual, but some people are more careful than others."
Skizz starts work on the scrubbed potatoes. Grian tries to get a good look at him while pretending he just really, really cares about getting strawberry juice smears off his hands. His curious nature wins out, and he says, "How'd you lose your Green life?"
"Well… I fell in with the wrong crowd. They turned on me with the swords pretty quick. I was 14."
"14 what?" 14 days in the spawn egg? 14 weeks in your dragon's nest after hatching? 14 levels of XP?
"Years."
"Oh, wow… That's awful." Grian focuses more intently on the strawberries, rubbing his fingers over lumpy seeds. I only had my one singleplayer back then. You can't truly sleep in the Between dimension, but temperature drops in the evening and resting with your eyes closed is a great way to recover energy, especially if you wear yourself out learning how to fly. Phantom hybrids don't even try hunting AFK souls near the Parrot Dragon's nest. That part of the jungle's much too tangled in vines for the wide wings of an experienced phantom, and phantoms who don't have the XP to weather the mountains, high altitude, and humidity aren't going to make it uphill anyway. It's a great place for teaching newbies how to glide.
Poor Skizz, though… He must've been a runt. His frame's so thin, he definitely doesn't look like he fought for his share of the feed, though it's hard to tell with endermen hybrids. Even if you've lived a thousand years on your first singleplayer before setting foot in a multiplayer hub, your Between dimension body will still be a wobbly-legged one. Walking while you're on-server, flooded with the strength of genuine online activity, is easy. Learning to hold your body weight vertical, keeping balanced, in a dimension where you're no longer getting fed energy by an online sync connection? … Not so much.
Nesting hubs are frantic and messy, and you learn pretty quick where you fall in the pecking order. Grian's earliest memories are all about nestling against the Parrot Dragon's belly, wriggling and fighting for her body warmth with Two and all the other downy-feathered spawnlings. Okay, sure… He bit and punched his nestmates as much as anyone, but he never went as far as killing them… outside of mutually agreed romp and wrestle and play. He was maybe 14 years before he even started fledging.
Wow…
It's the only applicable word. Dead on a hardcore server that young, one of your three precious lives flushed down the drain.
I can't even imagine…
"I'm okay now," Skizz says, cheery and high-pitched above the rushing sink water. It gurgles like thunder or a dragon about to snuff poison in the air. "I've got friends and family… Oh, and you're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, of course."
"Right… And I'm Tango's brother?" Makes sense. He's roleplayed sibling dynamics before, and apparently he fell in with this crowd before his memories got jostled out of place.
"Our foster kid." Skizz is gentle, ever patient, and he cleans the potatoes while Grian works with strawberries. "Your parents went Red when you were four. Years," he adds before Grian can say anything else. He stands there at the counter, fidgeting with the leafy tops of chopped-up berries. The image of itty-bitty Grian - so small in soul that his skin didn't even fit him right - nestled for false sleep beneath the gleaming gold feathers of the Parrot Dragon…
… that image crawls into his mind once again. But he clears his throat, because at least he's sorting out the details of his lore: his former caretakers (his "parents") either appealed to the Parrot Dragon for an egg or stole it from her nest and got away with it. He probably hatched at that Greatwood Mansion build. Well, in the lore, in the lore… He wouldn't have actually had an egg. The Parrot Dragon only exists in Between and this is just a server…
… I need to find these roleplay partners. They must be somewhere. They can fill him in on all the details. He just needs to hunt them down.
"So Tango is your son-"
"Well, Junior's Rancher's son- he had him young and I kinda fell in, helping him out while we lived together. We were Team T.I.E.S. back then- that's me and my buddies Top, Impulse, and Etho. Then you came along!" Skizz beams, smile stretched a little too shiny and wide. Just a bit. "We were Team Ties'g for a bit- had to fit your 'G' in there somewhere, buddy."
The names Impulse and Etho aren't familiar. So he asks. The smile falters. Skizz shrugs, as mild in the face now as the potatoes he's rinsing in the sink.
"Yeah, Impulse works down in Dogwarts at the armory… He still lives where Team T.I.E.S. raised you; I can take you if you want." He hesitates like he wants to say something else, but moves on after just a beat. "I'm taking Tango down there anyway after food and we always spend the night with Impulse. Maybe that'll spark something in your memories?"
"… Yeah, I could do." I mean, it's worth a shot, right?
Skizz nods, picking up the last potato in the bin. "Etho won't be there. His wife's expecting their second."
"No, no," Rancher says, strolling through with a bucket of milk. Skizz and Grian both jolt. As he starts working with the ice chests, he says, "Are you kidding? Cleo's totally going! She's not gonna miss her last chance before the kid is born. Etho's totally crashing at Impulse's with Scar!"
"Oh boy," Skizz mutters, and Grian glances over to watch his lashes flicker down. He stands rigid and scrawny like an armor stand. After a moment, Skizz starts peeling the potatoes with sharper scrapes. He doesn't voice anything else. Rancher drops the milk bucket in the ice chest, then looks at Grian.
"Did you ever write Oscar back? Or were you, like… too Red to focus on that?"
"Uhhh… I don't remember. Listen- Did I have another base that's not this place? I probably left some notes-"
Rancher cracks up. "Oh, you're gonna have a fun time at the party tonight. I'm staying here- That one's all you, Skizz. Tell me how it goes!"
"Errgggghhhh…"
Grian clears his throat, trying to pull Skizz's attention back around. "Okay, okay… So these three lives… those are Green, Yellow, and Red. You're always spawned on Green?"
"Yep." Skizz finally switches the water off and shakes droplets from his hands. "And the Green can go darker- if you've got four, five, six or even more lives than that, that'll really put a pretty shade in your eyes."
"Gotcha… How do you get more lives?" Look, I'm either clawing my way to the top or I'm taking the L and backing out. "Wait- Is it from perma-kills? That's why Tango set that trap outside?"
"My firecracker of a son," Rancher says fondly, one hand to his chest.
"Um… Causing someone's perma-kill will boost you up a color, yeah." Skizz pauses. His hands rest at the edge of the sink for a moment. Then he says, "Sometimes you can spring up a color if you cause a death even when it's not a perma-kill. It only happens when two souls are super non-compatible, but one of you absorbed the other by being in the area right after the death. That'll overlay your soul with purple until you die again- but that's really rare! I never even believed it until last year- It happened to Impulse."
"Okay… And Tango said something about pink eyes, if there's a spectator in the vessel… Do you know anybody like that?"
"The Crimson King," Skizz and Rancher say together. Grian widens his eyes just a bit, indicating in his silence that he wants that story, sure deal. He tosses the strawberry tops in the composter and takes a seat at the dining table. Skizz sticks to the potatoes, but Rancher takes a position that lets him roughly look at Grian and peer through the window at Tango at the same time. Tango's still shoveling. Loud, huffy noises float back through the air.
"So… You've got kersplatted memories, right? We've had the Ruby King, the Rose Queen… a bunch of royals who didn't even use red-themed titles… Any of those ring a bell? That'd nail us down on your timeline."
"Uh, nope."
Rancher shrugs. "Well, the Crimson King got his corpse possessed by a spectator, right? It was a whole thing. He came lurching back all spooky-like" - Tango makes walking legs with two fingers - "and tried to kill his own son and like, half the lords and ladies in the castle before the coronation. Lord Littlewood got him with an axe." Quick pause. "Well, it's what my sources say."
"So did Martyn eat him?"
The name jumps off his tongue like a snapping spark- total instinct. Rancher looks at him in some surprise. "Uh… I mean, I dunno. I think they buried him- He was the king."
Oh, well that's a story hook if I ever heard one- "So he's gonna come back."
"I don't think so? I mean, it's not common for spectators to come down from the mounds. And I think they put him in a coffin this time."
"Uh-huh…"
"Honestly I don't know about the corpse-eating, but don't listen to Junior; he's Red. Makes him cranky; you know how that stuff poisons your brain…"
At that, Grian blinks. "It's… a poison." Who put THAT in the mod? "Wait- is he on a time limit? Is he, like… dying?"
"He's gonna get himself killed is what," Rancher says, and shrugs like he doesn't care. But there's a swift, shifting coldness in his eyes and a bob in his throat that suggests he doesn't mean it. "Red Life does things to you, I've heard… 's really hard to fight back against the urges. It gets inside your head."
"… Oh. Um, like- as roleplay? Or…" He trails off. Rancher's looking at him a little funny, a little confused. Grian hunches in his shoulders, exhaling warm breath against his hands. "He's 'fighting' the urge to kill, you said?"
"Yeah. I mean, I've never been Red myself, but I've seen it ruin lives. And friendships," he adds, a little more quietly. Several seconds pass before he says, "It takes over you, y'know? That urge to kill- it gets under your skin."
It's a mod that makes players aggro on other players! Ohhhhh, no. Geez. If that's the case, I'm lucky to be alive. A couple of his friends deal with aggro on the regular (Martyn being the prime example once the AFK timer starts ticking down). Parrots don't aggro on anything, so Grian's never felt that invisible tug that turns your head towards another person… that drags your breath away and leaves you staring at their laughing smiles in the lantern light. He's never had those fantasies of touch and teeth or been jolted off a block pillar by that wild snap that lurches the brain from "This seems so unsanitary" into "Rolling around in the dirt with you and touching your hair and maybe biting at your skin would be the most amazing feeling in the world."
Martyn can pull against the aggro tug, but it's like a fishing hook wedged so deeply in his skin, the metal claw is in his hearts and his pixels have sealed shut around it. He can walk away, dragging the line, but sooner or later, it's gonna go taut. Then it starts reeling him in, faster and faster the longer someone near him has been floating in that weirdly ambiguous "emotionally offline but not physically pathfinding back to their AFK server's portal" kind of state. Grian's entertained Martyn long enough to get a feel for when that thoughtful look in his friend's eyes is fixated more on "Chase you, pin you down, my hands on your wings and my teeth in your shoulder- Wanna tussle on the floor with me?" than on any of the words leaving his mouth, and he politely excuses himself every time. Not his thing, y'know? I mean, some people make fun and flitty games of aggro stuff, but it's not…
It's just not his thing.
BigB doesn't have it so bad, but he's an illusioner. His drive flares up more when he's running with a group, laughing along with them- he's just one of those "I gotta be there, I gotta get a good view and maybe some words in to find out if I feel anything" types and all that, and frankly BigB's so gentle that, like… It's not scary when he looks at you and you see the magic sparks dancing up his fingers. Actually, diving from his fancy spectral arrows is kind of fun- BigB is… Yeah.
Well, Tango hauled his mind back from aggression, especially after Grian mentioned slaying the ender dragon, so he's probably not pushing against Martyn's type of aggro. Maybe being Red is like that "running with the pack" urge pillagers tend to get? Maybe it takes some kind of friendly atmosphere or a spark of connection first… and it's that steady build-up that brings it out of you.
Ohhh boy…
Grian leans forward in his chair, tugging the edge of the curtain's aside. They're softer wool than most banners he's touched before. He starts a quick conversation about the material, watching Tango fill the TNT hole and pant and guzzle water from a bucket as he works. Then he says, "So… Is he stuck like this until he gets a perma-kill on someone? Or, like, one of those wild purple kills?"
"Mmm…" Rancher pulls at the curtain too. They watch together, tugging sleeves and rubbing chins. "Well, there's the wizard… He's got a traveling cart and he always sets up outside the Hearts Club Ball to lure Red suckers in."
"Expensive," Grian guesses. "Diamonds?"
"Dunno. Magic's weird. Tango went and talked to him right after he dropped to Red, but he didn't share the details. I don't like it- nope, nope… If he'd just go out gambling or something, yeah, sure… Wizards, though. Mm."
"Brrrr," Skizz says, shuddering over the furnace, and Grian checks over, not sure whether he's playing it for the bit or if that's, like, a legit reaction. Skizz's made good progress with the soup. Apparently Grian's eyes bore straight into his head, because Skizz turns and makes an even more exaggerated face with his tongue. "Etho's locked-in on his service contract 'til his kid turns 12. I'm glad it's not me- that's all I'm saying."
Rancher sighs, smoke flickering through his teeth. But he doesn't disagree. "Sounds intense," Grian remarks, tapping fingers. The nails are sharp and straight along the sides, just the way he's always worn them. It lurches through him like a berry bush growing thorns through his guts. His leg starts to bounce- the tail does a funny twitch up the back that he's not crazy about so far.
That desperation for a life… to put that much extra distance between yourself and getting kicked off the Hardcore world, well…
Yeah. His mind wobbles back to Skizz's walls of maps. For all the building turf that Dogwarts has a claim on, it must be a nice world to live on, if you're willing to set random traps in your own turf just for the hope of scoring a perma-kill or whatever…
I guess that makes sense. This is their only world.
Ah. Right. It's, like… account deletion levels of perma-death for them.
And for me too, now.
… Maybe?
Or when this is all over, will I wake up in Between again? Do I get to go home?
I mean… Tango wants a kill. Maybe he should let Tango knock him down to Red life and then run him through with a nice sharp sword. The Watchers might be upset he failed their game, but so what? At the end of the day, it is a game. And maybe he doesn't want to play it anymore. Like…
I was supposed to graduate from my Education courses after that last dragon fight. I passed all the tests, didn't I? I'm supposed to be one of them now; I'm supposed to be a Watcher…
His head falls against his hands. His body swells on every breath. The fluttery wings twitching at his shoulder blades are so foreign, so scarlet and yellow and blue. Oh, man… With all this death and waking up with muddled memories and lives and bodies and chatter, this is…
"I'm supposed to graduate tonight," he mumbles into the heel of his hand. His dorm's a mess. He's gonna get fined. They're gonna have him mining diamonds for a week. He doesn't say anything else until Skizz declares the soup is done and Rancher goes to call Tango in. Wooden bowls clack against the table. The table's solid- it doesn't feel like scaffolding. It's just wood.
Skizz sits across from Grian and serves him a scoop of soup. Rancher takes the chair to the left and Tango (dripping dirt and gleaming with water-light), flops down on the right. His chair goes back. His boots slam on the table's edge. Tango grabs a strawberry and stabs it on the end of his iron sword. Then - without removing them - he scoops his plate plus the butter dish towards him. He uses the sword to slice open the dinner roll, then starts buttering. With… with the sword.
All of a sudden, Grian's wide awake and very aware of his status as "The only person at the table who hasn't spent the last however much time in this world sharing a build and food with a snappy Red name." He jerks back.
"What?" Tango grunts. The sword drops across the table with a clatter. He stuffs his entire roll in his mouth and chews like a horse with its head in an apple barrel.
Uhhh… Is he going to aggro? Blazes aggro, so a Red blaze hybrid probably gets the feelings worse. Like, like… If he might get hit with aggro urges at any time, what's to stop him from… you know?
Grian scoots his chair just a little to the left. Just- just as a precaution, yeah? "You… let your son live in your house when he's Red? Isn't that dangerous?"
"He's harmless," Mr. Rancher assures him, lifting his mud-colored mug. Grian stares first at him, then at Skizz, and then at the cross-armed boy sitting at the end of the table. Tango's heels are up on display. His glowing eyes narrow to a squint. Grian slides his eyes to Mr. Rancher again. He doesn't unclench his arms from around his torso.
"Can I switch seats?"
"What?" Tango mutters again. He brings the strawberry at the tip of his sword to his mouth. "Don't act like I'm some phantom. I just need some random kill so I can go back up to Yellow life. It's not like I'm gonna eat my buddy's corpse…"
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- Skizz saying his old friends turned on him quick is a nod to his double boogeyman deaths in Limited Life Session 1.
- Team T.I.E.S. is a team from Limited Life (Tango, Impulse, Etho, Skizz)
- Impulse working in the Dogwarts armory references 3rd Life, when Skizz recruits Impulse to provide weapons and gear to Dogwarts
- The Clocker family was a roleplay dynamic from Limited Life (Etho as absent father, Cleo as the single mom of teen Scar and Bdubs). At this point in the timeline, Cleo is pregnant with Bdubs.
- The Crimson King being possessed by a spectator is a (vague) nod to 3rd Life Ren’s transition from “Ren of Dogwarts” to showing up one day and donning the king persona (i.e. adjusting his roleplay to match his MCC crown). Bit of a personality switch in-universe.
- More Littlewood-Crimson King drama, again a nod to Martyn beheading Ren with the Red Winter axe and people in this universe looking down on scavengers for eating corpses.
- The Crimson King not being in a coffin the first time he was buried is a nod to Scar selling coffins during 3rd Life.
- During Last Life, Scar played the role of the wizard and sold souls and goods. Tango went to see him after Bdubs killed him; Scar sold him a rage crystal. Also, Etho read one of his contracts (and maybe signed one- my memory says he didn't but I saw somewhere he signed one eventually, so ?? gotta look that up)
- Tango's pro gambling for lives in reference to the You Bet Your Life game he ran in Last Life
- The purple life is a nod to my fan-season ‘fic, Dog’s Life. I didn't like how hard the green text options were to tell apart, so I use purple to distinguish someone who goes above three lives after getting a kill on their designated quarry (i.e. another player they’ve been randomly assigned to kill and will receive a life from if they do so). Dog’s Life is canon to my Pixels Imperfect series and Neighborhood Watch AU parallels Pixels Imperfect, so technically the quarry mechanic needs to exist in this universe too.
^ In this universe, you aren’t assigned a quarry “by the game,” so you would never know if a random kill will put you up a life until it happens. Skizz citing Impulse for this is a nod to Dog’s Life canon, where Impulse does go up to purple life. There may be some Easter egg nods to Dog’s Life events or dynamics sprinkled in throughout the NW series, but NW always draws from the official Life seasons first. You don’t need to read Dog’s Life to enjoy the NW series, but there ya go- that’s what its mechanic parallel is.
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Chapter 5: Shovel Talk
Summary:
Grian pokes himself with a blade, examines himself in the mirror, then discusses soulmates with Tango. Tango moves a lot of dirt.
(Posted January 27th, 2024)
Notes:
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Self-harm (Brief and easy to heal: Grian pokes his hand to check if he bleeds code or not)
- Nudity (Grian examining his strange undressed body)
- Canon-typical violence
- Implied/referenced character death⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Shovel Talk
💚 💛 ❤️
After dinner, Grian washes the soup bowls while Tango slumps back outside to finish repairing the TNT hole he left in the grass. Mr. Rancher presses his lips to Skizz's cheek with a smacking sound and wishes him well on the trip to Dogwarts. He heads out to herd the animals to their barns and coops for the night. Grian hears him shouting at a fox outside. Once he's gone, Grian presses one of the kitchen swords against his hand. If he's near a soul spawner, he'll get regen from this. If he's not, he can always eat an extra serving. He presses so hard, the blade cuts through skin. Blue, glowing blobs spill down the creases of his fingertips. His breath catches. He searches for white code among the goop, but only raw soul juice gleams across his hand.
Where's my membrane? Why is my soul just hanging loose inside my skin? I'm leaking. I'm leaking…
"Grian?"
Grian snaps up his head. Skizz stands with a wool cloth in his fist, staring back at him. Grian's hand shakes a little harder.
"I just… I don't know why I've just done that. I thought…"
"Oh, buddy…" Skizz sets down the cloth. He steps forward, offering one upturned hand in some easygoing attempt at a hug. Mutely, Grian drops the tiny sword in his palm and takes a shuddering breath. Skizz rests one hand against his arm. They breathe wordlessly together in the kitchen. Grian runs his fingers down Skizz's wrist. Skizz's hand is big and crisscrossed with welts and scratches. Looks rough. Grian cradles his palm up to his face.
"I've never been able to touch people before."
"You're okay now," Skizz murmurs back. That could mean a lot of things. He's probably talking about spectators. About long-ago people who roamed this world. About death. Grian presses his forehead into Skizz's palm, stuttering on every inhale.
"You're so cold… but I can feel your skin. You don't vibrate or ripple. You feel like leather. Do you drop leather?" Or just XP orbs?
Skizz chuckles and pushes his fingers through Grian's hair. And those are solid too. They send a chill down his back that flutters his wings. "I drop bones and ender pearls. Hey, can I bandage you up?"
"Mm? Oh, can I have some bread?"
"Let me bandage this."
"Skizz, your hand is so cold…"
Afternoon light fades towards evening. With all the dishes done, Grian makes another cautious attempt to visit the toilet. Every click of his talons on birch floorboards plinks like an emerald dropping in a well. The rug's curly. His toes snag.
Once the door's locked, Grian turns his attention to the mirror. You can't make these on the crafting table, but in his EVO Education classes, they covered a lot of handmade products. He's made a few mirrors himself. Mostly using polished obsidian (semi-common) or gold-coated glass (less so, but a little more reflective). You can even make mirrors from blown glass, though the delicate work and his own anxiety didn't often play nice. Some people like to set mirrors around corners near their workspace, which might cut down on the number of pranks that catch them off guard. They're more common near AFK spots too, but when you can adjust your vision to see yourself from the front anyway, mirrors aren't always necessary. Honestly, Grian only took the mirror-making course just in case he ever crash-lands in the wild and needs to craft something reflective and reliable he can signal with.
The mirror hanging from the wall is so smooth and shiny, he can't help but lean across the counter. He presses his fingers up against it. It smudges, but that can always be washed off. Grian frowns. His waffle-colored curls hang over his dark eyes. He twists. A pale blue patch in the shape of a clock hangs at the right shoulder of his red jumper. A compass rose patch clings to the left with the arrow pointing towards the south much more exaggerated and colorful than the rest.
Grian tucks his wings in close against the bare patch on the back of his jumper, then eases both the knitted fabric and the white undershirt over his head. When he stares at the mirror again, that jagged golden scar across his chest is undeniable. It flows like a river, but makes a small, crooked diamond around his left breast.
Hmm…
Back home, there are eight presentations of hybrid traits. Each correlate to the phases of the moon. If you respawn when the new moon rules the Between dimension, you'll only show bare minimum traits that are easy to conceal beneath your clothes. A full moon respawn might bring a parrot hybrid back with feathers sprouting from their scalp in place of hair. Jimmy last respawned with bird-like legs, though no cheek feathers or tail to go with them. Grian brushes his hand over the place his wings sprout behind his shoulders. He sighs.
That's my face… That's my hair. I even get the color change- Back home, it was RNG whether you'd respawn with the same variant twice in a row. In Between, at least. You didn't see that in the middle of playing on a server. Servers play by different default rules, especially where respawns are concerned.
From the conversation he picked up over dinner, everyone in this world seems to show hybrid traits from about chest level down. The transition starts soft with sparse fur or budding feathers (or the cat-like enderman stripes, in Skizz's case) and just keeps going. Grian plucks at the scarlet tufts sprouting from his skin. His chest is shaped differently here… It's more full, maybe more well-defined with a curved shape the same way Tango's TNT explosion left a smooth curve in the field instead of a jagged one.
The placement of two freckles - one at the upper right side of his body, one more on his middle left area - seems to have transferred over perfectly. It's his body… It's just presenting its mob traits more in line with the first quarter or waxing gibbous moon (compared to the waxing crescent presentation he's always had before).
Why do I have the same body, but these patches on my jumper I've never seen before? Combined with his feathers, it's a whole lot of red. Maybe he'll throw on something green to tone it down. Should he bother with shoes? Jimmy doesn't, at the hub. They pop on when he's on servers that tone down hybrid traits, which sets his legs to a more humanoid state.
Huh? There's a thumb-sized hole right in the center of his stomach, surrounded by red belly feathers. Maybe an old stab wound? It's sealed over funny, like some sort of puckered mouth or sleepy flower. Grian prods at it. No stitches… and it's not oozing any of the gooey white chalaza that signals a shallow wound (or the thicker blue goop that comes directly from the soul). Is this a soul-level wound? It's not glowing. But if it's not long-lasting trauma damage from roleplay, why didn't it heal with all his minor scrapes and scratches?
Grian hooks his thumb beneath the lip of his trousers and tugs it out again. No ticking bladder meter stares back at him from its usual printed place down below. He bites his knuckle, taking a careful look at himself while still half in shadow, then rests the waistband against his hips again. Just for another minute. Just until he gets the courage back up to pull them off.
He feels his way down his back, sliding both hands over the base of his spine. Wispy feathers sprout from skin down there. The sweeping tail has much longer ones. He gives a few experimental tugs. It sends mild signals to his brain, but nowhere near dropping him even half a heart.
Okay. Let's do this.
Off go the trousers, this time with both hesitation and stubborn determination. There's no humanoid skin on his thighs- only feathers. For one cruel heartbeat, he wonders if his not-yet-respawned body would taste like chicken.
And no bladder meter. Just… a strange formation where his skin curves between his legs. He gives that area a tentative touch, then coasts his hand downward and feels his thighs and calves. Scaly gray legs end in four wrinkled talons- two at the front of his foot and two on the back. Grian sits on the toilet and gives them a more thorough examination by rubbing his thumb around the creases. They're long. They feel pretty dexterous. I could probably hold a lava bucket by the handle and fly across the ranch without spilling a drop.
He hasn't even tried testing his wings. The weight and muscles are familiar, so hopefully that won't be much of a learning curve.
He runs his hands from his chest downward again. Then he snorts. "So I guess this is what a parrot hybrid is 'supposed' to look like?" He just assumed this was the waxing gibbous form, but since he's clearly still half human… maybe this is the first quarter body. The "proper" hybrid body.
Grian frowns, massaging his knuckle into the base of his clawed foot. Personal preferences vary widely, but showcasing "enough" mob traits to ensure you mirror the "appropriate" customs of your species has always been a pretty widespread thing. A lot of his flockmates back at the Parrot Dragon's nest enjoyed making competitions out of that stuff… Who had the widest wingspan, who had the most variety in feather color, who could glide the farthest without flapping, who grew the most feathers down their chest and belly… and bonus points the more "humanoid" you appeared to look.
His toes curl, gripping his fingers. Hot pixels steam at the corners of his eyes, though they don't crackle up. I have to find Two. If this is some kind of server, he's got to be here. Somewhere in this weird, weird server where biology's totally different and every player intertwines themselves with the bit. I know Martyn's here. What was it Skizz said about "Lord Littlewood" when Grian first stumbled from the toilet? That was Skizz, right? The memory's already blurred and foggy. That was probably Skizz.
"I mean, you could try to see Lord Littlewood, but he's probably setting up the ball right now."
No surprise it's a ball if they're going for medieval roleplay vibes in this world. And that's pretty typical of Martyn to chase all the decorum and flair. He likes to have fun. Grian attended maybe two dances at the EVO hub, though he lent a hand in additional party planning here and there. Maybe it will be fun, especially if Martyn's in charge. According to Mr. Rancher, Tango's planning to meet a wizard who likes to set up shop out there to "lure Red suckers in." Grian waffles back and forth, then makes a decision.
"Dogwarts is huge… All those minecart rails lead directly into it. There's gotta be someone down there who can give me some directions." If Martyn's there, he can pull him aside for a few minutes of out-of-character chat. Plus, if Two has the choice of going anywhere, he's going straight for the action. Especially if it's a dance. Reference images of large cities, elaborate buildings, and dancing footage sell like cake in a sugarcane-free hub.
There's no response to his spoken words. Not even a whisper from Two or the graze of spectator fingers against his shoulder. Grian shudders in a way that flaps out his wings, then hurries through the rest of his time in the toilet. He washes his hands with extra soap, then dries them on his trousers and heads back out front. Tango's still shoveling dirt into the TNT hole. He's down inside it right now, though he's almost finished working. Over dinner, Grian learned that the wetness glistening down his muscles is called "sweat." Tango's drenched in that stuff. He leans against his shovel, wiping more off his forehead with fierce scrubs of his hand.
"Hey, Tango?"
The blaze hybrid tilts back his head, watching Grian with squinty red eyes as he trudges towards him through the field. Yeah, the tinted lenses of those goggles don't really dampen the creepy glowing effect. "Yeah?" he asks, and Grian wonders what blaze hybrid legs actually look like. All this time, Tango's been wearing baggy pants. He's taken off both his black vest and red jumper, which lie draped across the crafting table by the nearest barn. Grian takes a position by the fence near enough to the TNT hole that he can watch Tango's progress, but he keeps well out of shovel-whacking range. Just in case.
"How did you end up on Red?"
Tango snorts, taking up his shovel again. "Yeah, I went and gifted my Green life to my best friend so we could be Yellow together. That was about three weeks ago. As a thank you, he totally wild-stabbed me in the back two days later. Like, what? C'mon! He came swinging out of nowhere! I gave him a life, and this is what he does to me?" He shakes his head. "I'm having some flashbacks…"
Right, okay… You can gift lives in this world. And that's without dying? Grian walks a few more steps around the hole, watching Tango all the while. "Yeah, that's rough… I mean, that's pretty serious. It sounds like he was never really your friend."
Tango sighs in a way that rumbles his lips. He stabs the shovel through the ground and sinks back into the routine of filling the hole. "I took a gamble. It's New Year's tonight."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Geez, you really are some drop-in from another world, aren't you?" Tango turns around, pointing one finger towards… What direction is that? Grian checks the sun's position in the sky while Tango rattles on. Southwest; it's southwest, towards Dogwarts. "The Hearts Club throws these huge parties for unmatched soulmates every year. I guess it's like a tax write-off or something? I seriously don't care about taxes. I can't believe they still make you pay that stuff even when you're Red."
"Unmatched soulmates?"
Tango twists around. Every thin line and crevice of his face goes slack in shock, eyes popping wide. Grian can recognize that much even though he's got the thick-lensed goggles on. "Oh… So, you must've died pre-Ender Dragon times then, huh?" He starts to climb out of the hole, then seems to think better of throwing down the shovel. He turns back, getting to work again by tapping the shovel against the dirt so it sticks in place. "Well, that's gonna narrow down the timeframe. Good for you. Bet Skizz would love to hear all that."
The Leave me alone in his voice would be evident even without the brief lash of his tail. "Should I go?" Grian asks him anyway.
"I mean, if you're not gonna help, you could at least stand where your shadow blocks the sun."
Grian moves to the other side of the hole and flaps out his wings. "What's a soulmate?" he asks again. Tango doesn't respond. The shovel scratches through dry dirt like sandpaper. Giving up, Grian walks over to the barn and pushes Tango's vest and jumper to the ground. He takes a log and some sticks from the wood pile and arranges them in the shovel pattern on the crafting table. At least this looks like it works the same way…
… The logs are too big. Even when he snaps them into smaller pieces, nothing happens.
Hold on. Am I crafting a shovel wrong? Really? A shovel? It's not like everything in this world's handmade, right? Grian's heart lurches up. No way crafting's disabled… Why play on a Minecraft server where crafting's disabled?
He makes another few attempts, then kicks the table in disgust. The pieces don't glow or rearrange. No shovel generates for him to take. Oh. Great. Grian leaves the pieces where they are and checks inside the barn instead. After two minutes of fumbling through the dark, he grabs a wooden one leaning on a wall.
The sun's starting to set, but between the two of them, it shouldn't take long to wrap this up before dark. Grian hops back over the fence, rolls his sleeves back to the elbows, and gets to work digging next to Tango.
"What's a soulmate?" he asks two minutes later.
Tango shrugs. It rolls down his back and he drips more sweat down his arms. "It's like, when you suddenly feel warm and loved, that probably means your soulmate is thinking about you? Or any other mood swings, honestly. I mean, I dunno how true this is, but when I went to school, they always said opening the End Portal way back when released all this weird energy into the world. I guess it was like 'BAM! Now you're split in warm and cold halves, somewhere out there you have a soulmate, and good luck with that.' That's 90 million years before I was born, though. I was born split. Everybody is."
"Oh!" Grian studies him, fingers tight around the shovel's padded handle. "Warm and cold? Where I'm from, we have that too. Except, we say 'twin' instead of 'soulmate.' Like, TwoMuchGrian and I are identical- I'm the player account and he's the camera. We hatched from the same spawn egg, but some people have twins born all the way across Between. A lot of people never even meet theirs, but everybody has one. We think of it more like… mirroring each other's instincts than being split in half, though."
Tango glances first at Grian, then at Grian's shovel. A sarcastic comment clearly dances on his lips, but he keeps it back. Evidently, the chance that Grian might ditch him to complete the work alone is more of a risk than he's willing to take. "What does 'camera' mean?" he asks instead.
What's a camera? That's…
That's not a good sign. Is he just in character for a medieval roleplay? He's clinging. He's pulling. He's losing his grip. Tango's sarcastic comment about him dropping in from "another world" creeps up his spine like a soaking hand.
"A camera is…" Can I say 'spectator?' That doesn't feel accurate in light of the pink souls. Grian shrugs. "They're like ghosts."
"So it's like a soul."
"Sure." It's different. But… at least they're working through this one step at a time. Grian stands back for a second as Tango's hands sparkle with bright white energy. What? He waves them over some broken rocks and melds them into a tight patch of cobblestone against the wall of the ditch. Huh.
The fancy sparks are new, but the method of sealing the build materials in place looks more or less familiar. Even that small action seems to twinge some sort of pain in Tango's arm, though, because he hops out of the hole and rests for a moment before he speaks again. "There's never been sibling soulmates before. That's gotta be freaky. How do you work the whole bedroom thing out?"
"Excuse me?"
Tango quirks one eyebrow like a stretching cat. "Like… You know. Always sharing touch."
"Touch…"
"Uh, from the dragon magic?" Tango pops back up to his feet. He thrusts the shovel back into the dirt and pushes a waterfall of it over the edge of the hole. "Look, I dunno how it works wherever you came from, but in this dimension" - he uses the word semi-sarcastically - "the dragon went and split souls into separate bodies so she could go nutso banana-sauce on everybody. She only had to dish out pain to half as many people after that to wipe cities out, right? C'mon. The dragon magic never went away, so now we're all just born with soulmates."
Grian lapses into silence, running through that information again with a few fewer… Tango-isms in the mix. "Soulmates share pain," he summarizes in the end, wrapping it all in a neat little bow. He pauses from his 'scoop and dump' set-up and looks again at his hand. He's not been working hard, but he can already guess which patches of skin will start to rub off from the friction of the shovel handle. Gloves would be nice. Grian presses his thumb against his bandaged palm and draws a line down to his wrist.
So… Am I a late arrival to this world who missed out on getting a soulmate? Or have I been playing here for a while and just got my memories bumped out from under some 'roleplay umbrella?'
He doesn't feel any pain right here and now. Maybe a bit of straining at the waistband of his trousers, seeing as he wasn't super delicate about shoving his belt back on. His skin's smooth and his wings don't ache, which really throws points in favor of the totem respawn theory. This is a fresh body. Tango killed him. At least, some part of him.
"Who's your soulmate?" he asks. Mr. Rancher and Skizz have gotta be paired up, sharing pain. Maybe that's why they're both on their Yellow lives. Did they die together? Is that how it works? Or can you lose lives independently? Either they're soulmates or they're betrothed…
"I dunno; I've never met the guy. That's why I'm going to the Hearts Club Ball tonight. Well, and to see the wizard." Tango kicks the dirt heap, then sighs in a rush. "I can't believe my dad's making me do this."
"Is there something special about soulmates and New Year's?" Is this a seasonal thing? The mob instincts buried in a hybrid's code strengthen or flicker out with the phase of the moon. Wild mobs shift their 'idle background ambiance' behavior to things like burrowing, nesting, or courtship with the direction of the wind, temperature drop, and turn of the seasons.
"The ball's tonight," Tango says, sounding prickly. So. Well. In case you were wondering, the ball is tonight.
"So you're born with a soulmate and you share each other's pain… Do you have to be whitelisted or win a lottery or something to get invited to the ball? No way can one city hold a million people." And that's going to throw a pickaxe in his plans to tag along. Should I fly in on my own? There has to be some rooftop he can perch from. Skizz mentioned he had a friend. Impulse?
Tango looks him up and down. "How old are you?"
"1,160."
"How old does that translate to in this dimension?" Tango rephrases, rolling his eyes.
"I…" Grian lowers his stare to his hands. He rotates the palms. "I don't know…"
Tango walks around him a few times, then asks him to straighten up. Grian does, shuffling his awkward legs around. At least they hold his weight. Tango lifts one hand to his own forehead, then waves it in the air above Grian like he's measuring height. Uh, okay? Tango bends, checking Grian out from a couple different angles, then shrugs.
"I'd guess you're between 15 and 17, maybe. So let's say 16. Yeah, you can come."
"Oh, so it's an age minimum thing."
"Yeah. They have a Juniors ball for the under-12s, then an Intermediates for 13 to 17. You can go there. I'm going to the adults' party. Don't hang out with me."
"I see… But it's a party, yeah? You don't have to go to find your soulmate?"
"No, but they like you to make an effort. It's probably for taxes. I'm mostly showing up for the wizard. He always comes down from Magical Mountain for this stuff. He sells all these magic crystals and he'll even sell you a life. By this time tomorrow, I'll be Yellow again. Just watch."
Grian glances at the TNT hole. "Uh, then why did you set a shrieker trap in front of your house?"
"Because some stupid Red-faces keep sneaking around here!" Tango snaps one finger out, sharp fingernail aimed right between Grian's eyes. "I don't want them trapping this place while my butt's down south! And it totally worked! You were Red and you ran right into it." Tango adjusts his finger, pointing towards the outhouse. It looks like it's made of little more than trapdoors. "You crawled out of there and BOOM! I only finished setting up like, twenty seconds earlier."
Other Reds… Grian leans against the handle of his shovel, staring in the outhouse's direction. Other roleplay partners? Are those my friends? His parents, maybe? Hmm. It probably wouldn't be smart to walk over there shouting "Hey Reds who are modded up with aggro urges and need to perma-kill someone to get back up to Yellow life, I'm a Green with memory loss and no armor or weapons to defend myself with!"
Tango's shoveling with renewed vigor now, probably having realized the sun's setting and he's not washed or dressed for a fancy party. Beads of sweat glitter between the wreath of blaze rods in his sunshine hair. "I'll probably come down to Dogwarts," Grian says, poking his own shovel with a claw, "but I'm not going to worry about soulmates until I'm done chatting with my friends. Do I need some kind of ID to prove I'm '16?'"
"I dunno. Maybe see a doctor? Skizz is a doctor, but not for medicine. He might have doctor friends. You look 16 to me, though. There's really no point in going to these things when you're younger, but they do it to teach the little kids manners and dance and stuff. I'm pretty sure Oscar will be there, so it's probably worth going."
"Who is Oscar?" It's at least the third time he's heard that name. Tango looks up, dripping sweat. He has golden bristles growing from his underarms. And he chokes on a laugh.
"Uh, Oscar Goodchild, of Thyme Valley? … Your soulmate?"
Wait. Is OSCAR Two? Admittedly, 'TwoMuchGrian' isn't likely to pass for a medieval name. Maybe he switched it up for the character he's playing. A sheen of surprise must show on his face, because Tango snorts and makes some sassy comment about the shrieker trap blowing out Grian's brains. Then he lifts his head, frowning hard.
"Wait. Is Oscar dead?"
"What?"
"I mean, you died, so… Yeah, he's probably done-zo. You can be de-synced like Skizz now- his soulmate perma-died when he was 14."
Ah. Well, that answers that question about sharing pain. Not sure what's up with the de-syncing, but that's a question for later. Grian tightens his lips and sends a mental apology to this poor Oscar he's never met. Skizz said this guy sent him a letter, right? So… some kind of soulmate letter? Everyone kept asking if he'd 'answered Oscar.' Was that for some sort of betrothal? They do betrothals back in Between, too. He never met his. He'd like to.
Gods, I hope I didn't just inherit another random build… I don't know if I can take much more of this. It's so hard to sell those.
Grian looks down at his leg. He twists it back and forth for a moment, flexing his claws, then grabs a pinch of feather-coated skin in his nails and gives a sharp twist. Pain shoots up his leg, but he doesn't even drop half a heart. If Oscar's alive, he probably didn't feel that-
Two pointed teeth sink into his hand, right around his thumb. Grian yelps. He lets go of his skin and whips his hand near his face. A couple red puncture wounds now sit right in that spot where it felt like getting bit. "Oh!" he shouts, and Tango looks up. "Oscar's alive! I do have a soulmate!"
"Great… He's gonna love getting to know you. He's going to the ball, so you can say hi to him there." Tango's nearing the end of his work. He shovels at top speed, flinging dirt practically by the bucketful into the TNT hole. "He probably won't be happy you didn't write him back, though. Maybe he asked out a date."
"People bring dates to a soulmate-finding ball?"
"I mean, if they're rude. Or, I knew a guy once who only liked men, so he brought a guy as his date just in case his soulmate turned out to be a woman. Y'know- to break the ice upfront. Let me think… Anything else?" He scratches his chin. "Oh. Yeah, you can feel your soulmate's pain, but you usually have to be around my age before you feel softer touches. But even at 16, you're old enough for boogeyman urges, so watch your back. Especially if Oscar dropped a life but you're on Green. I mean, I'd be worried if I were you."
"Boogeyman urges?" Call him a parrot if you like. He is one. Tango just snorts.
"What am I; your babysitter? Go ask my dad. Or better yet, find a library."
Grian checks his pockets. In one, he finds the little wool bag he noticed when he first spawned into this world and had his argument with Tango. Maybe there are diamonds in it? The texture feels too soft. He opens it, then pulls out one of several broken chocolate chip cookies. Aha! Thank yooou, BigB! Will Tango go for it? Grian holds one out on his upturned palm. Tango relents, then snatches the cookie bits away. Grian half expected the guy to flip him off and refuse to tell him anything, but Tango just breaks his already splintered cookie into smaller pieces and pours them in his mouth. He crunches a moment before he speaks again.
"Getting soulbound's just part of puberty, y'know? You start feeling some of it when you're around 13 or whatever. When you're really young, you'll only feel, like, long-lasting pains through the bond. Quick deaths don't even transfer over- only slow ones. Most of what a soulmate does, you're oblivious to. Then you get older and you meet or whatever, maybe at the ball or maybe somewhere else. Pairs who don't color-match are rare, but they exist. It's usually from a wizard. Some people choose to gift their 'heart' to someone they love, but that's not a full life, so it doesn't drop their soulmate with them. My dad had a friend who wanted to match colors with someone he liked instead of his soulmate so he didn't have to live without them for as long. I dunno."
"Wow."
"Yeah. As you get older, you'll start feeling smaller pains, and by the time you're about my age, you can feel a lot more. Like sleeves and stepping on rocks and stuff."
"How old are you?" Grian asks. The thing about Minecraft is that mental age and XP count rarely coincide. Tango still has a young body, but he could've been playing this game for 2,000 years.
"19. I feel everything my soulmate does, even if they're just patting their own face or picking up a salt shaker or something." For emphasis, Tango flicks himself in the wrist. "If my buddy's a lot younger than I am, they probably didn't feel that. Too subtle. If they're around my age or older, they definitely did. Now, I'm Red, so if my soulmate's Yellow or Green, they're what we call a boogeyman. It means-"
"What about pink and purple?"
Tango rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine… If my soulmate is a non-Red but they have me as a partner, they can feel my Red urges through our bond. That best friend I said I gave a life to? He got hit with a wave of that Red energy and boogeyman'd all over my face. That's why he killed me even though we were both Yellow. It didn't do him any good. You only steal lives if you kill a Red. That's a perma-kill." He snorts. "The worst part about it is that he dropped to Red shortly after I did, so not only was my happy nice givey life donation wasted, but he doesn't even feel bad about it. Or at least he doesn't show it."
Tango holds out his hand, awaiting another cookie in payment for all that information. Grian drops one in his palm. Tango continues holding out his hand, utterly shameless. Grian looks down, then hands Tango the whole bag and whatever broken pieces remain within. "Thanks, Tango. I 'ppreciate it. I guess I'll go ask Skizz if there's any way I can come along with you. And if I can, if he has anything I can wear."
"Anytime. We're taking the horses down, though, and all our good clothes are at Impulse's place. There's probably something down there that'll fit; they usually plan for you." Tango takes another bite, then makes a face. "This stuff tastes like mud when you're Red, by the way."
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- The Hearts Club is a nod to the Broken Hearts Club from Double Life. The vibe is that you can RSVP for the ball, show up, and everyone goes there with the intention of mingling and touching people as they search for their soulmate. This parallels Day 1 of Double Life where players ran around punching others to check if their health was linked.
- Bdubs boogeyman-killed his teammate Tango in Last Life (after Tango gave him a life to bring him back from Red). This really upset Tango (to the point that he bought a rage crystal from Scar and also asked Scar to put a hit on Bdubs)
- Grian and Scar | GoodTimesWithScar were soulmates in Double Life. This particular Scar is currently called Oscar to indicate he's a different character than Scar Clocker (Etho and Cleo's kid, who came up by name in this story and others)
- Grian commenting that it's difficult to sell unwanted old builds is a nod to the end of Hermitcraft Season 6, when he struggled to sell a haunted house he'd built, even when he marked it as free. He eventually offered to give people diamonds just to be rid of it
- In Secret Life, you could gift another player a single heart to add to their health bar. In Last Life, you could give an entire life. In this universe, you can gift life energy to dramatically increase someone's vitality. Ex: If you had a friend who was very sick or badly injured, you could gift a "heart" to refresh them to a healthier state. It wouldn't bring them up a color, but you can also do this to immediately bring someone back from the dead within five minutes (i.e. before "their stuff despawns").
Basically, it's a magical defibrillator, but it only works if you're near each other. The exception is soulmates- soulmates are connected, so they can gift their heart to the other at any time (if they're willing to take the penalty of dropping down a color). This way, we'll still see some story moments where people are off-color from their soulmates, in line with canon from non-Double Life seasons.
It's possible to bring someone else up a color by gifting them a life. However, this drops both the giving soulmates a color and it ups both the receiving soulmates. It can be done without your soulmate's permission, though expect to get the cold shoulder if you gift a life away without your soulmate's consent. This is a soulmate-normative world, after all, and soulmate bonds are widely valued as more intimate and precious than platonic or romantic relationships outside the bond.
Chapter 6: Take the Reins
Summary:
Grian, Skizz, and Tango saddle up and ride south towards Dogwarts, only to run smack into a pair of very Red "Bad Boys."
(Posted February 2nd, 2024 - Happy Hermitcraft Season 10 day tomorrow; enjoy an early chapter!)
Notes:
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Canon-typical violence (includes a sword stab with purple soul goop blood)
- Implied/referenced missing parents⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Take the Reins
💚 💛 ❤️
Regardless of universe, there are only so many ways you can saddle a horse. Skizz and Tango are each taking one. There are three horses in the stable. When Skizz catches Grian standing in the doorway, he lifts his head above the chestnut tobiano he's brushing and gives a wave.
"Hey, G! Do you wanna ride or fly?"
"Uh, all the way to Dogwarts? With my baby wings? I don't think so. These are pretty, but they're all newbie down. I can only glide in spurts, so I'd never get above the treetops. Someday after I graduate, I hope, but I didn't see a point in dumping my XP in flight when I'm always indoors." He flits his scrawny wings for emphasis… then turns his head. "Wait a sec."
The tricolor wings - all scarlet, gold, and blue - are much, much bigger than the downy green ones he's had ever since his spawn egg hatched in the Parrot Dragon's nest. Grian stares at them for a beat, then fans them out. The feathers shhfff, shhfff as they slide across each other. He arcs one wing out and flexes the shape. They're solid at the top. He pulls the wing down, pinching it, and runs his hand back and forth a few times.
I have bones inside me… Ihhh. Like a skeleton. They're bulky, especially when they're not tucked close against his shoulders. Uh… Doesn't that mean that if I fall, I'll break? Are they hollow? Will they break anyway?
Skizz returns to brushing the tobiano, glancing up between strokes. Grian stands a moment longer in the doorway and traces the curve of his wing. Maybe he should've practiced flying more often in his younger years. But… long-term dedication to gaining flight XP will make your wings bigger. That seems like such a hassle, even though you can tone them back down to spawnling size on-server (or turn them off altogether).
Leaving the barn, he walks over to the nearest fence and climbs on top of it. His bird legs wobble. Talons scratch. Maybe just a little jump won't hurt…
Gliding's something he's at least familiar with. He starts with that. The rush of wind rippling down the feathers chases all the aches and cramps away. It's not intense, especially when blocked by the stable and nearby barn, but beneath the sinking sun…
This feels pretty nice!
His lighter legs require a balance adjustment, but steering is easier with the tail than it wasn't. Not that he does much of it. He lands in the dirt without struggle since he didn't fly very high. Maybe he can practice jumping off the roof of the ranch, but he'll need either an open window slot or a ladder to get up there. Grian taps his foot against the grass, then shrugs. It can wait. Breaking his arms or legs right before a ball where he's supposed to meet his soulmate for the first time (at least in his memory) sounds like a terrible risk to take.
It would be fun, though.
… It would be fun. But when he looks down at the bandage wrapped around his hand, he has second thoughts. You get three lives in this world. There must be a safer way for avians to practice flying than by jumping off high buildings. At the very least, he should do this over water.
So back inside the stable he goes. Grian watches Skizz saddle the tobiano stallion just long enough to get a feel for the materials. Then, since Tango's finishing the last shovels of dirt in the hole outside, he starts prepping a beautiful speckled Noriker. You know- as a sort of Thanks for not stabbing me through the guts kind of thing. Respectively, their names are Champ and Adequate, which is so cutesy that it's snort-worthy.
Grian brushes Adequate with his hand a few times, then guides the bridle over his head. Head collar, bit, throat latch, wool pad beneath the saddle… As far as horse experts go, he's far from one. He's a little more comfortable with his wings (and his legs when the wings are inconvenient in tight spaces), but he's joined enough flightless, horse-preferring servers to know the basics. Living three decades with Mumbo taught him a thing or two about llamas. He pauses then and stares at the back of his hand. Tango's only 19. And he thinks I'm 16…
Not unusual. If this is a server, it's one where people commit to staying on-world long-term. Some people do that, especially when they're roleplaying. It's never really been his thing, but if he has to be stuck here, at least it's an open world. No high school, by the looks of things. And if it's not a server, he's got the rest of his three lives to figure it out. From the looks of Tango, Skizz, and Mr. Rancher, lives don't normally last people that long anyway. Maybe after losing his Red life, he'll wake up in the EVO hub again, pulled from some longitudinal study that all the simulations prepared him for. If not, at least he can spectate for a while until this place shuts down. Hmm.
Martyn will know. Just have to get him to break character.
The shape of the saddle, along with its buckles and tack, are both familiar and exotic. A speedy set-up should take just a few minutes, but he moves more slowly while examining the craftsmanship and flow of the pieces. Just to be sure. But a horse is a horse, so on goes the saddle. Grian runs his fingers beneath the straps around Adequate's shoulder and belly. Seems all right. After that, it's a simple matter of bringing him out to the pasture with Skizz.
I wonder if my parents left any horses at Greatwood Mansion. Or dogs, for that matter. It's probably worth a check, even though he might turn around and sell the place. He'll polish it up before he sets out on his own. Even with a name like "mansion," it can't take too long. I mean, it's not like it'll be missing half its walls or something. Some attic or basement modifications might be necessary and a safety check won't hurt.
This does bring up that nagging question of where exactly he's going to live if he's staying in this world long-term. Maybe the mansion's been blown up or picked clean. Maybe his parents are no longer Red and have moved back in. Skizz and Mr. Rancher did say it's possible to go up a color, and only Reds seem to have the wild urge to aggro, trap, and kill. If those two are any indication, Yellows seem like pretty average people. At the very least, no one he's met - even Tango - is as unhinged as Sam.
Grian ties Tango's horse to a fencepost, then saddles the last horse in the stable- a small bay mare with white stockings and a blaze up its nose. Skizz notices what he's wearing and suggests he change into riding clothes. Grian pauses, then touches his throat. He pulls a little, but the skin adhesion's on tight. He tries again, this time with both hands, but it won't come off.
… His skin won't come off.
"Uh, I don't think I can wear anything else…"
"We still have your suit down at the Team Ties'g apartment. Impulse will meet us there and you can change. Just wear something until we're there. It's honestly not too long of a ride, but you don't want to get mud all over your sweater."
Well… That's true. He's rather not.
Tango's inside the ranch, changing out of his dirty clothes and into something more suitable for horseback riding. Since he's in the bathroom, Skizz ducks inside Tango's room to get a spare set. Tango has the attic bedroom. Grian steps in, moving on tentative claws. The walls are stripped birch. Blue banners hang like curtains at the window and match both bedspreads. There's no glass up here. Just a fencepost to block someone from falling out. Is that from lack of sand in the flower valley, or because Tango's a blaze hybrid? Maybe he needs the cooler airflow.
… There are two beds in the attic. One has rumpled sheets, clearly well-used. The other's piled high with chests, books, paper, and peculiar iron contraptions. He's pretty sure at least one of those is a comparator. While Skizz searches the drawers, Grian stands and fidgets, opening and closing his hands against his legs.
I don't remember any of this… but that must've been mine once, right?
He treads over, not really sure what he's looking for. Some chests have been stored underneath the bed. They have carved feet. Grian tilts his head. Cute… but what's the purpose? He slides one out and cracks the lid. There's not much inside, but the wool pockets that hold shrunken items are identical to the style he's familiar with. Grian draws out a large book with yellow pages and a solid (but slightly tattered) cover. It's made from blueish-green leather and looks like it may have survived a fire once upon a time.
The cover features raised symbols, like it might've been dripped there using wax. He blows and brushes off the dust, then sits back to get a better look in the lantern light. A silver set of spikes - like a cluster of amethyst sprouting from a geode - crowns the top of the image. Below that (huge) sits a golden bird perched on a shiny sun. It's definitely a 'bird' bird, not a hybrid, and stands with one wing flapped out and its head twisted to stare behind its tail. The tail's long and flows all the way down the sun's side so it's lost among the exaggerated rays.
Three symbols line the bottom, each also crafted from silver wax. From left to right, he takes in a cod leaping a feathered arrow, then a vine-covered jungle tree standing proud, and lastly a bird with spread wings lifting an elegant flame. Huh… Nothing about these symbols feels familiar, but he stares at them anyway, tracing his thumb over the ridged wax.
"These might fit," Skizz says, dropping a stack of riding clothes on the bed. The sleeves are long, but lightweight. The whole outfit's pink, which tracks with the dominant color of the flowers on the hillside. It looks like dyed leather armor, with some adjustments like extra wool to cut down on chafing. Grian shrugs.
"I'll make an effort, but I can't take my skin off, so I'm sure my trousers and jumper will respawn once I'm a couple chunks away. Thanks, though."
Skizz… pauses halfway to the door. He turns back. Grian glances up from the leather book cover again, pinching it beneath his sharp thumbnails. "You're really not from this world," he says, and his words crack like he's been denying and denying, holding back the thoughts like a strider dam holds back lava. Skizz lowers himself to the floor, sort of kneeling and sort of crouching. Grian keeps eye contact, even though his wings start to lift and the urge to dart away struggles up his throat. Skizz studies his face, then faintly shakes his head. "You look like him… but you're not two souls fighting for control in one body, and you're not even a spectator that possessed a corpse. So… He's really dead?"
Grian lowers his gaze to the book in his lap. "Maybe just… Just, don't say 'dead?'" His fingers bunch around the book's rumpled pages. "If I look like him, then maybe… I am him, and I just lost my memories. I might be your foster kid who can't stay in character."
That earns him a thoughtful frown. Skizz traces his eyes down Grian's body to his knees, then to the legs folded to one side. "Oscar will be at the ball," he finally says. "Assuming he's still alive, anyway. If you two are still connected soulmates… then I guess we'll go from there." His thumb strokes across the cat-like stripes swirling down his arms. He smiles just a bit and reaches out to pat Grian's leg. Then he stands. "I guess it doesn't matter if you've got Grian memories or not. I mean, if Finn and Bridget had left behind two kids when they went Red, we would've taken in both. If you want to stay with us, we'd love to have you. You're 16, though, so after we talk about your parents' will, if you want to go your own way, we won't hold you back."
Oh. That's comforting, I guess. Finn and Bridget… Grian stares at the book in his lap, rotating those names in his mind like marshmallows on a twig. In Between, everyone hatches from a spawn egg laid by the dragon they share mob traits with, but there's no guarantee you'll hatch in her nest (or her swamp or cave or what have you). Hybrids can't lay eggs, but they can keep them warm until they hatch. Mother and Father are commonly adopted titles, so Grian makes his best guess at clicking the two names into place.
"Skizz?"
"Yeah?"
Grian turns the book around. "This is mine, isn't it?
Skizz crouches again, taking the book from his hands. Grian lets him. Skizz studies the cover for about ten seconds, then turns it back around. "Does any of this look familiar?"
"I mean, I know what they are. I assume there's some meaning here." He scoots next to Skizz, who returns the book but taps it with a fingertip.
"This is your coat of arms. This gold symbol in the middle is your personal crest- No one else in the four lands has a parrot sitting on a sun like this. It faces east because you're your parents' heir. The amethyst cluster represents the Southlands because that's where you were born, even if you park your butt down elsewhere." Skizz's finger moves to the three symbols along the bottom. "This fish jumping the arrow is your father Finn's crest. He's a cod hybrid. The parrot holding fire represents your mother, Bridget. These tied-together hearts mean your parents were soulmates- they'd be floating separate if they weren't.
"Uh-huh," Grian says. He hadn't paid much attention to the hearts, but that's good to know in case… he ever meets a married couple on the battlefield or something. Actually, announcing your link sounds like a terrible idea- Doesn't that make you both a target? Soulmates share pain. He shakes his head. "Finn the fish… I can remember that." If that's a common name, that's going to make him a nightmare to track down. Worth a shot, though. Better to learn these names before heading down to Dogwarts so he can ask around. Finn and Bridget…
Skizz leaves the room and Grian changes into riding clothes. He leaves his jumper and trousers strewn across the bed. Either they'll respawn or they won't, but he shouldn't need them in Dogwarts since apparently, they've got fresh things to wear at Impulse's place.
Grian starts to return the blue-green book to the chest, then has second thoughts. He tucks it inside the satchel Skizz gave him instead and buckles it tight. If they're spending a few days down in Dogwarts, maybe he'll have a chance to look at it. Reading's a pain in the wings, but who knows when this book was written? Sure, it might've been before Skizz and Rancher took him in, but it could be recent. You shouldn't just throw away a key roleplay item. Even if his Bridget and Finn didn't leave him clues about their personal whereabouts, he might learn the names of other people who can give him more information on this mysterious supposedly Red couple. If they're not perma-dead by now, anyway…
"Hang on." In all his thoughts about the book and his parents, he'd totally forgotten to check the rest of what the chest had to offer. Grian checks the pockets. As soon as he touches the third one from the left, his eyes flash wide. "Oh, wow. What's this toy?"
He draws a sword and scabbard from the chest. They're bundled together, the scabbard handmade (of course) since the crafting table doesn't poof those up. Once the sword's firmly in his hand, it takes its full non-compressed size in a shimmer of white sparks. The scabbard is crafted from dyed green leather that ends in a very sharp point. Grian runs his thumb along it. The upper section, near the hilt, bears the golden sun and parrot crest. One wing spread. Head twisted east. Tail spilling downward…
Well, this must be mine, then. Fish and feathers are stitched further down the scabbard, so… this must have been left to him by his parents. They went all-out, apparently. The sword even has a fishtail pommel. Don't see those often anymore. It's scaled like a cod's tail. The leather around the hilt seems fresh and padded, like the blade hasn't gotten much use. No scratches on it or the scabbard… Curious, he starts to unsheathe the sword. Bright purple glints back at him.
Purple?
His breath slips out. He shoves it back inside the scabbard, glancing towards the door. Tango was changing in the bathroom, right? He could barge in at any moment. Grian waits a beat, then trails his eyes down again. Very, very slowly, he eases the sword a little from its cover. Just enough to take another look at its material.
"Oh, no way…" He presses his fingers to the edge of the blade. Netherite alone would've been awe-inspiring enough, but it hums with clean, lovingly bestowed energy. When he closes his eyes, he can feel the enchantment pulsing through his hand. Sharpness II…
Not bad. Not bad at all. This is definitely not leaving his sight. He starts to reach towards his inventory… but the mental wall's still there. He can't slip it in. He might not be able to get it out again. If he's not careful, he might jolt and yank it from his inventory at the worst of times, possibly dropping it with a thud on his foot in the process (or cutting the skin of his back). He ties it at his waist instead. If anyone expresses concerns that it might whack the horse he's riding, then they can use an inventory slot on it.
It takes three tries to extinguish the lanterns, but before long, he manages to sweep the darkness aside with a wave of his hand. He heads downstairs, bids Mr. Rancher farewell, and joins Skizz and Tango out by the fence. Tango's wearing red and black riding clothes, his goggles down over his eyes. He hoists himself on Adequate's back. Goggles are a smart choice, and Grian envies him for a moment as he stands before the little bay mare with the stockings and blaze. Her name's Precious, evidently. She fits right in.
Grian hesitates. Not because she's a horse, but because the hairs bristling up his arms and the back of his neck can sense that he's right there against the chunk border. Now that he's come downstairs and stepped outside, well…
… Restricted lives on a hardcore server aren't out of the question. Commitment to roleplay, tweaked crafting mechanics that require on-world practice to master, and maybe a mod that adjusts your bleeding are all, y'know… kind of reasonable. There are already mods out there that can tone down your hybrid traits and people are always trying to crack the code that lets you embrace a different species entirely. It's not out of the question that the server admin has a mod that turns inner membranes blue instead of white when they bleed. Or adds bones. I mean, that's something you can probably set up when someone new joins the server, even though Grian's never heard of anyone having physical bones like a skeleton before. Even skeleton hybrids are soft and pixelated when you touch them. And the sweat is new…
But could there really be a mod that overwrites a mechanic as default as clothes following skins? No one's yet found a reliable way to change species, and altering the skin code seems at least as daunting. His hearts thump. He looks up at the horse, trying to decide what to do with his heavy wings. He wets his lips. No pixels dance on his tongue.
Maybe deep down, he already knows the clothes he left on his bed in the attic won't respawn on his body once he takes those next few steps. Some part of him isn't sure, but it at least suspects. If it doesn't suspect, it wonders. That's a step on the path to knowing with confidence.
Okay.
He knows better than to step behind the horse, so he moves in front, walking along the other side of the fence. His foot crosses the boundary line. He can tell. Nothing happens immediately, but that's no surprise. His clothes weren't sitting on the exact chunk border, and you have to be a certain amount of blocks away. Grian grips the fence, watching the horse watch him. She flicks her ears, chewing on the bit in her mouth. The sky's still blue behind her, but steadily dimming. The first stars are poking out.
Tango and Skizz are talking, Tango taking Adequate on a few loops around the fence while Skizz hops up on Champ's sturdy back. Not much of a riding pony. He looks like a draft horse. Precious is small, but she's clearly meant for the open road. She shifts her hooves back and forth and lifts them high with every step. Grian watches her and she watches him. He takes another few steps to the side.
Nothing happens.
And really, it's no surprise. Tango and Skizz are in their riding clothes. Their outfits didn't respawn on their bodies either. Of course, that could be because they actually changed skins, but… Skizz didn't give him a skin. And even if he did, wouldn't it have been a Tango skin instead of a Grian skin since the riding clothes are only borrowed? Grian looks down at his body, feeling out his chest, his abs (or lack thereof), and soft stomach. The wool and leather clothes ripple beneath his gloved hand. At least the glove covers his bandage. He'll take it off when he gets to Dogwarts, but it should cut down on the rub of the reins for now.
He mounts Precious with little effort, giving a good flap of his wings. Once he's seated, Grian tries to tuck them close in a way that won't strain his muscles or bother the horse with brushing feathers. The pad beneath the saddle does help, though his wings might have pins and needles by the end of this trip. He gives the reins a tug. Precious turns her head. A little press of his heels to her body gets her moving. With the satchel hanging at his right hip and the scabbard at his left, he doesn't feel off-balance, though he hopes his ride won't be chafing by the end of it.
Skizz attempts to lead the way down the road, but his chestnut tobiano meanders like it's watching butterflies. Adequate isn't even a fast horse, but he outpaces Champ with little effort. Are they not worried they'll be late? We still have to shower, then dress… There's going to be a crowd.
Grian rides alongside on Precious, trying to keep her in check so he won't get too far ahead. But Tango calls for a race and drives his heels in Adequate's sides, so Grian has no choice but to take off after him. Hooves thud down the dirt, kicking dust in the air. It's a lot of bumping in the saddle, but…
… it feels like flying, then. And he laughs, wings and scabbard bouncing as the wind rushes through his hair. Precious's dark mane smacks against his mouth, making him spit. The landscape's overgrown with hundreds and hundreds of flowers. Mostly pink ones, though blue, purple, yellow, and red populate the mix here and there. Orangey-pink sky, tinted in the setting sun, stretches forever and ever, all the way to the horizon.
He wraps his fingers more tightly in the reins than he really should. He never did give horse riding as much of a chance as he maybe should've. Never needed to, especially since he had wings and usually a good jumping point to skim from if he wanted to get from one side of a town or courtyard to the other. Once you're settled in a server hub, your player file's under lock and key and it's not smart to roam Between's landscape without it. Travel takes ages and it's such a pain to get back (and sometimes expensive to commission a trader to bring it along).
The rolling fields fall away into mixed birch and oak trees up ahead. Mumbo - that wandering trader friend he lived with a few decades just before he moved to the EVO hub to finish his education - always said that creative minds were wasted on the immobile. He didn't mean it, but he had a point. Impressive builds (We're talking about ones built by hybrids, not dragons) are almost always confined to servers.
The Between dimension often goes unloved, with stark flats and dormitories passing for comfort and not enough lovely landmarks to visit. As they practically fly across the flower fields in a group of three, Grian drinks in the approaching birch forest and pretty sky above. Two birds flit off on their own adventure. He's starting to build up "sweat" in the creases of his arms and legs. It's stickier than it looks. How incredible to ride a horse at a nice gallop, edging out Tango in the process, and look at all these trees that haven't been picked clean and only halfheartedly replanted by alpha generations of players no longer online.
No more cramming into a dorm with Timmy and Martyn. No more jolting awake during the literally sleepless night hours where everyone was expected to rest and reflect on their day, staring blearily across the room as Martyn crept out to complete his hunting duties (phantom hybrid and all that). No more homework or exams or class changes or tight EVO schedules. No more uniforms. I mean yeah, yeah… Ditching all those things to live a permanently on-world life might come back to bite him, but…
… Martyn is here.
Martyn is here. All his friends must be here somewhere. Maybe he should craft a blank book and gather ink and quill, taking notes as he goes along. He's bound to run into familiar faces sooner or later. A ball sounds like good grounds for socializing, even if it does shoot his anxiety up, but at least he can-
"GRIAN!"
The ringing voice is unfamiliar. Grian snaps up his head. For a split-second, he processes dark hair and a streak of red before a person - some kind of person - plows into him, knocking him straight from the stirrups. Precious gives a whinny. Her haunches dip. She skitters and scrabbles with her hooves. Grian's shoulders hit warm earth, his head conking a second later. He coughs. Tango's shouting. So is Skizz. A dog barks and metal sings as swords whip out. Grian blinks twice, taking in the picture above him.
What the-?
A well-muscled man - short and lean, but definitely muscled - crouches above him, hands tight around his wrists. He pins him flat. The smell's the first thing that hits, and Grian coughs not just from dust and dirt. Oh, wow. He reeks like he's just been swimming laps in sewer water.
"Huh?"
His hair's dark brown, but there's a streak of red down the bangs in a way that looks like hastily applied flower dye. A pair of long, bent antennae droop from his scalp. His eyes glow scarlet behind tinted sunglasses, which are slipping down his nose. They make a false mustache, which really ruins the "scary Red Life" effect.
"Who-?"
Then there's the dog, which bounds up to the man's side in dyed green armor. The brindle brown-white coat is barely visible beneath- mostly around the face and legs. What breed is that? There are several color variations, but he doesn't recognize this one. It looks like a bulldog, but much bigger and with longer legs. Maybe some kind of mastiff. The ears are too short and perky, but it's close. A leather collar rings its neck, dyed yellow and faded from long exposure to the sun. It's a strong, short-muzzled dog with slightly flopped ears and a slender tail. It takes position and growls at the loose Precious, who falters back and doesn't bolt.
The man breathes down at his face, huffing and licking his lips all the while. His black leather jacket's studded at the shoulders. The two halves hang open to showcase white wool beneath. Compared to what the three ranchers have been wearing so far, the aesthetic's a slap to the face, and Grian takes a few seconds too long trying to wrap his head around it.
Medieval family crests? Modern punk? Where AM I? Look. Look him in the eyes and tell him this isn't a roleplay server. What's-?
The man tilts his head. Several freckles glow bright white along his cheeks and down his arms. Grian's hearts flicker in time with their pulsing. A firefly hybrid? Back home, a lot of hybrids are considered "Tweenborn" because the mob they share their traits with was never programmed properly into the game. Fireflies are one of them- Plentiful, usually, since they tend to spawn AI sparks on full moon nights which keeps the population…
… Actually, that's not important. "You're Green now?" the firefly asks, searching his face. "Is that from the explosion? Oh, no way…"
He's Red. Is he going to kill me twice? I didn't set spawn in that bed. Where will I wake up? Is Dogwarts the spawn area? Is spawn full of Reds hunting down easy kills? Wait, why does he know my name?
Grian yanks in his legs and slams his feet against the man's chest. He fumbles back, yelping, but doesn't go flying like Grian hoped he would. Tango and Skizz push forward on their frightened horses, shouting. The dog growls and crouches, barking at them. Skizz jerks Champ's reins to the side like he might circle around, but a second figure drops from the birch branches and levels his sword at Tango. He's wearing a black jacket too with red, yellow, and green symbols on the back. Gray wings flap out. He's more wobbly and less muscled than the man with dyed bangs and he's dressed only in leather armor, dyed yellow like his hair. And he's left-handed, his shield hanging from his right wrist like the lid of a chest.
Is he a cockatiel hybrid? Timmy was last spawned with the cockatiel color variant in his feathers- He looked a lot like that, only with much smaller wings. It would fit the blond feathers sprouting from the back of his hair- Tim had those too.
The tiny blaze rods in Tango's hair bristle up. Black and purple specks of energy whirl around Skizz's arms. While they spit and bark, Grian tries to scramble free and gather his bearings. The dark-haired man grabs his leg and drags him back along the dirt. Grian flares his wings, but the man gets a grip on his second leg and jerks him with a yank. Grian's face hits dirt. "Grian," says the man, "Come on! Let's get out of here- That guy's Red!"
"Listen, listen- We can talk about this!"
"What?"
Tango's blaze rods whirl around his head. Smoke waterfalls between squeezed-together teeth. Skizz dismounts from Champ with a thump, hands lifted. "Let him go, let him go," he repeats over and over again. The big dog growls again and the dark-haired man glances over. The gray-winged man breathes jaggedly, trying to shield himself from a potential fireball and keep his sword aimed at Skizz at the same time. He looks young. Not like a child, but young nonetheless. Skizz says, "Stay put, stay put; I will see this as an act of aggression."
The gray-winged aggressor fidgets. He must be a Red too, and Grian's panicked heart thumps in desperate pleading for Tango to lay waste to him. It would be so easy, yeah? The avian's got wide wings arcing from his torso. Flight might give him some advantage, but no one likes their feathers burned. He's got bird legs too, Grian realizes a second later. No boots. Not really, though leather straps defend his ankles and calves while leaving room for his claws to grip the soil. The firefly hybrid keeps Grian's legs on lock. Despite his thrashing, he can't twist around. Can't get up-
"Stay put, stay put-"
"Is he with them? Is he with them?" That's the gray-winged man. That voice…
"Grian, are you with them?" the dark-haired man asks. Grian blinks, pulling his gaze from the feathered man.
"Uh- Maybe? Who are you? … Do you know Bridget and Finn?"
"What? Your parents?"
He knows. I've played with these guys before. Grian's mind churns, searching for names, but nothing in his memories matches the face above. Only question marks. The big dog growls, lifting its hackles high.
"Easy, easy," Skizz says, still walking forward. A shield marked in red and white shimmers onto his wrist. A stylized S marks the lower corner. That's all Grian glimpses before the cockatiel hybrid moves forward, blocking access to Grian with sweeping wings. Skizz stops walking, one hand still lifted. No sword… just a shield.
"Skizz," says Tango, jabbing one finger forward. He shifts in his saddle, then cools off his spinning blaze rods. He slides from Adequate's back to the ground. The pair in leather jackets stay silent, the one with dark hair still clutching Grian's feet. Tango takes a few steps forward, closer to Skizz. "They've set a trap- dirt's torn up. Grian was about to walk right into it, but they didn't want to warn us. Don't follow them. There's no telling-"
On that easygoing word, Tango lunges forward and slashes his sword at the cockatiel's head. He shrieks, jolting his shield up, and Tango whips his sword back around and slashes at his belly armor. Tango's just in riding clothes, and everyone explodes with noise. The dark-haired man shouts and shoves away from Grian, rushing to the cockatiel's side. The dog barks, leaping for Tango. Skizz dives forward and shoves it back with the clunking edge of his shield. Grian scrambles to one side, beating his wings.
"Guys, guys- We can both be friends! Listen-"
Tango kicks the blond man to the dirt. He hits so hard, his shades fly off his face. Wild red eyes meet. The cockatiel lurches up, grabbing his claws in the front of Tango's riding clothes. Tango brings his iron sword down with a cackle, straight into the thin gap between the man's leather chestplate and his leggings. The noise the blade makes on skin is slurpy and sickening. The man on the ground cries out. The firefly hybrid screams and whips an axe from an inventory slot behind his back. Purple soul goop oozes across the cockatiel's shaking fingers, glittery and bright.
Tango stops moving. The sword slips from his hands and falls to one side. Skizz and the firefly clash, the dog with her teeth in his trouser leg as she fights to yank him down. Grian stands aside, his netherite sword now gleaming in his hand. Who d'you attack in this situation? Both sides claim to know him? So many Reds? What's the protocol- Like, is this to the death or to submission? This is too much.
"… I just made a big mistake," Tango manages to croak, and topples over beside the cockatiel, both arms seizing tight around his middle.
Notes:
Traffic Nods
- Grian having a cod hybrid father is a nod to a running gag in Hermitcraft that the decapitated cod heads look like Grian's face.
- In 3rd Life Episode 5, Grian and Scar got netherite upgrades. Specifically, Grian's sword was netherite enchanted with Sharpness II.
- Adequate was Tango's horse in Hermitcraft Season 8. In Double Life Session 2 (just before the ranch gets burned), he remarks to Scar that his horse "is not Adequate" since Jimmy couldn't jump it out of the panda pit.
- Skizz had a 3rd Life episode titled Chump to Champ (Session 5), so I named his horse Champ... mostly because it's funny paired with Adequate. In Hermitcraft Season 8 (Episode 4), Tango rode a creamy brown horse with white field markings that was very slow, so he swapped it for a slightly better horse (white with black dots). Champ is a tobiano as a nod to that horse. That said, there's a good chance that was the same horse Tango nametagged Expendable and used in his flying horses experiment in Episode 5...
- Grian rode a bay horse with white stockings and blaze near the end of Double Life (the one that looked like an adult to him and a baby to Impulse and Bdubs).
- Grian, Joel, and Jimmy formed a team called The Bad Boys in Limited Life. They wore leather jackets and shades.
- Joel had two dogs named Gerald and Geraldine in 3rd Life. Gerald died in a mineshaft adventure shortly after, so Geraldine became Joel's loyal companion. Cleo called Geraldine "pretty" at the end of Episode 1. She is specifically an Alaunt- a breed extinct in modern day, but once popular for its ability to bring down large game before firearms were around. Apparently they were often used around horses and even in war, but their population dwindled once firearms made it easy to kill large animals without the need to train a dog. The more you know!
- In 3rd Life episode 5 (iirc), Scar fritters around Skizz's house while Grian tosses him flint and steel. Skizz says "Stay put" and "I will see this as an act of aggression." - Obviously he can't engage a Red unless struck first, and that's what's happening in this chapter too.
- In 3rd Life, Skizz was a member of Dogwarts and used their banner design on his shield. The S on it is a nod to him having an S shield while part of Team B.E.S.T. in Last Life.
- Tango and Jimmy were soulmates in Double Life. When they died, they respawned in a mixed birch-oak forest.
Chapter 7: Partnered Apart
Summary:
Grian, Skizz, and Joel treat Jimmy's and Tango's wounds. A tense discussion is had. Grian's anxious about the ball and whether he'll actually see Oscar while he's there. Our story draws to an end...
(Posted February 10th, 2024)
Notes:
Chapter Warnings [Spoilers]
- Treating injuries
- Mentions of the age difference between Tango and Jimmy (i.e. Skizz and Joel take precautions since Jimmy's young and not ready for commitment)
- Cultural insensitivity (acknowledged)
- Soulmate-normative culture and tension
- Brief creeper explosion⭐ AU Guide & Character List | Story's Tumblr Post & Moodboard Song ⭐
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)
Partnered Apart
💚 💛 ❤️
What a wild group they make: a drop-in from another world who wields an enchanted netherite sword left behind by parents he's never met, a teleporting mapmaker who talks like he's visited every chunk in the Four Lands, a prince with a loyal dog named Geraldine now laying her head in his lap…
… and two Red soulmates who can't stop bickering over the tightness of each other's bandages. According to Jimmy (It's Jimmy - It's Tim - That's his face, or at least a younger version of him - the cockatiel hybrid), Tango's not putting any pressure on the wound that would stifle the bleeding. He may as well be sitting with a light blanket on his stomach for all the good it's doing him. According to Tango, Jimmy's the reason they're both aching and miserable, and he's going to tear their shared wound even more with all the chafing. Prince Joel and Grian sit between them, and Geraldine lies stretched between both of them.
Let's rewind.
It takes several minutes of back and forth shouting (and several clashing sword swings) before Skizz, Grian, and the dark-haired man (Joel, he calls himself) all calm down enough to stand near each other and assess Jimmy's injuries. Joel pushes Tango and Skizz aside, snapping first aid orders at Grian, who jumps into action as quick as he can. He checks on Skizz, but Skizz gives him an encouraging double nod.
"Tango's synced to Jimmy- Any healing will transfer over. Jimmy's too young for Tango's healing to flow back to him, so help Jimmy first."
"Right." Cleaning the wound is first priority. Eating food will close the injury, but if it's messy inside, all that goop and tattered flesh will seal shut. Grian searches the satchel Skizz gave him and pulls out a clean cloth. Joel buzzes his firefly wings, antennae twitching when Grian steps close, but he doesn't lash out. He didn't put his axe away, but it's out of reach. Grian keeps an eye on it and wishes he'd asked Skizz to craft him a shield. After a moment's hesitation, he picks Skizz's shield off the ground and slides it on his own arm. It equips with a curtain of white sparkles. At least that's still the same. He'll practice phasing it out later. It can stay for now.
His stomach twists each time he shifts his eyes down to Jimmy's injury. Or Tango's injury, for that matter- Skizz is dressing the mirror stab wound in Tango's side. Grian shifts his weight between his feet, wondering how much of what he's doing (if anything) is transferring to his apparent soulmate. With Tango sprawled out, a very clear wound bleeding at his side, this whole "soulmate" thing is all too real and pulsing in his head.
That might be me someday. I might be out walking alone and all of a sudden, I keel over with a wound and nobody to help patch me up.
Now that'll wake you up in the morning.
Jimmy groans, his talons seizing open and shut, and Grian can't stop staring at his face. "Tim?" he asks, creeping forward. "Tim, it's me."
"Jimmy," Joel corrects every time. Tense. Terse. It's not the time for a big, sloppy reunion, apparently. Jimmy's coughing and out of it. He keeps murmuring, "Where is he, where is he?" over and over again, fighting for consciousness while Joel presses on his wound. Grian hurries to rein in the horses. He ties the reins to a couple trees, then takes the offered water bucket from Skizz and brings it to Timmy (Jimmy) and Joel. Geraldine growls, pinning back her ears, and that's when Joel calls her by name and instructs her to sit. She sits, but turns to gnaw at the green shoulder pad of her armor. With her brindle fur, she looks like a moss-covered log.
Joel's reluctant to accept the bucket. Grian takes a sip to show it's all right. After a few glances at Skizz and Tango, Joel concedes. Together, they help Jimmy sit up and take a drink. Not too fast. Not too much. Grian checks his forehead. It's cool.
"I have bread," he tells Joel, who doesn't respond immediately. Grian takes it from his bag anyway, unwrapping the cloth to reveal the loaf within. Apparently Skizz baked it earlier this morning, knowing he and Tango would be heading to Dogwarts. It's softer than the apple slices. Grian doesn't trust his sword to be clean enough to cut it, so he breaks the loaf in half with his hands and gives it all to Jimmy. Geraldine growls and Joel watches with blank, staring eyes. Joel doesn't smile. He doesn't say thanks. He tears into the bread like a starving crow, wings dirty and hair a mess now. Hair and clothes and body all a mess. Glowing, glittery blobs of purple stain Joel's fingertips and dribble down Jimmy's side. Grian watches, waiting for the wound to shimmer and heal as Jimmy downs the bread.
Maybe it takes more time when you're Red.
The horses whinny. It'll be dark soon. Grian takes charge of watching for mobs, wishing he had torches to set up on the go. There's no time to mine for coal and Skizz didn't bring any, although he did hand over a single lantern from his inventory. Grian paces with the lantern held high. "We really have to move before the zombies smell you're injured," he says, and a hazy Jimmy asks "What happened, Tango?" for what feels like the sixth or seventh time.
"Grian's right," says Skizz, sitting back on his knees. "Let's take a minute to rest, but we want to get moving before we attract a whole horde."
"You have horses," Joel says, staying crouched above Jimmy. "Give us one. Give us a horse or I'll kill you."
Skizz introduces himself as Skizz Lemonhearts as though the threat was never made. Joel says nothing, staring and staring. One hand rests on Jimmy's labored stomach. It rises and falls with every shuddered breath. Grian cranes his neck. There's no visible communicator. He doesn't dare ask how many hearts Jimmy's on now.
Can Oscar feel how fast MY hearts are beating? What about emotional pain, or stress, or fear? Do those things travel through the bond because they're a form of touch? Tango did say something about how at a certain age, every little pain starts threading through. He didn't specify emotions and now isn't the time to ask. Grian scratches at his chest, bunching the riding clothes, and wonders if Oscar's already in Dogwarts and well-dressed for an evening at the ball.
"I hate horses," Joel finally says. Little by little, stagger by stagger, he tones down the glowing freckles that flush his cheeks and arms. There's a stripe down his spine visible through his shirt, but Grian doesn't point that out. "Give us a horse. I'll kill your horse."
Again, Skizz ignores this request. "We're meeting a friend of mine in Dogwarts. Tango will recover. Will you and Jimmy be okay? Do you have a safe place to shelter from mobs?"
"I have Geraldine and my axe," Joel insists, and Geraldine huffs once in agreement. She steps in front of Joel, turns two circles, and settles in to lick his cheeks. Joel blinks, trying to lean his face away without leaving Jimmy open to attack. "We don't need you," he insists. There's not a waver in his tone. He stares forward, letting the dog rasp her tongue across his face while he sits silently, his axe a lunge away.
Grian turns back to watch the forest. The shadows twist between the oak and birch trees. He doesn't hear any mobs out, but that doesn't mean they aren't around. A wise man learns not to wave off every sound as a passing rabbit. If you're lucky, you get to make that mistake more than once.
The sunlight's fading fast, but neither Tango nor Jimmy are in a condition to ride a horse or hobble into the forest shadows unprotected. Crickets chirp beneath the leaves. One jumps to a blade of grass while Grian watches. Skizz murmurs facts about travel time and the landscape from here to Dogwarts. Joel stays mute for most of it, but moves back to let Jimmy sit up. Tango's looking better too, which makes sense seeing as he's probably got double healing going on. That's how it works, right?
So that's how they get there. Everyone sits down. Geraldine moves her head to Joel's lap with a long, snuffly sigh. Tango and Jimmy keep throwing sideways looks at each other, then looking away just as fast. They don't seem to know what to say. So the grumbles over each other's bandages starts up, and Grian watches like he's floating away across the sea.
Nobody's got a clue what to say, actually. Where to start, where to push, where to dodge and weave. Grian fidgets his fingers up and down the sword hilt. The crickets peep and shuffle in the grass. Joel stares into the distance with his wings twitching like the firefly instincts inside his chest want nothing more than to throw himself in the leaves and join them.
Finally, just because Skizz is the least awkward person here, Grian turns and asks, "I feel kinda bad we ditched Mr. Rancher all on his own, especially with all the farm chores. We're not far- I can walk back and you guys can take my horse from here?"
Skizz looks like he's been smacked, then throws back his head so far, he almost topples over. "No, no- He's not… He's not gonna be lonely tonight. He'll like it much better if you stay out… His soulmate's on his way up as we speak."
"Oh… I thought you were his soulmate?"
"No," Skizz says, his voice fond and far away. "Just a buddy…"
Jimmy sits up then, glancing around. "You live together even when you're not soulmates? But-"
"My name's Joel," Joel cuts in, which instantly shuts Jimmy up. He puts out a warning arm. Grian runs Jimmy's statement through his head several times over, watching Jimmy's expression change from startled to downright irritated. Nonetheless, he looks away. Joel's nails scritch up and down Geraldine's back, tracing spirals between the gaps in her lightweight armor. "You better pray Jimmy pulls through this. We trapped this forest just for you two" - indicating Skizz and Tango with a V of fingers - "and I don't even know where half the traps are. You're never getting through these woods alive if one of us doesn't make it."
"Joel," Jimmy says, "it's just a surface wound, all right? I'm okay. I reckon the bread helped."
"Prince Joel, I'm glad you're doing well for yourself. I would never hurt a Red who didn't strike me or my loved ones first. It would be an honor to travel with you and my stepson's soulmate to Dogwarts."
Grian glances over, grip tight around his sword hilt. He's not afraid to use it and Sharpness II isn't bad at all on a netherite blade. He'd rather not take combat damage, though… especially if Oscar's dressed up nice and settled in for a relaxing night. That would be rude. Jimmy jolts when the word "stepson" hits the air. And for some reason, when Skizz speaks, the freckles across Joel's face flush brighter.
"I don't know what rumors you've heard, but I'm not a prince. We don't do that in the Eastlands. That's just what we tell you because you're too stuck-up to bother learning the social protocol for anyone outside your own culture."
"Well," Grian pipes up, "what's your title, then?"
Joel shifts his eyes sideways. There's darkness in that wide-eyed stare, like a storm cloud brewing above a distant lightning rod. Then he turns away, snorting in disgust. "I can't believe you… Don't even talk to me."
Oh. He was supposed to know that, wasn't he? From hanging out with Joel and Jimmy before? Grian peers at Skizz, pleading in silence. Tango and Jimmy squabble over their bandages in the background, voices mingled with cricket chirps and owl hoots, but Skizz is listening. There's that. He scoots forward. Joel's wings tense like pulled string. A shimmer of white and gold runs across them as they flitter up.
"I'm sorry I offended you, First Paw. You're totally right- I do tend to think of you by the name Dogwarts calls you. It won't happen again. And Grian-"
"I lost my memories," Grian jumps in, instantly picking up the vibe. Smooth it over, apologize, and quell the anger in the jumpy Reds. He doesn't let Skizz speak for him, and Skizz gives the faintest nod when Grian checks to see if he's doing this right. "I mean, I don't really know the details… All I know is, I ran into one of Tango's traps and blew up. When I woke up again, I was on my Green life with no memory of… any of the dynamics or lore that exist in this world. I'm heading to Dogwarts to look for people I recognize."
Joel says nothing. His fingers comb Geraldine's fur. Jimmy looks up from his bandages, though, and asks, "You don't recognize us? Not even me?"
"I know you're Timmy. I remember being roommates with you and Martyn."
"Um, I'm Jimmy, actually… but you can call me Tim if you like. I don't think I know a Martyn, though."
Joel sighs through his teeth then, long and loud. "I know a Martyn." His expectant eyes turn to Grian. Grian tries to remember what Tango said about marriage and politics a few hours earlier, but Joel takes his silence for memory loss confusion - which, y'know, is fair - and talks over him. "The Red King's always trying to marry someone into my family so they can get their roots in Eastland turf. Well, that's not happening. I'm my own man and no one's taking that away from me."
It clicks then. "Oh! Something about… you swapping fiancés with someone else? With Martyn? Or because of Martyn?"
"Fiancé!?" Joel's shout crackles above the treetops, startling several birds to take flight, cawing as they flap away. "That blimmin' oaf wasn't my fiancé! In fact, when he showed up with these ores and jewels to charm the Eastlands out from under me, I flat-out told him he'd better turn tail before I chop his wing membranes off and sell them for a quarter of market price to the first merchant I see. Blummin' heck- Is that what they say about me and him?"
"Oh, um," Grian fumbles, "I don't really know him; it's just what I heard…"
"I don't think you lost your memories at all," Joel huffs back. He jumps to his feet and storms away into the bushes. Geraldine stretches, shakes, and trots after him. He doesn't go very far, but sort of meanders around the outer ring of render distance, whacking off tree branches as he goes along. Grian's hearts waver between wild pounding and sinking through the cold ocean to its sandy floor. He turns his attention on Skizz, Tango, and Jimmy instead.
"Don't worry about him," Jimmy says (rather brightly for someone still nursing a stab wound in his gut). "We thought you were dead! Like, literally went and blew up on us. Joel's not mad, he's not- Just doesn't know what to say, actually. He never would've forgiven himself if you lived through that explosion after all and then walked into one of our traps. We've not had the best luck with traps lately, but that's not your fault! … Well, maybe his." (Tango's.)
Grian eyes the hand Tango's got on Jimmy's knee. Or the finger, more accurately. He keeps poking, over and over, like in spite of their twin stomach gashes, he still can't believe this whole soulmate thing is real. Skizz notices the prodding at the same time Grian does. A swirl of black and purple sparkles jumps like a halo above his head, then cools off like snowflakes in the wind. Still, he moves forward.
"Keep a wingspan apart." He nudges Tango's hand away. Pulls it, actually. The startled soulmates both look up. They start protesting in unison, claiming they both have "so much to catch up on" and "It's okay- It didn't bother me!" but Skizz holds firm. "You've got the rest of your lives together; don't get too clingy now. Jimmy's not even fully synced up yet."
He smacks Tango on the back of the head for emphasis. Tango winces. Jimmy doesn't, looking on in mild surprise. He reaches back to touch his head at the same time Tango does, but Jimmy pulls his fingers away after only a heartbeat. Gray wings flap out from his lower back. Uh-oh, Grian thinks, but no words pop to his mind. Jimmy bristles, sitting forward.
"Look, mate- Maybe you don't think soulmates are worth looking for, but I actually want to settle down with mine."
Skizz's eyes slit to daggers. Jimmy instantly shifts his gaze away, landing his eyes on Grian instead. Grian lifts his brows. Did he make eye contact? He probably made eye contact. Skizz's arms prickle with black and purple blobs, especially around the shoulders, but again… He steadies out. One breath later, the blots swirl away.
"Mind your tongue. I'll excuse you on the grounds that you're Red, but you don't want to make an enemy of me."
"Yeah, that's fair."
"I bet you won't make Grian and Oscar stand a wingspan apart," Tango grumbles. Grian jumps. Joel surges back through the undergrowth then, voicing his agreement that Jimmy's far too young for this and needs time to make his own decision on whether to get involved with a ruffian who "tried to blimmin' kill them on multiple occasions." Grian hangs back for all of this, absorbing it like a sponge soaking up water in a half-drained ocean monument. Not his fight.
Oddly enough, despite the way Joel just snapped at Skizz a moment ago, their mutual defensiveness over the two younger boys seems to twist them into silent allies. Joel remarks loudly that next time Tango goes in for a touch, he'll probably lose a finger. He mimes an axe swing for emphasis. Tango snaps back, Joel stands his ground, and Skizz hushes them both by suggesting they enjoy New Year's tonight and exchange contact info while they can, because once the new year starts, this relationship is switching strictly to long-distance communication via letter until Jimmy's old enough to decide what he's comfortable with from there. Joel snorts, but doesn't protest any further. Tango whines a moment about how "old-fashioned" that is, but Skizz points directly at Grian, who about jumps out of his wings.
"Hey, Grian's known his soulmate since he was 9. We've made him wait this long. I'll happily take you traveling with me for seven years straight if that's what you want me to do."
Since I was 9? Grian's mind stalls, then whirls like loose wheels on a minecart track. What happened at age 9 that would carry through the bond so notably, tracking down the soulmate was easy after that? What, did one of us have a super specific death or something? Tango said deaths can sometimes carry through the bond even when you're young, though he acted like that was the exception more than the rule. Maybe Oscar was impaled by a drowned's trident and it left three marks so distinct, Skizz and Rancher knew immediately they were looking for a recent drowned victim along the coast. Maybe he was bitten by a dragon, or he fell in lava. Hmm…
I don't remember any weird scars… Except the puckered gash in the center of his stomach. But then, he did respawn. That probably rinsed him clean.
Tango's nostrils flare, hissing puffs of smoke. He's on his feet now, as is Jimmy. Neither looks completely steady, but they seem able to walk. Tango holds out his hand. Jimmy accepts it and they shake like chaste and cordial young men.
"Tango Rancher, Jr., but I Red Life as Tango of the Hills; Tek."
"Jimmy Executioner."
"Oh, dang. That's way better than mine. You get a lot of kills, then?"
Joel snorts from the sidelines. "Don't listen to him- He's only called that because one time, he ate a frog and cried for a week."
"Hey!"
"No, no… I respect it. I kill frogs too; it's cool, man." Tango sticks his hands in his undersized pockets, rocking back on his heels. "So, buddies?"
"Yeah, I reckon so."
"Great," says Joel, and slaps their hands apart as he strides between them. "Let's get out of here. Jimmy, I need you upfront pointing out your traps. Geraldine, heel."
In that manner, they head off towards Dogwarts. Grian rides Champ with Jimmy slumped in front of him, his face buried in the stallion's mane. Skizz follows with lightweight Precious while Tango walks beside Adequate, one arm slung over his back. This leaves him limping as they pass a gaping cave mouth. They all hear the hiss of the creeper at the same time. The resulting explosion sends both Tango and Adequate tumbling sideways. The horse rears back, shrieking a whinny, and Joel yanks Tango out of the path of falling hooves just in time. They go rolling in the leaves. Skizz jumps off to calm Adequate down and Grian watches Tango and Joel pant together, both of them tense as cats and staring at Skizz and Jimmy and the frantic horse.
"You know," Grian says, looking down at them from Champ's back, "Tango, maybe you should ride. I'm starting to think I'll be safer on my wings."
They walk the horses at a low trot for several more minutes before Joel signals the path is clear enough to gallop. He breaks into a run with Geraldine steady like a tidal wave beside him. Grian skims overhead, fighting to keep up with the horses. His wings may be bigger now, but they're not great at carrying his weight. When they leave the forest and he no longer has branches to land on, that becomes obvious. He lags behind while the others fly ahead on tromping hooves.
Uh…
It's dark out here. The forest canopy made it feel darker than it was, but somehow that felt like natural shadow. The gray-black hills below look like cut-outs pasted against a gaping sky. Grian traces his eyes across the stars. He's never seen so many before. They look like thousands and thousands of bamboo stalks topped with lanterns way, way up there overhead. And the sky stretches on forever, even beyond what he thought was natural render distance. Thin, wispy clouds skirt through the blackness like giant fish, but most of the sky hangs naked overhead. It's almost embarrassing to look.
Whoa…
It's a downhill drop now. He can probably glide down, but what's he to do when the path curves up again?
Joel looks back in time to catch his struggle. He sends Geraldine ahead to follow Jimmy, then spreads his own wings with a swish. White glitter dances from roots to tips. Grian stands on the dirt path, staring in silence. Joel's wings ripple. They stretch wide, glowing like direct sunlight. In mere heartbeats, he's back up to the crest of the hill, hovering in front of Grian's face.
"What's up? You wing-shy all of a sudden? Or are you just bailing out, Bad Boy?"
Grian doesn't respond. He studies Joel's wings regardless. He has two pairs of wings, technically. One is the outer cover. Now that's a proper elytra. Those are brown, like his hair, but the membranes of his second set of wings glow gold and white like moonlight on a mountain. It's especially impressive in the dark. Weirdly enough, his wings are silent. They look like they should be making noise at the speed they're moving, but the thrum is absolutely silent.
Those white sparkles, though… Those didn't pop into view until he actually started flying. That's the same shimmer you see when you pull an item from your inventory- or tuck it away, for that matter. It's the same shine that crackled at Tango's fingertips while he pressed dirt tight in the hole he was filling in. It's what the crafting table does.
I wonder…
Grian turns to study his own wings. Maybe he's going about this the wrong way. Now that his body's made of solid flesh and bones instead of light and code, maybe he's too heavy for his physical wings to carry him. Grian flexes them out, then pushes a thought like Time to fly through his mind. It sounds silly, but if it works, it works. And it almost works. A wave of glitter rushes across the feathers, but fades within a breath.
"How are you doing that?" he asks Joel. Joel tilts his head. His antennae zigzag forward, mimicking the red dye stripe in his hair.
"What- The flight magic? Oh, right… You said you lost your memories? Mm, that sucks for you, Bad Boy. Well, I dunno- You just… Push. Like you're dumping stuff on the floor, only instead of using your hands, you're using your mind. And you're not throwing actual items, but just energy. You get me?"
Oddly enough, restructuring his brainwaves as an attempt at magic does make him feel less weird about mentally communicating his intentions to his wings. The horses gallop farther and farther away, taking Skizz, Tango, Jimmy, and Geraldine with them, but Joel simply looks at Grian like he's entirely worth waiting for. Grian gathers his focus, then shoves his thoughts outward again. It's quick, decisive, and he doesn't even hesitate- Just like grabbing a water bucket from his inventory and nailing an MLG clutch.
Let's fly!
His flesh and feathers tingle. Another ripple of energy coasts across his wing. His wing unfurls, stretching farther and gaining bulk he didn't even realize he had. Maybe he didn't. His wing glistens like someone turned up the brightness and coloration almost to max. Even the rendering looks better now- he can see individual tufts on every shaft. The muscles beef up with a jerk at his underarm and shoulder. Grian stretches the wing behind him, then sweeps it forward. Oh, this will definitely take some getting used to.
"Whoa… I've never had wings this big before!"
"Great," says Joel, setting his hands on his hips. He looks an awful lot like he's trying not to cackle. "Now do the other one!"
"What? Oh…"
Joel smirks, then lands on the ground. The glow of his wings fades back to normal. In a swirl of glitter, the wings retract to a somewhat smaller size. They're still there, hanging all the way from shoulders to the base of his rear, but while he was flying, they were at least long enough to reach his toes. Huh. "Try exploding your thoughts outward like a TNT explosion. That's what I do."
It takes another minute of practice, and then several minutes of test gliding downhill before Grian really starts to get the hang of his body. The flight magic doesn't feel like a drain on his energy, and it doesn't mentally lap at the edges of his mind the way that potions do as their timers tick downward. It feels more like wearing Frost Walker boots while you sprint across the ocean, fully confident that they'll hold your weight without any mental input. It's like strapping an elytra with Mending on and circling loops around a farm where endermen drop to their death, scattering XP orbs on impact faster than you can pick them up. It's like dropping from 200 levels to 0 in one breath, then springing out of bed and shooting from 0 back up again in a jolt.
"I'm flying!" He's never flown like this before. Sure, he's done a little wobbly hovering on creative servers, but that's while he's upright and it feels more like walking- Like learning which air currents to step on and how to bend the space around you with just a thought. In fact, his wings were more of a hassle then because they made it difficult to keep his balance.
Air glides across his wings like frilly fish tails. The wind tastes cold and sticky and it rustles like fingers in his hair. Grian skims low across the hills until his belly almost brushes the night-blue grass. "Oh, this is so dangerous," he says aloud, and Joel laughs from somewhere up ahead. He skims above with lazy relaxation in his eyes.
"Looks like we started a fad, boys! Come on! I'll race you down to Dogwarts."
It's not much of a contest, honestly. Joel takes an easy lead. Grian swerves up from the grass and keeps his wing pumps steady. The wind whistles. It's like pudding when he spreads them wide to cup the air. I wonder what the height limit is, he muses, but that's a question to play with another day. He'll keep the flight tests simple for now. No point in risking his neck if there's no real reason to.
The hills keep rolling, showcasing cattle ranches and flocks of sheep way out in the distance. Joel cuts his pace, keeping even with Grian, and they glide together in silence, just gazing through the dark. Eventually, after maybe half an hour of sustained galloping and soaring, the hills start dropping downwards. All minecart rails lead down to Dogwarts, he remembers from Skizz's map, and his heart quickens when he makes out the cobblestone wall up ahead. Dark oak logs form accent pillars every seven or eight blocks apart all the way around. It's… cheap-looking for the supposed capital city of the Westlands, but it's probably easy to repair whenever damage is done. The walls are thick. Maybe hidden traps lurk between the blocks. The cobble might just be there to lure intruders into a false sense of security.
Here we go!
The outer wall isn't that tall. Well, it's tall enough that even an iron golem can't jump and slap the top, and neither could someone standing on the golem's shoulders. So yeah, it's tall. Everything looks out of proportion from up here, though. The dirt roads bustle with horses, carts, and people on foot. Even the winged hybrids are coming in for a landing. Is that out of politeness, or are there guards inside waiting to shoot you if they clock you as a threat?
"There it is," Joel murmurs. It's unnecessary, but appreciated. He adjusts course so he won't cross the wall without consent, even from all the way up here. Grian cranes his neck. Wheat and leafy carrot tops sprout freely on the other side of the cobblestone. It looks like there's a tiny popup market selling torches. Several trees offer shade, especially near the walking paths. No one's harvesting food this late at night. Is that intentional? Maybe that food's free for visitors to take. I mean, it's not like Dogwarts doesn't know people are sweeping by tonight. They're the ones hosting the party. Or something like that.
The farms seem to circle all the way around the inner wall, which is also made from cobble and dark oak logs. This wall's even taller than the outside one, and the city inside flourishes with wide streets and huge puddles of lantern light.
Is that a castle in the middle? Grian can't tell for sure. It might be a castle. He longs to take a good fly over, but Joel's banking back around. Grian follows his lead as they swoop towards ground level. Skizz greets with a smile and a "Hey, homie-buddies!" Tango and Jimmy stare through them like they want nothing more but to collapse for identical naps.
Joel pulls in his wings, giving himself a shake that flicks sparkles into the air. His wings tuck in again. Grian does the same. The magic rolls away, leaving a low ache in its place, but a little bread should help with that. He's pretty sure he still has some, so long as Jimmy and Tango didn't pinch it when he wasn't looking. "Well," says Joel, "I imagine this is where we part ways as I don't suppose entering Dogwarts on Red will end well for us. Jimmy, let's go."
"What?" Jimmy lifts his head. That's all he croaks out before Tango butts in, guiding Adequate forward with a stamp of hooves.
"Hey, hey- You're not just gonna run out like that, are ya? Come on! It's New Year's tonight. Come join the party. I'm getting in there."
Joel looks him up and down, nose wrinkled like it's been punched. "Uh-huh… Yeah, let us know how that works out for you. Jimmy, say good-bye to this fella. You're not seeing him again for a while now, so I hope you got his banner or some hair."
Grian blinks. "His hair?"
"For a messenger phantom," Joel says, like that's something everyone just… has.
"Right. Poor ol' foolish me."
Jimmy slides from his horse to the ground and hands the reins to his. "Good-bye, Tango," he says, and he sounds genuinely kind of broken up about it. "Don't forget to write, yeah? And don't go dying on me. I'm already thinking up ideas for our dream house."
"Well…" Tango nudges Adequate forward again. The spotted horse snorts, prancing back and forth. After a moment's hesitation, Tango swings from the saddle to the ground. Joel moves forward instantly, pulling Jimmy back, and Geraldine takes a protective position at his leg. Tango ignores both these things. "D'ya wanna go set a trap with me tonight? If we combine forces for ultimate devastation, Operation Splattafication, we'll probably all be Yellow by midnight."
Grian glances at the winding line of people (many on horseback) all waiting for their turn to push through the Dogwarts gates. "Should you be saying that in front of witnesses?" he starts to ask, but Joel sort of speaks over him, pulling Jimmy back again.
"Nope, nope… This is where we part ways, I'm afraid. Thanks for the laughs, see you in Hell- Let's do business when Jimmy's older. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Come on, Jim. We oughta scram before we get jumped. You coming, Grian, or you staying with them?"
"Oh… Uh, I'm staying, I think. I'm meeting my soulmate tonight."
Jimmy twists around even as Joel guides him off. He lifts one hand to wave. One gray wing goes up with him. "'Bye, Tango! I'll write you every new moon- I promise! We'll always have the woods!"
"Yeah… Jimmy…"
"I'll write too," Grian offers. It feels appropriate. No other words are exchanged. Geraldine trots at Joel's heels. Joel seems plenty eager to get away, and from the doubletakes everyone seems to be making as they come down the road and see a firefly hybrid glowing bright, a large dog right behind him, Grian wonders if Joel's title and not-quite-betrothal to Martyn is as widespread as Tango's rumor-sharing seemed to imply. Grian stands near Skizz's horse, watching Tango watch them go. The blaze hybrid coasts his fingers through bright blond hair. He lashes his tail a few times, then twists on his heel and buries his nose in Adequate's mane.
"I'm gonna invest in so much real estate… I'm so gonna find the wizard tonight."
"You do that," Skizz says. He dismounts his horse, then approaches Tango with arms spread. "Hug!"
Grian pricks his ears. He scoots forward too, curious again about the touch of flesh on flesh in this world where bodies don't phase through pixels when you press too firmly. Tango groans against Adequate's mane, but doesn't stop Skizz from wrapping both arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze. Grian joins in with his wings. Tango lets out a stream of muffled noises, griping about this and that, and Skizz gives him a firm pat before dropping the hug.
"Hey. Proud of you for stepping back, buddy. I know that's hard when you're young and excited, but it's better this way. Give him time. Let him breathe. When he's old enough to decide what he wants, and if he chooses you… Well, that's a real soulmate right there! Not just because you share pain and touch."
Tango grunts without comment, eyes wide and staring only at a black freckle on Adequate's pale neck. Grian tips his head. Is that how it works? Can you just… choose to build a life with someone, even if you're not bonded to them? Two would lose his MIND if I wanted to work with another camera instead of him…
But then, that's sort of how Skizz and Rancher came together, isn't it? Apparently they aren't soulmates, but they're happy as clam cats in each other's company. And it didn't seem to bother Skizz when he casually dropped that bit about how Rancher's soulmate made plans to meet him tonight. They did pass a man riding north on a black and white horse, so maybe that was him, though he galloped by too fast for conversation.
Can you have TWO soulmates? One you share touch with because they've got the other half of your soul and one whose company you enjoy so much, you want to live with them all the time? … What about two people you want to live with and follow no matter where they go?
Grian's chest thumps, ringing in his ears. His fingers trace the embroidery down his scabbard, possibly left there by parents he never met. After all this New Year's stuff is done, I should start looking for them. Asking around's probably my best bet. If anyone's going to have memories about his roleplay past, it'll be them. Joel fed him a few scraps on the flight over, but Grian felt awkward asking for too much, especially from a Red. But, y'know… Anyone who adopts parent roleplay is kind of setting themselves up to answer questions from their children.
Do they want him to move in and roleplay with them again? That could be fun.
Maybe soulmates aren't as tight of a lockdown as they sound. All this talk about "writing a letter to answer Oscar" left him feeling fuzzy, like he'd dropped into a world full of decorum and rules without any instructions, and one false step would drop him into lava before he could ask for help. But Skizz doesn't live with his soulmate, and Rancher and his partner seem to have some sort of agreement that they live apart. Maybe he's not about to get a bunch of heavy roleplay expectations dropped on his shoulders. Maybe Oscar won't mind if he says "No."
I wonder what he looks like.
He speaks up then, asking how he'll know for sure if Oscar came to the ball and if either Skizz or Tango can point him out. Skizz spins around, clapping his hands. The horses startle. So do Grian and Tango. "I brought Oscar's letter for you! Give that a check and see if he said anything about where he is tonight. Here." Skizz fishes around his bag, then passes Grian a folded note. A wax seal stretches along a crease, though it's clearly been broken once before. It looks a lot like the symbol Grian has on his scabbard and the cover of that book he's got in his bag, only this one's clearly meant to indicate a different person.
The wax is blue. The golden symbol in the center is either an allay or a vex, though it's too scrunched together to tell. It's holding a branch high, one leaf quivering from the tip. Two of the silver symbols at the bottom must indicate his parents. Now, if he's remembering right, the bottom middle symbol indicates the 'family name' he was born under, which is probably Goodchild. It… looks like a bow, maybe? It's difficult to tell. And the symbol at the top looks like a crown. That probably represents the Westlands.
"Oh… Wow. Thanks, Skizz!"
"Line's moving pretty fast," Skizz chirps, handing Tango a clump of emeralds. Tango's eyes bulge. Skizz gives Grian a second clump. "We have to unhitch the horses at Impulse's. Once you're showered and dressed, you're free to have fun! You're 16 now; eat all the candy you want and enjoy the dances and fireworks. Just be back before sunrise. Sound fair?"
"Uh… Wow, yeah. Okay. That sounds great. Thank you for the emeralds. I… don't know how much this is worth, but I bet I can score some fun with this."
Tango studies the wall like he's seriously debating if it's worth crawling over it instead of waiting for the line to move. The guards seem to be screening everyone before entry, which is totally fair. Grian wonders where Tango's "wizard shop" is, but that can wait. He sits down in cold grass. By the glow of his netherite sword, he reads Oscar's letter line by line:
My humble Lord Grian Harvestmuch Dreamslayer,
Your previous letter has not found me well, I regret to say! But the troubles of body and mind are so easily forgotten for precious minutes when I have your sweet birdsong in my hand. I carry your feather at my breast and paint your words upon my heart. With you, I remember what it felt like when I could fly.
It may be mere months, but it feels like years since I last kissed the knuckles of your hand and walked the Jellie sanctuary by your side. I anxiously count down the days until we meet again. Please send a phantom in reply if I may see you in Dogwarts for the ball on New Year's Eve. Come rain or snow, I plan to be there! Not in the most exciting colors, I imagine, but you know how these things go.
Of course, I have not forgotten those of the home I address this letter to. How fondly I enjoyed the hours I spoke with T. Rancher and S. Lemonhearts. You must promise to introduce me to your brother the next time you visit me. Perhaps he will be at Dogwarts too? The older I grow, the greater my longing to roam these wild lands, and I shall certainly keep my eye out for anyone who bears similar scars to his, if he should request it of me.
And of course, my heart would sing if you would just be as kind as ever to include a humble donation that goes towards the beautiful home we shall build when we're finally together, free from all these stuffy letters and frilly clothes ;) I've warned you before, but take my words to heart: I shall never go back to lace and cravats when I cut my parents out at last.
Have you considered my proposal, my sweet Lord Dreamslayer? I mean no disrespect to your decision-making process, but my eagerness to steal you away swells higher every day we're apart. Shall I plan our bonding ceremony in my free time, or would that be an oversight and overstep? I haven't a clue without your guiding hand!
You are my wings, my lord. I hope that someday very soon, I'll be yours.
Regardless,
Oscar of Thyme Valley; Goodchild
Regardless? Is that a typo? And what's a Jellie sanctuary? Is that a fancy word for slime? Grian huffs, shakes his head, and folds the letter up again. His mind buzzes, leaping to and fro. He's not sure he can stay sitting if he wants to. At least he knows the letter's contents now, and he has until he actually meets Oscar at the party to piece a response together. With any luck, Oscar will take the lack of a reply as a sign that he needs "more time" to think it over.
A bonding ceremony? Is that like a wedding? It sounds like he needs plenty of time to prepare. But if this is a romantic dynamic, why not just say 'wedding?' Are all soulmates this casually affectionate?
Hmm… Well, I've got a little time. Oscar seems nice! Maybe he'll be bonded-by-birth soulmate and happily chosen partner bundled into one, complete with a pretty bow and a cherry on top. There's only one way to find out.
💚 💛 ❤️
Notes:
This AU's stories will continue in future 'fics. Consider subscribing to Neighborhood Watch AU for more!
If you liked this story, you may also like:
- "One and a Half Birds" (The Grian who left the NW universe is now living in a digital universe, trying to come out about his purple soul to Mumbo and Scar)
- Also, my Parallel Park [Watcher Grian] series has all 'fics for both Grians.
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! :)
Traffic Nods
- Tango dying to a creeper is how he and Jimmy met as soulmates in Double Life. This AU doesn't play the scenes exactly the same, and since everything exists in one timeline, some deaths are near-deaths instead. There is no world spawn, so it wouldn't have made sense for Tango and Jimmy to meet after dying if this story portrayed them on Yellow or Green- after all, they've been using beds for a decade.
- Joel has a habit of killing horses. This is more common in Empires SMP, but he kills Grian's horse in Double Life near the end of the series.
- Lemonhearts is a play on Skizz's username, Skizzleman, while also referencing the Heart Foundation from Secret Life (the name of his and Tango's team, with BigB added later).
- Joel being "royalty" is a nod to his Wolf King reputation in 3rd Life. If you recall, this connects back to Chapter 1 where it was said that the Eastlanders have no palace, but adopted the titles king and queen in an attempt to stand their ground and stop Dogwarts from pushing through their land. Alex is one of Joel's ancestors. Many of Joel's 3rd Life moments were given to her, though Bean Hill was mentioned in the map chapter and Joel still has Geraldine here.
- Joel's animosity towards Martyn is mostly general Dogwarts vs. Eastlands worldbuilding, but also a nod to Joel removing his Dogwarts banner and cutting ties with the Red Army in 3rd Life.
- In Double Life, Jimmy asked Martyn if his soulmate [Cleo] was "doing soulmate things with another person" and also told Cleo and Scott to "stop trying to be soulmates" because they're "not soulmates." Our Jimmy is a big believer in soulmates as your One True Partner. He's totally down to run off and build a life with Tango, but the adults don't want him to get in over his head.
- Tango once said that his character's full name is Tango of the Jungle Tek. Since our Tango doesn't live near the jungle, he's Tango of the Hills Tek instead. Oscar signs his name the same way, mostly because I already have a draft where Martyn and Cleo introduce each other using this name scheme. It's all coming together...
- Jimmy had a beloved pet frog named JudgeJudy&Executioner in Limited Life. He was distraught by its death.
- Tango killed a frog at the start of Secret Life, much to Skizz's horror.
- In Limited Life Episode 1, the Bad Boys regularly called each other "Bad Boy" or "Boy" and made many rhymes. Joel's "started a fad" comment is a nod to that.
- The cobble and dark oak log walls and the carrot and wheat farms are based on canon Dogwarts (as is the torch shop, where Ren and Etho sold torches they stole from the desert).
- Messenger phantoms are very common and important in this universe, which is a nod towards them being one of the fastest mobs in the game (and one of few speedy mobs that are not aquatic). You'll see them a lot throughout the AU, but they need something to sniff out their targets. Joel suggesting a banner is setting us up for the Red Army to one day be upset when Scar steals their banner, which is both rude and dangerous since he could send phantoms to find them.
- Grian hasn't met Oscar in person, but is already wavering over his commitment. He wonders if Oscar will be a platonic friend and muses over the option of pursuing a lover outside this relationship, which references his arc with BigB in Double Life.
- Scar solicited donations out of people who visited the panda sanctuary in Double Life. Specifically, a nod is made towards some wording he used after Cleo and Martyn's visit in Episode 3.
- Scar wishes to rid himself of stuffy clothes... AKA, go shirtless, as he did throughout 3rd Life.