Chapter Text
~☆★☆~
“Y’know, kiddo, I’m not always such a gracious loser.”
From across the picnic blanket, Kirby looks up with a curious hum. His mouth is currently full of soba noodles, dangling like a stringy, drippy beard all the way down to his star-patterned bento box. It’s about as gross as it is adorable, which means Gryll very much approves of it. His other friends - the hamster, the owl, and the sunfish, as well as the genial Mr. Star - all perk up to listen, too, eating their own food with far better table manners than their puffball host (how boring).
“You gotta understand,” the witch says through a mouthful of rice and nori. “I’ve spent years - literally years - getting good at this game, to the point where no one in the galaxy could beat me anymore. I was starting to worry I’d run out of decent competition. But, man, after seeing you and your buddies here pull off all that wicked stacking…” They smile and raise their half-eaten onigiri in a mock toast. “Well, what can I say? It’s an honor to hand over my title to someone so worthy.”
Kirby’s big blue eyes sparkle like tiny nebulae, filled with enough wonder and gratitude to melt even the coldest of hearts. He starts to respond, then remembers he was in the middle of eating, and slurps up the rest of his noodles in one long pull, sending drops of soy sauce flying everywhere (including onto his unfortunate friends). “Poyo!” he exclaims, beaming more brightly than the summer sun overhead. Gryll can’t help but beam back. This kid is a delight, they swear.
“Eh, don’t worry about it,” they say with a dismissive wave. “If anything, I’m the one who should be thanking you. You guys really put me through my paces today - got me to bring out tricks and strats I haven’t used since my first tournament run. Most fun I’ve had in ages, lemme tell ya.”
Seated at Kirby’s right, Rick chuckles in appreciation, a small bag of sunflower seeds crinkling in his cute little paws. “Gosh, Gryll, that’s very kind of you to say! It was one heck of a match, to be sure. Certainly the most challenging one we’ve had all day.”
“Indeed,” says Coo from his spot at Kirby’s left, finishing off a slice of sashimi. “I don’t think any of us expected to face off against a champion of your caliber. If anyone got put through their paces today, it was us, hoho!”
“Aw, stop, you’re making me blush,” Gryll laughs, drinking in the praise like sunshine on their face.
“It’s true, though,” says Kine, a bit distracted with his plate of takoyaki on Gryll’s right. Seems his fins were not designed for chopsticks, poor guy. “You and your little onion buddies are definitely no joke.”
“Really? ‘Cause I think they’re a riot,” Gryll quips, glancing down at the middle of the blanket where their three onion-adjacent familiars have claimed a sizable tray of sushi for themselves. Salt contentedly nibbles his way through a maki roll about half his size, pausing to wave at Gryll when they catch his eye. Pepper ignores them both, preoccupied with trying to shove Sugar - napping away as usual - off the shrimp nigiri he’s had his eye on for the past minute or so.
“But, yeah, I hear what you’re saying,” the witch says, polishing off the last of their snack. “These knuckleheads can stack me a mean block tower when they put their minds to it. The real challenge is getting them to stop squabbling long enough to actually work together.”
As if on cue, Pepper finally manages to roll his drowsy brother off the nigiri, only to sag in disappointment when he sees that Sugar has somehow eaten most of it in his sleep. Like they said, a riot.
“Speaking of which,” Coo inquires, gesturing with his chopsticks, “I’ve been meaning to ask. You said you weren’t from around here, correct? So, how did you know we were playing Star Stacker today?”
“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that, too,” Rick nods. “We, uh, didn’t exactly plan any of this. Or publicize it.”
“I mean, I was shot out of the sky,” Mr. Star adds sheepishly from his spot at Gryll’s left. “Can’t really get more public than that.” He reaches over to grab a sushi roll from the tray, only to flinch back when Pepper brandishes a chopstick at him like a tiny spear. Gryll giggles at their antics.
“Dang, that’s pretty metal, star guy. A shame I missed it. But what actually bring me around, well, lemme tell ya…”
Gryll smirks, leaning in conspiratorially. The others lean in, too, like a group of kids about to hear the latest schoolyard rumor.
“See, the Star Stacker community? We’re a pretty prevalent bunch. Like to keep our noses close to the ground, so to speak. We’ve got eyes and ears all over the galaxy, man - field agents, talent scouters, would-be rivals, you name it - all keeping their peepers peeled for any impromptu stack attacks or block battles, ready to alert a master like me the instant the competition starts heating up.”
“Really?” Kine pipes up, staring with the same wide-eyed, moon-faced gullibility as the rest of his pals. It tickles Gryll to no end.
“Snrk, nah, I’m just messin’ with you,” they snicker, feeling merciful. “Board-game nerds aren’t that organized, gimme a break, haha.” They reach for another rice ball, snatching it up before Pepper can get to it first. He sticks his tongue out at them, and they grin back sweetly. “For real, though? I was just passing by while y’all were stacking, that’s all. Been a minute since I stopped by planet-side, so I figured I’d take a li’l detour, see what all the hubbub was about.”
Coo perks up at this, curious. “Oh, so you’ve been to Popstar before?”
“Yep! A buncha times, actually. Used to fly by this place all the time when I was a sprout. Nice planet, super chill and cozy - great for wandering around and getting lost for a while. My personal fav, heh.”
“Poyo? Poyo!” Kirby exclaims, raising his stubby hands over his head and practically bouncing in place with excitement. It’s the definition of precious, and Gryll smiles fondly even as they shake their head.
“I appreciate the offer, kiddo, but nah, I’m good. Like I said, I’ve been around before. Seen a good chunk of this place already thanks to an old buddy of mine, and, lovely as it is… I’m not really one for sticking around. Chronic wanderlust - you know how it is.”
Kirby slumps in disappointment, threatening to deflate like a balloon. “Poyo…”
“Hey hey, easy, little guy, it’s chill,” the witch is quick to add. “I may not be able to resist the call of that cosmic blue yonder, but it can’t keep me away forever. I’ve always got a reason or two to revisit my favorite spots, and now, thanks to you… I’ve got another one.”
The doleful expression on Kirby’s face vanishes in an instant, and he giggles with pure glee, kicking his feet and pressing his hands to his cheeks. It’s so unbearably cute that Gryll almost feels bad for laying it on so thick, and for writing a check they might not be able to cash. But he doesn’t need to know that, so they just smile back and cram more sticky rice into their mouth.
“You mentioned an old buddy, right?” Rick inquires, nibbling daintily on another sunflower seed. “Anyone we know? If they’re from the area, there’s a good chance we might’ve crossed paths before.”
Gryll considers, chewing thoughtfully. “Hmm… maybe. He’s not exactly the kind of guy who’s easy to forget.” They pause to swallow, brushing away a few stray grains from their cheek before continuing. “I dunno if he’s from the area per se, but he has been bumming around here for a while, and you’d definitely know him if you saw him.” They lift their hand and hold it palm-down about an inch or two lower than the top of their head. “He’s a short guy, ‘bout yea high? Eyes like dinner plates. Has a thing for clown attire and telling the best worst jokes imaginable, heh… Goes by the name Marx. Ever hear of ‘im?”
… Everything goes quiet, the jovial atmosphere of their picnic dissipating like sunlight obscured by storm clouds, coming to a slow and jarring standstill.
Gryll frowns, brows knitting in confusion, as the easy smile on the face of each Dream Lander slips away, replaced instead by wide eyes, stiff postures, and mouths pressed into thin, guarded lines. Rick goes still as a statue, the bag of seeds falling from his limp grasp to land between his feet. Coo clamps his beak shut with an audible click, his feathers ruffled in agitation. Kine gapes like… well, like he usually does, the takoyaki he spent so long trying to pick up tumbling right out of his open mouth and back onto the plate. Even Kirby has gone silent, staring down at his half-finished bento with a strange, stricken look on his face.
Oh, these are some bad vibes that Gryll’s picking up on. Like, the metaphysical equivalent of brushing a nail against a chalkboard, or catching a whiff of something foul. Even their familiars sense it, the symbiotic unease between them so strong that it jolts sleepy Sugar back to consciousness, causing all three to abandon their meal and scramble back to their guardian. Only Mr. Star seems unaffected, looking just as bewildered as Gryll feels right now. At least they’re not the only one out of the loop, whatever it is.
“Uh heh… everything alright, folks?” they ask with what they hope is a disarming laugh, giving their onions a few reassuring pats on the head in the meantime.
The Animal Friends say nothing for a moment, shifting uncomfortably and exchanging glances between themselves, furtive and uncertain. Gryll swears they can see the burden of responsibility being passed around like an unpleasantly hot potato. It must land on Rick’s unlucky lap in the end, the other two discreetly looking away as he clears his throat to break the awkward silence.
“Ahem. Ah, sorry. Sorry, it’s just, uh… We weren’t, uh…” He hesitates, worrying his lower lip with his prominent buck teeth, until he finds the right words. “Anyway, to answer your question, um… y-yes. Yes, we knew Marx. Knew him quite well, actually.”
Huh. That’s… not at all what Gryll was expecting him to say, and they perk up considerably as a result. “Oh! Wait, like, for real? No way!”
“Yep, for real,” Rick confirms, his smile a bit strained. “He was, uh, quite the character, that one. Friendly guy, very outgoing, if a bit on the chatty side. Very big on the jokes like you said. Games, too. And food, oh, can’t forget about that, heh. He got, er… pretty intense when he was hungry. And in general, I suppose. Seemed like his moods bounced around almost as much as he did.”
“Tch, understatement,” Coo mutters bitterly. Rick shoots him a sharp look, but the owl ignores him in favor of glaring at a passing cloud instead. Gryll feels a prickle of unease form at the base of their skull and quickly reaches back to scratch it away, forcing their smile to stay on straight.
“Uh, yep, that sounds like Marx all right, haha… Wow, talk about a small world, huh? I can’t believe he never mentioned you guys. How long have you known him?”
“Well, I don’t know the exact number of years,” Rick admits, wringing his paws, “but it was before we met Kirby, well before, back when we’d first left the Rainbow Islands - that’s where we live, you see - to visit the mainland. We’d see him all the time out in the woods around Green Greens, mostly because he had this… odd habit, I guess you could call it, of hiding in the bushes near where we had our picnics. Just sort of… watching us, pretending we couldn’t see him, occasionally popping out without warning to try and scare us.”
“Mhm, yes, a totally normal thing to do, not annoying or creepy at all,” Coo comments. Gryll has to bite down on the impulse to laugh, especially when Rick loudly and pointedly clears his throat again.
“While I agree it wasn’t a great first impression… well, we’re hardly the kind of folk who would drive someone off just for being a little strange. So, we let him stick around. Got used to his lurking and eventually started letting him join us for games and whatnot. It wasn’t so bad, at first. His taste for mischief was relatively harmless, and I’d argue that some of his jokes were actually pretty funny. Oh, and he loved to tell all these wild stories, too, like how he used to wrestle Fire Lions for a living, or that he’s been to every single moon in the solar system. He even claimed to have run away to and from the circus when he was a child.”
Gryll snorts, unable to help themself. Stars, that clown can’t go one day without embellishing something, can he? “Lemme guess… You believed him?”
The hamster cringes, ears flattening against this head, the faintest bit of red appearing around his nose where the fur is thin. “N-No! Well, I mean… not every time. Not after a while. We figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t the most, erm, honest fellow out there. If anything, he seemed to get a kick out of tricking people. Making them believe anything he told them, even the most absurd things…” He trails off for a moment, something unreadable in his beady eyes, then shakes his head. “B-But I seriously doubt he lied about everything! Or that he did it so entirely out of malice! And, even if he did, well… what were we supposed to do about it? Doubt him? Question him at every turn?”
“Kick him out of our woods?” Coo adds spitefully, flinching when Kine nudges him sharply in the side with his fin. Rick squints at both of them, then turns back to Gryll with a huff.
“Look. I don’t know what it’s like out there in the stars, how easy or even necessary it is to mistrust others… but here, in Dream Land, it might as well be a foreign tongue. Many of us are raised on the importance of community, of acceptance, of love in all its forms. I won’t deny that there could be exceptions to that, of course… but I, for one, have always believed in the power of good faith. In giving a stranger the benefit of the doubt before passing on judgment. It’s how I’d want to be treated, so it’s only fair to do the same for them, right?”
“I… guess so,” Gryll shrugs, not entirely sure how to respond to that. It sounds good, in theory. Idealistic. Hopeful. You know, all the nice ways to say naïve without being judgmental about it.
(you really don’t know how the universe works do you buddy)
“And suppose we did send him away - what then? Where would he even go?” he asks. “For all his prattle and boasting, we never learned all that much about Marx, or his past. Nothing we could confirm, anyway. He made no mention of friends, family, a home he could return to… certainly no mention of you,” he adds, gesturing towards the witch. “Not even where he came from before meeting us. It seemed - at the time, anyway - like he was alone in the world. Like we were all he had. Maybe all he’d ever had.”
Gryll says nothing, their jaw tightening just a little, too subtle for anyone but them to notice.
(why wouldn’t he tell them about you)
“So… yes,” Rick sighs, resolute. “We believed him. Gave him a chance, like any good friend would. We even offered to let him stay in our homes for a while until he-”
“‘Offered’?” Coo balks, his crest feathers flaring. “For stars’ sake, Rick, will you stop sugarcoating it already? The only thing we ‘let’ that joker do is mooch off of us for far longer than we should’ve. Oh, don’t give me that look,” he sneers, crossing his wings in defiance against the hamster’s hard, disapproving frown. “You know as well as I do that he was a terrible houseguest. Untidy, ill-mannered, nearly ate us out of house and home half the time - not to mention he never said ‘thank you’ for anything we did for him. Not once! And the pranks, oh, sweet Nova, don’t get me started-”
“That’s enough, Coo, please,” Rick snaps, his patience finally running thin. He gives Gryll his best attempt at an apologetic half-smile. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t mean that. He was only… I mean, Marx wasn’t that…”
He worries his lip again, flipping through some imaginary rolodex in his head for the least offensive way to say whatever it is he wants to say. Gryll bets the judgmental squint Coo is burning into the side of his head isn’t helping much. Eventually, he lets out another sigh, slumping in defeat.
“No… No, Coo does have a point, actually. I mean, it’s not that Marx was a bad person or anything, not that we knew of, just… Well, he was a bit… bit of a… hm, how do I put this…”
“An ungrateful, high-maintenance, couch-hopping freeloader?” Gryll fills in helpfully. “Oh, I already knew that.”
All three Animal Friends blink in surprise, brows raised and mouths agape (the latter mostly on Kine’s part), clearly unprepared for the witch’s response. Again, Gryll tries not to be rude and laugh about it. No one ever seems to expect their unfiltered honesty, or their surprisingly sharp perception. It’s funny every time.
“Don’t worry, it’s cool,” they assure the hamster. “Me and Marx go way back, so I’m very aware of his little ‘eccentricities’ as my gran woulda called ‘em, heh. He’s just kinda… like that, y’know? Moving through life on his own weird, wonky wavelength. Always has, far as I know. Something about Noddies and… atypical Copy Abilities? I dunno, don’t quote me on that. Point is, I know he’s not everyone’s cuppa tea - trust me, I know - but it’s like you said, Rick: he’s really not so bad once you get to know him. Just gotta give him a chance.”
Coo huffs derisively, nearly impaling a piece of tuna with his chopsticks as he swipes it up. “Hmph. We did give him a chance. Too many, if you ask me. I swear, if he hadn’t taken that job at the castle, I was two seconds away from throwing the little menace out myse- Ack!”
He squawks inelegantly as Kine’s fin smacks into him a second time, making him drop his sashimi only inches from his beak. He whips around, looking about ready to take a bite out of the obtruding sunfish in retaliation… when Kine hums in warning and flicks his head in the direction of Kirby, who has not moved or spoken once during this whole conversation.
The outrage in Coo seems to wither, his beak clenched shut, his plumage falling flat against his scalp. He turns slowly, reluctantly, while the rest of their little gathering unconsciously follow his lead, until they’re all facing the taciturn puffball together. Gryll can’t help but notice the faint tremor in Kirby’s hands, the tight line of his mouth, the way his eyes remain locked on his bento like it contains the secrets of the universe. The vibes coming off of him are especially unpleasant, scratchy and tangled like steel wool, so strong that the others must pick up on it, too, given how none of them can bear to look at him for long. Even Coo turns back to his plate without another word, snatching up the sashimi he dropped and grumpily chewing it down, sufficiently chagrined.
Yikes. Gryll sure did stumble into one heck of a minefield, didn’t they? And among the least likely folks to find one in, too. They swear they can almost see it, the poison-black shape of a secret hidden behind the Dream Landers’ halting words, a lurking unknown ready to detonate at the first clumsy misstep. It scares them about as much as it intrigues them.
(what in stars’ name did that motley moron do this time)
“So, uh… what’s this about a castle?” the witch asks, bringing the subject back around against their better judgment. “You mean that big angry-looking one up on the mountain a way’s back? I saw it when I was flying over.”
There’s a squeak, suddenly, so quiet that Gryll initially mistakes for that of a mouse. It takes them a second to realize it actually came from Kirby, the first sound he’s made in minutes. Rick - sitting closest to him - reaches over without a second thought, gently patting the puffball’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him. It doesn’t seem to help much.
“Er, yes, that’s the one,” Kine answers, clumsily filling the space left by his preoccupied buddies. “That’s Castle Dedede, home of… well, he says he’s the king of Dream Land, but no one’s really sure if… see, he just kind of showed up one day and… I dunno, politics isn’t really my strong suit. We don’t usually go up there unless Kirby needs us to… Or if we get kidnapped.”
“Don’t ask,” Coo grumbles the second Gryll opens their mouth to do just that.
“Basically,” Rick picks up hastily, “there’s been a lot of commotion at the castle in recent years, and we do our best - to varying degrees of success - to not get involved. Obviously, Kirby’s dealings with the king are a whole other story, and as for Marx…” He trails off again, pensive. “Well, to be honest, I’m… still not entirely sure how he got tied up in all of that. I mean, it’s not like he hung around with us all the time. We weren’t keeping him there, certainly. He’d often go off to do his own thing, whatever that was, sometimes for entire days without telling anyone. I imagine some of that time must’ve been spent in the castle, given all the things he’d tell us about it when he’d return. Court dealings, royal gossip, the structural integrity of the building itself. I suppose he could’ve made it all up, sure, but… well, how else could he have gotten a job there if there wasn’t some truth to it?”
Gryll’s brows lift in surprise, nearly disappearing beneath their hat. They honestly thought Coo had misspoken earlier. “Wait, you mean, like, a job job? Like, a real one with pay and everything? In the castle?”
Rick nods. “Oh, believe me, I was as surprised as you are. We all were. Forgive me for being so blunt, but… he never struck me as the pinnacle of responsibility when he lived with us, y’know? No plans, no prospects, no real desire to do anything besides eat, play games, and make puns. Then, one day, he comes home practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, only to announce that… that he was leaving. No warning, barely any explanation, just… he had a job now, I guess. Up in the castle, of all places, working directly under the so-called king himself. As a court jester, if you can believe it.”
Gryll can’t believe it, is the thing. Well, they can believe parts of it - it’s always been about a fifty-fifty split as to whether Marx will leave the party in the most dramatic way possible or without even a single goodbye (something he probably picked up from you little nomad) - but a court jester? Really? That’s too obvious even for Marx. Come on, what’re the odds of that bounce-happy balatro landing a job that catered to his tastes, anyway? Slim to none, if you ask Gryll, maybe even lower when you consider the fact that Marx loathes working. Got that demand avoidance like you wouldn’t believe. And servile work? In a caste system? Forget about it. There isn’t enough food or comedic irony in the world to make that guy bend the metaphorical knee. If anything, he’s the one getting others to do the work for him.
Gryll gets it, of course. They walk on the more leisurely side of life, too, with enough anti-establishment in their bloodstream to warrant their own perpetual unemployment. What they don’t get, though, is what Marx is trying to pull here. After all, he’s smarter than most folks give him credit for, can plan just as well as he can improvise on the spot. It sounds like he already had a pretty sweet deal going with his new animal pals, tumultuous as it might’ve been. What does he have to gain, exactly, from ditching all that with such a blatant lie?
“It wasn’t a lie, by the way,” Rick says, practically reading the witch’s thoughts and nearly startling them out of their seat. “He really did take the position. Apparently did it pretty competently, too. Thing is… we only learned about that after the fact. Marx never actually told us that he was leaving for a job specifically, let alone how he got it or why. He skirted around our questions, gave us vague answers, refused to say what he’d even been up to the last few days. All he really did was brag about this ‘exciting new turn’ his life was taking, going on about all these ‘big plans’ he suddenly had for the future, how he needed to ‘start small’ before he could ‘reach for the stars.’” The hamster scoffs, shaking his head with a humorless smile. “He sure did love his inside jokes. Always making himself laugh, even when the rest of us didn’t get it.”
The smile fades, melting like a snowflake in the sun. He returns his attention to Kirby, trying to quell the boy’s shivering. It seems to be getting worse.
Gryll… doesn’t know what to make of all this, frankly, somehow more confused than they’d been at the start. They know for a fact that Marx never told them about finding another job. In fact, he’d said specifically that he didn’t want one after the circus dumped him off, even promising to remain a “pathetic, jobless wastrel” for the rest of his life. It’s a good goof, they have to admit, very on brand for him and his penchant for attention-seeking drama, something the average bear might be quick to roll their eyes at and dismiss… but Gryll - who is neither average nor a bear but is, in fact, his best friend in the whole freakin’ galaxy - would’ve absolutely heard about it the second he changed his mind. It’s not even a question. They’ve always told each other everything, ever since they were snot-nosed little brats. Gryll’s shared tons of stuff about their own life - the misadventures they get up to during their travels, all the Stacker games they’ve won and lost, how they met their partner, and plenty more - so why wouldn’t he tell them about something just as big, just as life-changing?
(just because you tell him everything doesn’t mean he always does the same)
Gryll purses their lips, hating themself for thinking that, for even daring to doubt. Then again… didn’t they just admit that Marx never once mentioned making new friends? Never said anything about being taken in by a bunch of chill animal folk, or palling around with the sweetest pink puffball on the planet, or… really much of anything about his time on Popstar, now that they think about it. Like Rick said, he’s very good at stepping around the subject, making you think he’s answered your question when, in fact, he merely distracted you with some quick wit and empty banter, more likely to coax out your stories and secrets than spill any of his own. It’s… kind of spooky sometimes.
(you always said he was the better liar)
Gryll swallows, looking at the Dream Landers sitting across from them, almost a world away despite the picnic blanket they all share. The disquiet in the air clings to their senses like nettles, stirring more of that unaccountable anxiety in their gut, the notion that they’re missing something big and everyone else knows it.
(Well, everyone except Mr. Star, anyway - he looks like he lost the thread ages ago and has simply resigned himself to sit quietly until it’s resolved. Gryll almost envies his cluelessness.)
“W-Wow, a court jester, huh? That’s wild,” they press on, maybe a little too sunnily for the current atmosphere. “Y’know, I always told him that, if he kept clowning around all the time, he was gonna turn into one. Guess he finally did, huh? And got to make a career out of it to boot! Ha! Must be a dream come true for him, getting to spend his days satirizing the aristocracy right to their faces, haha… aha… hm.”
Gryll trails off, their admittedly feeble attempt at levity fizzling out like a lit match dunked in water. They feel like they might choke under all this dead air, this collective discomfort.
“He… is still working at the castle, right?”
No answer. Just another stifled squeak from Kirby, while the Animal Friends share one of those infuriatingly cryptic looks, probably debating who among them will avoid directly answering the question this time.
“N-No,” Rick says at last, his voice cracking a bit until he clears it and tries again. “No, he’s, uh… he isn’t there. Anymore.”
“Oh. O…kay. Well, do you know where he is now? I’m only asking ‘cause it sounds like you guys were the last ones to see him, so… ”
Gryll pauses, waiting for further elaboration. All they get is more of that loaded silence, more sidelong glances towards Kirby and his little shivers, more dread piling up like snow. It’s starting to get on their nerves, truth be told. Makes them want to bury their fingers into the grass, tear it out in chunks, maybe do the same to their own hair just to feel something other than this itching, pervasive sense of what am I missing.
“Look,” they sigh, perhaps more harshly than they mean to, “I’m sorry if Marx caused some trouble for you, alright? He’s got- He doesn’t- Gah. Y’know what? I’m not gonna justify it. You already know he’s not the easiest person to be friends with. But he’s still, like, one of my friends, okay? And a real good one, too. I just figured it’d be nice to get in touch with him again, y’know? See how he’s-”
A sudden hiccup cuts them off, followed by a loud clatter that startles everyone in attendance. Gryll’s eyes immediately snap to Kirby, now doubled over the bento he’s dropped between his feet, chopsticks knocked askew and sauce spilling over the side, staining the blanket in spreading brown splotches. His breath hitches behind his hands, clamped tight over his mouth as if trying to hold something back. His eyes are crinkled and watery, the stars in his irises swirling with an alarming amount of distress, threatening to spill.
“Whoa whoa whoa, what happened?” Gryll stammers, rising to their feet along with a worried Mr. Star. Their familiars yelp in unison as they tumble off the witch’s lap. “Kirby? W-What’s wrong?”
Their words go unanswered, the Animal Friends rushing to the puffball’s aid without missing a beat. Rick crouches at Kirby’s side, rubbing his back and murmuring little susurrations of comfort. Kine shuffles to the other side, letting Kirby lean against his smooth, slippery bulk like a big pillow, a fin draped protectively over his head. Coo hovers behind the three of them, his wings stretched and curled around their little circle as if to shield the kid at the center from a sudden rain. It does nothing to stop the small deluge of tears that roll over Kirby’s cheeks, dripping like diamonds onto the blanket beneath him.
Not going to lie… Gryll is a little horrified right now. They hang back with Mr. Star with the shared indecision of strangers intruding on a private moment, caught halfway between bewilderment and dismay. They have no idea what just happened, what they said (because it must’ve been something you said) to make the happy-go-lucky puffball go from calm and content to crying his eyes out. And, stars, it is heartbreaking to hear him cry, a raw, keening sound that - even muffled behind his hands - overflows with anguish, with pain, with the splinter-thin ache of grief. It is not a sound that should ever come out of this precious boy’s mouth.
“I-Is he alright? Is he hurt?” Mr. Star asks, drifting a little closer. Gryll can’t quite bring themself to follow, held in place by one of Coo’s piercing, dagger-filled squints, still unsure what they did to deserve it. Their familiars cower behind their ankles under the heat of it.
“No, no, it’s fine, he’s okay,” Rick tells the witch and the star, not taking his eyes off the puffball for even a second. “Just a little, uh, overwhelmed, is all.” Kirby lets out a pathetic little whine that kicks Gryll right in the heart, sniffing hard and trying desperately to keep his tears in. Rick regards him sympathetically, then nods to Coo and Kine, flicking his head towards the little domed house across the field from their picnic setup. “C’mon. Let’s get him inside. Maybe that’ll calm him down.”
“I’ll help!” says Mr. Star, floating the rest of the way over as the gang helps Kirby to his feet. Rick smiles appreciatively at their celestial guest, stepping aside to let him take the puffball’s arm in his stead. Gryll can’t help but envy the star’s courage, his easy familiarity, wishing they had even a speck of it so they could help, too (just as well - you’d only make it worse anyway). They stand there, fixed and helpless, watching Coo, Kine, and Mr. Star guide the stumbling puffball gently back to his house. Even when they all disappear inside and click the door closed behind them, Gryll can still hear those unbearable little whimpers, albeit faintly.
“… Okay, what in stars’ name was that all about?” they blurt out, whipping around to face the only animal remaining, their capacity for politeness finally at its limit.
If Rick is at all fazed by the witch’s outburst, he doesn’t show it. He merely drags his gaze away from Kirby’s house with great reluctance, letting out a sigh too long and too heavy to mean anything good. “Sorry about that. It’s… been a while, you see. Since he’s gotten that, er… upset about something. Ah, not that I’m blaming you or anything, of course not! Clearly you didn’t know it was a… a touchy subject.”
Gryll frowns, the dread sitting in their stomach like a stone, leaden, septic. “What, you mean about Marx?”
The hamster winces, then nods. “Yes. Yes, him.” A pause, before he adds more quietly, “You, uh… you really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Gryll barks, feeling nauseous, their patience pulled paper-thin from all this void-awful suspense. “Rick, I know we just met, and it’s not like you owe me anything, but you and the others have been dancing around the point all friggin’ day, and, with all due respect? I’m kinda sick of it. I don’t know what you think you’re protecting me from, but I am a grown-ass witch, not a child. Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it just fine. So please, spit it out already - what don’t I know about Marx?”
Silence, the witch’s words fading back into the gentle breeze, the moment stretching into eternity. Rick’s eyes are dull, exhausted, looking at Gryll with that same soft expression he’d given Kirby. Pity, plain and simple. It irks them something fierce - scares them even more - but they hold their ground, focusing instead on the feeling of Salt, Pepper, and Sugar hugging their ankles, a bulwark against whatever’s coming next. They can only hope it is enough as Rick pulls in a long, resigned breath, preparing to deliver the worst news of Gryll’s life.
“Have… you heard about the Nova incident?”
~☆★☆~