Admin......
"No!" and there fell Pearlescentmoon, plummeting through the sky. Elytra black- [status effect withering, 19 seconds]. Another dove to catch her- would do so in the time and sight he could see.
Another creature, the rattling noise of death. Black and poisonous, hissing a breath as below across the ocean's surf it reared itself to bite.
"No!" Mumbo shouted, hands tight around potions that would do nothing for a corpse. "No! Pearl!"
And Grian saw.
He adjusted himself, placing fabric in the proper position. It wasn't a bed, but had all the components necessary for it.
There were aspects that felt right, aspects that he could identify as correct. Then, there were things and incomprehensible moments that he knew was not- but had not the ability to recognize why exactly that was.
He was able to tell that his hands were incorrect, so he fixed them. That rationality was not a fixed thing, it altered and changed. It waxed and waned throughout the day and moments between fitful sleep. At times, he was able to recognize his wings for what they were and his bed as something he made. At times, he couldn't recognize where he was or the fact he existed. Sometimes, he thought in abstract visions of colours instead of thoughts- and others he comprehended entire sentences with a peculiar calmness.
Mumbo- his human, had helped some. In moments of derealization, the familiar gentle cry of his name accompanied by "good morning! Oh it's simply lovely outside-" was enough to lull him into wakefulness. It was a soothing balm to the rough raw edges of his fragile sanity. Sometimes, he wondered where he would be if not for Mumbo's generosity.
The words, the constant conversation…he feared where his mind would be without it. Some words he couldn't recognize, others he did but only long after the conversation had ended. Other times his focus was razor sharp, keen and cunning for intermittent unpredictable shenanigans. Each time, Mumbo would laugh a spluttering peculiar noise. Once, he choked on his drink, spraying it as a fine mist over the ground.
Mumbo sometimes wore an odd expression. He couldn't place it, but something about the soft twist of his eyes and the fond yet wavering smile made him feel odd. It looked painful, quiet and nostalgic. Mumbo would stare upwards, unable to see him with that odd face and he always felt much worse about it.
Guilty, but for an unknown cause. Longing for something he could not identify. Once, Mumbo had cried out in his sleep a name he identified and promptly forgot- although Mumbo awoke sad and distressed, sobbing for long hours.
He had an odd inclination to believe that the crying was due to him, but there was no evidence to suggest it. Sometimes, Mumbo would watch him with a soft fondness, offering him fresh bread and apples while working on redstone. Mumbo would talk to him gently, pointing out things that he didn't understand with a patience far longer than him.
He was learning to use his new hands. Instead to clawing and destroying tops of wooden crates, he was shown how to open them clumsily. New bones moved in unfamiliar ways, constantly mystifying to watch. Stone crushed below his hands, much quicker compared to Mumbo's loud tools. He clawed apart shelves of rock as Mumbo watched in sputtering confusion. He equally destroyed careful redstone lines by accident- either by the long dragging parts of his tail-wings brushing across the stone, or by his own curious prodding.
He…perhaps had broken more than a few buttons secured to fascinating machines that made the most interesting lights and noises. Mumbo was not exactly… upset, but had apparently created protocols against that quickly.
"You're a handful, aren't you?" Mumbo told him fondly. They were settling at lunch break, he was poking and playing with a chunk of sandstone dyed the most interesting shade of orange. Mumbo was wiping aside redstone powder from his fingertips, shuffling aside gadgets to find their daily mid-day snack. "Are you going to make some sort of prophetic carving in that block there, mate? Some sort of wise scripture from the gods? Oh blimey, don't make it about me or I'll never hear the end of it."
He struggled to understand everything Mumbo said in the speed at which he said it. Thankfully, Mumbo never appeared to mind how slow his processing speed was, and the delay in his reciprocating action. Mumbo never judged, never made fun of him for responding too late or not at all.
"You're doing a good job," Mumbo told him, smiling crookedly. There was a piece of bread trapped in his mustache. "Here, if you shave the top just a bit you can get a harder crust- we like to call that carved sandstone for some ruddy reason."
It took him a moment, and he followed the directions slowly. Clumsily, he did see the appeal and change in structure and colour. He made a noise, not quite speech but a croaking gargled thing somewhere in his throat.
Mumbo's expression was fond, watching his new hands. He fumbled a bit, but ultimately got the idea.
"You're really just a gentle big kitten, aren't you?" Mumbo asked rhetorically. He reached out- not to touch the claws, but instead to help dust away bits of sand. "You're a friend, and I know that doesn't sound like much but…well, I suppose I don't have many friends."
He chirruped, a bit confused. There were humans here, living in close proximity. Were they not his friends? It had taken him a long time to comprehend or remember what a friend was- surely the others fit within that category?
"Oh shove off, I know what you're thinking. The others are friends," Mumbo clarified. His smile turned sad again, his eyes softening in the way that felt upset. "But…well…I suppose I don't have a good track record with keeping friends, eh? One way or another…well, I'm glad I have you, Scout."
He blinked, although Mumbo would not see it. He hadn't ever considered how he always saw Mumbo, with his face covered. He simply did.
Then, the words processed and oh, that was quite sad. Mumbo believed he could not have friends for some reason. That simply was not true, because he was Mumbo's friend.
'How do I show I am a friend?' he thought to himself, and saw what others did. Mumbo twitched slightly next to him, perhaps due to a chill or a cold that he could not feel with all his feathers. He searched briefly, skimming across sights of friends with friendly behaviours- there. The zombie woman with the other man ( an admin ) gentle words and body contact- an embrace.
It seemed logical, and very possible. He shifted, adjusting himself and creaking the bones and muscles in his back that were sore and atrophied. With one wing outstretched- his middle pair that were not hindered by his front limbs- he clumsily slapped it across Mumbo's side.
"Ouch!" Mumbo cried out, reaching up to protect his head from the heavy limb. The man bent forward, trying to fathom what on earth had struck his back.
A quiet croon alerted Mumbo that no this was not a targeted attack. The wing fluttered, bending at avian joints and a hooked articulated thumb joint caught somewhere on Mumbo's suit jacket. The man laughed, spluttering as he did when overwhelmed but not upset. Slowly, Mumbo allowed himself to be pulled in like a duckling towards the nest.
"Scout- Scout, oh good heavens, this is not necessary-," Mumbo protested with a wide grin. Slowly, constant pressure won out and Mumbo accepted his fate as he was tucked very awkwardly against Scout's side. The wing did an admirable job covering his upper torso, but failed to consider the long legs that protruded out quite comically. Mumbo sneezed at the powder down and bits of fluffy feathers against the soft underside of the second set of wings. Jammed almost into Scout's armpit from his primary set of wings, Mumbo wondered if this was truly his fate.
"Scout, this is indecent," Mumbo teased, poking the creature against his sensitive side. Thankfully, thick feathers coated across the torso of the creature extending from the bottom of his ribcage to his pelvis. Mumbo wasn't certain he'd survive if faced with such nudity so close. False had taught him once the names of the feathers- afterfeathers? Down? Mumbo couldn't quite remember. The little things looked like ornate vane fans, each about the size of three of Mumbo's fingers angling all the way down to the little tufts around the start of his thigh. These too had feathers, and some sort of odd grooved lines like scales for a mysterious reason.
The underside of Scout was a soft odd-white, speckled with dark bits and little spots. Like an owl, or something else. Mumbo wondered yet again what sort of Avian the creature had once been.
"Scout, this is fine," Mumbo complained, patting the creature on the side of his ribs. They weren't quite so pronounced now that the creature was consuming vast quantities of food regularly. "You can let me free! It's fine!"
Scout warbled, his voice suspiciously similar to mocking Mumbo's every word. Mumbo gasped dramatically. At once, Scout opened his wing worriedly and craned himself to peer at the little human.
"Got you!" Mumbo teased, reaching out to softly poke the creature on one of the facial wings. Scout froze, unable to process such a clear hideous offense on his modesty. With a loud shriek of a parrot trying to scream, Scout slumped dramatically downward- wing smacking Mumbo to the floor as well. The man made a hideous squeak- a bit like a mouse as the limb covered him completely.
Mumbo flailed the smallest bit, realizing quickly how futile the attempt was. After a moment of consideration, the man groaned and went still. Weakly he asked from below the feathers: "can I at least have my lunch?"
And sometimes, memories were not kind. Sometimes, he found himself wishing so desperately for what could not be, he imagined a world with different things. He imagined he walked as the humans did, that he was invited into their conversations and did not have so many eyes and limbs across his skin. In his dreams, he imagined he was wanted and loved, and he imagined that meant something.
It was not always so kind and sweet. He did not know the words, but could feel the tone and emotion conveyed at him with human posturing. Hands on hips, pointing and waving a sword. Rage, anger- irritation over something small. The hiss of gunpowder, the dampness of a breaking fragile boat. He breathed smoke in his dreams, felt the papery covering of a human invention that burned hot and dangerous. He didn't know what it was, and he didn't recognize the faces of those around him. He saw so much, but only things cast in shadow. He imagined traveling to far places, building with sticky clay and frigid ice. He dreamed of abandoned railtracks that were not rusted and ruined like those abandoned deep below the ground.
There was a name there he was too afraid to think of. There was a voice there, that he could not quite manage to speak. Mimicry was his art, but what was art when he had no passion or inspiration to guide his words.
He was more, he dreamed of being more. Unobtainable, beyond his potential. And oh, he hated that word. It came with something violent and angry, something cold and brutal that coaxed hideous horrible things-.
You have potential, little creature. Why do you shy from that which you are?
No, he did not want to think about this. He had a choice, and he was deciding to no longer dwell on dark shadowed-.
You believe yourself to be above us? You think your little tricks are working? Oh, you are mistaken, little creature.
No no, he did not want to think on this. He did not have to. He did not need to imagine the cold, the bitter gangrenous thing that grew and made him so ill. He refused he refused-.
If you want to leave so badly, then by all means. If you want to be feral and wild, then allow us to indulge you.
No. No he did not want-.
If you believe sight is above you, then allow us to take what you do not want. And if you cannot comprehend that of higher beings, then allow us to take that as well.
He shrieked- they had been so cruel. So violent, they pulled and plucked and he with all his tricks and secrets had fled. He had not slipped below their gaze, but allowed them to watch as he hurtled from the sky as a comet, as a falling star, as a forbidden thing outside their many wings-.
And he had been born in fire, blazing in the light of dragon's breath and baptized into a new hideous monstrosity in the darkness of the eternal night. And he had been born in fire, hurtling desperately through the void with glimmers of code and multiple servers vague and indistinct. He had careened pitifully, burning violently and brain atrophying- the seed, the seed that Mumb-.
And he had been fire, crashed hot and wild and desperate in a grassland. He had thrashed about, burning like lava as identity was stripped like skin from a birch log. If you want to be a feral thing, then allow us to indulge you.
Scout was different, Mumbo noticed it instantly.
The creature had taken to the large hollow mountain like…well, countless idioms. Scout had created a nest on a half-shelf of rock, building it of wool and sticks and other clearly avian things. It was much messier than standard avian nests, resembling more of a desperate simple mattress of wool than a nest- but Scout had built it with adorable pride. Then, he had gone on to pack clay and snow in weird formations in one section of the cave. Mumbo wasn't particularly sure what it was supposed to be, but he couldn't blame the creature considering he just got his limbs back.
Scout was friendly, outgoing and kind. He was gentle, and today was different.
Mumbo entered the enormous cave he had deemed to be Scout's. He peered around, wishing he had brought a torch simply to see. It was a blessing that Scout's mere existence had some unexplained ability to mobproof the area. Mumbo was getting spoiled on the lack of creepers blowing up his things.
Then, he paused. There was something grey in the furthest corner, built into the wall of a cave. Mumbo hadn't seen the creature in a day, and hadn't actually intruded into the cave before. He felt guilty, somewhat off kilter as he carefully avoided a tiny puddle of water.
"Scout?" Mumbo asked, gnawing on his lower lip anxiously. "Are you in here?"
He squinted, trying to find the large feathered creature somewhere along the roof. He approached the grey blob, about as tall as Pearl's ship-starter base. It was difficult to determine the actual shape, the silhouette swallowed in the dark.
Mumbo squinted. He asked: "is that you, Scout?"
Approaching the shape, Mumbo realized two things. The first- the enormous grey blob was not actually a giant slab of clay and snow adhered to the cliff walls. There were outcroppings, indentations and alcoves either carved into the stone face or clawed with misshapen hands. It was…surprisingly detailed, carefully constructed although lopsided. It was beautiful, unrecognizable but somehow…familiar.
The second thing Mumbo realized, was Scout's position. He sat on the floor of the cave, tail wings spread behind him and lower wings half flared. He was looking forward, presumably gazing at the creation with no movement in his posture.
"Scout," Mumbo said with audible relief. "I was looking for you! This is beautiful- Scout? Scout…are you alright?"
Scout did not move. He sat, looking forward. There was a gentle shift of his breathing, but beyond that there was no recognition. Clay had matted a few feathers, stuck below the long talons and hands. The creature had finished its great temple, designed in spectacular fashion.
Mumbo approached, and realized slowly the true scale of the build. Surely even some Hermits would be amazed by the size and scale, although the block palette could use improvement. Clay and snow, shades of grey and white hidden in the shadows of a cave. Messy, built with no blueprints but only the vision of an idea. It was beautiful, it was hideously sad.
"Scout?" Mumbo asked softly, too worried to touch him. "I…are you alright? Were…"
Were you a builder? He wanted to ask, but knew better than to voice it. Some days, Scout was unresponsive for hours. Some days, Mumbo worried if any sentience existed within the horribly lonely brain. Scout clearly had been a builder, and as crude and odd as this building was- it was a mimic of something Mumbo didn't recognize.
Mumbo knew he was going to get quite a bit of lip for this- but at this point it was undeniable that Scout was once human. Maybe a hybrid, but he had once been someone. Xisuma was worried that Scout was more Watcher than player- but at this point you could not deny that Scout was leaning much more in the other direction.
Mumbo was worried, because an actual build was different to being friendly and nice. Creating was different- and what Scout had done to his hands alone spoke of something much greater than admin abilities.
Scout had been hidden for long enough, it was time Xisuma could be informed on what was actually happening.
"Okay," Mumbo said gently, waving his one hand in front of Scout. The creature did not shift, hypnotized by the sight of his build. "I err…just…stay here?"
Scout did not respond. Mumbo wilted, unsure on how to proceed. He glanced back at the building (and good lord, were there pillars as well?) and reminded himself to come back with a lantern to actually see it next time.
Mumbo had hardly put his elytra on after finishing getting dressed when a message spread across the global communicator channel. It was very early in the day- not too many people would be up. Impulse and Scar would be sleeping at this time, it was mostly luck that Mumbo had risen so early.
"Oh dear," Mumbo muttered, flipping through the chat link. "Doc sent something?"
Mumbo's heart instantly shot up, he read the message twice just to be sure. He inhaled slowly, exhaled it gently. He was peace love and potatoes, but that didn't mean he couldn't visit and at least help his fellow hermits with any injuries. He glanced towards the direction of Scout…Xisuma wouldn't be able to do anything until an escaped wither was found.
The others didn't respond, meaning the wither was certainly something to be feared.
When Doc messaged saying a wither had escaped, for some reason Mumbo hadn't been expecting two.
The machine that Doc had created already looked like a mad scientist's dream. There were pistons, cauldrons filled with water, far too many minecarts for Mumbo to spot. That alone wasn't the worst part- it all took place in the sky thousands of blocks above a mooshroom island. At least there would be no mobs, but it didn't exactly instill Mumbo with much confidence when the battle was an actual air battle.
On the server, many people were excellent fliers. Gemini was proving to be an excellent acrobatic, flipping around she fired arrows through the sky. Pearl was taking a more direct approach using her sword as she dove from high altitude. Ren was looking a bit worse for wear, yawning dramatically until his leg shook. The poor dog looked half asleep and in no way ready to fight. Cub had shown up at the last minute, taking glee in attempting to chop one of the heads off between strikes.
"Dude," Ren muttered grumpily. His sunglasses were partially tilted on his snout, like he threw them on in the dark. "I am going to give Doc a stern talking to after this."
"I can believe he let both of them out at once," Mumbo confessed, wincing as one of the explosions barely missed the flying creeper. "Oh that was close, oh dear."
"I feel like I should be rooting for the wither," Ren muttered, sniffing pointedly. "Hey uh, man? Why do you smell like a chicken?"
Pearl shrieked like a banshee as the wither unexpectedly slammed her with one open maw. She flinched, tumbling through the air with her elytra smoldering black under the decaying touch.
"No!" Ren shouted, suddenly wide awake. He lunged forward, reacting far faster than Mumbo could. The man gasped, fumbling through his chest for healing potions and milk. Pearl dropped from the sky, heading towards the water.
They hadn't considered the second wither. The entity hadn't yet ascended as they tended to do during battle. It had been preoccupied chasing cod- now invested in a new falling target.
The second wither, barely above the surface of the water, peered upward with a loud rattling hiss. Eyes white, smoking of something nether, it reared back with a venomous breath.
And-
Building is part of a process- I know that! And I like the shifting of gears but…It's definitely a work in progress-.
He had built with snow and clay, struggling through decisions on the spot. There was no planning, no drawing and schematics. There was only stone, rudimentary things. He developed it, figuring it out. He needed a break- oh it looks so weird! It's so flimsy-.
He built a spire, twin supports for the center tower. He had made it with his hands, but his hands had carried empires.
'Oh,' he thought. The word rung like a bell in his skull, echoing correct and new with memories of something old. 'An Empire. My empire.'
He built it with clay and snow, and made frameworks with dirt. Alone, so far away from those he loved. He had done so much, had created so much. He played with gunpowder and paper, laughing at the gentle bickering of friends. He was so much more-.
He remembered (but did he?) building a box of explosives to market it for sale. A horrible idea.
His empire, his home. He did not remember but he knew, he could feel it, see it in a memory tinted oddly with- beta.
He couldn't- he didn't know what to do with this information. This is my TNT shop! All TNT free, all proceeds to the Grian Empire!
Grian Empire.
He stared at his building, snow and clay that once housed the solitary lonely inhabitants. Or rather, it's single inhabitant. He stared, blankly, and whispered his name: "Grian."
It did not have the echoing voice of mimicry. It was him, and he was it. He built his home with his hands, and his hands had done horrible things for those he called home.
"Grian," he repeated, the word feeling sacrilegious in his hoarse throat. He had a voice, a name. He was- he was…a thing. He couldn't understand it-.
Where was Mumbo? Mumbo would know. Mumbo comforted him in his screaming, when the thoughts were cruel and dark and whispered to him. He did not leave when so many eyes watched him, when he stole and took like a greedy little creature. Mumbo was safe, Mumbo was not here. Grian would find him, and would go to him.
Grian shook himself, joints moving. All his wings cracked- and oh, oh there were far too many, why did he have so many wings? He opened his eyes, blearily overtaken by the confusing sight of everything all at once. He saw snow, clay, and too much all at once. He saw the identification number of the server, of the world seed that sprouted into enormous mountains, fifi the cave troll, of beautiful flowers and houses shaped like the moon. He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling brokenly with a sob.
Too many things all at once. Apathy had left him with bright anxiety. Had the sun always been so dangerous? How could the sky simply stretch forever?
No, he needed to find Mumbo. He opened his eyes, feverishly bright and bold and saw-.
"No!" and there fell Pearlescentmoon, plummeting through the sky. Elytra black- [status effect withering, 19 seconds]. Another dove to catch her- would do so in the time and sight he could see.
Another creature, the rattling noise of death. Black and poisonous, hissing a breath as below across the ocean's surf it reared itself to bite.
"No!" Mumbo shouted, hands tight around potions that would do nothing for a corpse. "No! Pearl!"
And Grian saw.
"Oh…just dodge and weave," he had once said, holding a bow. Frantic, desperate across an obsidian floor. The disgusting entity, primordial and unperfected. Far too strong, far too terrifying with its lethal touch. "Oh it's relentless!"
He remembered it: a wither.
He remembered it: deadly.
Grian saw, and with a flicker of something not correct, he thought: what is more dangerous than a wither?
Grian opened himself, mind circulating across flashes of things too confusing to gather. Mumbo was in danger, Pearl was in danger- the wither too strong and already wounded. He was fury, he was a creature- you always wanted me to be a mindless animal, eh? Well, how do you like this then?
Grian stepped- and with a shrill shrieking noise his plummeted. He flared his wings, enormous and beautiful, and broke free something limiting him. There were no restraints to stop his all consuming rage, there were no limits to what he would do to protect those he deemed family.
His hind claw, enormous with talons, pressed inwards on a wither's skull with the ferocity of the dragon. He stretched, elongated and foreign- I am a dragon and you dare to touch my hoard?
The wither, in one dumb second comprehended one new threat- and promptly exploded in fragments of binary and code as Grian crushed it to deletion below his claw.
Distantly, he heard someone yell a noise of fright. Ren snatched Pearl, banking sharply to avoid one enormous wing. There was blood, oozing from a torn bit attaching arms to joints they should not be.
The last death cries of a wither above rattled, a single star falling forgotten into the ocean.
Grian scrambled, body weak and aching under such tremendous effort. He retracted, bones shifting oddly into something humanoid- human. He was human- he is human. He's human.
"Ren!" Mumbo shouted, taking no time at all to dive. The mooshroom island was made of mycelium, soft and squishy under his shoes. He couldn't run as easily, but he didn't notice. He heard Doc land beside him, cursing something in his native language. Cub circled above them, presumably sending a message that buzzed in Mumbo's pocket. GeminiTay was nowhere to be found- perhaps she had flown off instantly instead of a simple message.
"What is that thing?" Doc gasped, puffing air. He had been fighting for some time, reaching the end of his endurance. Ash and other things adhered to his cheek, there was bright red blood as well.
"Don't," Mumbo gasped between heaving breaths. He was horribly out of shape. "Don't hurt him!"
"What? Me?" Ren asked, cradling Pearl close. The woman was stirring, briefly unconscious from the sudden surge of vertigo and multiple ties of gravity on her small body. She slurred something, coming close to awareness. Her elytra, unfortunately, was beyond saving.
Scout rumbled something, the noise altered between moments as if replicating human speech. Scout staggered around, wings spread awkwardly as his head bowed inwards out of sight.
"Dude, I don't think you gotta worry about me hurting it!"
"Get away from him!" Mumbo shouted, throwing himself between Scout and the two. Ren stepped backwards, ears pinning down. The dog hybrid briefly bared his teeth, a silent snarl making Mumbo's mouth dry.
Cub landed beside Pearl, peering into Ren's arm to assure that the woman wasn't affected by the withering effect. He gave a nod, waving to Doc who was marveling at Scout's obvious mental breakdown with open admiration.
"Look at it's claws," Doc said with open awe. "Dude, they changed."
"His name is Scout, and don't treat him like an animal!" Mumbo snapped with no little hostility. Scout jerked, whining low and frantic. "Even though he…sometimes…acts very animal!"
"I don't know," Cub said with a little bit of impish curiosity. "For a moment it looked like he shapeshifted into a dragon thing. I thought I saw teeth."
"Okay well, sometimes he does that too!" Mumbo defended. "Although…I may not have known that- but he's harmless!"
"Harmless?" Ren asked shrilly. "Dude, it just…just melted a wither!"
Pearl groaned, her eyes opening. Slowly, she realized her situation. Admirably she did not scream. She remained silent, her eyes widening and face paling. She made no aggressive movements, instead she slid from Ren's arms and made herself smaller, a less visible target. She whispered, signing something Mumbo didn't understand but Cub clearly did.
"Dude, I don't think he's going to attack you," Cub said, not indulging her open paranoia. "He's like, having a panic attack."
"Oh, pants," Mumbo gasped, spinning to try and comfort him in some way. "Oh- oh bloody- did you tear your arms? Oh Scout! Scout you're bleeding- Cub, please can you get the bandages? Oh pants you tore your arms free!"
Scout shook his head, whining, gargling something with bits of human language. Between that, Scout breathed with loud panicked breaths, sobbing quietly as his hands flailed about, unsure of what to do. Too weak to protest, Mumbo hurriedly grabbed both wrists in a soft grip and held them aloft, checking the elbows where a gruesome wound existed on both side.
Scout's hands flexed, then grasped his wrists with a weak grip. Nervous, desperate, Scout sobbed like a child.
"Scout, Scout can you hear me?" Mumbo asked, rubbing the back of Scout's hands with his thumbs. "Scout, please can you- oh pants."
"Help, help," Scout spoke, voice altering too high and then too low. All wings flared, suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated. Mumbo nodded fervently, trying to reassure him.
"Fascinating," Doc said, circling Scout from a great distance.
"Can you give us a moment!" Mumbo shouted, making Doc step back. Hurriedly, Mumbo agreed with Scout: "I'm right here, I'm helping you. I'm helping you."
"Help," Scout gasped, shaking his head from left to right violently. "Can't- stop. It- I- it hurts."
"Scout I'm right here, you're okay," Mumbo tried to sooth, transitioning to release Scout's hands. They fell limply to Scout's side. Mumbo reached up, his longer hands cradling Scout's face and jawline with callused fingers. "Scout, Scout listen to me. I'm right here."
Pearl stepped closer, keeping her body sideways. She looked at Scout oddly, looking at his neck and exposed shoulders. There was something strange to her focus, determined but no so violent.
"I'm right here, Scout," Mumbo repeated gently. "It's okay, you're okay."
"Mumbo," Scout said, in that voice from before. The same voice Mumbo heard days ago- that he forced out of his head due to guilt. It was only natural he heard the voice of his friend where he no longer was. He should appreciate Scout for Scout, not for the parallels to-.
"Mumbo," Pearl muttered in a low voice. She stepped closer, oddly focused. "I need you to step back."
"No no, I'm not leaving him-."
"Mumbo," Scout repeated in that twice darned voice. "I- help. Help."
"Mumbo," Pearl repeated with slightly increased urgency. "I need you to listen to me-."
"I'm not leaving Scout!"
Pearl bit her lower lip, inhaled slowly, and stepped forward. Her shoulder bumped his, her hand reaching out and hovering above the mess of feathers. She did not touch, but hovered uncertainly as Scout trembled and shuddered in Mumbo's arms.
"Help," Scout croaked, and it made Mumbo's throat tight. His brain was yelling and he refused to listen to it, he refused to think about it. "Mumbo-."
"What's your name?" Pearl asked Scout with a flat affect and monotone. "What is your name?"
"Pearl why-."
"Hurts," Scout said, trying to jerk his head but unable to in Mumbo's soft hold. "I- hurts."
"What's your name?" Pearl pressed urgently. "Tell us. Tell Mumbo!"
"I- hurts," Scout repeated, limbs limp. There was a horrible crying noise, wings vibrating. Slowly, they tried to open. Stiff and uncooperative, they tried to spread and curled weirdly, flopping around nervously like a phantom limb. Slowly, they began to unfold like a flower, like the waves of water on a darkened pool- like the crescendo of a song nearing it's finale.
"Help," said a voice on a face hidden by scars and shadows. Dark eyes, brown hair filthy and long. Familiar lips, gaunt cheeks with a thin nose- a mimic it had to be-.
"Help me Mumbo," Scout said, crying from eyes dotted along cheekbones and two dazed glassy eyes set below familiar eyebrows. " Help me."
Mumbo felt sick. His hands were numb, he couldn't think. There were no words, only static buzz and unending horror. It overwhelmed him, filling him with black dark feelings.
It was Grian. His friend who had presumably died- who had vanished years ago after a server had closed due to an unfortunate collapse. The server which Pearl reported was destroyed by Watchers-... which they thought Scout was.
"Oh god," Mumbo whispered, not hearing his voice. Everything felt dazed, sickly wrong. He was cold, yet his heart was too quick. There was a pressure between his eyes. He had felt so guilty that Scout sounded like him- Mumbo believed that it was his mind playing tricks on him. They had never found a body, but that meant little.
Scout was an admin. Grian was an admin.
"Grian," Mumbo whispered, feeling like the worst person in all of existence.
"Mumbo," Grain said, ( Grian, after all this time- ). " Help me."