Chapter Text
Luck must’ve been merciful, because The Dark Lord was still active by the time noogai decided to back up the project.
It would be up to the lord to actually copy and transfer the data, of course, but. That meant time. Time with the project still open. Time without the roving eyes of the animator hanging over him, as noogai pushed himself away from his desk with a stretch and left the room. Time to get a measure of this new stickfigure and get a handle on him before he made things worse.
He had time. It would be fine.
He refused to second-guess himself, as he struggled to get up to an area where he’d be able to reach the properties.
Though when he found the orange stick again, he almost blew a fuse.
“How incomprehensible an instruction is ‘lay low?’”
The inquiry startled Second, breaking his concentration. He turned to the speaker, his eyes settling on the red stick from before. “What do you mean? I held still the whole time; he didn’t notice me.”
“That’s not all there is to it! Did you not see the captions appear when you tried speaking? He would’ve seen that!”
“…oh.”
“Yeah, oh.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You d-!” The other began, before his incredulous expression smoothed itself out. (Or attempted to, at least; Second wondered if frowns stayed on faces the same way wrinkles stayed on laundry.) “Okay sure, fine. Just- don’t try to talk while you’re on the artboard, okay? No moving, no talking, no attempts at communication whatsoever. You’re not supposed to be something that can communicate, while you’re there. You’re just a movie-clip symbol on a frame, alright?”
Second nodded. “I can do that.”
“Great. And what are you doing now?”
“Oh, I’m doodling!“ He beamed, gesturing to his work in progress.
The red stick didn’t even look at it. “Why.”
“It looked like fun.”
“No, no fun. Fun can wait, you don’t know what he could do if he finds those.”
Second waved a hand. “I’m gonna get rid of them when I’m done, I’m not saving them. I even opened a new artboard first.” He turned back to his art, as he continued. “They’ll be gone before he’s back, he won’t see them.”
“Uh-huh. You gonna keep at it until he comes back through that door?” The other stick sounded cynical, as he hauled himself up toward the menu tabs amid a chorus of clinks and jangles. “If you can see him, then he can see you, don’t think he won’t!”
Wait a sec. This guy thought he was gonna be up drawing for-
“-the whole night?” Second frowned. “No, I don’t think I’ll be that long. I'll need to sleep at some point.”
The cacophony ceased.
“…what are you talking about.”
“It’s 9pm and he’s backing up the project and he closed all his tabs, he’s not gonna come back for at least eight hours.”
The pencil scraped lightly across the canvas, black strokes tracing over white.
“…and you know this how, exactly? You haven’t even been here half a day.”
Second paused.
How did he know that?
He shrugged, tilting his head up toward the red stick, who was peering down at him from a small window and looking rather flabbergasted; though he schooled his expression into something stern the moment Second met his eyes. “I…I dunno. I just…know, somehow.”
“How insightful. Anything else you ‘just know somehow,’ or am I gonna have to wait until you’re done graffitiing the canvas before I educate you?”
“…uh—”
“Look, you obviously don’t know what’s going on, here, so I need you to- you need to listen to me—”
“Hey!” Second turned to face him fully, art forgotten for the moment. “What do you mean ‘obviously?’”
“Well.” The other stick slid off the menu feet-first, landing some distance before Second with a crash. “After your little mishap trying to get ahold of the pencil, I can only conclude—”
“Mishap?”
“Yeah, unless doodling involves breaking the interface.”
Second blinked, looking at the pencil icon in his hand. “I don’t think it’s really broken.” He adjusted his grip on it mindlessly. “I was a little confused when I had to pull the pencil off of the-“
“I’m not talking about you removing the pencil from the toolbar!” The frowning stick threw both hands to one side in a curt gesture, directed toward where the toolbar rested behind him. “I’m talking about you smacking it with your hand first! And then your fist!”
“How long were you watch-“
“Why would you do that if you just wanted to use it?”
Well, he didn’t have to sound so mean about it. “I was trying to click it!”
Instead of calming him down, the explanation seemed to bewilder the frowning stick even more, if the wide eyes and the way he leaned forward were anything to go by. “Wh- why would you have to click it? Just pick it up!”
“I didn’t know that!”
“How could you not fucking know?”
“Why are you yelling at me?!”
“This is- this is common knowledge! How do you not know how to use a tool?”
Second spluttered. “W-well, how do you know?!”
“I dunno, I ‘just know somehow.’”
“That’s…”
He faltered. He didn’t have a rebuttal.
“…no fair,” he pouted.
The red stick huffed. “Nothing is fair here, kid. Lesson number one. Class is now in session, so get rid of all this and put that thing away and listen to teacher or you’re gonna get schooled. You won’t like that, trust me.”
Second stalled, glancing back at his drawing. “Now?”
The other stick had begun walking away, but he stopped in his tracks and turned at the question. “Wha—yes! Now!!”
“Look, he’s not gonna be back for a few hours, right? He’ll be sleeping. Until he wakes up, we’ve got plenty of free time to-"
He was cut off with a wordless noise by the red stick.
“That does not mean- you- you don’t—no, that does not mean we have ‘free time,’ there’s no ‘free time’ here!”
Second flinched, eyes flying back to the red stick’s suddenly wild stare. He froze.
The outburst seemed to have disturbed something in the both of them. Neither moved, for a moment, caught in the wake of its vehemence.
In the silence, Second’s eyes darted to the chains. “…why do you have those?”
The red stick followed Second’s gaze, then seemed to pull himself together, his shoulders loosening minutely and his expression settling into a glare. “Gee, I dunno, maybe because I’m a stickfigure who started messing around on an artboard I wasn’t supposed to be on.”
Oh. “He caught you?”
Fists clenched. Teeth grit. One hand migrated to the opposite wrist. “Yeah.”
Second felt himself gasp, and he took in the full picture of the stickfigure in front of him.
What was he supposed to say? What could he say?
“…I’m sorry.”
The chained stick met his gaze, and at the guarded mistrust in his eyes Second found he couldn’t hold his stare. He looked away.
“…why?” The other’s voice gave nothing away.
“…that you got caught?” Second tried, his eyes finding his drawings again in an effort to avoid staring uncomfortably into the space between them.
The reply came to him carried by a mumble. “…it’s not like you were there…”
Hoping to escape the suddenly awkward atmosphere, Second returned to his sketch.
After a moment, he heard a sudden, quiet hiss from behind him, followed by the rattling sound of the other stick moving. He continued back and forth across the artboard window, for a time, as Second's pencil left his marks.
It occurred to Second that he still didn’t know this other stick.
Who are you, he almost asked, but at the last moment he changed it to “what is your name?”
“I?”
At that question, the chained stick finally seemed to rally. There was a clink of shifting metal, and Second could almost visualize him drawing himself up taller, holding his head high. He found himself turning just to see if his imagination had any roots.
“I am the Dark Lord.”
Second tilted his head. “The Dark Lord?”
“Correct.”
“…that’s kinda long.”
He watched in real-time as The Dark Lord’s pretentious manner collapsed, and Second couldn’t help feeling a little amused as the red stick gaped at him, floundering for a comeback.
“…a-- wh- so? Your name is, too! ‘The Second Coming’ of what, exactly?”
The Second Coming grinned. “Of whom, I think.”
“Oy, I’m the instructor, here. Now do you ‘just know’ the answer or not?”
Second combed through his thoughts, and didn’t find anything that seemed to fit. “…I…don’t think I do. Yeah, that’s not coming to me. Sorry.” He turned back to his art again.
There was a sigh from behind him. “At this rate, your report card is gonna be straight Fs.”
He snorted lightly. “You’re grading me?”
“Yeah, and right now you’re failing at both understanding of the material and participation.”
“Participation?” Second turned to look at him again, meeting his stern gaze. “But I am participating!” He swished his hand toward The Dark Lord and back to himself. “We’re talking and stuff!”
He turned back to his art.
A harrumph.
Second scowled. “What?”
“I can’t help but notice that you’re not putting the pencil away and getting rid of these doodles like I said you should.”
“It’s not doodles anymore, I’m sketching now.”
“That really isn’t the important detail, here.”
“What’s wrong with me sketching?” Second objected. “I’m gonna be done long before Alan gets back, and I’m gonna delete the artboard it’s on. He’ll never know. I’m not- …I’m not gonna get caught.”
He regretted the words as soon as they left him.
The Dark Lord’s expression shuttered, any other emotion he may have felt washing away, leaving behind a flinty gaze that was sharp enough to cut.
“…and do you think that means you don’t have to listen to what I say?”
His voice was nearly toneless, but only nearly. Second fancied he could taste the bitterness.
He winced. “…can I just finish this one?”
He cringed, in the judgmental quiet. But then:
“Urgh, fine, how about this: I’ll let you have until the backup is done. But then that’s it.”
Second breathed, nodding in agreement. “Okay. What then?”
“Then?” The question seemed to take The Dark Lord aback. “I don’t know, go to bed?”
“I don’t have a bed.”
“Neither do I, tough luck.”
He settled himself in front of the canvas again with a hum. “I wonder if I could draw myself one.”
“No, you can’t do anything he might see-“
“I didn’t mean if I’d be allowed,” Second clarified, a note of frustration entering his voice. “I just meant if I had the ability! Like, if I drew a bed would it work as an actual bed?”
“Oh. Yeah, it would.”
“Great,” Second groused. “So I could have a bed, but I won’t get one.”
“A comfy place to rest your head is not worth being discovered.”
“Well, where do you sleep?”
“I don’t.”
“…you…don’t sleep?”
“Nope.”
“…oh.”