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He’d been doing so well . He’d found the box like he always does, but he’d found a ring this time as well. And he’d found Chester . This was the first time he’d found Chester, in all his attempts through the door. But winter had crept up quickly, as it always does in whatever twice-damnable version of this already damnable world this is. He had a hat he’d taken from some poor skeleton, but threads were already coming loose from it, and the hat did nothing for his freezing fingers and toes.
He shivers as he stumbles along through the snow, Chester hopping faithfully by his side as always. She’s the one bright spot in this- place. She’s always so sweet to him, and so careful with his things. He trusts her with the box and ring more than his own numb, trembling hands at the moment. He doesn’t know quite yet what they’ll do, but it’s clear that they’re essential . Extremely important to whatever game he’s playing now.
His basecamp finally comes into view, and he shakily falls in front of the fire. Both the sun and the fire are getting low. He should get back up, get wood while he can. Night lasts for much longer than it used to, now that winter has hit. It almost got him killed the first night. But god… he’d had an awful encounter with the pigs guarding the king, the day before, and he was still hurting from it. He aches . He doesn’t want to get back up, now that he’s down.
“C’mere- Chessie, Chessie, c’mere,” he mutters. He buries his face into her fur and curls around her when she makes her way to him, licking his face, and he mutters a quiet “Good girl.” It’s so cold . He’s so hungry . But it’s almost dark. He can’t risk looking for food, not just yet. He’s so tired , too. The snow isn’t that bad, really. It makes a good bed. And Chester’s warm enough. Maybe he can just… sleep through the night, for once…
Maxwell tuts, when Wilson’s death catches his attention. He’d been doing better than before, too. This one is almost sad . It’s been a while since Higgsbury’s allowed the cold to catch up. He usually starts taking more risks when he’s this desperate. Maxwell hopes he’s not giving up . That would be incredibly boring.
He pushes back a wave of unfamiliar emotion, watching with what he tells himself is boredom as Wilson willingly passes through the door once again.
Maybe this time, the scientist will even stay alive.