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Grian knows this world was the sort of world you don’t travel through alone. He remembers last season far better than the rest of them do, and knows what happens to those who don’t end up with allies. He also knows what happens when you do have allies. He remembers the hot sun on his back and the cold blood between his fingers and clenched fruitlessly in his fists crystal clearly. For both those reasons, he’s looking for a new ally. Someone different from the last one.
So, when he emerges from a mining expedition and sees a figure in shining blue, he breathes out a loud sigh of relief. So early in the week guarantees that Scar hasn’t managed to swindle a full diamond armor set out of someone-
“Oh!” the figure cries out, swiveling around. In fake bright-blue painted armor glory, with hastily drawn on abs, is Scar. He’s holding a dilapidated iron axe, but he looks more likely to drop it in surprise than swing it towards Grian. “Oh hello!”
“I thought you had…” Grian takes a moment, letting his sword swing down to his side. He rubs his temple, fond despite himself. “I thought you had actual diamond armor..”
Scar sticks his chest out proudly, the cracks in the fabric paint showing with even minimal examination. “I do.”
Behind him, the moon has begun to rise. It’s getting darker, the red and orange leaves blocking out the majority of the moonlight. The slight movement of the wind through the thinning branches reminds Grian that the two of them will not be alone in their reunion for long, if they remain here. Mobs will spawn, and he knows from experience that Scar will not notice a creeper walking towards him. Nor will he really notice a horde of zombies or the loud clanking of a skeleton.
In the spring, it was his responsibility to pay attention to those things. And even now, he feels the urge to do so again.
“Scar, we can’t….” he says, then trails off. There’s a lot of things he wants to say they can’t do. They can’t do this now. There’s no place in this season for another Monopoly Mountain, another trek towards a desert. Now, as the forest floor is dark with dead leaves and the world is anew, can’t be the same.
Scar looks at him with no indication that he’s facing the same struggle. In his eyes, it’s just rapt attention, and the spinning wheels of a mind that Grian still doesn’t fully comprehend. He doesn’t want to shoo him off so soon. Just because they can’t stay together, doesn’t mean he can’t talk to him a little longer.
“We can’t just sit and talk here in the dark, Scar.” Grian takes a torch out of his pack, and places it on the ground. He knows he doesn’t have to try and cover his hesitancy. Scar won’t comment on it, just like Scar never commented on his constant attempts to distance himself from the Desert’s deeds. He feels like it’s polite to try, anyways.
“I have diamond armor,” Scar says, patting a clearly painted-on set of abs. His hand comes away with blue paint, and he hurriedly hides it behind his back. “So it’d be fine, really.”
“I…” Grian hesitates again. He doesn’t really know the point of no return here. He knows what he’s getting into, now, but it still seems dangerous. Not dangerous in the same way the pit in his stomach is, not like the gnawing hunger onset by his two lives. But dangerous in the way that he wants to ask more about Scar’s silly armor idea. He sort of wants to see where it goes, if he can actually trick anyone with it.
But Grian’s a stubborn man, and he’s fairly sure that he will be able to put his foot down early enough that it shouldn’t be an issue. Maybe he could even get something out of this conversation, instead of losing something this time.
Scar’s eyes are a dark and rich green, and they suit him better than the cold red ever did. He’s on a safe amount of lives, and maybe, Grian thinks, he could bargain his way into getting one of them. Scar was always a sucker for a bargain, and Grian would very much like to not be on yellow.