Chapter Text
It had been about 2 weeks since Mumbo last slept, he concluded.
Roughly. If his time keeping was still accurate. It probably was, right?
It was only the last few days that had started to blur together anyway, when he’d startle from a task to the sound of phantom laughter, sure it had just been morning.
It’s not like he could really judge by the moon anymore, he reflected blearily, squinting upwards towards it from where he’d just been terraforming his mountain paths. It was after all, in the sky most of the time anyway, no matter the hour. He felt a faint rumble bubbling low and uneasy in his throat at the thought.
But that wasn’t very human-like.
He was, of course, one of the unusually few hermits considered to be human, when he wasn't putting on a bit, or pretending to be under magic influence, at least. Very good at it too! if he said so himself. Being human that is. Most of the time, anyway.
Mumbo stood, slightly unsteadily, from the dirt and moss he’d been kneeling in, dusting his hands thoughtlessly on his suit jacket before looking up at the moon again, blinking tired eyes at the near harshness of it’s light. A few others blinked with him.
Maybe not so much right now.
His Friends would be along soon he judged, watching the last of the sun’s light disappear over the far horizon, tinting that part of the sky red, though its lunar counterpart was already high in the heavens.
Just on time, his statues' redstone mechanisms kicked into effect, their tears ceasing to flow and fireworks shooting high over their heads with a crackling bang , in jubilant welcome of her lunar, cosmic, ever growing majesty.
The laughter followed like a tripped switch just after, Mumbo barely dodging the first phantom to swoop down, movements sluggish even as he startled, hurrying to take cover under one of his new trees.
The rest of his lunar Friends swooped cheerily after, a mass of flapping, hysterical cacophony. Oh, that was really a lot, he thought, somewhat nervously, clutching at the bark. Was the swarm usually that big? It seemed like it was a lot larger than it had been the previous night. Surely there hadn’t been that many before, right?
A few of them took the opportunity to swoop at him as he dared peer out from the safety of the leaves, Mumbo quickly darting under again as they wheeled back in turn to avoid collision. One didn’t quite make it, clawed wingtips sweeping just past his nose as it crashed into the leaves above him with a loud crunch, leaves and twigs raining on his head as it thrashed, laughter increasing in pitch.
Devour, hummed a voice at the back of his head. Peace love and plants, he hummed back unmindfully, as though the exchange was an old and unchanging one. The phantom above him flailed wildly in a rain of detritus, shrieking, before finally breaking free enough to dive down the near cliff, circling back up to join it’s brethren a half moment later.
He couldn't harm any of the moon’s Friends, of course , but he probably should find better cover, he thought nervously, trailing it. There was no guarantee they wouldn’t become brave enough to start dive bombing him even under the branches, given time, and while he welcomed all the moon's gifts, (he was a loyal mooner! Truely!) He really was starting to run low on golden carrots, and a quick scan through his inventory proved no alternatives, not even a stack of baked potatoes (and since when had he started to run so low on food?) But if he could just make it back to Treesa…
Mumbo glanced down the mountain towards the distant tree golem, brightly lit amid the surrounding night, though the dark had never really had that much effect on his vision, before looking back along the path he’d just been building before, hopefulness fading.
Right, his elytra.
He’d taken them off sometime during the day, the weight of them bearing down on tired shoulders more than he’d wanted to deal with at the time, and never bothered, never thought? To put them in his inventory instead. He could still see them laid out on the ground, a purple glint of enchantments further down the road.
He’d have to break cover to get them though, for at least fifty meters, maybe more. Mumbo glanced doubtfully upwards again at the wheeling flock above him, fingers sinking a little deeper into the bark.
Maybe he could make it down the mountain more sneakily without his wings? The gravity had been well.. Lacking, lately. He might be able to make it down safely..
On the other hand, He wasn’t particularly confidant in his ability to parkour the cliffside right now, (he wasn't really confidant in his ability to parkour ever, actually, but the not-sleeping thing was definitely a more prominent excuse) and death by falling was never pleasant, bound by the rules of playercode as he currently was, not to mention all the terraforming supplies he had on him right now, that he’d really rather not lose, the idea of grinding any of it back just exhausting.
Not to mention he’d have to run back from spawn. Mumbo shifted a little in indecision, limbs shuddering along a split-second after, chewing at his moustache nervously.
The wings were probably the better bet. If he could get them on fast enough, at least. He had enough rockets to make a speedy getaway after, anyway. Really, fifty meters wasn’t that far, if he could just outrun the swarm.
Elytra it was then.
Were the phantoms still focused on him? He really couldn't tell, even watching them. They might be, wheeling and laughing high in the sky as they were, or they might just be enjoying the moon's glaring rays, hanging with their Friends in a rambunctious chorus. Honestly they were almost fun to watch, flying in near formation, dodging each other midair. He’d seen a couple collide before! They’d been nearly as startled as he had been! It’s not like the hermits were any better when they flew together though, he mulled, remembering some of the wither fights he’d partaken in, and other much less intensive ones, more than a few recently with the other boatem members.
Scar in particular was always unpredictable to fly with, though it was actually Grian in the end that Mumbo had finally clipped, leading to a very adrenaline pumping fall and last minute recovery that had left both of them near breathless in frenzied relieved laughter. The phantoms above chuckled along with his thoughts.
Annnnnd he was procrastinating.
He knew he was procrastinating. Of course he was procrastinating. There was ultimately no point waiting around under the tree as he was; the longer he stood here the more bold they would likely get, the more that might spawn and the bigger the swarm would grow. No time like the present, after all.
He could still warm up though! Warm ups were important right? False and Cleo were always insisting on that.
Mumbo hopped forcibly from foot to foot, trying to coerce weary muscles into cooperating, wearier mass into holding shape, and shaking out his arms, having to free one from where he’d been latched onto the bark. No time like the present!
...Annnd maybe on three, actually.
He peered out from under the tree again, puffing. Jeez, that really was a ridiculous number of phantoms wasn’t it? He could have sworn there were even more than before!
In that moment, one of the lone wheeling shapes above seemed to notice. It gave a piercing shriek of laughter, and dove towards him with a cackling hiss. Well. Time was up then. Part of his hindbrain surged in delight at the free meal heading his way. The sensible side surged in anxiety.
Mumbo bolted.
It’s Friends definitely noticed that. The lone laughing figure became a roar and a wave, sweeping down towards him with frightening speed.
The sudden explosion of noise gave him his own surge of energy though, Mumbo suddenly rushing even faster than he should have been able to in blind panic. Oh this was a terrible, silly idea , he panted to himself.
The elytra pressed ever closer in turn. He was only a few meters away, if he could just-
His right foot caught his left leg, and Mumbo slammed face first into the gravel in a flash of blinding white pain, the rest of him following in a spew of barely restrained mass and momentum, hanging on by a thread as he wheezed and resettled into himself, with a burning hint of metal. The swarm howled overhead and past, overrunning where he had been just seconds ago, a few striking the earth hard around him.
Oh that hurt. Oh that really hurts, he thought, disorientated, swaying back up to his hands and his hands and knees with blurred vision. His face felt hot as he blinked, vision clearing partially as hot trails ran down his face. Right. Tears. Instinctual response, he remembered fuzzily. The human body did that with pain. Was that blood he was tasting?
His Friends were curling back around in front of him he noticed. A few of them littered the surrounding ground too, and they were starting to twitch. That was probably bad. He needed his elytra, where were they? He tried to focus on the ground in front of him, vision swimming in and out, all too little and all too much.
Purple glittering caught his eyes.
There!
Two meters away. He slipped hazily towards them. A few of the mobs around him started to flap, crawling after. The droning was getting louder. Mumbo hissed idly back. His hand landed on his wings. Bingo.
Fumbling with the straps, he stood drunkenly, struggling to get a good grip. It was like they were passing through his hands. Or were his hands passing through them? That wouldn’t do. Mumbo grimaced, concentrating on taking command of his extremities again, the whispering of his thoughts growing. But he had no time to question that, or answer, the howling storm was almost upon him. Mumbo stumbled along to the mountain’s edge, passing his limbs through the loops in his best approximation of the proper order. It would have to do.
He slid off the cliff.
The wailing was deafening as it passed over him a second time, a frenzied hysterical chorus, but not nearly as jarring as the weightless lurch as he fell.
And fell.
Mumbo scrambled instinctively for his rockets, managing to grasp one firmly and yank the string. It spluttered, hissed, and then something seemed to catch, and he was shooting off into the night with a high pitched whistle.
Treesa, he needed to reach Treesa. Mumbo dizzily tried to orient himself, pitching in vaguely the correct direction. At least he was away from the yelling now, though he could hear it distantly behind him, following. He tried again to angle himself better, but nothing seemed to respond quite right. He felt kind of.. Flickery. His face still felt hot. There was still the taste of iron streaming down his tongue.
This time, when he crashed into the ground at the foot of his starter base, he was at least prepared for it.
It wasn’t a graceful landing by any means, and it still rattled his poor head, but he wasn’t hurt. Maybe a little more grass stained. Mumbo rolled over, staring balefully at the ladder up into his base until his sight went cross-eyed, then too many. He needed to be there, and not here. That might prove to be a problem , he hummed to himself.
But what was he if not a problem solver? His face did still hurt though, and he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t just the outside. One problem at a time! Mumbo teetered towards the base of the ladder.
He managed to get his hands on the rungs. Perfect. Fantastic job, if he might say so himself.
…What was he supposed to do next?
Right feet. Mumbo cautiously placed a foot on the lowermost rung, concentrating on not just. Slithering off it again. And then he was just supposed to climb? He squinted dimly upward in doubt. His wings dripped off his back.
He just. Wasn’t sure he had enough limbs for that. Humans only have four! It just didn’t seem enough. What if he fell? He supposed he had an idea, thought it certainly wasn’t the proper way, but if he just. Heaved Hims e l f
U P
Mumbo scrabbled over the top of the ladder. Oh he was so good at this.
He gave himself a moment then to just lie in the tree, breathing. It was safe there, he could take a little time to melt into the floor and come back to himself. Gods, he was so tired.
The whistle of another rocket sounded outside. Then a thud. At the base of the ladder?
“Mumbo?” called a voice, questioningly. “Are you ok? I think I watched you eat grass out here a second ago. You left your elytra out here, too!”
Oh! Grian! He liked Grian. Bright and feathery. Lots of eyes. Nonedible. Mostly.
“Fine.” he mumbled back, distractedly. “Taking a floor break.”
“Am I hearing things too now?” He thought he heard Grian grumble outside. “Mumbo I’m coming up!”
Did Grian want to chill in Treesa too? She was pretty cool. He was the one to build her. That might be fun, they could wait out the night together.
Had it been such a long time since they’d last hung out?
He could hear Grian climbing the ladder. “You know, I think the not-sleeping is getting to me, I really do. Could have sworn I almost heard some kind of whispering when- What happened to your face?!”
Mumbo blinked towards the entrance of his base, where Grian had magically appeared with his feathers puffed, looking aghast.
“I think I broke it.” He announced cheerily.
Grian looked horrified. “Did you hit the ground that hard? It didn’t look that bad!” He climbed fully into the tree, wings flaring up behind him.
Mumbo flapped his hand like a dead fish. “No, before. Up my mountain. I face-planted running from the moon’s Friends… they were laughing at me!” he pitched upright, scandalized, in sudden realisation, “Grian, I think the phantoms were laughing at me.” He stated, aggrieved and turning to his friend, vision eddying after a moment later. Maybe he shouldn’t have moved that fast...
Grian was looking at him, pale, then back at the floor where he’d been laying. Mumbo glanced back curiously.
Oh. He hadn’t come up quite right, had he? Mumbo concentrated a second, fixing that, then focused back to his friend.
Grian in turn, blinked, shaking his head a little and rubbing his eyes, before looking at Mumbo again and then giving a seemingly relieved sigh. Mumbo was nearly miffed, he was almost certain he looked dreadful.
“Where do you keep your potions Mumbo?" Grian pressed on. “Do you have any healing ones? Regen? Any other medicinal supplies? ” he added, moving further into the tree.
The taller moustached man paused a second, considering. “Shulker I think, over that way,” he gestured vaguely, shutting his eyes again as he laid back down. His vision was doing flips at the corners again.
He heard Grian move past him in the general direction he pointed, checking the few boxes over there with soft clunks and the sound of rummaging, before there was a little victorious “aha!” and the sounds of talons, clicking back over the wood towards him.
“Think you can sit up for me Mumbo?”
Mumbo sang an affirmative, pushing himself up. Or tried to at least, quickly turning to a frown as he failed to move more than a sluggish twitch. “On second thought, I might need a hand mate,” he confessed sheepishly. Apparently this was a boneless moment.
Hot hands gripped his shoulders. Mumbo flinched unintentionally.
“Geez, you’re cold too.” Grian huffed, worriedly pulling him up. “Are you sure the only thing wrong is your nose?” He leaned him back against a nearby chest, holding him there just a second to make sure he didn’t slide.
Mumbo, meanwhile, engaged in some spontaneous self reflection.
“I haven’t slept in two weeks, I hear phantoms laughing at me, and I think I have a concussion.” he finally decided, slowly and regally.
Grian gave a half hearted laugh, “I think I could have guessed those.” Mumbo heard the pop of a cork. “And I’d say not to sleep for a couple more hours because of it, but I think that’s already the goal.” Grian added somewhat helplessly. “Tip your head back for me?”
Mumbo complied, consequently hissing as a wet cloth scraped over the grazes on his face, suddenly tensed. The slight tingle of healing potion followed it, however, letting him uncoil again in relief.
Until it touched his nose and he hissed anew, eyes flaring open.
Grian paused in front of him startled, a med kit and an open potion by his feet. It was quiet for a second, before Grian made a pained noise, “Mumbo, it looks really bad. I don’t know if a potion can fix it.” He started to wipe slowly at Mumbo’s face again, notably away from his nose. “It might heal wrong if you just drink one now,” he added, helplessly. “I think we need to get someone to set it right, I don’t know how to.”
Mumbo reached up, pushing the cloth away as delicately as he could (which wasn’t very), cringing. “I know it hurts , but is it really that bad?”
“It looks like a potato,” Grian said helpfully, with somewhat dark humor. “I really think we should get someone, Doc maybe, or False? She breaks enough noses anyway, I can ask in the comms channel-” he continued, starting to reach for his communicator.
Mumbo interrupted with an aversed grunt. He appreciated the effort, truely! But.. “Just pass me a mirror,” he decided, leaning forwards unsteadily, “should be a little one in the med kit.”
Grian reached into the kit, sighing. “I don’t know if seeing it's gonna make a difference, it’s still-, He paused, then flared, pulling the mirror to his chest and leveling a look at the other. “ Mumbo. I really don't think you’re in any state to do this yourself, especially right now! Do you even know how to? It could be permanent if it goes wrong.” he squinted down in disapproval.
“Grian.” Mumbo returned, precisely as firm, then softened. “Please. Just trust me?” He appealed gently, holding a hand out.
His best friend stared at him with slitted eyes. He placed the mirror in Mumbo’s hand.
Mumbo sighed in relief. This was so much easier to do when he could see it.
“ Please be careful,” Grian stressed.
“I'm not gonna mess up my own nose!” Mumbo insisted. Probably.
He held the mirror up to his face, and winced.
Grian was right. It did look like a potato. His whole face kinda did actually. And not, for once, for the reason of actually pretending to be one. He was all bloodied, though he could see where Grian had been trying to clean it, and his skin was all puffy, with a few slowly healing grazes on his cheeks. His moustache was beyond ruined too, all bedraggled and bloodsoaked. He took a moment to mourn his most iconic feature.
But…
Huh, his eyes. They weren’t normally like that were they? The faint red of his iris, most of the hermits had gotten used to. “Rubbed them with redstone on my hands,” he’d claimed once, one of his many cheeky explanations. Radiation poisoning was his other favourite. He was, after all, known to be clumsy enough to believe. Tango had been delighted by that one, too.
Besides, he wasn’t all that sure if many of them were even familiar enough with what normal eye colours on humans were actually meant to be enough to notice . He prided himself on it though, and normal people didn’t have eyes quite that well. Black. Void-y. He blinked a couple times, working on fixing that first. Look at him, problem solving. Grian made a soft noise beside him.
Back to the main issue at hand. Face. Nose?
He prodded at the crushed lump on his face gently, not twitching so much when he knew to expect it. The fractured look really didn’t suit him. It was a good thing he had the face he normally wore so ingrained in his mind, he knew exactly what his nose was supposed to look like. He’d made it, after all! It meant all this would take was just. A little. Concentration .
A few crackling noises sounded as he traced his hand down his face, the skin almost seeming to bubble . “Ow.” he muttered, “ow, ow, ow, ow.”
“Well I don’t think that’s normal,” Grian declared, slightly hysterically from somewhere beside him. “But I dont think I'm in any condition to judge right now,” he added quietly, with a small, helpless laugh.
Mumbo had maybe, slightly forgotten he had an audience.
Oh dear. Well, a bit late to play up the actual ‘setting a nose properly’ thing now. He might as well entirely concentrate on just getting it to look like how it was supposed to, then. The slightly sickening flesh noises continued in the following silence of the tree.
Eventually, after seconds that felt a little like hours, Mumbo slumped back against the chest in relief. There! Back to normal. Tender still, but at least it looked like how it was supposed to. Honestly a good job, with how lacking his fine motor skills were right now. He was pretty chuffed with himself! “Think I’m good now, mate.” he declared, satisfied.
“Great,” Grian croaked from somewhere low beside him. “Cool. Glad to hear it. Very glad to not hear it, actually. Still need a hand with treating yourself?”
Mumbo glanced down beside him, where Grian seemed to be contemplating his life choices. Treesa was a pretty good place for doing that honestly, Mumbo mused. “Please,” he accepted, gratefully. “I'm not sure how well I can do it myself right now, honestly everything’s kind of swimming right now, don’t need to poke out an eye too,” he joked.
Grian handed him a second uncorked potion and a haunted look in lieu of a proper response. Mumbo turned to concentrating on sipping it as the winged man heaved himself back up. Hmmm. Faint, thick, spicy melon taste. Healing, then.
The wet cloth and slight healing tingle returned. Grian hovered next to him, brow furrowed in concentration as he wiped at the worst of the scrapes along Mumbo’s jaw, focusing on cleaning out any dirt or debris, lightly turning his head as he went.
It was kinda nice honestly, knowing his friend had his back like this. Mumbo hummed in appreciation, slightly discordant every time Grian swiped over a particularly sore spot.
Sometime later, though Mumbo wasn’t particularly sure how long, (if his sense of time was bad normally, it practically didn't exist right now) Grian made an approving noise, “There, that looks more like the Mumbo I know.” He said, relieved. “Can I see your hands now? They looked pretty scraped up too.”
Mumbo held them out obligingly. Grian gently rolled back his sleeves, and set to work again.
“Think that’s the most of it” He finally settled on when a few minutes had passed, winding a few bandages around Mumbo’s hands, “Just don't go slamming into anymore floors. Drink the last of this for me?” Grian held out the half empty potion bottle.
Mumbo thanked him ruefully, and chugged that one back too. Salty, and almost uncomfortably slick. Regen, yilch. He’d never liked that one, he thought, nose wrinkling. ow .
Grian sighed, sitting down beside him and gathering everything back into the medical pack. “So, Mr Mumbo Jumbo, with that, I think we're pretty much done here now,” he resolved, sitting back against another chest and shuffling as he got comfortable, wings tucking around him.
“You’re staying?” Mumbo asked hopefully, glancing over.
Grian hummed. “I'm not about to leave you here alone with a concussion , so yes, you’re stuck with me tonight,” he added, blithely, plucking out a loose feather.
“Oh excellent! Brilliant,” Mumbo enthused, relaxing. It really had been too long. “So, uh, what have you been working on in that alleyway of yours, anyway?”
Grian perked up with a grin. “Actually, quite a few things! I had this idea for a new block palette, see…” he explained, starting to get more animated as he went more in depth about his latest building project.
Mumbo settled back against the chest, and back into himself comfortably, as his friend chattered passionately on, lost pleasantly in the noise of it. He was already looking more forward to this night than any of the past few, any moon worries long forgotten in the sturdy presence of his tree base, warmed by familiar conversation and a dear friend.