Work Text:
"What's this now, my small friend?"
Quirrel tore his hazy gaze away from the calm water to look down at his stoic friend so it would stop poking at his battle-tender side.
He gasped a bit as his little wanderer friend placed a dusty, cracked pair of glasses into his hands. They were quite large and round. "Where’d you find…” He mumbled, squinting at them.
Wait a tic…he knew what these were.
“...I... remember these..."
Quirrel turned the glasses over in his hands, carefully trying to rubbing the time-hardened grime off.
“These belonged to an…old friend of mine...I remember it, vaguely.”
His little friend sat next to him and on another plane only it could see, a slug attempted to nuzzle into his lap.
It hummed loudly in delight. “Friend! Mine! Mine! See Gorb's friend!” It tried to nudge the glasses out of Quirrel’s hands, unable to phase him.
Other beings like this slug sat around the two living beings, legs crossed as if Quirrel was able to see them.
Between tall moths, armless assassins, a youthful caterpillar, and more, it felt like they were all having a lakeside picnic with their friend telling stories.
When all he could see was the tiniest, blank-faced child.
“It’s name was…”
---
“Gorb!”
From its nap, a slug frantically rose. “AH! YES YES HELLO!”
It quickly looked around before grabbing a big pair of glasses with its mouth and nudging them up to its four tired eyes as fast as it could. This motion also adjusted its bright neon green headband that held its head comfortably.
Quirrel put his hand on Gorb’s workspace. “Easy, my friend. Just checking if you were with us. Turns out you were not.”
“I’m finished with this!” Gorb ignored its friend’s statement, nudging a couple of notes in Quirrel’s direction.
“How many sleepless nights did this theory take?” He asked, rhetorically. He started reading them. A little messy, but dense and well-spoken. Formulas about acid curing and plants within it.
“Four!” Likely slept in bits and bursts then, Quirrel knew. He sighed, not surprised.
“I regret waking you then.”
“Don’t! I was busy anyway!” Gorb nudged its other notes around.
“I nearly forgot about testing it! If the test goes well, it’ll help the falling wilted leaves in Greenpath! So so so!” Gorb was about to start rattling off facts and details, so Quirrel knew he had to get his words in now or never.
Quirrel rolled Gorb’s theory up carefully, and gently put his hand on its back. “My friend, you are exhausted despite your hyper words. Why not burn some of this off with me on my walk to the deep Archives? I have to gather some study material there.”
Gorb hummed, looking around its desk as Quirrel slowly cleaned up around it. It sniffed a cup that had been left there and took a little sip of it. “That’s coffee.”
“I would much enjoy the company.” Quirrel tried to convince the slug to come. He straightened some of the notes and waited for an answer.
Gorb hummed more. “...Alright! Just for a few tics!” Quirrel smiled, happy to see that.
The walk was long and Gorb was swiftly slithering along the ground by Quirrel’s feet.
“I hope my theory works. It should work, it really should. I need it to work for the health of my home, you know!”
“I know. You’ve already told me about it about…seven times, give or take.”
“...Oh yeah! I did, I did, I did!” Gorb said, rapidly. Quirrel shook his head. It really needs to sleep.
Thankfully, he had a plan.
He grabbed some vials from the archive’s walls and peeked inside, reading the shorthand. “Gorb, can you take this and read it out loud to me while I search?”
Gorb made a happy “Ooo!” noise, and Quirrel gave it to it and it unrolled it on the floor.
“The outer membrane of the Ooma is shown to grow sturdier when fed certain medicated meals before they fully mature. If we continue with this schedule there should be-”
Gorb’s excited voice quickly became tired as Quirrel looked through more vials, grabbing the ones he needed. He grabbed an empty one to write in as well.
Quirrel sat down on the floor next to Gorb, reading the vials and taking notes to the side. Gorb’s voice slowly became quieter, and its words became mumbled.
“Five…four…” Quirrel muttered, near-silent under his breath. “...three…two…” He pointed down and like clockwork, Gorb’s head plopped down on the floor and it fell straight asleep. He plucked its glasses off of its face and folded them up.
“There we go,” Quirrel whispered, continuing to take the notes on the anatomy of the Oomas. He didn't even mind doing this on the ground, as science was science wherever it happened.
Quirrel worked in silence as Gorb slept next to him, hoping the ambient buzzing noises the archives made would keep it asleep for at least a couple of hours. It’ll be just enough time for him to do these notes and then get to his next project.
Once he felt done enough, he rolled up the last of his notes and placed them on his other side to organize. Moving to stand, he hesitated on cleaning when he saw Gorb twitch.
He waited there for a minute, watching the slug twitch about. He hummed when it stopped.
Quirrel hoped it’d have a good nap, even if it's not the most comfortable of places. He’s caught it sleeping in odder positions, anyways.
He crouched next to Gorb and whispered. "You work too hard, my dear friend. Please allow your brain to rest."
Softly, he placed a gentle hand on Gorb's big head.
"...ow…" Gorb mumbled, curling into itself. Quirrel sighed, as that made its eyes blink open.
"...Let's get you home, shall we?"
Gorb looked at the ground for a few moments, thinking. "...gotta test...control group...in my area…"
Quirrel put Gorb's glasses back on its face. "The tests can conduct later. I care about you and your cause, Gorb, but sometimes you forget science has to operate on clear minds."
Gorb groaned, relenting but stated tersely. "Just…get me more coffee then."
"Let us not fuel this addiction this second, okay?"
Gorb blew a raspberry as Quirrel made sure all of their items were in order. "Here. I'm done for today so we both can be! Let's go eat and go home, okay?"
Gorb sighed.
"Alright…"
----
Days would go on like this. The noises of vials, the smell of coffee.
The clinks of the cup and the scribbles of writing. Leaves crunching, acid dripping so so carefully.
Sometimes, after his own quota was filled, Quirrel would drag Gorb outside after it finally conceded that the test was done and awaiting results.
It was just making sure it was perfect. It had to be…for her. It would whine and mumble this on the way out the door, sounding close to tears.
Quirrel understood. He hated those nights staying up with it: patting its back as it cried in anxiety about its home wilting to nothing and only it being what can save it.
It was just one slug. One slug with a good heart, big brain, and a lot of ambition.
Quirrel admired that but also feared for it as it detoured on the walk out of the Archives to grab its mug. It was always trying to keep on chugging, even on a break.
They walked to a little humble place in the fogged canyon in a hope to clear their minds. A lush cavern hot with acid and the Oomas floating around majestically, showing the Uomas how to move.
Across the pond were some students, one taking notes and the other releasing properly studied and treated Uomas to go grow.
Quirrel knew they were in his field and he'd soon be teaching them but he paid them little mind when Gorb caught up to him and laid on the floor. It huffed, taking a little sip out of the mug it toted along.
"...so my friend…” Quirrel sat down next to it, pulling one of his legs up to his chest and leaving the other out. “I was thinking about...some things recently.”
Quirrel took a deep breath of the fresh yet acidic air. “I was wondering if you would like to join me and the Madam in our next relaxing field study. Get your mind out of the same old leaves and see something new?"
Gorb thought for a second, looking down at the acid. It was like it was mentally recalculating the curing agent formula in its head. It's mind was still so busy but Quirrel was quite dear to it...so...
"...where?" It hummed, trying to be pleasant.
Quirrel smiled, letting his legs go to cross them. “Monomon was asked by the Queen if she’d like to scout about her new gardens west of here. She invited me and said I could bring a plus one. Had to be someone I trusted with such flora and obviously for that I-” Quirrel stopped when Gorb huffed, pleasant feeling gone.
“...What is it?” He asked, making it sit up.
“That place…gives me a bad feeling. I don’t want to be associated, I’m sorry…” Gorb didn’t feel sorry for the gardens one bit.
Quirrel hummed and asked. “Is it alright if I ask why?” He put his hand near Gorb as if offering to hold Gorb’s if it had any.
Gorb looked towards the Oomas and thought for a while. “It was…the last time I went home and prayed at the lake…It was…not quite right.” It paused, dipping its snout into the mug to take a sip of its coffee.
“Ah. When I touched my head to the floor and tried to listen for the call…it was quiet. Like…she was struggling elsewhere.”
Quirrel scooted closer, putting his hands together. Concern filled his heart. “Uh-huh?”
“...the gods are…I don’t want to go galivant with the prosperous when mine I adore struggles so. I just cannot.”
Quirrel nodded and put one hand on Gorb’s back. “Very understandable, friend. I will not force you to go if you do not wish…” Before Quirrel could finish that sentence, Gorb kept speaking.
“...it's all dying…” It put its head back down, the glow of the acid making it look ill.
“...I want…to know why…it’s just … going …wilting away. Seeing such…strange flourishing lands while the ones I know…patch…and…and have fears of rot…I…hff..” Gorb scooted closer and drank more of its drink, sighing.
Quirrel stayed silent. It turned to its side, thinking. “...there’s probably…stuff…i cannot see…I want…to find it, as high as it might take me…and fix it.”
Quirrel took all of this in and stated. “You can…certainly continue trying, I will be here for that. However…friend, you cannot kill yourself in the attempt. What happens will happen: you will be able to observe and form it to suit you and your life. I believe in that.”
Gorb took that in and didn’t reply, just blinking tiredly. It looked up, thinking about that. It yawned, making it sip more.
“...quirrel…?” It asked, softly.
“Yes?”
“...when I die…”
Quirrel’s heart dropped, but before he could speak. “...i want to be buried…in the screaming cliffs above my home…the…the border of mind and nothingness… maybe….maybe there…at the top…i’ll figure it out…”
Quirrel thought about comforting Gorb. Telling it that it wasn’t going to die anytime soon. It was simply delirious from a lack of sleep, he knew that. Logically, he knew that.
However…he knew it was not going to hear that. So he put his hand on its back, patted it, and stated quietly.
“Noted.” For the far far future, but it was noted.
Gorb sighed once more, content with that. It knew it had work to do, but this did help it feel better. Even if its head was hurting.
The ambient noise filled the two of them with a strange sort of serene feeling.
Quirrel’s concern, however, kept his heart full. He felt a little sick as well.
He looked at the students, who were not privy to their conversation. They were packing up. They will surely help change this world as he and Gorb were trying.
They looked so young.
Quirrel didn’t know it was possible to feel his age so.
---
The days were good and bad.
The good shone brightly in the archives.
Quirrel happily held up a thriving baby Uoma to Gorb’s face and it was able to beam at the light electric buzz it gave. He went on and on about how it was premature but a rare yellow, and he was so proud of it!
Gorb clapped its tail for Quirrel when he finished feeding the contained zapping lumaflies without a scratch, quite the daunting task!
Quirrel tossed the stray lumaflies pieces of bread while he and Gorb had a lunch break together. They laughed when they swarmed to absorb the carbs.
Gorb, despite needing to be coaxed by Quirrel, took drinks of water while it babbled on and on about its curing project.
With a howl, Gorb laughed at jokes Quirrel shot its way as it was struggling to put away its notes. The jokes made it move faster so it could joke too, not by much, but a bit.
Gorb finished organizing and testing the curing agent even if it wished to do it twice…maybe three times. Its results could be promising if they all came out well and that made Gorb so so excited!
The bad tended to sink like a shining vice.
Quirrel beat himself up over missing a feed on a set of Oomas, even if they turned out fine.
Quirrel was comforted by Gorb until he stopped swearing when the zaps of the lumaflies severely burned his hand. It nuzzled its head into his side, patting it as if it was patting his arm while they waited for someone to come with first aid.
Gorb hit its already aching head on a vial trying to get it out swiftly for its tests.
Gorb crashed mid-sentence, leaving Quirrel to take its coffee and make it some chamomile tea. It refused to drink it, wanting to be productive.
Quirrel kept getting pulled aside by Monomon to talk about audiences she’d been invited to by the King.
Gorb’s test results were coming in slow. Sleep was harder and harder to come by.
Things kept building up and up…
---
Quirrel was quite acquainted with seeing Gorb asleep at it’s desk. It was a common scene and it was something he knew how to deal with.
He gave it a tired smile and walked up to it, crossing his arms.
“Gorb? Are you with us?" He asked, gauging whether or not to leave it be. It groaned, not looking up.
"Is that a tired yes?" Quirrel asked, tapping his cheek with one finger.
"...are you feeling alright?" He tilted his head. Gorb wiggled a bit, pressing its head into the papers. This made its big thick glasses bend into its face.
"My...head..." It could only mumble. Quirrel shook his head with a gentle "ah." Gorb always had headaches. It was a regular occurrence.
He approached Gorb's workstation and started picking up its scattered notes. Habitually, even.
His hand nudged Gorb’s barely drank cup of coffee, nearly spilling it. He righted it, scooting it aside.
"You should really get some more rest instead of drinking this stuff so often, my friend." He emphasized his point by tapping the rim of the glass.
It didn't respond. Quirrel hummed, wondering if this headache was crossing into migraine territory. That would not be uncommon either.
Quirrel quietly organized the notes so they'd be out of the way and easier to put up later, Gorb continuing to groan. He read them, five tests scribbled out ferociously. A back to the drawing board situation.
He would have to talk to Gorb about that one later.
Once the area was tidy, Quirrel could properly assess his friend's state. It looked...quite sorry.
However, Quirrel knew Gorb was not one to mince words around nor underestimate when it comes to its stubbornness so Quirrel shot straight to directiveness.
"If you're feeling this ill, you do know its archive regulations that I take you home, right? Gorb?" Quirrel saw that its body was trembling but its head barely moved. It was stiff.
Quirrel moved closer, hesitating to put his arms around it. Or even one on its back.
"Gorb? Pal?" Quirrel could see it was attempting to look at him. In its eyes was a hazy look, and it squinted.
"...b...blurry..."
Quirrel grabbed his wrist, rubbing his forearm. "Uh-huh? Are you...having a migraine, my dear chum?" Gorb stuttered a bit of incoherent nonsense.
This made Quirrel even more concerned. Should he take the coffee away, even if it was cold and it barely drank any?
...it barely drank any. Something was greatly wrong.
"Gorb...do you need anything? Remember, we talked about taking breaks." He stated, kneeling to its level.
Gorb kept trying to mumble, words and whines getting caught in its throat. Quirrel could make out "sick" and that it had a stomach ache. The struggle to talk was palpable within it.
"Oh...okay! That's alright. Let's get you some fresh cool water and take you home! Rest, a cool pack, and a good easy meal will fix that right up!" Quirrel put on a fake smile and finally touched Gorb. A firm hand on the back of its head.
This set everything off.
Gorb lurched forward, making a disturbing retch sound that mixed with a yell. Quirrel immediately retracted his hand, his kneel falling into a sit. He was stunned. Gorb turned, retching again.
With a suddenness that shook its core, its headache exploded as if it had stabbed an Ooma and everything it held dear.
All it could do was scream and fall to the floor, twitching.
"GORB!" Quirrel yelled, catching it and holding on. It threw its head back, screams shrill. It couldn’t see over the lights and greens boring down on it from the tubes and sky above.
Quirrel hastily removed its glasses before its movements could break them. He tossed them onto its desk, not caring if they fell off. He had no idea what to do as Gorb convulsed.
What was this? This was no migraine!
“Madam-! Madam-!” He called in no particular direction other than “behind him.” Gorb’s twitching slowed, but it still screamed loudly. This died into gasps, and from its snoot, Quirrel could see green drip down.
“MONOMON!!” Quirrel shrieked as Gorb continued to gasp. Quirrel tried to take a deep breath and figure out what to do.
He felt like if he moved, he’d break Gorb. He needed help if it was so sick. Quirrel’s a fauna specialist but not even he is a full doctor.
He’s barely qualified to be a teacher yet!
“Monomon!!!” He screamed again as Gorb’s gasping turned back to whines and light yells. He had to at least have gotten the attention of another student or archive worker!
After what felt like too long, the Teacher gracefully swooped into the room. She lifted her tentacles.
“What?! What’s distressing you, Quirrel?” She looked around as if they’d be at eye level with her.
She looked down and saw Quirrel looking mortified with the trembling slug.
“What happened?” She floated to the floor, curling a tentacle around Quirrel’s back. “It’s…it’s head was hurting and it just! Suddenly dropped to the floor in anguish! It’s- it’s bleeding! Its-”
Monomon used another tentacle to move Quirrel back and Gorb from his arms to the ground.
It kept twitching and mumbling. “Gently remove its headband and lay it down on it. I think it has had a seizure. It could still be having it.”
Quirrel did as told with shaking hands, Gorb making its aches known with each graze of his fingers on its head.
“I shall send for medical aid and be back with some medicine to hopefully help. Do try to keep it calm if it is conscious, my dear scholar.”
Quirrel was about to tell her he felt this was not just a seizure, also not wanting to be left alone but Monomon was up and out as fast as she arrived.
“Madam-” He didn't say fast enough, now fully alone with his ailing friend. He hissed a curse under his breath, turning his attention back to Gorb.
“Gorb? Gorb, can you hear me?” He pleaded to it, seeing it go back to shaking. It barely moved its head anymore. It was squinting up at the lights above as if they were paining it severely.
“Ah- Here, uh-” Quirrel fumbled, grabbing a piece of silk paper from its desk and shielded its eyes. That made it let out a sob.
“Oh, my poor friend…help’s on the way! Don’t worry, don’t cry!”
It felt no sadness, just intense pain. It tried to look at Quirrel but could barely process that he was there.
The land was so blurry. The text on the paper was blurry. It all looked like a solid color.
Then the pain and the lights would flash. It could feel nausea puncturing its gut. It just wanted it to be over, so it twitched.
Its head felt bigger than its body. It burned. It burned worse than any acidic incident it's ever been in.
Everything in the world grew fuzzier and fuzzier. The scene, the noises, the sensations of its head against the floor, and blood dripping down its face.
“Gorb?! Gorb, my friend-”
The pain, however, held onto it like a vice. It was as if something inside it had burst and leaked corrosion into its mind. It felt like it was destroying it.
“If you can hear me, tap your tail once!”
It wanted to hear but the sound was leaving. It wanted to get up but it could not move. It wanted to say hello to its dear friend and go back to its notes. It was so close it was so so close…
“...you’re going to be okay, Gorb…you’ve done so well.”
It needed to keep working. Keep going. No pain was greater that it could not swallow but this one shoved into its brain like a knife and it had nothing to pull it out. It needed to help its home.
“You’ve ascended past us all in heart and drive. You have to be okay…you have to…”
This, too, will become something it can fix. If it just hoped, and worked, and prayed hard enough it could have the strength to fix anything. Everyone would love it. Just one more sleepless night, just one more cup of coffee. It’ll be fixed.
Despite the ruptures of pain rocking its mind to and fro. It choked its breath, sending gnaws of terror down its heart. It couldn’t see at all anymore.
“...here! Down this hall! I hear you, come quick, it's right here!”
Was it even still screaming? It had no idea. It just thought of its pain now. It wanted it to stop. Let it stop. What did it have to do to make it stop? It wanted to cry. It wanted to know if it was shouting, it hated not knowing.
Unn, please let your call protect…
It felt like something jerked it, moving up. A call? A call of its name…a final call.
Then…
There was nothing but quiet calm. Was it over? Has it figured it out?
It felt a small breeze…
---
Quirrel didn’t know what to do with his hands. So he held a bag tightly in one and gripped his black cloak closed to his chest with the other. He wasn’t familiar with where his feet were carrying him, but he knew it was urgent.
He had lost sight of the bright grass that still filled Greenpath, despite the gaudy patches in a few places…he ignored them. Now he was taking in dull blue-grays and kicked up sand.
These must be them…the screaming howling cliffs of the above. He remembered being told about where he planned to go but never had the strength until that moment.
He wasn't sure if that strength would make it up the cliffside. He needed to try.
Quirrel hated each second of this climb. Vengflies unnerved and bothered him for his bag, making him have to smack them away. The winds were as restless as his mind. His hands already hurt from the scrapes of the rocks.
It was the hardest climb Quirrel had ever put himself through but he knew he'd do it again for his reason.
It laid at the top.
With harsh breaths, trying to give himself an ounce of reprieve, Quirrel reaches the inner cliff's peak. He sits down for a moment, looking up at his reached destination.
"Always had to go the way of the excess, huh dear friend…?" He huffed, voice hoarse with tiredness and an aching grief.
Before him was a grave with a statue making up most of its size. He looked down, not wanting to see the eyes when they were lifeless.
The statue was cold. It did not and would not comfort him.
This made him read the engraving, scooting to stand so he could walk closer.
"Here lies Gorb, the Great Mind."
Quirrel hadn't noticed he had begun to shake and shiver. His cloak blew aimlessly, part of its hood protecting his face despite his head covering being tied tightly.
He sniffed and settled back down on the floor. He crossed his legs around the bag, nudging it open.
"...so...hello, dear...it's...this is quite strange to me…" He started speaking, unsure what he really wanted to say.
The winds were his only witness. Did he have anything to lose?
"I...what to lead with…" He looked up a touch, still not wanting to meet the statue's eyes.
Gorb had earned it, surely. It was a revolutionary in acidic rendering and its work with it and plants changed how the citizens of Greenpath and Fog Canyon loved their daily lives! It changed how crops were manufactured for the better!
Quite the scientific mind...even if it never felt good enough. Like it never did enough. This thought made Quirrel look down at his bag.
"...i...should lead with my... offering? Is that what this is? A gift? Memorial? I've not a clue." Quirrel pinched and rubbed at his mask, sighing.
He opened the bag, ignoring a tense wind gust. Inside were a few things. One was...a candle. He kicked himself, harshly mentally scolding "Now how do you expect that to stay lit, some scholar you are not accounting for the wind!"
He took it out and smelled it. That calmed him, despite the tears wishing to rise. It smelled like grass and clear water, some favorites. Scents of home.
Despite not being able to light it, he placed it in front of him. It fit comfortably at the grave's base.
"Oh...oh this, too." He pulled out a bowl and within it was a couple of flowers. He gathered them in the canyon.
Almost immediately, they blew out, making Quirrel gasp. He shot forward, catching a few by the stems and watching a good chunk of them billow off the cliffside.
Quirrel growled at himself, stuffing the flowers back into the bowl and grabbing a rock from the ground. He smacked it into the bowl and it made everything still. He hated this day more than it hated him.
He whacked the flowers on the floor near the candle and glowered into the bag for the last object. He didn't want to start crying yet but he failed to stop himself. Angry tears dripped down his face, slowly.
As he tried to breathe and fight them alone, he wished he had more to give this dreary place other than sadness and trinkets.
Any of Gorb's actual belongings. Anything to hint at its real likeness...even its glasses…he had lost them in the... stress of its death...
So the statue bears no spectacles. Has no cute headband either. All Gorb was to it was a big brain.
Quirrel sniffed again and grabbed the last thing as the winds beat on him again. It was a tablet he engraved with a note.
The bag being made empty made the winds claim it, Quirrel being unable to grab it before it blew away.
"Dammit all…" He hoarsely mumbled, not wishing to chase it. It was a Crawlid’s house now.
He re-read his note, not wanting to think about how long it took him to write.
"Although you are gone, you are still within my heart. Although your life has withered, your home will blossom and thrive. Although you have left us before your work was completed, I will take your mantle in stride.
Although I cannot say this directly to you, I promise I will ensure safety to your home and people.
Your god, dear Unn, will thank you for your service. I will do all I can so that nothing of yours will ever be in vain.
- Quirrel."
He settled the tablet down on the other side of the grave, creating a messy yet thoughtful offering stand.
All he could do now was...stare at it for a moment and think.
It’s truly gone…
Thinking led to his breathing shortening, leading to tears dripping down from behind his mask.
This is real…
This led to sobbing that for reasons none of the gods would know, Quirrel tried to cover with his hands and a bow. He pulled into himself, curling up.
He hitched, feeling like he was crying like a grub with nobody to hush him and plop him in the pouch. He pressed his hands into the bottom of his mask's eye holes, and he pleaded.
“Why… What could I have done?" He asked the ground, hiccuping. He shook, barely able to control his voice.
"Could I have cared more firmly? Forced you to take your health seriously in any way? Even if it made you feel selfish for any damn reason!” Quirrel’s anger was brief, and it fell into guilt.
“...I- Could I…I shouldn't've froze... i just…i just sat there… I should've done more for you…" He choked, gripping his headcloth. He did so much.
"...did...I hope it was painless…it...didn't s-sound so but...you were gone so fast…" He hiccuped again. He tried to mentally bury that day, but he couldn't.
Each time he tried, he'd remember the raw anguish he felt when everyone was a step too late. He wished he could forget the screaming that came from him when he was told this.
Quirrel’s hands shook as he tried to bundle himself tighter in his cloak, black shielding him and keeping the grief contained to his wind spiral.
He wasn’t sure how long he spent sobbing there. His hands slipped and fell from their death grip on the cloth, and he let them fall limply on the ground. His shoulders were shaking harder than before.
“...i…will forever be sorry…” He whispered to his dear friend. “...i'm so sorry…i tried being there…”
He slowly removed his head from the ground, wiping the dirt from the top of his mask. He then stuck his hands under his mask to wipe his eyes, hiccuping a few more sobs.
With still shaking hands, he reached and touched the engraving. He traced the text, breaths hitching. He curled his hand up as his tired eyes couldn’t help gazing up.
The statue looked down at him, and he knew without the glasses it would not be able to see him. How sad.
He wrapped his arms around his stomach, crossing them. He had to look back down. What to do now…did he have more to say?
He felt sick from his bawling. That made him think.
“...I…hope…wherever you…you are…you are no longer so sick so often, my dear friend…” His voice was quiet, the winds drowning it out.
“...you…deserved a healthier life…i hope you’d believe that…or…agree with it.” Quirrel sniffed, wiping at his face a bit more as a few more tears dripped down.
He went quiet, unsure if it was prayer or dissociation.
The numbness would set in, especially as he walked back. The madam was awaiting him for more of those…talks.
He just needed this moment, so he hoped the numbness would wait.
The winds ate the silence, drew it forth, and made its own noise. Despite him wanting to fight it, he could not force it away. That numbness crept into his heart and sat there with him.
So, with a shaky stiffness, Quirrel stood up. He groaned, putting his head in his hands despite this.
He took a deep breath, smoothed his hood down, and wrapped himself warmly in the cloak again.
He looked at the statue and had to say goodbye.
A proper goodbye, not a “see you later, dear friend!” not a “sleep this time, even when I leave!” just…a goodbye.
A goodbye the statue couldn’t reply to.
He closed his eyes, head hurting.
“...goodbye, Gorb….you…I’ll…” Quirrel sighed with a small cough, not knowing if he should say “I’ll miss you.” even though that would be very true.
“...you were…the greatest…shiniest…brightest friend I could’ve…asked for…and…i’ll…see you.”
That…was incredibly stilted and he felt dumb saying it. He shook his head, harshly sighing. He surely had something better to say! He was a scientist! Teacher in training, he had to have something better to say! More concise!
Quirrel stared at the grave, and he knew it was staring back.
He had… nothing.
So he turned his back to it and walked to the side of the cliff to start back down. However, before he could even begin that heinous task, he couldn’t help but look back at what he’s done.
The flowers still yearned to be thrown into the winds. The candle’s scent was overpowered by the wind. The note was about to be knocked over by the power of the wind.
The winds ruled this empty land, with his friend’s grave serving as its new beating peak.
He truly wondered why it wished to be buried here…he knew it was the barrier of mind in this kingdom but…it felt…so weird just standing here.
It was cold and he was thinking.
He remembered Gorb saying that it wished to figure out how to fix the problems of its world up here. He wondered if that was a real statement or just a statement of comfort.
He sniffed and blinked a few stray tears away. He sat, and moved to start climbing down.
Before he got far, he looked one more time at the statue.
With his vision full of mist, he said, “...hope you figured it out…”
He moved down one rock at a time. He wanted away from this horrid place.
---
It sat curled up on the grave's top, looking upwards. It’s brain was made of a blurred fog and when it spoke to itself it came out strange, but it had all the time in the world-
-to think-
-and go higher.
---
Twice I've seen this world…
When he first arrived in Hallownest, he had looked towards the top of the cliffs after observing the little lesser bugs.
Everything was beautiful yet morose and he was less than one sleep in.
And though my service may have stripped the first experience from me…
In the distance, he could see this strange monument.
He questioned who erected it.
He wondered who visited it.
I'm thankful I could witness its beauty again…
When he got higher up, he could see it a bit better. A statue of a slug? A grave? In this remote and neigh lifeless place?
He hummed, wondering why he felt compelled to tip his hat to it.
So he did.
To live an age, yet remember so little…
He wanted to get closer to this grave, but the girl in red was correct.
Hallownest was calling him. He needed to press on.
Staying in this windy waste would get him nowhere.
Perhaps I should be thankful…
He could visit it later, maybe on his way out!
He smiled, liking that plan. He wanted to get to warmth anyways.
Climbing down the cliffs was a daunting task anyways, but one he was genuinely excited to take on.
All tragedy erased…
He didn't know that this was familiar to him. It slipped right through his mind as he made his way down with a smile.
He was just excited to be in.
He didn’t know he was excited to be home.
I see only wonders…
---
His thumb kept rubbing over the cracked glass in the near rotten old frames. Quirrel hoped his stoic friend couldn’t see him shake as he struggled to tell that story.
“It’s…i’ve not all of these memories. It’s frightening, but…the fragments I have tell a tale I feel like…the distant me who lived them wouldn’t want me to have back…but…fuzzily, I do…” Quirrel leaned forward, ignoring a buzzing pain in his side.
He splashed some water over the glasses to clean them off. He couldn’t help but stroke them like an old pet.
Nostalgic, painfully so.
All the thoughts that poured into his head scared him. Was who he was before as dead and gone as his loved ones or was he just buried underneath who he is now?
Would he want that man back or just the people he knew?
Quirrel played with the hinges of the glasses, hoping they wouldn’t snap as he opened and closed them. The hazy flashes of memories made him intrigued and distressed, but he kept a calm face.
He looked to the peaceful cyan water flowing gently in front of him and that told him that all of these memories weren’t all the worst ones.
Not all of it was terrible, not one bit.
He remembered helping Gorb fix the middle of these glasses when they finally tried to give up and snap on it due to its frequent sleepy crashes. It was so happy.
He remembered the feeling of hooking them with one finger and teasingly taking them off its face. That was when he learned it wasn't against threatening to bite him when annoyed.
He remembered how it would tilt its head to center them. The little things like that.
“...you know, my small friend. I do wonder… exactly how different this all has made me.”
The little silent bug looked at the friends of the other plane and saw the slug nuzzling harder into Quirrel’s side.
“Same! Same same same!” It echoed. “Not much! Bolder! Stronger! Bow! Friend friend friend!” It chimed, hitting his side but he couldn’t feel it. It kept vying for his attention.
“...I suppose I won’t know, isn’t that right?” Quirrel said, giving a small chuckle as if it was a joke. The slug whined harder.
It turned and looked at all of those like it and the child. It looked quickly between them and Quirrel, trying to think.
It whined, making loud noises as if it was pained and all the others could do was stare. They were still processing the story.
The eldest of them, as far as they could tell, floated closer while Quirrel fell into a silence.
“Hu…” An eyeless woman cautioned him, but he didn't listen. He placed himself next to the slug and put a hand on its back.
“Gorb…” The slug looked down at him, whining still coming off of it.
“...I am so sorry we’ve misunderstood you for so long…” The elder floated back when this sentence made Gorb begin to cry, and it fell into his arms to be held.
The elder felt a claw on his back and saw fair Galien making sure Gorb wasn’t suffocating him, even if that wasn't a problem.
“It shall be alright, Gorb! We will get past this.” Galien tried to help comfort, but Gorb didn't respond.
After a while of awkward hugging and yelling nonsense, Quirrel made another movement.
This made Gorb harshly push out of the hug and watch him. Quirrel just adjusted how he sat, and kept looking at the glasses.
Occasionally, he’d look over at the littlest child. Gorb, still, just had to look.
Quirrel looked up at the rocky ceiling of the lake and thought aloud. “What’s the goal now, small friend? I’m not quite sure where this will take me…”
He kept fidgeting with the glasses. Maybe he’d take them with him when he leaves this kingdom again. If he even did.
Maybe he’d want to see his friend’s plan through, just to see if they could do it.
He hoped it could.
Quirrel wiped the glasses off a bit more and said. “I think my old friend would want us to try and keep going, you know? It always…” Quirrel curled up a bit, putting his hand on his head like it was starting to ache.
“...it would always…keep trying. It…worked so very hard to try and make this world better.” The others took this in and Gorb started trembling.
“...i suppose it would be happy if we did that as well, wouldn’t you say?” Gorb’s wiggling turned happy in an instant, even though Quirrel’s question was answered with silence.
“I’d like that,” Quirrel said with a weak smile, looking back at the lake while Gorb kept calling out to him and trying to get attention. It just wanted him to be okay and appreciated.
“I’d like that very much...”
The soft sound of the waves and the silence of his little friend soothed Quirrel, and he hoped his actions soothed his old pal at the world’s peak.
Even if he never knew how close it was.
---
“Drink the tea, my friend. It’s good for you.”
“I have to finish my work, Quirrel! I…I have to do my notes..”
“And I need to go record what plants could change the color of a lumaflies glow, and yet!”
“Noooo go! Go do that!”
“Thing is. That is not an ailing friend and I think taking care of you has a significantly less chance of burning my shell off.”
“...i can take care of myself!”
“...and I can do that as well, yet we are there for each other. Let me be here.”
“...fiinneee…”
“Good! Drink your tea.”
“You are lucky this tastes good…”
“Wowww…I am beyond honored. Haha!”
“Aheheh…thank you, though.”
“It’s no problem, my dear. May I sit next to you?”
“You may. No promises I won’t fall asleep on you.”
“It would not be the first time.”
“True…”
“Allow our chatter to end, you need to rest.”
“Oh pogwash- I wanna talk!”
“I know you do, but you need to sleep. You are ill.”
“Ill and bored! Let me talk myself to sleep!”
“That’ll only keep you up.”
“No, it won’t. Give me the evidence!”
“You are lying against me and still wide awake.”
“I think you need more than one source on that.”
“Shall I recount every other day to you then? This is nowhere near your first offense in staying up too late and needing this.”
“If you want me to stop talking…why are you still responding?”
“...”
“...hehehe…”
“Gorb, you are impossible sometimes, you know this?”
“Improbable may be a better word.”
“No. No, Impossible works just fine.”
“Ahaha!”
“I care for you, friend. Cease messing with me!”
“I care for you too. Make me.”
“Sigh. Quite impossible indeed.”
---