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Figures with massive wings too big to be birds (or phantoms) hadn’t been uncommon in the empires since the first successful End trip Pix had led in the early days of the server.
Figures with great, featherless ruby wings were perhaps less common, particularly in Pixandrian skies, but Pix wasn’t concerned as fWhip descended towards where he stood on the riverbank near the bridge. It was hardly the first time and the merchants and apothecaries hurrying across the bridge and into side streets barely gave him a second glance as he came down, flaring out his wings to slow his fall.
Not delicately, fWhip alighted near where Pix was stood out of the way of the traffic, along a strip of land between the river and the unused side of a house. Pix crossed his arms and squinted.
“fWhip. There are salmon in my river.”
“Well hello to you too, I guess,” fWhip pouted, pulling hair out of his face, tucking his wings away and settling with his knees up on a boulder above the edge of the river. “I was really hoping for something sweet for once. ‘Hey fWhip, lovely to see you.’ ‘How you doing fWhip?’ ‘You’re positively glowing today, fWhip.’ ‘What’s your skincare routine, fWhip?’” He shifted, turning so his face was mostly out of the sun. “I might have even told you about my chapstick if you said please.”
“I’ll say hi when you stop flooding my river with animals that’ll convince half the server to attempt murder.” Pix leaned against the wall opposite fWhip’s rock, keeping to the shade by habit.
“Why are you accusing me of doing it? It was probably that hot and sexy and awesome Phantom Assassin of yours. I hear he sneaks around a lot, probably has plenty of opportunities to sneak salmon in under the bridge.”
Pix looked pointedly at fWhip’s belt, where a phantom mask hung out of a pocket like it had been tucked away hastily. fWhip had the good grace to look at least slightly guilty as he pushed it back in.
Pix’s amusement was poorly hidden and after a moment of pursed lips and shining eyes he gave in and smiled mirthfully. fWhip grinned back, relieved.
“As entertaining as it is to have you around, you really can’t keep doing that. I think Jimmy thinks my loyalties are in question.” Pix spoke.
“Your loyalties are in question.”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know that. I’m slightly better at keeping my intentions hidden than you.”
fWhip shrugged in answer. He leaned back on his elbows, his forearms resting against the warm rock, scrunching up his eyes at the afternoon sun. The bandages around his wrists and fingers were mostly clean, Pix noticed gladly, and though it was hard to tell in the sun there was certainly more colour in his cheeks than there had been in a while. Perhaps a little too much colour, though.
Stepping around fWhip’s perch on the boulder, Pix ducked into a barrel piled with others under the bridge. He pulled out a palm fibre hat, with a brim the size of two palm widths and dyed the same bright red as fWhip’s candle on the Vigil. It was obnoxiously large but beautifully made, obviously woven by someone practiced. fWhip wondered if Pix had bought it at the market or learnt the weaving himself, sat casually on the divan in his rooms, practicing familiar motions.
Pix held it out to him, still holding the barrel open with his other hand.
“You never put sunscreen on when you visit me,” he offered by way of explanation when fWhip didn’t take the proffered hat immediately.
“I am never visiting you again if I have to wear that.”
“It’s this or I toss you in the river and make you float all the way to Jimmy’s.”
fWhip grumbled, but took it and shoved it on his head. He pulled it down as far as he could, right over his eyes, and Pix took the opportunity to push him backwards into the river anyway. Expecting the move, fWhip grabbed his wrist surprisingly accurately for someone with his vision obscured and pulled Pix back with him. They fell hard into the slow-moving water, scattering a shoal of cod and splashing a very irritable turtle, limbs tangled and tight with the shock.
Just upstream, a large group of Pixandrian children of all ages were swimming, splashing each other and yelling words fWhip didn’t understand. Pix called out to them, speaking quickly and pointing at fWhip when he got their attention. The youngest children’s faces lit up as Pix spoke, and they glanced back to the oldest, who couldn’t be older than sixteen summers, questioning. She made eye contact with fWhip, staring with curious brown eyes, and then nodded enthusiastically to both her group and Pix.
“What did you tell them?” fWhip asked nervously as they approached.
“Just that you were Grimmish and deserved a proper Pixandrian summer,” Pix smiled sweetly. fWhip squealed as Pix made a dive for him, dodging the first attempt at dunking him but moving straight into the splashing of two seven year olds. With not even a second to catch his bearings, they pulled him over to a steeper edge of the bank, gesturing wildly at a roughly hewn set of steps that was obviously being used as a jumping off point into a deeper section of the river and pushed him towards the base. fWhip turned to smile at Pix, excited to have a few hours to mess around with no consequences. Pix grinned back, his own hair already glistening with water.
When the sun was just past its highest point for the day, a boy who fWhip hadn’t previously seen called out from the opposite bank, stood beside several coloured blankets and a spread of food laid out in the shade of a bush. Some of the children yelled back at him, but most of them started wading quickly across the river towards him.
The eldest turned to Pix, talking quickly and making apologetic movements with her hands. He took her hand to shake it, gentle and kingly, and fWhip recognised the Pixandrian word for thanks when he spoke. She smiled, and stepped away with another child tugging at her arm.
Alone again, Pix and fWhip waded slowly over to the bank, declining towels in favour of stripping their shirts off and sitting on the warm rocks above the river. They lay quietly, watching the birds and the bustling movement of the city, content to stay until long after they were dry. The wind was chilled with sea air and cool against their nearly-burnt skin still wet with river water. It was a welcome feeling in the desert. Pix sighed happily.
“Can we go prank Jimmy later?” fWhip asked later around a mouthful of bread. Their time by the river was cut short by the sounds of his stomach, reminding them they’d missed lunch, so they’d moved into the shade to eat and consider what to do with their free afternoon.
“No! The salmon are bad enough, I can’t be around while you set up tnt traps!”
“Oh come on, I’m so bored. You remember what happened last time I was bored?”
He held up his wrist for emphasis, faltering at Pix’s strained expression.
“Sorry.” Apologetically, he lowered his arm, pulling his quickly drying sleeve further over the bandages on his forearm. “Too soon?”
“Little bit.” Pix grimaced. “What about Scott? He’s not really enough of an ally to either of us for a little messing around to go amiss, I’d say.”
fWhip recognised the offered olive branch for what it was and grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Not half an hour later, after a quick supply run to the creeper farm and a change of clothes, fWhip and Pix were gliding into Rivendell, following the course of the river valley to keep low and out of sight. fWhip’s new sun hat was tucked into his inventory to keep it from flying off, and Pix had exchanged his light robes for a warmer jacket more suited for the mountain air.
They landed just below Rivendell’s enchanting tower, out of sight and a short climb up to the main path. Pix pulled the straps of his backpack tight and ran his hand over the cliff face, looking for an appropriate handhold, while fWhip just stood on his ledge, scrunching his eyes up in concentration. Sparks gathered at his fingertips and Pix glanced back to see the edges of fWhip’s form flickering.
“It’s good to see you’re embracing your magic. You look so much brighter.”
“Can’t let Gem have all the fun, can I?” fWhip grinned, finally vanishing entirely in a puff of red-grey smoke and appearing, perched, on the supporting post at the end of Scott’s covered cyan bridge above them. Gunpowder was practically pouring out of his pockets and Pix had no doubt that holding a match anywhere within a mile of him would end badly for all parties involved.
“Of course. Vigil forbid we let anyone sensible have the magic without also giving it to the human embodiment of chaos.”
“I did grab Gem’s hat on the way to yours,” fWhip pulled it from his inventory, brandishing it to reinforce his point, “so Scott will have no way of knowing it’s me if he does turn up.”
“Apart from the bright red scarf, the mechanical wings, the lack of a giant staff, the smell of gunpowder, the smoke, and the explosions.” Pix listed as he pulled himself up and over the final ledge, waving away fWhip’s offered hand.
“Well yes, apart from all of those things he won’t be able to tell the difference between me and Gem. But he won’t be turning up so we’ll be fine.”
“I hope not. I have a reputation to maintain.” Pix put on his most innocent smile as he stood up, pulling a face when fWhip poked his side.
“No one’s believed you’re the server’s golden boy for a very long time.”
Pix pretended to jump at him and fWhip ran off up the hill, giggling, Pix still hot on his heels.
Once they finally reached a suitable spot, they worked in relative silence, conversation slow and meandering. A couple of times they were forced to dive for cover at the sight of a shadow with wings, but it was always a false alarm and a starling or a crow. It was a comfortable day, as the sun was still high enough to warm them and the breeze had mostly died away. It felt like they were existing outside of time or living in a dream, out of reach of demons and human desperation, unwavering in their comfort with each other. fWhip wanted to bottle the feeling and save it for his lowest days; memory could never replicate every element of the stillness that made him feel so at ease.
Despite the dreamlike afternoon, the work went quickly enough under four experienced hands, Pix arranging blocks of TNT and fWhip designing an ignition system that was more intricate than it had any need to be, promising it would make the final explosion even more dramatic.
“Do you want to set it off or shall I?” Pix called, near the end of his last stack.
“You can do it. I’ve set the line to a few ticks delay so we can get up to a good vantage point across the river after you flick the lever.”
“Excellent,” Pix said as he placed the last of his TNT. He stepped back and out of the way, retreating to the lever’s position.
fWhip pushed the last of his redstone into his satchel, scanning the line a third time to check for breaks, pausing to trace the orientation of an observer.
“What are you doing?”
Rather ungracefully, fWhip screamed at the sound of Scott’s voice and toppled backwards off of the railing and into the river below. He gasped again at the cold of the snowmelt as he was submerged in the water, a strong contrast to the warmth of the direct sunlight on the plateau.
He came up soon enough, spluttering and soaked, looking awfully like a wet cat. Atop his head, Gem’s hat flopped over into his eyes.
Pix, ever the more composed one, just squeaked and started fumbling with his rockets before letting a couple off in an attempt to get away. Scott watched him struggle, amused, but after the first few slipped out of Pix’s hands, he got one to stick, and swooped back around when he had built up enough speed to pull fWhip out of the freezing water.
Laughing, they flew off north together, leaving behind a trail of redstone, several stacks of TNT and one very confused Lord of Rivendell.