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Hyacinthus orientalis - Hyacinth
- “In Greek mythology, hyacinth is the flower of Apollo, the sun deity. It is a sign of peace, devotion, beauty, strength, and pride. It may also represent new beginnings, rebirth, change, and apologies.”
Flowers bloomed at the base of the tower.
Tommy stared at them for a bit, at the purple spike-like petals. They swayed with the wind, and Tommy took a long breath of ocean air.
The salt burned.
"What even is this," a voice asked behind him, and he turned to see Technoblade surveying the area. The man's brows were drawn, disgruntled. "I know you're bad at building and all, but this is excessive really."
His cape flaps in the sea wind, his hair only kept in place by a simple braid. Tommy absently starts to run a hand through his own but is stopped mere inches in by tangles.
"Yeah, Dream really thought this place looked like shit. Blew it to Hell."
Techno hums, scratching the side of his neck. "I mean, can that guy talk? At least you had a house."
Tommy laughs, but it's dry even to his ears. Techno shoots him a look but doesn't interrupt.
"Yeah, he spent most of the time here anyway. Didn't need one, aye?" He makes his way towards Techno, forcing the shake out of his legs. "The tower was made after though," he pauses talking briefly, before huffing, "’cause I needed something to fill the gap. No good towers 'round here."
Techno hums again, heading towards the tower. They pass by each other, and Tommy absently draws his limbs closer to not bump into Techno. He approaches the pit where Logstedshire used to be, glancing across the rubble.
He hadn't had time to really look when he was last here, but now he's hoping to find anything truly salvageable among the wreckage. He slides down the wall of the pit, stones kicking up in his wake.
He walks carefully among the stones towards the back, and he ignores the red stains in the corners of his eyes.
But there's nothing. No scraps of materials or items, just dirt and debris and the smell of rot. He climbs out of the hole to see Techno returning from the tower.
(He should stand out, warm reds and pinks against the cool greens and blues, but all Tommy sees are the pops of purple cradling the tower.)
The man raises an eyebrow when he sees Tommy tumble out of the pit with new dirt stains on his clothes.
"Find anythin'?" Tommy grumbles something resembling a no and Techno snorts. "Lame. Laaame. Weak items."
Tommy flips him off.
They check what's left of Tnret too, for the sake of it, but there's nothing. Tommy doesn't know what he was hoping for, but he finds himself dejected nonetheless.
"Well, that was a waste of time." Technoblade chimes as they begin their walk back. Tommy inhales, a rant already prepared to let loose.
"No, it was not. I got to… relive so many cherished memories! You wouldn't know anything about that, aye, since you're all… Mi-mi-mi, blood, orphans, anarchy! Blade! Fuck you!"
Techno raises his hands placatingly. "Alright, alright, geez!" His hands drop. He surveys the nature they pass by, before sighing and shooting Tommy a look. "We should get that taken care of, y’know."
Tommy follows Techno’s eyes to his own hair. It's knotted, and more of a light brown than a blond color. It brushes his shoulders, longer than he's ever let it get before.
Now that he's observing it as more than a passing thought, he can practically feel the weight of it. He grimaces. "Uh, yes, definitely. Philza Minecraft is, well, great and all, but longer hair is not my style."
"It's disgusting." Techno comments, and Tommy lets out an indignant shriek.
" Fuck you, you vile pig bitch—!"
When they return, Techno practically grabs Tommy by his scruff and pushes him towards the tub.
"I'm not cutting your hair on my nice floors," he grumbles, twisting his braid up into a bun, "and in general you need a bath."
Tommy seethes. glare, but settles in the tub. He doesn't bother changing — he's wearing the same clothes he came to Technoblade's house in just a few days ago, and they might have more diseases than he does.
They have to empty the tub multiple times before either of them feel safe about letting him sit in the still water. He shivers like a wet cat whenever Techno changes it out, teeth clattering and thick wet hair flopping against his eyes. Once the water is relatively clear whilst Tommy sits in it, Technoblade gets to work.
Tommy expects him to start by cutting off chunks of hair close to his scalp, but instead, he feels Techno working a brush through the mess. He spends minutes at a time on any given knot before caving and cutting away at it.
And to Technoblade's credit, the man brings Tommy a mirror (what feels like hours later) and Tommy finds that he has a lot more hair left than expected. It looks somewhat like a mullet, but less severe and not fucking awful looking.
"Huh," is all he says for a moment, twisting his head this way and that, "s’longer than I thought it'd be. Thought you were chopping it all off?"
Technoblade pauses, lips pressing together. "Well, I thought I'd let you pick the length since you probably mostly hated it because of the dirt. But this was the longest I could keep it." The man crouches, and both their faces appear in the small mirror. It's the calmest Techno had looked all day. "'Course if you want to chop it off, I can—"
"No!" Tommy slaps Techno's hand away, which had drifted towards his head. "No, I like it like this. It's fine."
Techno hums, fingers drumming against the rim of the tub. “So this length then?” When Tommy nods in confirmation, the man nods. He grabs the mirror and playfully shoves Tommy’s head, laughing when he instantly lets fly a flurry of swears. “Alright, finish up.”
With that, he stands and leaves. Sitting in a bathtub fully clothed, hair wet but lighter than it’s been in months, the sudden silence is hollow.
He sits until the water is cold. When he stands, he doesn’t bother to suppress the shivering, peeling off his wet clothes and quickly replacing them with the drier, much warmer, set of clothing that Techno left. They bunch around his wrists and pool at his ankles. He rolls the shirt to his elbows but doesn't bother figuring out his legs.
Tommy actually bothers to dry his hair, scrubbing it to the point of tearing up, causing it to lose some length as his curls dry. It falls into his eyes, not brushing back no matter how hard he tries. And after many, many tries, he leaves it to do whatever.
He ambles into Techno’s living room, finding the man sitting in front of his fireplace. He’s leaning against Steve with his legs sticking out in a V , because he’s a freak who prefers a polar bear over making actual furniture. Tommy voices such thoughts out loud, and Technoblade huffs.
“He’s soft, and very much doesn’t mind. I’d know if he didn’t.” He pats the wooden floor between himself and the fireplace. Tommy squints. “Sit. I can already tell the hair in your eyes is going to bother you.”
The squint doesn’t lessen, but he lowers himself into a criss-cross between Techno’s legs. After a moment, with nothing but the crackling of the fireplace to fill the silence, hands begin to mess with his hair. At first, it seems aimless, adjusting this-way-and-that before letting go to do something entirely different — but Techno pauses in one particular hold, then Tommy feels the sensation of a braid being made.
“You’re not allowed to build any towers on my property, by the way.” Techno breaks the silence. His voice is low but seems loud all the same. Like it’s echoing through his skull, finding a place in his brain and sitting there. “Towers, pillars, none of that. If you lower my property value, we’re havin’ words.”
Technoblade is a blunt man at heart. He’ll say what he means, and if he doesn’t then you’ll be able to tell from the thick coat of sarcasm. Tommy would assume that he meant what he said entirely literally, that his property value was worth more than Tommy, if it weren’t for the layer of hesitancy over his words. Tommy huffs.
“How incredibly insulting Technoblade. My towers are poggers, you simply wouldn’t get it with your stupid cottage-core shit.” Not even bluntness can outweigh a general lack of tact. Tommy pretends it doesn’t make him feel warmer than the clothes, warmer than the fireplace.
“It’s my retirement home! I wanted it to look nice!”
Technoblade slides a fabric headband over Tommy’s head, ignoring his spluttering as it presses against the teen’s face for a moment. Though he doesn’t complain once it’s in place, all the bangs out of his eyes. “Are you fuckin’ done yet? Jesus.”
“Almost.” He messes with the headband for a moment, and Tommy can feel something slide underneath it on one side. “Alright. You’re free.”
Tommy springs up from the floor, wobbling a moment and ignoring the popping of his bones. After a moment, he gains his balance and returns to the bathroom.
“Aye?” It’s simple, all things considered. A braid on each side of his head, tight enough to stay in place but loose enough not to pull. But a white fabric headband kept his bangs out of his eyes, and one of the flowers from the base of the tower sat against his right temple. He didn’t know how to feel about it. “What’s with the flower?”
Techno comes up to the doorway, staring at Tommy’s reflection. “Mm. Yeah. They’re hyacinths. Pretty cool flowers, so I grabbed some from your place.”
Tommy turns back to his reflection. His dull blue eyes, his hair — still a bit stained, no matter how hard they washed — and his pale skin.
Tommy’s not sure what it means, nor does he care an awful lot. It’s just nice to have some color back.