Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a man with a pretty damn big ego.
His name was Scar.
To clarify, actually, he had no intention for his ego to be so big, and he’d like to say it didn’t affect him whatsoever. It did. Quite a bit. In very simple terms, he was- for the record, unofficially -the most attractive person in town. Everyone loved him. Some wanted to be him, some wanted to be with him, and those who didn’t could still admit he was, for lack of a better term, really fucking hot. His mailbox was always filled with love letters, flowers, boxes of expensive chocolates. At first, he kept all of them, because he felt bad just throwing away all these things people spent time and money on, but he eventually started throwing out the letters, because Scar hates reading, and he wasn’t about to try reading multi-page letters about how much a complete stranger was madly in love with him. Although, he kept the flowers. He felt guilty just letting them wilt in cups of water, slowly dying on his kitchen counter, so he started a garden, planting any and all flowers he was sent. He also kept the chocolates, because who would throw those out?
After an entire cart of flowers arrived outside his gate, he decided he needed to do something about this. His garden only fits so many flowers, and he’s starting to feel bad for the mailman that has to make the trek up the hill every day carrying all those bundles of roses. He sits down in his living room, slumping against the couch cushions. He rattles his brain for any idea as to how to stop all these gifts coming up to his house. Get an ugly haircut? Stop working out? No, he likes looking good, he just doesn’t like the attention. A blatant lie he tells himself.
He’s so lost in thought, he almost forgets to feed his cat, Jellie. The sound of her collar jingling as she runs into the room is what catches his attention. Scar scoops her up in his arms, sprawling over the couch and holding her above him.
“Oh Jellie, your life is just so easy. You wanna trade places? You’re a cute little kitty, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.” Scar sighs. Jellie swats at his face.
Then he thinks. Trade places with his cat?
That might actually work.
He sits upright, making his way to the kitchen, sifting through drawers and cabinets to find what he’s looking for. Now, when he says ‘trade places with his cat’, he doesn’t actually mean he’s going to just get his cat to replace him. He just thinks that maybe Jellie could help him solve his not-so-little problem.
“Jellie! C'mere, baby!” He crouches down and stretches his hands out, cooing at his cat to come closer. She wanders over to him, head rubbing against his hands, and Scar quickly clips a key to her collar, right next to her bell. It’s a spare key to his house, and even though it’s a horrible idea to entrust your house to your cat, Scar decidedly ignores that. He stands up, hands on his hips, as if he’s just done the most difficult task in the world.
“Listen, Jellie. You’re gonna give that key to whoever really deserves it, ok? Because if you like them, then I’d definitely like them.” He says, staring at Jellie as if she can actually understand him. Maybe she can, he wouldn’t know. She meows. Scar feeds her, gives her some cuddles and sends her out the door.
When the mailman comes around, this time with a stack of love letters in hand, Scar tells him his plan, and asks him to tell as many people as he knows.
This will go great. (It won’t.)
—
Somewhere across town, where bricks meet dirt and the forest edge meets lampposts, is a man who nobody knows, because he doesn’t go outside.
His name is Grian.
This isn’t unusual for him, though, not at all. He doesn’t enjoy going outside, because he gets odd looks and he’s no good at talking to people, so he stays inside instead. His house is small, and it’s only got three rooms, but it’s enough for him to live comfortably. Or as comfortable as you can get when you haven’t got room to put anything. To be fair, most of the space is filled with painting supplies, and those paintings pay his rent, so he doesn’t care.
He’s got a friend in another town, Mumbo, who sells his paintings in his redstone shop. Which isn’t really the best idea, because redstone dust is messy, and when it gets on something, it doesn’t come off. Mumbo’s complained about how Grian needs to open his own shop for months, but he’s never going to. He doesn’t think he’d survive talking to people all day, every day.
Mumbo says it’s ‘for Grians health’ and that he ‘should make more friends’, but he shrugs it off every time Mumbo mentions it. He has everything he needs indoors, after all. Except food. Which, upon waking up and making the trek to the fridge 4 feet away from his bed, he finds he has none. And because brilliance can’t work on an empty stomach, he supposes he has to go out and get groceries. For the first time in three weeks.
So, although extremely hesitant, he washes up, puts on some fresh clothes, and leaves for the market square. It’s quite the walk, because he doesn’t actually live in the town, but rather in the forest behind it. He doesn’t mind, though. He has no reason to go to town.
The farther he walks, the more people he sees, and, as an addition, the more odd looks he gets. He’s not surprised, because he hasn’t slept in god knows how long, he doesn’t even remember the last time he got a haircut, and he lost his comb last week. Maybe he should buy some scissors while he’s out. He lost those too.
He arrives at the square, hustle and bustle bigger than ever, and to his surprise, nobody really pays attention to him. He pulls his crumpled shopping list from his back pocket, attempting to smooth it out in his hands, and reads the first item on the list. Bread. Convenient, because one of the first shops that he can see is ‘Mezalea Bakery’.
This will go great. (It won’t.)