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Purple wasn't a bad kid. King Orange didn't think Purple was anywhere close to a bad kid.
Chaotic, sure. Enthusiastic, definitely. A little too quick to trust; a little too quick to rush into things without a plan.
That wasn't bad. Purple, despite the way that they could fight in a way that showed practice, that showed a careful adherence to illegal stick-fight tournaments and the crowns they carried from winning them, they weren't bad. Despite the fact that they were betraying their friends (because King, despite everything, could still read between the lines, between the bits of story Purple left out. He knew that group was their friends, in the way that they offhandedly asked if they would be hurt, with a bit of worry they just couldn't mask), they weren't bad. Despite the clear attachment to Minecraft that King knew they had the second that Purple pulled out that Elytra, they weren't a bad kid.
Bad kids didn't have friends. They didn't get excited to show off their skills, or carry out his commands to the letter. Purple did their best, their better than best, in every task they were given.
"My lord? I have what you requested."
King nodded, accepting the needed redstone he'd sent them out to fetch. Case in point— Purple had gotten extra. Had brought it in neat stacks tucked inside a shulker box. More than he had expected, as always. It was impossible to be unimpressed by him. King believed he was rather good at doing the impossible, though. Still, credit where it was due.
An awkward pat on the shoulder and a nod wasn't a reward, but it was accepted like one either way.
Purple, as always, preened just a little under the touch, the semblance of praise. King didn't think it was right for the kid to be so happy for over a sub-par pat. Or rather, he wouldn't have, if he had cared.
"Is there anything else? I'm sure I could train the piglins, but if there's anything you need—"
"I showed you how to build the first few parkour maps, right?"
"Right!" King started to walk, and after a second Purple followed. They always followed. Whenever they could, Purple did their best to stay at least three steps or less behind him. Every once in a while, King wondered why.
"I've already set up the command blocks," he started, because King was the only one who really could, even if Purple mentioned that they were 'good with code' before spiraling into the time they hacked the game League of Legends, whatever that was, conveniently leaving out whether they had won or not even with the cheats, ”But the piston portion needs work for some of them. The timing is off."
Purple nodded, the Elytra buzzing as they waited for King to supply them with pistons. An absent habit, and one that showed their restlessness. King believed it to be the reason that Purple didn't keep it on all the time. One of the reasons, at least. They were easy to read from their wings.
"Which ones?"
"Most of them. I'm sure you can figure it out."
Purple nodded, and took half the redstone back (they hadn't taken enough, but that just meant they'd go mining again, not come back to ask for more). They gave him a quick bow before running off.
King watched them leave. They kicked off the edge of the platform and for a second that King might've worried about in the past, they dropped. Then, their fireworks shot off, and carried them higher, wings spread wide for a moment before starting to flap.
These fireworks had purple dye in them, the sparkles they usually weren't there a vibrant shade of violet, just barely not the same color as Purple. It was an interesting decision, considering they wouldn't be able to see the sparks behind them, brilliant as they were.
They were misguided, King mused. Yes, that was a good word for it. King was misguiding them. It was necessary, of course. Everything about this was necessary.
There were times where the King could admit to himself, however, that it didn't feel right. Such as when they rambled, or when they threw their arms up in the way all sticks did, or when they dyed their firework trail their favorite color— the King would hesitate.
The firework shrapnel crunched under his feet as King walked. Broken pieces of shell dusted with gunpowder, still warm and leaving scratches on the basalt floor. He picked one piece of the shell off the floor. It was still warm.
The edge of this particular entrance had hundreds of little scratches from their exits. Perhaps they should make the entire thing obsidian, so it didn't scratch. It would make it easier on Purple, too, because if King were to revamp the entire entryway then they'd make sure to build a liftoff and landing point for his second in command. But that was unnecessary, and honestly there were better things to do. Purple could manage without, and the risk of a portal with nothing but a stray flame wasn't something he wanted to deal with.
King squinted. In the far off distance he could still see them, gliding through the nether. Their wings still buzzing. Odd that their Elytra took the shape of insectoid wings. He had to admit it suited them.
King looked down at the lone firework piece in their palm. Remnants of something beautiful, and powerful, and bright. If he got drunk enough, maybe he could let himself think it reminded him of—
He sighed. No, no it couldn't. Nothing from Minecraft could remind him of anything. Well, anything good, anyways.
King let the piece fall off the edge, into the lake of lava below. It was swallowed up in less than seconds. There wasn't even a splash. Unceremonious. Disappointing. Everything Purple did their best not to be.
Purple wasn't a bad kid, no, but that had never really mattered.