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The steady sound of a ticking grandfather clock meets Mumbo’s ears as he sits inside his workshop. His sleeves are rolled up, tail coat discarded for the time being. It leaves him in a black vest and white button up, hands covered in redstone dust. His hair falls over his shoulder as he works, eyes focused.
His workshop is quiet, safe for the ticking clock down the hall, and the occasional mumble to himself.
What he’s working on is nothing big or grand: it’s a watch. A very old and broken one at that. Mumbo has a lot of things like that. Over the years, he’s stumbled upon old broken things like watches or radios, or the occasional phone. He isn’t sure why he does it, but he’s found himself collecting them and bringing them to his workshop so he can fix them.
It’s a bit pointless, Mumbo knows. Why fix up machines when they won’t return to their owners? Why fix up machines and little trinkets that were thrown away for a reason?
Maybe it’s because it leaves him with something to do, something to feel satisfied with at the end of the day. Or maybe—
Does it even matter?
Mumbo’s hands still as a little voice whispers in his ear. It’s an old familiar voice, one that he’s lived with ever since that night, one that is very much his own. It hangs over him, an ever present reminder of the sin he committed. Of why he’s like this, why his life is like this. It is an old friend, one that keeps him in check, looming in the corner, over his shoulder. It sits alongside the guilt, the two combined acting like a ball and chain, weighing him down and keeping him grounded in reality.
What good is satisfaction if this is a punishment?
He’s here in his manor to atone, to make up for what he did. Satisfaction doesn’t matter. Mumbo will never be truly satisfied with himself until he’s made up for what he did. He doesn’t know when that’ll be, or if it’s even possible. But that’s fine, he has a very long life ahead of him, he has plenty of time to make up for everything.
Satisfaction means nothing, not for a monster like himself.
It’s in moments like these where Mumbo wonders what she’d think. Would she be happy that he’s continued something in her steed? Or would she hate the fact that a monster has begun to emulate her, finding broken things and repairing them. Would she—
“Mr. Mumbo!” Jrum’s voice breaks through his thoughts, causing Mumbo to jump up.
He yelps as his knee slams into the underside of his desk. Biting back a curse, he moves to rub at his knee as he turns to face the young vampire who’s run into his workshop. “Y-Yes, Jrum?” he asks, watching as Grum runs in right behind him.
“Uncle Scar is here!” Jrum exclaims, bouncing on his feet. There’s a smile on his face, eyes lit up with excitement. Grum wears a matching expression, looking just as excited as his brother is.
“Scar is what?” He looks at the two boys. Scar is here? At the manor?!
His eyes go wide as he pushes himself back from his desk, chair sliding on the ground as he does so. A chill runs down his spine, a spark of panic. It isn’t necessarily a feeling he once acquainted with Scar, all things considered. But the last time Mumbo saw Scar, the man was trying to kill Grian, and there was something different about him. Four hundred years is a long time to go without seeing someone, and Scar has obviously changed.
Mumbo has every reason to be concerned about this impromptu visit.
A face pokes out from behind the door, offering Mumbo a smile as two green eyes settle on him. Scar stands right beside Grum and Jrum, looking at Mumbo, “Hello old friend! Been a while, huh?”
A nervous energy takes hold of Mumbo as he meets Scar’s gaze. He doesn’t sense any bloodlust from him, but that’s just for now. That observation doesn’t do much to settle Mumbo, if anything it makes him more uneasy. He glances at Grum and Jrum before looking back to Scar. “It has… yes.” He nods. “Grum, Jrum, give us some privacy?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady. He doesn’t need the boys picking up on the tension that’s taken hold of him.
“Aw, okay…” The two young vampires scurry off, leaving Scar alone as he stands outside of Mumbo’s workshop.
Mumbo doesn’t take his eyes off of Scar. Not even as the man moves to lean against the doorway, crossing his arms.
“Man, this place hasn’t changed a bit!” Scar whistles. “It’s just like I remember it.”
A frown forms on Mumbo’s lips, “I haven’t had much reason to change anything in here.” Except he left the chair that Grian dragged in once to sit with Mumbo as he worked on the human’s phone. And there’s a wrapper or two left on the ground; also from Grian.
“Oh?” Scar hums, green eyes landing on the chair beside Mumbo’s own. He lifts a brow, “Doesn’t seem that way to me, Mumbo.”
The vampire’s frown deepens, and he shakes his head. “Not here,” he says, “follow me.”
They end up sitting in the living room. Scar sits across from Mumbo, reclined back against one of the couches in the room. He’s relaxed, one leg crossed over the other. A tea cup in his hand, a small matching plate held in his other right underneath it. Once upon a time, it would’ve been a completely normal sight to see Scar lounging on Mumbo’s couch, smiling small and thoughtful as his eyes scan the room around him.
Silence stretches between them as Mumbo takes a sip of his own cup, honey tea sitting pleasantly on his tongue. Maybe he would have enjoyed it more, had the circumstances been different. Perhaps if he had different company, like Grian or Doc, or the boys. As he is right now, his muscles are tight with tension, keeping a close eye on the fae in front of him.
Seeing Scar in front of him again, sitting on his couch, in the same spot he used to occupy all those years ago, leaves Mumbo feeling very conflicted.
On one hand, he’s wary. He isn’t quite sure why Scar has shown up at his front door, or what his motive is. Is he here just to chat? Or something more nefarious? Mumbo doesn’t sense any bloodlust coming from him, but Scar is also a master at hiding his true intentions, his real thoughts. He could easily be hiding it from Mumbo, something that is very possible. Mumbo has never been able to truly read Scar all that well, even after how long they’ve known each other. Sure, he’s picked up on habits and little quirks, things that are natural after knowing someone for so long.
But he’s never been able to truly discern what’s going on inside Scar’s head. Something that would be very helpful right now.
It’s almost a painful thought, having to be wary around Scar.
Because at one point, he and Scar were friends. Good ones, in fact. Mumbo doesn’t have many friends, and that’s something intentional. It’s why he doesn’t want to call people like Ren and Martyn, or Tango and Jimmy his friends. But Scar was an exception. Scar was someone Mumbo clicked with, someone he could sympathize with. Scar was someone who understood what it was like to be plucked from your home and dropped into a new world without a choice.
Which is why Mumbo is left feeling so conflicted. He’s wary of Scar after what he tried to do to Grian, but Watchers above, a part of Mumbo is relieved to see that Scar is alright. He thinks the relief is well warranted, considering Scar hadn’t kept in contact for hundreds of years. He doesn’t want to believe that Scar is here to cause any harm, that he’s here to take another attempt on Grian’s life, or hurt Mumbo.
But he can’t rule out those possibilities, not when he found Scar holding a scythe in his hands and dressed in dark clothes. Not when he found that Scar was the famed Grim Reaper.
There’s always been many sides to Scar, which is exactly what leaves Mumbo feeling so troubled.
Four hundred years is a very long time to go without speaking to someone. It gives them a lot of time to change: for better or for worse. Which side has Scar fallen on?
“I can feel you thinking from over here, Mumbo,” Scar comments, his tone light and playful, as if the last time they had a real conversation wasn’t four hundred years ago.
Looking at Scar, Mumbo sighs softly. He lowers his cup until it rests on the table with a small clink. Mumbo then leans back and crosses his arms, addressing the fae, “Why are you here, Scar?” He rips off the band aid, ignoring the anxiety pooling in his gut.
“Well, I thought I’d stop by and say hello! It’s been a long time since we spoke,” Scar answers, looking at Mumbo. “Is it really that suspicious?” He puts the cup down on the small plate in his hand.
Mumbo frowns at him in return, “Considering you were trying to kill Grian? Yes, it is.” He shifts in his seat, watching Scar’s face carefully for any outward reactions. The only thing he sees is Scar’s mouth dip into a frown, something small and slightly uneasy. Mumbo continues on, “We haven’t spoken in four hundred years, because of you, mind you, and you show up in town, trying to kill Grian. If this is some ploy to get to him, Scar–”
“It’s nothing like that, I promise.” Scar shakes his head, waving a hand to erase Mumbo’s concerns. “I just… came to talk. We were both a little distracted at the circus.” His mouth tugs into a frown, the corners of his lips dipping low. “So a proper reunion is in order! I owe you that much.” Scar looks at Mumbo, offering him a smile, one that is laced with sadness. It’s a quite pitiful thing, hardly a quirk of his lips.
But Mumbo doesn’t sense any deceit from the other. No jokes or hidden meanings behind his words. Just a genuine offer.
Something in Mumbo’s chest aches at that, and he finds himself biting the inside of his cheek. He unknowingly fidgets with his fingers, weighing his choices. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want a proper reunion with Scar. He has things to ask, things that Scar can hopefully tell him. There’s no harm in that, right? Especially if Scar is here just to talk.
But he doesn’t want to betray Grian, not when he’s the first human that Mumbo has met since Grum and Jrum that he wants to keep close. It’s terribly selfish of him, he knows, but he wants to keep that kind part of Grian’s humanity close. He doesn’t deserve it, and Watcher knows that Grian would argue with him if he tried to tell him that. So he has to make peace with the fact that it’s something he’s offered and he doesn’t want to screw it up. He doesn’t want to betray Grian.
Yet he and Scar have a history. Scar is someone who understands him in a way that Grian never will. They’ve experienced too much for Mumbo to throw that all away and forget. Doesn’t he owe it to Scar and the respect of their friendship to hear him out? If Scar doesn’t pose a threat to him right now, shouldn’t Mumbo offer Scar this much?
“I won’t betray Grian,” Mumbo says, the words sort of just spilling from his lips without his permission. “So if you want to talk, you’re going to need to make it explicitly clear to me that you aren’t going to hurt him.”
Something shifts in Scar’s eyes, and Mumbo is briefly reacquainted with the look Scar gave him at the circus, back when he stood in front of Grian to protect him. It’s sad, it’s small. Scar continues to frown at him for a moment before sighing quietly. “Man, you’re a protective one, eh Mumbo?” he questions, a chuckle rumbling from his chest. He adjusts his spot on the couch, uncrossing his legs as he leans forward to set his cup down on the coffee table. “You have my word that I won’t try and kill your little human friend. In fact, I even spoke to him a few days ago! Quite the interesting little birdie he is.”
Mumbo blinks, “Wait you spoke to him?” Why hadn’t Grian mentioned that to him?
“I did indeed!” Scar chirps with a smile. “You know, he was interesting at the circus; certainly caught my attention. The guy was like a little cockroach! It was nearly impossible to kill him! And here I thought humans were easily breakable.” Scar shakes his head, as if disappointed.
Knowing him? He probably is.
“And… what did you talk about with him?” Mumbo slowly asks, frowning.
“Well, we spoke of plenty of things! I brought him to my magic shop and got to know him a little bit. He’s feisty, isn’t he? Sassy too,” Scar laughs, and Mumbo is inclined to agree. “But! Point is, you don’t have to worry about betraying your little friend by speaking with me.” He smiles, leaning back against the couch once more.
Looking at Scar, and the melancholy smile on his face, Mumbo finds himself coming to some sort of decision. In fact, he probably knew the answer the moment Scar stepped foot inside his home. He’s relieved, mostly, that Scar isn’t here to cause them any harm. Because that means he doesn’t have to consider Scar to be an enemy. That means that maybe he can get Scar to help them; his insight would be rather helpful with their mysterious serial killer. And it means that he isn’t putting Grian in any danger. Not with Scar at least.
It also means that Mumbo will get answers. Proper answers. Answers to questions that he’s been holding on to for years.
“You owe me a lot of answers, Scar,” he eventually sighs, some of the tension releasing from his body. He’ll focus on his questions first. He can worry about whatever comes next later.
“For you, Mumbo, I am an open book,” Scar returns, his voice light and near eager as he makes a sweeping gesture with his hand. That smile is still on his face though, a complete contradiction to the way Scar’s voice sounds. “I’m sure you have a lot going on in that noggin’ of yours.” He taps his own head. “Ask away!” But his movements seem just slightly stiff. Something hardly noticeable to anyone who isn’t Mumbo. He may not be good at reading Scar, but he knows how to pick up on someone’s anxiety. On their discomfort. He reads it easily in Scar’s body language, despite the wall he tries to put up.
Brows furrowing, Mumbo tries to determine what to ask first. There’s so many different questions rattling around in his head, after all. Years worth of curiosities, ones that he never thought he’d get an answer to, or even an opportunity to ask. Yet he isn’t sure how to go about asking those questions, or how to put the sentences together.
Ironic, that he’s had all of this time to think, yet not a single word comes to mind. With Scar actually in front of him, Mumbo finds it very hard to ask.
He swallows thickly, trying to find a good place to start, something to ease them into wherever this conversation takes them. “After being gone for so long… what brought you back to town?” he asks. “Why show up now? I mean, that letter of your’s made it quite clear you had no intention of returning to Aqua Town. Not any time soon, at least.”
Mumbo remembers the letter quite clearly. Grum had been the one to give it to him, saying that it had been left on the coffee table within the living room. The letter had been short, leaving no explanation to why Scar was leaving or where he was going. He had simply said that he was planning on traveling for a long while but he was grateful for Mumbo’s companionship.
“Well, you can thank your human friend for my sudden appearance!” Scar exclaims, almost cheery as he says it. “As for what brought me back, I suppose that’d be Tubbo,” Scar answers simply, making Mumbo blink.
“Tubbo?” he prods. That isn’t a name he’s familiar with, not from Scar anyways.
“Ah, he’s my son.” Mumbo’s eyes widen at that, but Scar carries on without issue, as if he hasn’t just dropped the equivalent of a bomb on the vampire, “I happened to stumble upon a few fae trying to kidnap him as a baby about, hm…” He pauses to hum, tapping his chin in thought. “Fifteen years ago? And what can I say, he tugged at my heart. I just had to take him in.”
Mumbo stares at him, absolutely flabbergasted. “You have a son. A human son,” he says, putting two and two together. The fae only kidnap humans, tempting them into their realm beyond the hedge. It’s an easy inference to make, no matter how difficult it is for Mumbo to wrap his head around Scar having anything to do with a human. “I… never imagined you as the fatherly type, I’ll admit.”
Scar laughs at that, the sound bright and colorful. “Neither did I! I mean, you know me and humans. We don’t mix,” he says, shaking his head. “But I saw him in that forest and he was so helpless and suddenly I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. So we moved back to Aqua Town, got my shop set up once again, and we’ve been here ever since.” Scar talks with a wistful note to his voice, mentally reminiscing on something that Mumbo is not privy to. But his eyes are bright and carry a sort of joy that Mumbo has never seen in them before.
A heavy feeling washes over Mumbo at that, settling tightly over his chest and squeezing at him. The room spins as his mind tries to process the implications of everything that Scar has just told him. Not only did he find this child, but he came back to Aqua Town to raise him. “This… whole time, you’ve been here?” he questions. “For the past fifteen years… you’ve lived in town, and you never thought to find me?” He doesn’t mean to sound so hurt by that fact, all things considered.
That brightness in Scar’s eyes is squashed by Mumbo’s words, and his body sags, shoulders dropping as his hands fall to his lap. “I did,” he admits, lips tugging into a deep frown. “I thought about it plenty of times.”
“But you never came.” Mumbo looks at him, watching the guilt that flickers on Scar’s face.
“I wanted to.” Scar sits up to look at him, something earnest in his eyes. “But I couldn’t bring myself to face you.”
“Because of the letter?” Mumbo questions, and judging by the way Scar grimaces, he’s hit the nail right on the head. He sighs quietly, “Scar you know very well that I would’ve welcomed you either way. We were friends.” No matter how much it hurt to get a letter about Scar’s departure rather than a face to face goodbye.
“You probably would have,” Scar agrees, before sighing. “But that wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want you to know I was in town again.”
It isn’t hard for Mumbo to guess what the other reason is, not when he saw it pointing a blade at Grian in that circus. “The Grim Reaper thing, yes?” he inquires, and Scar nods.
“It’s a dangerous gig because of who I get jobs from, all sorts of monsters from the shadows,” Scar replies, but he doesn’t elaborate. “If you had gotten involved, it would’ve put you in a difficult position. Which happened anyways, unfortunately.” There’s a dry chuckle that leaves him. “And hooo boy, is it messy.”
“Because whoever hired you wanted you to go after Grian,” Mumbo murmurs. Going after Grian is a surefire way to get Mumbo involved, and if Scar’s surprise upon seeing him is anything to go by, Scar hadn’t known that at the time.
“That’s about it, yeah.” Scar nods in return. “If everything had gone according to plan, you never would have found out about my other business. But then I was given a job to kill Grian, and had I known the full details about him and his connection to you, I wouldn’t have taken it.” He frowns, huffing quietly.
“And now?” Mumbo questions, lifting a brow. “Does this mysterious client of yours still want Grian dead?”
“Who knows!” Scar answers, jovial. “I certainly won’t be doing it for him. That contract is now null and void. Quite frankly I think things would be a lot less interesting if the little bird was killed.” He shrugs.
“Well that certainly doesn’t inspire much confidence,” Mumbo grumbles quietly, shaking his head. He can only hope that there won’t be any more monsters making an attempt on Grian’s life. Once was more than enough. His gaze flicks over to Scar, “Can I ask who it was?”
Something secretive flashes in Scar’s green eyes, and he brings a finger up to his lips as they curl in a smile. “I’m afraid that’ll have to remain a secret, dear Mumbo. I’m not at liberty to discuss my clients, past or current.”
“Right…” Mumbo trails off. “But do you? Want Grian dead, I mean.”
Scar tilts his head back, a loud hum rumbling from his chest. “Quite the question that is! It’s not an easy answer,” he begins.
“How do you mean?” Mumbo questions, brows furrowing.
“Do I personally want to kill him? Watchers, no!” he laughs, a sort of hollow sound void of any real joy. “You see Mumbo, he’s caught my attention because of you,” Scar says, which only serves to confuse the vampire. “You’ve never been the type to care about humans, you’ve always hated them just as I do. But you seem to have some kind of bias toward Grian, and I want to know why. I want to know what it is about him that made you jump in front of my blade.”
Scar looks at him, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Do I care if he dies? Hmm, not particularly. As interested as I am, he’s still a human. I won’t go out of my way to keep him alive.” His eyes grow dark, glowering with something grim and apathetic, “I meant it when I said I’d only spare him once.”
The look in Scar’s eyes makes Mumbo a bit nervous, a shiver running right down his spine. “N-Noted,” he murmurs. He had forgotten just how intense Scar could be at times. It’s something the fae was always good at hiding behind a polite smile and a sales act. But Mumbo had been privy to a side of Scar most didn’t see. The side of him that held no regard for humanity and those of that world, the side of him that held so much hatred and anger toward humans.
It’s a side of him that Mumbo understands quite well, even now. He’s long since come to terms with the fact that Grian is an exception to his hatred for humans. He doesn’t blame Scar for his hatred or his anger, not when Scar wasn’t given a choice in becoming what he is either.
“After… after you left… what happened to you?” Mumbo finds himself twiddling his thumbs as he speaks, “I erm, tried to look for you after reading your letter but it was practically impossible. And then you show up again in town… calling yourself the Grim Reaper.” He frowns at the other.
Scar meets his eyes, a contemplative hum leaving him, “It’s a simple story, really. See, the whole Grim Reaper thing was more of an accident, a title I never gave myself. I just happened to meet the right people who needed a person or two to be ‘taken care of’ if you catch my drift, and the business piece worked itself out.” Scar’s lips quirk up in a light smile, “It was really just something that happened to fall into my lap and well, with lemons comes lemonade!”
“Ah, right…” Mumbo blinks at him, not quite following. “I’m afraid I just don’t understand why you–” he cuts himself off, words getting caught in his throat. He goes quiet all of the sudden, unable to speak.
“Why I…?” Scar prompts, looking at him.
The words are firmly lodged in his throat. Fear takes hold of him, wrapping its hands around his throat and squeezing his windpipe. It traps his voice, not letting a single noise sound from him.
Why did you leave? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? Why was I only given a letter? Did I mean so little to you in the end?
Mumbo fears the answers.
He wants those answers, of course he does. But he’s afraid of it. He fears whatever answer Scar may give him. Because what if Mumbo was the reason why Scar left all those years ago? What if Mumbo had done something to push him away, something to make Scar feel like he had to run without saying goodbye?
If that does turn out to be the case, Mumbo doesn’t think he could handle hearing it from Scar himself.
The fae is looking at him patiently, eyes soft. His patience only makes the sudden lump in the vampire’s throat grow. He swallows thickly. This may be the one chance he gets to ask Scar, he can’t waste it.
Mumbo inhales, and he forces the words out of his chest, “Why you left.”
“Oh, Mumbo…” Scar says, voice soft and quiet. Mumbo watches the way regret seems to seep into his eyes, swirling around in his irises as they grow somber. His mouth sets itself in a low frown, and there’s an emotion in Scar’s gaze, one that the vampire can’t even begin to figure out. It’s hidden too well, hardly leaving any clues behind.
“Don’t sugarcoat it,” Mumbo demands weakly. “I want the truth, Scar. No lies, no facade. Just the honest truth.” He’d like to believe that he knows when Scar is lying, when he’s putting on an act to hide his true thoughts and feelings. He may not be the greatest at discerning what those thoughts and feelings are, but he knows how to recognize it. He’ll know if Scar is lying to him, something Mumbo truly doesn’t want. Even if the truth hurts him.
Scar’s shoulders sag low, as if he’s been defeated. It’s rather pitiful, honestly. But it tugs on Mumbo’s heart all the same. “Look, Mumbo, it–”
The fae is cut off by the sounds of a slamming door, something that causes both Mumbo and Scar to sit up straight. Their eyes meet for a moment, both looking equally on edge as their current conversation slips from their minds. Yet it doesn’t last long, as shortly following the slamming door is a call, “Mumbo!”
Upon hearing Grian’s voice, Mumbo immediately relaxes and sinks back into the couch. “In the living room!” he replies. Scar seems to perk up at that.
Grian’s head pops into view as he pokes around the corner, brown eyes surveying the room with a curious look before settling on Mumbo. A smile instantly lights up Grian’s face as he enters the room, “Switching things up on me, huh?”
Mumbo chuckles softly, “I had an unexpected guest.” He gestures toward Scar.
“Why hello there, songbird,” Scar greets, leaning back to meet Grian’s gaze.
“Oh.” Grian blinks at the sight of the fae seated on Mumbo’s couch, looking visibly confused. “Hi Scar. I didn’t know you knew where Mumbo lived.”
Scar makes a flippant gesture with his hand as Grian comes around the edge of the couch, moving to plop down beside Mumbo. “It comes with the whole friendship package, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Right…” Grian trails off, slowly nodding. He looks over at the table in between them, spotting the tea cups, “You guys had tea? And you didn’t save me a cup?” He turns to Mumbo, faking his offense, “I’m hurt.”
Mumbo playfully huffs, shaking his head with a little sigh. “Just take mine, you pesky man.” He grabs his cup and hands it over to Grian, who grins in success.
Holding Mumbo’s cup in his hands, Grian hums, looking over at Scar, “So what’re you here for?” His gaze is narrowed just slightly, attuned to the other’s every move.
“Hm? Oh, nothing too outlandish! Just a little chat between old friends,” Scar answers, meeting Grian’s gaze with a smile. “I thought it’d be fitting since you’ll be seeing more of this charming face.” He gestures to himself, still smiling. “Though I’m more curious as to what you’re doing here, songbird.”
In answer, Grian slowly takes a sip from the cup in his hands. He doesn’t reply to Scar, instead turning his focus to Mumbo. “You didn’t ask him to help us with the murders, did you?”
“What?! No!” Mumbo hastily replies. “Though admittedly I was considering it…” he trails off, looking at Grian to gauge his reaction.
There’s a thoughtful look that passes in his eyes as Grian looks back over to Scar. “Want to help us figure out the mysterious Aqua Town murderer?”
“Grian!” Mumbo squawks in protest, taken by surprise. “Shouldn’t we at least discuss things first?!”
“What? You just said you were considering it! I don’t have an issue with it, so why not?” Grian defends, frowning softly. It’ll be a good way for him to try and figure Scar out. And if Scar is serious about forming a friendship, then it’s a good way for him to build up trust with Grian as well.
“Besides, wouldn’t it be smart? You guys are friends, and we could use an extra head to think. Plus, Scar said he doesn’t want to kill me because he wants to get to know me, and I’m helping you with the murderer. It’s a win on all sides,” he explains, finding his own logic rather sound as he goes through it all.
Mumbo sighs softly in return. If he’s being honest, he’s a bit relieved that Grian asked (even if the human did just show up without knowing the full situation), as it shows Mumbo that he doesn’t mind Scar’s company. Or at least he isn’t opposed to it. Though Mumbo doesn’t miss the guarded look in Grian’s eyes. He looks over to Scar, “Well, what do you say?”
Scar has been silent, watching the two of them interact as he weighs the offer proposed to him. His gaze seems to be mostly on Grian as he observes, lips quirking in a smile. “What the heck, why not. I’ve got time to spare anyway.”
“Great!” With that, Grian goes to launch into a new theory, effortlessly pulling Mumbo and Scar along. He seems to grow a bit more comfortable the more he talks. Slowly, his theorizing has both monsters pushing Mumbo’s final question to the back of their minds; forgetting it.