Chapter Text
It’s with a rough shove that the human is falling forward, hitting the ground rather roughly. There’s an audible smack that’s heard, one that doesn’t make Scar flinch. He stares down at the human with cold, empty eyes, the green dark and murky. The human is quick to try to get back up, trying to sit up on their knees. But their hands are tied behind their back, the rope digging into their wrists. Scar slams his boot down on them to keep them from rising again, their yell one of pain.
He turns his attention away from the human to look at the vampire watching them almost expectantly. His red eyes crinkle at the corners.
“As always, so quick to deliver,” Scott hums, sounding pleased. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t break as fast as the last.” He stares down at the human as if he were looking at an object, something new to possess.
“You know how fragile they are.” Scar takes a step back, both feet on the ground. He looks at the human, blond hair, bright hazel eyes (he hates how similar they look). Their expression is set in fear, their body trembling. Scar can see tears running down their cheeks, droplets staining the ground below.
Scott doesn’t answer him, instead walking forward to kneel down. He reaches out with a hand, lifting their chin up which pulls their face from Scar’s view. He looks at the human with scrutiny, “Hmm, yes, I think this one will do nicely. You really know how to pick good thralls, Scar.”
He’s never cared much for this part of the job. He’s never cared much for thralls in general. It’s always been something Scar has regarded with boredom. What fun is there in making an empty shell out of a human or monster? Living with a husk answering your every whim, staring at you with lifeless eyes, nothing but unearned devotion. For Death himself, Scar has no interest in watching a soul waste away. He’d rather put an end to it himself.
Yet this is just another facet of the job, he supposes.
“No need to butter me up with compliments, Scott,” Scar replies, “It’s all simple business.”
“Business, yes…” Scott looks up at him. “And how has your business been going?”
Scar puts on a smile as he addresses the vampire, “Why, business has been amayzin’, thank you for asking! I’ve sold at least fifty things of those little protection charms. We’re practically booming!”
Scott looks at him with a blank stare, clearly unamused. He releases the human, letting their head drop on the ground. He stands, dusting off his pants. “Congratulations,” he says sardonically, “but you and I both know that isn’t what I meant.”
The smile on Scar’s face dims slightly, becoming smaller. He sighs, “I feel like there’s never any real personal connection between us.” Scar looks at him, acting upset. “There just isn’t a spark.”
“Scar,” Scott warns.
“Alright, alright! Sheesh,” Scar huffs at him. “I’ve got another plan up my sleeve that should work. Everything is almost in order.”
Scott nods in return, “Good.” He leans back, setting a hand on his hip. His mouth curls at the corners, satisfied. “After that last slip up I was beginning to wonder where your loyalties lie.”
Glancing down at the whimpering human, Scar’s eyes flick back up to look at Scott. He hides behind a smirk as he eyes the vampire, covering up the slight confusion that threatens to worm its way onto his face. “I think you know by now how loyal I am, Scott,” he chides lightly, “I’m offended that you’d even doubt such a thing!” He’s putting on a big act, puffing himself up. As far as he’s aware, he hasn’t given Scott a single reason to doubt his loyalties.
A brow is raised, tented up on Scott’s pale face. It’s perfectly trimmed, as always. “If these were normal circumstances, you would have already completed what I’ve asked of you,” he rebukes, his red eyes pinning Scar in place. “With Mumbo involved I’m afraid I have plenty of reason to doubt you haven’t been swayed.” He then hums, thoughtful, “Or maybe it’s the human who’s getting in the way?”
It makes Scar pause right where he stands.
For a moment, his gaze drops to the trembling human once again. They look so small, curled up with silent sobs in the face of uncertainty. The longer he looks, the darker their hair becomes, the darker the brown of their eyes. His mind conjures an image of Grian in their place, defeated and being handed off to a fate worse than Him.
The image of Grian makes him jolt, eyes widening as his heart picks up in speed. He gives his head a shake, and the image is gone.
Is Grian getting in the way?
He knows that Scott is on some level, correct. Scar wouldn’t hesitate so much. He’d normally be done and everything would be taken care of by now. Time is money, and Scar is acutely aware of this. He’s quick and efficient, it’s why he and Scott have worked together for so long; among other reasons (Tubbo related reasons).
Which is exactly why he needs to get this done and over with. Everything is on the line here, and Scar can’t let Grian or Mumbo get in the way. He isn’t in the position to start doubting himself right now, not when there’s so much at stake, when there’s so much on the line. He needs to keep himself focused, keep his goals right in sight.
And yet—
“From day one you’ve been nothing but an apathetic ass! Would it kill you to have a little empathy? Or do you get some kind of enjoyment out of being so insensitive all the time?!”
“What? Such a monster?”
“Grim Reaper or not, changeling or not, you still have a heart, so why don’t you use it?!”
“Maybe I don’t have one.”
“Everyone has a heart.”
“Not all of us work like that. I’ve never experienced humanity, empathy. It isn’t something I need to live like you do.”
“You’re not like the other humans I’ve met, and yet you’re still everything I hate about them. You’re naive and stubborn and trying to fit into our world, where you don’t belong, and you’re sure to get yourself killed one day. What do you get out of any of this? Why are you so determined to be a part of all of this?”
“It all feels a little less lonely with friends around.”
“You’ve got to be the only human I know who’d want to be friends with monsters.”
“Not monsters. People.”
He had been expecting it, waiting for it. That word, monster. He wondered if that cave was the last straw with Grian, if the human would finally understand the kind of world he entered. Standing in front of the split open cocoon, Scar wondered if Grian would finally snap and call him what he is. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time someone had called him a monster, wouldn’t be the first time they were confronted with his darkness and ran. By now it’s something Scar has accepted and come to expect. Humans are so predictable like that.
Monster. It’s a name he’s given to himself, an identity he adopted because it was the only one consistently assigned to him.
Human. Changeling. Fae. None of it mattered to anyone else. He was a monster.
But the look in Grian’s eyes… the way his gaze had softened the slightest bit, the way his lips trembled and his face fell into something somber. It surprised Scar. It wasn’t something he was used to. Softness? Directed at him? It must be some kind of trick, a trap. Something to lure him into false security before plunging the iron knife in his back.
The trap was never sprung. The knife never appeared, never pierced him. Not once.
Not even while Grian beat his fists against his chest and cried in his anger over Scar’s actions. Not even while he blamed Scar for leaving his friend behind, grabbing hold of him and clutching at his vest. He had been expecting, then, for Grian to call him a monster. He was ready to hear the name from the human in his anger, ready for his true colors to show. But the words didn’t come. Grian blamed him, but Scar could still hear the guilt. He could see it.
Scar frowns as he recalls it all.
If he’s being entirely honest, he hadn’t expected that reaction from Grian. He hadn’t expected the human to completely break, let alone sink into Scar’s arms like that. He had been so… warm. His fingers had dug into Scar’s clothes and he had clung to the changeling like he was some kind of lifeline, and all he had done was cry.
Scar doesn’t know what to make of any of it.
But what he does know is he’s wavering. He’s hesitating. His resolve is shaking, cracks forming and splintering up the sides. He’s beginning to doubt himself, and he doesn’t know why.
He looks down at the human again, and Scott has turned his own attention to them. He’s idly twirling a pocket knife around his fingers, busying himself with quiet humming. He walks over to the human, squatting down in front of them. The human’s eyes widen in terror as Scott approaches, yelling in fear.
“Oh, this isn’t for you dear,” Scott purrs before dragging the blade across the skin of his open palm. He holds it directly over their face, letting the crimson droplets fall, dripping on their cheeks. They freeze in place, quiet whimpering noises being squeezed from their throat. Scott smiles down at them, “Open wide.”
Scar watches as Scott drops his blood down their throat, keeping them still as they struggle. His face is blank as he watches the red liquid slip down Scott’s arm.
“I haven’t been swayed,” Scar tells him calmly, forcing the words to be true.
Scott doesn’t look up from the human, humming, “I’d hate to have my hand forced if you were.” He strokes the human’s hair, but there is no comfort in the action. It is one of mockery, pity. “Do you think your son would make a good thrall?” he asks, and Scar’s blood runs even colder than normal. “Or do you think he’d break within the first three days?” It’s then that Scott finally lifts his head to meet Scar’s gaze, his red eyes burning into him, “It’d be a shame to find out.”
Despite every instinct with Scar yelling at him to attack the vampire for even daring to suggest such a thing, he remains where he is. He knows just how real those words are. He hears the threat loud and clear.
He looks down at the human in Scott's grasp, and suddenly that hair is darker, like a chocolate brown. Scar swallows thickly, clenching his fists and feeling them shake.
He can’t be swayed. There’s too much on line.
Scar puts on his best mask, wears his finest smile. The anger slips through as he grits his teeth a little too harshly. “Good thing we won’t have to then. I’m a man of my word.”
Scott smiles.
“Man, I thought we were done with all the spider webs!” Grian makes a face of disgust as he pulls cobwebs from the ground in Mumbo’s study.
“Not yet, unfortunately,” Mumbo answers him as he picks up the knocked over chair, setting it back on its legs. “This place is a complete mess.” He frowns.
“No kidding!” Scar chimes in from his spot nearby Grian at the bookshelves, eyeing the books. “And here I thought those poor cookies were the worst of the damage.” He waves his hand around the webs covering the shelves, clearing them away.
Grian snorts, “You mean you don’t consider the giant webs to be the worst?” He tugs on a piece of web Scar happens to have his foot on. The fae lifts it with an apologetic smile.
“I certainly do!” Mumbo exclaims, “I can’t get to anything in here with them in the way!” He looks back over to Grian, “Which is why it’s important we sort this mess.”
With a dramatic sigh, Grian salutes him, “Aye aye, sir.”
He turns back to the ground by the bookshelves, staring at the large array of webs covering it. He squints at the webbing before sucking in a breath and he reaches for a particularly thick part of it. Grian pulls on it and it comes free with relative ease; cringing at the tickling feeling of strings against his skin before shaking his hand free of it.
Turning back to look over at Mumbo and Scar, Grian pauses for a moment. They’ve decided to throw all the cobwebs into one big pile for easy clean up later, something Grian and Mumbo volunteered Scar for (much to the man’s chagrin). With all the webs to get rid of, neither Grian nor Mumbo wanted to deal with it. Mumbo reasoned Scar has the easiest method of cleaning it all up anyway. It makes him the perfect candidate.
Eyes sweeping over the study, Grian notes how much better it looks already. They’ve managed to fix the furniture and clean up the mess of papers and books on the ground, clearing away the webs trapping them. Scar had immediately taken care of the cookie crumbs and plate left on the floor, talking about what a waste it was. In one fell swoop, Grian has learned just how much the fae seems to enjoy cookies, which created an interesting mental image: the Grim Reaper in an apron with a tray of cookies.
There’s still webs clinging to the walls that makes Mumbo’s study look like it’s been covered in expensive Hollow’s Eve decorations, but a good chunk of them will be left to Mumbo and Scar, seeing as they can actually reach them; unlike Grian. It’s one of the rare moments where he’s a bit grateful for his stature, not that he’ll ever say it out loud.
Speaking of the vampire, his gaze trails to Mumbo, and there’s a small subconscious frown that forms on his face. He watches him as he reaches for the cobwebs on the walls, Mumbo’s back facing Grian. Grian feels his chest squeeze.
A few days have gone by since the kidnapping, since Grian was forced to leave his best friend behind. Things haven’t felt right since they all got back to the manor.
Grian hasn’t been able to shake the ever present feeling of guilt that looms over him, sitting above his head like storm clouds. Besides his explosion at Scar, they haven’t talked about what happened. They’ve all been dancing around it, skirting between the topic and other things; small, inconsequential things. Grian in particular has been avoiding mentioning anything. This all happened because of him, after all. Taurtis kidnapped Mumbo and the boys, endangered them because he was trying to ‘save’ Grian.
He did it all for Grian, because he believed he was doing the right thing. It doesn’t change the fact that Grian is partly responsible for everything, that Grian is the reason why this all happened. He may not have done it all himself, but he certainly had an indirect effect on the situation. He still had a part to play, willingly or not.
Call him a coward, but he’s been avoiding the situation, avoiding Mumbo. A distance has appeared between them, hesitant and fragile, and Grian is terrified to bridge that gap. It’s like they’ve both put that distance there, they’ve both willingly walked away. That act alone leaves Grian more willing to live in this state of uncertainty, to keep something, a connection, however strained.
Mumbo may forgive Grian for putting him in danger, but he doesn’t think the vampire could ever forgive him dragging Grum and Jrum into it.
He doesn’t want to know what it’s like to be on the other end of Mumbo’s anger, and he doesn’t want to take the plunge and risk losing him.
Hearing a thud and a faint noise of pain, Grian turns his attention over to Scar, who’s somehow managed to bang his foot against the bookshelf. He winces in sympathy, “Everything alright there, Scar?”
“Oh, just amayzin’!” Scar glances over at him with upturned lips. He stands with his hands on his hips, a comical determined glint shining within the green of his eyes as he faces the shelves. “I’ve just found myself in an important battle with the bookshelf!”
“Please don’t destroy my shelves…” Mumbo mutters pathetically.
A chuckle slips out from Grian at that, lips quirking in a small smile. He finds himself amused by the fae’s antics, for once enjoying the larger than life act that Scar seems to always put on. He settles into watching Scar for a moment, studying the man.
Something has shifted since the arachne incident, Grian feels like they’ve reached some kind of impasse; a middle ground. There’s a new understanding between them that wasn’t there before, and Grian would almost dare say that he’s genuinely coming around to the idea of the two of them becoming proper friends.
Scar claims that he has no heart, that he doesn’t know humanity simply because he was never human.
But Grian thinks differently.
Scar’s expression back in the cave flashes in his mind, his quiet words, “I was never human to begin with.” The way his face almost seemed to fall as he uttered an apology to Grian, “I’m sorry to disappoint, songbird.”
If he focuses enough, he can still feel the ghost sensation of Scar’s fingers on his chin, his gentle touch. Grian can still clearly picture the emerald of his eyes, the chill of his fingertips. He saw the loneliness in Scar back in that cave, the wall.
He just has to pull it apart, one brick at a time.
Grian has seen his humanity, in the way that Scar cares for Tubbo, in the way Scar helped him and Mumbo. In the way that Scar stopped him from going back for Taurtis; from walking right to his death. Scar has far more humanity than he realizes, and Grian knows it. He doesn’t know why, but Scar has wrapped himself in rose bushes, letting the thorns dig into his skin and he tries to convince himself of something that isn’t true.
The curious part of Grian wants to know why.
Watching Scar carefully, he sees the man walk over to the webs hanging on the wall. The spot he goes to is right by the curtains, and there’s surely some kind of irony in that, Grian thinks. It’s also one of the worst spots for the cobwebs. There’s so many of them there that it makes Grian shudder. He switches his attention away from that to Scar, studying him with some form of curiosity instead.
He and Mumbo aren’t the only ones seeming off today.
Grian can’t put his finger on it, but there’s something different about Scar. He noticed it when Scar originally arrived, the slight slump of his shoulders, the darkness brewing in his eyes. Looking at the man now, he still sees it. Scar has tried to hide it, puffing his chest up, his voice laced with some kind of cheer that doesn’t quite match with his demeanor.
He had wondered if it was something temporary, that Scar would perk up over time but all Grian has seen so far is an act, a mask. All he’s seen are Scar’s walls and the stormy look in his eyes. It’s partially why Grian has been sticking so close to him over the past few hours.
“Mind lending me a hand, songbird?” Scar’s voice breaks through his thoughts, making Grian blink back into focus. He finds the man standing right in front of him.
He stares up at Scar, taking the opportunity of the close proximity to get a good look at him. He can see a stiffness in the fae’s posture, as if he were tense with stress. His eyes seem even darker up close like this, clouded by some sort of emotion Grian can’t look into.
“What for?” Grian questions.
“Just a quick little thing!” Scar smiles at him in return before turning on his heel and walking over to where Mumbo is standing. Grian follows him with a small, curious look on his face as Scar takes one of the chairs and drags it over to the curtains.
“That’s oddly cryptic you know,” he mutters as he joins him.
Scar huffs at him, as he sets the chair down against the wall. He sets the back on it before looking at Grian. “I just need you to hold this chair still while I stand on it to get these darnn webs off the wall.”
“No shoes on the cushion!” Mumbo is quick to scold, just as Scar lifts his leg to stand on it. Scar freezes right where he is, like he’s a deer that’s been caught in lamplights. The way his eyes widen is rather comical, and he slowly steps back before slipping off his shoes. Grian is hardly able to hold back his laughter.
“Shoe free!” Scar chirps before making a second attempt. Mumbo watches them for a moment before turning away.
As Scar steps onto the chair, Grian reaches to steady it from the side. He grabs hold of it with one hand, keeping some distance between them. Scar goes to reach for the webs before pausing, seeming to notice how loose Grian’s grip is. He looks over at him, lips curving with a light smile; almost teasing. “You know I don’t bite. Voluntarily.”
“You definitely do,” Grian grumbles before moving closer, grabbing hold of the chair with both hands.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Scar answers innocently as he returns to the task at hand.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.” Grian continues to watch him, humming quietly. Scar removes his focus from him to return to the webs on the walls. He grabs hold of a large portion of it and starts tugging it down. Grian finds himself a bit fascinated by it; it’s much easier to appreciate the magic when your life isn’t being actively threatened by it. “Looks tough to pull on,” he hums. The ones on the ground weren’t the easiest to grab either, but Grian didn’t have the added challenge of height.
Scar chuckles roughly in return, “My arm is definitely not happy with me, I’ll tell you that much.”
Grian hums quietly.
They fall into silence as Scar works on removing the webs, Grian standing at his side all the while. He uses the time to look at Scar closely, to observe the way his eyes shine just a bit too brightly, how his skin seems to shimmer.
It all looks so… fake. It’s nothing compared to the way Scar looked at him back in the cave. He can see hints of it in his eyes but outside of that the man just looks too perfect. It’s uncanny. There’s something that shines from the depths of his green emeralds, poking through the holes of his mask. He can see the storm brewing, whatever it is clouding his irises. But that isn’t the only thing that tips Grian off.
For as long as he’s known the fae, Scar has been larger than life, grander than he appears. It’s part of some act, Grian knows. But that act has always been perfect, stitched together tightly without a single seam out of place. The edges of his mask are frayed, giving Grian just enough room to wiggle a finger under the edge in hopes of pulling it up. Scar’s performance has never been like that.
And as Scar works on pulling the webs free, Grian gets a front row seat of it. With Scar facing away from both himself and Mumbo, his expression is small. A natural frown tugs at his lips, and there’s something distracted in his eyes. His shoulders are tight with tension, like there’s something coiled around him to draw them in close together.
It’s like Scar is forcing his mask to hold himself together, to hold himself tight so nothing falls away. Grian wonders; what would happen if Scar fell away? If the thing keeping his mask in place fell apart and Scar fell apart? What would it reveal?
Would it allow Scar to tell Grian what’s troubling him?
Would Scar even answer honestly if Grian asked?
“Alright! That should do it.” Scar suddenly jumps down from the chair, causing it to shake. Grian yelps in surprise as he hurries to stabilize the chair, but he doesn’t actually need to. “Consider your walls web free, dearest Mumbo!~” Scar smiles over at the vampire.
Mumbo blinks at him, “O-Oh uh, thank you…”
Scar steps back to look over at Grian, noticing the human’s gaze is trained on him. He stares back at him, raising a brow, “Something on my face?” he asks. “Or are you just entranced by how handsome I am?” He teases with a smirk.
Realizing he’s been caught staring, Grian huffs in response as his cheeks go warm. “Don’t get a big head,” he replies, crossing his arms. “I was lost in thought.”
Gazing at him with curious eyes, Scar tilts his head. “You know, you’ve been hanging around me since we started this little clean up job, I’m surprised songbird,” he comments, words lacking any real bite. Then, his voice falls lower, softer, “I thought you’d be right by Mumbo’s side.”
His words make Grian pause where he stands, freezing. He feels his chest weakly twisting at Scar’s observation. Under normal circumstances, the changeling would be right. But…
Grian glances at Mumbo, who’s taken to working on getting the webs off of the coffee table. There’s a concentrated expression on his face as he works the webs off of a leg of the table. He pulls his gaze away from the vampire, frowning softly.
He shakes his head, “Thought I’d change it up.” Grian shrugs, looking back at Scar, who’s watching him with confused eyes. It’s a far cry from the truth, but Grian can’t afford to dance any closer, can’t afford to spit the words out and risk losing it all. He’s always been good at avoiding, deflecting. It’s easier sometimes, easier than staring at the truth and ripping the lid off to set it free. “And… you look like there’s something troubling you,” Grian points out, thinking about the seams holding Scar together. “Figured you might appreciate the company.”
Scar’s reaction is muted, small and quiet. His eyes widen just the tiniest bit, surprise filling green like paint to a canvas. It drips in and slowly spreads up, until it fills the green. He looks taken aback by Grian’s reply, mouth twitching as he scrambles for some kind of reply.
He’s saved, however, from having to do so by the sound of the door to the study being kicked open. The room immediately falls silent, three heads whipping toward the doorway. The wooden door slams right into the wall due to the force that was used, and Grian wouldn’t be surprised if the knob leaves a dent in the wall.
A tension rises in the air as two sets of footsteps ring out, loud and heavy. Grian and Scar find themselves joining Mumbo in the middle of the room just as two people enter, two sets of eyes locking on them. An intimidating air surrounds the two individuals, fearsome and strong. The shorter of the two stands in front, serious brown eyes focused on the three of them.
Short, choppy brown hair sits on his head, a bit of his hair pulled into a short braid. There’s a streak of green in the bangs that cover his forehead. There are two fluffy ears that poke up from his hair, and an equally fluffy tail twitching behind him. He’s dressed in a white undershirt and a brown vest, green cargo pants and brown combat boots. Fingerless gloves sit on his hands, and there’s an axe strapped to his back. Belts are looped around his middle, and there are more weapons attached to it.
Behind him stands someone else, taller than the first. His hair is white, the band around his forehead propping his bangs up. A mask covers the bottom half of his face, partially hiding the scar that runs through his red left eye. His other eye is darker in color, though Grian isn’t quite sure what color it is. Unlike the man in front of him, he wears dark clothing: a black undershirt and equally dark pants with an open green half jacket on top. Grian notes there isn’t a single weapon on him, unlike his companion. His eyes survey the room before they crinkle in what Grian can only assume is a smile. He lifts his hand up and waves, “Hey everybody.”
In a flurry of movement, Mumbo stands in front of the strangers, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He points his nails right at the masked stranger’s throat, staring at him with a dangerous glint in his eyes. His expression is dark and defensive, body tense. His nails are as sharp as an animal’s claws and they hover just inches away from the stranger’s jugular. He holds his hand where it is, keeping himself poised and ready to attack at any moment should the need arise.
“You have five seconds to tell me who you are and what you want,” Mumbo warns darkly, not moving. He will not let something happen to the boys or Grian and Scar. Not under his watch; he’ll do better this time. There’s still a very complicated web of feelings in his chest after everything with Lady Meritre and the reality of the arachne and… that.
“Mumbo!” Scar calls, taking a step toward him just as the shorter of the two strangers moves quicker and pokes at Mumbo’s neck with a knife.
“Oi!” he barks, “Watch it with Etho!”
“Etho?” Mumbo questions, pausing as his eyes move to the brown haired man. Slowly, his gaze shifts back to the masked individual, surprise replacing his suspicion.
“Well, this is awkward, huh?” the masked man, Etho, chuckles as he moves his hand to scratch at the back of his head. He glances at the shorter beside him, “You really didn’t have to go breaking their door down, Joel. A bit too flashy for me, we could’ve waltzed in like perfectly civilized people.”
Joel crosses his arms with a little huff, “It got their attention, didn’t it?” His lips then curl in a sharp smile, seeming pleased with himself, “and it looked pret-ty cool if you ask me. Intimidating, like us. Because we’re big and scary guys.”
“Uh-huh,” Etho hums, “The scariest around.”
“Etho?” Grian blinks, interrupting the duo, “You mean that monster hunter who writes books?”
Etho’s gaze lands on him as he lowers his arm. “That’d be me!” he confirms, a cheerful lilt to his voice. “Y’see, we came here to talk to Scar about something and Bdubs said he’d be here. But well…” He looks at Mumbo silently, glancing down at the claws at his neck.
“Oh my goodness!” Mumbo cries, hurriedly jumping away from the man, “I’m terribly sorry! Goodness me!” His face is red with embarrassment as he rushes to put some distance between them.
Joel lowers his arm, idly twirling the knife in his hand around his fingers. He keeps his eyes trained on Mumbo.
The vampire coughs into his hand, clearing his throat. “R-Right, so erm, what can we do for you two?” he asks awkwardly, eyes darting between Etho and Joel.
“We’re here to talk to Scar,” Joel answers, looking over at the fae.
“Scar? What do you want with him?” Grian inquires, nose scrunching up with confusion and slight wariness. These two aren’t clients or whatever it is of Scar’s, are they? He supposes it isn’t too far out of the realm of reality, considering Scar himself has said that he gets jobs from all sorts of people. But a hunter?
Scar chuckles, “Oh, no need to worry about little ol’ me, Birdie! Etho, Joel, and I go waaaay back! We’re good friends! And wow, Beans, can I just say, what an entrance!” He claps his hands together in applause. “I think that’s probably one of the better ones you two have had.”
“Bad boys make cool entrances, no matter the place!” Joel replies, something defensive ringing in his voice. “Though, what the heck are you doing here, Scar?” He lifts a brow. “We thought Bdubs was just messin’ with us when he said you were here.”
“Ah Bdubs, that little rascal! I told him I’d be busy today,” Scar mutters, shaking his head. “I’ve just been offering my good friend here my services with cleaning his study. Spider webs are no joke.” Scar shrugs. “So! How can I help you?”
Etho and Joel both share a glance, some kind of unspoken conversation passing between the two of them. Grian watches on, curious about what they’re here for.
It’s Etho who looks back to Scar, “We need your help with a chase.”
“A chase?” Grian parrots, looking at Scar to see if he knows what they’re talking about. Judging by the way his eyes darken slightly and the easy going smile fades from his face, he does.
“What do you need?” Scar questions, timbre low and serious as he speaks.
Etho shakes his head, “Not here. It’s better to show you.”