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The fire burnt brightly.
The ‘moon’, or whatever it was, stood proud and high in the dark night sky. Snow was gently falling down before melting in with the mass of white that covered the ground. Winter had just begun.
The nights were long and quite honestly, boring.
Sure, anyone would assume that being stuck in a cold winter night in the middle of nowhere would be anything but annoying. Anyone would assume it to be scary, sad, perhaps even exciting, but boring?
And yet, here sat two men next to a fire. A slight tension could be felt in the air but most of it had already passed and weakened in the weeks they had to survive together.
Winter nights were long, annoying and quite boring if you were prepared enough. And prepared they were. The beefalos had been shaved long before winter had started, their fur prepared into wool strands to knit winter hats to keep their head warm. Thermal stone built and chiseled into a smooth stone with no edges to make sure they couldn’t possibly hurt themself while carrying it unlike its sharp cousins that were flints and rocks.
With the added bonus of a furry horned creature sleeping and snoring gently on one of the man’s long legs much to his protests or the beard the other wore quite proudly on his face along with the dancing flame of the fire, they were quite prepared.
Of course, it wasn’t hot or anything, but it was enough to survive and be comfortable and it was all that mattered.
All of that to say that winter nights were boring.
All the work that needed to be done was either too risky to be done at night or had already been done.
The taller of the two men had already taken care of getting wood and the bearded one had already taken care of refining the logs they could spare into planks for the construction of the strange machine that was being built in the clearing near their base.
Their ice box was filled to the brim with food gathered in fall. They had already eaten and they didn’t need to worry about hunting or cooking before the morning.
Their weapons had already been sharpened or taken proper care of.
A hound attack wasn’t meant to happen until a few days later. Or well, night since the beasts always seemed to choose to attack when the sun wasn’t looking.
Of course, sleep to pass time was always an option. But that night, rest refused to come.
The two men sat apart from each other, each on their own side of the campfire.
Wilson, the bearded man, was used to such nights. After an uncountable number of deaths and resets, he, of course, many times managed to find himself in worlds generous enough he could get those small moments of calm he was bound to be used to nights like this one.
However, this time, unlike all the other uncountable times such nights would happen, he wasn’t alone.
Wilson was never a people person. People were annoying, distracting, always judging and imposing their own wants and needs. He hated people, never had he found an exception but for one lovable disembodied voice that would talk to him through the radio. Unfortunately for him, no matter how great the voice used to be, behind it sat an insufferable person that just so happened to be sitting on the opposite side of the fire.
Turns out that talking and interacting with an actual person in flesh and bones was much harder than just a voice. Not even counting the fact that the voice in question tricked him into building a portal to this hell hole and that person tricked him into passing a second time through the portal mentioned above just to live through hell and back. All of that only to be bound sitting to an horrible throne before finding himself freed. In the end, he had to meet that said person and has to survive with the horrible owner of the wonderful voice.
Usually, Wilson would tinker with some sort of invention, perhaps even clean himself a bit or even take some time to relax. However, such things were hard to commit when there were judging eyes staring at him through the flames of the campfire.
Since there was nothing to distract himself with properly under the gaze he decided to let his own eyes wander.
He looked at the owner of the oh, so judgemental gaze. The tall man wasn’t doing much either, just staring at him as a gloved hand pet gently the sleeping creature that no matter how much he’d complain about still kept on his lap in the cold winter nights for a bit of extra warmth and comfort.
And so Wilson looked in boredom. Looking at details he had never taken the time to even notice before. The slight gray hair that could be seen here and there, the white thin gloves present most likely more for look than any sort of practical use, the slightly ripped out fabric of his suit as well as the slight traces of unwashed purple and red blood left on the fabric from many battles.
And then, Wilson noticed something he was kind of amazed he had never noticed before.
The man across from him had black eyes.
Not a dark brown or anything, actually black. As if devoid of light. As black as the sword that he would carry or the shadows he’d create.
And so, Wilson, being curious as always blurted out a quite awkward question.
“Have your eyes always been black?”
Those eyes then stared at his face as an eyebrow raised. A scoff, then a smirk came out of the tall man.
“I knew you weren’t the most observant person I'd had the displeasure of meeting but I didn’t think you’d be this blind as to miss such an obvious fact, and get it wrong too no less. My eyes are brown, not even dark, so I’m unsure as to why you’d assume they’re such a color”
Wilson frowned. He got up and quickly stepped over to the other side of the fire to look right into the other man’s eyes up close. He stared as those eyes watched the situation in discomfort, unsure if their owner should move and risk waking up the furred creature on his lap or to stay here for a bit and satisfy the strange man’s just as strange curiosity.
“Haha, very funny Maxwell. But I'm being serious. They’re completely black.”
The man, Maxwell, groaned before replying.
“Of course they’re going to be black if you’re obscuring them with your face and not letting our only light reach them. Glad to introduce to you the wonderful effect of lights and shadows. Now go away, I do not wish to smell your putrid breath as you talk.”
As he said those words he shoved Wilson away and scooted back a bit. A slight look of disgust on his face.
When realization of what Wilson was doing hit him he backed off a bit of his own.
“Erm, My apologies. But I KNOW what light is, thank you but would you listen to me for once? Your eyes aren’t brown or whatever, they're as black as a dark sword or nightmare fuel!”
When realization finally settled in, the frown on Maxwell’s face slowly turned into disbelief.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes!”
Maxwell looked away uncomfortably, before looking at his gloved hands as he mumbled.
“Well, I guess I haven’t exactly been able to look at my reflection in a long while. It’s far from the worst change to be frank with you.”
Now Wilson’s curiosity was more present than ever.
“The worst? As in, it’s not the only one? And hold on, change? As in psychological changes? Or perhaps physical ones? If it’s physical then is it internal or external? From my perspective I haven’t seen anything weird from you other than your usual asshole behavior-”
As soon as the rambling started it was cut off by a very annoyed Maxwell.
“First off, how do you want me to answer your questions if you keep asking them like that, not that I’d answer them since it’s none of your business. Second, Of course you wouldn’t notice, you’re as blind as a mole.”
He rolled his eyes in annoyance before continuing.
“And I guess I have been hiding the most major ones from the sight of a certain noisy scientist to avoid such an annoying interrogation.”
Maxwell grunted in annoyance. Wilson only stared in awe. Questions racing in his mind.
‘What kind of changes? Hiding them? That means there ARE physical changes! NOISY?? I'm not noisy! He's just unbearably mysterious all the time!’
As the taller of the two felt the questioning stare and could practically almost see the gears turning inside the scientist’s head he groaned yet another time before beginning to remove his gloves.
The white thin gloves left room to the sight of what could only be described as talons.
Black clawed ‘hands’. Slender in appearance, albeit that could have been what the magician’s hand normally were like. The claws were more like parts of the finger or bone rather than nails. Such hands were unnatural, tainted by decades of black magic. The sign of horrible things having been committed. The sign of errors and regrets.
And Wilson could only stare. His already tinkering mind became a thought factory, more thoughts appearing in his head than he could voice them out or actually realize they were even there. More and more questions birthing in his brain.
The magician's familiar smirk reappeared.
“I can see you’re quite confused, trying to find some kind of scientific explanation perhaps? How cute. Before you start bombarding me with questions, I’ll answer the obvious ones.”
Wilson started as the talons went back to petting the creature still gently snoring.
“No, I didn’t always have them. A result of the throne if I were to guess. They don’t feel strange or anything different from normal hands. And no, they aren’t giving or taking away any of my capabilities to move my fingers. If I were you, I’d worry more about my own body before being curious about others.”
All the thought in Wilson’s mind crashed against a wall he didn’t even know was there when the last sentence was pronounced. All that mush of broken thoughts melted into a single question.
“..What?”
‘What is that supposed to mean? What does he mean by my own body? I haven’t changed have I? But then again..I’ve never been the most observant. Surely I would notice right?’
The taller man chuckled, that awful smirk growing bigger.
“Why yes of course! You were on the throne too after all. It would make sense if changes also happened even if your stay as a King was rather short.” A pause, a glance and then he continued. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not as if I had any hand in all of this. Look at yourself rather than staring at me as if I killed someone.“
And so, Wilson did. He awkwardly looked down at his own body. Before looking back at the other man.
“Erm, what kind of change should I be looking out for? Other than claws?”
Maxwell rolled his eyes at the question.
“I’m not telling you to undress in the middle of a winter night moron. But to answer your question, the only changes I’ve seen would be my teeth, my hands and well, my eyes. However they could change from person to person, you might not even be affected at all seeing how short your stay on the throne was.”
“Teeth?”
“Really, you disappoint me. I thought you’d be more observant of your entourage.”
And so, the ex-nightmare king's mouth opened. A talon raised up to point to his teeth.
How Wilson had not noticed was truly a wonder.
In the ex-king’s mouth fitted sharp teeth. Some were a bit flatter to still fit their primary use but still sharp. Way sharper than any human’s teeth should be.
A clawed hand removed a stray food left over stuck in between some teeth before plucking it away.
The mouth closed and the smirk returned, bigger than ever at the sight of the scientist’s shocked expression.
As Wilson looked in awe he tentatively brought his own hand to his own mouth.
A finger pressed against sharp teeth.
Just from feeling it he could tell they were sharper than normal. Not as sharp and as misshaped as what he saw in the magician’s mouth but still sharper than normal.
He tried pushing his finger a bit more onto one of the teeth and stopped and pulled it away quickly at the slight sting.
He then stared at his hand.
he took a quick glance at Maxwell, anxious. Maxwell only looked at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting to see what Wilson would do next.
The scientist’s gaze returned to his gloved hands. Black fingerless gloves covered them and his forearm. They always had a practical use. Hide his chemical covered hands. Hide those failures that had stung and burned into his skin forever to be seen there. Hide the mark of his ultimate betrayal that led him into this hell.
He was hesitant to remove them. Both out of uncertainty of the sweet sweet ignorance and not wanting the man next to him to see the marks of his failures. He didn’t want to see that scar that rested into his palm.
He slowly removed the first glove, pulling slowly on it.
He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding in. Much to his relief, his hand was as normal as ever. The chemical stains were the same as always and his hand didn’t seem any different than before.
Surely the other one was fine as well. He didn’t want to look at his other hand, his palm.
“Well? You’re not removing your other glove? We don’t have all night.”
Wilson cringed at the voice interrupting his thoughts but began removing his other glove anyway.
He slowed down in his task of removing it when he noticed blacked veins as well as dark spots that looked as if he had ink on his arms. Surely it wasn’t any sort of change right? It was just some good ol’ chemical stains he had simply forgotten he had since he’s been wearing his gloves for so long.
Much to his horror, these weren’t chemical stains.
“Well that sure is interesting.”
Wilson jumped at the voice behind him. Unknown to him the magician had moved to lean closer to him and see his hands too.
His hand in itself wasn’t bad. However, the scar that it adorned couldn’t be described the same.
The scar, an already horrible reminder of his error and foolish deal. The scar that he had caused himself on the demand of a stranger’s voice on the radio. He had no hesitance at the time. After all, what was a flesh wound to the promise of forbidden knowledge and managing to create something great? He hadn’t ever tender that scar properly when it was done, luckily what little care he took to stop the bleeding apparently was enough to not get an infection.
That scar wasn’t the deep purple it once was. It wasn’t just the simple curve he could feel in his hand and would often feel with his other hand when in a situation of crisis.
The wound had turned a deep black. As black as Maxwell’s talons, as black as the night around him or as the shadows that roamed this world. The surroundings of the wound too, as if he had a splash of ink over his hand. The few chemical burns around it had turned dark gray. As mentioned before, the veins in his hand were more black than blue.
The slight curve of the skin around the scar was still present, however much smaller. As if the wound was just an old scratch or a small cut, not like the deep cut it was. As if the wound wasn’t as bad as it used to be.
“How curious. I wonder why only that hand was affected. In such an odd way nonetheless.” Blurted out the tall man sitting behind him. Curiosity plaguing his usually oh so phlegmatic voice.
Wilson could only stare at his hand. Curiosity transformed into confusion before turning into anger.
He snapped.
“What have you done to me?!” Anger filled his voice. He got up and suddenly grabbed at the sitting man’s shirt collar, forcing him to slightly get up from his sitting position, waking up the creature that rested on his laps in the process.
“What do you mean ‘what have i done’?! I haven’t caused that to you! What use would that even be if I even could do that?!” All of the usual calm in Maxwell’s voice was gone, anger taking its place.
The calm atmosphere of the night was gone. All the tension that had died in the past few weeks got refueled in seconds, now ready to spread like a wildfire and burn any left over calm. Even the creature in between the two men that usually wouldn’t notice anything noticed the flaming tension and whimpered.
Maxwell got up and pushed Wilson away. Fighting away from the grip on his collar. Wilson only replied with a snarl.
“I don’t know! But you HAVE to have done SOMETHING. Everything is ALWAYS your damn fault anyway! It’s your fault I’m here! Your fault that I got stuck on that damn throne because you wouldn’t tell me what would happen once I put the key in the lock! Your fault I got that damn scar in the first place! Of course you’ve done something! Is this some kind of JOKE to you?! Ahah very funny! Look at me, I’m Maxwell and I love rubbing a metaphorical knife in a literal wound! So funny isn’t it Maxwell? I bet that using a literal knife would’ve made you squeamish!”
Wilson’s sudden anger truly surprised the magician. Was the scientist’s wound really that sensitive of a topic for him to completely lash out? Of course, Wilson had always been violent, anger issues were present and showed and he would often solve his problems with violence. After all, the man’s first reflex when he first saw him in the flesh was to throw away his weapon and start a fist fight, it was an obvious fact that he was quite violent. Whether such violent reactions were already present or not before his stay in the constant was unknown to the magician but in the limited time he had known Wilson Maxwell had learned to avoid certain topics or do certain things, sure, he enjoyed poking and prodding at the scientist’s sensitive spot but it wasn’t worth being punched or hunted down for.
He had to try to ease the situation, however it was easier said than done. Especially when the topic apparently had gotten Wilson this mad so quickly.
First attempt would have to be the usage of logic.
“Higgsbury, I just want you to think about it for a second. I know you’re a man of logic aren’t you? What could I possibly gain from doing this? Why would I taint my own hands just to cover them with gloves? Or why would I taint yours? I know you know that I’m a man of logic myself. I wouldn’t do something if it doesn’t have a purpose.”
Wilson only rose up his sleeves.
“I don’t know! But you’re always acting so much better and smarter than me! I’m not vile like you! I’m not going to try and think of all the possible reasons you could be doing this other than to taunt me! Knowing you, probably just to repaint the first mark of betrayal with a second coat and reminder!”
Alright, so his attempt at using logic failed. Second attempt, bargaining.
“Alright alright, I get it, you’re mad, How about you calm down and we talk this ou-”
His sentence was interrupted by a stinging feeling on his jaw.
Wilson had punched him.
Maxwell hissed in pain. He stumbled away a bit from the punch. He held his clawed hands to his jaw to massage away the pain.
He snarled.
“Fine. Since you don’t want to be a civilized gentleman I guess we’ll have to take it to a message of the fists!”
A smirk appeared on Wilson’s face as Maxwell’s frown grew.
The scientist gave a quick kick into the pile of wood next to the fire, throwing a few logs to fuel the flames. He massaged his fist a bit before exclaiming.
“This time, dying flames aren’t going to save you Maxwell.”
The name was sputtered with hatred.
Wilson quickly jumped on the magician. Kicking on the back of his knee to make him stumble into the ground. Standing on top of the man that ruined his life and tried to throw in another punch. However, the fist was caught by a black clawed hand. The owner of the arm quickly managed to throw him off of him and give in back a punch of his own.
Wilson groaned in pain, the smirk painted on his face disappeared, a frown taking its place.
Another punch was thrown. This time, the scientist was the one to punch.
Yet another punch in the jaw, Maxwel hissed in pain and held one hand up to his nose. Looking at his hand he saw some dark red blood.
He swiped the blood away and blocked another punch coming his way just in time. Holding the fist with his own hand.
"Higgsbury, would you please calm down?! I would rather not do anything we might both regret late-"
He stopped talking when he noticed something unusual.
The hand he was holding wasn't a hand anymore.
It was a talon.
Wilson noticed the stare the magician was according to his fist and stole a quick glance at it himself.
His hand, the one that was normal, had turned as black as night. His fingertips had turned into claws.
He pulled his 'hand' away from Maxwell's in panic.
He looked at his other hand, the scarred one. It had turned completely black and clawed, a twin of the other one with the only difference being the presence of the slight curve of the scar.
It took all the effort possible to not show the fear he felt when he spoke.
“What have you done?! Is this another one of your tricks?!”
Maxwell could only look at the scientist’s hands. Questions of how and why in his mind.
It didn’t make sense, why would his hands suddenly change mid fight ? Maxwell’s own talons had changed overtime on the throne. So why would it happen so fast for Wilson? What had even caused them to transform so quickly?
However, seeing the look in the scientist’s eyes, he wouldn’t know either.
Wilson’s anger had turned back into fear, it was his moment to calm him down.
“Listen Higgsbury, I am aware we are far from friends and you do not trust me, I wouldn’t trust myself either, but I need you to calm down. For once, please believe me when I say this. I am not the cause of this, this is surely Their fault or perhaps even.. her’s. But I am in no power to do this to you.”
He stood right up correctly in his usual proud stance. His words were spoken carefully and with the assured voice of a professional showman. His hands rose up to show he wasn’t planning any more fighting.
Wilson's eyes showed fear, anger, and pain. The same look of a cornered animal ready to bite at any movement. He carefully looked at the magician, trying to decipher if this was some kind of trap. His mind racing.
Should he trust Maxwell? He was stuck in this situation too after all. He was right, he couldn’t think of any way or reason the taller man could possibly have to turn both of their hands into these clawed inhuman talons. But could Maxwell really be trusted? Sure, he was forced to do so in their current trust to build the machine but it didn’t change the fact this was still Maxwell. Maxwell wanted to see him suffer, to see him in his most miserable state. Maxwell was a bad person. Maxwell couldn’t be trusted. The only reason for their truce was because it benefited both of them. Maxwell wasn’t to be trusted. Maxwell was a liar.
And yet Wilson decided to believe him.
Most of the tension he felt died and he let out a sight, he was tired, the darkness still surrounded them and he felt drained. Fighting would be useless anyway, it would most likely destroy their truce and his only chance of going back home being demolished with it.
Seeing how Wilson had visibly calmed down, Maxwell decided it was safe to talk and lowered his hands.
“Good to know you actually listened to me for once, I was starting to think you went deaf. Before you ask, I do not know any more than you about why your hands would change in such a way.”
Seeing as Wilson had calmed down and he wasn’t under the risk of being punched yet again, the bastard personality came back full force.
Wilson only groaned at the comment and rolled his eyes, a small smile appearing on his lips before he spoke.
“Yeah, yeah. I understood that. Not as if understanding why would change anything anyway i guess.”
He looked up and down at the taller man, and noticed the still bleeding nose of the magician.
He cringed a bit at the sight before directing toward the chests containing some silk, muttering something, too low for Maxwell to hear.
“Mm? What’d you say Higgsbury?”
A grin grew on Maxwell’s face as Wilson groaned before speaking louder.
“I said, I apologize for punching you, even if you deserved it and still do. Now sit down and lean a bit to the front.”
Maxwell sat down but didn’t bend down slightly as asked. He was about to ask what this was all about when he suddenly felt a wet feeling on his neck.
Wilson ducked behind him, a wet towel made of silk in his hand placed in Maxwell’s neck. His other hand forced the magician to lean down a bit before handing him another piece of silk.
“Pinch your nose right below the bridge and clean your nose a bit, there’s blood all over it. I hope I didn’t break your nose, I doubt you’d like the idea of me repositioning it. For now let’s try the classic method and see if it works.”
Ah, so this is what it was about. Maxwell had almost forgotten about his nose bleeding.
“I can do this myself you know right?”
Even through his complaint he did as he was told and applied and pinched his nose while using the silk he was given to get rid of the blood. Just feeling the nose he could tell it wasn’t swollen.
“I don’t think my nose is swollen, I don’t know if it just hasn’t been enough time to swell yet or not but for now I’ll assume and hope it’s not broken.”
Wilson let out a slight humming sound before replying with a quick “Good to know.”
When Maxwell’s nose had stopped bleeding the two pieces of silk had to be thrown into the burning flames. One being covered in blood and the other being too wet to keep it in shape and strong.
Maxwell was the one to throw his piece of silk first, glancing at it in slight disgust as the sight of blood.
Wilson was about to throw his own into the raging flames when he noticed something strange.
His hands had turned back to normal.
Or at least, one of them had. The scarred hand was only partially normal, the scar still being a deep black and the skin around it as well as the veins were dark too.
However his fingers on both hands had turned back to normal, no longer clawed, however he couldn’t help but notice his nails were slightly sharper than usual.
He threw the tissue away before staring at his hand.
Why were they back to normal? This made no sense.
Maxwell noticed Wilson’s staring and took a look. A surprised look appeared on his face.
The surprised look quickly disappeared to be replaced by a playful smirk. He spoke.
“You’re truly full of surprises pal, care to tell me how’d you get your hands back to normal? I know a quite dapper fellow who’d love to get his hands back to normal.”
The humor in the magician’s tone managed to make Wilson’s own look be replaced by a grin.
“Truth to be told, I have no idea.”
Maxwell hummed and raised a brow.
“Mmm, maybe it could depend on your emotions? You were quite mad when they looked like mine. My guess would be that since you stayed for such a short time on the throne and its influence works best on the weak of mind it only shows its effect when you aren’t thinking clearly?”
Wilson grumbled a bit and sighed.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
Seeing the slight frown on the scientist’s face as well as the quite negative mood he tried to lighten it up a bit in his own way.
“Say pal, you don’t look so good. Brighten up a bit, at least now we know you actually can think! At least most of the time that is, heh.”
Surprisingly enough, this managed to pull a chuckle out of Wilson.
“Another one of your jokes like this and I’ll actually punch you again!”
Maxwell chuckled back and replied.
“Oh but this is no joke Higgsbury! It is so hard to believe that stupid little brain of yours can actually show signs of intellect and is able to do something other than act like a caveman at all times!”
“Talk for yourself old geezer! Seeing what state your hands are in it’s hard to believe there’s any thought other than ‘look at me! I’m the great Maxwell! I’m so good and blabla bla I have a stick up my arse! Bla,bla, I’m so great and you’re all so inferior to me!’. “
And so, both of them smiled. Their ‘argument’ continued as the sun began to rise and the darkness slowly started to die.
The flames crackled as all previous tensions were gone.
Winter nights were long and boring, that was an universal truth. Especially so in the Constant.
However, as it turns out, time seemed to pass much quicker when arguing with your former captor.
Of course, things wouldn’t stay that way forever. Relationships weren’t easy, much less in the wild. But small moments where they could see part of their true self shine through were always nice.
So for now, they could enjoy each other’s company. At least, until They would get bored again and try to throw some spices in their bland meal.
But it would take a while for Them to get bored again as new reasons to argue started so often.
So for now They could just cackle and mock the small fight that had happened, patiently waiting for the next one.
The sun finally took its place in the sky, darkness gone.
The cold snow of winter fell and melted on gloved hands and they’d have to begin preparation for the deerclop’s arrival.
They were both still smiling.
Apparently, small physical changes were enough to cause a fight.
But a fight was all it took to reunite them immediately afterward.