Work Text:
Prologue- date --/--/--
wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong stop stop stop no no no
“P-please! Stop it!” a strangled cry cuts off his words, his head going fuzzy as pain shoots down his spine.
“G-GET OFF! Please!” he cries, he cries, and he cries, and he begs, trying to grip onto something, to stand and to fight and to stop it, but he can’t.
He can’t get -- off of him. He can’t get his hands off his wings; he can’t get him off.
“ d-- PLE-”
“Sto-stop! I’ll be good! P-please!”
His voice cracks and hitches, throat raw from screaming and pleading, hands bleeding from scraping on the gravel and rocks to try and crawl away.
The pain is making his head throb, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.
And then it doesn’t.
And his world goes black.
Phoenixes, in mythology, are ancient, almost unkillable creatures.
They’re unattainable, unfathomable, birds of prey among the worst of predators.
Born from fire, blaze, ash, and wind. Burning bright, made from mother nature's own caring hands with the help of the sun, sharing its warmth with the children it loves too dearly.
The phoenix is an immortal, blazing creature that belongs to the sun and sky.
If a phoenix dies, it turns to ash. Once its ashes hit sunlight, it’s reborn in a whirlwind of blazing heat and overwhelming power, the phoenix’s fire-like glow will be returning once more, the phoenix revitalised, only it’s nothing but a tenth of its power.
A fledging once again.
It’s born anew, scars and injuries it couldn’t’ve healed freed from the bounds of its sun-hot skin.
But Phoenix's glory doesn’t end at that, doesn’t end at the immortality and the fire it holds.
Their feathers, once burnt, can heal. It is why people would hunt the majestic creatures. The blood, feathers, and even skin of the children of the sunlight and azure are important, and useful for something.
But it comes at the cost of the birds themselves.
It’s no easy feat, to kill a phoenix properly.
Without them bursting into ash, reborn again. Then, the phoenix would be of no use as a child. No need to kill until it’s grown.
A child holds no fire, no power, no healing. It is weakened, and unimportant. You cannot raise a phoenix in captivity, it’s simply not possible.
So, they let the fledging go.
But adults…
See, phoenixes heal, themselves and other species. But, a phoenix’s feathers, ashes or blood, the healing materials, cannot be used to heal another phoenix.
Instead, if a phoenix’s ashes are applied to another, those ashes will not heal, refusing to mix with its kind. Those ashes will activate every single time the phoenix attempts to use that part of its body, or if the phoenix attempts to heal another.
And hunters.
They aren’t merciful. They have no care for the immortal fowls.
They aim for the wings.
The phoenix is forever bound to the floor, no longer able to reach the stars and abyss high, high above them now. The sun that once called the phoenix its own loses its child, unable to receive the love the phoenix so badly wants to give.
The phoenix is dead. well and truly dead.
Because even once reborn, the ash the phoenix had been struck with, has mixed through with its own.
The phoenix will not burst into ash, flame, or fury. No power will reign, no warbles, calls or cries echo from the phoenix’s throat.
It is gone.
Then, only then, can a harvest begin.
In the old ages, phoenixes used to flock. Thousands of thousands, millions of millions, spread across the land until they realised the use that phoenixes gave.
Millions turned to thousands. Thousands turned to hundreds. Hundreds turn to tens.
Until finally, the phoenixes were gone and wiped off the map. Healing haltered, the people, the hunters now at a loss without their products.
And that was that. Society moved on. It was over, the days of impossibly quick, painless healing.
Until it wasn’t.
Until they realised the phoenixes did not leave. They improved. Quickly, quietly, carefully.
Phoenixes turned hybrids.
They weren’t completely wrong, no. There were no phoenix birds left.
But what does that say about the hybrids? The people with wings and talons and fire? what about the ones with flame and healing and glory spread onto each inch of their blazing golden body?
What about the immortals who walk along with others? Pretending to be humans. They lasted, adapting, and shifting and changing so they could survive.
And they did.
For years turned decades turned almost, almost a century.
But nothing lasts forever.
Some were found, clipped, and killed. Some were kept as pets on display. Some were kept as objects used for healing, their feathers plucked when needed.
Others learned to be quicker. Faster. Better.
You can’t catch something you can’t see.
So, phoenixes adapted once more. Their blazing glory turned down. Their bright wings, once shimmering with gold, red, and orange, now faded and dulled.
Phoenixes faded once more.
But only to others.
Hybrids, in this day and age, are not rare. They have never been.
Some creatures are more common than others. But things that have always been around, like a piglin, a phantom, maybe. They were ‘mobs’, dangerous ones.
But they were accepted because they were normal creatures.
Maybe a chicken, a duck. A cow, a fish, you name it, there is a hybrid. Unless it’s things like Naga’s, or the Steel Lions, or a phoenix. They were rare, and useful, but were not hunted for a long time until they were suddenly hunted and pillaged and killed.
Steel lions died.
Nagas used to reign, but they died during a fateful winter when the cold killed their sensitive skin and blood.
They assumed phoenixes went with them, or even before.
But Tommy’s still here.
alone.
Tommy is the child of a phoenix and a lyrebird hybrid. His mother, a phoenix, was a nurse who would mix her feathers and ashes into medication to heal her patients before she died with an arrow to the throat. His father, a lyrebird, a guard who was making it big shot before he well…got shot.
But a phoenix and a lyrebird. His mother and his father.
So, he looks just like any old bird, really. Thank you, genetics and forced evolution. He claims that his mother is just a common bird called an Australian minor, mixed with his father, a lyrebird. His grey, black and yellows are explained.
But really, he’s just a fuckin’ lair about his mum. What are they going to do, ask her? Not believe an orphan? Yeah. Right.
He got the best, or worst if you look at it another way, of both worlds from his parents. Lyre birds could mimic sounds and calls, with bright yellow tails and black bodies.
Phoenixes, the hybrids that adapted for safety, were dull red, black, and grey. They were warm to the touch, only a little warmer than a normal human. Slightly fire resistant, still with their healing powers if one was lucky enough.
And immortal.
That did not change.
Tommy was lucky enough for his genes to mix so the red colouring was not in his feathers. If he looks at the right angle, you can see a tint, a haze of red of his wings.
But his wings are yellow-tipped, black and grew for the rest. His feathers are slightly sharper, straighter. Made for twisting and turning and hiding.
He lies when people ask and says it’s sharper because Australian minors got attacked by magpies and crows, so they needed to be able to fly and fly fast.
Tommy chirps, warbles, and calls like a normal bird. He looks normal too, so no one expects it. No one even fathoms it.
Yeah, sure, having wings is rare, especially working ones, but they brush it off as Tommy just being on the rarer side of avians.
He doesn’t burn his feathers to heal others, he doesn’t dare risk getting caught with people connecting dots. When he gets injured, he wraps bandages around the already-healed wound and waits a few days.
No one thinks that dear old Tommy would be a phoenix. He’s brash, loud, attention-drawing. That used to be a clue for phoenix hybrids, but in this case, ‘it’s just Tommy being Tommy’.
Or in some cases, it’s just him copying and mimicking, like a lyrebird.
Honestly, Tommy would’ve been happy with just being a lyrebird. He can mimic calls, mimic colours, which he doesn’t think the real birds can do but is sick as fuck anyway, and he just generally enjoys it.
The only person who knows of his actual, real, heritage is Tubbo (And Dream. But he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve that secret). Tubbo is a lamb or a goat hybrid. They aren’t quite sure yet, since his horns are only stubs right now.
Tubbo loves testing with Tommy, learning how his power works, and how to help. Really, Tubbo means everything to Tommy.
They’ve been together since they were children. As far back as Tommy can remember, Tubbo’s been there.
Apparently, according to the people at the first orphanage at least, Tubbo got adopted by Tommy’s parents since Tubbo’s parents were apparently related to Tommy’s mother and couldn’t care for a child, only for his and newly Tubbo’s, parents to die.
So, they were both orphaned.
Like what the fuck is that shitty luck? Tommy jokingly says that he has -10% luck to nerf him because he’s handsome, charismatic, and generally amazing so he needed it, and Tubbo has +10% luck as a buff stat since Tubbo got adopted when they were ten.
The whole point is that he and Tubbo have just been with each other forever. Tubbo’s his brother, even though he’s technically his cousin?
Or is Tubbo his brother anyway? Since he was adopted by Tommy’s parents?
Wait, but they’re dead.
And Tubbo got adopted by that lovely woman who owns the bakery, Nikki. The woman he had…begrudgingly, told her that as long as she treats Tubbo good, then he doesn’t have an issue with her.
Anyway, family aside-…wait.
Never mind.
The point is, that Tubbo is his brother/best friend/cousin, and he would not trade his lamb-goat boy for the world.
Really.
Tubbo is the reason he’s here, in the Antarctic Empire, instead of being plucked like a chicken for his feathers by Dream.
Tommy shivers at the memory.
He’d been so stupid. So trusting and naïve. Dream, the Prince of Essempi Empire had tried to adopt Tommy, just to use him for his phoenix powers, which Tommy idiotically told him about.
He didn’t know that until a month in, Dream said he needed feathers. Tommy gave them, not thinking anything was wrong with it.
Until he asked again. And again. And again. Until he was asking for so many of Tommy's feathers were running out too fast. He didn’t have enough time to re-grow them before Dream took them again.
Then, Tommy said no. and Dream got violent.
It had taken three months to escape the palace, find Tubbo, and get the fuck out of there. They ran. Hopped on a random carriage and made their way here.
The Antarctic Empire.
Hybrids were common here; hell the fucking emperor was one. They knew they’d be safe here.
Tubbo’s the only reason he made it out alive. Made it out whole.
Really.
The point is, that he and Tubbo are close. Always have been.
Tubbo’s like 80% of his self-control. The other 20% is the knowledge that the woman might not like him for the things he does.
So it’s actually Tubbo’s fault since he didn’t stop Tommy, not his.
See, Tommy doesn’t exactly pay attention to the royals. He’s done with royalty, for good, after everything that bastard, his self-proclaimed brother, Dream had done. Fuck him.
Fuck royalty.
And technically, that’s saying fuck himself since he’s a prince. Or well, was a prince, but it doesn’t matter to Tommy. Dream was in the process of getting Tommy to become a prince, so he didn’t have to go outside or something.
Ah, whatever.
He’s fine with insulting himself a little bit if it means he gets to insult Dream.
…fuck dream.
But the point is, that Tommy had not paid attention to who the royals were. He got here after escaping Essempi and never looked back. He worked at the tavern, minded his beeswax, made decent cash, and rented a room just above the tavern.
So, really, any of the following events are not his fault.
That’s just bull shit.
Tommy converses with the man across the bar from him, a regular named Ponk who comes in to escape his little brother, who is around Tommy’s real age.
Ponk’s nice, they talk a bit about the town and any events coming up. Ponk was nice enough to actually explain everything to him and Tubbo, who he knows is originally from Essempi, not the Antarctic Empire.
Being a runaway himself, Ponk related and kind of…took them under his wing.
Really, he just showed them around, gave them some food, got them to the orphanage and helped them explain that their ‘parents’ had passed on the way and offered them things from time to time.
Now, Tommy owes basically all of that to Ponk. He’s also one of the very few people who know Tommy’s real age.
And how illegal it is to work at the tavern. Tommy rubs it in his face, on accident really, by being on shift each time Ponk comes in.
He’s gotten used to it.
Tommy has gotten used to all of it, actually. The Antarctic Empire was…home, now.
He had a schedule, which in itself was a novelty. Life used to switch and change, rugs being pulled from under his feet, glasses ripped from his face.
He was so used to not getting comfortable. To always have a backpack full of things he’d need if he needed to run again. But now, that bag collected dust.
Now, he could just…do it. Do something regular, do something he does every day. which is just- it’s insane.
Obviously, things change, but not nearly as drastic. Like this morning, when Tommy was going to Nikki’s bakery and ran into a new face.
It was slightly surprising, but the Antarctic Empire is massive, and he simply could’ve been a tourist. You never really know, but it doesn’t really matter.
Tommy looked up to the man, with smooth brown hair, in a yellow-ish (he refuses to call things ‘beige’ or ‘vermillion’. It’s just another shade of an already made colour.) jumper-sweater thing and glasses adorning his face.
The man was staring at the boards above Niki, which had the items engraved on the wood. He seemed to have trouble deciding what to get.
Tommy walked into the bakery properly, getting out of the snow that had started coming down. He looked over to Niki, who smiled back.
He gestured to his snow-covered wings, and she shot him an amused grin, gesturing off to the corner.
One of the reasons he loves Niki, and the bakery, isn’t just for the food or company, but because they give you a place to actually shake off.
It’s a small area in the corner, where you shake your fur, feathers, and skin of clothes free of snow or to dry off a little.
When the snow is finally off Tommy’s feathers and no longer weighing down his feathers, he glances to the guy again. And the guy is looking at his wings.
In instinct, he folds them in a little more, tighter against his back, and turns his attention to the board, swallowing thickly.
He hates when people stare at his wings, it’s quite the…uncomfortable feeling. But Tommy see’s the man turn back to the board, and Tommy assumes that’s the end of it.
But it’s not, because sweater-guy turns to Tommy with a smile, “I’ve never been here before. Any suggestions?” Tommy hums, mulling over the question in his head.
As much as he did want to tell the man to fuck of and die, he doesn’t. he’s too tired to do be like that today.
It’s April 6th. The same day he and Tubbo made a ran from Essempi empire. A day Tommy just…can’t do it, sometimes. So instead or being snarky, he points to the hot chocolate.
Tubbo calls him basic, but it’s hot chocolate.
Of course he’s basic, that stuff is incredible. Tommy turns to the man, a smile ticking his lips, his wings relaxing again, folding against his back.
“Niki has some witchcraft crap, and the hot chocolate is amazing as a result. You can get like, different flavours in it, like chilli or peppermint, but I prefer the regular ones.”
Sweater-man nods, scanning the board thoughtfully. Tommy yawns quietly, his wings puffing up slightly when he does.
“She makes really good cinnamon buns to if that’s up your alley. But really, everything here is really well made, and I don’t have anything I can say to avoid.”
Tommy pauses, “well, except the fruit cake. But that’s a personal preference. Fruit cakes is hell spawn.” Tommy shudders. Ugh. Disgusting.
The Sweater-man laughs softly, eyes sparkling with mirth, “Agreed. Fruit crake has never been my thing either.” The sweater man smiles slightly, before turning to Niki and ordering.
No, he is not proud of the fact the sweater-man ordered a hot-chocolate and cinnamon bun like Tommy suggested. He isn’t.
Tommy orders his own thing, which is practically the same as Sweater- man but he buys two cinnamon buns so he can bring the other one back for Tubbo.
The sweater man sat down at one of the tables, and glanced to Tommy, before gesturing to the seat across from him with a smile.
Well.
He probably shouldn’t just sit down at a table with a random person without knowing anything about them, but when has the words ‘it’s a bad idea’ stopped him?
Never.
So, Tommy sits across from the sweater-man with his hot chocolate and two cinnamon buns. He takes one out, balancing it on the mug over the hot chocolate so he can roll up the paper bag with eh second one in it and put it in his satchel.
When he does, he looks back to Sweater man after taking a bite of his cinnamon bun, who smiles back warmly. “I’m Wilbur. Nice to meet you.”
Tommy nods, swallowing his bite and smiling slightly back. “I’m Tommy. It’s ah…good to meet you to, Wilbur.”
Who the fuck names their child Wilbur. what is wrong with them. disgusting. Seriously. Just- just call them Will! Or Willaim! Not fucking- why the -bur?
Adults are so fucking confused.
Tommy takes a sip of his hot chocolate, savouring its warmth, the sweet taste sitting on his tongue. They sit in silence for a little while, and its eventually Wilbur who starts the conversation back up.
“Do you come here often? To Valley Bakery?” Wilbur gestures to the sign in the window, and Tommy nods, smiling. “Yeah, ever since I got here. Niki’s a life saver, and her food is delicious. Ain’t a rip off like it was where I used to live.”
Wilbur nods, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before pausing and looking down to it. “Damn. That is really good.”
Tommy grins, nodding. “Did you doubt me, Wilbur?” Wilbur rolls his eyes playfully, taking a sip. “Well, excuse me for not totally believing a child right of the bat.”
Tommy gasps, making an offended noise. “I am not a child! I’m the biggest of men, Wilbur.” The man raises and eyebrow, and smiles.
“Uh huh. You’re what…5’3?” Tommy takes a bitter bite of his cinnamon bun, squinting in annoyance at Wilbur. Wilbur just huffs a laugh.
“I’ll have you know, I’m actually 6’9.” Wilbur chokes on his hot chocolate, and Tommy grins. Ah, he loves messing with old people.
“I am not old!” oh, he said that out loud then. Tommy snorts at Wilbur’s offender tone, taking a sip of his drink. “Why are you balding then?”
Wilbur lets out a startled gasp, and Tommy grins. “Am I not balding!” Tommy raises an eyebrow, glancing to Niki and sighing, shaking his head.
“first five stages of grief. Denial.” Wilbur gapes at him, and Tommy takes a long sip of his hot chocolate. He pats Wilbur’s arm consolingly, smiling, fake pity obvious on his face.
“it’s ok. I get it, it’s hard coming to terms with the fact you’re losing your youth.” He hears Jack bang the counter and he can hear the muffled laughter and giggles from over by the register, suppressing the urge to laugh alone with them.
Wilbur looks so lost that Tommy actually feels a little bad. “And I thought my son was bad enough.” Tommy’s eyes widen a little.
“You have a kid?” Wilbur looks back to Tommy, shaken from his stupor and smiling. “Yeah. He’s a bit older than you are, child. He works in the army now.”
Tommy nods, pointedly ignoring the child comment. “That’s amazing. Can’t believe someone like you managed to get a lady. So he’s in his late 20’s?” Tommy smiles, using Wilbur’s own words against him.
Wilbur’s eyes flash with something Tommy can’t quite tell, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears.
“I said a little older. Not a decade.” Tommy scoffs playfully, rolling his eyes and taking a bite of his cinnamon bun. “And you’re a decade older than earth itself.”
Wilbur stares, “I am not old!”
“Pretty sure you are, Baldy.”
“Do not call me that.”
“Baldy.”
“Child.”
“Old man.”
“Gremlin.”
“Heathen-“
Tommy likes sweater-guy, Aka Wilbur, aka Baldy.
It’s weird, after knowing Wilbur for about a month now, to think that he didn’t know the older man at one stage.
Really, the guys like an older sibling. An annoying, painful, older sibling.
So actually the first one was right, because all siblings are very annoying, no matter if they are younger or older. Or twins.
Ugh, twins. Tommy hates twins, they creep him the fuck out. Imagine having a replica of you. Tommy is too awesome to re-create, which is why he doesn’t have a twin.
That’s what he tells Wilbur, anyways.
But the whole point is that Wilbur is practically like a brother to Tommy, despite how little time they’ve actually known each other.
Well, at least he knows he won’t get murdered.
Just another perk of the Antarctic Empire.
When Tommy goes back to the orphanage after hanging out with Wilbur again, he goes with a full stomach and a full heart. Wilbur may be a bald man, but he’s a good man.
Oh! another thing about the Empire that’s just way better, is the orphanage!
The orphanage is way better here. They don’t feed them…whatever you call the things they gave the kids at the last orphanage, since that was not food.
He’s pretty sure they just grabbed all the expired food, blended it up and called it a day. Tommy would go hungry most nights, before finding his way here with Tubbo.
They give them proper, actual blankets and pillows. None of that ‘mite- infested’ bullshit the last place gave ‘em.
And they didn’t even lock you in closest. They never even laid a hand on one of the kids. They learnt about the hybrids that came through, like Tommy, and learnt things they might need.
Well, Tommy just told them he same lies as always, because as nice as they were, phoenixes were rare. Rare enough that Tommy could quite literally be one of the very few alive right now.
But it still worked.
They allowed Tommy his own room when Nesting and allowed him to borrow trinkets or items of clothing, as long as he returned them after his nesting was done.
It was so much better then anywhere he’d been before. The orphanage was nice.
But one thing Tommy liked the most, is they actually taught them shit. School is expensive, but it turns out the Emperor pays the orphanage enough to send all of them to school.
And being honest, School is good. He shares classes with Tubbo, he can pursue his interest in science, and he actually really enjoys history, surprisingly.
They have a good curriculum, ok?
To pay the orphanage back for everything they do, and just because Tommy wanted to, he got a job down at the Tavern. He lied about his age, but he’s pretty sure the owner, Quackity, knows.
He doesn’t let Tommy drink, but fair enough.
With any tips he gets or extra cash, Tommy buys things for people. He loves giving shiny trinkets to people he (loves) likes.
He buys the care takers presents on their birthdays, pride blooming in his chest when they get surprised every time and thank him.
He buys Niki recipe books or new cooking supplies when Tubbo mentions she wants or needs something new. Niki is always so happy to receive them.
And for Tubbo, he buys things Tubbo is too embarrassed to ask anyone for. But Tommy knows his best friend. He buys Tubbo things like polish, since Tubbo likes it when his horns are clean and shiny.
He buys Tubbo bee trinkets and sews bees into clothing for him, because he knows Tubbo likes them.
He buys Wilbur things sometimes; he doesn’t even know why. He just likes giving Wilbur shiny trinkets. (he refuses to accept the fact his instinct like him. That these gifts are given because he trusts and likes Wilbur.)
He often provides Quackity with a few things. He buys him decks of cards and bought him matching necklaces each with two rings on each one to match with his now fiancés, Sapnap and Karl, since he was complaining that they can’t all wear them because of their jobs.
Sapnap needs to be wearing gloves, as a soldier, and he could hurt himself if he punched with them. Quackity’s could get stolen while he’s working shifts at the tavern, since rings are easy snatching sometimes, plus he doesn’t want them getting dirty.
Karl can wear them, since he’s a librarian, but he doesn’t because he wants to be matching with his fiancés and feels bad because they can’t wear them.
No, Tommy isn’t soft, he’s just making sure they are indebted to him.
That’s all.
That’s it.
He does not like the feet kicks and giddy smile Tubbo gets every time Tommy gives him something, you are wrong.
No, he does not lean in when Niki ruffles his hair, he’s just using her for the free samples he gets every time he brings her something. That’s it.
He only gives the care takers things because they’re literally taking care of him. That’s it. He doesn’t like them, that’s stupid.
And for Wilbur- he’s just- whatever!
The thing with Quackity was just because Karl looked sad every time it was mentioned. That’s fucking it, do not get it twisted, bitch.
…Tommy doesn’t really have an explanation for getting Ponk matching daggers for his brother and him.
Like, he could say he wanted Purpled to be able to protect himself, but he’s seen Purpled literally beat someone up with a stick.
So…
Well, at least it’s an excuse to torment Ponk.
“That’ll be a hundred dollars.” Ponk’s eyes widen, and Tommy cracks a grin.
“Just messing with you, you already paid. Unless you want to give a poor, poor, orphan a tip?” Tommy makes puppy dog eyes, and Ponk sighs, then goes to hand him a tip.
But then, the door chimes, interrupting Ponk. In instinct, everyone glances to the door. Tommy sees a tall-ish young man walks in, interrupting Tommy’s money scheme. probably around 20-25, brown hair, fair skin and…
Rich, definitely rich.
Tommy isn’t sure how rich, but enough is visible that Tommy wants to be on the other side of the bar from the man. He’s got bright, glittering emerald earrings surrounded by an outlining of gold.
Hm. He can respect the drip.
He kind of looks like Wilbur, actually, but he’s never seen Wilbur in such extravagant clothes, or without his glasses or that stupid yellow-ish (not beige. Never beige) sweater.
Really, Tommy isn’t sure if the man ever wears any other clothes. He always looks the same, in a startling way. Put-together, well made, but still…average. But to average, like he’s making up for something.
Like is fucking baldness. That receding hairline is receding faster then Tommy’s will to live had been. (which is saying a lot)
Two people follow after, one in a cloak and large hat and holy mother of trucks those are wings. Tommy’s own wings twitch , but he pushes it down. It’s not…super uncommon to see bird mutants (lies), but they are usually different species entirely.
Ducks, penguins (especially around here) and things like that are more common. It’s even rarer to see people with wings that can actually let them fly, despite their wings.
Usually, they’re too weak or small, sometimes they don’t even have wings. To see an avian with wings that can definitely support flying like Tommy’s does is startling, but comforting.
The other that walks in after the brown-haired man and wingman wears more casual wear with bright pink hair, tied in a braid with golden accents. Rich fucks.
He’s got tusks, which is cool as shit and Tommy wants them. Imagine having tusks, like what. Women would flock Tommy more than they already do; Tusks are fucking awesome.
He’s also wearing the same earing the brown one had that would’ve been hidden by his hair, but Tommy has a sharp eye for golds. (no, It’s not his bird brain going shiny shiny shiny. Wrong.) So matching earrings?
Oh, he see’s one on the bird man to. All three of them, then.
It’s sickeningly sweet, being all matchy-matchy, but he can’t disrespect the earrings themselves. Tommy has earnings of his own, of course. Strange, they are the same colour combo.
Then, Tommy notices how the rest of the patrons reacted to those three entering. Ah. So they’re important rich fucks. Tommy just did a once go over and went to turn away, but even Ponk froze.
Which…is strange, considering Ponk is kind of a ‘eat the rich’ guy.
A few people stop and stare, mouths open wide.
Tommy just wants to keep doing his job. But, obviously not, as the tavern goes quiet for a moment.
Everyone is staring, some liquid dripping out of people’s mouths since they were halfway through a swing before just- freezing. It’s ridiculous. Tommy sighs and stares at the three who just entered before looking back to the rest.
“Hello, welcome to Snowy Peaks. The rest of you, can you guys all shut your mouths, you’re leaking beer juices all over the tables. It’ll get sticky, I’m the one who cleans them, shut your traps.”
Immediately, clacks of people embarrassingly closing them mouths sounds from around the tavern. Good, they should listen to him.
It’s a quiet night, and it’s late, so only around fifteen people here tonight. At least it wasn’t a bunch of people doing it, and no like- fanboys or anything.
Look, Tommy isn’t really sure how being rich works ok? He was only rich for like, a month, and even then, he couldn’t do anything with it.
“Thank you. And you.” Tommy turns to the man in front of him who was meant to be paying him, holding his hand out. “Can you give me the money for the drink?” Ponk fumbles, handing over his silver and gold quickly.
Aha. Tricky 100, dumbass just made his tip the same cost as his order. Good thing Ponk Is to startled to care.
Tommy takes it with a thanks, sighing. The bar picks up noise again after a moment, and the three new faces sit down at the bar. Tommy gives the first man his drink before glancing to them, rubbing his face.
“I swear to fucks, if these guys are like that rich prick Schlatt I’m actually going to end myself this time.” Tommy mumbles, quickly praying to Prime before turning to them, sighing before looking to them with a forced smile.
“Hello, welcome to Snowy Peaks. I’m the bartender and server tonight, Tommy. You order up here at the bar, and you can see on any of the open seats. What can I get started for you?” see, his customer service is great!
…kind of.
The brown-haired man stares for just a moment, glancing to his companions. “Do you know who i-…we are?” the brown-haired man’s voice surprises him. It’s smooth, firm but gentle at the same time.
It was…surprisingly nice.
(surprisingly similar to Wilbur’s)
No time to get distracted by that.
Tommy shakes his head. Honestly, he does not give a shit who these people might be. He just wants to get paid. Tommy really, really hopes that they aren’t the type of rich pricks that think everyone knows them and they deserve everything.
Like Schlatt. Or Dream.
Definitely like Dream, he’s worse.
“Don’t got a clue, don’t really care. You ordering something?”
The brown-haired man’s smiles, eyes sparkling as he scans Tommy. “What’s your favourite drink?” (just like Wilbur had asked the first time they met)
Tommy smiles at the question, glancing to the board behind him the menu. “I just like whatever get’s me hammered the fastest, so I’m not much help here.”
And he’s not lying, when Tommy is able to bullshit his way through not needing an ID, he gets as much vodka as he can.
He get’s slammed and does not regret it one bit. His mind goes to that nice fuzzy place where he physically cannot do shit and doesn’t have to deal with the world.
The brown-haired man raises an eyebrow, the guy with wings huffing a laugh at Tommy’s comment, a smile ticking his lips. Tommy smiles back, a little less forced.
Someone appreciates him at least.
“Do you do have wines here?” Tommy bites back a scathing retort, giving the man some slack. He’s old, maybe he’s blind to, who knows.
Instead, Tommy nods, gesturing over to the board near the left, “yeah, they’re listed on that board over to the left. Food is the middle board, and beers or non-alcoholic is on the one just above me.”
The man nods, humming to himself as he scans the board, the other two joining. It’s not a busy night tonight, so Tommy can wait.
“Can I have just a glass of Falernian wine?” Tommy smiles at the easy order. Thank you, bird man, Tommy thinks. Sometimes people order the most insane shit. He’s glad for a little bit of peace.
“Yeah, I can grab that for you. You all ordering together?” the pink haired man nods, then orders with the brown-haired man who finally made up his mind.
Yes, he’s judging the first guy simply because he winked at the girl down the other side of the bar. (and because his smile is too much like Dream’s after Tommy called him his brother. Soft-sweet-kind and not something that should be directed Tommy’s way) Weirdo.
Tommy makes their drinks, taking the payment with a fake-ass smile before cleaning up the bench.
Theres no other customers expect those at the table, and they don’t do table service, so unless somebody comes up to him, Tommy doesn’t have to give a shit.
Well, except for the fact that the pink haired one attempts to strike up a conversation with Tommy. He braces for some mind-numbing bullshit, but instead, the man scans Tommy, eyes catching on his ear and asks about Tommy’s earring.
Hmm. Maybe they aren’t so bad.
“My earring?” the man nods, smiling. “Ah, it was a gift from a friend of mine.” Tubbo, because he knows Tommy fucking adores shiny shit. “He thought they were pretty colours.”
Tommy shrugs. The pink haired man nods, taking a sip of his beer. It’s weird, he doesn’t look at all interested, but is paying attention.
Well, he’s like Sapnap then. the guy always looks bored. “What about yours? I see you’re all matching.” Tommy looks to the pink man.
When did he start calling him the pink man?
Eh, guess it’s easier than saying the ‘pink-haired man’ all the time.
…He should really get their names.
He see’s the quirk of surprise in on the pink man’s lips when he says it, the other to glancing to the pink haired man and back to Tommy.
“Good eye you’ve got, Tommy.” Tommy smiles, leaning forward so his hands are on the counter, lifting one of his wings from behind his back so it’s in view. “Avian hybrid. It was shiny.” Tommy shrugs, turning around to put a new jar, replacing the old tip jar which was now full.
See, people do love Tommy, Quackity. Look at all the tips he rakes in!
In this action and thoughts, he misses the excitement and surprise flickering across their faces. He misses the bird-man’s pupils contracting, scanning his wings.
He would’ve noticed the looks cast between them in the few seconds that Tommy had turned away. But he didn’t catch any of that, instead turning around with a now not-forced smile.
“So, your earrings?” the pink man pauses, then nod. “It’s a sign of loyalty. Green and gold are also a sign of health, trust, fortune, and leadership.” Tommy nods, humming as he listens. He didn’t know that about the rare jewels.
“That’s sweet. I assume you’re all family?” The brown haired mans brows furrow. “What makes you say that? We don’t look related.”
Tommy shakes his head, waving of his comment, “No, not like that. Family doesn’t have to be in blood. My best friend and I aren’t siblings, but he’s still like a brother to me. Doesn’t matter if you aren’t related, you can still love people as such.”
The wing man smiles. “That’s a nice way of looking at it. We are all related, just not by blood. Adoption process.” Tommy smiles.
It’s always nice to see other people who were in foster care or in orphanages get adopted into a good, loving family. “That’s sweet.” Tommy sighs longingly. “Maybe one day that’ll be me.” He mumbles, not meaning to say it out loud.
The brown-haired man tilts his head, “You in foster care?” Tommy pauses. Shit, he’s meant to be 18.
“Nah, not anymore.” Good save, Tommy. Instead of digging himself a deeper hole, he stops there. They can take it as they like. Either he outgrew the system or got adopted. Either way, he’ll just pretend to be whatever they go for.
No one says anything for a moment, until the winged man looks to Tommy’s wings. “What type of hybrid are you? Everything I think of gets contradicted.” Tommy smiles.
“Ah, I got a mix from my parents.” More lying. Great. “My mum’s an Australian Minor, and my dad is a Lyre bird.” Tommy pats himself on the back for using present tense instead of past tense for his very much past-tense parents.
“I got lucky and got a few qualities from each.” Tommy smiles and expects them to accept it and move on. But they don’t.
“Why are your yellow feathers…shimmery, then?” ah. Fuck. Tommy tilts his head, frowning, before laughing softly, “I think it’s just the lighting. Thank you, though.”
Topic avoided. “what about you?” The blond man tilts his head. “you’re a hybrid, right? I’m guessing a…crow, or an elytrian?”
The man nods, smiling. “I’m a crow and elytrian hybrid, actually. Spot on, Tommy.” Tommy smiles, “An avian brother from another mother.” It is nice to meet another avian who’s actually the same damn species this time, too.
“What about you…sorry, I never caught your names?” Tommy says, pushing down the embarrassment of forgetting to ask.
The brown man pauses, then smiles, waving of Tommy’s apology. “I’m Wil…Willaim, he’s Techno and he’s Phil- “Phil.” The blond man, Phil, cuts Willaim of.
Weird.
Well, maybe it’s just normal rich people behaviour. Who knows. Tommy certainly doesn’t.
“Well, nice to meet you all. I like your names, haven’t heard ‘em before.” Tommy smiles and the night continues.
“So, you…well, I assume you’re a pigling hybrid, because of the tusks?” Techno nods, smiling. “Yeah. Techno nods, a small smile ticking the man’s lips. “Mhm.”
The conversation goes from there, switching and shifting topics easily. Like it was normal.
He actually ends up talking to them for a good while. The other patrons slowly dribble out, and pretty soon (it was four hours) Tommy has to close up.
So, Tommy takes their now empty cups, putting them in the sink for him to wash, politely shoos them out of the bar. “It’s midnight, you guys go get some sleep.”
Willaim frowns, seemingly the only one who can actually drink without losing it immediately, looking back as they leave.
“you should get some sleep too, Sunshine.” The nickname startles Tommy, but he shakes it off. He guesses Willaim is tipsy, like the other two. It doesn’t matter that it’s the same nickname Wilbur uses.
“I will. Now, shoo. I have to tend to some things. The longer you stay, the less time I have to sleep. You want me to get some rest, right Will?”
Yes, it’s a dirty move to use Willaim’s worry against him and a nickname, but Tommy doesn’t care because Willaim eaves with the other two. Tommy cleans up and closes, returning to the orphanage.
He guesses they aren’t that bad.