Chapter Text
“Hi, Alan!”
[Hi, Orange. What’s up?]
“Oh, nothing, just wanted to say good morning”
[And the same to you!]
Alan grinned at the stick figure on his computer screen, who lifted his orange arms and stretched. Orange lifted his hollow head to the computer screen again, shoulders relaxed. “When will Chosen be here?” His text appeared in large orange letters above his head.
Alan didn’t know. [I dunno.] he typed into the text box next to Orange. [Not like he tells me that much, is it?]
Orange nodded thoughtfully, as best Alan could tell. Sometimes he found it hard to understand what his sticks were thinking– stop that, he told himself. They’re not your sticks any more than your child is. They’re independent of you.
Orange jumped up and down, flapping his arms like a bird, and Alan laughed. Orange tended to do that whenever he was excited and impatient. “What should I do when he comes?”
[Be a good younger brother, of course] Alan chuckled, [and do what he says. He is like six or seven years older than you].
“Right. Sometimes he feels way older though, like he’s...” here Orange’s text stopped on the ellipses, and Alan wondered what he’d been about to say. He didn’t press it.
The small explosion and mushroom cloud from the other side of the PC caught the attention of both of them, and Orange jumped. “He’s here!” he said, unnecessarily, and dashed over to the portal.
The black stick figure which stepped through the rippling white hole on the screen was a familiar sight to Alan. Chosen, or The Chosen One, as his filename read, often came through the WiFi to Alan’s PC in order to check on Orange. He couldn’t talk to Alan like Orange could, but occasionally he would gather letters from various documents and line them up to form words. Chosen didn’t particularly care for Alan, even though (or maybe especially since) he was his Animator.
Alan moved his cursor toward Chosen, who ignored it and focused on prying Orange off his chest.
The two had a silent conversation. Well, silent to Alan, who couldn’t tell if sticks actually spoke to each other audibly outside text boxes or if they just communicated by hand movements. He couldn’t hear when Chosen spoke, or when Dark (on the rare occasions that the red stick even came to the PC) had a conversation with Orange. He thought maybe victim could talk through symbols, but he’d never mustered up the courage to ask Orange, and victim never came to the PC anyways.
Chosen nodded with some finality and tipped his hollow black head up to silently view Alan on the other side of the screen.
As was their custom, Alan dipped his head to The Chosen One, and the hollowhead nodded in return. Then The Chosen One turned to his younger brother and took his arm, and pulled both of them through the portal.
Alan sat back and gazed at his computer screen for a while, smiling softly.
Second reoriented himself midair, trying not to lose hold of Chosen’s hand. “S–so what are we doing this time, Chosen?”
Chosen managed to shrug while staying in the same position as the two fell through the InterRings that formed the WiFi tunnel, each black circle rushing past them like the supports of a train tunnel. “I have something in mind,” he rasped.
The white light appeared before them, and Chosen’s free fist burst into golden flame as the black hollowhead activated his pyrokinesis.
They broke through the sky into the Outernet.
The Circuit Sea broke against the cliffs below them as they dropped from the sky of interlocked IP addresses (one with a hole the size of a black hollowhead), and, in the distance, Stick City glittered along the horizon.
Chosen angled his fire up and the two shot down to the edge of a cliff, where two hollowheaded sticks waited.
One of the stick figures had bright red skin and deep black eyes, and sported tight bandages around his entire upper torso, but he was smiling toothily, leaning on the other stick for support.
The other stick had faded–looking gray skin and large, pure white eyes. There was a scar wrapped all the way around his right wrist and one across his chest as well, but he was also smiling, and even put his one arm up to wave as the two sticks approached him.
Chosen pulled back at the last instant, using the thrust from his rocket–like fire to land gently, albeit with some scorch marks on the grass beneath them. Dark ran forward and hugged Second tightly, followed by victim, who actually picked Sec up and swung him around.
The Dark Lord turned to The Chosen One. “How was the flight?” he asked cheerfully, limping across the grass toward the black hollowhead. Chosen shrugged and rolled his left shoulder. “Sec isn’t as light as he used to be–” he looked pointedly at Second, who released victim from a hug and laughed, “I haven’t grown at all!”
“Except out,” victim teased, lightly punching Sec’s shoulder.
“Aw, cut it out, Vic!” Second said, punching him back.
victim grabbed him in a playful headlock, speaking over Sec’s mop of orange hair. “Chosen, our younger brother struck me.”
“He hit me first!” Second laughed, struggling against victim’s gray arm.
“What’s the verdict?” victim asked Chosen, who pretended to think for a minute. “Well...” He snapped his black fingers (not noticing the thin wisp of smoke that rose from his palm at the action). “One hundred tickles, laid on thick.”
“And we of the royalty confirm it,” Dark chimed in, “and pronounce the verdict sound.”
“I shall do my best to carry the verdict out,” victim said gravely, “although it must be understood that I only have one arm, and one hand on that arm.”
“It would be disturbing if you had two hands on that arm,” Chosen said just as gravely, while Dark muffled his laughter.
“It depends on where the hands were,” victim said. “I might like it.”
“It would– ack!– it would still be disturbing!” Second yelled from victim’s headlock, and he drove his elbow backwards into his eldest brother’s ribs, causing him to stumble. Second broke free of victim’s arms and ran forward, only to be caught by The Dark Lord, who winced at the contact and tackled him, rolling across the grass. At one point he put his head up from holding Second down and told Chosen, “He’s gotten better.”
Second struggled underneath him. “Look, what is it with you guys and randomly attacking me?” he gasped crossly.
Dark grinned mischievously. “Maybe it’s just how very easy you are to knock over.”
“Yeah, I could topple you with a feather, and I only have one arm,” victim told the orange stick, mock–laughing at him.
“It is fairly easy,” Chosen chuckled softly. He leaned over and easily lifted Dark off Second. “Enough, Dark. I think Second’s had a good bit of roughhousing already today, no need to add insult to injury.”
“NEVER,” Dark shrieked, batting Chosen’s hands away and leaping, spider–like, at Second, who took one look at Dark, squealed, and hid behind victim, who promptly picked Dark up by his collar and put on a menacing face. “Cut it out,” he said sternly– or at least, it would have been stern if his mouth hadn’t been twitching with a suppressed smile.
Dark pouted, still two inches off the ground and being held by his collar. “Fiiiiine.”
Chosen pushed between them all. “Alright, come on you two, remember why Second came down here in the first place.”
“Yeah, we certainly didn’t want him here at all–” Dark put his nose up in mock haughtiness. He elbowed Second, who jumped, scowled, and jokingly turned his back on his brothers.
“Back on track, Dark,” Chosen said lightly.
victim set The Dark Lord down gently and turned to Second. “Come on, we’ve got a lunch planned. And then, as you asked, you’ll go with each of us in turn.”
“Go where?”
“Depends,” Chosen said.