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Everyone knows Grian has a waffle in his hair.
More specifically, he has one on the back of his head. Hidden underneath his mop of, if Mumbo is to be honest, way too unruly hair to be good for him. But it's fair- Grian did spend too much time flying up in the skies, it would be weirder if he wasn't affected by it at all. Grian turning up anywhere with perfectly styled hair was like just as likely as Mumbo himself running about without any redstone stains on his suit and hands, or, gods forbid, Scar missing his daily Jellie petting session.
But Mumbo never thinks much about Grian's waffle. No one really does. It was just one of the weird things in a sea of incredulity that was hermitcraft.
He never thought much about the waffle at all. But he wishes he did.
"Mumbo?" Grian asks. His eyes are full of mirth, watching Mumbo through the glass from his half of the underground chamber.
"Yep?"
"Do both these buttons do the same thing?"
Mumbo snorts. He can't help himself. He starts to laugh, and Grian's infectiously loud laugh follows not a second later, though slightly dulled through the glass. He was in a soul-stealing chamber, after all. Mumbo would lose his soul-stealing license if there wasn't some sort of barrier to keep the subject separated from himself. Surely.
"Nah, not at all! Not at all, buddy!" Mumbo cry-laughs out.
Grian staggers, still laughing, over to the hole and button labelled 'I, Grian, will kill pork boy to get out of here. He will stay as a pig lol.' A moment later and the button is pushed- it's quite a nice button, and it's Grian, so. Yeah. He pushes it.
Mumbo hears the expected piston noise, and the floor under him gives and he falls into the room he'd made earlier below.
"So you STILL pick that one? WHY?" Mumbo yells out. Across the room he can see Grian's descent through the water into the squish chamber. Grian is cackling.
The pistons are still moving, as they should be- the squish chamber needs a way of death for the process to work, and what else but his old friend the piston will do the job effectively? Grian finally falls into the chamber. "Mumbo, I have ninety-six levels," he complains amid his mirth. Mumbo laughs again. "Is this my death chamber??? Cuz-" Grian- or, mushy-squished-peas-in-a-baby's-mouth-looking Grian whines between each piston tick.
"This is- This is. How's it? Is it working-?"
"This is gonna take a long time, Mumbo!" Grian's voice cuts over his.
"Wait- is it really?"
"Yeah." Grian pouts.
"This is squeezing the soul out of me."
"Yeah, it's a juicer. You know? I'm gonna have a soul smoothie at the end of this."
"Oh, here we go," Grian says. "Goodbye." He barely gets the word out of his mouth. He explodes.
Mumbo wakes up the next morning feeling great! Thank you very much, Grian. He's no longer a pig, no longer a potato, and no longer anything but a good ol' human (Or whatever Grian was. He's not sure, but it's close enough because Mumbo's body is feeling a-ok! There's nothing to worry about. He looks human enough.)
He putters around his base for a bit, then cleans himself up for the start of the day. He gets out of his extravagant and classy nightgown (No, scar, he didn't steal the nightgown from a gentleman from the 1800's, he just has style. And enjoys the light and airy cloth. Who cares what time period he got it from?). He changes into his suit, starts to brush his hair-
-Something's in his hair.
He sets down the hairbrush with a clack. Whatever it is, he can't see it in the mirror. "What's this?" he says to himself, suspicious.
He reaches around and feels something warm. Soft. Squishy.
In a panic, he rips it off his head. Ow, he winces as something pulls at the hair on the back of his skull. He frowns and brings the thing around to examine-
A waffle. With tape on it. That now sported bits of black hair. A waffle. A waffle?
"Grian!" He yells out. He's sure Grian's close enough to hear it. He's sure even if Grian wasn't watching right this moment, he'd hear the exasperated cry anyway. All of Boatem probably heard.