Work Text:
“OH FUC-”
“LANGUAGE!”
The dual yells coincide with the throwing of cards and Pearl trying to lunge across the circle to strangle Mumbo. Of course they were in the midst of Void-Space and couldn’t really get the momentum needed for such things but that had never and will never stop Pearl.
The fury of a +4 when someone is on Uno is unmatched.
Mumbo leaned away as far as he could and giggled quietly. Pearl was admittedly a lot less scary now that someone had drawn a silly face on her helmet while they were sleeping. Not that anyone would admit to it- afraid of the pain of death at her hands- but the crooked edge to the smile certainly suggested Scar. Grian grumbled from where he was napping in Impulse’s lap and yanked the rope connecting them. That was enough to pull Pearl back into Impulse's side and save Mumbo.
“Okay, take a breath,” Impulse urged, tucking Pearl under his arm and resettling Grian against his shoulder, “lets keep it down a little,”
“Sorry G,” Mumbo and Pearl mumbled in unison.
Grian just grunted and returned to trying to meld his forehead into Impulse’s collarbone. If nothing else Scar’s snickering was quiet enough to not wake him up again. For a minute the only sound to disturb the quiet was the gentle placing of cards. Far below them a cool toned light glinted. Pearl visibly glanced at it before yanking her gaze back to the cards in her hands.
It was never smart to look too long at the things that surrounded them.
They’d only just got Mumbo to stop cycling through frantic giggling and screaming. No one even knew that his voice could get that high pitched. But for the moment they could pretend that everything was fine and that they were just a group of friends hanging out playing Uno. Why Impulse had a stack of Uno cards in his back pocket when their suits didn’t even have pockets was something they were ignoring. So far Uno had lasted longer than attempting to play Charades or riddle games. No one could beat Grian at riddles and they had even less of a chance at understanding what Scar was trying to say with all of his flailing.
“Uno,” Scar cheered quietly, placing his second to last card.
Mumbo and Pearl grumbled but kept going. Scar let out an annoyed hiss when Pearl changed the color to blue with a smug smile. Round and round went the turns, hisses and cheers in turn with whoever managed to get one over on the others. And so what if the cards changed colors seemingly at will? Or if the numbers had a tendency to wander around their paper confines if you looked away from them for a little too long? It was still better than sitting in the strained silence, or staring into the distance and realizing that something stared back.
The light got brighter.
Pearl won that round of Uno. By the time the cheering faded the cards decided to become Poker. She sighed and took over Grian Cuddle duties so that Impulse could absolutely trounce the others. She didn’t know how- and couldn’t prove it in any case- but she knew that he was cheating somehow. There was something entirely too pleased and cunning glinting in his eyes to be anything else. And no other way for him to win four times in a row. By the time that Scar got annoyed enough to spin himself around and face the other direction to pout the light was strong enough that they each had shadows.
Not their shadows of course. But shadows nonetheless. That was yet another thing that they had to desperately try and ignore. Great writhing things reached out from their shadows, tentacles and wings and eyes and smiling mouths in the darkness. The light woke Grian up and he yawned loudly, stretching his ruffled wings all the way out. The time in the Void seemed to leech the vibrancy from his feathers, leaving them dingy and faded. And between every couple of feathers something blinked its countless eyes. Grain snapped his wings flat to his back before Mumbo could really settle into his staring match with whatever that was.
“How long did I sleep?” he asked.
All of the eyes (theirs and not) turned to Impulse. He sighed and pulled the small clock from where it tucked into his not-meant-to-exist back pocket. Clocks were not supposed to work in the End. But then again Clocks also probably should not have been covered with bright red blood that never dried or faded. It meant that Impulse’s gloves were covered in the stuff, though at least it dried once it was smeared there.
“Just about four hours, do you feel any better?”
Grian shrugged and raked his hair back from his forehead. The tightness around his eyes and the frown pulling at his face suggested that he was not feeling better. But for the interest of not starting an argument it was left alone. He kicked out of Pearl's lap and floated to the end of the ropes that tied them all together. He looked almost angelic floating there. Wings half spread, hair haloing around his head, one clawed foot wrapped around the rope. They just had to pointedly ignore all the ways that he was distinctly not right.
They all were, but Grian showed it more than the rest.
The unnatural thinness to his limbs, the shadowed lines under his waxy skin that showed the ball joints underneath, the way his hair looked more and more like yarn with ever blink. They knew without knowing that his feathers were just dyed chicken feathers, and liable to start falling out soon if they didn’t find their way out of the hellscape they were in. If nothing else, Grian's big empty eyes were at least the same thing they were used to. Every amount of normalcy had to be clung to.
Mumbo looked hungry. The time in the Void had leeched his skin of what little color it did have. They could see the veins around his eyes and in the thin skin of his hands. (when their gloves decided to not exist for a moment.) It made the void-dark color of his hair and eyes look that much more startling. It was a good thing he was already used to smiling with his mouth closed, and grew his mustache over it as an extra protection. The teeth that lingered behind them were distinctly not human. Long and needle sharp, fitted together like puzzle pieces, meant to rip into flesh and crunch down on bone.
He spent so much time pretending to be human, it was unsettling to have that stripped away. But of course none of his friends commented about it. It would be hypocrisy, pot calling the kettle black, it would call attention to their own differences. So he smiled with his mouth closed and continued fiddling with his cards. He was pretty sure that some of them had run away while he was thinking, he had less in his hand now than he did before.
“I think the cards are Go Fish now,” Mumbo said sadly, “I don’t remember the rules. Scar?”
“Ugh!” Grian yanked himself back down the rope to shove a hand against Scar’s open mouth (his hand went straight through Scar's visor,) “don’t let him tell you anything! I know the rules, and I won’t make up fake ones.”
Scar twisted his head around to knock the face of his helmet against Grians wrist. He probably would have bitten the other if they were able to take their helmets off. (Their air was long since gone, had been for days-months-years, but they still didn’t remove that layer of security. Their gloves liked to disappear but thankfully not their helmets.) Behind the glass Scar’s disguise shifted. Gray skin peeked through human warmth, wolfish teeth and sharp ears seen from the corner of their gazes. Sometimes his eyes glinted red.
“Does anyone have a four?” Pearl asked the group.
“Go fish,”
She sighed. Already a poor start to the game. But they were all awake for the moment so they played. Nothing better to do. Playing kept them somewhat distracted from the light that grew brighter and brighter. Pearl could taste the hope that the light was giving the others. For them it was lemon and bright sugar. But blood coated the back of her throat. She stared down at the hands that were wrapped around her cards. It was difficult to call those hands hers. Why was there blood crusted under her nails? Why was there soil ground into the creases of her knuckles?
And then she blinked and her hands were covered with her suit gloves. She shook her head. Seeing things that weren't there probably wasn’t a good symbol of sanity. But Pearl had long since been a Victor. And when they feasted upon the corpse of the Makyr that the Games were fashioned from they… took a step to the left of being a Player. Sometimes she swore she saw that same spark of wrongness in Grians eyes. She wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if she could. Over time their roles shifted and changed, once she’d been Grians sister, crafted of the same make and kind. Then he was gone and she was left behind.
Now he was back, but he held her a wings length away. Wings that she knew weren’t meant to exist but that Grian carried as easily as breathing. (She remembered when he was Griba, she remembered when he was Xel-)
“I win!” Mumbo cheered and wiggled in place.
Grian pouted, his three remaining cards held loosely. He turned away from the thing at the edge of his vision. Thankfully the others didn’t see them as clearly as he did, not even Pearl. (Scar would one day, it wouldn’t be long now, the Victor's crown was already dripping blood down his brow. Scar didn’t know yet, Pearl didn’t know yet, but Grian Saw.) The things beyond wouldn’t hunt them yet but they were constantly getting closer. He just really hoped that Xisuma would come for them soon. He wasn’t sure what they would be able to do if their time in the Void kept stretching farther and farther.
It was like a rubber band wasn’t it? It could get pulled on and stretched this way and that until it snapped. And Grian had the bad feeling that when it did snap they would be in trouble. Even he- and the things like him- didn’t mess with those beyond. Yet another reason to want Xisuma nearby.
“You know,” Impulse said suddenly, “my horns are itchy.”
Grian Pearl and Scar all glanced amongst each other in confusion but Mumbo nodded. They swapped their stare to Impulse. He just shrugged and knocked his blood stained fists against his helmet. Underneath his horns were just long enough to touch the underside of the helmet. And they were itchy. He would give almost anything to have Tango around to scratch them for him. The blaze-borns hands were so warm and felt great. He pouted a little at the thought, he hadn’t seen Tango or Zed since they jumped into the Void.
Skizz was going to kill him when they finally surfaced.
“Since when have you had horns?!” Pearl squeaked.
Scar and Grian nodded rapidly. The three of them used the ropes tied around their waists to get closer to him. Scar was the one to reach out and grab Impulse by the helmet. He tilted the others head back and forth so that they could all stare past his clear face mask. And there they were. Two little horns that rose from his forehead. The skin directly under them was stained a dusty black from the small growths. They did seem like they would be itchy, the not-gray skin around them was dry and cracked and irritated red.
“I’ve always had them,” Impulse said reasonably.
He just sighed at the gaping. And well… well Impulse had never been good at lying to himself. As the light got brighter and brighter they were probably coming to the end of their time in the Void. but they’d already been there for too long to be healthy. They should have died of starvation, or dehydration, or got eaten by the things they were all ignoring, or their air should have run out. So he popped the latches underneath his chin and pulled the helmet away from his head.
“WHOA!!”
“HEY NO!”
“IMP!”
“Now don’t be rash-”
The other protests layered over top of each other. It was kind of nice, they’d been withdrawn and quiet for too long. Even those things in the distance drew away from the sudden shouting. He took a deep breath just to convince himself that it was fine. The little panic screaming in the back of his mind (sounded a lot like Skizz) quieted when he was able to do so. It was cold, but not so much that it would be uncomfortable. And full of oxygen! Yay!
“See it’s fine,” he patted a sputtering Scar on the top of the helmet.
Grian barely waited long enough to ensure that he didn’t asphyxiate before squirming out of his own helmet. His little ear wings flapped wildly back and forth with their newfound freedom. Pearl shrugged and pulled hers off as well. He didn’t even see Scar take his off, between one blink and the next it was just gone. Leaving just Mumbo. Who wilted under all of their expectant stares and pulled his off too, tossing it to the side so that it could float away into the void. That would probably suck if they ended up needing those again later but eh.
Impulse sighed and scratched his horns. They always itched when they erupted. It wasn’t really good to scratch them though. His sharp nails could easily open sores if he didn’t keep them filed down and the skin was already thin and irritated.
“Since when have you had those?!” Pearl gasped.
“Always, I just don’t keep them out on Hermitcraft.”
“Aw Impulse, you don’t have to hide them! Why as Mayor I made a decree-”
He waved Scar off, “Nah. Zed and Doc just try to headbutt me when they see horns. It sucks. ”
That started another round of giggles. Grian continued squirming out of his suit so that he could stretch out fully. Not that their suits really even tried to exist once their helmets were off. But he still managed to take it off and throw the pieces in random different directions.
“So like… are you a netherborn?” Scar asked.
“Nope. I’m a demon! Naturally made and everything,”
Grian sputtered. There were almost a few words in there somewhere, but possibly only Mumbo could understand them. He gestured a little weakly, ear wings twitching. It was funny. Finally he just huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. They would probably need to have a one on one talk later. When the others weren’t around the eavesdrop.
“X, Tango, and I summoned him ages ago,” Mumbo said helpfully, “we needed help with an iron farm.”
“See I’d believe that if it wasn’t you guys. The biggest Redstone nerds around needed help with a farm?” Grian said.
“I thought that was Doc?” Pearl whispered to a giggling Scar.
“Oh it was so long ago, I was still pretty new to the scene actually,” Mumbo reminisced fondly, “Iron farms were so much harder to make back then. And then after we were done Impulse offered us cookies. Obviously we couldn’t get rid of him after that.”
“The secret ingredient is just a pinch of sulfur in the chocolate,” he said seriously.
Grian stared at his friend. The demon. His mouth joined in on the shocked sputtering without his brain's input. Wasn’t there a time that Scar sold cookies? He was asking very intently about Impulse's recipe if nothing else. It was a good way to pass a little bit more time because their cards decided to flash incomprehensible symbols. Probably not too good to stare at those for long. Pearl started tossing them out of their circle one by one telling them that they needed to behave. Which only left Mumbo to notice how off he was. And because Mumbo was the best he left it alone for the moment.
He would likely get dragged to the side for a check in later but that would be fine. Because it was Impulse. Sure Grian had the immediate instinctive fear response but he wasn’t what the Makyrs wanted him to be. He ran away from the Watchers before they could manage to instill hatred for the Hellspawn into him. The revelation was shocking but that was just because he didn’t know. Impulse was so different from the imps and hell knights and terror raisers than he’d seen in training videos. Impulse was his friend and that was that!
“Oh hey does anyone else hear sheep?”
By the time Scar finished asking the question the Void was gone from around them. Grian blinked rapidly in the sudden light. (Not that his eyes had anything in them, but now that they were back on a Server he could pretend) He didn’t have to look around to feel the connection to the Server behind his sternum. Another Life Game then, snatching them away from their home. He smiled slightly. The crown on Scar’s brow was almost fully solid.
He turned to greet the others forming at his back, a bright grin shared for his friends, “hello everyone… Welcome to Secret Life!”