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Something unexpected that Martyn remembered when they first arrived was that the city smelled. It was easy to forget after being stuck in a ship bottle for months on end with another rat who didn’t know how to shut up.
Paris was filthy, and not in the way a small rat like himself would usually enjoy. It wasn’t useful garbage, just garbage garbage. Actual trash that had no use and was just in the streets, making the air so toxic he thought he was going to die until Ren had pulled him into a nearby sewer.
“When a literal sewer smells better than the streets, you know it’s a problem.” Martyn complained, taking in a breath of ‘fresh’ air.
“You’ve got that right, me laddie.” Ren agreed. He stood up, flaring the tail of his coat, and held out a hand to help Martyn stand upright.
“You know, when my wife was still around, I was worried she didn’t have a sense of smell from how she never reacted to anything foul…” Ren continued to ramble as they walked forward.
Martyn nodded along politely, his eye twitching from having to listen to the other rat talk about his dead wife for what felt like the millionth time. He had gotten pretty used to tuning out the actual content, but Ren’s voice felt like a record scratch that repeated over and over again. A part of him wanted to punch the guy in the throat to finally get some quiet, but he hated silence more than he despised Ren’s obnoxious voice.
After being stuck in what felt like an empty void for years, he welcomed any sort of reminder he was a rat. He thrived when he felt overstimulated, because it reminded him he was alive. Every time his foot fell asleep, the tingle from the blood rushing back that felt like a needle, was embraced with open arms until it was gone.
He would never admit how badly it had affected him. The void had been unforgiving and a different kind of torture. He didn’t mind this life as a rat, even if Martyn has had to endure the likes of humans trying to kill him or keep him as a pet. He could recall the feeling of shoving his fingers down his throat in order to choke back up the rat poison he had ingested from food the humans didn’t even want anymore. The taste of bile would sit in his mouth for days, never going away despite how much water he drank. Most rats couldn’t actually choke, but he could for some reason. Always the survivor, it seemed.
“Martyn?”
He felt himself come back to his body, not entirely but enough where he could at least pretend to be okay.
“I’m here, I’m here.” Martyn laughed, but even to his own ears it sounded hollow. It was an echo of a plea, wanting comfort but not willing to beg for it. Even if he begged for it, he was certain Ren would never allow him the comfort. They certainly had not.
Martyn could tell Ren was suspicious, but wouldn’t push the matter. For how much the guy talked, he was glad the other rat knew how to mind his own business.
Ren gestured up ahead, bright lights spilling from the ceiling a few feet above them. Martyn noticed it was a sewer grate, it seemed they had finally reached the main city. Paris wasn’t small by any feat, especially by human standards, but for a small rat like himself it may as well have been the whole world.
“Think we can get up there?” Martyn asked. He stopped just under where the light was coming from, holding a hand above his eyes to prevent the light entirely taking over his vision.
Ren contemplated the space as well, his sunglasses thankfully saving his poor eyes. “I could attempt to boost you up?” He offered, motioning for Martyn to come closer.
Martyn walked over, rolling his eyes as Ren squatted down and helped Martyn stand on his shoulders. One Ren had a firm grip on his ankles, he stood to his full height, just barely enough for Martyn to push the heavy grate up.
“You better not drop me,” Martyn warned, already feeling his legs shake from the uneven distribution of weight, and doing a quick look over the room they had seemingly stumbled upon.
From the quick one over, it seemed the two of them had stumbled upon a rather luxurious bathroom. White linoleum tiles, a porcelain tub spanning the entire wall, and a sink with gold trim running along the edges.
“Coast is clear.” Martyn called down to Ren, pulling himself up and onto the floor with what he would pretend was grace.
Once his feet were on solid ground, he moved the grate so it had an opening big enough for Ren to pull himself through, then helped up his traveling companion.
“Thank you, me laddie.” Ren nodded to him, helping him push the grate back into place.
He looked around with what appeared to be mild interest, but after the months Martyn had spent with him, he could tell that Ren was enraptured by the space. Not that he could blame him, it was quite a fancy bathroom.
Martyn let out a low whistle, walking over to crane his neck up at the mountainous bathtub. “Whoever lives here must be loaded.”
“Like a taco.” Ren agreed, hands on his hips with pride.
Pride for what Martyn didn’t know, nor did he question whatever the hell Ren just said to him. He had grown a tolerance to the crazy stuff that came out of the other rat’s mouth.
“Anyways, there’s got to be a way out of this place.” Martyn’s eyes wandered around the room, eventually landing on the pipes coming from the back of the toilet. A small smile formed on his face as he pointed to them. “And that’s our ticket.”
_
Ren barked out a laugh, throwing an arm around Martyn’s shoulders and drawing him close. “He’s not just any first mate. No, Martyn here is my hand. The Hand of his captain!”
The Hand of the King.
Martyn flinched, startling them both enough for Ren to let go. He felt himself take several steps back, ears flat and breathing harsh as he took a second to stop his vision from swimming. Sweat soaked his palms, causing his eyes to sting when he rubbed them too harshly to get the image out of his head.
Unfortunately, the scene of Ren’s decapitated head rolling away from him as the body dropped had been burned into his memory long before this life.
Distantly, he could hear voices shouting his name. Hands on his shoulders shaking him back and forth, making his head spin. The motion made his nausea evident, the burning bile rising to the back of his throat. He choked, slamming both his hands over his mouth as he shook the person’s grip off him.
Martyn needed to run, but his legs wouldn’t listen to him as they continued to move him backwards until he hit a wall. The new surface was jarring, sending him to the floor as his legs gave out. The shock of the impact made his body tingle, but he felt no pain.
He hadn’t felt any pain then either. When the axe had nicked his leg after he dropped it, the sound of diamond against stone fell upon deaf ears. Martyn was in a similar state then, unable to do anything other than stare. Watch as the head of his king rolled, leaving a crimson river in its wake.
Dead, but Ren still had one life left. The entire point of Martyn slicing off his head was to raise the Red King. He had promised, Ren had shown him the enchantments and everything. The stupid rune book and the other crap Martyn didn’t care to pay attention to over his worry that something would go wrong during the ritual.
Ren wouldn’t be the same.
Martyn should have never done it. He should have never left wherever he came from in search of adventure. Never should have stepped within the server code of EVO, let them have their way with him. Never never never-
“Martyn!”
The sharp stinging of his cheek and a shrill, yet familiar, voice snapped him back to the present, to this universe. He brought a hand up to his cheek, bewildered as he stared at a hysteric Scott who was crouching in front of him. The alchemist still had his hand raised, ready to bring down another harsh smack if Martyn still wasn’t coherent.
“What the hell was that for?” Martyn shrieked, heart still beating in his throat.
Scott’s hand dropped to his lap, relief, anger, and worry all battling for dominance behind his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what the hell was that for’? Martyn, we thought you were dying!”
“I was having a panic attack, not dying.” Martyn winced, rubbing his still aching cheek, “Jeez you hit hard.”
“Yeah, well, the first two didn’t work so I figured I had to put some power behind it.”
“You slapped me twice already?” Martyn asked with a light chuckle, wondering how he had missed that because Scott was by no means weak.
“Yes! Martyn, what the hell was that?” Scott demanded, worry seemingly having won the battle.
And Martyn… didn’t have an answer for that. It was strange, that much was for sure. It had been a long time since he had been thrown into such a disturbing memory. The one’s from third life had been practically blocked from his memory since he died. Ren was someone he always thought about but the actual king and hand bit? The entirety of dogwarts as a whole? He hadn’t thought about it in a while.
“I guess I just got reminded of something,” Martyn tried to laugh off, but it was ingenuine to them both.
Scott gave him a weary look, taking the blond rat’s hands gently and running his fingers over Martyn’s knuckles. “Is it like… PTSD? From the old house? We can talk about it if you’d like-”
“No!” Martyn exclaimed rather harshly, causing Scott to jump as he ripped his hands away. “No, no I- I just want to move on okay? Forget it happened please?”
The other rat only stared, biting his lip and twirling a bit of his hair awkwardly. “Fine, I won’t say anything. But I think Ren’s gonna have a few questions. He was pretty spooked when you started panicking. Bek and Eloise had to drag him away.”
Martyn resisted the urge to groan. Of course they did. He had started panicking because of Ren after all, it was no surprise that Ren would be concerned. Plus, the two of them had gotten awfully close after holing up with the other rats in this bleak mansion for the past few weeks.
They were no longer the Red King and his Hand, but the Captain and his first mate. Martyn wasn’t exactly sure which one he preferred, but he did know that his loyalty to Ren still had yet to fade even in this lifetime.
“I need to apologize to him,” Martyn sighed, hauling himself up and almost immediately tipping forward again. Luckily, instead of hitting the floor face first, Scott caught him with surprising agility.
Well, maybe not surprising. This was the same man who had won two consecutive life games, (no matter how many times he denied Double Life as a win). Scott was a winner, a survivor. The lowest he had ever placed in a literal death game was ninth, and that was the first season when he teamed with the Canary. Of course, they wouldn’t have been in his favor.
“I think you should rest first, Ren will be fine. Oli’s keeping him distracted.” Scott told him, helping to drag Martyn over to a nearby potato sack to sleep on.
“Dear void, how did you manage that?” Martyn asked weakly, letting his body drop onto the surprisingly comfortable material. Then again, anything was more comfortable than floating for eternity.
“I told Bek to figure it out,” Scott chuckled, lying down next to Martyn with a small ‘oomf’. The other rat’s long, white hair covered Martyn’s face like a blanket, causing him to spit out any that got into his open mouth.
“Watch the hair, mate.” He complained, earning only a laugh in return.
“Yeah yeah, get some sleep.” Scott chided, though the small smile on his face couldn’t be argued with.
So, Martyn turned over and drifted off with surprising ease.
_
The next morning, Martyn had woken up on the floor.
He blinked awake slowly, eyes still caked with grim from his sleep. His tail was tucked beneath Scott, who was still lying on the bed, positioned like a porcelain doll. Ever the beauty, that Scott Major.
Martyn sat up, yawning as he tugged his tail out from beneath his friend. The white haired mouse remained undisturbed, and Martyn was starting to wonder if his friend had truly turned into a doll.
He, thankfully, did not have to find out for himself as Scott turned over and continued to snooze along.
Martyn shook his head playfully, standing up as he dusted the dirt from his pants and gathered up his stuff. His bag and boots had been left near the entrance hole of Scott’s corner, probably placed by Scott himself from how carefully that had been set up, easy for Martyn to find.
He slipped the boots on, taking a second to make sure they were secure (he refused to have his shoes fall off the roof again) and pulled his bag over him before quietly making his way to the main area of the attic.
It was huge from his tiny rat perspective, though he doubted the room was much bigger than the bedroom he shared back with Ren on third life. Void, it had been ugly, but damn was the bed comfy-
Martyn paused near the giant rubber duck, eyes wide as he turned to sprint to the small area he had Ren had called home in this world. A stupid red dollhouse that Martyn had begun to grow too fond of.
He had forgotten all about Ren and his breakdown from the night before. Martyn cursed himself as he turned the corner, throwing out his hand to catch the pole and spin himself so he didn’t lose momentum. Oh how he wished he had his human height at this moment, it would make traversing this seemingly endless maze of boxes so much easier.
Martyn didn’t let himself have a second to breathe as he boosted himself up with his added rat jumping power, landing outside the door to Ren’s ‘quarters’ as the others had begun to call them, and practically kicking down the door.
Inside was empty, the desk that Ren hardly used was as empty as it always was. Martyn had never scolded Ren for not using it since the chair was extremely uncomfortable, but oh buy it would be such convenience if the rat he was looking for had just been sitting right there waiting for him.
“Ren!” Martyn called out, walking over to push open the door just to the right of Ren’s desk, which led to the pirate captain’s sleeping area.
Ren wasn’t in the hammock either, only succeeding in making Martyn more frazzled than before. If Ren wasn’t in his quarters, then where the hell was he?
“The one time I actually need to see you and you aren’t here.” Martyn groaned.
He decided to check the next possible place: the roof.
Technically speaking, the rats weren’t supposed to go onto the roof. Okay, well, they weren’t supposed to be in the building at all, but the roof especially. He could remember Bek and Eloise talking about it once.
“It’s like an unspoken rule,” Bek explained as he braided her wife’s hair. “The building isn’t safe but the roof is even worse.”
“I heard that Tubrat almost got eaten by a bird up there once,” Eloise shivered, keeping her head as still as possible so she didn’t mess up Bek’s work.
Martyn had told Ren about this when they first arrived. Memories of the old house back in the UK were fuzzy, but that was something that stuck with him in high definition.
Ren had been pretty bummed when Martyn had told him not to go on the roof, claiming that he was a man who was not afraid of danger and a pirate who just wanted to explore. That had earned him some exasperated groans and a rather joyous round of applause from Rat Man.
But, in the quiet of their room, after a late night party to celebrate the one month anniversary of them living in the hotel, Ren had admitted to him quietly.
“I quite love the sun, it reminds me of the freedom I now have.”
The climb to get to the roof was quite a long one, the only being to climb the wooden beam into the rafters and to the window that gave them access to the roof. Martyn wasn’t the biggest fan of climbing wood, especially when it was probably molding, but he knew it was the only way.
Taking a deep breath, he clawed his way up the first few feet with no problem. The wood was old and rotted, his claws sinking into it much too easily. The smell of mold and wet violated his nose, making him almost gag and fall down.
The smell of wet wood was nothing compared to how the ocean smelled, which he much preferred. It was why he enjoyed his time as a pirate, a real one not this one where he was the sub-par servant of a delusional (yet attractive) man who called himself a rat. No, his life as the serving on the Kestrel ship was one of the best, even if the world had been overrun by demonic entities and celestials battling for dominance of land that did not belong to them.
Nevertheless, it was why he didn’t go along with Ren’s ridiculous role play about a long lost wife and a dead crew. Even if the story was starting to get a bit old, he still found himself staring as Ren recounted it each time.
Martyn was easily reminded how good of a storyteller Ren was in every universe. Third Life had been his favorite, especially since he got to play into the roles they had a bit more. Sure, it gave him severe trauma, but none of them walked out those games the same. Martyn just so happened to be one of the unlucky few who did remember.
Once he finally reached the top, he hurried over to the window which led to the room, cracked the tiniest bit open, propped with a lone bottle opener. (second end) A cool breeze was blowing from it, explaining why Martyn had woken up with a slight chill.
Martyn walked over, pushing the window open and climbing out, replacing the bottle opener carefully before scanning the windy rooftop, holding his ears down to muffle the noise.
It wasn’t hard to miss Ren with the bright red coat he wore, which was tucked around his shoulder where he sat on the edge of the rooftop facing the eiffel tower in the stance. His brown hair was wiping around crazily, but Ren made no move to try and contain it.
Martyn walked over to him, footsteps silent compared to the sound of the wind, coming to a full stop behind Ren. The other rat made no move to acknowledge him.
“It’s freezing up here, you should come back inside.” Martyn called out to him over the whistling of the wind, making the noble sacrifice of cold arms in exchange of preventing a headache from the loud wind.
Ren didn’t move, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. The sound made Martyn irritated. Not because Ren sounded guilty, but because Ren sounded quiet. In the years they had gotten to know each other, Martyn had never once seen Ren truly shut up unless it was serious. Like after Skizz had died or Martyn had-
After Martyn had chopped his head off on the altar.
Martyn shook his head, pushing the memories inside as he abandoned trying to save his poor ears, grabbing Ren’s arm insistanty and trying to tug him up. “Come on! I can’t have you catching a cold now, can I? The others are going to think you were poisoned, which I would never do, but-”
Martyn rambled on, no end point in mind as he dragged Ren back inside, letting the bottle opener fall from keeping the window open with a small ‘thud’, down the giant pillars of death and disease, and finally into Ren’s bedroom.
Once the captain was situated on the bed, Martyn’s mindless rambles had become background static at this point.
“And, you know what look- I know you aren’t the biggest fan of Scott, but you need to at least give him a chance.” Martyn said, wrapping a few blankets around Ren’s shoulders, stealing one for himself so he could lie down on the bed as well. “He’s super nice once you get to know him and I really think you two would be great friends-”
He talked. Martyn kept talking until his throat hurt, and even then still didn’t stop. He couldn’t, not until that far away look was gone and Ren looked like he could remember what Martyn’s eyes looked like.
It was what felt like hours later, when Martyn knew his voice would be shot the next day, did Ren finally respond; and if that response was by a gentle squeeze of the hand, well, Martyn would take it full swing.