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Hatchy and Gabbro, post time loop, go camping in the Quantum Grove.
They bring sap wine - mostly for Gabbro’s enjoyment, as Hatchy complains to the taste. They can digest it just fine! It doesn’t taste good to them.
“Buddy, why do you prefer to use fresh branches for marshmallows? The ones that leak sap?”
Mumble mumble, “Little bit of sap does elevate the treat - but it's still mostly mallow! It's not a concentrated brew of potent poison that curdles taste buds!”
They brought a whole spread with them to the campsite. Different bottles from different batches.
They will not drink all of it. These are mostly samples, with only one or two vintages that Gabbro likes and one that Porphy pressed into their hands with a wink, “This one made especially for you, hatchling.” Hatchy is kinda dreading it, to be honest.
Hatchy is trying.
They are feeling a little tender. They didn't know that they could have this. They are trying their best to give it a chance. New life experiences outside of the loop.
Gabbro is getting pleasantly sloshed, and is increasingly amused by the faces Hatchy pulls between sips.
Both are ranking the samples using the empty bottles with labels like ‘house fire’ and ‘mine collapse’ and ‘deep space satellite launch’ scribbled on.
The last is one of Gabbro’s favorites, but Hatchy puts it at the bottom of their own rankings.
It is so, so strong. Worse, it is a delayed effect. Something subtle and dry, then bam! Alcohol. It felt kinda like being jumped by an anglerfish, in Hatchy’s totally correct and impartial opinion.
Then comes time for the special batch Porphy pressed into their hands - for Hatchling, is all the hand drawn label says, which is deeply suspicious. Why is this not dated? Is this an experimental work?
They pour measures into the mugs that they’ve been using.
“Cheers!” clink mugs, Gabbro swings it back while Hatchy sips it hesitantly.
“Oh, stars and little fishies of the deep.” Hatchy takes another sip, with more enthusiasm. “How did Porphy do it? This tastes exactly like a perfect mallow!”
Hatchy thumps Gabbro on the back when they don’t stop coughing.
“You alright, buddy?”
“I wasn’t expecting it to be so sweet,” they complain, and Hatchy crackles, throws their head back and everything. Sound echoing off the Grove Shard and moving trees and the Quantum Poem.
They might be more than a little tipsy themselves.
Their camp is fine for now. It takes time for surrounding objects to be permeated with quantum-ness - which is not an official term, but it’s the best they’re going to come up with, head feeling fuzzy as it is. Gabbro might have a better term or they might embrace ‘permeate with quantum-ness’.
(Entangled. Entangled is right there.)
Their camping trip also doubles as field experimentation, because of course Hatchy is pushing the bounds of knowledge and Gabbro is always down for quantum mechanics, even in their time off. The experiment? See how long a non-quantum object becomes quantum.
Rather slapdash experimentation, at the moment, but that just means they can do the experiment again. See if they get different results, next time.
Hatchy can’t believe it! They take another sip, then another. The taste remains the same, caramelized mallow with a tinge of sap. With small morphing differences, sugar grit in their teeth, lingering wisp of smoke.
Gabbro scrunches up their nose, pushing the bottle away when Hatchy offers it again.
“Nah, I’m gonna stick with deep space satellite launch.”
Hatchy, marveling, “I can’t believe it! I really, really like this!”
Sitting on their sleeping bags, leaning against a rock - the feel of it, bunched-up shirt against water-smooth stone, observation enough that it doesn’t move - and rearranging the rankings. Hatchy’s special brew is at top of their own rankings by a very wide margin but in Gabbro’s rankings, near last.
“How could you?” playful, dramatically.
Gabbro shrugs one shoulder, “It’s nowhere near crunchy enough for how sweet it is. It doesn't have any char like a properly burnt marshmallow, nor does it have that delightful crunch of hard sap candies.”
“Gabbro, that’s old person's food. You’re so old.”
Amused snort. “If I'm old, what does that make you?”
“It makes me younger than you!” they crow, perfectly pleased with that retort.
Gabbro stumbles upright and holds out a hand for the other take.
“Care of a dance? This old person can teach you some moves!”
“Are you sure? You might hurt yourself, elder.” Hatchy takes their hands and Gabbro pulls them to their feet. Leads them in shuffling steps - round and round, a campfire dance. It involves a lot of spinning and tricky footwork. They both stumble, and trip over each other, a lot. They might be too drunk for this.
“Close your eyes.” Hatchy closes them immediately, trusting Gabbro, perfect faith in their time buddy.
A step, the lurching feeling of quantum movement (usually feels like nothing, so that might be the drink. Not like warp travel, which feels like being pulled inside out, don’t get Hatchy started on warp travel) blink all four eyes open, the whole grove is rearranged.
“It’s a quantum dance,” they say, happily, laughter bubbling up, flavored like sap wine, as Hatchy and Gabbro dance in the Quantum Grove, with the Quantum Grove, trees and rocks and the Grove Shard changing locations with every blink.
In the morning both have awful hangovers.
“Oh, my head. Oh, my mouth. What is this nonsense?”
“You've never drunk this much before, huh.”
All four eyes closed, patting around the dirt for the water bottle, nowhere to be found. Crack open a lower eye, squinting, sunlight feels angry because it's certainly trying to stab their brain.
Misplaced water bottle is on the other side of the grove.
Their sleeping bags are still together - tangled together, would be more accurate. They zipped the zippers together so they shared one supersized bag. Excellent for snuggling - but the rest of their supplies are scattered. Rankings of the empty bottles thoroughly mixed.
Blink, and the supplies move. The rankings rearrange. Their campsite is now quantum. Which exacerbates the headache.
“I feel like I got hit with part of Brittle Hollow’s crust.”
“Feel like I went rafting on the Stranger and took a tumble in the middle of the whitewater rapids.”
“Feel like I forgot my helmet before I went to sleep on Ash Twin.”
Launch day humor, all in good fun, with the only other person who finds it funny, who really gets it. Hatchy doesn’t know what they would do without their time buddy. They would probably lose their mind spectacularly.
It’s a fun time trying to pack everything up.
Mutual groaning, zombie shuffles, unexpected remedies that may or might not work, plus lots and lots of water. Theories on quantum mechanics that Hatchy can’t follow, like at all, when Gabbro descends into tangents about quarks. Always exciting when that happens.
(It’s always a delight to see Gabbro enthusiastic about their interests. Hatchy could listen to them ramble for hours.)
(There is still so much to learn, even outside the loops.)
Hatchy tracks down Porphy later to thank them.
“You liked it?”
Hatchy doesn’t nod enthusiastically, because their head is still a little tender.
Gabbro stumbled to the first free bed in a dark cabin to sleep it off, but Hatchy is well enough to run some errands. Gabbro has the better tolerance, by far, but Hatchy didn’t drink nearly as much as their time buddy did.
“It was so good!” they say to the brewer. “I really liked it. You are a master of the craft. I get the appeal of sap wine, now. Well, maybe not the normal batches, but that - that I liked.”
“You flatterer, hatchling.” Porphy tweaks their ear, not helping the feeling like they were an actual hatchling begging for a second helping of berry-stuffed reedcakes.
“Is there any more?” Hatchy asks, hopefully. With poorly-disguised eagerness.
“You got the practice batch of my new line of sap wine. There’s a bottle to share with me and Gossan. What do you say? Are you up to it?”
If it struck Hatchling in the throat, first solo flight celebration with Porphy and Gossan that they never thought they would get to have, well, they blink mist away quickly enough, and Porphy won’t mind if their smile is a little wobbly.
“Absolutely!” Hatchy can help but agree.
“Is Gossan a fan of sweet wines?” they ask, “Gabbro didn’t care for it much.”
Porphy, mischievous, sharing a secret. “It’ll be a surprise.” and Hatchy laughs.
Gossan’s face was going to be amazing.
(They’re so glad they have this.)