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It’s at times like this when Mumbo begins to regret dying.
Scar darts ahead in the market, long brown hair swaying as he slides effortlessly in between the swelling crowds. It’s a cool morning, and the dense mist that settles over the town square is cold, lingering close over the heads of the townspeople.
The sun has yet to rise, too, and it lingers behind the treeline, currently hidden behind the tall buildings that surround the square.
At Mumbo’s side walks Grian, grasping his forearm as they navigate the bustling crowds together. Despite how early it is, people have already filled the market completely, and the air murmurs with the chatter of bargains and the shouts of children as they dart under busy customers.
It’s weird to feel the warmth of so many around him. Mumbo’s almost glad for the chaotic atmosphere that they’re in, as it means that nobody notices the lack of heat emanating from his body. He feels bad for Grian, who, despite being bundled in a warm woollen cloak, seems to be clinging closer to him for warmth.
At least he’s tall, Mumbo thinks absentmindedly. Unlike Grian, he can see well above the heads of those surrounding them, and he can easily spot Scar’s long braid swinging up ahead. The elf has reached their destination– a booth filled to the brim with flowers– and Mumbo tugs Grian along, carefully picking his way through shuffling bodies to join him.
Scar beams at them as they finally break through the wall of people and reach him, green eyes glittering, sharply contrasted by the wall of flowers that frames him. Stray bees and flies flutter around the bunches of bright yellows, reds, purples, and various other colours that make up the flower bouquets.
“Isn’t it so beautiful?” He asks, and he’s glowing so brightly in happiness that Mumbo can do nothing but grin back helplessly. Grian tugs at his arm, letting go so that he can run his hands over the soft petals.
“I love the lilacs,” the human says softly, turning back to Mumbo with a smile. His brown hair is almost glittering, and Mumbo can’t help but stare in awe at the two people in front of him.
“Well,” Scar says brightly, “if you want them, you should get them!” He scoops up a thick bundle of sunflowers, admiring the bright yellow petals that splay from their dark centers. They perfectly match the shining gold accents that adorn his hair, and Mumbo sighs, reaching out to take them.
“Yeah, what Scar said,” he agrees. “I’ll pay.”
Grian lets out a whoop of joy, disappearing into the stall, and Scar sidles up beside Mumbo, grinning as he tilts his head toward him. “You know,” the elf says playfully, “he’ll burn up every saving you have if you let him.”
“Maybe,” Mumbo admits, “but hey. I’ve had the time to save up.”
Scar giggles and disappears into the stall himself, his green clothes blending in swiftly with the plants, and Mumbo follows after a second. The smell of fresh flowers and pollen fills his senses, and he drinks in the sudden humidity in the air, admiring the blooms of daisies and wildflowers that have been artfully arranged into displays.
It could be seconds later, or minutes later– Mumbo’s not sure– but Scar and Grian reappear, hands filled with bundles of flowers and hair laced with petals. Mumbo hands them the bouquet he had taken, and they disappear again before he can even blink. He raises a hand to his pocket to retrieve his wallet, and blinks when the fabric is empty.
Huh.
Grian.
When the elf and human reappear, he holds out his hand for his wallet, and Grian hands it back, eyes twinkling. “You know, you really should keep a better eye on it,” Grian says teasingly, and Mumbo splutters indignantly as they begin to leave the shop.
They’re halfway back across the square before Mumbo begins to burn.
He instantly begins to curse himself. After all of his centuries of living and of spending time at the market, he had forgotten about the sun?
He presses his hair back onto his neck as much as possible, but his neck still begins to heat up, and his fingers sting upon exposure to the rays. He grits his teeth and plows onward, loosening his grip on Grian’s palm slightly so that he doesn’t yank the man’s shoulder out of place.
Scar seems to glance at him momentarily, but Mumbo can’t focus, instead zeroing in on the lancing pain that has begun to spread across his pale skin, searing at any part of him exposed to the warming air. All he can think of is moving his legs faster, making his strides cover more and more ground as his heels click harshly against the uneven cobbles.
He doesn’t even register that he’s no longer shoving through groups of people.
He’s grabbed by his forearm and yanked suddenly, and he raises his eyes to find Scar’s shadowy face staring at him worriedly.
“Mumbo Jumbo,” the elf says lightly, but his voice is shaking. “We need to get you out of here.”
Grian is standing beside him, eyes darting left and right. They appear to have ducked into the shadow of a building, on a quiet side street away from the noise of the main square. Mumbo bites his lip, trying hard to ground himself from the white-hot pain that sears into him, and nods quietly. He can hear Grian mumbling to Scar hushedly, the two staring at the vampire, panicked.
“The manor is too far,” Grian hisses, fingers fluttering nervously. He deftly removes his cloak and drapes it over Mumbo’s shoulders, wincing as Mumbo flinches at the harsh brush of the fabric against his skin. “There’s no shade in the pathway there.”
“I could make a cloud,” Scar begins thoughtfully, and Mumbo snaps into clarity.
“Scar, no! That’s so risky. If someone sees us using magic, or your runes–”
“It might work,” Grian interrupts, talking over Mumbo. His eyes are focused on Scar. “If I can make a convincing distraction nearby. You have… cloaking magic, to help, right?”
“I like the way you think, mister.” Scar’s eyes light up. “What sort of distraction are you thinking?”
Grian grins, razor sharp. “Don’t worry about it. Just get Mumbo out of here.”
It’s when he acts like this, Mumbo thinks idly, that I begin to doubt that he’s human. Surely he’s a fae of some kind. Changelings are much more prevalent than humans expect–
He loses his time to ruminate on Grian’s heritage, however, when Scar grasps his wrist and begins to tug him farther down the alleyway. Grian jogs up ahead, brunette hair glittering as he hits the edge of the shade they’ve been hiding in.
“You ready?” Scar asks, and runes begin to alight around them, glowing in neon print before fading into smoky symbols. A small cloud forms above Mumbo, and the two step into the sun, Mumbo sighing in relief when the harsh light is blocked by the dark shadow above.
“This is dangerous,” he tells Scar, voice high and nervous, but the elf laughs carelessly, waving a hand.
“Everything is dangerous when you’re an amateur!” He grins, flashing sharp white teeth. “Fortunately, I, dear Mumbo, am an expert at magic. And our dear Grian up ahead is an expert at distractions. All in all, you can consider this a professional operation.”
As he finishes his words with a flourish, there’s a yelp in the distance. Mumbo’s eyes stray from the dirt path they’ve been following to where Grian is, off to the side. A small crowd of townsfolk have begun to run over in curiosity at what’s happening, toward the… smoke that arises.
“He’s started a fire,” Mumbo sighs, and Scar laughs.
“Now I wish I had gone over!”
Mumbo has to admit, despite the potential environmental damage that the distraction risked, it had worked perfectly. The people walking down the path toward the two of them had turned their sights to the plume of smoke that had begun to rise steadily into the air, paying no mind to Mumbo and his personalized cloud cover.
When they finally reach the safe cover of the forest, Mumbo slumps his shoulders in relief, cautious of the residual pain from his damaged shoulders and neck. Scar waves a hand, allowing the cloud to dissipate, and they trudge through the tiny pathway together.
It’s a dark woods, the leaf canopy thick, and the foliage is a pale, grayish green. Mumbo would worry that Grian wouldn’t be able to find them, but Scar’s bright, cheerful faerielights accompany them.
When the human reappears, he’s covered in soot. He giggles brightly as he bursts from a thicket, plucking leaves from his hair.
“That was amazing,” Grian cheers, “they were so confused. I’ve really got to do more of those.”
“No, you really don’t,” Mumbo chides, “the townsfolk have enough to worry about already. They don’t need a crazy human to add to that.”
“Pearl already does add to it,” Grian complains, but his eyes catch on Mumbo’s swollen neck instead. “Are you alright? The sun sure did a number on you.”
Mumbo pauses, raising pale fingers to run gently across his singed skin. Suddenly, surrounded by the laughter of Scar and Grian and their bright smiles, it doesn’t seem to hurt as much.
“I’m fine,” he tells them, and he finds that he’s telling the truth.
Suddenly, being undead doesn’t seem so bad. Not if this is the afterlife he’s ended up in.