Work Text:
Aloof as a Cat; Alone as a Rat
💚 💛 ❤️
… Did Cleo leave their bedroom window open - and one torch lit as low as a creeping cat - because they wanted Martyn to see them snug in bed with Scott? It’s incredibly blatant. The window glows yellow, warm and cozy in the bedroom. They’re both in there, propped up by pillows and engaging in a spat of pillow talk. What about? Hmm. Probably the design tweaks Scott made to his base someday. Maybe the cow pen. Possibly their endgame plans, or where they’d like to eat together after the session closes out and they’re all back in the server hub. Void, Martyn knows he’s staring, but… Huh.
Bit weird, innit? Broadcasting when you’re snuggled up to someone else? Someone who’s not even your real soulmate, if anyone’s forgotten that. Martyn crunches through a carrot, gnawing along the weird extra-tough core that stripes it through the center. Hey, at least they aren’t strutting about in their Name Day suits. My, my, what would the cam accounts say?
Cleo’s got an arm behind Scott’s head, knuckles leaning on the headboard. Scott’s tucked so close against their side, Martyn double blinks in case he’s misreading the room. Their legs are mixed together. Scott winds a single ginger curl around his fingertip, and Cleo laughs so loud at something he just whispered that it sends the hairs behind Martyn’s neck straight to The End. Um.
Martyn looks away. Casts his eyes about, rubs his neck, drags a hand across it… Tastes the smoke swirling off the Ranch’s remains in the ashes on his lips. Plays with the half-bitten carrot still clenched in his hand. Should he even be watching this? It’s… It just seems a little…
I wouldn’t say I’m a prude, but what the hell, man? Save a little soulmate action for the rest of us. Spare one for the poor boy left out in the cold, up atop his floating base? Just a mouthful of food and daily bread? Coin or carrot if you’ve got one spare. Gods’ sakes. Feh, get the Overworld Guardians on speed-dial. There’s not a lot they can do for him right now, but Foresight would’ve been invaluable a week ago, Knowledge never did a woeful man any harm, and Action? Martyn thinks himself their loyal knight on bended knee. Isn’t there a ritual you’re supposed to do if you wanna show your thanks? Maybe the Guardians should do it to him, for the way he’s not turned his back on them despite their utter lack of guidance last session, which is, like… their one frickin’ job. Ah, pour one out to the songbirds who lay broken at the bottom of their golden cage.
… And they’re still cuddling. Martyn picks a bit of carrot from between his teeth, then spits off the edge of his base. That’s Scott and Cleo all cuddled up and cozy, if you need a reminder. Who are not soulmates, but are sharing Cleo’s base - sharing Cleo’s bed - with a torch lit by the window to ensure Martyn specifically can see from where he sits, which is fine. People can cuddle. Martyn spent half of Last Life cuddled up to Mumbo, and he’s always had Jimmy to turn to when the nights are soooo lonely, and Ren’s good fun if you can handle his body heat with enough grace not to roll him off the bed while he sleeps (Though he’s got the most thundering snores).
Scott’s face is turned more towards the window than Cleo’s is, and Martyn swears a darting eye catches him staring. But lashes flutter and it’s gone. Martyn’s fist clenches tighter at his chest- It’s the first time he even realizes he’s gripping like that, and he drops his eyes to the carrot in his shaking hand. Void, I need to reel it in. Channel this into something more productive, like swinging a wild sword to slaughter all the cows the Homewreckers have got. And then he’ll feel bad and fetch another, leaving them with two they can breed up again, and they’ll all go home happy. Maybe he should try to lead a cow across the ravine on a one-wide path to his base. Keep a pair and make ‘em watch when he slaughters their babies for beef. Wouldn’t score top marks on an ethics exam, but gods know that’s how the shattered pieces of his soul feel right now.
It does feel weird. They’re on top of the sheets, sure, but Martyn can’t decide if that’s better or worse than not knowing their limbs were quite this spaghetti’d up. Soft mouths shape words that Martyn’s much too far away to read. The way Scott strokes Cleo’s hair, you’d think he’s conducting music. Or that he’s out lookin’ for love, his shirt unbuttoned in a V and lipstick stains across his throat.
Bet they wouldn’t like it if I sent ‘em both a whisper right now. Bzzt bzzt! Interrupt their game; make ‘em think of him. Cleo might even get out of bed and walk to the window to scoff at him with arms crossed tight, which would be delightful. She cares. And they’ll banter, and Cleo’s mouth will twitch in a smile at the corner, and Martyn’s hearts will flutter until the day they die.
Ooh, y’know what? He could go for two, no holds barred, and try to annoy her enough that she strolls out her front door to yell at him, leaving Scott abandoned behind. Martyn’s already got the words he wants to say locked and loaded: another reminder that Scott’s only leading Cleo along like a lamb through spooky woods as long as she’s useful to him, and that when they’re all Red and Martyn’s right there by her side because she’s forgiven him for everything and it’s HIM who’s warming her bed at night, Scott’s a fighter who won’t roll over belly-up. Call him “Chosen soulmate” all you like, but your life is locked with mine. We die together. Scott dies with Pearl. And when we’re in the Final Four, we both know whose side he’s on.
Martyn gets out his communicator, thumbs tapping, and sends the message. Yeah, let’s shoot the moon. Leap it like a cow. He’s grinning before he even glances up to see Cleo bend their arm above Scott’s head, checking the message he sent their wrist-comm with what can only be assumed is a viciously frustrated look. Yessir!
Martyn watches Cleo’s fingers trace the edge of her wrist-comm until they find the Mute switch. With one swipe of the thumb, he’s outtie. And they say something about it to Scott, who laughs and makes the same motion on his own communicator, and Martyn’s smile drizzles down until there’s melted chocolate mixed with carrot in his lap. He looks at his comm, then at Cleo’s house again.
Oh well. There’s always tomorrow to try his luck, spin the wheel, and bother them again.