Chapter Text
The cell's not uncomfortable, is the thing. The flagstones are freezing, yes, but they've each got a bed, warm blankets; a thicker coat is even provided for Tango, whose fire runs best in the Nether's stifling air. Honestly, they're most likely to die of boredom at this point - twenty questions hasn't even got them through an hour. Cleo's taken to undoing and rebraiding their hair to pass the time, a nervous tick to replace the familiar feel of sculpture underneath her fingers. She's desperately trying not to let Zedaph and Tango's 'debate' (argument) drive her up the wall.
"Obviously meant to be in the category of thing-"
"Not if it's a specific Alien! Then it's a person as much as the rest of us!"
"No! It isn't!"
"Well, now you're just being Xenophobic!"
Keeping calm could be going better.
Fighting the urge to bury their face in their hands, Cleo goes right back to examining their 'guard'. Closer to a girl than a woman, the gun at her side doesn't serve to make her anymore intimidating than an oversized puppy. She keeps looking over her shoulder like the three of them are the most fascinating thing they've ever seen, then panicking whenever they make eye contact. Truthfully, it's kind of endearing.
But whatever this prison is, it seems much more political than anything they need to worry about being tortured to death in. Which is a win in her book. And probably the rest of Hermitcraft’s book as well, when someone actually comes to pick them up.
The thing is, none of them are sure their captors know where to go about returning them too? The language barrier- well, she was expecting at least one person to be able to speak common somewhere in this forsaken institution. She's not sure if it was Xisuma's fluency that gave them that impression, or if it was a pretty standard expectation to possess - so why had they yet to meet a single person who could understand them? They hadn't even been asked the standards yet: Dimension, System, Server, Admin.
Still, it had given them a chance to agree to name Joe as their Admin.
Just in case.
Their first night, huddled on Cleo's bed, they'd tried their best to compile everything they knew about Xisuma, Voidwalkers, and the Outer End as a whole. It comes out... a startlingly bare sum. Voidwalkers need adjustments to breathe in the Overworld; there's a war on, one that X had at some point been conscripted into.
Zed furrows his eyebrow at that last point, "He fought? You sure?"
Cleo interrupts before Tango can, "He and False are pretty open about it- I've walked in on them comparing notes on gas attacks before. Why?"
"Just- I thought he came to the Overworld at 18? I suppose he might have been a bit older- or Voidwalkers have different maturity rates, actually- that's a real possibility now that I think about it-"
"Or he fought in a war as a kid. Right. Anything else?"
They don't, is the thing. An entire species, and that's what they know. It's weird, now she thinks about it, how little they know of Xisuma's life before Hermitcraft. He makes no reference to it; no mention of his family, his past, his culture beyond the name of Xelqua he prays by.
Even the language had been a surprise. None of them had ever heard Xisuma speak anything that wasn’t common, and ten seconds of listening to the other Voidwalkers had been enough to send them staring at each other. The furthest Cleo’s got in describing it to herself is the nonsensical idea someone’s playing a flute over radio static: It’s musical, more than anything else, resonant clicks and pitched whistles that ring through the void.
Steps echo around them, and Cleo returns to the present with a yawn. Tango doesn't move from his seat on the bed, but Zed's on his feet in seconds, bouncing with curiosity as two people descend the stairs to their prison, an older man who takes a seat opposite them, and a woman who scans them with an air of concentration, shooing their 'guard' out of the way as she regards them. No amount of confidence can hide her caution with Common; she speaks in broken, halting sentences that sound unfamiliar on her tongue.
They get through the basics-
Dimension: Overworld
System: C78
Server: Hermitcraft
Admin: Joe Hills
-and immediately fall into unknown territory from there.
Their names get asked pretty quickly, the trio answering as obligingly as they can. Causing problems will be of no help here; anything that can get them located is free game. The next question, however, stumps them all. It's about four or five minutes of seemingly random adverbs and awkward mime before the woman in question throws her hands in the air and turns to the officer behind her. It's a quick exchange that ends with whatever her proposal is clearly being agreed to, and her prompt exit from the room.
Left alone with a superior officer, their 'guard' goes pale, though it looks more the colour or reverence and nervousness than any true fear. The pair trade a few words, but the conversation constantly drifts to a halt, seeped with awkwardness even a language barrier can't hide. After one particular fumble on the part of their guard, (Really, Cleo's probably getting a little too attached to the awkward mess nevertheless trying to stop them getting home), the girl goes crimson instead, and looks about ready to bury her face in her hands before a series of clicks interrupt from the doorway.
Straightening up, the older man waves in the newcomer with a trill, and then Cleo nearly passes out of shock. Behind her, they're pretty sure she can hear Tango swearing; Zedaph simply gasps, mouth falling open as he stares.
It's not Xisuma, is the thing. It's clearly not Xisuma.
But by the Devs, do they look fucking identical.
The doppelgänger wears the same cream uniform as everyone else here, a smart, navy coat layered on top. There's no scar on his face, of course, and his hair's cropped short, but somehow his smile is what sets him apart the most - like he's in on a joke everyone else is too stupid to understand.
It's not a nice expression.
The man - whoever he is - simply raises an eyebrow at their shock, and glances at the general who fetched him. They exchange a couple of words before he turns back to them; their guard skittering out the way like she's been burned the moment he looks at her.
And Cleo decides then and there that she does not like this man.
"The fuck are you staring at?"
Hell, he even sounds like Xisuma. Not quite - just a little too mocking - but more than enough to be uncanny.
Before she can compose a suitably scathing reply, the officer behind him does it for her, snapping something at Not-Xisuma that makes him roll his eyes.
"Apparently, I am legally obliged to inform you that everything I say from now on is a direct translation from the general. And also to apologise for whatever I just said to you. That was also said."
Cleo forces themself to take a deep breath before she responds, trying to hide how much hearing Xisuma's voice so bitter unnerves her, "What do you want."
Not-Xisuma actually laughs in her face, the piece of shit, and smirks. "General's asking if you're all Overworld by documentation," he nods at Tango as he says it, though that's clearly who he's referencing, "or if we have to break out the actually complicated paperwork."
Tango sighs, shifting where he'd been sat on his bed. "Does a Life card count? Or do you mean actual citizenship?"
"I'll take that as a no, then?"
He curses, "Knew I should have gotten that shit sign-ificated."
"Language", Zed scolds - clearly more out of habit than anything else, they're definitely in enough trouble to warrant swearing privileges - and Not-Xisuma stiffens, a half-second of shock flashing over his face as he stares at them.
Behind him, his general interrupts again, and Not-X's expression shifts right back to boredom as he turns to answer whatever question she's asked, then right back to them. "But the two of you both have citizenship?"
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"Okay. Right. Next question!"
It's in that manner the next hour passes, with the slight aside of Cleo biting her lip and trying not to give into the urge to strangle Zedaph, who in all honesty has done nothing wrong. Not-Xisuma, interestingly, doesn't slip up once for the rest of the meeting. He translates questions from both sides with scarcely more than the occasional mocking sigh, passing on reassurances they'll be home soon in an absurdly monotone voice. And while it's nice to know that their captors want them home nearly as much as they do, it isn't making the conversation any less awkward- especially when it's increasingly obvious the other Voidwalkers are about as fed up with their translator as they are.
There's a point about halfway through when something changes, but none of them can quite tell what, or which question they answered to have that effect. Their 'guard' is sent away, returning with an armful of flasks she deposits by their cell with a sigh of relief; the manner of the Voidwalkers abruptly becomes markedly more polite. When it comes time for them to leave, they're point blank asked if they'd feel more comfortable with their guard outside their door rather than their cell. They agree, of course, because no matter how confusing the advantage it's an advantage nevertheless.
Eventually, they're left alone, and the door closing behind the last Voidwalker is about all the cue they need to burst into conversation.
"I feel like I'm going insane! Tango- pinch me. I need you to pinch me!"
"I'm not pinching you!"
"Why not?"
"If you don't shut I'm going to punch the both of you!", Cleo interrupts, "What was that? Why does our Admin have a clone??"
Tango throws his arms in the air, "Exactly! And why is the clone evil??"
"Evil-X!" Zed interrupts, looking absurdly happy with himself. Still half in shock, Cleo simply shakes her head,
"Zed- why would you say language!? What if he's onto us?!"
"How on earth could he be onto us? Onto us for what??"
"For knowing X!"
"You think he knows Xisuma?" asks Tango, somehow about three steps behind, and extremely confused as a result.
"Didn't you see the expression on his face! Of course he does!"
"And they're identical! People who are identical often know each other!"
"...Do they?"
"I mean, they must be related. Surely?"
Again, it's Cleo who stops them, "No way. Xisuma would absolutely have mentioned a- what, brother? Right?"
"Ooh, maybe they're twins!"
"Zed, slow down! Please!"
"Sorry! I just- isn't this interesting??"
"It would be more interesting if we were home, safe, and on Hermitcraft."
"But the amount there must be to study in the Outer End! No-one knows anything about this place!"
"Yeah, because of the WAR."
Cleo gives up, and goes to check the flasks the girl had left by the side of their cell. She finds three of water, and three of a purple sludge that could perhaps be genorously called soup. It's not- exactly, what she would have hoped for, and to be honest she's kind of grateful she doesn't have a sense of smell right now. But the other two do need to eat, so she thanks her lucky stars she doesn't and goes to hand out the food.
"Careful, I can't tell if it's hot."
Tango tests it for both of them, before passing it to Zed with a nod, "Lukewarm. Uh- What is it?"
They shrug, "I don't know. I don't have to eat it."
Peering in his flask, Tango wrinkles his nose.
"..oh dear."
"That bad??"
"Zed, wanna do that at the same time?"
"Always! And no tiny sips, okay? Proper mouthful. Cleo, count us in?"
Smirking, Cleo obliges, only to double over with laughter at the look on both her friends faces as they swallow down their soup.
"OHnonononoybryuaewynonoo iggdontlikethatohno-"
"Oh gosh! Water! Did you say there water Cleo- water! Please-"
Still giggling, it takes her longer than either of them would like to pass them their drinks, "Oh, I'm sorry! That shouldn't have been as funny to me as it was!"
"YOU'RE SO RUDE!" Tango half yelps at her - though only after a sizeable amount of water. Which, of course, sets her off again,
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Just- You should have seen your FACES!"