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After dozens of hours of horseback riding, Cleo had really been looking forward to walking the rest of the way to the nether hub. Cleo loved Climb10’s Ghost, they really did, but after so long of sitting/laying/hanging limply across its back like a true corpse, they felt qualified in saying that horseback was not the most glamorous method of travel. Cleo was not doing any of the work, and yet their whole body ached, particularly their quads and back. She was dying to stretch her gelatin legs, despite the considerable length left ahead.
They were exhausted. They wanted to be home. They knew it was unlikely to be so easy.
Cub. Cub would see to it. He’d drive the stake right through her heart, send her right back to exile, or so he’d think, because obviously she wasn’t dumb enough to assume the Permit Office wouldn’t try to intercept her; Cleo wouldn’t be surprised if they were waiting, ready, even now.
She’d set her spawn, of course. Right where she left Climb10’s ghost. Couldn’t have done it without Joe’s help, bless him.
Cub was smart. Sharp. Maybe he’d suspected Cleo would make that kind of play, though they hoped dearly he’d overlooked the possibility. They wanted to see the look on his face when they kept coming back.
Exile. Please. Cleo was not the kind of person to be so easily pinned down. Even the process of exiling her in the first place had been a certified circus. Idiots.
Gosh, this was a little dramatic, wasn’t it. Maybe after three million blocks of travel, Cleo had earned the right to be a little dramatic, but if they were being honest with themself, they were just looking forward to being home. To seeing their friends. To seeing Cub, irritating as he’d become lately. In some ways, Cleo liked irritating. It was easier to tease Cub when he was playing someone utterly obnoxious.
Cleo’s mind wandered to how he might kill her once they met. It would be extravagant, that was for certain. Maybe he’d lead her up a stage, congratulate her for the long ride, and drop her in a pit of lava. Maybe he’d do it with pufferfish? If he wanted to go for a trap, it’d have to be quite large and hidden well enough as to not be too obvious. Listen, Cleo would do a lot of things in service of the bit, but they weren’t going to hand this death to him on a silver platter. If he wanted it, he’d have to work for it.
It would be too easy to finish her with a sword. But it would be personal too, wouldn’t it. Maybe Cleo would rile him up so much, not stepping on obvious traps or pressing conspicuous buttons, that Cub would be forced to finish her by his own hand. Cleo would keep his eye, even as the sword plunged through their stomach. They wouldn’t break contact until they were dead. He would be staring for much longer.
The wall of TNT, seemingly endless in length, began to render in. Cleo could not suppress the grin that split their expression, nether-dry lips cracking. The feeling was almost manic. She missed him. Maybe exile really did make you crazy.
They saw the simple, cherry desk first. Grian, next. They were disappointed; they really thought it would be just the two of them, but..
They kept looking.
“Welcome home!”
Cleo kept looking.
“Where.. is Cub?” She did her best not to sound affected, but the anger that burned over the initial confusion was a contextually appropriate replacement.
Grian had that gall to look irritated. “Were you expecting a party? I guess I could phone the Poe Poe too, but we aren’t exactly known for timeliness. Of course, given your refusal to give up your unused permits, we may be in the same boat.”
Cleo could not put the feeling, bubbling, broiling beneath her grey-green skin, to words. There was a cut on her heart, a slight she hadn’t even noticed appeared until it stung like hell, like ash in her lungs, like four days on horseback, waiting for this moment.
And he hadn’t even shown up.
“So this is the permit office,” Cleo spat, venom cloaking hurt. “And what is that.”
Grian seemed to be thrown off his game slightly, maybe not expecting the veracity of their hate. “That’s the— the complementary melon. It’s a good melon. For you.”
Cleo saw it behind his eyes, the recalculating, the question of how serious this really was. It was supposed to be roleplay. It was supposed to be fun. Cleo couldn’t help themself, they hoped he felt rotten.
“You called?”
Cleo’s head snapped up. They hadn’t needed to be so quick. He was falling.. very slowly. Cleo saw red, blissfully unaware if they were hyperventilating or not breathing altogether.
“Cub, what the hell are you do—“ Grian cut himself off with a strangled shriek as Cleo snatched Cub from the air by his collar, light to hold with the slow falling potion, but in this state, Cleo could have held him feet dangling if he was twice as heavy.
“Nice of you to show up,” Cleo hissed like a steam engine, Cub left entirely unphased, doe-eyes staring innocently back into hers. Cat. He likened her to a tiger some days, and right now, Cleo felt it.
“You should know, the permit office intends for exile to be permanent. While making the trek back is a.. I guess, commendable endeavor, it is also a waste of time. You chose this.” He wore his most professional frown. It was no different from his resting expression, centered and relaxed and a soft sort of lovely. They were so angry. He’d done this on purpose. He’d been waiting for them, too, but he would wait just that little bit longer if it meant they would choke him by the collar of his stupid black button up. Cleo wanted to rip his golden nametag off and eat it. What then!?
He’d probably laugh. He might even ask if she was okay. They’d both laugh.
“Actually, I chose recently to quit exile. Did you know? I quit.” Cleo jerked him on the emphasis of each sentence, just like he loved. Fortunately, it would be impossible for him to take more pleasure in it than she.
“Feels like a lot of effort just to be sent back,” he shrugged, panting just slightly, the potion beginning to wear off, the fabric beginning to tighten around his throat. Cleo was resolute; they would not falter, regardless of the resounding ache in their arm and fingers. “I mean, what, you traveled for three, four days?” He knew exactly how long. “Could’ve built a couple shops in that time. Could’ve given up your permits in much less.”
“What are you guys— Cub, I thought I was—“ Grian didn’t get to finish, this wasn’t about him.
“It’s about principle,” Cleo spat, hoping he felt it. “I built a shop, and it wasn’t good enough for you. So I stopped playing within your rules. They’re my permits. You can’t take them away.” Despite their best effort, Cleo really couldn’t hold him this way for long. They covered up by rearing back, slamming the both of them to the ground. They liked the feeling of their nails against his skin, his throat.
“Cleo,” Cub rasped, which Cleo was almost certain he was faking given that brain damage was an integral part of the Cubfan existence. “You didn’t set your spawn, did you? Nearby? Scar and I.. We tried so hard to get Joe. He’s so slippery. We tried so hard. Joe didn’t help you, did he?”
Of course. Cleo scoffed, honestly just beside herself that he was revealing his cards so early. Maybe he didn’t think he had a choice.
“Do you think I pity you?”
“I hope you don’t. I want you to go back to exile.”
“Awh. Well since you asked so nicely..” Cleo could not stand the way he hung on her words, the way his eyes lit up, brazen enough to hope. “You’re going to have to try a lot harder the second time around, friend.”
Cub did not look disappointed. Not quite. It was more.. it was just a little sad.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Cleo snorted. “Please don’t.”
Grian cleared his throat. “Do we have an HR department, because I feel like having to bear witness to this is some kind of violation and I’d like financial compensation or at the very least a good hug.” No one cared
Cub whispered it, like the words were truly only meant for her. “Exile has gotten too comfortable. Too safe. I’m going to fix it. Exile myself, permanently. I don’t want to be ships passing in the night. I want you to be there.”
He was so truthful, sometimes. Achingly genuine. It ached for Cleo, too, as she’d had her own plans with him, now dust. They would not change his mind, or even ask. Cub was the only one out of the two of them with little enough shame to beg.
“Please?”
They were both too stubborn. Cleo let the backs of their fingers rest softly on his cheek.
“No.”
He held their fingers to his cheek. He did not ask again.
“The Poe will be waiting.”
“Let them come.”
Cleo glanced up at the sizzle of TNT, and briefly caught a glimpse of Grian’s sour expression, fingers in his ears and turning away as the nether roof burst into blood and flame.