Chapter Text
"Tag, you're it!"
Micha's empty hand pushed at Regect's shoulder, but of course there's no real force behind it. The entity watches, dumbfounded, as his assignment--his friend broke into a bounding sprint across the fields. He covers an impressive amount of ground in the five seconds that Regect spends gathering his bearings, but when the understanding that they're playing finally sets in, he darts after Micha with laughter already bleeding into his voice.
"I'm gonna get you, Em!" He's maybe twenty blocks behind, pushing against the wind. Micha looks back with a delighted squeal and puts some pep in his step, scrambling uphill almost on all fours, wings and tail braced for balance. Regect catches up while Micha is on the slant- he swipes at the kid's whip-thin tail with his claws, but they close around empty air.
Micha hooks his talons into the soil and hauls himself upward with a new burst of energy that explodes sun-warmed behind his eyes. His claws are still short with youth, but they do the trick, and he's soon scrabbling up onto the ridge, feather-tipped tail disappearing over the grassy slope as he rolls downhill in a giggling heap.
Regect doesn't have his juvenile speed or boundless energy, but what he does have is claws- He's weak for one of his species, but strong when pitted against the average player. He manages to clamber up the hill with considerably less of a struggle, but his breath is heaving by the time he makes it to the top. Micha is already rolling to his feet at the base of the slope as Reject peers over the edge. The fledgling looks back and sticks out his purple tongue to blow a teasing raspberry.
"Oh, you little-" Regect laughs breathlessly, and slides down the hill. Micha realizes what a predicament he's now in, and immediately breaks into a stumbling run to get away from the rapidly approaching entity.
"You can't catch me!" He announces through a smile. His eyes flit about wildly, searching for some terrain he could use to throw off Regect without putting himself out of the lead. Just then, a new chunk loads into his vision, and an excited trill bubbles up in his throat. It's a swamp, perfect!
"Oh, I will," Regect promises as the grass around them grows thick with mud. The swamp has to slow them both down, Micha moreso, but Regect finds himself surprised as Micha, rather than wading through the murky water, leaps onto a lilypad. He uses them like stepping stones, hopping from one to another to traverse the wetlands. Regect attempts to follow but the plants sink under his weight, and he grimaces in annoyance as swamp water sloshes around his feet.
"Oh that is unfair," Regect complains, and Micha just laughs, light and airy as wind, as Regect sets after him,. Tadpoles flit around him in flurries of panic that tickle his legs but he ignores it to lock onto his target; he has one advantage, and it's that there's no way he loses Micha among the low-hanging trees. He stands out like a sore thumb, angelic white stark against the murky browns and greens of the marshland.
Micha has agility, Regect has pure brutish determination. That's how they run for a hundred blocks until, finally, Micha misses a jump. he overshoots and goes tumbling into the mire, popping up only a second later up to his hips--soaking wet and howling with laughter. He attempts to push on, but he's hungry, and Regect is too close on his tail.
The entity leaps at him, and they both roll about in the shallow, brackish water, swatting and kicking at each other like cats. Regect pushes Micha into the water by his shoulders but a quick foot jabs him in the neck until he backs off of his friend, who throws himself at him in a flurry of wings and talons--although there's no real claws in his cuffed swipes--and Regect rolls onto his underbelly to buck Micha off like a horse. They splash and kick up mud and pebbles, tails whipping and each trying to flip the other into the ooze.
The music of their excitement lifts into lilted birdsong, and the sun is low in the sky when they finally break apart, breath heaving as the cool wind dries the mud to their skin in a thick crust.
"I got you." Regect says proudly as he stands, extending a hand to help a grinning Micha to his feet. They wade through the bayou together, heading back to where they both know home to be--Micha's little wooden house in the plains.
"Nuh uh, I let you get me. if I didn't fall I would keep running forever and ever." Micha claims, pulling a carrot from his satchel and snapping off its tip with his teeth. He chews idly while Regect scoffs.
"Yeah right- Even if you didn't fall you were still hungry."
"Was not."
"Are too."
Micha sticks out his tongue, and then they both laugh. The rest of the walk is spent pointing out dumb stuff-A zombie holding a carrot, a left handed skeleton, the fact that it's a full moon. There's so much joy in the world, Regect realizes as he watches Micha point out a witch's hut in the distance (something about black cat spawn rates), and for all his talk of eyes and watching, he's never been privy to it. But Micha is full of childlike whimsy, understanding of all the little wonders. Regect is grateful for the opportunity to see the world through his eyes.
"I'm happy you're my friend." Micha said sincerely as they reached his house.
Regect feels something in his chest swell, following Micha into the warmth. "I'm happy you're my friend too."
Micha flops onto the ground, and for a second concern flickers in Regect's chest. But Micha only huffs a contented sigh and eases himself to lie on his belly. The entity hesitantly comes to settle cross-legged beside him.
"You're stinky."
Regect almost flinches at the observation, but then he looks down at himself. He's soaked to the bone and drenched in mud--even his translucent limbs are so generously flecked with the stuff that they might as well not be invisible. He leans in close, tail thumping against the wooden flooring- "Wanna see a magic trick?"
Micha nods, eyes sparkling with miniature firework shows, and Regect raises one hand, and snaps his fingers. The dirt and grime is gone in an instant.
"Woah!" Micha grins, propping his head up on his elbows, "Can you do that for me too?"
"Probably not," Regect winces through his teeth, and he looks the kid up and down. He's just as grimy, if not more so. "But, I got you, Em." He ruffles Micha's windswept hair-it's soft and downy like feathers, but tangled with sand and silt.
That's how they end up with Micha in a cauldron full of soapy water. He's small enough to fit in its wide maw, and cooperative enough to let Regect scrub him down. First is his fluffy white hair, which Regect spikes playfully into a mohawk using the suds. Micha pantomimes playing electric guitar, and Regect mimicks the stringy twang of the matching sound. "Alright kid, close your eyes." Regect warns, moments before splashing a bucket of water over Micha's head, sweeping the suds from his hair down to his narrow shoulders. Regect also takes care to get Micha's upper back for him, careful around the base of the kid's wings, but the rest of him is something Micha's old enough to do himself.
While Micha bathes, Regect takes his stained clothes down to the lake for a wash. He turns them over in the crystalline water, wringing them out until the runaway comes off clear of mud. The undead don't bother him, but the night does make it inconvenient to dry the garments... Oh, wait. With a clap of his hands, it's day, and Regect can lay Micha's clothes over a smooth rock to warm. In the meanwhile, he returns to the house and knocks politely on its oak door.
"Who is it?" Micha calls playfully.
The entity, of course, humors him. "The ghost!" Regect roars, rattling the doorknob despite the fact that it is certainly unlocked.
"I don't know if I want a ghost in my house..." Micha feigns wariness, but there's a smile in his voice.
"What if the ghost is nice?"
"Hmmm. Okay!" Micha appears at the door, and Regect rushes inside, sweeping the fledgling into his arms and tickling his ribs. Micha bursts into chortling laughter and thrashes in Regect's grip. "The ghost is not nice!" He squeals through laughter, finally managing to squirm free of Regect's arms. He's wearing a spare pair of his characteristic shorts once more, but no shirt. Regect cocks his head and inquires as to why that is.
"My wings are still muddy n' I can't reach 'em." The kid sighs, mouth twisting into a frown. "Can you help?"
"Of course, bud!"
Regect, first, does a great deal of work to discard of the cauldron in the middle of the floor. But he returns to Micha sitting on the floor, and he takes a spot kneeling cautiously behind him. He's not really sure where to start, and Micha seems to realize this, as he explains: "Some of the feathers are all wonky. Straighten those out first."
Sounds easy enough! Regect scans for feathers that are set crooked or loose, and straightens them back into place. There's a good few, and Micha seems considerably happier to have them fixed. "Kay, now pick out all the icky stuff. rocks, dirt, all that."
That takes a good deal longer, and Regect takes to humming as he works. The water got out most of the gunk, but there are still spots where sharp rocks and leaves had lodged themselves between or underneath feathers. "Isn't that the song from, ah..." Micha gestures vaguely, and Regect wishes he could help but he's not quite sure where he picked up the tune. Regect pulls out an autumnal leaf and flicks it onto the floor. "Toy story, yeah!"
"Is that what it's from?" Regect tilts his head to one side, and Micha nods, then grimaces as Regect pulls out a particularly snagged burr.
"Yeah! I like that one, I sing it when I build!"
"I think that's where I learned it, then."
"Do you have a favorite movie?"
Regect shrugs, his mouth twisting into something not quite a frown. "Never seen one."
"What!?" Micha exclaims, nearly turning his head one hundred eighty degrees to look at the entity in shock. Regect smiles sheepishly, but realizes that Micha can't see it, and just shrugs again.
"I live in this world. I can't watch movies."
"That's horrible. I'm going to tell you about all kinds of movies, because they're really cool. And TV shows! Have you ever heard of Doctor Who?"
And he rambles on, and of course Regect listens to everything his friend has to say, even when it doesn't quite make sense to him. Occasionally Micha pauses to give him directions, or warn him to be gentler, or this or that. Regect finds out that Micha has preening oil glands near the base of his tail, that needs to be rubbed into his feathers. So he does that once they're clean, and he uses his claws to carefully scrape the shells off of pinfeathers, or to smooth out the last of his baby plumage. The base of his wings has to be massaged and stretched somewhat to push blood flow in his weakened muscles (the reason he can't fly, Regect realizes), which the entity is happy to do, although a bit clumsily.
Micha briefly pivots to explain that usually his mother would do this for him because of his young age and vulnerable state, but she's had to work a lot more often since he got sick. Regect feels a twinge of pain somewhere in his ribs at the memory of Micha's mortality, of the finite nature of his very existence. He tamps it down. As they speak, in the here and now, Micha is his living best friend, and Regect is helping him.
That's what friends do. They are friends. BFFs: Best friends forever, is what Micha had said.
Regect closes his eyes, and pretends that the rain on his skin is only suds on his hands. Preening oil trapped beneath his claws. They are rolling through the bayou, laughing, and Micha is there. He'll be delighted upon his return, and they'll hug, and he'll be so happy to pick the alliums sprouting in clumps around Regect's feet. Rain brings flowers. Rain brings sunshine. Micha would see the joy in that.