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With empty hands and a heavy heart, Parrot found himself back at the remains of the Poggies’ base after running out of things to do. It couldn’t have been longer than a month since he gave away the base, an act that led to more trouble than he would like to admit, but it certainly feels the part the way it tugs at his heart.
He doesn’t really need to look around to see the current state of the vacant place, it’s ingrained into his mind— charred, weak wooden structures surrounded by trampled, rotten crops. Stairwells that don’t lead to anywhere anymore and ash littering the ground where bridges once stood.
Faintly, if he closes his eyes, he can still hear the crackling of flames; taste something bitter in his throat.
He knows the fall of their home was much faster than his brain would like him to believe. A furious Spoke with a lot of TNT at hand— usually a scene Parrot would have front seats for, a scene Parrot would be directing. Although it’s needless to say he wouldn’t need much to do, Spoke is already all too familiar with the narrative, and Parrot just ought to applaud.
Their home. He quickly shakes the thought away, as Parrot tried to never allow himself to care for places to begin with. It tends to present as merely an inconvenience— every base is compromised and lost to time eventually, it’s the nature of where they happen to be.
So, upon being offered a trade for valuable riches he very much needed, Parrot didn’t waste any time pondering, let alone taking any voice of potential reason into consideration. What about this sounded unreasonable? They wanted a beat-down base that’s already fulfilled its duty in exchange for a Netherite armor-set and a heart. One to complete his scarce set. He’d be ridiculous not to jump at the opportunity!
For a base’s purpose is to be functional, useful; there’s no good reason to spend a second longer than obligated there, and that should further prove to him that bases are disposable and easily replaceable. It’s undoubtedly tedious labor, setting up a new, decent base, but anyone who’s had to do it nearly as many times as Parrot had will agree that it’s really not that big of a deal.
It’s Lifesteal, after all. You don’t get to be picky with where you spend a night. After doing it enough times, moving out into a new base becomes practically instinctive. The cruelty of it all even made Parrot find comfort in the process; going on autopilot and working his hands through a foggy mind until he can no longer feel them.
Parrot didn’t understand it at first, what Spoke saw in the base that had him beg Parrot not to take the deal. The base wasn’t anything special, really. And the fact that someone was willing to offer anything for it in itself was amusing. Had the base not been blown up, it would’ve still been a bust for the other side of the deal. He was left to believe there were no reasons not to take this. Not even Spoke’s rapidly shaking head, his disappointed tone as his objections went unheard.
He couldn’t quite grasp how such an insignificant action made Spoke’s eyes turn so distant, his hands uninviting.
Only once he lost it, once Spoke set off the TNT, had it settled in. It was solely a base, whether intact or blown to smithereens didn’t change the fact. But
Spoke, Spoke was home.
The sound of his laughter still rings among the frail walls, his soul lingering behind.
His thoughts trail to nights where Parrot and Spoke stayed awake longer than they should’ve, planning their next mindless prank until they get hushed quiet by a drowsy Vortex. He thinks back to the obnoxious sound of their footsteps on the wooden paths as they chased each other around the base, weapons swinging carelessly— as though no slash of a sword could hurt them in each other’s company. And the one-too-many times the two spawned back beside one another after a gruesome death, hastily tending to each other’s persistent wounds that the server did not deem notable enough to heal with a respawn. Not that they ever minded, Parrot relished in his battle scars. And if there was anything he were to disdain about himself, Spoke was there to love it.
A world without Spoke is a world Parrot wasn’t very familiar with, and it’s one he quickly learned he hated. All he’s known his entire time on this unrelenting server is Spoke’s proximity—his best friend being within arm’s reach at all times, their shoulders clashing and their fingers interlocked, voices overlapping.
Luckily, it wasn’t a world he had to live in any longer.
Mere days afterwards, the two found themselves in each other’s vicinity once more. With Parrot being hunted by the entire server for not upholding his side of the deal— the base he got paid for being found leveled to the ground— and Spoke being hunted by Parrot for forcing his hand.
And a month of frantically looking for him later, a dance Spoke didn’t seem to want anything to do with, they stood face to face once more.
Parrot’s sword plunged deep into Spoke’s chest, grinning. There you are!
Parrot didn’t want Spoke dead as much as he wanted him back, yet it was precisely why he had to go and do it. The results of both wishes purely seemed to align.
To get Spoke back, he didn’t need to earn it— he simply needed to compel him. And having Spoke’s blood soaked belongings meant having leverage over him, which leads to having Spoke’s attention. Not quite because he’s desperate for his items back, but because it’s Parrot who has them. And Parrot knew how to make an appealing offer.
It didn’t take much to bring Spoke back to his side, in the end. A promise of power; the ability to break rules with no consequences, a chance to bring about chaos. One thousand withers, Parrot suggested. You’re the only one who can do this.
Spoke hesitated, and anyone with the slightest hint of sanity remaining would’ve. But Parrot didn’t miss the glint in his eyes— the tremor in his soot-covered hands, and the subtle, malicious tilt of his lips at the mere idea of getting to break more rules.
Parrot sluggishly moved to perch atop a familiar cold stone platform, the very same one he collared Spoke on with a poorly disguised deal.
He huffs at the dust collected beneath him, but pays it no mind as he leans back on his hands, palms digging into the harsh stone. His wings twitch in discomfort, soot and grime beginning to gather among feathers.
There really should be no reason for him to be back here. He has a new base, a new team—although ironically consisting of recognizable faces— and it just definitely cannot be wise to be where he’s most expected to be found when an entire server is actively looking high and low for him.
Still, Parrot closes his eyes.
When he hears the swooshing of the nether portal get momentarily louder, indicating a new presence, he keeps them closed. The stench of ash and decay hits his nose fast, and it shouldn’t bring him this much solace. When he hears footsteps coming up from behind, he can’t get himself to be alarmed.
Parrot smiles, soft and sincere.
Spoke missed him too.
He tilts his head backwards, enough for his gaze to fall on exactly the one he wished to see; yet Parrot’s smile falters at the sight, eyes widening in concern.
He jolts around, ignoring the ache in his wings as he fully takes in the view. “Spoke?”
Spoke, like the accompanying smell insinuated, stood by the portal covered thoroughly in soot and ash. He turned to meet Parrot’s eyes, allowing him a better look. Spoke’s own weary eyes widened slightly in response— clearly having not expected to find anyone else here, let alone Parrot, but they quickly softened as his face fell flat again.
It must’ve taken a lot to get Spoke to look this disheveled. His hair’s wilted, strands stuck to his skin and his eyes jaded. There’s splotches of red on his frayed clothes— whether it’s blood or some other nether-sourced substance Parrot isn’t quite sure. He looks unhinged, not in the way Parrot was familiar with, although not in a way he distastes either.
The trembling figure gives a weak attempt at a smile eventually; something more akin to a prayer. And he declares, wavering,
“I did it, Parrot. I got all the skulls!”
Spoke looks seconds off from withering away; and it’s divine how he’s never looked more fragile yet so destructive altogether.
It couldn’t have been more than a couple days prior that Parrot proposed the idea of unleashing a thousand withers onto Lifesteal, so if Spoke had truly got his hands on three thousand wither skulls already— then that might be a good place to start explaining his worn out state.
The boy must need at the very least a shower. At most, an exorcism.
Instead, Parrot wastes no more time staring and decides that what Spoke needs is some sleep. Like, right this moment. In his arms.
He scoots closer to the edge and pats the stone next to him, jagged and uncomfortable. But it’s not like Spoke will care; not in this state, not in Parrot’s hold.
Spoke’s smile is quickly replaced by a pout at the speechless motion. He huffs and stomps a foot weakly— making no sound and no damage to the frail planks beneath him.
“Are you really not even impressed?”
Parrot will have none of that. He could go on and on about how impressive this achievement is, tell Spoke all he wants to hear and mean it, but he is not enabling this any further. Not right now. Not when Spoke looks like this, so… tired, albeit his brave face.
“Spoke, bro— just come here!”
Spoke huffs again, louder this time as if to ensure he is heard, and then starts to finally make his way over to Parrot.
He doesn’t shut up on his way over, as he never tends to. Parrot successfully manages to not entertain it and simply rolls his eyes at the complaints.
“What, are a thousand withers not enough for you now?”
It takes a mere soft tug at Spoke’s clothes to send him tumbling down, a yelp escaping him before he swiftly surrenders to Parrot’s arms wrapping around him. He shoves his head into the crook of Parrot’s neck, and lets out what feels like his first breath of the night. He’s still shivering, despite his body being way too warm; feverish.
“I am very impressed,” Parrot tightens his embrace. “but I expected nothing less from you anyway.”
Silence falls upon them once more, and this time Spoke doesn’t seem to mind it either— if the way Parrot can feel his grin widen indicates anything.
He takes that as a sign to keep going.
After taking a moment to awkwardly adjust the way they’re sitting, getting them as comfortable as he could in these conditions, Parrot resumes his hymns. Hoping it’ll bore Spoke and lull him to sleep, or it’ll convince his alarmed body it can find comfort in Parrot’s presence. Seriously, work with him here!
He whispers, only for his best friend’s ears, “I knew you’re the only one who could get this done, Spoke.”
Spoke replies to him in hums at first. Then in the form of his heart pounding, his body stilling, and his lashes fluttering until his eyes fall shut— walking right into his trap. His genius, well constructed plan of holding his best friend close and woeing him to sleep. Truly what makes Parrot a mastermind. They’ll talk about this in future seasons of Lifesteal; a trap no one could ever outdo, it’ll be on the news. No one does it like him.
Showcasing his satisfaction, Spoke’s body begins to emit a faint, rhythmic rumble, not unlike a purr. It’s hypnotic, and Parrot quickly discovers it to also be contagious. Effective immediately.
Parrot feels his own stiff body loosen up, and he allows himself to sink into the warmth of their tangled limbs and nudges his face into Spoke’s hair. He can have this too.
And Parrot thinks; Nothing matters, really. Not unless it’s Spoke. Not their base, nor the remains of it, not anywhere on this server. Only Spoke, Parrot believes.
Parrot’s lost it once, and he knows well enough he’s always at risk of losing it all again. For all he knows, at any point he could make another foolish decision that his best friend doesn’t approve of, causing him to walk away and back into hiding. Or either of the two ticks down one too many hearts, and they’re divided by a death much more permanent, sorrowful.
A worse scenario, to Parrot, would be as simple as Spoke coming to terms with his worth and raising his standards. For someone who can get his hands on just about anything he desires; fortune, allies, power and three thousand wither skulls— he seems to keep choosing Parrot.
And it’s not to be self deprecating, Parrot’s well aware of what he has to offer! He knows he’s got himself a sharp mind, a sweet mouth and a good grip on a sword. Yet these are all the traits other players would seek him out for, not Spoke. They tend to look for that in a teammate, in someone competent, to be of use.
Spoke looks for Parrot, His best friend. His motivation, Spoke once called him.
He attempts to card his fingers through Spoke’s hair, before quickly finding himself displeased by all the knots he runs into; opting to just pet his dozed off friend in his arms. Not without a mental note to direct a lot of attention to helping wash Spoke’s hair later on.
A clearer headed Spoke wouldn’t accept the assist so easily, but Parrot knows to play it as a trade. In return, Spoke gets to preen Parrot’s wings. Which he enjoys arguably more than Parrot does anyways. Again, genius!
For now, he closes his eyes.
Later when night falls and the moon makes her luminous presence known, after sleep never finds his way to him and his brain gets unbearably louder, Parrot collects his best friend in his arms and hauls the both of them up— wincing when he hears Spoke stir awake as a result of their rocky landing on the ground.
Fortunately, Spoke only struggles against him for seconds before every event that led to his current position seems to dawn on him, and he leans back into Parrot, uncharacteristically still.
“Oh.”
Nonetheless, Parrot reassures. “It’s just me, Spoke. Go back to sleep.”
Spoke grunts, disoriented, but doesn’t object further as Parrot begins to walk them to his new base. Not quite a home, but Spoke inhabiting it should make it the closest thing it can be to one.
In a few days, they’re gonna stand together and watch as ruthless withers, a thousand, infest their server and as soil taints and roses decay. As buildings collapse and as blades turn towards them, as if more bloodshed can undo what they’ll achieve. Soon will be an inevitable end, impending by their very hands. That will be their impact.
But in the meantime, Parrot drops Spoke on his bed and flops down head first next to him, having thought himself to exhaustion as his eyes finally flutter shut. He barely registers it when Spoke snuggles up to him, arms wrapping around his neck. Parrot can’t help but smile, an airy laugh making it past his lips before he could know it.
He’s caught off-guard when Spoke’s own drowsy laughter joins his, causing something warm to instantly bloom in his chest upon hearing the sound and for his laugh to go higher in pitch. Why is this guy awake? “What?”
“You what!”
“Nothing!”
“Okay, then stop laughing!”
“Bro, you’re laughing too!” Neither of their counters get anywhere, drowned by their exasperated laughter and their hearts beating together— Making this all a scene so familiar. Everything about this is just right, Parrot thinks. This is home.
He hugs Spoke back, wings engulfing him whole and briefly squeezing him uncomfortably tight while their sudden burst of giddiness comes to a close. Spoke’s hands find their way to Parrot’s wings, as predicted, content to merely lay among feathers as he drifts off to sleep once more.
“Goodnight, Spoke.” Welcome home, he leaves unspoken.