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mishapen-dear · 1 year

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Once upon a time, a Cleo met an Etho, and he ran away.

It was rude, but it was also really funny. And there was the whole semi-freeing her thing, so, you know, she doesn’t hold much of a grudge about it.

At the time of meeting she had been sitting in yet another puddle. It wasn’t her puddle- no, her puddle had dried up a long time ago, leaving the remnants of a stain that had been red, then brown, then a wretched sort of black. It was probably gone, decayed and carried away by the little bugs that sometimes crawled across her face. She liked to call them decomposers. Friends. Wretched company.

Whatever. This puddle wasn’t hers. It was a puddle of water, or maybe more like a mini pond, pooled around her where she sat and tabled halfway up her thigh. Sometimes the wind, rare as it was this deep in the fort, rustled its way through all the vines and leaves to make little waves in the water. Cleo remembers that it tickled.

Etho had been… fishing, maybe? Searching for something in the water; digging through the mud. Cleo watched him, hidden beneath the leaves and flowers and vines that had grown over her. She got a pretty good view, actually, which was more than she ever got of her normal visitors. She wasn’t able to move her head much, those days, and was afforded only the sight of whatever wandered into the pond. She didn’t know how long it had been since she had her last visitor– too long, though. It had been a deer and its little baby fawn. Absolutely adorable. She still can’t remember when she’d had her last human visitor.

It was a rare event, worthy of that rare sludge back into consciousness. Her brain slugged along, lazily tracking Etho’s movement while the connections struggled to slip into place in her brain.

Finally, a little lightning bolt of realization- she didn’t get many human visitors. This was rare. This was an opportunity.

She tried to stand, but realized too late that the vines had grown in too close, were holding her down. She tried to move her arms to pull the vines away, but found the same problem. A wiggle of her head revealed a little bit of mobility, but she also stabbed herself in the cheek with a bit of bark, which wasn’t any fun at all. She was becoming aware, in a way she’d long forgotten, of the weight that sat on her body. What was that across her leg? A tree branch? And her arm, cradling a whole pile of decomposed leaves– so, dirt? Dirt. She was being buried beneath the remains of rot and one day she would be buried completely and then she would just– be gone.

There was, maybe, some energetic wiggling after that realization. She would say it was struggling, but she’d been pinned down too thoroughly for that to be anything other than a lie, and Cleo hates liars.

“Hello?”

Cleo was startled into stillness. “Hi,” she said, but what came out of her mouth was… not that. It was sort of a cough and also sort of a groan, which was just. So attracitve.

Etho stared in her direction. She could see his eyes wandering past her, through the undergrowth, so she knew he didn’t actually spot her. She wiggled again.

He backed away.

“Hey, no, come back!” she tried to protest, but only garbled sound came out. It was pretty gross, actually, and a little bit impressive. She hadn’t thought that people could even make sounds like that.

Etho didn’t come back, though. He turned and quickly left and Cleo was alone again.

–

He came back. She didn’t know how long she’d been alone for, but he came back. He was armed with– some sort of big knife. Cleo had never been inclined to learn all the names for all the blades throughout the kingdoms- not when something so elegant like “big knife” worked just as well.

She saw him looking towards her again, to her little corner of the pond. His gaze was too far above her, so she gave another little wiggle to draw his attention downwards. It took him a minute. Which was fine. It wasn’t like he was the first person Cleo had seen in years or anything. He got it eventually– the ripples in the pond reached his knees and finally, finally grabbed his attention. After that, he just had to follow the ripples to their source.

She didn’t know what he thought he would find. She still doesn’t know. What was he thinking while he tore through those bushes? What hope or horror sat in his chest and drove him to dig through the vines that hid Cleo within? Cleo knows what she’d been thinking, of course– she’d been thinking Ow, get off, moron. You’re on my foot.

She knows what he thought when he found her. It was clear in his eyes and spilling from his mouth. Later, she heard people speak legends of Etho Slab’s eternal stoicism, and it had taken all she had not to laugh. He peeled back the bushel of flowers obscuring her face, met her eyes, and flailed back in terror.

“Zombie-!”

And then he’d fled.

Which was rude, but also really funny, so maybe she does forgive him for it. Not for the stab wound through her chest, though- she doesn’t know how that got there, if he used his big knife to push himself back and flail off more effectively or if he stabbed her out of some instinctive drive. Whatever the cause, the big knife had gotten stuck between two of her ribs, and it was a bitch to get out.

Not for her, though. And besides, that came later- she had to meet Bdubs first.

–

Once upon a time, a Cleo met a Bdubs, and she heard him long before she ever saw him.

He was shouting about– something. She still doesn’t really know what it was about. Knights and protection and colour palettes for some reason? Nowadays, Cleo knows all about Bdubs and colour palettes. Bdubs and the concept of colour palettes are quite comfortably entwined in her mind, to the point where one could hardly be considered without the other.

But she didn’t know that yet. What she knew was that he was loud, and shouty, and was another human person. She doesn’t know how long it was between seeing Bdubs and seeing Etho for the first time, but it couldn’t have been that long. The pond hadn’t frosted over even once, and the big knife hadn’t collected any moss.

He came clomping through the trees, dressed to the nines in his royal getup. She didn’t know what it was all called, and she still doesn’t know, and she doesn’t really care. It’s different than what the royals used to wear, but it was and still is very obviously fancy.

Also really stupid.

Etho, at least, had been dressed for the occasion. He’d been glammed up in warm clothes, a mask and some kind of overcoat to keep him mostly-dry.

Bdubs’ shoes kept sinking into the mud.

Yuck.

Cleo decided not to draw his attention.

Maybe it was throwing away an opportunity she couldn’t afford to lose, but she was still pretty peeved about her latest stabbing experience. No, better to let this one yell himself out and then leave, all without bothering her and letting her continue to wallow in peace.

She can’t remember what drew his attention to her. He’d tell her if she asks, but in all likelihood he’s forgotten, too. She thinks he’d forget the moment that came after, though. She knows she never will.

“Oh my god,” Bdubs babbled, scrabbling with frantic energy towards her. There was something nostalgic about seeing someone move like that— it had been a long time since Cleo had seen anyone in a crisis. “Oh my god, that’s a body.” He splashed into the pond towards her.

“A crime!” he continued with a wail. “Who would- out here? Who’s there to kill anythin’ out here?! Who’s here to kill?”

She didn’t learn until later, over one late night and some apples they’d left to sit for maybe a bit too long, that Bdubs’ foot had slipped. He had tumbled forwards into a deeper part of the pond that was more mud and algae than pond; overall, he’d been greeted with far more slime than he’d been prepared for. But from Cleo’s perspective, it looked like he just– sort of disappeared? In a vaguely downwards way. And then a sludgey pond monster appeared in his place, wailing in horror at its own algaeic existence.

She couldn’t help but laugh.

But laughter wasn’t what emerged from her chest– instead the sound was replaced by a wretched, grumbly gargle that was better suited to the nightmares of demons.

Bdubs has claimed, in his own retellings, that she sounded like someone drowning in their own blood. Cleo has asked him if he’s ever heard anyone drown in their own blood before. In return, Bdubs has refused to answer questions and instead made grand statements on the nature of death. Cleo has pointed out that who better to know the nature of death than a zombie, and is he really qualified to explain such to her? Bdubs has realized his error and offered an apology, which Cleo has magnanimously accepted. She still hasn’t pointed out that her question went unanswered, which is an apology of its own.

“Alive?” gasped the pond monster, whirling to face her. “Yes? No- yes? Oh my god, that’s a living person.”

Cleo, the person who was definitely not living, debated the merits of trying to correct him. Nothing but a despondent hiss came out of her throat though, which then twitched and spasmed unpleasantly, so maybe the decision had been made for her.

Was it a secret, then? Cleo had never much liked liars, but secrets… secrets are a little sneaky, a little fun.

Secrets also tend to be secret, though. Like, hiding things that are not immediately obvious to anyone with eyes. Surely, surely, in just a moment, he would flutter over and realize his mistake.

Bdubs fluttered over and did not realize his mistake. He was frantic, hands waving as he tried to figure out what to do. A piece of algae flew from his hand and landed on the handle of the big knife as he stepped forwards. Cleo grunted.

“Oh- Uh oh! Oh no! Sorry!” Bdubs grabbed the algae off of the knife and flicked it away. The end of it smacked into the handle again.

“Urhg,” Cleo said. Bdubs seemed to assume that this, roughly translated, meant ow. “Urhg” did not mean ow, it meant get off, moron, you’re standing on my foot.

“I’m sorry,” Bdubs said. “I don’t- I don’t know how to help you? I think- PRESSURE! Yes, pressure, that was a thing, I ‘member pressure, that’s good.” He placed his hands on her abdomen around the big knife and pressed down. The blade only cut further through her skin, spurned by his medical ineptitude.

He made a face when his hands splunged wretchedly against her long-rotting chest and associated plant matter, so she gracefully failed to point out that there wasn’t even any blood.

“You’ll be- woof, is it okay to lie to dying people? I don’t know if that’s- how that ethics,” he huffed, eyes wide. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna do it anyway. You’re gonna be okay.”

Which was… sort of sweet, in a weird way, so she appreciated it.

He seemed to think she didn’t believe him.

“No- you’re right, you’re right! This is bad!” he lied loudly, but he didn’t know he was lying, so she forgave him. “I’ll just- I’ll help! That’s what I’ll do, I’ll help. I’ll stay here, and I’ll talk to you, and then you won’t have to be alone, okay? I bet you thought you were going to be alone, but now you won’t be, and it’s all thanks to your good pal Bdubs and his good, good voice!”

He paused, then added, “We’re friends now,” then launched on a great tirade.

Cleo… didn’t know what to think. Good things, mostly, if a little baffled. She was willing to roll with it. He was loud, but he was sticking around, and talking a lot. It was a little too bad that he wasn’t going to pull the weeds away so she could move, but moving was for chumps, anyway.

…It was nice just to have some company for a little while.

She can’t really remember what he talked about– not in its entirety, anyway, not in any good, specific details. There was a lot. He talked about colours, about contrast and hues and shadows. He talked about the beauty of a pastel pink against the gentle tones of a purple-late sunset, and how it took him ages to figure out how to stop ruining his brushes. He talked about time, and his fascination (obsession) with it. He showed her an old timepiece he kept– a clock, golden and small and kept safe in his pocket. There was a crack across the glass of its surface. He told her that he’d been afraid it was broken when he first woke up so he sat there and watched to make sure it kept time with the sunrise. It broke his heart when he found out he was right. He talked about his fear of the dark, and pretty dyes, and strangling vines.

He didn’t talk for long about the vines.

And it was… nice. It settled something that had once been human in Cleo’s soul. She felt the weight of consciousness dragging down on her slowly, becoming as obvious as the plants that kept her hostage. It was nice to borrow some sentience again, but the day was getting long. She shut her eyes as she listened to Bdubs’ voice and was distantly aware of the way his tone was softening. She lost coherency to the gentle blur of the darkness behind her eyes, and Cleo fell asleep.

–

When Cleo woke up, everything was dark. She waited patiently for her eyes to adjust, but they didn’t. Usually, the moonlight reflecting from the pond was enough light for her to at least see the closest leaves, or she could hear the downpour of rain if it was a dark and stormy night, but there wasn’t anything of the sort. In fact, everything was… quieter.

Was she dead?

Yes- yes, obviously, she was dead, but was she more dead? Deader than she’d been?

No, she wasn’t. Her body felt the same, so she still had that, but there was something… different about the weight. And her arms were different- crossed over her chest rather than trapped down by her side.

Immediately she stretched out, and the darkness abruptly retreated and something fell onto her face.

Bdubs, she later discovered, was a lovable fool. He had pulled the big knife from her chest, then used it to dig her arms out of the vines just enough to cross over her chest. Then, rather than taking it with him, he’d laid the big knife over her chest like she was some great sleeping warrior and left his coat behind too.

It still makes her mad to think about it.

At the time, though, she’d just been baffled. And a little heartwarmed, for all that her heart probably sat freezing and still in her chest. It was a sweet move, even if it was so mind bogglingly stupid to leave a weapon and a coat with a corpse who didn’t need them. Cleo wasn’t even as unanimated of a corpse as he’d presumed and she still didn’t need any of the things he’d left behind.

Well– no, that’s a lie. She didn’t need his coat. But the big knife was, actually, pretty useful. She used it and her newly freed arms to saw most of her free from the rest of the plants.

She may or may not have gained a few, uh, structural issues during the proceedings, but it’s not like she could feel pain, so that didn’t matter too much. Not yet.

And then she was free.

Wobbling, she stood up. Almost fell, but didn’t. She sludged her way out of the puddle, dragging the knife and the now-wet coat behind her. The mud beneath her feet was cold enough to feel, and clung despondently to the sides of her rotting shoes. The trees creaked overhead, laden heavy with vines and alien in their new perspective.

It felt like she had stepped into another world.

…

Bdubs’ footprints were easy enough to find in the mud. The ground dried out again a little ways ahead, but she had a general direction to follow, so she followed it.

–

The second time Cleo met Etho, she was falling apart.

Her right arm, it turned out, was not very happy about dragging big knives through the undergrowth. It had started to detach halfway up her bicep, so she had pulled Bdubs’ jacket over her shoulders and started to drag the knife with her left arm instead. But now three of her left fingers were threatening to go and take the knife with it. To top it all off, her knee was bent weird and she kept almost tripping because it just wouldn't support her weight normally, like a knee was supposed to do.

It was frustrating, and felt a little bit like a betrayal. Sure, she knew she’d been decomposing. Of course there was a little bit of rot. It was just… happening faster than she’d expected. Snarling, she threw down the knife. And what a time for this to happen! An idiot had to be saved, and here was her body falling apart around her. Two idiots to be saved- apparently she had to add herself to that list.

God. She’d just woken up, and she was already so tired.

Nothing to it- she had to figure out a solution, and then keep hunting for Bdubs. He’d done her a kindness, and she was stubborn about doing some for him.

So she had… a grimy, fancy jacket; a big knife; and a body that was forgetting how to body. Clothes, too, but those weren’t in the best shape either. Rocks. Mud. Bark. Vines.

Vines– those were basically rope, weren’t they? Bdubs had a bit of an aversion to them, but if he dug her out of her vines then he probably wasn’t allergic. Mind made up, Cleo grabbed the knife again and dragged it over. The task of cutting up appropriately-sized lengths of vine wasn’t too bad; there was something really fun about wildly swinging a big knife at some hapless foliage.

It was a lot less fun trying to tie the knife around her waist without a) cutting the vines further or b) cutting herself instead. At some point she managed it, but the weight was uncomfortable, and the knife kept banging into her leg as she moved. She thought about using Bdubs’ jacket for cover, but she didn’t want to ruin it.

And it worked, at least for a little while. Cleo was able to walk without her arms falling off. Her knee still gave her trouble, but-- that's sort of what knees did, anyway. She could do this. She just had to keep going.

Etho found her collapsed in the dirt, knee bent at an awkward angle and a large knife plunged awkwardly in her side. She couldn't say how long he stood and watched her struggle with her predicament, but it was probably long enough to make it awkward. Or Etho was just feeling awkward in general. She's noticed he does that a lot-- feel awkward, that is. Not a big talker, their Etho, but he still emerged from the bushes like a knight in a slightly grungy mask.

She stared at him; he stared at her. It was a lovely stare-off all around, except for the fact that Cleo had a big knife and no way to use it and Etho didn't have a big knife and probably knew how to use it well. But she still had the advantage-- she'd had some time to think, while she trudged through the forest. She'd thought about Bdubs' little monologue, and the weird and sticky ways that her attempted words had fit in her mouth, and come to the conclusion that she was just a little out of practice. She can't even remember what her last words were... Nor how long ago specifically they had been.

So she'd practiced.

Now, Cleo looked at Etho. She laid her hand on her faulty leg and said, forcefully, "Hh-elp."

Etho stared at her. He was good at that, the staring thing. She was quiet while he thought, but didn't look away. "You can talk?" he finally said.

Cleo licked her lips and considered the easiest way to answer that question. It had a bit of a complicated answer. "'it," she said, then grew cross with the failed attempt. "'il... y-es bb-UH no." Pleased with herself, she patted her leg again.

Etho stared at her again. She was about to be cross with him in a moment if he didn't stop that. "Are you going to eat me?" Her face did a thing. He laughed, a little breathless. "Okay, okay-- no need to make that face at me, miss zombie lady." Her face stopped doing the thing. She patted her knee again emphatically.

Cautiously, he approached her. "Mind if I, uh-" He gestured broadly to the knife in her side. She used his own weapon against him and just stared. He winced. "Guess not." He knelt next to her.

Cleo is all for gore, personally. She doesn't mind the gore that comes with having a corpse for a body, and she doesn't mind the gore that comes with the corpses of other peoples' bodies, either. But Bdubs gets really squicked out by it, so she normally skips over the part of the story where Etho helped her. But by the time he was done with her knee, Cleo had obtained his whole flask of water and started to experiment with speech.

They talked while he worked. The water helped a lot, and so did Etho's patience while Cleo re-remembered how to enunciate her words. Her tongue, meanwhile, was remembering taste, and she was not thankful-- her whole mouth tasted like mud.

"So," Etho finally started, clumsily pouncing onto a topic he'd been swiping at since their conversation had started. "You didn't have that when I last saw you."

"Have what," Cleo asked, the t clattering out of her mouth like a sharp piece of metal.

"...The jacket." His eyes briefly flicked up to her face, then refocused on his task. One of his eyes were red- she remembers that this was the first moment that she really noticed that.

"No, I didn't," she answered, pleased when the t came out just right. Part of her didn't want to explain any more, but- there was another part of her that saw how gently he held her arm. He was careful with her broken bits, despite the three times she'd promised him she couldn't feel any pain. He'd made her sit back against the base of a tree and propped her arm up against his knee so it was supported. He also hadn't stood on her foot again, nor tried to stab her at all. Overall, she was feeling pretty great about this new acquaintance, so she elaborated, "He... gave it to me? Left it on my face. Bit rude, if you ask me."

"Left it on your face?"

"He thought I was dead."

"A corpse shroud," Etho said, nodding wisely. He tapped her arm. "Other side, please."

She turned her arm. "What do you know about him?"

Etho's expression went shifty. He hadn't looked at her face much at all while he sewed her, but he wasn't looking extra hard now. "Who says I know anything?" he asked, voice a little lighter. "About- who? No, I don't know anything about- about that guy."

"Right."

"You know his jacket."

"It's a knowable jacket!"

She squinted at him. "Do you know where he is?"

"I don't know why you think I should tell you," Etho said, a little primly.

They fell into silence.

"I want to meet him," she finally said. "He talked to me. I didn't get to talk to him."

Cleo would like to admit something here- she hasn't been honest about the dialogue translations. It's hard to replicate the grumbling growl of a voice locked inside someone's rotting chest for however-many years, and she likes it when people are able to understand her stories. If she put in the effort now to echo her past grumbles then only Etho would be able to make any sense of her. He'd be the only one to understand, which-

It's a little weird, the way he does that.

Etho isn't really a people person-- but, sometimes, he seems to just... understand people. He looks past the words to see the action, and beyond that to see the meaning. People became machines built out of parts and each part could be taken individually to then understand the whole. Cleo doesn't know how he does it-- nor does she know how he managed to understand her so quickly when it mattered, when he'd been so recently afraid of her, but... she's glad of it. Still grateful for it.

Etho heard her words and then went quiet, into a silence that she now understands was contemplative. He started work on her fingers before he spoke again.

"His name is Bdubs. Prince DoubleO, he'll tell you, but don't listen to that. He's.... he's been asleep for a very long time, but I knew him before then." He cast a glance towards her face, the red of his eye glinting briefly at her from beneath the shadow of his eyelashes. "I should have known he'd find someone to talk to as soon as he woke up. What a blabbermouth, that guy." That last remark was filled with familiar fondness.

"He said he's afraid of the dark." She squinted at the sky past the trees. "It's getting dark."

"I know," Etho said. "It's okay."

"You're looking for him too, aren't you? We should go before it's too dark to see," Cleo urged. She tried to pull her hand away, but Etho grabbed it with a little warning hiss.

"Careful- careful- you almost, uh, did some damage there." He laughed nervously, replacing her hand on his knee. "No, I'm not looking for him."

Cleo blinked at him, surprised. "Aren't you?"

"No," he said. The mask covered his mouth, but she could see the glee in his eyes when he answered, "He'll come to us."

---

Etho started a fire.

Cleo decided to help.

She helped a lot. Then Etho helped her help him. Then--

...There may or may not have been more fire than was originally intended. This may or may not have been on purpose. The both of them were, perhaps, arsonists, and only encouragers of the other's bad decisions.

But neither of them caught on fire, so it was okay.

---

Bdubs caught on fire.

Etho had been correct. Bdubs, afraid of the dark, was drawn to the light like a moth to a flame. And, just like a moth, he was highly flammable.

Etho had also been wrong, though. His original plan had been to light a fire and then wait while Bdubs followed it to them. But, apparently, when you set a bunch of things on fire a wailing Bdubs can't pinpoint which fire is your fire, and which fire is just a general forest fire. They did wait for him, for a little while, but had to go looking for him when they heard his shrieking in the distance.

So off they went- following his shouting to discover their lost prince slightly burned and covered in soot. Cleo gave him back his jacket, Etho laughed at him, and- well, you know the rest.

"How do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

"That we know the rest of the story," Etho clarifies, tone mild and yet still lilting with mischief.

Cleo narrows her eyes at him. "Don't pull that."

"No, no, Cleo, I think he has a point," Bdubs says. "What if we don't 'member?"

Cleo narrows her eyes at Etho, who has ducked his head and returned to his tinkering. She can see the delight in the shape of his shoulders. "What if you do, though?"

"I dunno, Cleo. With all the bumps and bruises we've gotten?" Etho glances up again from his work to grin at her. She can't see his face either, what with the mask and all, but he has some very expressive eyes. Second only to Bdubs. Smug bastard.

Speaking of- Bdubs twists a plait of hair wrong, catching one of her flowers and tugging at it wrong. Cleo yelps in surprise, the brief pain just as startling as the first time he'd done it.

"SORRY!" Bdubs presses his hand over the flower's stem as if he could stop the move it's already made. "Sorry, sorry-- you're all good, now, we're all done. W'can stop now."

Cleo puts down her sewing kit and tilts her head back to look up at him. He raises his hands quickly away from her head. His own head is covered in a multitude of little braids and spring flowers she'd woven in for him. She can't stop herself from smiling at him, even with all the exasperation. "Is it really all done?"

He stares back down at her, big eyes blown comically and oh-so innocently wide. "Yesh. Absolutely done. Pretty braid, Cleo- wonder who did that for ya?"

"I wonder," Etho mutters. Cleo considers teasing him for how fond he sounds, but decides against it.

"I bet it looks fabulous," she says. "Not that I can tell. Not without a mirror- Are you almost done yet, Etho? It's getting dark soon."

"Yeah, yeah... almost there," he answers. "Where did you say you got this glass again?"

"From a body," Cleo says primly. "But it was from one of the tower bodies. I didn't see a single plant in there, and I'll have you know I wiped it off very well."

"Did you?"

"I could just take it back?"

"No!" Bdubs protests. He nudges at Cleo, and she graciously moves just enough to let him stand up. He flails out a hand, but Etho snatches up his project and holds it up and out of reach. "Give me that!"

"It's not done!" Etho protests. "Give me- okay, seriously, just another minute."

"...Promise?"

"Pinky promise."

Grumbling, Bdubs sits down again. Cleo leans back against him, picking up her sewing as she does. She's just fiddling with it for now, making neat little lines on an old piece of cloth, but there's a part of her that thinks she can do something really fun-- make something creepy and laugh at all the faces Bdubs would make.

They sit in silence for a few moments, comfortable in their individual tasks, but Bdubs quickly gets bored now that he can't braid Cleo's hair any more. "Where are we sleeping tonight?"

"With your mom," Etho says.

"There used to be a passage between the kitchens and the servants quarters," Cleo butts in over Bdubs' loud sputtering. "I don't think we'll have to do much cleanup. And it's near the tallest tower." She gives Bdubs a meaningful look.

"I don' know why you're giving me that look," he grumbles.

"It's not her fault you have a thing about being short," Etho says mildly.

"Short tower!" Bdubs protests so loudly that it almost hurts Cleo's ears. "Short tower-- They made me sleep in the shortest tower! Me! The indignity."

"The other towers weren't built before you went to sleep, Bdubs," Cleo reminds him fondly. "The biggest one only finished construction maybe... five years after I got here?"

"The indignity," Bdubs says again.

"I don't know... I think it's kind of fitting," Etho says peacefully. He doesn't even look up from his work to acknowledge the instant rage that flashes across Bdubs' face, which Cleo knows he's doing on purpose to be a pest.

"WHAT! What are you saying? You better not be saying what I think you're saying!"

"I don't know what you think I'm saying. How could I say anything you're thinking without me saying it?"

"Hm. Well. Okay," Bdubs says with utmost suspicion.

"Besides," Etho continues. "Short towers are for short princes. I thought everyone knew th-"

He's cut off abruptly by Bdubs trying to lunge at him. He's only stopped by Cleo, who he's tripped over, being in a place to be tripped over. He lands in a heap on the ground and all three of them break into laughter.

"Careful, Bdubs!" Etho admonishes cheerfully. "You almost broke it again!"

"Again?" Bdubs sits up quickly. "Is it done? Does that mean it's done? Are ya done?"

In response, Etho holds out Bdubs' once-broken clock. Its surface is no longer cracked- the glass and needle have been replaced, sparkling new(ish). Cleo hears a quiet clicking from it as the background changes slowly, warning them peacefully of the encroaching night. Etho had even removed some of the nastier grunge and shined up its carapace.

"Yes!" Bdubs exclaims eagerly. He bolts upright again, almost knocking Cleo over, and gleefully accepts his precious trinket. He wanders away from them a little, already engrossed in checking its accuracy against the sky.

"Ow," Cleo says blandly. "Help me up?"

Etho obliges, offering a hand. She takes it, then pulls herself up to her feet. They both watch Bdubs for a little while.

"Do you think we should go?" Cleo asks suddenly.

"...Why do you ask?"

Cleo chews thoughtfully on her lip. "Why should we stay?" she asks. "I mean, we have a place to live, sure, but- it's an old castle full of mud and gunk and plants. Maybe- maybe it was home, once, for all of us." She casts a side glance to him. He's still watching Bdubs. "But I don't know if it should be anymore. Memories, you know?"

"I don't mind memories," Etho defends. "...Where would we even go?"

"I don't know. Out. Away. You had friends who lived down south, didn't you? Do you think they're still around?"

"I don't know if I'd call Scar a friend."

"But you think he's still around?"

"...Maybe." He huffs out a sigh at her imploring look. "It's Scar. He's always around." They're quiet for another moment. "I don't know, Cleo. Not... not yet, I think. I'm still getting used to just having you two around."

"No, that's fair," Cleo agrees. "I just... you know Bdubs. He's a people person."

"Yeah."

More silence.

"Eventually," Etho says. "When he gets bored. That should be long enough for us to spruce things up around here."

"More than enough, probably," Cleo agrees, more lightly. "I think he's got his heart set on making at least the tower look nice."

If Etho was going to say something, it's drowned out by Bdubs' hollering. "Come on!" he shouts to them, waving his arms towards the castle. "It's getting dark!"

Cleo laughs and grabs her sewing from the ground. Etho grabs his tools from the little stone workbench. They both follow Bdubs back towards the castle.

And, for a little while, they all live happily ever after.

---

also on ao3

For @cledubs for the life series gift exchange! This fic got away from me a lil, haha, and I maybe ran out of time and couldnt include a scene where Bdubs builds Cleo a little shelter from the rain while she's still stuck at the tower, but i want you to know that he terraforms the shit out of the landscape so there aren't any sad little puddles at the bottom of any towers anymore.

There was an alternate ending where, instead of vaguely leaving to go see Scar, Cleo and Etho were discussing going to some weird strange land called "3rd life" and how Etho would probably split up from them to go be a loner for a little bit. This ending fit the vibes better, so this is the one that stuck, but "down south" there might just be a certain desert....

#mishapen words #lifefanworkexchange #trafficblr #fairytale au ish #zombiecleo #ethoslab #bdubs #pre-3rd life #mild gore of the zombie kind #non descriptive limb-attachment troubles its okay #she gets better

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