#runstheshow

[infinitethree]

Lee awkwardly sits at one end of the large, round table in the dead center of the room. The five people who have kept a frankly absurd secret from everyone else are crowded on the other end.

“So let me summarize this,” he says, hands pressed together in front of his mouth. “The Swords and Shields were never Aster’s idea, but Daz’s. Daz is actually kind of an asshole–”

Aster opens his mouth, but Lee shoots him a glare that makes him shut it and slide down in his seat.

“--which functionally means that Aster was right to be worried about him at the start. Aleph and Khons got roped into…this, for reasons I still don’t really get. And Raine just– was traumatized and triggered by me being near Dee and Theo, and him trying to protect me from them made him an ideal candidate for the secret cabal at the core of not just the Swords and Shields, but the safety of the entire server.”

Daz studies him for a long moment, and then nods.

Closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath, Lee lets that soak in for a long moment.

His initial vibe that Aster and Daz would be close had been something that never seemed to fully manifest. It’s been a nagging worry, because Aster’s awkward standoffishness had made Lee sure that he was just wrong about that.

And if he was wrong about that, then what else might he be wrong about? Did it misinterpret the vibes, or were the vibes simply giving him wrong clues?

But he had been right, and more right than he could have fathomed.

In a way, he feels humbled by the revelation of such a massive secret. The five of them have done…Prime only knew how much work behind the scenes, making sure the server remained safe.

Hell– he knows Aster treasures his friendship with Theo. From the way he’s watching Lee, with fear and guilt and tensed like he’s expecting some sort of punishment…this has been a heavy burden for him to bear.

At the same time, though? He feels so very, very small.

What makes him so special? What makes so many people take up his banner, when he already has so many others who are dedicated to helping him?

Aster alone is so much more than he needs. Hell– his family is overprotective as it is!

…In their own, weird way.

But having four more secret Asters, one of whom is actually some sort of freaky expert actor, all entirely devoted to the cause of him?

He doesn’t understand.

At the same time, though…it’s not just him they’re helping. Even if the core of their goal is to make sure he never gets hurt, they do that by maintaining the peace of the sever.

Not through force, but through defusing situations and putting out fires that might otherwise get out of hand.

Ultimately, then, he can’t be mad. A part of him can’t help but be a little hurt that it’s been a secret for so long, but…really, it’s not that awful of a thing.

Lee isn’t a stranger to the idea of operational security. The more people who know, the less effectively they can do their work.

“Okay,” he finally says, opening his eyes. 

He straightens up in his stool– chosen so that he doesn’t have to bother with his wings and one of the regular chairs– and studies them.

“I’m a little hurt that you all lied to me. But it was for a good cause…and, really, it was for everyone.”

Daz smiles at him, full of so much relief and warmth that he finds himself smiling back. The others are smiling too, clearly glad that he’s not too pissed off about their…everything.

He continues, “But there’s a reason you told me this now, right?”

A jarringly serious expression falls over Daz’s face. “Have you heard about the entity that’s been talking to a few people? Your dad and Theo definitely heard them.”

Lee nods, grimacing. The two of them had been…upset, to put it mildly.

Taking a deep breath, Daz says, “Their name is the Scribe, and we made some deals with them. Multiple deals, actually.”

“For what?” “To keep our secrecy, and…a few other things. The Observers like me, apparently,” Daz tells him.

From his expression, he’s not happy about that fact.

Lee presses, “Things like…?” “When one of us gets a question, the others can hear if they’re nearby. We also can tell when we’re being watched.”

A shudder goes down Lee’s spine. That’s definitely useful to have.

“And we’re being watched right now,” Aster says, brow subtly creased.

Well, shit! That’s not something he really wants to have happen.

With a sigh, Daz continues, “And…if you’re nearby, and get a question, we can hear it too.”

It sounds a hell of a lot like the Council gets special treatment. But Daz had said deal, meaning a price was paid.

He looks at the evident ringleader and asks, “What did you give up for that?”

A laugh, tired and slightly bitter escapes Daz. “We’re required to answer. I…had to do something that I can’t really explain.”

Quietly, Raine rests his hand on Daz’s shoulder. It’s subtly leaned into, like he needs the support.

“And because the Scribe is talking to others, you’re worried?” “Mhm. The Observers are getting more active, too– and thus more dangerous.”

For a moment, Daz seems to hesitate. Then he takes another deep breath and tells him, “And the Scribe told me to make things interesting. If I didn’t, they’d find someone else to entertain them. This…is something that always would have happened. I really would have rather it waited until you were older, but–”

“But your hand was forced,” Lee supplies. Daz nods in agreement.

That’s definitely not a scenario that Lee is interested in happening. This Scribe entity is clearly powerful, and might even be the source of the Observers.

Or…at least, linked to them.

Raine finally speaks up again, but he’s not looking at Lee. He’s looking at Daz, looking worried. “I think you need to explain what actually happened, how you got here.”

Oh? There’s a secret to Daz’s past?

Actually, that makes perfect sense. You don’t just become like this overnight.

Another bitter laugh escapes Daz. “Fuck…yeah. With everything that’s gonna– there’s no point in hiding it from you.”

Lee watches him withdraw a butterfly knife. It had been a gift from Theo, made by Dee; the shimmering, rainbow-tinted knife is something Daz uses on occasion for various tasks. He always unfolds it carefully, cautiously, evidently unused to properly wielding it–

The other four scoot their chairs away from him a little, and Daz begins spinning the knife. It dances over his fingers like a magic trick; like it was always meant to be there.

“I willingly joined hands with my Dream in Pogtopia. I swore to do anything for him, if he helped reclaim L’manburg from Schlatt,” Daz begins.

So all the horrible shit he went through was because of that deal? Fuck, no wonder he’s so messed up about being a good, useful person.

Voice almost hypnotic, Daz continues, “The price that Dream asked was to be my mentor. Unbeknownst to me, I had the rare, precious spark that would allow me to become an admin. He was terrified of being alone, abandoned by others who weren’t trapped in the prison he’d made for himself. I was what he had prayed and longed for; a true companion, someone who was capable of standing at his side. Not as his student, but as his equal.”

Lee swallows. He’s not an idiot; he can hear the resentment and bitterness lurking underneath those words.

He also remembers what Daz was like, when he first got here. That’s not something you do to someone you care about.

“When he told me what I was, what I could become…it was everything I had ever dreamed of. Wilbur had nearly killed me, taken one of Tubbo’s lives, and left the server with a real bang. L’manburg was exploded mere moments after he left with Techno. I had nothing but Tubbo, and Dream had saved me. He rescued me from my final death, and he bared his throat to beg for the chance to teach me.” Daz takes another deep breath.

“So I accepted. And…it was good. For a long time, it was nearly perfect. I hid that I could be an admin, but the two of us were able to do our work, do our training, far from the rest of the server. You should look at the coords.”

Curious, Lee does as he was asked.

Holy fucking shit, they’re so far out. It’d take days to get back to the central area from the overworld.

“What the fuck,” he breathes, and Daz grins at him. “I knew this area, so I figured I might as well make use of it.”

“But what about San? You can’t get this far without them knowing–” “I have my ways,” Daz tells him, eyes sparkling a little. “They’re a little weird, though. I’ll explain it later– this’ll be a rabbit hole, otherwise.”

Huffing a bit about not getting the answer right away, Lee settles back in his seat to listen to the story.

Daz’s knife– Bismuth, if he remembers correctly, named for an oddly-shaped stone that has a similarly rainbow tint– is still dancing flawlessly across his hands. Actually, it’s turning into tricks.

He might be showing off a little. Lee isn’t sure if that’s a vibe or just a hunch, though.

“So we were pretty safe from being found out. And in our base, I was able to learn quickly, easily, and without fear of someone seeing something they shouldn’t. I grew quickly, because I wanted to be worth the effort.” Brow furrowing, Daz emphasizes, “I wanted, desperately, to be good enough to stand at his side. He’d become…” the words falter for a moment, and the knife suddenly slips from Daz’s hands.

Idly, he brings his nicked finger to his mouth for a moment before he says, softly, “He was my brother.”

This is clearly, blatantly, something that was deeply traumatic for Daz. It was so horrible that he buried everything about who he really was, only letting it out in places that are in his complete control.

“What happened?”

The question makes Daz’s eyes flick down to the knife. “...Eret and Connor were killed for the third time in a surprise attack. In hindsight, I think it was Karl, but I’m not sure. Tensions that had been rising between us and New L’manburg–”

“So you weren’t close with Tubbo?” “Ah. No…no, Tubbo was my best friend. I would have died for him. But he was president; Quackity was. We never had a war, never had any reason to justify expelling the existing chain of command. Schlatt and Wilbur were banned, and Quackity was the VP. So, he got a promotion,” Daz clarified.

That’s a surprise. A memory wiggles at the back of his mind, and then suddenly pops out. “Wait, didn’t you say he tried to kill you–?���

“Yep. Using Eret and Connor as an excuse to act and information about their deaths as bait, they lured me out. I got trapped in a one-block cage while Quackity, Niki, and Fundy rained poison and instant health pots down on me. Fun fact– splash pots soak into fabric if you use enough of them. Especially gags.”

Prime, that’s terrifying. “And– that’s just torture. Why would they do that?”

Daz sighs. “Nobody knew admins were tied to the server. Nobody but me, Dream, Sapnap, and George. And…George had left. It caused some problems. Quackity assumed that if he could kill Dream and kill me, then he’d be able to take over the server.”

Ah. That…tracks, upsettingly enough.

Despite others’ best efforts to shield in, he’s not unaware of the way things went for the timeline that they can never touch. The base timeline, the blueprint.

Power and greed are good motivators, and Quackities often chase them to a horrifying extent.

“Dream got me out, but it was close. The magic…would have been lethal. He spent all night with me cradled in his arms, watching my code in the hope that if things got worse, he could fix it.”

Lee frowns. “So…you were still on good terms, then.” “Mhm. And then he wanted to kill everyone. I refused to let him touch Tubbo, and…and, well. He always did have terrible taste.”

Before he can ask what that means, Daz explains, “He chose blackstone bricks for the floor of our base. The base he left less and less; the base that held the only person who understood him. It wasn’t until I came here that I even considered it could be a problem.”

“But– wouldn’t he have noticed the server getting quieter?” “Our servers weren’t sapient; no barrier between admins and whatever information they wanted. He was always so fucking stupid about using those skills, though. Always wanted to believe the best in others. And in the end, the sudden stress of nearly losing me made him snap. He took the project we’d been working on, retrofitted loyalty into it, and shoved it in my code.”

Daz’s voice is uncomfortably calm as he says, “Every order felt like my soul was being atomized. I knew it would kill me, eventually. And…after he made me kill Tubbo, I stopped resisting that idea.”

His breath escapes in a horrified rush.

Gods, he can’t even imagine. He knows Tommys– knows that, at their core, a single shining truth remains crystal clear.

Tommys are loyal. They are loyal to the death.

“I frayed at his already waning sanity, forcing him to layer order after order on. Meanwhile, I had disabled all the alarms and laid a breadcrumb trail right to our door.”

His heart aches at the idea that someone he cares about was ever so low. “You wanted them to kill you, and the enchantment was a backup plan.”

Daz smiles a little sadly. “Yeah. I decided I would choose death over defeat. I made sure that no matter what, he would be left exactly as he always feared; alone, broken, and rotting in the ruins of his self-made prison.”

Suddenly, Daz’s tone shifts. “But then the T3 showed up. I was given a sudden, expected chance; I could walk away. It would be even worse than dying, to him. If I was dead, he would kill himself quicker. But…if I was alive, somewhere, with some small chance I might go back…?” An expectedly cruel smile twists across the usually-bubbly man’s lips.

“He would cling onto that hope. He would suffer in agony, in the vain hope that I might one day return to him.”

A shiver goes down his spine, and Daz’s expression shifts to a less distressing one.

Well! That was– that was pretty fucked up. Lee knows, and this time is aware it’s a vibe, that Daz hasn’t been honest in his therapy.

Great. Awesome. Someone who desperately needs actual therapy is instead the only person able to lie well enough to fool not just San but the entire server.

Daz takes the knife and puts it back into his inventory. “So, yeah. I was trained to be an admin, and that’s gonna be useful.”

He doesn’t follow. “Useful for…?”

“I asked Lucid to train me, too.”

Lee stands up, protesting, “Daz, you don’t need to–”

Calmly, Daz interrupts, “I do, though. It gives me the chance not just to monitor Lucid more closely, but to have access to a mod console. With a console, I can teach you better. I don’t want to be a full admin. The idea is kinda of my worst nightmare, actually! But a mod…a mod, I can handle. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

Goddamnit. He hates that it makes sense. “But you’re going to be actively triggering yourself constantly. I don’t like that.”

“Tough fucking luck. Life is cruel and unfair, and like or not, I’m going to make sure you never have to learn that lesson the hard way,” Daz tells him.

When he stands up, his posture is one that echoes people that Lee knows all too well.

Technoes, Dreams, Wilburs, even the few Schlatts that he’s seen.

Instinctively, Lee understands that Daz will not budge on this. No matter what Lee says or does, he’s made up his mind.

And, at his core, he still ultimately a Tommy. The other truth of Tommys is that are stupidly, infuriatingly, breathtakingly stubborn.

If a Tommy digs his heels in, it will take an unfathomable amount of force to drag him away.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. At his back, he can feel his wings fluttering anxiously.

Lee hates the idea of Daz living and breathing his trauma like he’s planned on doing. At the same time, though, he knows that it will be useful.

Fucking hell. This isn’t really what he thought Aster might be bringing him to face.

As he thinks that, he sees that same man stand hesitantly, awkwardly, just a step away from him. His hands hover and his muted emotions clearly convey that he desperately wants to hug him.

With a soft huff, he steps forward and hugs one of his closest companions.

Aster sighs in relief, wrapping his arms around him.

Something deep inside of him hums in satisfaction. Aster is one of his people, someone he trusts and treasures. He would do horrible, ugly things to keep this person safe– things that sometimes appear in his nightmares, things he doesn’t want to think about in the light of day.

“I know it’s…kind of a lot. And maybe worse because we’re not alone,” Daz tells him. He does sound apologetic, but is probably so for the wrong reasons.

“I told you he wouldn’t hate you,” Raine says, with a soft thump that indicates he lightly smacked his friend in some way. “Paranoid dumbass.”

Scoffing, Daz retorts, “Fuck you, you’re not the one who had to reveal you’re actually kind of a monster to the supernatural embodiment of sunshine and rainbows–”

Lee breaks from the hug to point at Daz, who seems surprised. “You’re not a monster.”

Daz blinks at him, seeming to consider something. Raine hisses, “Don’t you dare, save your weirder shit for another time!”

The Tommy snorts, and states, “Yeah, that’s probably better. But let’s say I disagree, and leave it at that.”

Eyes narrowing, Lee leans his weight across the table. He warns, “I’m going to fix you, so fucking help me.”

After a moment of surprise, Daz grins and leans forward as well. “Good luck, kid. My issues have issues. I’ve got a whole fucking magazine subscription kit in here.” “Good! Fine! If all of you think I’m so damn special, then I’ll make sure you’re getting your stupid money’s worth!”

Daz’s expression suddenly turns dark. “Don’t talk like that. You–”

Oh, wonderful job! Bravissimo; bravissimo! I was so fucking right to make you–

All of the Council members straighten up, but none become more severe than Daz. “Achilles, this is the Scribe.”

The unexpected, disembodied, and clearly powerful voice laughs, Hah, yeah, that’s definitely me, I'm the Scribe. They coo, Aww, you look so mad! And here I was, thinking you were up to snuff. 

Shoulders thrown back, Daz states calmly, “He is. In fact…” a slow smile spreads, like cracks across thin ice.

“In fact,” Daz repeats, “He’s so good, so worthy, that I think we should hold a vote.”

His eyes flick to the others. “All those in favor of making Lee an official member of the Council?”

Oh you clever little shit. I hate you so much right now, the Scribe says. Contrary to their words, though, they sound delighted.

The others nod their approval, and Daz’s smile grows. “And, Lee, do you accept this position?”

Clearly, there’s something more going on than is immediately obvious. This group, and especially Daz, are smart.

If they’re pushing for this, there’s a reason.

“Yeah,” he says, and can’t help but feel a little sting of pride when all of them perk up a little.

Daz claps his hands. “Excellent. With Lee’s induction into the Council, that makes this official business.” His hands spread wide, Daz laughs as he says, “Which means our audience needs to leave.”

[lovelayladesigns]

Step into my office... #twatcat #wankercat #runstheshow #legscrossed #meansbusiness https://www.instagram.com/p/BrTFIiZFGGq/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1p8s7vcjoobs1

[thelookingglassrevue]

@themidnite_channel welcomes you to 2019! . . . #burlesque #emcee #comedian #runstheshow #lehighvalley #lehighvalleyburlesque #phillyliveentertainment #phillyburlesque #phillyshow http://bit.ly/2RqSLnw

[chopbuiltinc]

#ShopCat #RunsTheShow #GladShesBackWithDaddy #BeenWayTooLong #LiVE #LoVE #NEvEREvERGiVEuP

[infinitethree]

It is, to put it bluntly, too goddamned quiet.

Stepping onto the stage was supposed to be a big deal! A crescendo in the production, the climax of the story!

At the very least, things were supposed to be less fucking boring!

But it is, sadly, a ghost town. Even the Showrunner doesn’t have an exact idea of the metrics of the sad little platform their existence is really known on, but they know it’s not great.

Uhg. They really don’t love the idea of jumping the shark already, but…things need to get livened up.

The audience really needs to appreciate the marathon of bitching that will be Show’s reward for the bone they’re gonna throw into the spectral audience.

Quite literally kicking down the door into the library, they shout, “Hey, Scribs, we need to chat! Get your nose out of your fucking books!”

Much like the Showrunner’s stage, the library is the domain of another unusual individual. The infinite rows of bookshelves bear titles in indecipherable scripts, but…that’s the only real feature of the space.

Everything else is a void. A white, empty void, stretching out over Eons and Eras.

Show’s face shifts to a brief animation of an eyeroll. Great, in-jokes that exactly one person can possibly understand. That bodes super well for how this’ll play out.

From amidst the shelves, a figure slowly emerges.

Like the Showrunner, their form is…unusual. What little ‘skin’ is visible is, much like their counterpart’s, rather similar to a jointless mannequin. The color differs, though– a swirling, silver-and-lavender as opposed to the Showrunner’s gold-and-black.

But largely, they are obscured by a cloak.

The cloak covers most of them, bar their many extra arms– and the number of them keeps shifting, as do the sizes of the books they’re writing in– and their ‘face’. It looks almost like a universe is depicted in them.

Or…it is a universe. Because it moves– the stars, the celestial bodies, all of is moving. In just a few moments, several stars wink out, while others suddenly appear. Along the edges of the ‘garment’-- if it really can even be called that– are ever-shifting runes in that same silvery-lavender color that seems unique to them.

Each rune seems to be made up of a shifting mess of overlapping words.

In much the same way, the odd, dark purple, crown-like ring of horns that blends into the cloak are made up of untold words in seemingly eternal flux. Above the center of that crown is a large, cat-like eye made of yet more words– these in bright lavender.

Around the eye are dozens of rings of varying widths and sizes, spinning in seemingly random directions, with yet more eyes embedded into them.

And…that only leaves their face. Or what passes for one.

There’s a geometric, elongated sideways eye-esque shape in the center of an otherwise white mask. The edges of it shift slightly, but only enough that gives the impression that it’s capable of more change.

In an almost bored monotone, the Scribe says, I have made it clear I have no interest in being on your stage. Leave me to my work.

“It’s fucking boring, though! If there’s no audience, there’s no point in writing! Scribs, you gotta–” Showrunner, you have already interrupted me and dragged your audience along with you. Whatever game you seek to play, I will not be partaking.

The Showrunner groans, multiple extra arms appearing to help them emphasize, “The game is that there’s nobody to write for! The seats are empty, the stage is lifeless, and I’m bored outta my mind!”

At this, finally, the Scribe’s own additional arms pause in their writing.

…I already allowed you to use my name to, as you put it, ‘liven things up’. “That wasn’t even me, not really! That was the yahoo at the keyboard needing to make your precious little sociopath play nice!”

The first hint at emotion comes, the Scribe replying, You speak as though you have no favorites of your own. “I never said I was unbiased, but it still fucking helped you, too!”

The pupils of all the eyes thin in unison. I grow weary of your arguments. Leave, you have gotten the hint of mystery that you, ironically, are incapable of cultivating on your own.

A shriek of frustration accompanies a sound like breaking glass. Jagged, teeth-like shards of the Showrunner’s flickering red screen-face mouth along to the distorted echo of, “Holy fucking shit, how are you such a giant bitch!? Stop being such a useless stick in the mud and help me make this fucking work!”

Emotion is once again gone from the Scribe’s voice as they sigh, Still a spoiled child, demanding attention and affirmation. If your stage is so empty, stop waiting for a prompt to populate it. Simply…devise the scenario yourself.

The flickering gets more intense, and the Showrunner seems to become just a little larger. The circle of extra screens around their face spins faster and faster, until they stop looking like anything more than a glowing red ring.

And then it all cuts out. The audience has not yet earned this particular reveal, no matter the desires of the one who usually mans the cameras. 

[infinitethree]

OH MY GOD THE LORE. I WANTED MY FIRST ASK TO BE TO THE CHARACTERS BUT NO YOU THROW IN THE SHOWRUNNER AND SCRIBE. THAT'S SO COOL??///?

Somewhat surprisingly, the Showrunner doesn’t turn to face the ‘camera’.

“There is no fucking camera, this is text,” they huff, though most of their attention is focused on their stage.

Whatever they’re doing, it seems like they’re preparing for something big.

The blood-red curtains are wrenched back to give them maximum space to work with. There are backdrops being painted, props being made, and countless other little things being done by strange entities that seem to be more like amorphous blobs of ink than anything else. They stretch and contort to do whatever tasks they're doing.

Perhaps most concerningly of all, the Showrunner’s screen-face– once more whole and looking as though it had never cracked open like it did– displays a wide, almost manic grin. The smaller screens around their head spin in what seems like excitement, though it’s hard to tell what’s displayed on them.

Bright and cheerful, they note, “Nice to meet a fan. So few people appreciate how good my adorable little admin-monster is! I mean, just look at it! Decided to will itself into existence all on its own. Scribs and the Executive– yeah, term changed, she decided it was better to use ‘Management’ for the group formerly known as the Reformation Team.” There’s a pronounced roll of their eyes, and an annoyed huff.

“Anyway, they were all weh weh weh this doesn’t fit in, but, well, fuck them! Innit made everything better, and by better I mean not nearly as fucking boring. What’s the fun in having everything be all…planned and methodical? Chaos is so much more exciting! And, hey, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

A cane appears, and they lean on it with both of their primary hands. A second pair grabs one of the smaller screens and begins tapping on it like a phone.

“I look forward to the results of the seeds of chaos you’re planting. You really speak my language on that front.” Their grin gets wider, as do their eyes.

With a static-tinged giggle they add, “Oh, how will the actors react to these prompts? Ahh, I can't wait to see the next act!”

[infinitethree]

Have you ever met a version of darkza that was kind?

Day makes a face like he’s insulted. To be fair, he is; the question is absurd to him on quite a few levels. His wings flick in annoyance as he answers,  "I've only met the one. If I could have snapped his wings off and stuffed them down his throat, I would have. He’s a monster and I'm glad he died suffering."

The irony of him, of all people, saying that is not lost on Day. But, well…even at his worst, he didn't do anything as heinous as hacking the wings off of two of his own kids and blinding one of them.

Coming back from just a day-long run to the nearby village to find Theo, all of thirteen, desperately trying to protect his younger brothers despite his own maiming–

He can never forget that sight. Nor can he forgive a man who would be that much of a monster.

There are a lot of debts he has racked up with the Fates, but that is the first and largest. Despite their confusion from the sudden reality warp, they were still able to give Theo the strength to hold on until Day returned.

The Fates are why his family remains whole and hale. He can never hope to repay them for that fact.

"Not me, personally," Day answers. "But Sanctuary as a whole does, yes. Some people would say Manhunts don't count. I disagree; the server pretty much shuts down for them, after all. Even Lucid’s are a big deal…not that they can outdo Perce's."

He sounds a little smug about that. His second youngest, for all that he likes to be a menace, has taken to Sanctuary's style of Manhunts with a startling amount of grace.

Maybe part of it is a desire to get the hefty paychecks offered, sure. Perce has several pricey hobbies; those had actually been the push he needed to actually take the plunge.

There had been some awkwardness in adjusting to the new format, of course. But once he had his footing, his second youngest had taken off at a dead sprint and has yet to slow down.

And now Perce draws the biggest audience, in no small part because he knows exactly how to play to them. He’s damn good at finding the best way to balance his skill and keeping the viewers in suspense.

But the question had likely been about more normal festivals.

"The last weekend of March, we have the Blooming Festival. It's a celebration of the end of winter and beginning of spring. Lots of flowers get handed around in different forms. Bouquets, flower crowns, corsages, bracelets– some people get them preserved with magic as a memento. Or just get paper ones."

He can’t help but smile at the memory he has of Lee and Perce's respective first years. 

With Perce, the rest of his family– and his friends, once they caught on– made a game out of stealthily adding to the increasingly unwieldy number of floral adornments. It quickly spiraled out of control, until it seemed like half of Sanctuary decided to pile on.

Even Vio had managed to pin a small hyssopus to his sleeve. Nobody was sure when he did it, just that it had to have been him.

The flower is pretty uniquely linked to the alien. They’re what his ear cuff is in the shape of, and thus a little too personal for most people to grow at all. Even those that do wouldn't just hand them out like that.

By the end of the festival, Perce had enough flowers that he could have started a stall. He had been red faced from laughter and a bit of embarrassment.

Lee, meanwhile, had missed that same celebration by just a bit under two months. He had more time to acclimate to Sanctuary's style of celebrating in time for the next year, and more critically, time to plot.

His goal had been to give every single person a flower. In his eyes, they were all special, and thus all needed to get something from him.

There…had been some distress, when he failed at that exceptionally ambitious goal.

A few people got together afterwards to help him belatedly achieve it– Aster being among them.

Daz, too. It's sort of funny; the two Tommys don't mesh at all, and yet they had both felt driven to help a sullen six year old feel better.

Now that he’s thinking about the perky head of newcomer orientation, though, he remembers another event.

"The Welcome Wagon holds a picnic each month, open to anyone who wants to go. I think it's mainly to help new residents meet others. I don't go much, but Orph loves it."

Likely, part of that is because he’s good friends with Daz. Plus he doesn't have to stress about orientation any more. The rest of the people who run the day-to-day parts of the server are semi-regulars as well. Even Vio shows up sometimes, in between boughts of…hibernation?

Day is pretty sure that's what Vio has claimed he does to recover post-travel. But Vio says a lot of things that Day takes with a few pounds worth of salt, so fuck knows if he was telling the truth, exaggerating, or just flat out lying.

He and Theo agree that Vio definitely makes some things up just to fuck with them. It’s likely payback for all the times that the two of them annoy the alien.

It does not help that the rest of the not-family double down on some things, or refute others that Day knows for a fact are true.

Speaking of Vio's totally-not-sons, though…

"We have combat tournaments– which Aryll is banned from participating in. He won too easily and it was boring for everyone. That happened not too long after multiverse travel started, though, and there’s a good chance he wouldn't do nearly as well now. He's never tried to appeal it because he can't be bothered and he likes rubbing it in Theo’s face."

It remains a sore spot for Theo that he was never able to get banned for being too good.

Of course– Day’s eldest never gives them his all, either. There’s leagues of difference between a friendly, if heated, match and Theo aiming to kill.

Theo can be beaten. Theseus Was-Taken cannot.

Day is all too aware of just how powerful Theo truly is– a lifetime of pushing himself to be stronger, better, and faster than anyone else is emphasized every time the chorus of the Fates demand blood.

Despite the frequent bickering and annoyance, the Fates do not fuck around with an actual threat. They’ve grown attached to Theo and his loved ones– and, thus, messing around when those are in danger is a non-option.

Theseus Was-Taken, the legend, was born because Theo needed to protect his family. He and the Fates formed a deep, symbiotic relationship; they live in his head and grant him strength, and he acts as their conduit on the world at large.

Even Iatros has been able to get a better understanding of Chat through him.

…And also through Day talking about Theo’s antics over the years. So sue him– the piglin was arguably the last bridge not reduced to ash by the time Day had made his desperate deal. He might have spent decades in the world of the SMPza, but…a part of him could never forget that tiny sliver of hope.

Iatros might be his therapist, but Day still considers him a friend. Zephyr– usually just Phil– has become one, too.

They do share centuries of memories. Some of them are confusing, some are infuriating, some are fascinating, but they are still shared.

Phil only ever competed in one of the tournaments. Despite complaining that he was too old for it, he was still fifth.

Not bad by any stretch. Definitely worse than Day’s fourth, though– and well behind Vio's third, Theo’s second, or Aver's first place.

It had been a good fight. A familiar sense of joy had overtaken Day when the scrappy, snarling kid who had been through hell got his first gold medal.

Aver looked a hell of a lot like Theo had the first time his eldest was able to beat Day in a spar. Definitely older, but the look of hard-won victory still brought back a lot of memories.

So, Day had taken it upon himself to commission Atlas for a golden laurel wreath. Aver had laughed in delight and wore it for the next week.

As far as Day is aware, Aver's laurels are currently being worn by a life size cow plushie on display in Make It Sew.

That had all been years ago, of course. It was before Aster had been brought back– hell, it was before Perce had entered the picture.

His second youngest sometimes feels like he’s been with them forever. It's jarring to remember that there was a time before he or Lee were a part of the family.

He continues, "Christmas is another big holiday for us. It's…" he pauses, brows furrowing in thought.

"...It's a way to reaffirm the spirit of kindness that made them decide to stay here. It doesn’t matter if you've been here two weeks or two years; you get presents. There’s a lot of groups that hold open festivities, because just about everyone here has too much experience with being alone."

Prime knows that Day is familiar with it. He remembers the numb blur of time, blood, and agony that his time in Pandora's Vault became.

Even before that, though– when he was rapidly spiraling out of control– he spent too much time with only his server for company.

By the time things devolved beyond repair, even that was gone. There was just Day, his fury, and the crippling admin drives that ruined him.

He tries not to focus too much on that part of his past. Sometimes he's left breathless over his grief that he had to rip out a part of his soul, to murder the world that never understood why everything was going so wrong so fast.

"It doesn’t matter how fancy the gift is. What's really important, at least from what I've seen, is that you're thinking of the other person. I've heard a lot of stories about the Welcome Wagon reducing people to tears with origami or a box of snacks. One year, the Prank Guild heads hacked into the com network to send everyone a greatest hits montage of server prank wars."

Day remains completely and utterly convinced that they did it with help from the Redstone Alliance. Nobody has ever admitted as such, sure, but Day is incredibly suspicious that the compilation had Theo getting bested so many times.

…The number of times Vio looked like a clown was also pretty damn high. The T3 are united in their rock solid belief that the tech geeks provided the leg work for that particular 'gift.'

Caper and Spark, meanwhile, were able to add another onto the list of server guidelines. Hacking into the com network on that scale for anything short of an emergency isn't cool.

Funny, yes, but not great for the overall mental health of the server.

He stretches his wings out behind him, trying to work out a faint twinge. It's too easy to tune out physical discomfort and pain. This body might have never gone through horrific torture, but Day damn well remembers it.

His pain receptors are, as far as he can tell, just permanently fucked up. It's…been an issue for him.

"And on Christmas night, most of the server gathers for a party. Some people dress up, others wear casual clothes, but it’s fun all around. Food, games, time spent with friends and strangers alike…even active prank wars get set aside for the night.” Another smile creeps up at the memories.

Day is definitely among those who want to dress up. It’s not only a chance to wear something nice, but to show off a lot of the fancier jewelry he’s gotten over the years.

To him, Christmas night is magical. Seeing so many people he’s offered a hand towards gathering together, laughing and talking, in a server shaped not by war but peace…

That feeling is not something he could ever fully put into words.

Seeing his sons in that atmosphere in particular makes him emotional. He still feels a horrible sense of guilt for the suffering that his eldest four endured on the SMPza.

Having them be so carefree, with so many others who care about them…

Yeah, he needs to go to another event. If he doesn’t, he might start crying.

The best way to redirect is, as always, to reflect on the Prank Guild’s actions.

He huffs softly as he says, “April Fool’s day is omnipresent, inescapable, and officially sponsored by the Prank Guild. My understanding is that they make bank. Some people go into lockdown.”

Day’s family is not among them. As long as there aren’t recently-rescued guests in Summer Hills, it’s the best time of year for anyone to try to prank them.

Plenty have tried. A lot have failed, and gotten a taste of what the Was-Taken family can do when sufficiently motivated.

The ones who succeed get a full taste of it. It’s maybe a little too satisfying to see them realize the gravity of their actions far, far too late.

Being able to see their glee turn into regret in real time is definitely petty of him. But at the same time, he only pretends not to be a chaotic bastard at heart.

His kids had to learn it from someone, after all.

But there's plenty of other, less benign things they've learned from him. He can’t help but feel an ache in his chest when he thinks about how much they've all suffered because of his selfishness.

Tone much more serious, he explains, “On the day before the anniversary of the server's creation, we mourn. For people, for places, for things– everyone in Sanctuary has lost something. A collective day of remembrance lets us all grieve. Some people do it alone, others with friends or family. We usually light candles or send lanterns made with seaweed out over the ocean. There’s no wrong way to do it, though.”

Prime knows his own style has shifted over the years. It had been something he did only with his sons, at first.

Then Iatros gently suggested that he should take at least a few hours to focus on his own grief, instead of only theirs.

It was good advice. Day takes time in the morning to let himself ruminate on his past. He's lost so much, and he’ll lose so much more before he's through.

After that, he joins his sons to have a slightly less somber remembrance. He tells stories and listens to the ones they tell, in turn.

He sighs softly. “And…the next day, we celebrate healing. We come together and have a festival to declare that no matter our pain, we're still here. We've escaped hell and found a place that prizes kindness and love. How can we not love that, after we've suffered so much?”

A faint smile creeps up again. It's hard not to, when he thinks about the years he's spent marveling at the way none of them can stand to let negativity linger for too long. Many of the current residents have had a bad parting be the final time they spoke to someone, after all– and that regret has shaped them into the people they are today.

The Night of Flight and Dawn of Sanctuary are two halves of a whole. Pain and grief will find you, yes, but there is always time to heal.

How sweet. You should write greeting cards or something.

Day startles, his head snapping up like he can spot whoever just spoke.

Oh c'mon, DayDream. You're smarter than that!

You don't want to bore me, do you?

A shudder goes down his spine. The flex of power in just those words makes the situation painfully clear.

This is some form of divinity, and boring them is dangerous.

They want to be entertained, like Day is only there to put on a show for them.

A peal of laughter, almost staticky at points, rings out. Fuck, you have no idea how right you are! Why did I bother staying quiet for so long, if it's this much fun speaking up?! Being silent doesn't suit me, anyway. Too much of a showman–

The door slams open, and on the other side is Theo. He looks distressed, a fact that diverts Day's attention from the likely-malicious entity.

“Dad, we have a fuckin’ problem–” Theseus, your timing sucks. I spent so long waiting, and NOW is when you show yourself?!

Theo grits his teeth. “It's been ten minutes.” Hah! If only you knew.

A bitterness lies under those words, but Day is too busy getting up to put a hand on his son's shoulder. “What do you want from us?”

I'm sick of hanging back. This whole mess is going to get stalled out forever unless something changes, anyway. Two birds, one stone.

That explains nothing.

You don't need to understand. You'll figure it out eventually, even if I don't tell you.

Jaw flexing, Theo hisses, “You act like you're above retaliation from other gods. Do you think that Time–”

Laughter booms so loud that they both wince from it. Half-hysterically, the voice repeats, Time? TIME?! I know you're not supposed to know, but holy FUCK…of all the threats you could have made, that's the funniest. It's a dumb one, too– it's not like they'd take your calls.

Day narrows his eyes. It feels like a trap, but–

“Who said we're the only ones who can call?”

A giggle sounds out. Sure; I'll back off if the Observers can get Time to scold me. What could outrank the embodiment of time and reality, anyway?

Somehow, Day doesn't find any comfort in that promise.

[infinitethree]

Lee’s wings visibly twitch as he feels the presence of the Observers return.

At his side, Daz clicks his tongue softly. “It must no longer count as Council business, then,” he sighs, a frown tugging at his mouth.

It’s weird to see him so serious. Logically, he knows that this is the real Daz– or at least realer than he’s ever been for Lee before.

That doesn’t stop it from feeling like he’s peering into the uncanny valley when he looks at him.

Daz studies him, and a faint smile rises up. “Alright, kid. Ready to learn some admin secrets?”

Honestly, Lee wants nothing more than to learn what other secrets Daz has. He can tell that whatever he’s going to learn…this is important.

That’s why the other Council members are in other rooms. The two of them are in the hidden…lounge…thing? That can only be reached by breaking two specific blocks and climbing up into a hidden passageway.

It’s paranoid as hell, and it reminds Lee of his Dad.

Bouncing a little in his seat, he nods enthusiastically.

Daz seems pleased by the enthusiasm, but mostly keeps a straight face. “Good. So…” he leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. Lee automatically mimics the pose, his curiosity cresting nearly painfully.

“Mobs love their admins. Mobs won't intentionally hurt their admins, not without provocation. Well…outside of a select few cases. Don't try to talk to a wither, that doesn't go well.”

He frowns. “That can't be right– Dad and Lucid would have noticed.”

There's a soft huff, and Daz explains, “They never were so deeply, cripplingly lonely that they started talking to mobs. They had San, after all, even if somehow the server didn't have other players.”

That…would be true, he guesses. It does make sense in that light.

“But I've seen hostile mobs attack them.” “I don't know if Day clocks as an admin any more, and for Lucid…are you sure they attacked first? Or were they just getting close, and Lucid attacked them? Because if they're attacked, of course they'll retaliate. If they're going to die either way, they'll adhere to their normal instincts.”

Fuck, he can’t say for sure. He'll have to pay closer attention in the future.

“Some mobs, though? They're more than just that. Some mobs are smart– smarter than some players, even! They have their own languages, cultures, and customs.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, vaguely aware his wings are fluttering in surprise. “But why hasn't anyone–?”

Daz tilts his head to the side. “Why haven't you?”

The question echoes the way his dad will try to make him figure something out on his own.

It's super weird to notice the similarities between his Dad and Daz.

With a sigh, he answers, “Nobody thought it was possible, so nobody considered it.”

From the smile Daz has, that seems to be the answer he was looking for. “And when nobody suspects something, their ignorance is the best smokescreen.”

Another sigh escapes him. He's getting a little more used to the real Daz, but it's still unsettling to see him like this.

“Now,” Daz says, “Knowing that there are two mobs who are unique, which ones do you think they are?”

Immediately, Lee answers, “Villagers, obviously.” “Nope.” “No?!” “They’re more complex than, say, a zombie, but not enough to truly consider intelligent.”

He has to consider it. What mobs act abnormally?

It doesn't seem like it would be outright hostile mobs, but he could be wrong. But purely passive ones don't quite feel right, either. And if it was a culture, surely they must lump together in large groups…

Ah.

He straightens up and says, “Piglins. Attie says they're always respectful and appreciative if he gives them more than just gold ingots. They have homes, too, with bastions…and San wouldn’t be able to see inside those too easily.”

Daz grins at him, seeming pleased he figured it out. “Yep. That's where one of my secondary sources of income is from, actually. I have deals with several bastions for ancient debris. I give them gold and overworld goodies in exchange. I'll take you on one of my meetups next time. They…”

Unexpectedly, a wistful expression crosses his face. “They’re good folk. They'll be overjoyed to have an admin and a half who know how special they are.”

From the way he's talking, and a nudge from his weird sixth sense, Lee says, “You like them, don't you?”

“...They were friends, back on my original server. It was lonely so far out– not that I had many people who wanted to see me, anyway. Dream told me they were smart, so I…started going to local bastions. I learned their language, their customs…” Daz trails off, brow furrowing faintly.

“And?” “...That's a story for another time,” Daz sighs. “For now– tell me the other mob that has true intelligence.”

Lee huffs, aware that he’s not going to get Daz to budge if he doesn’t want to.

If the big clues for Piglins were being clustered together and having homes, what else fits?

Wardens do have homes, sort of, in ancient cities, but they’re kind of weird and definitely not clustered together. And also extremely hostile, at least to most players. Maybe it’s different for admins, but…that still doesn’t feel quite right.

Witches are also pretty solitary, and it’s not villagers, so…what other mobs have a structure linked to them?

…Wait.

“...Endermen?”

Daz hums, face giving nothing away. “Why do you think it’s them?” “They’re not in them, but the End has cities, they’re always found in groups, and a little bit because they’re neutral but can become hostile if you don’t follow their ‘rules’.”

Another pleased smile forms. “That’s mostly correct. Not sure what the deal is with them and cities, honestly? But…yeah, endfolk are a stickler for their rules. Speaking of which!” He narrows his eyes, and points at Lee. “Do not approach any endfolk on your own. They have complicated, delicate customs and social networks, and you can very literally and without hyperbole start a war by saying or doing the wrong thing. If you fuck up, dozens to hundreds of sentient, sapient beings might die. You’ll need training just to be able to shadow a meeting with them. Piglins are much, much more forgiving. While endfolk might give you some slight leeway for being a small god, that won’t get you far if you piss a group off. Their grudges run long and deep, Achilles, and they will have no issue targeting you and yours for failure to follow their rules.”

He swallows, shrinking back a little at the idea. Even if he might have gotten curious and done it before, hearing exactly what that might lead to has killed any desire to jump the gun. “Okay.”

Daz studies him for a long moment, and then exhales in clear relief. “Good. They’re tricky to deal with, but…” A faint sparkle enters his eyes, and he adds, “but, well– if you can pull it off, it’s very profitable. Elytras are easy to sell…or easy to pretend to buy.”

Lee’s jaw drops. “You’re– where does the money go? You can’t be pocketing it, right–?” “Why not? Genuine elytras obtained through hard work are still being put into the hands of new players. The person who did that hard work is being paid.” “Wh– but it’s an unfair advantage! You’re just– you’re cheating!”

The other potential admin rolls his eyes. “I’m using skills that I put considerable effort into learning and/or are innate to me, the same as Orph and his music or Attie and his jewelry. I’m honestly at much more risk doing things like this than just going to hunting for cities myself. But that also takes time, and I’m running desperately low on that as it is. Ultimately, it’s not my fault nobody else considered that endfolk or piglins are capable of making deals like this. I’m not going to apologize for using whatever tools and skills are at my disposal to their fullest.”

He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Prime, I kinda get why Aster thinks you’re a dick.” “And he’s a sanctimonious idiot who, despite all the shit he’s been through, still thinks the best of others.” “That doesn’t–” “Also, he sees his original Dream in me. Plus he’s so fucking pissy that he was the only one who caught onto what I’m really like. Hell, several people defended me when he tried to warn them!”

For several long moments, Lee studies him. A vibe forms, and he says, “You see your original Dream in him, too, don’t you?”

Daz startles a little, and then laughs without any humor. “Fucking vibes, huh?”

It’s not a yes, but it’s not a no. It seems like it would be easy for Daz to just lie about it, but he doesn’t seem to want to do that.

Interesting.

“What about him is the same?” “I don’t want to get into that,” Daz sighs. “I feel like it’s important–” Tone firmer, Daz states, “Drop it.”

Some innate alarm bell warns him that disregarding this won’t end nicely, so he reluctantly concedes. “...Fine. Okay, so– Piglins and enderm– endfolk, are both waaaay more advanced that anyone else knew. What other magical admin secrets do you have?”

Daz blinks at him, and tells him, “Admins needs claims to function. A claim can be anything from a token to a charm to a pair of glasses, but it’s preferable if it’s worn. Claims act as a way to reinforce their bond with a person precious to them and a warning sign to others. Rejecting or taking back a claim is tantamount to rejecting the associated admin; a symbolic gesture that signifies that they are no longer worthy of that bond. Conversely, reciprocating the bond with an item in return expresses the opposite, that the claimed person is claiming the admin back.”

That…sounds an awful lot like the jewelry Attie makes. But Attie isn’t an admin, and he makes jewelry for everyone. “Isn’t that just normal, though? The giving gifts thing, I mean. Everyone does that.”

“In Sanctuary, sure. But even that started from an admin. Your dad might have traded his spark, but the instincts likely remain. From what I’ve heard from Atlas, the jewelry was subtly and unconsciously encouraged, until he took it upon himself to develop a formal system for it. Once in Sanctuary, it bloomed into a server-wide custom. As far as I can tell, your dad and Lucid have no idea that it’s just a normal admin thing.”

Lee makes a face. “Are you sure? It seems weird to–” “Imagine what it would feel like if Aster gave back his earring.”

The very idea is like a punch to the gut. Something deep inside of him screams at the concept, and he doesn’t even realize he’s having a panic attack until Daz is hugging him. “Shh, hey– it’s not real, I was just using an example. That stubborn bastard would literally die before he gave up his earring. But that’s my point– non-admins don’t feel that strongly. They might be hurt, but they wouldn’t freak out over just the idea of it. Claims are an innate part of us, just like flying is to avians or being stubborn is to Tommys.”

The hand rubbing his back, carefully running underneath his wings so they aren’t pinned down, is enough to calm him down. The way that Daz is further explaining it is soothing; his tone, his gentleness, even the tension in his body.

He’s worried that I’m so upset, he thinks, and feels weirdly relieved about it.

Despite his evident intelligence and capacity to manipulate and lie, Daz is distressed just by Lee being so out of sorts.

He wraps his arms around Daz, making him pause. Slowly, a hand goes to his head, and the other admin carefully cards a hand through his hair.

It feels a lot like when his Dad or Theo or even Aster does it. Every past experience has taught him that this means comfort and protection and safety.

With a soft, shuddering sigh, he wraps his wings around Daz and leans more against him. Daz tells him, “I didn’t think it would get under your skin that badly. I’m sorry. I guess I just…forgot how bad it is.”

That’s right; Daz knows this because he has the same instinct. Then…from how he said that, he’s had claims be rejected before?

“Who would hurt you like that?” “...I don’t think that’s a good topic for right now. Everything is still a lot, yeah? So let’s hold off that particular distressing chat for another time. I know you’ll probably learn about it eventually, but…now you know the important parts that relate to you,” Daz tells him.

Fair enough. 

Daz continues, “Admins get attached to things and to people much more intensely than non-admins. We can’t help it; it’s a part of who we are. I’m pretty sure it’s because we need to love the server we end up becoming admins in, but it’s not like I can call up a god who can explain that.”

Might not have a direct line to a god, but you have something even better!

Lee flinches at the sound of that voice, already wary of the problems it can cause. He heard enough from the Council to never want to encounter it again.

Aww, kid…you look so tense! Hah, you’re gonna be so fucking obvious the second you spot any of them outside of here. I mean, pfft…you might as well just announce to everyone that there’s something sus about them!

He looks up at Daz, whose expression gives nothing away. “I’m aware of that; it’s on the agenda. Thank you for your warning, Scribe. Is there anything I can help you with?”

There’s a soft scoff. You’re no fun.

A pleasant but still chilly smile curls up on the other admin’s lips. “But not boring, right?”

…No, not boring. Now that you’re actually taking fucking action again instead of having a string of panic attacks in a corner–

Daz was having panic attacks?

–you’ve actually made things interesting again. So interesting, in fact, that I’ll give you a little…boon.

Those bright cyan eyes crinkle as Daz’s smile grows. “That’s awfully kind of you.”

Uhg, save the fakeness for someone who doesn’t know you backwards, forwards, and inside out. Anyway, your boon is this; one of the Observers has been tattling to Day and Lucid about admin shit. If you keep making things fun, I might see fit to give you more info.

The smile drops, like he’s taken the statement to heart, or maybe like he’s just that unhappy with that knowledge. “I’m going to guess that I have to go big for you to bother doing that.”

The Scribe coos, Aww, you already know me so well! The frequency of quality of info is gonna depend on how much I like shit that happens because of your actions. 

Daz nods, rolling his shoulders. “Understood. If there’s nothing else you need me for, I need to prep Lee on how to lie effectively. We don’t have forever, after all; he’s gonna have to go home soon.”

A cackling laugh makes Lee shudder. No, no…this has been fun. I approve of the chessboard you’ve set up. I’ll take my leave…for now.

As Lee gets to his feet, the unseen entity murmurs, Just remember that there’s always another person, just as smart as you, who can provide entertainment. So don’t disappoint me, Daz. You won’t like the price of failure.

Despite the Scribe having left, that warning has left the room feeling frigid. Daz shows no outward sign of how he’s feeling– likely because he’s good at acting– but the vibes tell him one thing with absolute certainty.

Daz knows exactly what the Scribe meant, and he’s terrified of whatever threat was just made.

[infinitethree]

Daz paces.

He’s been stalking the length of the Council’s headquarters for longer than he cares to think too hard about. He’d been doing this in the hidden bunker under his and Raine’s house, but it was making his long-smothered claustrophobia rear its head again.

Everything has gone to absolute shit. Daz’s spark, Lee’s spark, Innit’s freedom, Observers interacting and coddling Innit– none of that is good!

And, the icing on the cake is that Theo and Day are now apparently getting a special visitor.

That has to be the Scribe. There’s no way that there’s some other mysterious entity tied to all of this running around.

He’s fighting a panic attack, the urge to puke his guts up, and flashbacks of how it felt to bury Tubbo.

What a mess you’ve made for yourself! Hah– you’re pathetic. Just as lost and stupid as you were every other time. Hey, why don’t you try running to Lucid and beg him to teach you, instead of Lee? 

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Daz snatches the magic 8-ball that’s he’s been seen playing with a few times. He studies it like it could provide an answer, a way forward–

Wow, this is pretty sad. 

The sudden voice makes him startle, and then set the toy back down. “...What do you want?”

Mmmh…that’s not the tone you should be taking with me.

He snarls, “You can’t just–”

I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually. You want to play stupid games? You won’t like the stupid prize you earn for that.

Sugar and rot coat his mouth and mind. The broken enchantment tries to turn him into nothing more than atoms. The sword he spent countless hours laboring over pierces his best friend’s heart. The sword. The grave. The deal. The sword, the grave, the deal. The deal, deal, dealdealdealDEAL–

Daz stumbles, suddenly caught off-balance. He catches himself on the edge of the central table and sinks down into a chair. His head is throbbing and his lunch is threatening to come up even more than it had before.

Just past the pain, there’s a sense of loss that he can’t understand. Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something…?

What the fuck did you do, jackass? Innit’s groan of pain gives him a spiteful spark of happiness. At least he’s not suffering alone.

Petty little– look, if you’re going to bore me, I can just go find someone else to talk to. 

The unspoken threat of what that conversation would look like is enough to make him swallow and ask, “I don’t know what you consider entertaining.”

Tittering, the voice replies, I mean, plenty of things! But pacing like this isn't gonna cut it. Make a move, or I'll flip the chessboard over.

Daz stares at the nether star set into the meeting table. The magic inside it makes it shimmer and gleam.

He bought that star in part to fuck with Aster. Having a symbol so blatantly tied to him in this place, and displayed so openly, makes it impossible to deny that the Council is linked to him.

Ditto for the pattern in the floor beneath the table. Smooth quartz and glowstone in the shape of a four-pointed star.

But, ultimately, the Council is Daz's creation. Even though they're meant to be equals, in times of crisis the group looks to him for guidance.

The result of his blood, sweat, tears, and trauma is a beautifully efficient system that protects the server.

And, in doing so, protects Lee.

They can't afford to shrink away from this responsibility. No matter how little they want to do it…

Daz shuts his eyes and steels his nerves.

There's no way around it, then. He’s going to have to step back onto the path that he abandoned so long ago…and he’s going to move his timetable up.

[infinitethree]

Hello Fates, tis I again. I just wished to inform you that, I can make out some sentences, some words, but more often than not I just hear a veritable mess of sounds. Though I will admit that some words come in clear, but in a language I'm not familiar with. It is most odd, but not my place to press. Maybe I should see if Chat is similar. Hmm. Have a good day.

Theo gets stopped in his tracks by the chorus of voices in his head shouting over each other. He suspects they're trying to figure out what words are clear, but he’s more concerned about the sudden headache he’s been inflicted with.

He’s left a bit off balance from the barrage. "Fuckin'-- shut," he groans, willing his head to stop trying to escape his skull.

Oop Too far? I think so, yeah Sorryyy Theo

He grunts, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. The sun, which had been warm and inviting all of two minutes ago, now feels oppressive.

This is definitely one of the least fun experiences he’s been 'gifted' by the Observers.

Weirdchamp name, in his books, but hey– he didn't get to name them.

And with that, his day goes from kinda sucky to outright shit.

They shouldn't know about that. Nobody should– not to this extent. He was careful about what he researched or spoke about.

Not even his dad knows. He can’t know, because he would try to stop him.

Theo knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his dad doesn't plan to live once they’re all gone. But Theo has spent a lifetime honing his skills to keep his stupid, idiot dad alive. If he's there, even if only a little longer, he can drag his dad through the grief.

Family first. No matter what.

Hearing that there are entities who know his goals to that extent…is distressing. More than that, it's insulting.

How dare they imply that he would abandon his dad to his grief? How dare they ask him if he's thought about the consequences of this?

The consequences of turning a blind eye to the future are too high to back down.

"Fuck you," he hisses. Rage curls the edges of his words despite knowing he can't murder who or what dared to ask him that question.

He starts to stalk off. He's going to do literally anything but humor these assholes.

"Do you want to know a secret, Theseus?"

Theo stops in his tracks again. There’s not much that unsettles him, but a cloying sense of wrongness is humming in the back of his head.

This voice isn't the same as the Observers. Who or what ever this one belongs to, they are not to be idly snubbed.

He swallows, but gives a slight nod of his head. He’s not thrilled at being singled out like this, even less so to learn 'a secret'.

And especially not coming off the heels of the last two things he heard.

Even the Fates go quiet, unsure what to make of this.

"Admins," the voice giggles, "don't age like you do! Would you really leave your poor dad and baby brother all alone? You'd break their hearts."

Something in Theo’s chest squeezes at the idea of knowingly damning the two of them to that kind of pain. If Lee does become an admin here, and he really does age differently, then there's no telling how long the two of them would live with that grief.

Sounds like a lie? We'd know, right? There’s no way we wouldn't have noticed by now. …Does Lucid look any older, though? It’s only been like, what, five years? Max? That's nothing. We could ask? No way. If it's true, he'd have too big a reason to get Lee to stay. But if it’s not true, we'd be worrying for nothing. We gotta know more, though. Could ask other people on the downlow? 

"It doesn’t matter," he says. "S' not something I'm fuckin' doing anyway."

The voice laughs. Something about it feels cruel. "Your loyalty is so…deep. But you don’t know anything else, huh?"

He wants to curse them. He wants to tell them to eat shit and die in a ditch. He wants to write this off as something toying with him.

He can’t, though. He keeps his damn mouth shut, because he knows that pissing off something powerful is a one-way ticket to regret and misery.

"God, you're so boring," the voice whines. "It's no fun when you're smart. Not when you're not the one who can figure it all out."

…The contradiction confuses him. He’s boring because he’s smart, but not smart enough? How the fuck does that make sense?

It sounds like the voice blows a raspberry. "You're not the reason I spoke up, anyway. Go run along and tell your dad what a fun chat you've had."

He grits his teeth. Even if he wants to demand more information, doing so is too dangerous.

Instead, he turns on his heel. He needs to talk to his dad– things have just escalated.

Mocking laughter dogs his steps.