#[tosses this on your collective porches like a cat leaving dead leaves as gifts on your stoop]

[silverskye13]

So @theminecraftbee wrote a really cool Scar vex fic and I’ve been a Scar and Cub as vex’s kick lately so I uh,,, wrote something up really quick? I dunno, it was just a really cool premise. It’s a lotta words though so response fic under the cut!

Cub should’ve seen this coming - which is to say he had no reason to see this coming, but the signs were there, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. He was surprised anyway, but you know, hindsight and all that jazz. Hindsight, and maybe wishful thinking? And willful ignorance could be thrown in there for good measure as well.

See, yesterday, he’d been laying down some sand in his desert, and he’d felt something. It was a hard-to-describe something, but if he had to place it, he’d say it was a bit like being missed by the arrow that should’ve killed him. Something grazed past his heart - where it had surely been heading - and nicked his ribs over his left lung. If it were a real arrow, that was close enough to still kill him, which was honestly pretty unsettling. It wasn’t a real arrow though, the arrow thing was just a convenient metaphor. What it actually was, was magic, so it didn’t matter if it’d missed him by fathoms or a frog’s hair, it still missed. Well, maybe if they’d been aiming for his lungs it would’ve mattered, but most spells went for the center if they didn’t just strike out wildly in every direction, so outside of recognizing it’d happened with a shiver, Cub felt pretty confident in ignoring whatever-it-was that had missed him. He was pretty sure he already knew anyway, these things happened by accident sometimes. Stopped clocks twice a day, and all that.

Cub was a vex. Cub is a vex? Depending on the day you ask him, and the time, and the circumstances, Cub may or may not be a vex. Outside of the occasional prank, and some (mostly) friendly PvP, he hadn’t been too terribly vex-y in a long time, but being a vex doesn’t leave someone quite as easily as being human might. At least, Mumbo sure had trouble holding onto his humanity, so Cub figured being human was an easy thing to lose. He wouldn’t know; he wasn’t human. He liked to think he put on a good human face though, as much as a vex could. He and Scar both did, really. They’d taken great pains to sever their ties to evokers and mages, purposefully unwrote their true names from a lot of ledgers. And summoning books. And memories. Cub had even ended a few lives over it, he’d been that dedicated to the whole “I’m totally human now” bit. It was a fact he didn’t regret. Sure, he craved that indescribable high of evoker magic sometimes, and killing mobs didn’t give him the same innervated rush that killing players for an evoker did - but that was mostly the magic talking anyway, and he had learned to live without it.

The magic that missed him yesterday felt a lot like evoker magic though. The summoning kind, specifically. Stopped clocks twice a day - sometimes that happened. Vex and their True Names were a lot more straightforward than people thought they were. There were only so many words in so many tongues that could be used to describe so many things, so sometimes an evoker would summon a vex, and their name would share a few syllables with Cub’s, and Cub would feel it. The magic would reach its hands for him, ready to yank him towards whoever was speaking, and then correct itself when someone else was finally specified. The only troubling thing about this particular brush with a summon, was how close to his center it hit. Most grazes were something he felt in the air, whizzing by his head as they veered off sharply to someone else in the universe. The closest one he’d ever felt before this had hit him in the shoulder, and that had been shortly after they’d cut their ties with the illigers and their ilk, so he was reasonably sure it was someone testing their luck with the scary ex-vexes who were tearing up the place. 

Having someone get summoned so close to his center was, well, troubling. He shivered, thought about how close that’d been, decided it wasn’t worth his time and kept placing sand -- and then he’d found himself thinking about it again. Should he check on Scar? Scar would’ve felt that too, wouldn’t he? Their names were pretty similar. That was kind of a side effect of being close friends with someone, your True Names changed the more habits you took on of each other. True Names were more straightforward than most people thought they were - but they still had their nuance. Cub had finally sated his worry on the fact that, if it had been Scar, surely their names were so similar by now that Cub would’ve been summoned with him, so Scar was probably fine. He’d gone back to placing sand, and pretending he wasn’t worried. He’d been pretending he was human remarkably well for several years now - pretending enough that most people who didn’t know him well thought it was true - so surely if he pretended really hard he wasn’t worried, well, he wouldn’t be.

That was yesterday.

This was today.

Today, Cub was worried, and he definitely should’ve seen this coming.

 Grian and Scar landed in his desert, Grian looking incredibly nervous, and Scar looking, well... He looked remarkably Scar in ways that Scar hadn’t looked in a very long time. He looked vex, and Grian had the magnetic aura of a summoner, so intense and cloying Cub took a few steps away from him when he landed. The air was a livewire of illager magic that was, honestly, threatening just by proximity. He felt like if he reached out a hand he could touch it, and if he could touch it, he would get bit by it, and the summon that had missed him yesterday would find some way to turn around and stick itself right through his chest and bind him. It probably wouldn’t - magic didn’t really work like that - but it felt like it.

“Uh, hey guys. What can I help you with?” Cub asked with - well, he wanted to smile, but Scar had started grinning in a very unnerving vex-like way when they made eye contact, so instead of smiling Cub’s expression settled somewhere closer to baring his teeth and grimacing. 

“Well, I feel like I should start by saying this was a complete accident,” Grian laughed, too loud to be anything but scared, “It was a joke, you know, and also I kind of panicked.”

“Since when did you know illager magic?” Cub asked.

“You know! I wondered the exact same thing,” Scar interrupted brightly, and Cub winced at the stilted magical echo in his voice, “Great minds think alike, huh Cubby?”

“I don’t think we’re thinking alike right now, man,” Cub took one more step back away for good measure, like the extra distance would help him if -- if what? “So why are you guys here?”

“Well! I can’t figure out how to break the spell,” Grian snapped, looking at Scar worriedly - Scar, who had taken to standing with his arms crossed behind his back and a mischievous smirk screwed onto his face, watching Cub with an unsettling sort of knowingness, “Illagers don’t really write this stuff down, and Scar kills every evoker I get close to-”

“You summoned me to protect you,” Scar hummed calmly.

“But I want you to stop!” Grian shouted, and Scar just smiled down at him for a moment, before sliding his gaze back in Cub’s direction. 

“Anyway,” Grain huffed out a sigh, “I went to Xisuma to see if he knew something? But he and Evil X are being weird, and finally Xisuma told me to talk to you, so…”

Grian splayed out his hands in front of him, “How do I undo this?”

Cub mustered his most nonchalant shrug, “You don’t.”

“I don’t?” 

“Yeah, summons are for a lifetime of the creature kind of deal.”

“You’re joking, Cub.”

“Lucky for you, you own a sword,” Cub continued, finding it harder to make eye-contact with Grian when he looked so horrified, but bravely managing it regardless, “Dealer’s choice if you want to kill him or if you want to fall on it. Make sure you both set your spawn somewhere convenient though.”

“Cub.”

“Well isn’t this grim talk,” Scar grinned, crossing his arms and leaning them on Grian’s shoulder, “Sure you could kill me and end all the fun, but that would be kinda boring, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t let him talk you out of it,” Cub said warningly, “That’s the vex talking.”

“Honestly, I don’t know a better person this could’ve happened to,” Scar hummed close to Grian’s ear, “You’re all the time playing pranks on people Grian! Sure this is a little more intense than you’re normally up to but, you know-”

“Scar, you don’t want to be like this man,” Cub interrupted him, and Grian chose that moment to squirm out from underneath Scar’s lean, “Come on, you remember how hard it was to break all this stuff the first time? How hard we had to work to make sure no one remembered our names? I’ve got no idea why you gave yours to Grian but--”

Scar snapped his fingers, his grin turning into something wicked, “Oh that would be fun.”

“Scar--”

“Hey Grian~?” Scar’s voice was sing-song as he rounded on Grian, mischief playing in his expression, “D’you want to know Cub’s name?”

Cub felt like he’d just fallen through thin ice, and it must have shown in his expression, because Scar laughed, tinny and ressonent, a sound that began like chiming bells and ended like nails on sheet metal. Grian looked between the two of them, well and truly at a loss.

“Come on Grian, think about it. Two vex at your beck and call? And Cub, you remember what evoker magic feels like? This feels amazing. You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to taste just a little bit of it again?”

As he spoke, blue played around his fingertips, a dance of sparks, power waiting to bloom into something directed.

“Grian’s a friend, Cub,” Scar was saying, advancing on Cub in lithe strides, “He wouldn’t hurt us, or use us like the evokers did. All that power, all that fun, none of the downsides! It’s pretty neat! And you said so yourself, the fix is easy. Just a sword and some will.”

Scar circled Cub, trailing with him the intoxicating pull of the magic tethering he and Grian together. It was the sort of thing that should have had a smell - probably something sweet and nostalgic, with a magnetic draw that was deeply personal. It didn’t, but the effect was the same. Cub found himself enticed by it, dizzied up between it and Scar’s words. There really weren’t a lot of downsides, were there? Evoker magic was very powerful in the right hands, power he hadn’t had the chance to play with in a long time. It would trivialize his enchanted desert, for a start. He could use it to turn his silly little server pranks into something truly intense and deadly, if he wanted.

Scar was talking again, and Cub was so inside his own head for a moment that he didn’t catch the first part of what he was saying. He registered that Scar was circling back to Grian, his voice stilted with chiming bells, and it occurred to Cub that this was magic. Scar had always been good at the magic of speech and suggestion, of pulling people in to get what he wanted. It had carried with him even after he’d cut himself off from all things illager and evoker and mage. He was using it on Grian now, and Grian had that distant, sort of fuzzy look of someone being convinced by magic the thoughts being put in their head were their own. Scar had probably fallen prey to the same thing, really. That was illager magic, at its heart. It was tricky and devious, and it brought out the chaos in people. It liked to be used, to be feared. It wasn’t a kind magic. 

“See, I knew you two would come around,” Scar flashed a smug sort of grin and clapped his hands together, “This is going to be amazing! So, Grian, Cub’s name is-”

Scar was cut off abruptly when an arrow whizzed past his ear. Cub hadn��t even realized he’d shot it until Scar was looking at him, the ever-present vex smile finally absent from his features. There were a few seconds where all three of them were still. The magic fizzled out of the air. Everything froze. Then, Scar had a sword in his hands, and his skin cast itself from the neutral vex gray to an eye-stinging blue. Cub thought maybe randomly attacking the guy who kept killing evokers whenever Grian got too close to them might not have been his brightest idea.

“Scar,” Grian seemed to be getting his bearings again, and he took a step like he was about to get between the two of them, “Scar don’t--”

Scar and Cub both took to the sky at the same time - Cub with elytra and rockets in hand, and Scar lifted on vex wings and magic. Cub thought he was better at fighting than Scar was, but Scar was much, much better at magic. And then Scar was casting lightning in his direction, and Cub didn’t think much of anything. He just swooped through his desert and prayed he didn’t hit any dripstone on the way through.

[galivantingg]

Banshee

There is a legend in my village. A legend of sadness, and of death. It tells of a young girl who was brutally murdered, and her spirit remained on Earth to seek revenge on those she deemed unworthy. Those who spend their lives doing anything that comes from something selfish. Anything ranging from murder to donating to a charity purely to make yourself look good. They say you know she has marked you for death when you hear a young girl's piercing scream. Nobody can prove that she exists, but then again, nobody can prove that she doesn't exist. They say her victims come back after their death and are forced to serve her for all eternity. Forced to wander to earth, wailing at those who are fated to join her rank of death omens. Forced to suffer in silence for all eternity, watching your family and friends move on without you, and sometimes having to go warn them of their foretold death.

   I should have stayed at home. I can hear my pulse in my ears, drowning out even the rambunctious laughter from the pub far behind me. I took off in a random direction, letting my feet guide the way. They knew where to go, they had walked these streets for years. My feet pound on the cobblestone roads, my breaths rattled in my lungs and itched their way up my throat to burst from my mouth.

   Sara started her day off the same as every other day. She feeds her cat, collects her mail and newspaper, and greets the stray dog that seems to have adopted her front porch as home. She revels in the tranquil quiet, knowing as soon as her friends wake up it'll be shattered into a million pieces. They never seem to understand her loathe of their birthday tradition that apparently everyone must follow. No matter how many times over the years she's tried to give them the slip, she never manages to make it far without being dragged back to whatever pub they've chosen that year. Sara was supposed to be the designated driver whenever a birthday or special event came up in the friend group and they all wanted to get smashed, but it would be very hard for her to avoid drinking on her birthday night.

Never before in my life had I been more parched. I felt like my throat was burning, yet all I could focus on was not tripping. I make it to the top of a hill surrounding the village, one of many. My hope almost fizzled out and fear came close to crushing me. I swing my head wildly from side to side, almost spinning around in a circle looking for an escape.  

   After her relaxed breakfast, Sara decided to make some preparations for Future her. She picks up the stray clothes littered around her room, places her favourite mug with a bag of English Breakfast by the kettle, and tosses her favorite chocolate bar on her bedside table next to a water bottle and a bottle of Tylenol. Future her was not the best at dealing with hangovers, and she knew with her friends she wouldn't be allowed to escape one, especially on her birthday. Satisfied with her preparations, she mentally prepared herself for the arrival of her extremely extroverted mess of a group of friends. Taking deep breaths, she reminded herself that her friends were all city folk, despite the fact that they all lived in this tiny village of roughly 400 now. They didn't quite understand her love of quiet, her preference to stay inside and curl up with a good book. Being city kids, they all focus on the more extroverted ways of having fun, all of which involve leaving the tranquility of her house.

My options: the woods, where I might be able to run far enough to escape earshot, or the water, where if I submerge myself I will definitely not hear those horrific cries of death. My decision made, I practically roll down the hill in my haste to get to the small lake.

   Her friends arrived like a hurricane, thankfully not disturbing Sara's house too much. They insisted on her opening gifts the next morning, after their night out. She took that as a hint that at least three of the gifts included something for a hangover, which was nice, she supposed. Then they whisked her out to the car, piled in, and headed to the village centre. Sara stared longingly out of the window, watching the green tumble over itself, rising and falling with the movement of the car. The green eventually led to cobblestone, and she knew her long night had barely just begun. When they reached the grand fountain they blindfolded her, spun her round and around, as per tradition, and when she had stopped feeling like her stomach was trying to force its way up her throat, they marched her forward down the Chosen Street and found the second to last pub. And so, the long night of loud music and alcohol consumption began.

   I can't tell if she is breathing right behind me, hot on my trail, or if it's just my own erratic wheezing. I reach the water, and before diving in, I stop.

   That night felt different to the Sara. There was a cold presence that had washed over her the moment she walked through the pub door. All through the night she felt like she was being watched, and not in a good way. Her gut instinct was proven correct when she finally managed to spot who those eyes belonged to. Across the pub, enveloped in shadows, despite the silver hair and dress, and the death-white skin, was a little girl, staring right at the woman. As their eyes connected, the little girl's jaw dropped and the woman heard a deafening scream, the same kind only heard in horror movies. She didn't hear her glass shattering on the pub floor, or her friends calling after her as she turned and fled from those cold, dead eyes. Sara had been warned, of course, when she told her family she was moving to this village. They told her it was haunted, that an omen of death wandered the streets looking for its next victim, and you knew it had chosen when you heard an inhuman scream. She had brushed it off as lore, but it had always lingered in the back of her mind, that what if?

   I turn around, wondering why I hadn't heard another screech. Only- nothing. I calm. Taking a deep breath, I almost laugh to my-

Nothing.

_______

   I should have stayed at home. I can hear my pulse in my ears, drowning out even the rambunctious laughter from the pub far behind me. I took off in a random direction, letting my feet guide the way. They knew where to go, they had walked these streets for years. My feet pound on the cobblestone roads, my breaths rattled in my lungs and itched their way up my throat to burst from my mouth.

   Sara started her day off the same as every other day. She feeds her cat, collects her mail and newspaper, and greets the stray dog that seems to have adopted her front porch as home. She revels in the tranquil quiet, knowing as soon as her friends wake up it'll be shattered into a million pieces. They never seem to understand her loathe of their birthday tradition that apparently everyone must follow. No matter how many times over the years she's tried to give them the slip, she never manages to make it far without being dragged back to whatever pub they've chosen that year. Sara was supposed to be the designated driver whenever a birthday or special event came up in the friend group and they all wanted to get smashed, but it would be very hard for her to avoid drinking on her birthday night.

Never before in my life had I been more parched. I felt like my throat was burning, yet all I could focus on was not tripping. I make it to the top of a hill surrounding the village, one of many. My hope almost fizzled out and fear came close to crushing me. I swing my head wildly from side to side, almost spinning around in a circle looking for an escape.  

   After her relaxed breakfast, Sara decided to make some preparations for Future her. She picks up the stray clothes littered around her room, places her favourite mug with a bag of English Breakfast by the kettle, and tosses her favorite chocolate bar on her bedside table next to a water bottle and a bottle of Tylenol. Future her was not the best at dealing with hangovers, and she knew with her friends she wouldn't be allowed to escape one, especially on her birthday. Satisfied with her preparations, she mentally prepared herself for the arrival of her extremely extroverted mess of a group of friends. Taking deep breaths, she reminded herself that her friends were all city folk, despite the fact that they all lived in this tiny village of roughly 400 now. They didn't quite understand her love of quiet, her preference to stay inside and curl up with a good book. Being city kids, they all focus on the more extroverted ways of having fun, all of which involve leaving the tranquility of her house.

My options: the woods, where I might be able to run far enough to escape earshot, or the water, where if I submerge myself I will definitely not hear those horrific cries of death. My decision made, I practically roll down the hill in my haste to get to the small lake.

   Her friends arrived like a hurricane, thankfully not disturbing Sara's house too much. They insisted on her opening gifts the next morning, after their night out. She took that as a hint that at least three of the gifts included something for a hangover, which was nice, she supposed. Then they whisked her out to the car, piled in, and headed to the village centre. Sara stared longingly out of the window, watching the green tumble over itself, rising and falling with the movement of the car. The green eventually led to cobblestone, and she knew her long night had barely just begun. When they reached the grand fountain they blindfolded her, spun her round and around, as per tradition, and when she had stopped feeling like her stomach was trying to force its way up her throat, they marched her forward down the Chosen Street and found the second to last pub. And so, the long night of loud music and alcohol consumption began.

   I can't tell if she is breathing right behind me, hot on my trail, or if it's just my own erratic wheezing. I reach the water, and before diving in, I stop.

   That night felt different to the Sara. There was a cold presence that had washed over her the moment she walked through the pub door. All through the night she felt like she was being watched, and not in a good way. Her gut instinct was proven correct when she finally managed to spot who those eyes belonged to. Across the pub, enveloped in shadows, despite the silver hair and dress, and the death-white skin, was a little girl, staring right at the woman. As their eyes connected, the little girl's jaw dropped and the woman heard a deafening scream, the same kind only heard in horror movies. She didn't hear her glass shattering on the pub floor, or her friends calling after her as she turned and fled from those cold, dead eyes. Sara had been warned, of course, when she told her family she was moving to this village. They told her it was haunted, that an omen of death wandered the streets looking for its next victim, and you knew it had chosen when you heard an inhuman scream. She had brushed it off as lore, but it had always lingered in the back of her mind, that what if?

   I turn around, wondering why I hadn't heard another screech. Only- nothing. I calm. Taking a deep breath, I almost laugh to my-

Nothing.