#i need you to know he looks like a 1920s strongman but he sounds like a dickhead college jock. im like 90% sure his VA is johnny cage

[pivsketch]

public deadlock posting is now legal. please look at my favorite asshole jacob lash

[tantum-tenebris]

thoughts of a firestarter

A really short one-shot on what occurred down in the caves after the most recent Toadstool fight on the Famine Friends server. 

Most of the dialogue below is accurate. It was long and touching, but my memory is poor, so you get to read a very simplified version of it. ᕕ( ◎_◎)ᕗ

Warning: very very rusty writing.

Willow had never liked the caves.

It was cold and dark and boring, and she never knew why anyone would even think about going down there in the first place. The surplus of never ending rocks and yucky spiders and smelly mushrooms- the caves had it all! She swore she’d avoid going underground as much as possible. Tried to stick to her fire starting on the surface, where the sun’s rays were hot and nice and everything burned at the flick of her lighter. But then…

Willow would be down there for many days at a time, struggling to keep her mind from fraying as she fought against the worst of her nightmares. Poor, poor little Bernies. And she was only down there, fighting her way through the harsh ruins, because she simply cared. She dealt with the solitude because it was a hassle to watch over other people while also trying to take care of herself. She would feel awfully guilty if they got hurt trying to help her out. While Willow was quick and agile, some of her friends were not quite as lucky.

Under the dim and fading light of the ancient pseudoscience station, Willow crafted gifts for the people she cared about. An orange staff for Wickerbottom, for both magic and old-people purposes, a shiny glowing amulet for Wilson, because she thought it looked nice and he could use the extra light source, and deconstruction tools for Wes, who...she didn't really care about, but he seemed to have wanted them anyway.

Sometimes she’d lose track of the days trying to gather up her gifts. When she returned to the surface with her clothes ragged and hair twisted and knotted, nobody really seemed to notice. Their smiles were worth it, though! Willow is not really a heartless person. Willow just really hates going down into the caves.

Which is why when the group of famished friends had suddenly wanted to fight the Toadstool, she wasn't the most excited. Why take the time and effort to fight a nasty old wart with such small numbers? There was nothing worth it. Nothing that she could get her hands on that was flammable.

The group spent little time for preparation. As predicted, the fight did not turn out for the better. The Toadstool quickly made haste with them, and slowly one by one, each survivor fell to the toxic gas and the stomping and the rumbling earthquakes. Their best warriors dying first, and ironically, their weakest being the ones to scramble to make it out of there before their corpses were added to the growing pile.

Unfortunately, despite their best efforts, they were forced to surrender seeing as they did not have the strength to continue fighting, neither in numbers or supply. Their medicines were scarce, and at the time only the Valkyrie and the Strongman were willing to leave and become resurrected.

That left Willow stuck with the man that made every fiber in her body quiver with seething rage and disgust. She was still very much angry at him for betraying her. He was a jerk!

And there he was, floating above his corpse with only the light of stars and ghastly aura, staring into nothingness. Confused. Wandering.

The others were gonna come back for her. Willow hoped they would. She did not want to remain dead underground with Maxwell, of all people, for the rest of her long and undead life.

It was no fun being a ghost. Nothing flammable to set fires to.

So she floated, and stared, dozing off into the nothingness that waited silently beyond the cliff side. The secrets that lay within the cave pulsing quietly; the peaceful state returning after phases of madness.

Willow didn't dare look back at him. She couldn't. It was embarrassing. A woman and her captor, both dead? Even if it partly wasn't his fault that she was in this situation, who could blame her for being mad? She was betrayed. It would take a lot of apologizing to make it up to her. And a lot of fire crackers.

That's when, after agonizing hours of floating and waiting and doing absolutely nothing, she felt his uncomfortable presence shift closer towards her. Ha. Even in death he still kept his stupid rose and his stupid tie.

“Firestarter…” he mumbled.

Annoyed, but unable to avoid conversation she replied impatiently. “What?”

“Why are you still down here?”

“I’m waiting for the others to come and rescue me.” Sure, she was usually independent, but right now Willow was willing to wait however long it took for them to gather their things and come back down. And it wasn't like she really had a choice… her stuff was down here with her. With Maxwell. Whom she didn't trust. At all.

“What are you doing?” She asked.

“Waiting,” he sighed. ”I didn't want to leave you alone down here.”

Willow almost couldn't believe it. Why- why would Maxwell even want to stay down there with her? She bullied and teased him all the time. Surely he couldn't stand her presence just as much as she couldn't stand his.

“Oh, okay. So now we’re both down here. Dead. Doing nothing.” Instead of there being just one person who would have to temporarily deal with being deceased. Wow!

“You looked lonely.”

She scoffed. “So? You shoulda just saved yourself the trouble.”

Willow returned her gaze to the cliff side. The light bulbs behind them rose and swayed to and fro in the dusty breeze. This was boring. She hoped Wendy would be down here soon.

“How do you know if they'll even come back for you?”

“Because they're my friends! They wouldn't just leave me like that.”

Maxwell muttered something under his breath. She glanced at him, confused, and he shook his head.

“I had a brother who was just as stubborn as you.”

Well, this was news! “Oh, I didn't know you had a brother.” Poor guy. Having to deal with Maxwell as a sibling. “What’s his name?”

He hummed lightly, as if trying to recall the name of his very own brother. “...Jack. His name is Jack.”

“What happened to him?” Willow asked.

“I don't know. I’m afraid I have not seen him since my disappearance in San Francisco of 1906. I do hope he is faring well.”

“1906,” Willow repeated. “Woah. That's a long time. You took me in 1920, so does that mean you were here for-”

“No.”

“Huh?”

“Time passes differently here,” Maxwell explained. “I was stuck to the throne for thousands of years.”

“Maybe it just felt like thousands of years.”

“Whenever I was able to keep my consciousness, I marked a tally on the ground for each passing day.”

“...Oh. Well, that doesn't sound very exciting.”

He sighed. “It wasn't. But you get my point, and I’m afraid there still isn't a way to leave this place.”

Maxwell seemed melancholic now, having brought up remnants of his past life, longing for memories he could never again grasp. Willow almost pitied him, then. Although he was a jerk, there was no way he truly deserved any of this. None of her friends did.

However, despite everything, Willow wasn't sure if she even wanted to go home. What home could she possibly return to? In a way, Maxwell gave her everything she could ever ask for. A place of promise, freedom, and fires.

On the island she could, technically, set fires willy-nilly and not have to worry about the law after her. There was more food to eat here than there was in the backs of alleyways. As much as she did not want to admit it, this life was much better than her previous.

Her friends were luckier. They were the ones that needed to get back home. They had families, homes, lives. People who would care if they were gone.

Willow looked at Maxwell’s ghost who seemed lost in thought. The cave was silent, naught except for the sound of a growing pitter-patter of footsteps.

“Do you have any regrets?” She asked, curious of his answer. He seemed like the kinda guy who would possess many dark secrets. She hoped, silently, he would confess that bringing everybody to this stupid island would be his biggest regret. 

Before he could respond, Wendy emerged from the shadows with gooey beating hearts to resurrect them with. She quickly stuffed it into their ghastly forms. Willow landed down onto the solid ground with a loud thud, thanked Wendy, and hurried to pick up her things. She wasn't missing much. And, darn it- she really wanted to hear Maxwell’s answer.

“Pardon my interruption,” Wendy said. “Shall we be on our way?”

Maxwell brushed off his dapper suit and nodded, and together the trio headed out of the nightmare cave, turning their backs on Toadstool’s Hellfield. For now.

After being exposed to nothing but darkness for so long, it felt nice to have fire on her skin again. She dragged her fingers through the clinging flames, toying with it. Even though they had failed, it was never a bad time for a bonfire! Willow tossed more logs onto the hungry flames as she sat back and admired her handiwork.

The others were in their own camps, repairing their things after the battle, so only the sound of crackling flames filled the silence. Under the rising moon, nobody wanted to do any work. Everyone was exhausted and wanted to recuperate.

Willow felt a familiar and uncomfortable presence behind her, but paid no mind. He was to be expected.

“You never answered my question,” she said, her eyes never leaving the beautiful fire.

Maxwell sighed and tucked his hands into his pockets. All around them, the shadows encroached. “Do I have any regrets…” he echoed quietly.

It was painful. It was silent and painful and he didn't want to respond. Thinking about it made his chest throb. His brother. His niece. His assistant. All gone, due to his carelessness. Their memories haunted him like ghosts.

And as the sickly scent of roses surrounded them, filling the air with a bittersweet taste, Maxwell gazed into the darkness, his heart aching.

“I do.”