#something something tango becomes one of the beasts in decked out

[owtenen]

hc where tango knows that the more the dungeon is built the more it requires from him. hc where tango knows as he goes deeper into decked out his biology changes (cough cough blue fire tango) and he just… can’t be away from the beasts for too long. hc where, despite everything that pulls him to the surface, tango knows the only way for the dungeon to be truly complete is that he becomes part of the deepest depths of decked out and never resurfaces again

[reflingthefox]

Zedaph probably should've guessed it right away.

Tango told him about Rancher's Revenge, when that one game came to its end and he was back on the server, open to spend a day unwinding, resting and chatting. It was surely a feat, a big bucket of skill to channel into wrangling the warden, and Zedaph had nothing else to say but grin and nod at Tango's voice ringing with pride. But there was something else in his voice - something softer, something warmer as he talked about the deep dark beast chasing poor gamemates. Something Zedaph remembered ringing true in his own chest, everytime he handled his sheep and pigs and whatever animals were to become his collaborators today.

Zedaph's used to discard this feeling easily, everytime this collaborating means an untimely demise. So that's not a big deal to him, that day.

What is a big deal, today, is that Decked Out's closed. The third week is underway, and big strong names like Doc and Cub are spending up their shards left and right - and then, the dungeon's closed "for a momentary maintenance", and Tango's not picking up his calls.

Zedaph climbs down the hill, through the freezing embrace of his snow tunnel, and sticks his head out through the I-Spy hole. Traversing the dungeon is harder these days, even without challenging it - Decked Out is in her full power, rumbling and growling at everyone who dares to step deeper, a watching, hungering presence. It's not the only presence Zedaph feels this starkly, though, and so he gently pats a berry bush, trails his bloodied hand over the icy wall as a peace offering, and sneaks forward.

It doesn't take too much time to find him. Tango's kneeling in one of the rooms left to the Crypt, eyes studying the empty shelves. Zedaph thinks for a moment something might be wrong with the compass location - or with one of the easter eggs? - but as he comes closer, he sees Tango's hands strained, knuckles probably white under those ornate gloves, grasping onto the dark leather saddle on his knees.

Zedaph should've guessed it sooner. But at least he knows it now, at this moment, when he comes closer to kneel beside Tango and curl an arm around his shaking back. When he puts his hand over the saddle as well, to trace the half-faded "Tango's Cough" embroidered into the leather, and looks deeper into the dusty shelves to see the rows of the leather harnesses tucked out of view. When he doesn't say a word, pressing Tango into himself, as soundless shivers wreck his dearest friend's body.

There isn't really a force in the world to make a Tango Tek cry.

Maybe, Zedaph thinks, trying to keep his breathing steady and his soothing hug firm, thinking of every hungry, murderous creature Tango branded with a name and a part of his soul, feeling the weight of grief settling in his stomach - maybe if he could, if would've helped.