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spottys-rathole · 7 months ago

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(all q!)

There's that scene where Baghera, Antoine, and Bad go adventuring out with their kids, and Bad leads the way trying his best to show them good dungeons with useful loot that aren't too hard

They cross a field running, jump into a speedboat and dash through until they spot a structure on the horizon. They loot it, rinse and repeat.

They just raided an outpost, Baghera has just stepped in and is trying to collect the bookshelves inside when she hears one of the eggs outside blowing into a horn, calling for attention. All the while Baghera is feeling overwhelmed. She explains out loud that she feels the others don't realize how poor she really is, how she's got nothing and how she's still discovering so many new biomes and new features that were added recently. She wants to take her time to check it all out properly, she wants to collect building blocks she likes for her house - because Baghera doesn't have a house yet.

This isn't the first time she brings it up on this evening. Since the first time she encountered BBH earlier that day, he has been slowly introducing her to the idea of building a house near him and Pierre. He said so himself to the eggs that he's trying to convince her to do so. At first he asked her if she had anywhere to live, then upon learning she's only got a hole dug on the flank of a hill so far, he told her they needed to get her a house. Then he showed her his place, welcomed her in and showed him everything that could peak her interest :

Here's BBH's storage room, Baghera can have free unlimited access to it. Here's a flower field surrounding the place, it's really pretty isn't it ? Here's the beach house Pierre built on the bank of this cool lake, look how gorgeous it is, she could build the same if she wanted to. Also don't fail to mention there's a nearby lavender field around, Baghera really likes purple right ? Surely she could enjoy the biome enough to decide to settle down over there.

And Baghera's immediate response is to use Pierre's waystone to teleport the gang to her actual place. Actually, she doesn't exactly teleport them to her place, she teleports them to Phil's place first, which is right across the river from where she lives. Because she doesn't have a waystone to herself, because again : She is poor.

She then proceeds to show them around her "house", which is a (yet to be) repurposed dungeon. It's empty so far. BBH notices and remembers it's a dungeon that he had already raided with Dapper a week ago before Baghera found it.

Baghera doesn't have much if anything at all. She started the afternoon with -37 coins and a gapple which she offered to Acau as a welcoming gift. Still she was so happy when she accidentaly discovered that dungeon and loved its aesthetic, even if the loot that was left inside was barely useful, but to her it was all she had.

Back to the pillager outpost, Antoine overhears Baghera mention how exhausted she is and how meeting everyone at spawn earlier has been really draining for her. That's why she usually prefers exploring alone because then she can do it at her own pace without feeling pressured, because what is of interest to her may not be for her adventuring partners.

Antoine immidiately tries to reassure her the best he can, tells her that she can take all her time and shouldn't hurry for them, that they will wait for her. Baghera apologizes. While BBH is wondering what they're doing, Dapper goes up the tower to check on them, Antoine asks them to wait for them as they are taking their time. Baghera apologizes. When alone with her again she explains that it bothers her to not be able to take breaks and go at her own pace, but she blames herself for it because she accepted to go exploring in group and obviously even if Antoine and Bad keep telling her that they understand and try to make her feel the most at ease, and giving her food and gear. Well anyone would still feel pressured because making the others wait all the time might become boring for the rest of the group whether they say they're okay with it or not. At some point Baghera explains to Bad that she isn't feeling so hot, when she turns around he is 30 ft further ; something caught his attention and he wanted to check it out briefly. She comes up to him again and tell him she needs to get sugar because she is feeling dizzy, she insists that they shouldn't wait for her. Once she comes back, she tells the group that she wants to part ways and go back to building her house. Right on queue, Bad reminds her that she is the most welcome if she wants to come live near his place. Baghera still doesn't explicitely agree nor disagree with the idea, she only says she wants to build because that's what she enjoys doing. Right after, the group catch her up on what they were doing while she was afk : They're about to go raid this very dangerous sky dungeon, and Bad invites Baghera to join them. She iterates that sadly she will not, but Bad who's attention was caught by Dapper, has already ran off to listen to his child. Pomme and Antoine tell her it's okay, but then Bad rushes back towards them to excitedly show them what cool shenanigan Dapper is up to. Baghera bids them goodbye and Bad seems both surprised and disappointed to hear she's leaving now. As she is walking away, Antoine once again whispers to Bad that she was feeling real tired to which the latest answers he completely understands.

It's not so relevant of a moment lore-wise, but I've still been thinking about it a lot because I'm usually really into these kinds of small interactions that are still loud because of everyone's points of views ? Baghera's been there for 3 days and she still hasn't properly brought up to anyone what happened to her during Purgatory - she is not doing fine (I'm not going to go in depth because I'd have to slap a big ol trigger warning but her reaction to reading Pomme's and Richas' signs kicked me in the guts with the strenght of a 3T truck). And meanwhile BBH is this close to kick the bucket too and there's all his motivations that push him to surround himself with people when he would previously be paranoid about inviting anyone to his old base (and none of the french-speakers knew back then). Antoine is just vibing good for him (this was his last qsmp stream too lmao pretend i'm not crying rn /hj)

But it's one of those cases where everything was set up perfectly for it (Pomme was literally jumping with excitement at the idea of two more of her parents getting to live near) but it simply wasn't meant to happen -at least not that day-

#just to be clear : this is not me pointing fingers and going such or such character reacted wrong hell no #i am never about this i just point my finger towards a general situation and go “hey look at this interesting thing unfolding”#I'm staring at sand slowly decanting in a glass of water right now #I already know the outcome but I still think it's interesting #as i repeated baghera felt overwhelmed -> because it was an overwhelming situation and not just for her #when you're in group there are so many things to look around for that will distract you #and it's completely normal and there's nothing to blame about it #ie deadly mobs creeping up on you and eggs communicating in non verbal ways which requires different parts of your brain to operate #okay now i need to figure out how tf i tag this uhhh #i usually write these big ass nothing texts on Discord either about fictional women or about RPZ Forum Drive Families my belovèd #the fuck do i do #q!baghera #q!antoine #q!badboyhalo #qsmp analysis #-> (BIG QUESTION MARK : decanting sand)#qsmp #11/02/24

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puffin-smoke · 3 months ago

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hi, do you ever start a thing, write half of it, find something more interesting, and then slowly chip away at it for a few months? of course you do, you follow me.

Anyway, here's Duarte having a nightmare, or what I have theatrically titled...

and meets a stranger, walking on the road below

The swamps were lonely, this late at night. A fog had settled over the landscape, the rivers and Duarte herself like dust. Moonlight turned their vision silvery, hazy.

Her leg ached vaguely, the pain muted but consuming. Enough to slow her journey, for her limp to become more prominent than usual. She rested a hand against a leafless tree to steady herself, hating how she swayed with the wind. They pawed around, grabbing blindly into the shadows and pulling out a walking stick from where branches should have been. The handle had a beetle etched into it.

She needed to find a way through the forest. So she righted herself and continued down her uneven path, all errant roots and upturned trees. She used the cane to push aside a bush when she came across it, batting away the brambles and thorns.

On the other side of that bush, the path continued, but gradually becoming more and more treacherous, the woods more and more crowded. Duarte grimaced and continued forward.

They walked for a short while before they began to hear a voice. It was muffled by the thickness of the trees and the flora, but the frustration behind itstill peeked through the leaves like moonlight through clouds. Duarte ignored the voice for the next couple minutes but it followed her, unceasing.

“Crap.” Duarte cursed under her breath. She had to help. For fucks sake. They sighed and walked towards the mound of bushes that seemed to disguise the voice, it getting louder with every step.

Just help whoever was there be on their way, and then get back to walking. She slowly approached the treeline, her movements deliberate and cautious. She took one deep breath, and threw aside the leaves with a flourish, revealing a figure.

At first shadows swarmed them, obscuring their features, but then gave way to form a person. Slightly shorter than her with hair hanging loosely around their shoulders. Their skin was unscarred, their eyes bright. A harpoon was strung across their back.

The person looked up to Duarte. “Are you lost too?”

“No, I’m not.” Duarte answered curtly, fully intent on going back to walking. They’d be fine; it was easy to find your way in the woods. Walk in a straight line until you’re out. Figure it out from there. They’d be fine.

The stranger apparently disagreed. They grinned and set themself next to Duarte, trampling plants and weeds as they went. “Great, I’ll come with you then!”

Duarte backed away from the figure in what they hoped was a subtle way, despite bracing their cane in their hand defensively. The weight of it in their hand was a comfort but did not distract from the pit in her stomach. Now closer, the stranger’s face seemed familiar, but bitterly so. Like an acquaintance she met in passing, who said something that didn’t sit quite right. With each passing moment that feeling became further embedded in her gut.

“I’m not heading anywhere specific.” She lied. She had somewhere to be, which was far away from that grinning face and trampled plants. “There’s no point in following me.”

The figure snorts. “Yeah probably.”

The forest whispered to fill the silence that followed. The wind ran a hand through Duarte’s hair, trying to coax them onward.

Maybe she could lose them in the woods. They gave up trying to dissuade the stranger and turned away. Dried leaves crackled underfoot as she walked, and nearly distracted from the sound of footsteps behind her. Duarte restrained an annoyed groan as the stranger sped up to keep pace with her.

“So, you got a name? The stranger asked, trying to catch Duarte’s eye. She focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other and ignored them entirely. Just waiting for them to tire themself out and go away.

The silent treatment failed her. The stranger clicked their fingers in front of her face, trying to grab her attention. “You there? Hello?”

Duarte batted their hand away like she was swatting a fly. “It’s Duarte.” She answered, gruff and terse.

Her answer seemed to catch the stranger off guard. They stumble and fall silent, yet only for a moment. “Huh. Same.”

She glances over to the stranger, expecting their face to be mocking. It was entirely sincere in its surprise and fascination. Duarte silently conceded a point over to them, and actually met their eyes. If she had to walk with them she may as well get to know a little about them.

“Hm. What do you do for a living?” The harpoon on their back; which Duarte had just noticed was identical to their own; suggested they were a hunter, or at least in that sort of field.

The stranger’s grin widened at the question, posturing grandly as they explained and very nearly hitting Duarte in the face as they gestured wildly. Duarte looked on, unflinching and unimpressed, as they spoke.

“I’m a hunter, and a damn fucking good one.” They were beaming. “Better than half the onesI know, anyway.”

Duarte was suddenly hyper aware of her leg, of the layers upon layers of scars, the divots where crocodile teeth had once embedded themself.

She held back a scoff. “You’re sure about that?”

The supposedly esteemed hunter didn’t bother with such niceties. They scowled. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason.”

The look the hunter gave them was a familiar one, but not because Duarte had seen it before. But because she had donned it herself long ago. A sneer so deeply set on their features it may as well have been carved in stone.

“You’re a shit liar, you know that?” They spat. “And what’s with the interrogation anyway? You already know all of this.”

“The hell does that mean?” Duarte stopped in her tracks, clouds of dirt billowing around her feet as she skidded to a stop.

The stranger just rolls their eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one? I’m not gonna explain it to you, figure it out yourself.” They roll on the balls of their feet, impatient. “Besides, don’t you have somewhere to be? Don’t waste your time talking to me.”

She wouldn’t. Her walking stick hit the ground with a satisfying thud, and she’s back to walking. Her thumb absently traces the dragonfly drawn into the hilt.

The two Duartes walk, the younger lagging behind only slightly, staring daggers into the older’s back. The landscape shifts and expands. The pathway loses its pebbles and sand takes its place. A lake fades into view and seems to stretch on forever. The roots of mangroves winding like mazes beneath the water.

Duarte immediately sets out scanning the scenery for a way across the lake. There was a boat half-submerged in the lake, she could haul it out and sail that to the other side? There was probably a reason that it was abandoned. She could backtrack and find a different route through the woods? For some reason her memory of the forestry was hazy and dark, a myriad of greys. Something willed her to never look back. She could edge her way across the lakeside? It’d be easy to fall in. She could watch as her stranger walked up to the boat and began to drag it out of the-

Oh goddamnit.

“What are you doing?” She briskly made their way down to the edge of the lake, cursing the uneven terrain under their breath.

The hunter didn’t look up as they grabbed a hold of a dampened rope attached to the boat. Their features scrunched together in concentration as they heaved the boat forwards. “Getting the boat out.”

“There’s no point.”

With one final tug, the boat was fully on the shore. The hunter looked at them, indignant. “Would you rather swim across?”

At this point she wondered if drowning the stranger would be the fastest route. “It’s probably got holes in. You’re wasting your time.”

The hunter looked back to the boat, narrowing their eyes. They threw aside the tangled fishing net and the splintered oars. Sure enough it revealed a crack in the base of the boat, rotten wood barely hanging onto what remained. Duarte held back a smirk. “See? Wasting time.”

Annoyance and shame coloured the hunter’s face as they stepped away from the boat. “Beats not checking at all, you fucking…”

“Oh quit complaining. If you’re still going to follow me, we can just go around the lake.” She was already lumbering away from the shore. She didn’t check to see if the hunter was following her; she unfortunately already knew they would.

“But that’ll take forever!”

“It’d go a lot quicker if you’d left the fucking boat as is.” Duarte sniped back, her head whipping back around.

The hunter kicked up a clump of sand. If Duarte squinted it brought to mind a vision of a toddler throwing a temper tantrum, except minutely more restrained. “Could you get over the boat already? It was a stupid idea, are you happy now?”

“No. Can we go now, or are you still throwing a damn fit?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the mature one? Forgiving and forgetting is a part of that, y’know.”

Duarte looked at them, cocking her head as though seeing the hunter from a different angle would quell the burning in her gut. “The hell are you- nevermind. I don’t need to prove crap to you. You ready to go now?”

The hunter finally stepped away from the boat, dejectedly dropping the rope they’d still been holding. “Fine. You’re still a shit liar though.”

“Always need to have the last word, don’t you.” Duarte knew it was petty, but the hunter deserved petty.

She chose to ignore the youth mumbling something about irony, taking the high road she had so sorely missed. They continued into the trees.

The scene quickly shifted into the roots. The hazardous nature of the underbrush and subsequently hidden tree roots forced Duarte to walk slightly slower, to take their time to navigate safely through. This gave time for the hunter to catch up, so the pair were now walking in reluctant tandem. Brambles and thorns Duarte was careful to avoid snagged and ripped at the hunter’s clothes, but the hunter seemed blissfully unaware of that fact. Or maybe they just knew how to sew. Duarte leaned towards the former.

As Duarte lugged her leg over a fallen tree trunk, the hunter gave them a surveying look, up and down. “So… what’s with the leg?”

Duarte grunted as she landed on the other side, taking a moment to steady herself. “Nothing.”

They gave them another look. “You sure?”

Nature appeared to answer for them. A root decided to appear out of nowhere, making itself known from beneath the twigs and leaves. It snagged her foot and brought her hurtling towards the ground. She braced herself for impact and a sore leg.

The hunter’s hand snapped out in an instant. They grabbed her arm and wrenched her backwards, a haphazard rescue. She flailed around for a moment but didn’t fall, only made an utter embarrassment of herself. Which would have happened even if the hunter hadn’t caught her, but she wouldn’t have had to acknowledge it face down in the mud.

“You alright there?” They asked, hand still wrapped around her forearm.

Duarte slapped the hand away with more fervour than it probably merited. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

Indignant laughter laced the hunter’s words. “I’m trying to be nice!”

Duarte gripped her cane like a baton and backed away, her knuckles bone white. “I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity!”

“You’re a shit liar.” Duarte pointed towards the hunter’s eyebrows, which were furrowed deeply. “Your brows furrow when you lie.”

“So do yours.”

Duarte spoke without thinking. The impulse disgusted her but she indulged in it anyway. All she could see were the implications behind those three words. “Fuck you.”

“The hell’s your problem with me?” They flinched but then doubled down, like an animal backed into a corner. Nothing to do but fight. “Aren’t you supposed to be the-”

Duarte’s cane flew and jabbed the hunter in the chest, knocking the wind out of them. She held the cane there, an accusation. “If you fucking call me the mature one or some shit like that, I swear to god-”

“Why do you hate me?” The hunter cut them off with a tone as lethal as the knife within Duarte’s satchel. The venom in their eyes faded into recognition. They smirked and knocked the cane away. “Have you finally figured it out?”

Duarte grinded her teeth together, embarrassment and rage colouring her features. She was being an idiot. She was supposed to be better than this, she should just turn around and run as fast as her leg would let her.

“That you’re me? I don’t think it matters.”

She should do that, but she doesn’t. And she somehow convinces herself that it's the right thing to do. Because she’s better than this. Better than them.

Her answer only agitated her younger self. And it was their younger self, she couldn’t ignore that fact. Their younger, stupid, worse self. Who she’d been trying to escape from for years.

She regretted admitting it the moment it left her mouth. She regretted checking on them in the first place. How long ago had that been? How long ago had they been walking for? It felt like a moment or two but that couldn’t be right.

No matter how long it had been, it would be longer if she stayed here. Arguing with someone not even worth her breath. She begins to stalk away, with renewed vigour. The plants and trees seem to part around her to clear a path.

The kid sprinted to catch up with them, sounding for once shocked. “Is that it?”

Duarte kept walking. This was a mistake. All of this. And she’d made too many mistakes in her life to be afforded one more.

“You don’t have anything to say to me? No sage wisdom? Nothing?” The youth swung themself through and around trees, keeping pace with her the whole time.

Duarte kept her voice low, any louder and it would run away from them. It was nearly consumed by the trees, whisked away by the breeze. “Nothing you’d fucking listen to.”

“Oh come on! Just say something! “ They gesture vaguely to Duarte’s whole being, as though it were an unfortunate affliction or rash. “Just- Just tell me what screws me up this bad to become- this.”

Duarte inhaled shortly. “Screws you up?”

Laughter rang from the hunter’s throat, akin to that of a hyena’s. “Is that not what you’d call it?” It rumbled through their core and into the ground, the earth itself shaking in kind. “Come on, say something! What forces me to become you?”

The trees scream all around them. The shadows watch. The earth shakes beneath them but Duarte cannot find it within her to care. They whirled around.

“You know what? Fine. Here’s some fucking wisdom.” Her footsteps cut through the screaming wind. “How old are you supposed to be right now? Nineteen? A little older? Well, pretty soon you’re going to have to grow up. You’re gonna be forced to realise what you are-”

The wind tousled Duarte’s hair as they spat, venom on their tongue. The wind grasped their hair, pulling at the roots until they bled. The sensation of blood running down their neck was bone chillingly familiar.

The wind bruised her opponent in kind, lashing out at them with a dozen fists. It did not break that damned smile. “Aw, what am I then-”

If the gale would not shut them up Duarte would. She was in front of them in an instant. She grabbed their jaw, clamped her hand around it, her grip more akin to a chokehold. Her nails sunk into their flesh. She hoped it hurt. She hoped it would knock some sense into them before more people got hurt.

“No, no, you wanted wisdom and you’re fucking getting it.” Duarte hissed.

She continued. “You’re going to go on a hunt. You hear about a half blood with a bounty on his head big enough to fund whatever crap you want to indulge in. So you go to the swamp and start looking.”

She can recount that day from memory. The tranquil forest, the radiant sun baking the landscape, the rush of adrenaline in her veins. The stench of blood and regret to shatter that.

“You never find him. You didn’t have a plan. But you did find a crocodile, as big as that fucking bounty, instead.” Her leg pangs. She remembers teeth sinking into it. The vision of her own flesh being rakes across the grass, sinew hanging from its jaws like saliva. “It nearly fucking kills you.”

She remembers dragging herself home. She remembers puking her guts up and the sun cooking that bile. The smell filling her lungs. She remembers being useless and helpless.

“And that of all things is what knocks some sense into you. That’s what makes you realise that you’re just a pathetic fucking child who thinks they’re too good to try.”

The child’s hand reaches up and forces Duarte’s away, their own nails scraping bloody paths through her wrist. They got closer to her, stance wide and open, as though they were a hunter trying to scare off a wild animal. A challenge was on their breath. “I don’t think that!”

Laughter bubbled up Duarte’s throat, spiteful, hysterical. Duarte pushed it down. “Bullshit. You’ve always thought that. You think you’re better than everyone else, so you never fucking try with them.”

She began to list examples off her fingers. “You never tried with dad, with mom, with any of the other hunters, you never fucking bothered. Always thought yourself above them.” She pushed the kid away from her. “So they finally realised they were above you.”

The blank face of her father when she told him she was leaving, the cynical gaze of her mother every time they crossed paths, the sad eyes of faces she barely remembered but definitely knew. All made themself known, hanging from trees and lurking behind branches. They were shadows. They watched the hunters with formless wonder.

The stranger bit their tongue, jaw clamping shut as their teeth grinded together for the briefest of moments. Blood hurled from their tongue as she yelled back, wind carrying that blood to mark the ground. “How long until they realise the same about you?”

The shadows chattered and gnashed their teeth, chirping like harpies.

“Go to hell.” She yells to the wind and the hunter and the shadows. They all seemed to be the same. “You are a narcissistic, entitled little shit. That’s why you drove everyone away. That won’t happen to me.”

The hunter cackled. “You’re such an idiot- of course it will! You’re just like me. You’ve just found something new to applaud yourself for.”

The shadows hummed their approval. They stepped forward, snapping twigs underfoot and drawing them into the ink.

“I mean why wouldn’t you, since you’re so much better than them.” They continued, plastering a hand to their forehead dramatically and pressing their back against Duarte’s chest, the very picture of a tragic hero. The shadows followed suit, surrounding Duarte, caging her as they feigned horror. One grabbed ahold of her leg, one wrapped its arms around her waist, another clawed at her poncho. Each of them helped build a cage of black, an inky darkness that held Duarte in place.

“Oh I’m just so much more mature-” the hunter’s words drawled, lilting mockingly- “They should be more like me! It’d do them some good, it’s a miracle they haven't been slaughtered already~”

Duarte scrambles to grab her carving knife from her pocket. She unsheathes it within the second and begins a whirlwind of attacks against the dark mass grounding her. “Shut the fuck up!” The shadows crumpled like rags. “You’re twisting it- I’d never say that shit-”

The shadows slinked away like wounded dogs. They pooled at the hunter’s feet. The hunter spun back around and grinned, leaning an arm against Duarte’s chest to prop themself up. “But you thought it! You’ve always thought it- hell the plan was always to wait until your leg was healed, then strike.”

“Because that’s what a good hunter does, right? Not what I would have done, but you get results right?” They clapped approvingly. The noise danced among the dulled hum of the shadows, who were watching with bated breath. “Taking pity on your prey- interesting tactic.”

“The hell would you have done? Gone in guns blazing? You would have gotten distracted by a squirrel.” Duarte laughed. A squirrel poked its head out of the shadows beneath them, and climbed up the hunter’s ankle. They kicked it off and it disappeared back into the puddle. Duarte watched it disappear. “You would have gotten them all killed.”

The hunter scoffed. “Oh, there’s still time in the day for that. Give yourself a little credit.”

Rage boiled in Duarte’s veins. The shadows bubbled like tar. Duarte bore her teeth. “You remember Natalie?”

The hunter flinched. They answered curtly. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“What? I was just asking.” Duarte extended their arms outward grandly. A figure sprung up from the puddle. A girl, with long hair and sad eyes. A scar wrapped around her neck like a snake. She looked from Duarte to the hunter, as though she couldn’t tell who was who. “You nearly got her killed. You left her to die, you fucking ran away-”

“I was scared!” The hunter insisted, almost hissing.

“You left her to die!” Duarte repeated back. Her voice was rough and raw, every ounce of hatred she had for who she was channelled behind it.

“We left her! Why the hell are you talking like we’re- like we’re two different people?!” The hunter tried to yell over her, their voice fueled by desperation and confusion.

The shadow girl sat down into the shadow, and hung her head. She sunk away into the pool. The shadows bubbled further as she disappeared. Duarte ignored her and kept shouting. “We are! I would never do that shit anymore, I care now! With everything I fucking have.”

“You still let them get hurt.” The hunter spat back at her. Both of them knew who they were talking about. The bubbles frothed and spilled over what invisible force was holding them in place. They blanketed and flooded the dirt and the mud, swallowing tree roots whole.

The youth raged on. “It doesn’t matter that you care or you’ve changed, you’re still fucking useless!”

On the last word the shadows turned into geysers. Waves erupted from beneath Duarte’s feet and threw her violently to the ground, the back of her skull cracking against a treeroot as she hit the ground. Blood ran down her neck and fell into the shadows. Her whole world off kilter, her vision blurring, she forced herself to stand. A wave of nausea came crashing over her. Her hands flailed about, useless, trying to maintain balance, trying to keep herself from drowning in the shadows. Her cane was knocked away in the flurry, and was now half sunk beneath the waves, only the handle visible. The etching of a thousand bees glared at her.

She looked up to find what’s left of the forest. The trees were mostly gone, not even their stumps remained. The shadows were halfway up her calves, holding her down with an iron grip.

In front of her, four figures formed themselves from shadow.

Three hunters. One stared them down, his eyes a challenge he knew they couldn’t take. The others didn’t even spare her a glance.

And then the fourth person. A gator, trapped in a net, expression frozen in permanent fear. In a realisation. That nobody was there to save him. Timmy.

The youth walked among the statues like a tourist. They glanced at Duarte almost nonchalantly, cocking their head and baring their teeth as they strolled leisurely past Timmy.

“What was the plan here?” Their voice was crackling, loud, clear over the sound of the forest and the shadows. Like lightning.

“I- I was trying to think of something, to save him, I just-” her fingers twitched erratically, picking roughly at the skin around their nails. Blood ran down her palms. “You would have-”

“I wouldn’t have just stood there gawking!” The hunter motioned to Timmy, to the net he was caught in, to the tears welling up in his eyes and to the tears in the mist of falling. There was an intensity to their gestures that betrayed an absolute disgust.

“You’re a thousand fucking miles away when people actually need you, and yet I’m the irresponsible one, I’m the bad person-” the shadows rose further as the hunter yelled

“You are!” Duarte thrashed in the invisible grip of the shadows. They had risen to her waist. Her poncho was damp, stained, the blue stripe running across it now as deep a blue as the depths of the ocean. Words got caught in her throat and split forth with twice as much force. “You’re an arrogant little brat- you don’t care so you nearly get people killed-”

“Well, you care and that still happens!” The shadows rose faster and further. The hunters were gone by now, consumed by the ink. The gator was almost submerged as well, and yet his eyes were still trained on Duarte until the very last moment. “You’re just as shit a person as me, just admit it-”

“No!” Duarte didn’t let them finish the goddamn sentence. One foot unstuck itself from the mud. Timmy was gone. Nothing but shadow remained.

“I am a good person!”

The water began to drain itself. It all collected at one point in the air, shrinking, collapsing, a floating orb of darkness was all that remained. It pulsated wildly, looking akin to a dilated pupil, scanning the environment with a nervous fervour. Not a single drop fell as it bubbled in place, a collapsing star bathed monochrome.

And like all stars it had to burn.

It began to expand. It built upon itself. First a torso, long and slender with scars running down the length of its back where cutes and ridges should be, its scales rough, damaged. Limbs then spurted forth from the mass, and then claws from those. A tail followed and then a head. Its teeth gleamed in the dying moonlight, like jagged rocks on the coast, like a dagger kept close to the hand.

But its eyes held no malice. They were blank. They did not care who lived or died; this would all just be another thing the crocodile had seen.

It turned to the kid. The hunter. The stranger. Who had been knocked down as the shadows receded. They lay there, paralysed, terrified. There was a small gash just above their eyebrow.

Duarte watched as she was torn apart and consumed into the mass. There was no gore, no blood. It was as though they had never existed.

It was over. No it wasn’t. Please let them pretend.

The beast turned to Duarte. Its eyes were changed. Shame now coloured them a deep crimson.

Kill the ego and what remains?

Duarte’s face fell. Her heart was in her throat and fighting to get out. She couldn’t breathe. A whisper falls from her lips.

“I hope.”

The crocodile lunges.

Duarte jumps out of her bed and slams her head into a wall. A dull pain reverberates through her skull, a bruise undoubtedly forming where it begins. Tears prick her eyes like knife points. She groans as the pain sets in, the memory of what she had seen following suit. The world is made of grey painstrokes, all placed with reckless abandon.

The world blurs as she fights to breathe, choking down air like a starving man devours food. Her heart pounds in her ears and echoes through the room like thunder. Her every limb is shaking as she sinks to the ground.

Her breaths remain shallow as she forces herself to her feet. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t real. It shouldn’t matter so stop panicking.

The world feels far away, the pain in her skull feels like a memory. The soft panging in her leg feels like an old regret. This room feels like a cardboard box; easily torn, easily broken.

She’s not sure when she dressed herself. But she knows the feeling of her poncho on her back. She knows the harsh cool of the night air as she stares out the back door.

Footsteps echo from behind her. Bleary eyes stare at her.

She turns to see a friend. Their friend. Looking at them confused, concerned, something else they don't deserve. She doesn’t have time for this; she can’t be here right now. There was danger here, nothing mattered her, nothing made sense. All she could see were shadows. She needed to go until they were gone, until sunlight drowned all of that out. She wouldn’t be gone long.

“You should go back to bed. I’m fine, I just- I’ll be back soon. Don’t wait up.”

And with that she leaves, slamming the door and walking off into the night.

She’s not sure what she does next. Where she goes.

She just keeps walking. And walking. The solidity of dirt under foot is something she missed. The stars in the sky shine down at her with a kindness she does not recognize.

She just keeps walking. Until either the shadows stop following her or at least become easier to see through. Whatever comes first.

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