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Wow, Jimmy thinks, Scott’s house is really nice
He’s standing, soaking wet, on the edge of the island Scott has built. It was a bit of a trek to get here, and was maybe not fully worth it, but hey, he really needs an anvil. He shakes himself, fluffing his feathers to dry them out, and takes a step toward the house.
Scott had built himself an open, resort looking house, complete with beach chairs and umbrellas and a little canopy. It’s charming in the sort of way that brings to mind old memories that he hadn’t thought about in a while. There’s a sort of comfortable feeling about the whole place, Jimmy muses, scuffing his boots in the grass that Scott’s somehow coerced into growing in the middle of the ocean.
It feels like a place where people could settle down, possibly for the rest of their lives. Well, the rest of their very short lives in any case. But, like every other build Scott has made across the different life worlds, it feels like it was built not to weather a siege, but to be lived in peacefully, and be filled up with memories.
Well, enough dilly-dallying. Martyn said they didn’t have an anvil, but Jimmy figured it’s worth checking anyway. Scott would be the kind of guy to have an anvil. (And if Jimmy maybe wanted an excuse just to see Scott’s house, well that was no one’s business but his own.)
Jimmy climbs the steps slowly, the stairs creaking under his feet. They’re weathered and waterlogged by the constant sea breeze. The wind shakes the bamboo and sugarcane together, creating soft knobbly, knocking noises.
The stairs lead up to a little deck that Scott’s decorated. It’s obviously been made for two. Two seats, two beds, one umbrella to share. He swallows down the - well it’s not jealousy exactly, there’s probably a better word to describe it - that was building up inside of him.
His place isn’t next to Scott anymore. It hasn’t been for a while now.
He knows this.
Martyn lives with Scott now.
Martyn’s hourglass stands behind him, functioning more as a landmark than a base. He’d taken a quick look when he arrived, and though it had been possible Martyn had intended to live on top of (or under?) the hourglass, it was obvious he was now living in Scott’s house. There were no beds near the hourglass, no chests, not even a crafting table, but Martyn’s presence was clear in the house. The green jacket he often wore was slung over a fence post, his old bandana (recently replaced with braided kelp) was sticking half out of a chest, and one of the bed tables was a mess of spools of string, stacks of sticks, and a spyglass.
Scott’s bed table was neat as could be, containing only a potted plant. A daisy.
This shouldn’t sting, but it does. It isn’t fair for him to assume that Scott would keep a poppy around to remind him of- well it isn't like Jimmy did or anything- and it isn’t that important really- it was so long ago-
But still, it hurts.
He shivers, the breeze blowing through his clothes. The sopping wet jacket and jeans are cold despite the sun’s rays beating down on his head.
Faintly, he notices he’s dripping water everywhere, but really, Scott lives in the middle of the ocean, so it can’t be that much of a problem.
Also, he’s a Bad Boy, and dripping water in someone’s house is definitely a Bad Boy thing to do.
He walks past the beds into the crafting area. There’s a crafting bench, a couple of furnaces and chests, and low and behold, and anvil.
As much as he wants to, he doesn’t poke around in Scott’s chests. He goes straight to the anvil and writes on the name tag “Judge Judy And Excu-”.
How do you spell Executioner?
He has to pause. He’s all to aware of the last time he made a spelling mistake around Scott, of how Scott had teased him (it was pretty funny, in retrospect), of how Scott has said it was sweet, of how it carried through generations and lifetimes and how Scott had continued the cycle, how just a few days ago Scott had visited him just to give him-
It’s bittersweet, knowing Scott and him can reference it all they want, but they can never go back.
He doesn’t want to do this again. He pulls out his phone and searches for how to spell it.
Executioner his phone says back at him, an official who carries out a sentence of death on a legally condemned person.
He erases the beginning and rewrites it “Judge Judy And Executioner” spelled properly thank you very much . He pauses, pen hovering just above the nametag.
Maybe he should have left it misspelled. Maybe that’s what a Bad Boy would do.
He doesn’t want to risk it though, doesn’t want another thing that can be thrown at him years in the future, a memory made physical. He puts the pen back in his pocket and picks up the name tag.
He almost takes the anvil. That’s definitely a Bad Boy thing to do. But he doesn’t want to do that, not really, not to Scott of all people.
Instead he turns on his heel, lets his wings flare out behind him, and struts out from under the canopy. Adjusting his sunglasses, he walks to the edge of the deck and grips the railing. He lets himself take a moment, just one more moment, to stand there and pretend this can be his.
The wind blows his hair every which way, and he can almost feel Scott’s hands, smoothing it down before placing the poppy crown on his head. He remembers laughing, and presenting his own little flower crown to Scott, made of forget-me-nots and sunflower petals. The memory was blurry now, a fuzz of sunshine and bright colors and joy. He remembers how the sun had shone brightly on their little meadow, and how it had felt like nothing could ever go wrong.
The ocean rippled calmly below him, gentle waves rocking against the rock and moss path Scott had built leading out to his chickens and garden. It wasn’t quite the same, but it reminded Jimmy of the pond Scott had decorated, full of lily pads and rocks and sea grass.He remembers falling off the rocks, slipping and landing in the water, soaking himself in a way much too similar to how he felt now. his clothes sticking to his back and legs. He remembers creating a garden around the pond, planting wheat seeds to feed their cows and chickens. He remembers standing on the edge of the pond, Scott frantically putting out the small fire next to him, nose to nose with Ren and- Ren and- Ren and-
Martyn.
He opens his eyes.
There’s no valley, no pond, no little cave, no underground cow pen, no Ren, no banner to burn.
Instead, he has a bread bridge and burned down mansion and pufferfish sitting in his chest and a bunker made of mangrove. He has too many bad puns and a leather jacket and sunglasses and a teammate currently sleeping through the entire session. He has laughter and waterlogged shoes and he has Joel, and he has Grian.
That should be enough- It is enough.
But just because he likes what he has now doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss what he had then.
He misses the way the flowers looked in the sun, he misses the way he could see Scott’s house across from his, he misses how Scott would tease him, he misses Scott’s concern when he died the first two times, he misses the way Scott had kept the flower he’d given him, he misses Scott’s hair and Scott’s face and Scott’s laugh and-
He misses home.
He sighs, and his wings flutter in the wind. He sighs and his reflection, distorted by the waves, sighs back at him. He sighs, and he looks around, and he sees this place that Scott and Martyn have made, and he sees this jumbled mess of two lives intertwining, clothing and items and habits all mixing together. Clothes that aren’t his, items that aren’t his, habits that aren’t his.
He sighs, and lets go of the railing.
His feet pound on the deck as he walks toward the stairs.
His feet pound on the deck and he wonders what Scott and Martyn say to make eachother laugh. His feet pound on the deck and he wonders if Martyn knows Scott’s a neat freak, and if Martyn leaves his stuff lying around just to annoy Scott. His feet pound on the deck and he hopes that Scott’s happy, that Martyn makes Scott happy .
He pauses to consider that thought, and decides that he hopes Scott makes Martyn happy as well.
He hops down the stairs, his wings flutter, the wet creaking and the soft knocking accompanying him all the way across the grass and into the water.
He considers cannonballing into the water, but decides on just jumping in instead. For just a second, he’s in the air, freeflying, and then, for just one more second, he’s under. In that moment, his world is all water, deep blue and blurry and heavy, threatening to pull him deeper if he doesn’t surface.
But he does surface, his head breaks the water and his wings flap in the open air. Breathing is freeing, after being in the water, the open air is so light and alive and full of possibilities. Embarrassingly, he flails his arms around a little bit before he manages to successfully tread the water.
He laughs at himself, glad no one else was around to see that. He glances once more back at the house, shining in the sunlight. A mirage, he thinks, it looks like a mirage.
He looks at the beach house, and he thinks of Scott, and he thinks of Martyn, and he hopes they don’t take this life for granted. He’s certainly not going to.
With that thought, he turns around, and starts the journey back to Bad Boy Manor.
He can’t wait to see what Joel’s got up to now.