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ask-elementalhermitcraft · 5 years

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O V E R C L O C K

Hello! Mod Seagrass here, posting another story for your viewing pleasure. Hope you enjoy! OVERCLOCK ( 2.9k ; hurt/comfort) In the former fic, I explored the details of the interaction between redstone and electricity/lightning. In Overclock, that power is taken to an extreme--with devastating consequences. TW: injury, electrocution, rather graphic description of pain

They’re all fighting their best. It’s just a skirmish battle, nothing special, but who would they be if they didn’t put 100% into each and every fight? Habituality is the enemy of creativity, Joe’s said, and they’re inclined to stick by what he says even if they are on different sides. He’s always been a smart man.

Speaking of Joe, the other’s hunched over someone’s body trying to heal the nasty after effects of electrocution. He’s sorry, he thinks. But in the words of Joe himself, All’s fair in love and war.

—

Doc had called Mumbo over, with a glint in his eyes, and for a second he panics: had he been found out? Had he been discovered, as the mole he was? It’s an entirely logical path to take, he thinks. After all, Doc’s a pretty scary guy when he’s mad; wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that.

He can’t hurt Mumbo directly with his element, seeing as how Mumbo would just get powered up by the charge, but he’s got plenty of other teammates that could do whatever damage they wanted without repercussions—and considering the loyalty that they’ve got to their leader (not you not you not you), it wouldn’t be a fun time.

There’s a gentle shk-shk sound, and Mumbo picks his way over to see a stack of papers spread out on the table and a small stack of fireworks. “So, what’s all this for?” He’s relieved out of his mind that those are not his personal papers that somehow Doc had discovered.

“We’ve received intel that they’re going to hit on our southern border at around 20 ticks this night. Not too bad, from what I’ve heard, but still—a loss of a pet bird stings the same as the loss of a loved one.”

Mumbo had known that already, had been warned to stay out of this fight if he could. They didn’t want him getting accidentally hurt in a struggle, and risk outing himself. He’d been very, very careful to avoid taking pain medicine in any way when around team STAR, for fear of his mouth blabbering something the rest of him resolutely did not want to say, but accidents did happen—better to stay on the safe side.

“And we’re going to…?”

“We’re going to fight back, of course. Don’t want to get into another fight, but that’s how it is,” he says with a shrug. “Ready?”

Ah. Damn. “Where’s the others?”

“Don’t need ‘em, I think. I wouldn’t want to bother them, it’s better for them to get their sleep. And just between you and me, we both know you weren’t sleeping tonight anyways.”

His blood runs ice-cold. He couldn’t have, he was so careful—

“Lighten up, man. Meant nothing by it, just wanted to say that I’ve noticed you’re a light sleeper. Now, are we ready or not?”

He nods. Better get this over with. “Yeah, let me just grab my gear. I’ll be ready in a few.”

Tucking a notebook into his suit, Mumbo rushes to grab whatever he can. Emergency supplies, healing items, the like. Hopefully they wouldn’t hit as hard, since they knew him…

—

The moon’s rising high over the swamp, and all that she hears is the sound of crackling thunder striking down again and again. It’s just him and Doc, and he’s fallen easily into his role: provide defense to match Doc’s offense.

He knows that G-Team would have most likely more members than they did, but he couldn’t quite manage to see them, is all. Joe’s here, he knows; wouldn’t want to leave their main healer behind. Iskall’s here, obviously—of course they’d bring him to a damned swamp biome. He suspects Stress is here, he can hear a quiet shattering sound echoing every now and then. And Grian’s here too, giving him a panicked glance before taking off again to try to channel some power towards Mumbo to knock him off his feet.

A powerful group, to be sure. He was almost hoping that he and Doc would be beat quickly and they could go back to the base. Luck, it seemed, had other plans.

—

The tide of battle changes rapidly when Doc realizes the swamp water conducts electricity. So far he’s been directing it at various hermits, most often Grian (he whispers in an aside to Mumbo, take out the leader and you take the whole team out) but it’s been doing minimal damage and Doc’s not willing to use their trump card quite yet.

It’s understandable, then, how his eyes light up upon the crackle that rises from the earth when he slams his trident down in frustration. Eyes darting to the side, he asks a silent question: Do you see? Can you see the potential? Mumbo nods, torn. His team or victory.

Doc’s either too absorbed to notice the conflict, or just doesn’t care. He yells silent victory to the moon, and buries the trident into the earth with a shout: “Have fun!”

It takes a while for it to sink in, but Doc is steadfast. He’s clutching the trident between his hands so tight his knuckles are whitening, supercharging it up with thousands of volts at once and dear lord it’s terrifying to watch. It’s quickly becoming a beacon in the middle of the swamp, and G-Team draws out of the shadows, attracted by the light as moths to a flame.

He almost cries out a warning then, cries out that this will hurt bad. It’s fine for him, he thinks. It’s fine for him to get thousands of volts running through his body—it just recharges him, tips him over his natural limit and grants him a rush of almost unlimited power. For his team? It’ll be bad. Doc won’t hurt them seriously enough to be out of commission forever (for all his power, he’s not a harsh or cruel man), and he sees Joe as a silent sparrow perched in a birch tree, but the experience is still quite harrowing—and he’d prefer to spare his team that pain.

He pushes it down. Pushes down the cry on his lips, and taps Doc on the shoulder—should he take to the trees? Doc responds with a nod. Hit Grian while he’s down, he says in his eyes. Remember. It’s like a house of cards—one falls and they all fall with it. He doesn’t want to, but. They should understand.

He flees.

—

He’s sitting next to Joe, who’s checking him for any injuries and quietly tsk’ing over scratches from months ago. He misses him, he thinks. They’ll be “enemies” again in a second, but it’s nice to snatch moments like this where he can.

Mumbo knows what moment he’s waiting for. Could see it in Doc’s eyes as clear as anything. He’s waiting for Grian to land, to come face Doc in the swamp. Grian’s flight is limited, free as though he might seem, and it must run out eventually.

When Grian lands, knees bent, a picture of perfect poise, several things happen in rapid succession.

Joe tenses up next to him.

The rest of G-Team floods out of the relative safety of the boggy swampland, joining Grian in the water.

A ripple runs along the riverbank, heading for Doc. (Iskall’s a smart one, he thinks. Good man.)

Doc notices the ripple, bares his teeth in some semblance of a grin, and twists the trident.

And then.

And then, electricity lights up the night sky brighter than day.

It arcs and sweeps across the water, jumping and twisting and weaving around like it was almost eager to free itself.

It runs through the water, through the millions of particles of water, and strikes G-Team like star come down from the heavens.

It hits Iskall first. It hits him as he’s attempting to manipulate this biome further into their favor, it hits him underwater and hits him hard. When he comes back up (after a long time, too long, he thinks) he’s gasping and his body is sparking all over like he’s about to explode. The pain’s clear in his eyes, and he flees from the water, dragging himself out with a pained grimace and clenched teeth. One down.

The electricity snakes towards Stress next. She’s got a little more warning, not quite the brutal direct hit Iskall took, but she’s equally ineffective in the face of the combination of devastating power and the perfect medium to deliver it. Ice forms under her feet as she tries to freeze the water fast enough to stop the electricity and fast enough for her to get away, but the speed at which the electricity arrives—it shatters under her like glass. It frames her face in a strange halo for half a second before slamming her to the ground under its force, and she manages to gather her wits enough to stumble off the swamp, thin snow-melt ice under her; hands trembling and voice shaking as she calls a warning to Stay out of the water, for the love of god, (watch yourself watch yourself and maybe you won’t get hurt the way we did).

Joe’s watching, horrified, for half a second before he snaps out of his trance and sprints to them to do what he can. They’re healing up, slowly, and would probably try to get back into battle later—but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is Grian, and Doc standing across from him with the same grin carved into his face.

He’s in shock, Mumbo thinks. At how fast his team was taken out, at how they knew of the attack. It’s the split second of hesitation before he unfurls his wings to try to take off again that seals his fate.

Grian crouches down, ready to leap up, and a single tip of his wings skim the water. Doc twists the trident again, forcefully, and then. Blue lightning leaps up, eagerly waiting to consume and twist and burn whatever it can find. And it happens to find Grian’s wings dipped ever-so-slightly into the water.

There’s a charred scent in the air, and Grian’s eyes are blown wide open. He can see the moon. There’s a little sound, and then. He tips over, falling into the water. Doc hurriedly shuts off the power (that much all over his body would hurt him more than was necessary or recoverable, he thinks) and gestures, searching the trees with his eyes.

Joe’s got his hands tied with the other two, and Grian’s just lying there. Not able to get up, not able to take off, essentially dead in the water, he thinks in some sort of morbid humor. He doesn’t want to hurt Grian. Neither does Doc, he knows, but Mumbo’s got the barrier of his mole status to fight through every single time he looks to injure with intent. He takes a deep breath (sorry sorry sorry) and steps out behind Grian, about to thrust his hand forward and bring him down even further, when.

Stress shouts, “Go! Get up!” and sends a wave of ice through her scream to lift Grian in the air. It boosts him up, launches him into the air, and Grian shakes out his waterlogged, heavily injured wings in the brief time Stress bought him enough to gain a few feet into the air.

No! If he fights, they all fight, and I can’t have the battle continuing. I can’t risk it. (They can’t get hurt further by me and Doc.)

He justifies it that way in his head, justifies leaping up behind his figure silhouetted in the moonlight to deliver a blow with redstone he has ready to Grian’s head—hopefully enough to knock him out.

It’s at that moment Doc lets out a cry of anger, and sends a bolt streaking through the air above Grian’s head to force him to flinch out of the air. It’s at that moment he slams his trident in frustration into the water again. And it’s at that moment that Mumbo accidentally takes the strike meant for Grian, and slams into the water. The still charged water. The water which is currently overflowing with raw elemental power, and looking for an outlet.

He thinks he’s fine for the brief half second he sinks into the water, thinks he’ll be able to stand it as he’s done before and maybe even receive some sort of boost. Those thoughts are dispelled in the next instant.

—

Energy’s flowing through his body and out, circling and cycling through with no regard for the mortal vessel it’s being held in, and he thinks he understands what death is.

he feels the moon

the stars

the water, the sky, the universe, he thinks he tastes blood on his lips.

he can’t taste much of anything now, he thinks. he’s raw power, unfiltered, screaming to be let free to be let out to be uncaged

He thinks he forgot his name. Did he have one?

He’s the universe. He’s the starry night blinking out a message. He’s a signal, a beacon, every single message sent out in the universe, desperately seeking a response, it hurtsithurtsithurts

He’s just a mass of carbon of raw spacedust crumbling as the sky turns and the earth turns or maybe they’re one and the same and he’s just a dot in the universe

He’s falling apart the longer it goes on, he thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t. He can’t tell anymore, the difference between him and the ground and the water he can’t remember what he was doing

He thinks he hears screaming, from far beyond. From the edge of the world, maybe.

There’s too much power arcing through him, too much for him to handle, there’s no way to direct it because how can you direct the ocean? Without direction it’s unhinged, just passing through, using him as a train station, leaving pain and pain and pain in its wake.

Hey, something shouts. Hey, no, wake up, you’re not dying on my watch, d’you hear me? Wake up! Wake up! You have to wake up!

He wants to. Maybe. It’d hurt more if he opened his eyes, right? It’d be a lot easier to just give himself over to the raw power clearly looking to burn and consume anything in its wake. He can’t tell what he wants anymore.

I don’t care if it hurts! Wake UP! Joe, work faster, please, I swear I’m not trying to rush you but do you hear it? The stuff he’s saying?

He doesn’t know what’s happening. Should he be awake? He tries to pry his eyes (eyes?) open, and is immediately greeted with overwhelming pain. Everything is too much, too bright too dark too cold too hot and he can’t stand it, he thinks that the overload that had been streaming through his body would almost be preferable. “Oh, thank God, you’re finally awake.” Who…?

Joe looks up from his work to glare at Mumbo. He gives a small, tight-lipped shake of the head, speaking a thousand words in a gesture. Had G-Team lost then?

“Hey. Hey. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up.” He’s starting to recognize faces and shapes again, which means he unfortunately has the displeasure of seeing Doc’s face looming over him. “I won’t hesitate to slap you awake again.”

He opens his mouth, hoping he hasn’t forgotten how to talk, and croaks out, “Four.”

“Good. You’re awake and coherent, that’s gotta count for something—right?” Doc’s voice lilts up in worry on the last phrase, and Mumbo wonders: what exactly…happened? “You don’t know?” Oh. He’d said it aloud.

Doc’s face tightens. “To put it in short terms, you took the bolt I aimed above Grian. I was supercharged, already had been from the power I took earlier, and when that combined with you, that hit hard. Hard enough to knock you out of the air. Normally, it would’ve been fine, I like to think.” Oh. Then what— “When you fell down into the water, you took the full force of the power I’d discharged into it. Remember, I slammed my trident into the water earlier? That had kept the water sparking, electricity looking for an outlet. And, well. You happened to be there when you did.”

“Why aren’t I dead, Doc?” He thought he had been, maybe. He didn’t know.

“I think you responded that way to my powers because of the unique way our elements interact. I don’t know. Don’t care, really,” he said. His voice was tight with some emotion—anger? It seemed they’d either lost or reached some sort of draw, seeing as how Joe was currently over at his side.

“Listen, I’m really very sorry for what happened, it was a simple mistake. I’ll work in the future to avoid clashing like that, sorry—” Mumbo gets cut off by Joe standing up.

“You should be stable. Take care of yourself, Mumbo,” he says, giving him another look. “No deaths on my watch.” Joe walks over to G-Team, where Stress and Iskall are supporting a limping Grian, and starts to take the trek back to their base.

Mumbo looks to break the awkward silence settling between them. “Anyways, yeah, like I said, sorry about all that—”

Doc leans over and grabs him in an even more awkward hug, then lets go in an instant.

“I, uh, —”

“Listen. I wasn't mad because we didn’t win the battle or whatever. I was worried, understand?”

Mumbo sits in silence.

“A good leader looks out for their team. Remember that. And, for what it’s worth? I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

“Let’s go back to base. Recuperate before the next battle.”

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ripleycoda · 5 years

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task 001 // the reaping

Finley wakes on Reaping day in a tangle of her best friends. It wasn’t uncommon for the girls to spend the night at the Otterns’, especially on a night where there was no school the next morning. With a child as sensitive, as shy, as Finley was, her parents tried to make the Reaping a less scary time. Rewards were key for her therapy. And in this case, the reward was a sleepover.

Riley rolls over, rests her chin on her hands. Her raven hair sticks up in every direction, her usual bob missed by the bedsheets. “Good morning!” she sang out.

“Morning,” Finley whispers.

“How does everyone feel?” Sparrow sits up, starts brushing her long blonde hair into a braid. Finley watches her go, her deft fingers carefully taming the blonde tangles.

“Nervous,” Riley says. She reaches for the brush when Sparrow finishes, starts trying to tame her own hair.

“How about you, Bean?” Sparrow asks Finley. Finley thinks for a moment, trying to pull the words together. Even with Sparrow and Riley, people she’s comfortable with, it takes time. But they’re patient, waiting until she has the confidence.

“Scared,” she says finally, her voice soft, barely audible.

But Sparrow smiles. “That’s okay,” she assures her. She turns to Finn next and sits up behind her, parts Finley’s hair in the middle and starts to braid it into two long Dutch braids. Finley lets herself exist in the calmness of “Your hair is fun to play with, Finn.”

She simply smiles in response.

“I like your dress, Sparrow,” Riley adds, moving toward Finley’s closet to look through their three Reaping outfits. “And your skirt too, Finley. What shoes are you picking?”

“White ones.” (It’s not like she had a ton of choices, but white was a happier colour than brown.)

“Ooh, good choice.” Riley disappears into the closet, shuts the door to get changed. It’s not a big closet, but Riley, like both of her friends, is small enough to change inside the cramped space.

Sparrow finishes off the last braid with a flourish, and Finley admires herself in the cracked mirror leaning on her dresser. “Mom’s making pancakes,” she adds.

“YES!” Riley yells from in the closet. Finley giggles. It’s a wonder Riley can pick up on her soft voice from behind a closed door, but Riley is almost as good of a listener as she is. It’s why they all get along so well.

Sparrow grabs her outfit and hurries off to change in the bathroom, while Finley changes inside her bedroom. She looks at herself in the mirror, smooths the mustard-coloured skirt. The bunny hutch is downstairs, so Finley runs down to give each of the bunnies their good morning and their carrot stems. “Good morning, Albus. Good morning, Pancake. Good morning, Mollie. Good morning, Plum,” she whispers to each one in turn.

The Otterns, the Jenkinses, and the O’Hares all arrive at the square together. They meet up after the Otterns serve the girls breakfast, and they walk ahead of their families, hand in hand in hand. Finley’s always in the middle, the safest place. Especially on Reaping day.

“We’ll see you after!” Eveline says, and she’s trying to keep up a facade. Finley can see the effort it takes, and hugs her mother extra tightly before the girls go to the line alongside Riley’s younger brother and Sparrow’s two older ones. Thaddeus and Riley’s little sister goof around as the parents take them to their place to watch the Reaping. He doesn’t remember Arlo. He doesn’t know.

But Finley does.

“We can help you answer the questions,” Riley says to Finley as they wait in line for their finger prick.

“Do you want to try and say hi?” Sparrow asks. Finley shakes her head, and Sparrow squeezes her hand in response. The Reaping is hard for her, they know that. This is not the day to try and make progress. This is a day for survival.

Thankfully, the Peacekeepers just want a drop of her blood, not a hello, and Finley squeezes Sparrow’s hand as he takes it. “Next,” is all he calls out, and the girls hurry to the back of the crowd together, still hand in hand in hand.

Birch and Mare are onstage, and Finley smiles a little at Birch. He visits the store so frequently, always goofing around with Thaddeus and Finley. It’s because of Arlo, she knows that. That he still feels the guilt for being unable to bring him home. Now he comes in, buys plants or sweets that he slips to Thaddeus and Finley. He keeps them taken care of. She’s grateful for it.

The ceremony is always the same, and Finley focuses on her friends’ hands in hers, on her notebook in her pocket. She usually writes little notes to them, little sarcastic remarks, but after the terror of last year’s games with the girl from Four, she’s too nervous. As the escort passes over to the bowl, Finley’s heart echoes in her ears. She squeezes her friends’ hands.

“Finley Ottern!”

Both Riley and Sparrow cry out immediately, a loud and sharp simultaneous “No!”. But Finley is silent, as she always is. It doesn’t register. Not at first. Not her. They already got Arlo, why did they get her, too? Her knees knock like a baby goat’s and the grip of her friends’ hands tightens. The other thirteen year-old girls back up, leaving the trio together.

Only when a Peacekeeper approaches them, do Riley and Sparrow let her go.

The long stretch of pathway lays in front of Finley as she walks to the stage. Often, she focuses on what she can hear. The benefits of a good listener were downfalls, today. Her mother and Thaddeus are both crying, so are Sparrow and Riley. It makes her want to tear up too, and one tear falls as she climbs up to the stage.

“You’re Finley, right, darling? Such a sweet girl, isn’t she! Can you tell everyone how old you are?” She holds the microphone to Finley’s mouth and she stares at it, feeling sick. There’s no way the words are coming out, not to her, not in front of this many people.

“Speak up, dear!”

Nothing.

“She’s starstruck!” exclaims the escort, hurrying away to the boys’ bowl without another thought. Finley doesn’t register the taller boy coming to the stage, the other family in tears. She just watches her friends, holding each other and crying, and she’s crying too, no longer trying to hide it. She wipes her tears with the back of her hand and stands shaking onstage, and everything feels terrible.

And then she’s announced as the tribute, and it feels too real.

It’s been nine years since Finley Ottern stood in the Justice Building. At four, she didn’t understand. At thirteen, she understands too much. She’s only alone for a few moments before the door bursts open and the room is full of people. Riley and Sparrow run in first and embrace her, both sobbing loudly. Their families all file in: even the O’Hares and the Jenkinses come to say goodbye.

Finley is loved by her community. That doesn’t slip by her.

The words don’t come out, but she lets the others do the talking.

“I brought a pen,” Milo says. “Grabbed one off a boy nearby us.” Finley nods, pulls out her notebook. The tears drip off her face and onto the pages. Her hand shakes as she writes and it’s not her usual neat penmanship. It’s not the most intelligent first question, but it’s so essentially Finley that nobody even bats an eye as they crowd around to ‘listen.’

Who will take care of the bunnies?

“We will,” Sparrow assured her, leaning over her shoulder on one side.

“We’ll take turns,” Riley added.

The tension fills the room. It hung like the paper stars, suspended from string on Finley’s ceiling. The fact that this was not a fun trip, that everyone knew what was happening. That Finley could only give the custody of her rabbits to her friends and then, who knows?

I love you.

“We love you,” Eveline assures her, strokes her hair.

“Be brave, okay, Finn?” Sparrow asks.

“Maybe you can come home!” Thaddeus peeks over the notebook and up at his sister.

Everyone has a different way of telling Finley they love her. She sits quietly and listens, writes it all down on a page in her notebook. She wants to remember every single thing that they say to her. Every single word of wisdom. After a while, they realize Finley is just writing, and they all keep talking. The bunnies will be safe. She loves them. That’s all she needs to know.

When the Peacekeeper comes, she’s scared, but she hugs her family one last time and clutches their words closely. The love would stay with her. That’s all she needed.

#ttwtask #finley;the reaping

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melodymemorandums · 7 years

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Spooky Scary Happenstance

Melody Adagio stops her walk down the road and pulls out a paper from her jacket pocket, it looks to be some kind of list. Gus Pumpkinweed , always working, looks over the ingredients of his stocking area in Ul'Dah. "All m'missin' is some nutmeg. I carry m'own stock, but that's m'own private collection; I ordered this a moon ago! I'll have t'go front an' center t'see what t'holdup is... better not b'another spooky voidsent that wants t'cause a ruckus but not work f'me---Oi'! Y'there!"

Gus Pumpkinweed peers towards Melody. "I know y', don't I?" Melody Adagio picks her head up and looks around, feeling like that yelling had been directed at her. "Huh?"

Gus Pumpkinweed: "Oi'! About face."

She looks at Gus with a shock of recognition. Gus Pumpkinweed: "There y'go. Come hither!" he grins. "Y'don't have t'be a ghost t'come through that there rope."

Melody Adagio: "Gus?" she steps closer. "That you?" she hurries.

Gus Pumpkinweed: "Indubitably." Melody Adagio: "Do you need help with something?..." she ducks under the rope. Gus Pumpkinweed didn't. Shutting his book, he sets onto the crate beside him and approaches Melody like a friend of old. "I thought once y'went an' got y'self married I'd never see y'again. One too many folk settled f'that sort o'prestigiously monolithic existence, where one forgets t'color o'the sky, an' t'twinkle o'stars. They b'come like zombies an' ghosts, doin' nothin' but makin' a ruckus with coitus. It does m'good t'see you!"

Melody Adagio lets out a breath. "Oh, well with the way you were yelling at me to get over here I thought you were having trouble with something." she smiles, but keeps an eyebrow quirked. "Good to see you too, Gus. Though you've got it a little wrong. I went away and had a baby, not married." Gus Pumpkinweed squints his eyes. Turning back around, he grabs his book and flips through several pages. He settles on one page --- a list of names, with checkmarks next to them. Whatever the categories were for was a mystery, since there was no notation at the top of the page--- just the heavy scent of pumpkin spice and maple. "Hmm... it seems I confused y'social status with another." he said, correcting the page. "P-R-O-G-E-N-Y." "SO! What has y'back in Ul'Dah? Work?"

Melody Adagio: "Uh..." she watched him scribble. "Sort of. I'm trying to get some things together for a trip we're taking soon. What about you? Still keeping busy?" Gus Pumpkinweed nods. "Was about t'conduct some business actually. Had someone ask whether I wanted t'be their date at some getup bein' hosted by Missus O'hetco. I denied her. Can't take t'time off o'work t'get drunk an' commence social idleness. Unless it perks m'interest. Like pumpkins. Like you."

Melody Adagio raised an eyebrow and blinked. "You always seemed like someone who does his own thing instead of worrying about what others think, that's for sure." she smirked a little. "Still, having a lady asking you for a date must feel a little gratifying, maybe?" Gus Pumpkinweed shakes his head. "I don't concur."

Melody Adagio: "No?"

Gus Pumpkinweed: "No." Melody Adagio: "Okay, then. I stand corrected." Gus Pumpkinweed: "Y'are already standin' though." Melody Adagio: "That is also correct." she grins tauntingly at Gus. Gus Pumpkinweed: "Y'mean: 'y'shift y'weight'." Melody Adagio: "....Sure." she tries not to chuckle. "Anyroad, what are you working on lately?" Gus Pumpkinweed flips a page, saying, "Spooky shenangians an' pumpkin farmin'. Have an event this 13th', but I have a lot o'plannin' still. It's meant t'be a smaller event, but I've been surprised by turnouts b'fore." he said. "Then m'helpin' t'Lucky Sparrow troupe with their own celebration on t'16th, an' I was asked t'aid another on t'29th. All that aside, I have t'make sure rosters, stock, inventory, payroll, an' trade routes remain unaffected by creatures or dealings with crooks." Melody Adagio's eyes grow wide. Gus Pumpkinweed: "O', then I'm also bringin' pumpkins more dominantly in t'east. Been somethin' I've been meanin' t'do. Took a while t'get t'North t'put them in everythin' like me."

Melody Adagio: "No wonder you don't have time for 'social idleness'. Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?" she says it lightly, though does seem concerned. Must be her maternal instincts showing themselves. Gus Pumpkinweed: "I probably am. I always do. But it's what I do."

Melody Adagio: Quirks her head at Gus, uncertainly "Whatever you have to do, then." Gus Pumpkinweed peers down into his book. "Better t'keep busy, an' stay ahead o'the business curve than t'just be half-gourded about it. Ain't like there's anythin' else t'do other than grow pumpkins, hunt spooky beasts, read, conduct paranormal investigations; do cleansings, things like that, an' run a heterogeneous aggrandizement. Were I married, I'd have a progeny likely by now. Like you. Minus t'marriage." Melody Adagio quirked her head. "I wouldn't doubt it." she grins. "Though life sometimes gives you some surprises, so who knows, maybe it'll happen for you one day." she grins. Gus Pumpkinweed: "I don't believe that's somethin' f'me." Melody Adagio: "I didn't think dancing with some fancy gentleman was for me either, but it happened." she shrugs "And the rest is history." Gus Pumpkinweed: "Well, that's you. Y'were always a romantic. M'... I tell tales t'my pumpkins so they taste spookier. Every night."

Melody Adagio: "Hm...I bet you it's working. " she smiles lightly "But anyhow. I'm glad I ran into you today. I don't feel like I ever really thanked you enough for your help with The Moogle. The business crumbled in the end, but I don't think we would have had such an exciting start without your...pumpkiny goodness."

Gus Pumpkinweed frowns. "I... wanted t'come by more, an' continue t'sponsor t'Moogle. I wanted t'be there with y', an' make sure y'were stable, financially an' otherwise. If anythin', m'sorry. It was cursed, which is good, but curses leave scars in t'land an' history. Folk remember it. Can't stop it." Melody Adagio hangs her head sadly. "There isn't much anyone can do now at this point." she sighs. "I left for my parents to finish my pregnancy, Brio disappeared and hasn't been heard from since, the city-state reclaimed the land and sold it off to the highest bidder..." she sighs frustratedly. "But you're right. People still remember. Maybe I'll make another go of it in the future. Build back up from scratch and all that." Gus Pumpkinweed didn't know if it was his place, and though it seemed out of his element, he did read up on the subject. Hat removed, set onto the keg beside him, he opened his arms to embrace Melody. "It is a good memory, Missus Melody. Don't go takin' m'puns literal; negative is positive f'me, t'moon is m'sun." Melody Adagio blinked a few times, then hugged him back warmly. "Thank you, Gus. That means a lot." she blinks and quickly wipes a small tear. Gus Pumpkinweed nuzzles Melody's fluffy hair--- or at least it looked that way to him. "Well, it's just m',"he said. "Most folks don't take what I say at ghoul value, but I do read a lot. I just want t'help out more. At t'very least, I can give y'progeny a lot o'sweets an' books t'read. Learin' t'read is a literal nightmare, an' teachin' is harer. H-A-R-D-E-R." he corrects himself. "Have t'have t'patience o'a banshee." Melody Adagio: "I didn't know banshee's had patience." she jokes. " But Aria would love spookiness and sweets, for sure. You're doing just fine, Gus. People won't forget your help either." Gus Pumpkinweed shrugs. "I do what I can, as I always have. Too many folks focus on t'wrong sort o'negative. Want t'see spooky thing, have a cup o'tea in a graveyard with a single candle. If t'fire goes out, sit in darkness. Same goes f'now. Y'business is gone, but y'are as beautiful as y'were then! Now y'have inspiration'! A progeny named Aria!" Melody Adagio laughs. "I suppose you're not wrong. At least not on the second part, she is my endless inspiration on how to keep things from catching fire...except for my hair." she twirls a finger around one of her shorter strands.

Gus Pumpkinweed: "Don't sell y'self short! One o'the Moogle draws was you! I know, trust me." he explains, "Words o'mouth goes far f'a pumpkin vine."

Melody Adagio takes his word for it. "Alright, I'll never doubt the pumpkin vine. So, would you be needing any help with your next event? That schedule of yours sounds pretty hectic."

Gus Pumpkinweed: "I would! I still need some tenders. Got three or four performers, one bartender, no security yet. I'll b'hostin', announcin', advertisin'. An' if need be, I'll b'helpin' t'rest o'the staff. How much compensation do y'require? One hundred thousand?"

Melody Adagio: "No no, nothing like that. Maybe just food. I'd feel badly taking gil from you." Gus Pumpkinweed cackles. "Missus Melody, m'a gillionaire. If y', an' y'little one, need shelter, food, an' some gil t'help I can certainly help y'. I don't want anythin'." Melody Adagio: "Oh you don't have to worry about us too much. Jig is always slammed with research work and he's getting paid more than enough for it. We're all staying with a Free Company called the Fool's Covanent for now." she assures him. "Really. If you want to pay me then pay me, but I'm not going to demand anything. I just thought it'd be nice to sort of repay the favor." Gus Pumpkinweed shrugs. Stepping back, he retrieves his hat and pops it back onto his head. "If y'a volunteerin', then y'are volunteerin'. I don't right know a 'Jig', or any o'that, but if they're makin' gil an' y'are settled then that's all that matters. I'll b'about as always, Missus Melody. Don't really know what else t'really say or do." Melody Adagio: "Alright then. You said the 13th was your next one? Where do I need to be for that?" Gus Pumpkinweed reaches into his coat, offering her a single pearl. A few spiders scatter away, on the floor. "Just listen in on there from time t'time, Missus Melody. W'will b'conductin' a practice run in t'comin' week. Hopin' by then w'have a larger staff f'the event. If not, it will still b'spooky."

Melody Adagio takes the pearl gladly. "Alright, will do then. I'll let you get back to your errands."

Gus Pumpkinweed nods. "Y'can go then."

Melody Adagio: "Already am." she winks while walking away.

#ffxiv #balmung #roleplay #lalafell #melody adagio #gus pumpkinweed #spooky #scary #pumpkin #rp log #tldr #cute #reunion

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