i genuinely think the people who insist the life series is scripted just don’t understand the difference between something scripted and something that’s been given a basic premise and directives that everyone involved in agrees to play along with for the bit. like, no, specific moments aren’t scripted, but there’s a reason the series isn’t just “best pvper wins” and it’s because they deliberately prioritise entertainment over pure skill because the same person winning every time just wouldn’t be fun.
like, for the most part they’re a bunch of drama kids who have been given the perfect playground to act out the shakespearian tragedy of their dreams (some more so than others) (hello rendog) and they’re given the tools and situation to do so but everything else is just improv. and they’re also just having fun like i think we should all remember they’re doing this to have fun with their friends and play on a server where anything goes and they can grief all they want and sometimes they’ll just make stupid mistakes like walking off the side of a diving board and dying because they were so miffed about losing to a best tower competition they forgot where the stairs were, or blowing themselves up with their own tnt trap because they placed one block in the wrong place.
also i think people forget just how generally predictable people are in general, like after five seasons you can definitely start to guess how people will behave because they’re just like that. joel is reckless and he likes to poke the bear, martyn is good at staying alive but not good at keeping hearts (the difference between winning limlife and going out early in secret life), scott is good at the social game and a formidable opponent but also terribly self sacrificial, bdubs will betray anyone he’s allied with if offered something good, etc etc etc
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watching Cleo’s secret life now, and i just can’t get over how she and etho sound like people who are sitting there on their porch, at the end of the world. they’re looking at the sky and they can see the meteor coming, and they’re talking about all the things they want to do, and wanted to do.
they’re trying summoning the warden, just because Cleo’s never done it, they’re talking about the games, about their lives in the past, about the people they love and just can’t manage to leave or kill no matter what happens. they discuss the people dying around them. there’s no panic in their voices. they’ve accepted the world is ending.
they know everyone around them is going, that no one is to be trusted to keep them alive, except each other.
to me. it’s a dance together, one they’ve never tried, and they’re laughing, and they’re going to die with the world, and they’re alive right now.
and that’s all that matters
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Pearl and Gem glance at each other. Then, as one, they glance back at Tango, who is, evidently, not Tango.
“Do we have an amnesiacold on our hands?” Gem asks.
“Maybe,” says Pearl, glancing back at Tango again. “Tango, buddy, you feeling alright?”
“I—” Tango opens his mouth. Closes it again. “I mean, I’m a little under the weather, to tell you the truth—I ate a South African sausage and it disagreed with me.”
Pearl hums. “And it’s messed with your memory a bit, right?”
“Yes! I mean, no—I mean, how did you—?”
“Would you say that you have a bit of an amnesiacold, Tango?” asks Gem.
“Amnesiacold?”
“You know. Amnesiacold!” Gem says. “When you get sick and forget everything and feel like somebody else?”
“Ah.” Tango pulls himself to shore. Frowns. “It’s more of an amnesia-food-poisoning, if I’m honest.”
Pearl winces. “Your poor digestive system.”
“It’s not very nice Pearl, I’ll tell you that much,” Tango says, voice low, one hand pressed against his stomach as he pulls a face.
“Okay, that’s enough, I don’t need to hear about your gut issues,” Gem interrupts. “But—you have an amnesiacold! You know, I was an amnesiacold last season.”
“You mean, you had an amnesiacold?”
“No, I was one.” Gem winks. “Like—Tango has an amnesiacold. But you? You’re the amnesiacold. You know?”
Tango’s shoulders hike up with discomfort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Tango. And I think you guys should—should skadoodle somewhere else. Should bother-someone-else-ificate. Begone.”
“I had an amnesiacold last season, you know,” Pearl says. “Gem was one. You can tell us, buddy, we’re not gonna tell anyone.”
“Promise,” Gem says with a nod. “This is a safe space! You don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not with us.”
Tango stares at them for a long, long moment, then sags, face falling. He looks exhausted, suddenly, and Pearl feels a rush of sympathy. It can’t be easy, being thrown into the game halfway through, with no context for anything.
“It’s been rough, dudes,” Tango says, voice cracking. “It’s been really really rough. I forgot how hard it was to get anything done on this server! There’s so much chaos, and—”
Wait.
“Ren?”
Not-Tango grins. “In the flesh,” he says with a bow of his head. “Or… not my flesh, exactly.”
“Ren?” Gem asks, tilting her head in confusion.
“Oh, that’s right, you’ve never met…”
Gem and Ren peer at each other for a moment. “You do look familiar,” Ren says eventually.
“Yeah,” Gem agrees. “I mean, obviously you look familiar—you look like Tango!—but… yeah.”
They stare at each other for a moment more.
“Maybe we met in a dream?” Ren says at last.
Gem nods. “Sure. Makes as much sense as anything else.”
Pearl glances between them, rocking awkwardly back on her heels. She clears her throat, drawing their attentions back to her. “Welcome back, buddy,” she says to Ren. “Good to see you again.”
“I wish that I could say the same,” Ren says morosely. “I thought I was—I was done, Pearl.” Now that she knows it's Ren, she can hear his cadence in Tango’s voice, voice dropping rough and low with drama as he bows his head. “I was done. No more games, not for the ol’ diggity dog. And now… Here I am!” He laughs a little, stretching out his arms to indicate the server at large. “In a body that’s not mine, in a world I’ve never seen, in a game I do not understand.”
“Oh, Ren…” Pearl frowns. She doesn’t know what to say.
Gem jumps in. “Hey, it’s okay! It’s just one session, you know? You can do one session!”
“I suppose I must.” Ren looks up at them, jaw tightening. “If I am here—I suppose I must.”
“I’d never been in any of these games before I was Cleo for a bit last season,” Gem says. “So you have an advantage there! And, hey—maybe you can come back next season, and we can meet for real?”
Ren shifts uncomfortably. There’s something heavy hanging about him, something Pearl can’t quite understand. She remembers the last time she’d seen him, skull caved in from the dripstone spike dropped on his head. She remembers her own amnesiacold, the exhaustion that had dragged at her before it had settled in, the memories that had plagued her and just wouldn’t go away. And she wonders—
Just how exhausted would you have to be that your body would have to leave as well as the rest of your self?
Just how sick would you have to be before you didn’t want to come back?
Still, Ren steadies himself. Quirks Tango’s mouth into a smile. “Maybe,” he says, meeting Gem’s gaze. “That would be nice, to meet for real.”
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