02-17-2016, 01:02 AM
As night fell, the water in the creek grew much chillier and the trio traded backstrokes for backrubs.
Or, well, Belle did—a little reluctantly.
Mickey’s gloved fingers carefully pressed into Belle’s back; he mimicked what technique he could remember from the couple of times he’d been able to get thanks to his royal pull and looked to one of the last remaining legible articles in Play, Boy for further instructions. His redheaded subject’s expression betrayed her disdain for the whole ordeal, but at the encouraging look of Proto Man, she allowed Mickey to give it a shot.
“Ow,” she emoted, trying her best to telegraph her feelings to her mouse masseuse. He released her, briefly.
“Sorry!” the King apologized, biting his lip, “It says to press as hard and as deep as you can, though!” Under her breath, Belle growled just a little bit.
“Mickey, I—” she stammered a bit, trying to find the perfect way to phrase what she wanted to say, “—it’s just I don’t think that article’s talking about back massages.” The mouse knelt down next to his magazine for a second, trying his best to read the smeared ink that glossed over the pages.
He gave a frustrated grunt. “Ugh.”
“And if it says anything about happy endings, please pay no attention to that part,” Belle continued, cracking her neck a bit. Mickey was not the best at this.
“If only I hadn’t forgotten to take it out of my pocket before I’d jumped in the water!” the mouse whined. “Now it’s practically ruined. I can hardly read any of the tiny words, and the big ones aren’t too easy, either!”
Blues, leaning against a faraway tree and observing the bickering pair, snickered.
“…what’s a C-L-I—”
“Do not finish spelling that word!” Belle shouted.
Mickey’s fur flushed. If he’d had skin, it may have turned red with embarrassment, though he didn’t altogether know what he had to be embarrassed about. Surely this word that Belle didn’t want him to say carried some sense of importance in their quest, right? If Teucer had given it to him, it had to mean something.
Unless, of course… Play, Boy hadn’t been a gift from the spirit at all.
Nah, that can’t be it.
Still, despite his suspicions about the relevance of that-word-he-couldn’t-pronounce to their overall quest, there was no way of knowing. The page had been wet too much in its brief swimming excursion to be of any use anymore. Most of them had, in fact—it seemed like Play, Boy wasn’t too long for the world. Which really unnerved the mouse, seeing as thus far they’d only managed to snatch up one relic.
Six of the things existed, yes? Then Teucer’s most recent calls to the wandering groups of travelers bemused him. “You only have one relic left!” he’d said—so had other primes stumbled upon the missing four? Certainly they had. Did that mean this ordeal was almost over? Someone would find the sixth, and then all of the groups would converge back at the Temple where they’d started, and they would hand Teucer everything he needed and he would be released and they would be on their merry way.
It didn’t have to be difficult, right? It could go just like that.
Deep down, though, the mouse knew that wouldn’t be the case. No… nothing ever worked like that in the Omniverse. Here, it wasn’t about cheerfulness and working together. Not for most people, anyway. It was about what they could get out of helping the poor old guy. And that meant the other groups were probably lying in wait, calculating their perfect plan to snag all six for themselves and get whatever prize Teucer had promised to them. Mickey absolutely despised that mindset—if they were going to help him, they should’ve done it because they wanted to help him—but he wasn’t going to be blindsided by it. He’d done enough staring at evil people in awe during Dante’s Abyss and during his and Proto Man’s excursion to Nippur. These days, he suspected the treachery of his fellow Omniversians.
The next morning, Mickey knew, would bring bloodshed for them. If he could, he would do his best to keep away from the shenanigans and work hard to get Teucer’s armor back to him as peacefully as he could possibly manage. Thankfully, he trusted Blues and Belle to work toward the same pacifistic goal.
He’d been very lucky, honestly, to find some true, good-hearted companions. No doubt no one else that wandered this island could be fully trusted; especially now that Ruby and Weiss had managed to escape somehow.
He reached into his pocket and fiddled with the Potara Earrings.
I won’t use them, he promised himself. But he crossed his fingers behind his back.
Not unless I have to.
By now, the blood-orange glow of the sun had almost disappeared from sight. For the second day in a row, the forest grew dark, and pages of Play, Boy were used to try and craft a fire for the motley crew of heroes. This time, though, their dampness significantly marred their abilities as kindling. The trio all took deep, heavy sighs and they resigned themselves to the fact that they’d have to spend tonight shivering.
They made their way to bed in silence. Mickey curled up inside Teucer’s shield, a ways off from Belle, who had made herself a little spot underneath a tree. Proto Man sat awake on a root beside her, keeping the first watch.
Cold air wafted into their campsite, and the mouse’s teeth began to chatter. The chillyness kept him awake, until finally, in his desperation, he crossed the campsite and snuggled up next to Belle. It’d been a while since he’d been the little spoon. At first, he’d been nervous about the girl’s willingness to use each other for warmth, the barely-awake redhead scooped her friend into an embrace, sharing her warmth like she would to any tiny creature that needed her protection.
For a few brief moments, Belle and Mickey breathed in rhythm, until finally, Mickey felt the metallic material of Blues’ armor slide up next to him. The preteen machine might not have exactly cuddled up, but the companionship alone felt like a necessity now. He synced up his own mechanical breathing with that of the mouse and the girl, and just like that, the three heroes were three peas in a pod. Cocooned together for survival, all of them warmed up significantly, and the sounds of chattering teeth and shivering bodies disappeared. Now, the only instruments left in the orchestra of the night were chirping crickets. In the silence, Mickey’s mind was at ease.
For tonight.
Or, well, Belle did—a little reluctantly.
Mickey’s gloved fingers carefully pressed into Belle’s back; he mimicked what technique he could remember from the couple of times he’d been able to get thanks to his royal pull and looked to one of the last remaining legible articles in Play, Boy for further instructions. His redheaded subject’s expression betrayed her disdain for the whole ordeal, but at the encouraging look of Proto Man, she allowed Mickey to give it a shot.
“Ow,” she emoted, trying her best to telegraph her feelings to her mouse masseuse. He released her, briefly.
“Sorry!” the King apologized, biting his lip, “It says to press as hard and as deep as you can, though!” Under her breath, Belle growled just a little bit.
“Mickey, I—” she stammered a bit, trying to find the perfect way to phrase what she wanted to say, “—it’s just I don’t think that article’s talking about back massages.” The mouse knelt down next to his magazine for a second, trying his best to read the smeared ink that glossed over the pages.
He gave a frustrated grunt. “Ugh.”
“And if it says anything about happy endings, please pay no attention to that part,” Belle continued, cracking her neck a bit. Mickey was not the best at this.
“If only I hadn’t forgotten to take it out of my pocket before I’d jumped in the water!” the mouse whined. “Now it’s practically ruined. I can hardly read any of the tiny words, and the big ones aren’t too easy, either!”
Blues, leaning against a faraway tree and observing the bickering pair, snickered.
“…what’s a C-L-I—”
“Do not finish spelling that word!” Belle shouted.
Mickey’s fur flushed. If he’d had skin, it may have turned red with embarrassment, though he didn’t altogether know what he had to be embarrassed about. Surely this word that Belle didn’t want him to say carried some sense of importance in their quest, right? If Teucer had given it to him, it had to mean something.
Unless, of course… Play, Boy hadn’t been a gift from the spirit at all.
Nah, that can’t be it.
Still, despite his suspicions about the relevance of that-word-he-couldn’t-pronounce to their overall quest, there was no way of knowing. The page had been wet too much in its brief swimming excursion to be of any use anymore. Most of them had, in fact—it seemed like Play, Boy wasn’t too long for the world. Which really unnerved the mouse, seeing as thus far they’d only managed to snatch up one relic.
Six of the things existed, yes? Then Teucer’s most recent calls to the wandering groups of travelers bemused him. “You only have one relic left!” he’d said—so had other primes stumbled upon the missing four? Certainly they had. Did that mean this ordeal was almost over? Someone would find the sixth, and then all of the groups would converge back at the Temple where they’d started, and they would hand Teucer everything he needed and he would be released and they would be on their merry way.
It didn’t have to be difficult, right? It could go just like that.
Deep down, though, the mouse knew that wouldn’t be the case. No… nothing ever worked like that in the Omniverse. Here, it wasn’t about cheerfulness and working together. Not for most people, anyway. It was about what they could get out of helping the poor old guy. And that meant the other groups were probably lying in wait, calculating their perfect plan to snag all six for themselves and get whatever prize Teucer had promised to them. Mickey absolutely despised that mindset—if they were going to help him, they should’ve done it because they wanted to help him—but he wasn’t going to be blindsided by it. He’d done enough staring at evil people in awe during Dante’s Abyss and during his and Proto Man’s excursion to Nippur. These days, he suspected the treachery of his fellow Omniversians.
The next morning, Mickey knew, would bring bloodshed for them. If he could, he would do his best to keep away from the shenanigans and work hard to get Teucer’s armor back to him as peacefully as he could possibly manage. Thankfully, he trusted Blues and Belle to work toward the same pacifistic goal.
He’d been very lucky, honestly, to find some true, good-hearted companions. No doubt no one else that wandered this island could be fully trusted; especially now that Ruby and Weiss had managed to escape somehow.
He reached into his pocket and fiddled with the Potara Earrings.
I won’t use them, he promised himself. But he crossed his fingers behind his back.
Not unless I have to.
By now, the blood-orange glow of the sun had almost disappeared from sight. For the second day in a row, the forest grew dark, and pages of Play, Boy were used to try and craft a fire for the motley crew of heroes. This time, though, their dampness significantly marred their abilities as kindling. The trio all took deep, heavy sighs and they resigned themselves to the fact that they’d have to spend tonight shivering.
They made their way to bed in silence. Mickey curled up inside Teucer’s shield, a ways off from Belle, who had made herself a little spot underneath a tree. Proto Man sat awake on a root beside her, keeping the first watch.
Cold air wafted into their campsite, and the mouse’s teeth began to chatter. The chillyness kept him awake, until finally, in his desperation, he crossed the campsite and snuggled up next to Belle. It’d been a while since he’d been the little spoon. At first, he’d been nervous about the girl’s willingness to use each other for warmth, the barely-awake redhead scooped her friend into an embrace, sharing her warmth like she would to any tiny creature that needed her protection.
For a few brief moments, Belle and Mickey breathed in rhythm, until finally, Mickey felt the metallic material of Blues’ armor slide up next to him. The preteen machine might not have exactly cuddled up, but the companionship alone felt like a necessity now. He synced up his own mechanical breathing with that of the mouse and the girl, and just like that, the three heroes were three peas in a pod. Cocooned together for survival, all of them warmed up significantly, and the sounds of chattering teeth and shivering bodies disappeared. Now, the only instruments left in the orchestra of the night were chirping crickets. In the silence, Mickey’s mind was at ease.
For tonight.
![[Image: 2agonyw.png]](http://i68.tinypic.com/2agonyw.png)