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He sifts through his chests again, frowning as he pulls a few pieces of scattered paper from the top of the pile. they're stained with ink, several splatters along the page, and, more importantly, in the wrong chest.
He flicks the lid half shut again, just to check that someone hasn't spontaneously decided to move all his chests around, forcing him to sort them all again.
The sign clearly dictates that this is the chest for potions, and other similar items. He frowns again, slipping his comm from its place on his hip, opening it up with a small tap, shuffling the stained paper in one hand.
<Smajor1195> Did you reorganise my chests last time you were here?
It takes a few moments for a response, but when it does come through it's quick and short.
<SolidarityGaming> No. Why?
<Smajor1995> Don't worry about it.
He shuts his comm off, frowning down at the blank screen for a few moments, considering what might have happened. He slowly replaces the paper in their correct place, neatly stacking them on top of the other sheets. Even if they're stained with ink, they're perfectly useful.
He closes the lid of his chest slowly. He never moves items around, and even if he does, they're still in a place he would remember. There's no reason for him not to remember what he did with that paper.
His comm buzzes on his hip again, just once, before falling silent. He ignores it, it's probably something he can deal with later.
He pauses in the silence of his home, considering the empty rafters above his head filled with shadows. It feels oddly silent as he stands there, alone, wings occasionally twitching as the wind rattles the glass panes.
The first thing to do would probably be to check his other chests. He flicks open the one nearest to him, peering inside of it to scan over the items within. There's nothing displaced within it, and he can't spot any items that are missing.
He moves onto the next, the hinges creaking a little as he opens it. He pauses, hand still on the chest lid, holding it open as he listens. The wind howls again, and the rafters above his head creak with it. He searches this chest too, looking over it for any kind of anomalies.
He doesn't find anything out of place in his chest of wool, nor the chest storing his non-perishable food. He looks through his stone chest and his concrete one, still finding nothing out of place.
He reaches the potions chest again, the last against the wall, and the one that had started this all. He lifts the lid cautiously, peering around inside with a more critical eye than before.
His potions have all shifted to the left a little, not an obvious sign of disturbance, but still a sign of disturbance nonetheless. He pushes a few of his bottles aside, listening as the glass bottles clink against each other, in time with the battering of his windows as hail begins to fall from the skies.
There's a small bag at the bottom of his chest, made from a brown fabric of some kind. It looks a little sad, as though it had been squashed beneath all of the bottles. He picks it up, and gives it a small shame, finding nothing inside. He frowns. Why would a plain brown bag be left in the bottom of one of his chests?
He twirls the bag around a few times as he thinks and only stops the motion when a flash of gold catches his eye. He pauses in his movements, twisting the bag around and looking at the gold insignia on the bag.
It clearly depicts an apple, a golden one to be exact. Looks like someone's stolen all of his golden apples. Without the bag, oddly. Surely it would be more convenient to carry them in an indiscreet bag rather than try and juggle eight or so apples to keep a hold of them.
He pauses, his silence disrupted by the creaking of a beam above his head. He looks upwards watching as something moves in the corner of his roof, retreating further into the shadows. Unfortunately for them, they've already given themselves up.
He unsheathes his sword, spreading his wings out slowly. He jumps and swings his wings downwards in one fluid motion, shooting up and past the rafters.
He lands neatly on one, wings still half-spread behind him as he stalks forward, towards the misshapen shadow that is definitely a person. He tightens his grip on his sword, twisting the blade slightly to make sure it catches the light.
"This doesn't have to be difficult." He warns, stepping closer as he speaks. "You can just hand the items back over and I'll let you go, easy as."
There's no response for a second, and the person remains tucked up in their small corner. He takes another step forward, only to pause as the person - maybe a creature? - growls at him, long and low, echoing out of the darkness they've curled into.
He pauses, unsure of how to respond to that, his grip slackening around the hilt of his sword. Apparently, that's the only indicator the creature-person needs, as they're shooting past him, shoving past him on the rafters and jumping off the edge.
He only allows himself a few moments to be surprised, before he's turning in his heel, watching as the creature-person spins in a circle, currently facing the wall of his house and not the door, as they had obviously planned.
He crouches down, spreading his wings out further as the creature-person turns again, a flash of blond hair catching the light as they begin to dash towards the door.
He drops, feet landing on their shoulders and talons curling into the fabric of their shirt. They collapse beneath his weight, crumpling to the ground easily as he perches on top of them.
His golden apples roll from their hands, glimmering and winking in the light as they come to a standstill.
The creature-person he's holding down breathes in suddenly, their breath hitching as they scrabble at his nice wooden floors, leaving long scrape marks in his lovely flooring. He silently mourns the spruce wood, grabbing at one of their wrists and pulling it back, repeating the action with the other to halt the destruction of his home.
This was apparently the wrong thing to do, as the person freezes up, breath hitching again, before beginning to come out in shallow, harsh pants.
"Woah, woah." He clambers off of their back, still holding their wrists, but not in a grip as tight as before. "You're okay, I'm not gonna hurt you. You're good." He slowly eases them off of the floor, noticing the small wings flickering behind them as they move. The feathers are in such a sorry condition that they make his own itch in sympathy.
The face that looks up at him, blue eyes wide with fear beneath the long fringe of blonde hair, is painfully young, so young that it takes him by surprise. They chest still heaves with their breath, and he releases their wrists in surprise, taking a few scrambling steps backwards, hand raised.
They stagger to their feet, previously wide eyes now narrowed in a glare. They wrap their arms around themselves, diminishing their already skinny frame even further, curling in on themselves, even as they continue to shoot daggers at him.
"Uh. Hi there, probably not the best impression I've made on someone." He laughs a little, awkward in the silence that follows his greeting. "I'm, uh, I'm Scott. Ruler of Rivendell, aka the wonderful place you're currently stood in.
"This is a house." They rasp out, voice sounding like sandpaper, and likely feeling like it if he's judging off the way they wince.
"Yes! It's my house, but it is also located in Rivendell, the place that I rule." He smiles a little as the child, he's actually pretty sure they're a teenager, but they're probably a baby compared to him in age.
"Why do you look like that." Their voice turns standoffish and cross, narrowing their eyes at him as the cross their arms, likely in a hope to be more intimidating.
"Like...what?" He looks down at himself, brushing down the clothes he's sure Axen would disprove of if he saw them. Especially the dark green jumper that's way too small on him. No prizes for guessing why.
"All weird 'n shit. You look like a fuckin fairy tale bitch." They wave a hand at him dismissively, wings flaring out behind them with the motion.
"That's...certainly a way to put it." He looks down at himself again, frowning at his clothes as he tries to figure out how a jumper and pair of plain trousers make him look like a 'fairy tale bitch'.
His comm buzzes again, and they both freeze in place. They meet eyes, and the child's eyes widen, before narrowing again. He doesn't get the chance to move out of the way as they charge, knocking him to the ground despite their smaller stature.
They scramble to grab his comm, sitting on his chest as they flick it on, reading through the messages he had been sent. He could shove them off at any time, but they seem to be comfortable where they are, so he doesn't, content to lie on his back for a few minutes more. they're not trying to escape anymore, at least.
"This Solidarity Gaming fella seems pretty concerned about you."
"I would hope so." He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "He'd be a pretty poor excuse for a husband otherwise."
"Husband?" The child blinks down at him, comm still clasped in his hands.
"Yeah, the person I married, you know what that is right?"
"Of course I do. I was just surprised a bitch as ugly as you could get hitched." They cackle as they finish talking, finding their own joke hilariously funny.
He frowns again, grabbing his comm as it slips free from their fingers, bringing it closer to his eyes to read the messages that have come through since he started chasing this child.
<SolidarityGaming> What does this mean?
<SolidarityGaming> Scott????
<SolidarityGaming> Have you died? Am I already a widow?
<Smajor1995> I'm not dead. Found a child living in my roof, would appreciate some help please.
He sends the message quickly, shutting the comm off and locking it, not waiting for a reply from Jimmy. He'll be over in a few minutes, he's sure of it.
"Would you mind letting me up?" He gives the child a small poke, and they squawk at that, slapping his hand away with more force than necessary.
"What if I don't want to?" They cross their arms, pouting at him like a small child.
"Then I'll move you off myself." He shrugs as best as he can while laying on the floor, watching as the child considers his options, eyeing him with suspicion as the seconds tick by.
"Why do you want to get up?" He finally asks, watching him carefully.
"I was going to make myself a cup of tea, and make you one too, if you wanted it."
"You could just poison it."
"If I wanted you dead, you already would be. Trust me, you don't have to worry about that."
"That is not convincing me to let you up." They state, and he shrugs in response, slowly beginning to push himself up, watching as the child slowly begins to slide off of him. He ends up on the floor, still looking grumpy as he locks his door, and most of the accessible windows. Just to be safe.
“I'm not gonna kill you. I would like to get off the floor though, you're squashing my wings.” The child peers down at him curiously, before slowly rolling off of him, landing on his floor in a tangle of limbs. He stands, brushing his own clothes down and watching as they untangle themselves, slowly untwisting until they're laying on the floor on their back.
He offers a hand down to them, and they scowl, shoving it away and standing on their own. They stagger on legs that are unsteady, wavering a little as they blink several times. He doesn't comment on it, despite the obvious signs of dizziness or vertigo they're experiencing.
“How do you like your tea?” He asks, already beginning to gesture them into his kitchen, herding them along with his wings. They bat his wing away when he tries to curl it around them, and he accepts it, allowing them to sit down at one of the tables in his kitchen. They look around the room, as though they've never even seen a kitchen before, eyes wide as he flicks on a set of lights.
“Uh.” They look to him. “I don't know. It's been a while since I've had tea.”
“That’s fine.” He pulls a box down from inside the cupboard, sifting the tea bags inside around a little. “Do you wanna smell it?” He offers, holding the box out towards them, “See if you like it?” They eye him suspiciously, but they lean forward anyway, sticking their nose into the box and inhaling deeply. He tries not to judge the actions, only pulling the box away when they continue to breathe the smell in.
“Smells nice. I guess.” They shrug, and he takes that as confirmation that they like it, pulling the box away from them and placing it on the side as he grabs a few mugs from the shelf. He fills the kettle with water, flicking it on and turning away as it begins to boil, chucking a tea bag in each of the mugs.
“Why have you got three?” He turns around at the question, wings swishing a little with the movement. The lighting in here is better, and he’s able to fully take in just how dirty this child is, smears of dirt on their cheeks and eye bags so deep beneath their eyes they almost look like bruises.
“There’s going to be three of us here in a minute.” He shrugs, turning to go back to his preparations as the kettle clicks off. He pauses as the child freezes up, eyes widening as they stare at him. “My husband.” He reassures, hand stilling over the kettle’s handle. “My husband’s coming here, he'll probably be here in a minute. He’s nice, you’ll probably like him.”
He pours the water into the mugs, watching as the steam rises from the mugs. He can feel the child’s gaze on his back, but he doesn't comment, only surprised they haven't tried to run again. He’s not going to complain though, slowly swirling the water with a spoon, listening as it clangs against the sides.
He dumps the tea bags in the kitchen sink once he’s finished with them, setting a mug in front of the child and gathering his and Jimmy’s. He places them down gently, trying not to startle the already jumpy child as he sits down, pulling the chair out as quietly as he can.
They still look up at him anyway, eyes wide as they watch him. “It’s nice, and not poisoned, promise.” He takes a small sip of his own tea, wincing a little at how hot it is, but still trying to reassure the child.
“What’s...in it?” They tilt their head, looking into the mug and blowing softly on the surface, creating ripples in it.
“There’s sweet berries in it, we grow a lot here in Rivendell, and there’s a few spices too, nutmeg and cinnamon I think. Maybe a few others that I can’t remember, possibly a bit of chilli. It’s designed to warm us up,” the talking seems to be reassuring the child as they sink further into their seat, wigs stilling in their anxious flicking, “It’s very cold here in Rivendell, we get snow almost every month of the year, and when it does snow we’re normally trapped in houses for a few days, at the very least.”
“A few days ?” The child sounds surprised at that, eyes going wide enough to look like they're about to pop out of their head.
“Yeah.” The only people out after the first or second day are the special excavation teams. They dig out all the houses and paths. We often walk around with several feet of snow towering above us.”
“And nobody dies?” They've cupped their hands around the mug, obviously warming them up. It draws his attention to their hands, the way almost every inch of skin is bandaged, and those bandages look old, maybe a week or two, at the very least. He’ll have to grab his bandages, maybe his potions too.
“Not anymore.” He sighs, shaking his head a little and taking a small sip of tea to pause the conversation for a moment. “The...previous rulers of Rivendell were not as kindly as I am, they were of the opinion that only the strong survived. In their eyes, the strong were the rich. I am not of the same opinion, and anyone that shared their opinion was either forced to change it or ordered to leave. I didn't want a place of hatred here.”
“The previous rulers sound like pieces of shit.”
He laughs a little at the comment, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, yeah they were. Two hundred years of their reign, and what they did is still damaging people today.”
“Two hundred years? How fucking old were they?”
“When they died?” The child nods, cupping his tea with a tight grip and watching him with a rapt attention. “Uhh,” he thinks back, trying to remember something he hadn't bothered with, even when they were alive. “I think Nox was around three hundred and seventy, and Ghysso was almost three hundred and fifty.”
The child looks like their eyes are about to pop out of their head as they stare at him. “Over three hundred? What kind of fucking magic were they using?”
“No magic, that’s pretty young for elves honestly.” He takes another sip of his tea, hoping that Jimmy hurries his ass up and gets here. He’s not equipped to deal with children .
“You're an elf?” He nods in response, taking another sip of tea.
“Yeah, what did you think was up with the ears?” He gestures towards his face in question. The child just shrugs.
“I dunno, Ranboo has weird fucking ears like you, but he’s an enderman, I don't think he’s an elf.”
“Rahn-boo?” He tests the name out, looking at the child as they look away. “A friend of yours?”
“I guess.” They shrug, still looking into the middle distance. Maybe not a friend then. He taps his fingers a little on his mug, wondering what he does now that he’s made it awkward. He straightens up a little as he hears rockets firing, then the crunching of snow as someone lands heavily. It sounds like they fell over, and he already knows who that is.
He stands, and the child watches him leave the small side room. Even though they're out of sight, he can still feel their gaze on his back, as though they're still watching him.
He opens the door as Jimmy goes to knock on it, half-covered in snow, cheeks red from the winter air. He pulls him in through the door, wrapping him in a wing before he can venture any further into the house and shutting the door behind them both, blocking any more snow from coming in.
“You've tracked snow all over my floors.”
“And I do it every time.” Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning up on the edges of his toes. “Missed you too.” He presses a kiss to the side of his cheek, and he gives him a small hu with his wing back, eyes drifting towards the kitchen.
“There is a child in my kitchen.” He lowers his voice significantly, leaning down a little to be closer to Jimmy, hoping that the child doesn't overhear them. “They didn't know what Rivendell was, and they don’t know any of the history of this area.”
“How would you even get into Rivendell without any knowledge of the empire?” Jimmy questions, looking in the direction he is, though all he can see is a wall of feathers.
“I don't know.” He shakes his head a little. “But they’re in a rough state, looks like they haven't slept in several weeks, covered in dirt and badges everywhere I can see. Wings too, really small ones though, too small for their age, and all the feathers are either twisted out of place or broken.”
“A name? Parents? Anything?”
“Nothing, they haven't told me anything, not even how they ended up here. I just told them about Rivendell’s history to pass the time.”
“Oh my god.” Jimmy shoves at his shoulder with a small groan. “You're absolutely terrible.”
“I don't know how to speak to children.” He protests, voice rising in pitch.
“I can hear both of you, y’know.” They both pause at the voice, and Jimmy tugs his wing down a little to peer over it. He can’t see anything, obviously, the child is around the corner, hopefully still sitting at the table drinking his tea.
“Did you do me some tea?” Jimmy mutters as he begins to usher him towards the kitchen.
“Of course I did.” He hisses back. “Who do you take me for?” They separate as they enter the kitchen; Jimmy sits down at the table, in front of the so-far untouched mug. He looks through the fridge, hoping to find some food he can give this child, they look like they haven't eaten properly in months.
He pulls a few slices of ham out of the fridge, and the child watches him as he does it, ignoring Jimmy’s chatter. They don't make a face, so he assumes they don't have anything against eating meat. He makes them a sandwich, simple and quick, and they watch him as he does it. They look a little surprised as he puts the plate with the sandwich down in front of them.
“It’s not poisoned,” he sits down in his chair with a sigh, “Don't worry.” The child eyes him again, before taking a slow bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly. They pause and swallow as they both watch them.
“My brother’s a piglin hybrid, did you know that?” They state calmly, before taking another slow bite of the ham sandwich. He curls up a little in his seat, letting out a groan as he tips his head back. He’d like for Aeor to strike him down right here and now, please.
Jimmy takes over the conversation, a smile bubbling at his lips as he turns towards the child. “You get along with your brother, then?” He’s obviously aiming for a joke, but the child’s face falls, and they stop eating, setting their sandwich down.
“Nah. Not really honestly, he’s tried to kill me a few times. Blew up my home, normal stuff, y’know?” Scott nods a little, thoughts darting back to Xornoth, but quickly cuts it out once Jimmy sends him a sharp look, gritting his teeth a little.
“No, actually, not normal stuff...uh.” Jimmy looks to Scott. “Name?” He asks, voice optimistically hopeful.
The child crosses their arms. “How do I know you're not gonna steal it?”
“We’re not fae.” Jimmy laughs, and he helpfully doesn't point out that elves are technically a kind of fae. He doesn't think it would be helpful here.
“What if you can do weird blood magic or some shit like that with it?”
“That's not us.” Jimmy shakes his head again.
“Yeah, that’s Sausage.” The child bursts out laughing at that, rocking forward a little in their chair.
“ Sausage ?” They laugh a little more as they both nod, exchanging looks with each other. “What kind of name is that?”
“It’s not his real name, obviously.” He scoffs. “They don't do that where he’s from, people might use it for bad things.”
“And where’s he from?”
“Mythland.” The child stares at them, uncomprehending. “It doesn't matter, another empire on this server. The topic here was your name. You wanna tell us it?”
The child considers them for a moment longer, before shrugging their shoulders. “Sure, you can call me Tommy.”
“Tommy.” Jimmy says it, and they both look at him. “Not a very winged folk name. It’s nothing like yours.” He looks to him, as though in question.
“It can vary.” He shrugs his shoulders. “And my name’s only like that because I'm elven. Most winged folk have pretty normal names, like Joey.”
“Scott’s not a very interesting name.” The child scoffs, draining the last of the tea from their mug, setting it down gently on the table.
“That’s not my real name. We don't give those away here either.” He stands from the table, collecting the mugs together and dumping them in the sink to wash up later.
“Where are you from anyway?” He asks over his shoulder, not properly looking at Tommy, instead considering how likely it is that he’ll let him preen his wings for him. They don't look like they've been taken care of for a long time.
He mutters something that either of them hear, looking away, as though ashamed. “Pardon? I didn't quite catch that.”
“I don't think I'm from this server.” He mutters, wings shifting and curling around his shoulders a little.
“That’s fine, I'm sure we can figure out a way to send you back, there’s plenty of ancient texts around with the kind of magic we’d need.”
“NO!” Tommy shouts, standing from his seat so suddenly that it clatters to the floor behind him. Him and Jimmy stare at him in shock for a few moments at the sudden outburst. “No.” Tommy mutters a little quieter, curling in on himself again.
“Hey, hey.” He makes his way over to stand beside him, hands hovering just above his shoulders. “It’s fine, don't worry about it.” He places one of his hands on his shoulder, expecting his hand to be batted away with a half-glare. Tommy doesn't move to shrug him off, so he gives his shoulder a small, hopefully comforting, squeeze. “We don't have to send you back there if you don't want to go.” He looks back to Jimmy. “I'm sure there’s someone here that would be willing to take care of you.”
He takes a step back from Tommy, still gently holding his shoulder, silently communicating with Jimmy. He begins to guide Tommy away from the table, watching from the corner of his eye as Jimmy places the chair back on all four of its legs, silently tucking it in beside the others before following them into the main area of his house.
By the time Jimmy’s rejoined them, he’s sat Tommy down on one of his sofas, and is silently looking through his medicine chest for fresh bandages for him. He grabs one of the golden apples off of the floor as he makes his way back over, setting it down on the table.
He notices the way his eyes alight on it. “Not yet.” He warns, moving it slightly further out of reach. “I want to take a look underneath those bandages first.”
Tommy stares at him defiantly for a few seconds, eyes flicking between him and Jimmy, as though hoping to intimidate both of them. He seems to sense that it’s not working, as he casts his eyes downwards, holding out his left arm first.
The bandages are already unravelling here, making it easy for him to begin peeling the layer back. Most of them are yellowed and slightly stiff with age. A few clumps of dirt even fall out from between the layers, and he’s concerned to see what’s beneath all of this.
When he does manage to unravel all of the bandages, having to push the yellow sleeve of his jumper up first, he’s a little horrified at the scars curling over all of his skin, disappearing over his shoulder and beneath the rest of his shirt. He exchanges a small look with Jimmy at this, Jimmy’s eyes equally wide as he looks back at him.
They don't look self-inflicted at least. He doesn't think he’d be able to have a conversation like that, he’s not equipped in any way for that kind of thing. None of the open wounds look to be infected at least, but he still quietly asks Jimmy to fetch him a washcloth and bowl.
When Jimmy’s left the room, presumably to go raid his bathroom, he turns back to Tommy. “Where did you say you were from again?” He asks, as softly as he possibly can, trying to disguise the anger bubbling beneath the surface and threatening to boil over. These scars were not self-inflicted, meaning someone else did this to a child .
“It’s, uh, called the Dream SMP?” The child refuses to meet his eyes, wings curling around his shoulders again, the tattered feathers hanging limply by his shoulders. “We have one of the remaining Admins there.”
Ah. That might explain a few things then.
“As in an original Admin, or one that’s a few generations down?”
“Original. One of the oldest ones.” Tommy laughs a little, and there’s a few tears in the corners of his eyes that makes his heart tug in a way he didn't think it could. “He was funny at first, I thought he was my friend, you know?” Tommy looks up to him, blue-grey eyes brimming with tears. As he blinks, a few of them escape, sliding down his face, following similar tracks through the grime on his face.
He ignores those implications, instead drawing him into a hug, pulling him closer and wrapping his wings around him. He can feel how thin he is as he holds him, and he only holds him tighter, feeling the way Tommy grips onto his shirt, a patch on his shoulder slowly becoming soaked with tears.
He rubs a hand up and down the child’s back, between his wings, feeling as Tommy begins to shake with his sobs, whole body being wracked by them as he clings to him. Jimmy re-enters the room as this is happening, pausing in the doorway with a dripping cloth, spilling a little of the water from the bowl onto his nice wool rug.
He scowls a little at that, drawing Tommy closer and fully cocooning him in his wings as Jimmy makes his way over, managing to spill water on his carpet with every step he takes. He sets the bowl down as quietly as he can, which is still rather loud in the silence currently surrounding him.
“Are we keeping him?” Jimmy asks, whispering. He makes a face at him, rubbing Tommy’s back and feeling as his sobs peter out slowly, the shaking slowing as his breathing becomes more rhythmic.
“Of course we are. Have you seen this child?” He hisses, pulling him closer.
“He’s like a little you.” Jimmy coos, trying to pry his wing back and see him. He keeps them steadfastly closed over Tommy, pulling him a little closer to his chest as he falls asleep.
“You didn't know me as a child, you're at least a decade younger than me.” He whispers back, a little annoyed at the comparison. He’s pretty sure Nox would have killed him if he ever managed to get this dirty. “And I'm pretty sure us being alike is not a good thing. For either of us.”
“But you're already attached.” Jimmy sing-songs, still managing to remain quiet, somehow. “You took longer to get attached to me and I'm your husband .”
“And?”
Jimmy gasps a little, shoving his shoulder playfully. He grins a little, laughing as he tightens his wings around Tommy as he shifts in his sleep, aiming a glare at Jimmy. Jimmy’s laughter suddenly cuts off, and the silence is almost painfully loud. He turns to him with wide eyes, looking a little scared.
“Scott.” He grabs his arm, shaking him a little, even as he protests. “What in the ocean’s depths am I meant to tell Lizzie?” He stiffens up a little at that, sending him a small look, before slowly, carefully, shrugging.
“Oh my gods.” Jimmy drags his hands down his face. “She’s actually going to kill me.”
“Nah.” He pats Jimmy on the back. “You're a father now, she can’t do that to you. It’s the law.” Jimmy groans a little louder, crumpling into his side. He laughs a little as he pats his shoulder. He’ll be fine. Probably.