Archive of Our Own

Yes, And?

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Time moves snail-wriggle slowly whenever you're on-world. It oozes, squashes, and stretches out like slime in the cogs of a clock. As Etho climbs the steps from the Team T.I.E.S. basement, he pulls out his communicator and checks the symbol in the upper left. It's a crescent moon with a 3 clearly printed in the center. They're only three nights into the current play session with six more to go. There's a cloud symbol beside it with a single raindrop.

Oh, so THAT'S why I can hear Skizz screaming about endermen. They're trying to get one last hunt in before the rain gets heavy.

Impulse shouts encouraging words from the sea, like "Run faster, you jerk!" The slap of oars on water is unmistakable. He's rushing in with the boat. Will he make it? Who's to say?

Etho leaves the stairs for the surface. Raindrops patter on the back of his neck and across his jacket sleeves, but they're so light, they're hardly noticeable. They leak through his hair and tingle on his scalp. The cold's sort of welcome, honestly. He's been boiling alive ever since they came to this tropical place to play their game.

This evening's dreary weather, however, has certainly not deterred a seething enderman from chasing Skizz round and around their stonecutter and assorted resource chests, which are haphazardly strewn across the area. My bad; I meant to tidy those up. Etho had popped down to the cave for a bit of mining. Tango's grateful, probably, even if he did sort of dump his loose things without a lot of thought. There's, like… feathers and random mob drops in there too. And bamboo. And sticks.

Impulse pops from the boat the instant he hits shallow water. He holds it above his head like an umbrella and comes sprinting up the sand. Skizz loops the chests again, this time zigzagging through a gap. The enderman doubles back around. The claws on one hand scrape the back of Skizz's armor and he shrieks, throwing in an extra burst of speed. Ooh, boy… But Etho stays where he is. No reason to throw off their groove; he doesn't have a boat and here comes Impulse to save the day.

Skizz slides around the corner chest like he's making the big bucks in professional sports. A scuff of sand twinkles in the air. He yips like a wolf pup and every pixel on his face crackles hot with sparks. The enderman lunges across a chest, banging its knee - endermen have knees, right? - and it trips with a splat in the sand. Skizz dives past Impulse, who shoves his way forward. He slams down the boat. His sword flips out and here comes the swing! Maybe this is a sport. Skizz, puffing, starts bricking up a little two-block-high cover spot with a bit of cobblestone.

"You know," Impulse chides as the enderman shoves itself back to its feet, "they'd leave you alone if you wouldn't look at them, dude. They're like tourists. Mmhm- they don't want to pick a fight with you."

The enderman's still aggro'd on Skizz. Rain or not, it's not going anywhere fast. It ignores the boat to charge straight for him. Impulse whiffs when he takes a swing. Skizz spits a half-finished accusation. He ducks under his cover spot and pulls out his shield. "I didn't even see it! I was just digging up gravel in the hole over there! It just flew at me like a rocket!"

"Well, stop looking harder! You're just flipping them off in enderman language, probably. They don't like it."

"Don't tell me what endermen don't like!"

"You, clearly."

"STOP IT!"

Etho stands with his hands in his pockets, more than a little grateful that he'd disabled the toggle for his natural fox tail before joining the server. It wouldn't be a good look if his teammates saw it curling in amusement at their own expense. "You got this, Skizz?" he calls.

"EeeiyyuuuhhhiiieeeyyuUUHHH!" Skizz wails back. Impulse tries again, throwing the boat in the enderman's general direction, but it bangs the ground and flips over, landing face-down. Whoops. The enderman prowls circles around its target and Skizz hides behind his shield. Etho glances up. Tango's watching all of this from the top of his half-constructed tower, one leg crossed over the other and foot lightly bouncing. He's got a beef sandwich in hand. Not as helpful as, y'know, an enchanted bow or something, but Etho's not judging. They're okay. We're all professionals here.

Impulse huffs, breaks the boat with a swing of his axe, and runs after it to try again. The rain is gentle, the wind like baby's breath, and all but Impulse's footsteps sliding over sand is quiet in the night. Even Skizz has shut his mouth. For a little while.

Six more days with these nerds. Then we're out of here until next time. Should be nice. He could use the peace and quiet. Might miss 'em, though. Not much. Maybe just a hint.

The moon peers down like a glowing fingernail. Etho lingers a moment longer, just to confirm that Imp and Skizz really do have this one in the bag. Despite the impromptu shelter, Skizz takes about three slices from enderman claws before Impulse delivers the final blow. Technically, you never really kill endermen… but the guy dissipates in a spiral of void-smoke and drops an ender pearl when it goes. Skizz drops back on his butt, clapping his palm to his chest. Tango cheers and toasts the air with his half-eaten sandwich. Etho gives a thumbs up. Nobody sees. That's okay. He knows. Impulse exhales, then sheathes his sword. He offers Skizz his hand. Pulls him up. They embrace, Impulse thumping once on his back with his hand. Then he tucks the shiny pearl away for later. Light chatter resumes… Tango goes back to gnawing on his sandwich… and Etho vanishes without another word.

You have to take a skip and a hop to cross the stream between the T.I.E.S. base and "the Rock" where Cleo, Scar, and Bdubs have set up camp. Etho misses the bank by a smidge, grazes his shin on dirt, and splashes. Soaks his sandals. Ah. Maybe he needs to build a bridge. He'll chalk that one up for later. But hey… it was already raining. A little water's never hurt anybody. He shivers once, grips his jacket close around his chin, and hustles up the hill. At least his destination's not far away. Two to three minutes tops. If he's lucky, maybe by now those fools will have built a roof.

The rain's letting up, at least. He hasn't spotted any lightning. No thunder either. Etho's feet smack on every smooth stone step of the hill. He keeps his sword drawn, but only one zombie lopes from the shadows to get a better look at him. He checks the face - he always checks the face - and it's a Grian. There's a white slash mark curling down its shoulder where the vex that got him must have landed the killer blow.

"Hey, buddy… You've wandered pretty far from your respawn point, you know. You died in the mansion, right?"

The eyes are dark, like a spider's hide. The green hands hold a crust of mostly-eaten bread. The zombie lunges for him anyway, clearly more interested in his arm. Etho takes it down with a couple quick slices. The zombie dissipates in a puff of pixel dust. The bread crust drops to the ground. Etho scoops it up and shoves it in his inventory. He's not planning to eat it when they have wheat at home, but it comes in handy sometimes… especially in the mob farm. Every now and then you need to hop down there to lure a few of the nervous ones out of the shadows. Skeletons don't really eat, but you'd be surprised what a creeper will do for a bread crust. Someday, he'll be brave enough to teach one tricks.

Etho keeps his sword in hand, though. It's still dark along the path. He makes a mental note to ask Cleo for torches when he leaves.

There are no walls on Entertainment Rock. That is what they're calling this place, right? Etho actually stops walking just to stare. No walls? Don't these crazy kids know it's raining tonight? Not a single one of them will wake up well-rested… He's sure of it. Which is a problem, because Scar has a tendency to fidget and lash out when he hasn't gotten enough sleep.

I really do need to have a word with their mother.

It's just a hodge-podge of a surface base, thrown together like a last-minute thing. He can see the furnace from here, smelting something in the quiet. Food, maybe? It doesn't smell like food. When Etho gets close enough to glance inside, it looks like stone. Which is… an interesting choice, to say the least. Huh.

Well… Bdubs and Scar do like building with nicely smoothed stone, so maybe the base is coming along after all, even if it's just inside their heads. Etho wanders closer, not really making noise to announce himself but not really not trying to, either. Look; he's quiet enough that he won't disturb Bdubs and that's all he really cares about. Bdubs will be out like a startled creeper at this time of night. Bdubs can sleep through a ravager stampede in the middle of tap dance season. Or… the other way around. Whatever works. Metaphors don't always have to make sense, you know.

But where is he?

The wheat rustles with a soft shff, shff in the rain. He can hear restless animal sounds. Mostly horses. No cows… They must be buried underground. Etho tilts his head, listening for breath or whispers beneath the rain.

It's Night 3. It's about this time of the play session when everyone starts winding down with exhaustion. Etho feels inside his vest and withdraws the special clock Grian gave him when they started playing Limited Life. Oh. They're nine minutes into Sleep Truce. With the enderman scuffle happening back at Team T.I.E.S.' base, he hadn't even noticed.

Bdubs will definitely be out cold by now. Am I interrupting?

They get a full-server sleep truce on Nights 3 and 6 every season. All the ones in between? You're on your own. Time is weird when you're on-world and your body will only start to feel the need for rest after a few days of being pushed, but that looks different for everyone. If it's not a truce night, you rest up at your own risk. It's considered poor sportsmanship to strike someone down when they're in bed, but outside the truce marks, it's technically fair play. Unless it's Bdubs or Martyn. They're the local phantom hybrids; they get special immunity when they collapse. Narcolepsy's par for the course with them, even when their wings are disabled during game.

Honestly, I'm glad Martyn's down and out so often… I live for his Sweet Dreams message in chat. I don't think I could take the stress of checking over my shoulder every night if he stayed awake.

Etho decides against plucking the pale wheat stalks from the little farm. They're Cleo's property, after all… and the whole 'sleep truce' thing only holds for those who are actually in bed. Skizz is the only yellow name on the server right now, but Cleo would find a way to run him through. He's sure of it.

He paces along the edge of the rock, searching for loot or maybe a stairway down into the plateau's belly, then stops. Oh. There they are.

Three beds are positioned side by side on the ledge below him. All three of the Clockers (Was that their team name?) are down there, fully under the grace of Sleep Truce. Bdubs (on the end bed- the one closest to Team T.I.E.S.' base) is the only one who's actually bundled under the blankets. They're gray. The covers are lightweight. They look like fleece - not scratchy, the way Etho crafts them when he's in a rush - and Etho sighs despite himself. Bdubs, who's sound asleep and snoring into a spare wool block someone gave him to hug, doesn't hear it. Three dogs nap in a bundle at the foot of his bed. Etho's not naïve enough to believe this is all of them.

Ooh boy… Better not slip. Don't wanna spook 'em.

Bdubs is facing away from the others, curled around the wool, and separated from them by a fourth dog. This one wears a black collar. It's also significantly less fluffy than the ones at the foot of the bed and Etho can tell from the patchy coat that it's been getting into fights. Its ear twitches, but it doesn't get up. Still… better not to mess with that one.

Etho glides his eyes to the other beds. Or… bed, maybe? Honestly, the whole 'triple bed' set-up is hard to follow, especially in the dark and when he's standing on the ledge above. The moon's not all that bright tonight and the clouds aren't really helping. But there's Cleo. They're still awake, though their eyes are half-lidded and they look like they don't want to be. Scar's asleep. Or if not asleep, then close to it. He drapes across her like a huge, tousled blanket. Etho studies this set-up in End-like silence.

This might not be as easy as I thought.

He takes a careful step, one block lower on the hill. This scuffs a pebble. The dog raises its head, growling once, and Etho watches Scar's eyelids tense up. "Mm?" he mumbles, but he doesn't lift his cheek from Cleo's neck. Cleo, however, leans back her head to get a better look at him, blinking like she's staring down the sun.

"Hello, Etho."

"Hi, Cleo."

Bdubs keeps snoring, oblivious to everything. Scar's lashes flutter. "Etho…?" His next words break into a yawn, so Cleo repeats them aloud for everybody's benefit.

"What are you doing here? This is our base."

Oh, they want to pull that card? Etho glances left, then right. "It's technically spawn, right?" (Spawn's a few dozen blocks to the west, but let him have this).

"You know what I mean."

"It's not much of a base, if I'm honest… A furnace smelting stone? A crafting table? A bit of wheat and a newbie animal pit in the ground? Tut-tut. You really let the kids sleep out in the rain, Cleo? I don't know about all this… What kind of crazy family did I marry into?"

The words are careful. He is careful. When he tries out that last line, he presents it with a humble glance. A question mark. Maybe even two. Cleo obliges with a roll of her eyes.

"I mean… All three of us in bed here are hybrids designed for the cold and dark. We can manage."

Scar grumbles again and turns his face to the other side. The dog in the black collar growls a second time. Etho pauses. A zombie, a vex, and a phantom cozy up together… It sounds like the opening to a really strange dad joke. His nonexistent fox tail twitches on instinct. "I guess that's true."

"Why are you here, Etho? It's Sleep Truce."

Scar, irritated: "Did he bring back milk?"

He's thankful for the rain. Rain hides a lot of things, like sparking faces and beating hearts. "Uh… So, funny story. I actually wanted to talk to you."

"Go on," she says, not moving from underneath Scar.

"… In private. Please." Please is a dangerous word. It opens the possibility of a 'No.' But Etho waits, his fists in his pockets, and kicks a pebble with his shoe.

Scar opens one eye a crack, studying Etho with dim disapproval. His arms tighten behind Cleo's back, which Cleo responds to with a shrug in Etho's direction, like, Hey, I can't control him. Scar turns his face back the other way, exhaling in a huff. Then, in a voice tinged with sleepiness, "You can't steal her from me… She's Mom, and I'm in super comfy sleep mode."

Etho shoots Cleo his best pathetic wet fox kit in the rain look. Cleo doesn't see it because she's fussing with "her oldest son." Of course she is. She brings her fingers behind his head, scratching gently beneath his hair. "Go back to sleep, Scar. Whatever he's here for can't possibly be important."

"Ow," Etho deadpans, though it's hard to be shocked. It's part of the roleplay; she's picking on him because they're living apart. Are we divorced? Were we even married? Am I just the guy who spawned a couple kids with her? All questions that will probably get some fascinating answers, but none of those are the one he came here to ask. Etho shifts, descending another block with a click of iron boots on stone, and the dog on the bed growls again. This time, Cleo shoves its muzzle with their hand.

"Baseball, stop it."

The dog barks anyway. Just once. Bdubs jolts and stops snoring. The other dogs twitch, but without a second call from the lead one, they stay where they are. Etho gives Baseball his firmest, most alpha look. Baseball gives it straight back. Great. Even the dog can see right through him.

"All right," Cleo finally says. "I'm coming up."

"Cleo," Scar murmurs, "don't go…"

It's no use. Cleo eases herself out from under Scar, ignoring his gripes of protest. It takes an extra two seconds for her to pry his fingers off, but she manages to scoot off the bed. They're wearing legwarmers, but their feet are bare. Scar stretches out like a cat, then drags himself back so he's sitting on his knees: rumpled, tired, and blinking up at Etho with livid green sparks in his stare. Etho averts his gaze, rubbing behind his neck.

"I don't think it'll take too long," he tells Cleo as she climbs up to join him.

"Mmhm!"

"So, can we talk around the back of the mountain?" Away from Scar, goes unsaid, but understood.

"You're not boogey, are you?" The question's just social script. Etho waits a patient heartbeat for their next equally expected line: "We have an alliance; we gave you cows."

Etho fishes around in his inventory, then brings out a pale blue gem. It's on the smaller side, but that doesn't matter to the crafting table. "I promise on this diamond Scar gave me, Cleo, that I am not the boogeyman this week. Do you have any inklings yet?" They usually play six or seven days before the boogey gets a kill. Not last week, though. Scott and Bdubs both took Skizzleman down fast. His only regret is that he wasn't there to see it.

"When did Scar bring you a diamond?"

"Earlier today, as a matter of fact. And it was my first one of the server, too. He said he gave it in exchange for a TNT cannon at a future time. I don't have any TNT yet, though." He blinks, withholding the words I'm building a mob farm. The whole server will probably put two and two together pretty soon, but there's no reason to, like, volunteer it.

Cleo snorts, pushing their fiery hair back with both hands as they finally join him atop the plateau. "I thought you threw out your first diamond for good luck. Into lava, as I recall."

"Nah, not if it's from Scar." He hasn't gone looking for lava yet. The diamond dips back in his pocket before she can swipe it or anything. He shuffles backwards, keeping pace with Cleo for a couple seconds, then turns to follow her. It's her base, after all, even if it doesn't look like much. She's allowed to pick their second location.

She picks basically nothing. A small stretch of stone. There's a bit of grass. It's still raining. They're barely out of Scar's hearing range, if at all. Then, arms crossed, she stands there and waits. Etho roams his eyes first around the open area, checking for distant mobs, then gives her a questioning look. "Go on," Cleo urges. "What did you get me out of bed for? Scar made a nice umbrella, you know."

"… I like your workout skin. The leotard suits you. Seems, you know… cold in the rain and bed, though. Uh. Is that comfortable, with the legwarmers…?"

Cleo stares at him, face blank. Etho cannot look at them, but they push back anyway: "The guy who's worn the same outfit for the last, like, forever, AND whose idea of pajamas all that time has been to take off his vest and leave on that same old turtleneck did not come all this way to compliment my skin design."

"Hey… I can have opinions too. I have eyes." They both work fine, even though one's got the scar.

"Well, thank you," is the frumpy answer. And she has a point. He didn't come for that.

"Um…" Etho prods a clump of two-tall grass at his feet. "I mean, we're… We're three nights into Session 2 now, Cleo. It's getting away from us. I just had to ask. So, are we still going forward with the…?"

Cleo's eyes move back and forth across his face. They don't seem to find what they're looking for. "The…?"

"Scar and Bdubs. And you and me."

"I mean, do you want to be a Clocker?"

Etho presses his toe forward, bending the tall grass beneath his sandal. "I've got prior engagements to the T.I.E.S. now. I know all their secrets; they'd never let me leave."

Cleo's eyes, still green this early in the game, shimmer at the challenge. Therein lies the problem, him and her… It wasn't meant to be a challenge. He's floundering, breathless, and she hasn't even said a word since he trailed off. He's not meant for these social games. Cleo leans forward though, arms still tightly crossed, and whispers, "You don't have to tell them."

All ten of his hearts crinkle like a bit of Bdubs' origami. "They'd know," he says, and Cleo hums in thought.

"Well, you could do it anyway. We're allies, aren't we? Surely your bachelor friends can find it in their hearts to let an absent dad have a weekend with his kids."

Etho skirts his eyes away, because Cleo certainly won't be the one to do it. They latch onto the edge of the plateau. The beds are down there on the other side, over the lip of the drop. Etho pretends he doesn't care, still grinding his toe into the two-tall grass he's flattened. Technically, since Scar and Cleo were mostly sharing, there's room for one more.

I don't need these guys, though. If he's gotta team with Cleo, he might just melt into slime. Cleo's not saying anything - Cleo's not even doing anything right now but stand there with their arms crossed - and they're still the only one on the server who catapults his heartbeats into triple digits. Etho searches for words to, like, voice what he came here to ask about, but the only thing playing in his head is a montage of laughter and snide commentary. Of llama hooves scuffing over sand. Of fingernails tapping inside the walls. Of sweet cinnamon roll flattery. Of brimstone, smoke, and leaping flames. Of power. Of guts of enchanted diamond that even a zombie (especially a zombie) can be proud of.

"I can't."

"You say that like a question."

He tries again, playing his fingers across random hotbar slots as he wiggles them inside his pockets. "I'm not a team leader. You know that…" That's Ren. And Skizz. And Joel.

"Oh, you're definitely not walking into my team and taking over as leader. That's… That is… Mm. Yeah, absolutely not."

"I wouldn't want to. But… Um. This whole 'being Dad' thing…"

He can see a zombie shuffling their way in the distance, which will totally ruin the moment when it gets close. It looks like a Skizz, a slice of white pixels across its chest perfectly emulating a sword swipe. It's wearing a helmet. Seems appropriate, what with all the rain.

Then he flicks his eyes to Cleo again. Cleo tilts their head, fingers drumming against their arms. "Etho," she says, and maybe he won't mention the zombie at all. It'd be worth dying and losing an hour, actually, just to pop out of this conversation. He picks at his mask, trying to give himself a little more space to breathe, and Cleo shifts slightly to put themself in his line of sight. "We're all adults here… We can have a grown-up conversation about this."

Etho melts into self-inflicted silence, rubbing his sandal back and forth over the grass. He says nothing. There are no words in his brain. He's made his intentions clear enough, right? Cleo's a smart cookie. She can figure out the rest.

"Etho, you don't have to play our game. It's all right if you want to stop." Then, with a sigh, "Next time, just use the safeword. We can call whatever it is off there. It's easy. I do it all the time."

"But that's embarrassing…"

"How is 'nether star' embarrassing?" Cleo steps forward; Etho steps back, automatically reaching for the sword at his hip. Cleo stops, then notices the zombie. They turn away to fight it and Etho hangs back, holding his mask from his mouth with thumb and forefinger, just so he can breathe. Then Cleo comes back, a chunk of rotten flesh still stuck to the edge of her sword. Rain drips down the blade. It also drips in their eyes. Cleo shoves a clump of hair back, plastering it to their forehead with the heel of one hand, still gripping the sword, and Etho cringes slightly back. Not really- Just inside his hearts. I'd be an easy boogey target. I don't even have my shield out. "Ugh. You really had to do this during the night, didn't you? Of course you did… Look, you don't even have to put the safeword in chat. You can whisper it to me directly if you want."

"… I can try to play the game." Every word leaves him on a heartbeat and they're all spilling from his mouth. Etho clenches the front of his vest. He can't breathe through his nose, so he just tries over and over with his mouth- steady as a ship tucked away in the harbor. "Bdubs and Scar… They're having fun."

"Are you having fun?"

"Are you?"

Cleo blinks once in warning. The rain patters the grass, chirring softly, and neither of them answers that question. Etho gives the stubborn two-tall grass one final kick. It loosens some of the dirt beneath and sends a scattering across Cleo's bare foot. "It's… Oh, who am I kidding? I've never been a father before."

"We're playing," says Cleo softly. It's a pointless statement… but the way she says it sends a shiver down his back that shifts the world. Etho lifts his head again. Cleo is waiting, so Etho licks his lips.

"I don't know what to do…"

Cleo falls silent for a second there. It tears him the way he keeps tearing Bdubs' origami, even when he tries to be careful and tuck it on a shelf where his textbooks won't be going. Then, "I actually think you did quite well with that line about the beds in the rain, when you got here. It kind of made me laugh."

"Did it?" He can't bring back the phrasing at the top of his head. "I think I was threatening to call CPS."

Cleo laughs. It's raspy at the start - natural for her zombie throat - before the rest comes out in a cackle. "You did fine, Etho… You know how to walk that fine line between goofing off and taking it too far."

Interesting compliment. Etho toys with it between imaginary hands. He's getting pretty cold. Standing around in the rain for too long will do that for you. "So the teasing is fine?"

"It's fine."

"Okay. Thanks, I guess… that was all I wanted to say. I just wanted to check in."

She shrugs. "And I appreciate it. Always a polite move to make, especially with some of these heavier topics like divorce."

Divorce. How strange to jump right into a server and be assigned 'divorced deadbeat dad' without much say in it whatsoever.

"You know me, Cleo. I'm Canadian. I'm always polite."

"Yeah, I've noticed."

They stand together for a moment in the rain, Etho rubbing his arm and Cleo picking at her nails. Then he moves his hand to his neck and she moves hers to some of the stitching on her wrist. Etho exhales, long and low, then bids her good-night and shuffles away.

"Hey."

Etho pauses on the edge of the rock. Cleo's hand brushes across his arm. After a few silent seconds, Etho rotates back to face her. "What?"

"I'm glad it's you," she says, very simply, and it slams like a ravager in his gut. She's GLAD Scar picked him out to be her fake Minecraft ex-husband? Cleo tilts their head towards the half-constructed Bad Boys' Bread Bridge… and Bad Boy Manor hunkered at the end of it. "I mean, there are… way more difficult people I could be trying to juggle this narrative with right now."

Etho opens his mouth… then closes it again. He's not sure if Cleo can even tell, behind the mask. Maybe. I mean, she is looking. Etho stands there, breathing softly with his fist clenched in the chest of his jacket. It's just five little words… just five. I'm glad it's you, too, he could tell her, and it'd be the easiest thing in the world to walk away.

Except that it's lying.

And Etho Slab is not very good at lying. It's why he spent a whole season faking fast connection to the server. Acting like his boogeyman roll popped up in his mind's eye before anybody else's. Because it's easy to just say things when you're playing pretend.

Lying is like purposely stabbing yourself in the foot with your own sword. And roleplaying a lie is… not going to be the easiest thing in the world.

The silence hangs like wet rags on a line between them. Cleo watches for a moment, then slightly tilts their head. So? she probes with her silence. Is there anything else you want to say?

"… Thanks for having me over." Even though he'd invited himself.

"You're always welcome."

Right. She means outside the game. She likes him fine, as a friend. But in character, he's her dip of an ex-husband or whatever. She kicked him out. Etho blinks and nods anyway. Then she says something else.

"Martyn is their godfather now."

"… What does that mean? Do the kids live with Martyn after you go red, or something?" Martyn and Scott have set up on a patch of dirt in the water, guarded by a single door, and are waiting for their grass to spread. Then, just because he can, "He killed our cows, Cleo. He dropped TNT on us; are you doing background checks on these people before you give them custody over the kids?"

Cleo blinks like a cat in the dark. "I mean, if you want to get technical, Martyn was my ex last Life series. We can work that into the story somehow."

The mental gymnastics already leave him dizzy. Etho faintly shakes his head, but the words "No thanks" don't reach his lips. Cleo's no longer looking at him, tugging on their sleeve, and continues without glancing up. "As for Martyn getting custody… Probably not, if I'm honest. If I die first, Bdubs and Scar might want to hang around you. So when I say 'Martyn is their godfather now,' it just means 'Have fun with it.' You can play with it, you know… Make up a story. It's fine."

Etho swings his head over towards the Team T.I.E.S. tower. Tango's no longer placing blocks up on top. Must be in bed for Sleep Truce. What's left for him to work with? Who else belongs in a family tree? Brothers, maybe? Can I get someone to take on the uncle role? Maybe brother-in-law? Some bachelor buddies? Or cousins? He'll have to think about that one. Maybe one of the others will have some idea.

That would mean bringing up the whole I'm accidentally playing House with our neighbors thing, though… and he really can't afford his loyalty to T.I.E.S. to be questioned. Especially this early in the game.

"I'll try," he says anyway.

"Mmhm." Cleo lifts one hand very slightly to wave. "It's good to see you. Thanks for popping in… but next time, maybe drop by in the middle of the day. All right? I need every minute of sleep I can get during the truce night."

"Beauty sleep? You don't need it."

"Just go," she says, and he sheepishly hops down two blocks of the plateau. He glances up only once, but Cleo's already walking away, stretching one arm above their head. Back to the beds… to Scar and cuddles and bed sheets.

Cuddles do sound kind of nice.

Maybe some other day. Is Absent father who got kicked out by his ex-wife but would like to make amends an acceptable roleplay direction? Would Cleo be okay with him putting that kind of spin on it?

… That one might be fun.