Work Text:
Cast of Characters
PHILZA: A man keeping vigil.
FOREVER: The president.
CELLBIT: The head of the Order; a concerned friend.
FIT: A man in a similar situation.
TUBBO: A young man with his mind on something else.
A slash, as written (/), indicates overlapping dialogue.
[INT. ORDER THEORITAS INFIRMARY – NIGHT, ALLEGEDLY.]
We hear, first, the steady BEEPING of a HEART MONITOR. When the lights do come up, they are SOFT, WARM– this is not a true, brutally bright hospital, but a more comfortable facsimile of it. Very few things in this room are a sterile white. It seems to be on purpose.
FOREVER is tucked into a red bed. He’s dressed in starched whites, his golden hair roughly braided and slung over one of his shoulders. There are deep, deep smile lines etched onto his sleep-slack face. He shifts, ambiently, but it’s clear he’s unconscious.
PHILZA sweeps in from stage-left. He looks disheveled, but at-peace with it– if he knows he looks like a mess, it's not anywhere on his priorities. He finds a spot on the white couch next to FOREVER's bed, sat up on the arm with his talons harmlessly curled against the cushions.
He chucks his backpack onto the other side of the couch. He buries his face in his hands, for a second, to groan into his palms. When he stretches back out, he glances sidelong at FOREVER.
PHILZA (dryly)
You look like an egg.
If FOREVER hears him, he doesn't respond. PHILZA nods, like he'd expected this.
PHILZA
Sorry. For the caging thing. I-I think you understand, though. It had to be done.
Beat.
PHILZA (laughing)
That sounds evil as shit! Fuck, man, nevermind.
PHILZA goes quiet, like he's trying to think of what to say. He doesn't look like he's decided, but he talks anyway:
PHILZA
That was fucked. (laughing) Extr– extraordinarily fucked. On many levels. I… man! I can't hold it over you when you're awake. That'd be– you weren't yourself. That'd be unfair.
Beat.
PHILZA
But I sure am going to rant at you when you're asleep. Because, like– man, come on. What were you thinking. (softer) What were you thinking…
PHILZA looks around the room. He's not quite content to just be in a room, no, he has to scout the entirety of it. He wipes his face. He tries to kill time.
PHILZA
You're hard to trap! –No, that sounds evil too. It's true, though! Fuck. Had me all sweaty. Worried to my damn stomach, is what it was. I'm glad we were here for you, because… shit! Fuck. This is hard.
It's– it's hard. To look at you, and, like, say coherent thoughts. Okay, odds are you're not even going to remember what I say to you, like this. So that helps.
You scared me. Not even just 'cause of the gun you pointed. Because– I don't know. I'm gone for a week and you just– you flip off the deep end. I know we care about our kids, man, but…
Ugh. Fuck am I even doing.
PHILZA huffs and kicks at the couch cushions.
(BLACKOUT.)
[INT. ORDER THEORITAS INFIRMARY – APPROXIMATELY MIDNIGHT.]
We still hear the HEART MONITOR. It's later, now. FOREVER has not moved, but PHILZA has undressed slightly– his hat on an arm of the couch, his coat slung over the back of a cushion. He's made the room his home for the night.
There's no polite way to put it; PHILZA has strewn out all of the stuff in his backpacks onto the tile around FOREVER's bed. He sits, now, at the foot of it, a black bag with a skull patch in his lap. It should be messy– PHILZA packs his bag like he's a magical survivalist preparing to live for a year in the wilderness. Potion bottles and spare sets of armor, stacks of enchanted books, haphazard piles of weapons, a cage trap or two, totems... the list goes on.
He's muttering to himself as he sorts. It doesn't look like it's going well, but PHILZA doesn't seem too bothered.
PHILZA (quietly)
Bruh. Do I have to make a new backpack? Oh, I'm gonna hafta make a new backpack. Why do I even have this much shit…
It is at this point that CELLBIT enters, stage-left, carrying a lot of scattered loose papers and a mug that looks like it's been through a war. His tiredness practically wafts off of him; it looks like he's been holding up the weight of the sky for a week. His jacket is uneven, his button-up shirt crinkled, his hair askew, the saving grace of his eyesight his pair of goggles that serves to hold his fringe back.
We DON'T hear CELLBIT's footsteps. Even in dress-shoes, he's familiar enough with the building to be practically silent when he moves through it.
PHILZA
We've gotta keep the tactical whale, but–
CELLBIT doesn't notice PHILZA's muttering. PHILZA doesn't notice CELLBIT until it's too late– CELLBIT's foot finds a chestplate, and the rattle nearly sends PHILZA out of his skin.
PHILZA (startled)
–JESUS! Cellbit! Hi. Fuck, you gave me a heart attack.
CELLBIT
Oh! Oh, sorry. I didn't think you'd be here.
Beat. CELLBIT blinks, too intently.
CELLBIT
–Thank you for the help, yesterday.
PHILZA
Oh, of course, king. I mean– nah, no problem.
PHILZA begins sweeping his items back into his backpack, no doubt completely undoing any organization he'd made progress on. CELLBIT sidesteps around the pile, leans against the arm of the couch, and surveys FOREVER, who is motionless, face neutral.
CELLBIT
How long have you been here, Philza?
PHILZA
Um.
PHILZA looks for a clock on the wall. He finds none.
PHILZA
A good bit of time. I think I came in… an hour after he got situated? I didn't really have any– like, I didn't want to… I'd be going back to an empty home, y'know.
Beat.
CELLBIT
Yeah, for sure. You can stay as long as you'd like, man. You're a head of the Order, now!
PHILZA
You sure? (laughing) I might not make all the meetings…
CELLBIT
Don't worry, don't worry. No. You're, uh– it's not– I can trust you. Like… like when the Brazilians first got here, and you gave me everything you knew about the codes. You were a huge help then.
PHILZA
Aw, thanks, king. It's nothing.
CELLBIT
Nothing to you. I literally can't thank you enough. You helped get my friend back.
PHILZA
I tried.
PHILZA squirms, a little. He tries to pretend it was a shrug. With all of his items shoved back into his bag, he slings it over his shoulder and goes to sit on the couch. For a couple moments, both PHILZA and CELLBIT do nothing but stare at FOREVER.
PHILZA pats the couch cushion beside him. CELLBIT inclines his head towards the noise, but makes no move to sit down.
CELLBIT
I think I'm too busy to sit.
PHILZA
Ah. Like sharks, okay.
CELLBIT
Like sharks?
PHILZA
Yeah. Sharks– wait, is this an urban legend. Whatever. Sharks have to keep swimming to get water to, like– to run over their gills. Or they suffocate or some shit.
CELLBIT
Oh! Okay. Like sharks, yeah. But, man, I'm so tired. Do you ever just want to sleep for a week, Phil?
PHILZA's face tightens.
PHILZA
Don't think we can afford to.
CELLBIT (sympathetically)
I feel you.
CELLBIT (cont.)
But– but for real. Thank you for helping him.
PHILZA
He's my friend too, y'know. And I didn't do shit– I just stood there and watched, dude. You did more than I did–
CELLBIT
Phil! You– you helped a lot, man! The inventory scanner Bad used wouldn't work without you, you know?
PHILZA
Wait, what?
CELLBIT
Yeah! You had gotten one of Forever's briefcases, right? That's what we used to calibrate it. If one of us had made it, it couldn't work. Phil. You saved us.
Beat. It really, really looks like PHILZA is trying to think of any way he can get out of this spotlight. But he doesn't have to find one; CELLBIT gets struck by an idea so hard it looks like he's just been hit with lightning.
CELLBIT
Oh! Shit, I was here for something!
PHILZA
Oh. Sorry for keeping you, then.
CELLBIT
No, I– this is good. Thank you for being here. I need your help with something.
PHILZA
Oh shit! Really?
CELLBIT
Yeah! Bro, Phil, how many times do I have to tell you you're– okay. Here's what I wanted to find you for.
CELLBIT hands PHILZA the papers. PHILZA leafs through them– but nods, quickly, like he's understood them already.
CELLBIT
These were in Forever's office. Like, discarded, thrown away. I checked a trash can for them. But they're plans, right? What do they do?
PHILZA
These are, uh, TNT dupers. Like, duping flying machines. Look, see these pistons?
PHILZA points at the paper. CELLBIT follows dutifully.
PHILZA
Those, like, fuck with the dead coral fan over here, and all of it moves forwards at the same tick the TNT gets lit. So the TNT dupes and it drops. I used them for, uh. [Beat.] For something, a while ago.
CELLBIT
Does it work?
PHILZA
Oh, yeah. Really well. And it's not like Create, it's all Vanilla shit, so the Federation can't nerf it.
Beat.
PHILZA (realizing)
The Federation can't nerf it.
CELLBIT
So we use it against the / Federation?
PHILZA (overlapping)
No– no. The Federation can't nerf it. And if they couldn't nerf it…
PHILZA and CELLBIT both look to FOREVER. The bed is still tucked in neatly. FOREVER hasn't moved an inch.
PHILZA (laughing, unhappy)
They nerfed him.
CELLBIT is still for one beat. Then, finally, CELLBIT takes a seat on the couch. It looks more like crumpling, when his head rests fully against the back cushion, his hands coming up to fully block his face. It's like he's had the worst news of his life broken to him for the umpteenth time; it never gets any better.
PHILZA sympathizes. He leans into CELLBIT's side and rests his head on CELLBIT's shoulder. PHILZA does not stop looking at FOREVER, but he does place his hand on CELLBIT's knee.
(BLACKOUT.)
[INT. ORDER THEORITAS INFIRMARY – IRRELEVANTLY, EARLY MORNING.]
The infirmary is dimmer, now, extraneous lights switched off. FOREVER lays, still, on the cot. PHILZA lays on the adjacent couch. It's pushing morning. There are no windows in the room, but it wouldn't be a stretch to think the sun is just about to rise.
PHILZA is asleep. He's on his stomach, his legs awkwardly askew, his head cocked uncomfortably to still be facing FOREVER– and, by extension, the door. We can hear his SNORING, just over the BEEPING HEART MONITOR.
FIT enters stage-left. He's the same as he always is, if a little more ragged; clothes smooth but shirt untucked, a little bit of stubble. He leans in and rests his weight on the doorframe, almost as if he's checking if this is the right place. He's never been here before, after all.
FIT sees PHILZA and relaxes. He walks, careful, heel-to-toe, into the room– like he's trying to creep up on PHILZA. When he rounds the corner and lays eyes on FOREVER, he can't help but laugh.
It wakes up PHILZA.
PHILZA (groggily)
Buh– what–
FIT (amused)
Philza Minecraft.
PHILZA doesn't look particularly upset. He wipes his mouth, scrubs at his eyes, sits up and opens space on the couch for FIT.
PHILZA
Guh. FitMC.
FIT
Did you sing Forever a lullaby, too?
PHILZA
Hey, don't be mean. Mans is in a coma.
FIT
He is as snug as a bug in a rug, my friend. Maybe more-so, now that I'm looking further. Did you tuck him in like that, Phil?
Beat. PHILZA tries to fix his hair.
PHILZA
Maybe.
FIT takes a seat with little fanfare.
FIT
So what happened?
PHILZA (yawning)
Shit, man. It's a lot.
FIT
Well, I can't hear it from Forever, now, can I? Come on. I want the fofoca, Phil.
PHILZA
Give me a second. My back, dude. What's been up with you?
FIT
Not that much, my friend. The Feds took down the lavacast.
PHILZA
Okay, I saw that. They had, like, scaffolding and pickaxes and shit. It looked really funny– they were clearly in creative mode.
FIT (laughing)
You always say "fuck the fourth wall" when you've just woken up?
PHILZA
I always say fuck the fourth wall! They could've– whatever. What else?
FIT
Uh… doing a lot of digging, recently.
FIT looks at the walls, at the corners of the room, checking for something.
FIT (cont'd, a little quieter)
I don't think the Federation knows the lavacast was us. Me, at least. Cucurucho didn't seem to connect any dots.
PHILZA
You mean…
FIT (back to regular volume)
Oh! I- I mean, oh no. The Federation hasn't caught that troublemaker, Don Huevo, yet.
PHILZA
Oh no! (exaggerated) I hope they do soon!
PHILZA and FIT laugh.
FIT (overlapping)
Okay. Are you awake enough yet, old man? / Eh? Eh?
PHILZA
Oh my god. You impatient motherfucker!
FIT
You can't get enough of me.
PHILZA
Oh, shut up. Okay. Long story short: Forever and Pac are cured, pog.
For all FIT's facade, he visibly softens.
FIT
That's good. You love to hear it. Forever's… here. Where's Pac?
PHILZA
He made his own way home. Uh– Cellbit, I think, took him to… the little island outcropping thing of his and Mike's base.
FIT (uncertain)
Ilha Chume Labs?
PHILZA
Sounds right. (Pause.) Wait, you didn't go see Pac first?
FIT
I didn't know where he was!
FIT throws up his hands placatingly.
FIT
Pardon me for not having a / tracker on my friend–
PHILZA (overlapping)
Okay, okay, Jesus.
Beat.
FIT
I'm glad he's feeling better.
PHILZA
I think he is. I didn't really, like, see him, all… drugged, and shit.
FIT
Good.
PHILZA
That bad?
FIT
Yeah. (Beat.) It… wasn't good. Not exactly the happiest of campers.
PHILZA
Even on– Jesus. Okay. …But he's better now. He– holy shit, Fit, he made the cure!
FIT
He did?
PHILZA
Yeah! It was– like, the pills and a fermented spider eye. Like weakness potions for a zombie villager. Oh my god, we even had these, like, iron bar cages, it was just like curing zombie villagers.
FIT (laughing, weakly)
You're old as shit, Phil.
PHILZA
What– do kids these days not know how to heal a fucking zombie villager?
FIT waves a hand dismissively.
FIT
What was that about caging?
PHILZA
Oh. (gently) Uh, yeah, we had to– or else they would've just, like, ran off. We had to cure 'em. Forever, he– fucking, flung a whole bunch of mines in the cage, popped so many totems.
FIT
Goddamn.
PHILZA
It was awful, man. I heard it. They got the antidotes and it was just… like, all that negative stuff they couldn't feel just rushing to the surface. Like they had to feel it then, speedrun that shit. Broke my heart.
FIT
That's rough.
PHILZA (exhaling)
Yeah. Fuck, dude, you could say that again.
Suddenly, footsteps. TUBBO– green shirt hastily buttoned, hair pushed out of his eyes by his goggles, like CELLBIT before him– bursts in from stage-left, out of breath.
TUBBO
Yo– Fit, elevator sha–
TUBBO sees the bundled-up FOREVER and promptly breaks into snorting laughter.
PHILZA
Man! This guy can't have shit, nowadays.
FIT
Phil. I find honesty really, really important. This looks stupid as hell.
PHILZA
Man!
TUBBO
Why's he– why is bro comfy cozy?
PHILZA
Why do you think! We brought him down here, man.
It's impressive how quick TUBBO switches gears. He goes from laughing to suddenly eyeing PHILZA and FIT with the briefest, most doubtful squint. It's like he doesn't trust them, doesn't trust something about them… but it's gone.
TUBBO
Fit, can we go to Ramón's elevator shaft?
FIT
Yeah. Phil, y'coming?
FIT pushes himself up and off the couch. He turns to offer his hand to PHILZA, but he doesn't take it.
PHILZA
I'm stayin' down here, I think. Just, um… just to keep watch, you know. Wait and see if he wakes up.
TUBBO
Still think he's fuckin' dead. Okay, elevator shaft.
TUBBO exits stage-left, FIT not too far behind. TUBBO's rambling fades out into the distance. It just leaves PHILZA, FOREVER, and the HEART MONITOR.
PHILZA sighs.
(BLACKOUT.)