Mumbo K. Jumbo was an intelligent man, according to some. He had created quite marvelous Redstone machines, understood the intricacies of fine wiring and timing down to a quarter-tick.
Yet, Mumbo was… familiar with multiple awkward instances of server-stress. Notable mentions were the ah, pumpkin incident where the lag due to entities within a chunk became so severe, Xisuma had to interfere. Then there was the chunk-blasting incident…then the attempted perimeter without clearing the lava…
Well, Mumbo sometimes had wonderful ideas, but also had very bad ideas. Mumbo wasn't certain yet if having a large bird monstrosity in his ceiling was considered a good idea.
Scout, for all his oddities, was quite a nice flatmate. He stayed in the ceiling until nightfall, only explored curiously when Mumbo was squinting over torchlight, and somehow managed to deter mobs. Not that Mumbo was upset with that bit, it saved his poor backside from sudden creeper explosions.
Scout came with a hideous amount of dander and dust, coating every surface with a thin grey dust. Mumbo was thankful he had his mustache, if only to filter some of the dust out of the air. He knew that parrots produced a hideous amount of powder-down, but he honestly hadn't ever expected his new roommate to come with allergies included.
Scout at least didn't steal things (unless Mumbo gave him permission) and stuck to his section of permitted objects. Only the highest barrels, set aside in his storage room, did Scout awkwardly raid. Deep lines had gouged themselves into the oak surface- thick enough for Mumbo to slide his pinky in to trace the indent. He knew Scout was a large bird, but he hadn't considered just how sharp those talons could be. (Then again, False had proven time and time again how lethal talons could be…)
Scout so far had taken only small bits of things. It reminded Mumbo a bit of Etho- aloof and lingering just out of sight. He felt the odd sensation of being seen, knowing that Scout was somehow watching his daily activities with a lethargic interest.
Mumbo asked: Do you know anything about leaves? And the next morning there would be bundles of oak leaves crumpled awkwardly around his storage system. He would ask about the benefits of using wood and there would be crudely stripped logs- not birch thank goodness.
In truth, Mumbo was taking advantage of his new neighbor. He was simply curious about the differences between different types of leaves, he wasn't exactly requesting a demonstration. Initially, Scout had only provided the resources with an uncanny sort of efficiency; it left Mumbo a little overwhelmed. Overnight, a stack of leaves would pop up scattered across the floor nearest the darkest corner. Then another stack, and another, to the point where Mumbo was hastily assigning a barrel to Scout's odd deliveries.
It would be much more efficient to have Scout deposit his gifts directly into his automatic sorter, but with how much dusty pollen appeared to follow the creature, Mumbo was worried soon it would break his delicate redstone lines. For now, Scout could keep his thoroughly scratched up barrel.
The server, in Mumbo's humble opinion, was an absolute mess.
Scout's unexpected jailbreak had alarmed absolutely everyone. Hermits who hadn't believed the creature was a threat suddenly had to reconsider. Surely something sentient and intelligent could break free- Doc had managed to contain Withers . Scout managing to escape and evade eyes only suggested one fearful outcome; the creature was more or less, a player or a player equivalent.
That then led to the new question of how intelligent. Scout had been restricted in his ability to communicate (as Xisuma explained hastily over the communicators) and supposedly was increasing his vocabulary by the day. This didn't necessarily mean that the creature was going to attempt to initiate contact, but it did explain why Scout was cheerfully mimicking odd noises in the attic during every night.
Pearl, as expected, did not take this well.
Her anger and stress became a valuable tool, wielded by her callused hands. What fear she felt transformed the mountainside into elaborate and ornate decorative builds. Her mountain, breathtakingly gorgeous, turned itself into a true work of art. Mumbo was struggling to keep up with the speed of her progress, she had quickly overtaken him and finished the environment on her mega build before he had texturized the smallest aspect.
This left him torn between completing his lone mountain, or connecting their rock creations into the single combined build they had roughly expected doing. Mumbo hadn't the time (or skill) to suddenly patch and bridge between two very different styles, but he happened to know one vexing man who was very capable.
Of course, it always came at a price.
Scar at first glance, could easily be mistaken as four cats shoved into a tall trench coat just barely holding themselves together. The man had an impressive ability to fumble every object in the near vicinity and a true knack for needing a quick respawn. He caught himself in multiple odd places, Impulse stating he found Scar in a rather awkwardly small spot near the bottom of the Boatem Hole.
Yet, Scar was dangerously competent when he needed to be. It was the fact he was so relaxed that led to his hilarious chaotic shenanigans. When Scar was on high alert, when he was tense and anxious he transformed into a dangerous force to be battled. That, and when he was tempted with his true vice and weakness.
Mumbo knew three things. It wouldn't be long until someone took a look at his base and thought quite openly ' hmm, Mumbo doesn't know how to build this well'. This brought him to his second concern, that hiding a fugitive in his ceiling wasn't really that good of an idea.
His final idea, the one that would hopefully solve the prior two problems was that which made Mumbo most weary: Scar was a lovely neighbor who had a great ability to bridge his base with the gorgeous mountain range Pearl had finished not too long ago. Knowing Scar, he would leave the inside of the mountain empty (and subsequently a lethal mob farm), and unknowingly create a lovely new enclosure for Mumbo's friend.
The bird would be out of his roof, his poor nose would stop it's dusty allergies, and hopefully Scout could texturize the interior of a mountain to his little heart's desire.
"Alright," Mumbo sighed, reluctant to raise himself from the poor sprawl on the stone floor. He had been adjusting his redstone contraption of a sorter system, installing a bit of a buffer and a delay after a few buttons had mysteriously been activating without a trigger. Hopefully, it would help deter his system from having a glitch with a bit of a delay.
He could feel the eyes on his back, piercing straight through him. What once was eerie and unsettling now felt welcome and somehow considerate. Mumbo smiled, wiping his hands on his pants to sprinkle away the red powder. He looked skyward, unable to actually see the feathered creature. He knew he was up there, watching.
"I'm going to head out and hopefully not get scammed out of my trousers," Mumbo told his friend wryly. He gestures out of his main gate, currently closed behind the waterfall. "You're welcome to anything in the barrels on the side, yeah? I placed some more spuds in there if you're hungry."
The ceiling did not answer, which didn't upset Mumbo at all. He donned his elytra, readied his rockets and flipped the delay to open the enormous doors. The spray of water was welcome in the morning light, a bit chilly on his skin but not entirely shocking.
The village of Boatem was still and quiet in the early hours. Pearl was no doubt sleeping or sulking somewhere out of sight. Impulse was working on yet another building behind the main complex walls of his shockingly sugary emporium. Scar sat on the highest peak of his Swaggon empire, sipping something dark and suspiciously chocolatey with a feline snoozing on his lap.
"Mumbo!" Scar crooned, waving brightly as Mumbo swept by, carefully descending with multiple slow loops to avoid rushing any unnecessary wind which could knock the two aside. It was a far fall to the ground, and Scar was fiercely defensive of his cat.
"Hello there, Scar," Mumbo greeted, perching like a flamingo on the edge of Scar's railing. The man cackled at Mumbo's awkward stance, beckoning him to hop down and sit in the adjacent chair. Jellie, Scar's cat, opened her eyes and yawned adorably in his lap.
"How may I help you, my mustached friend?" Scar asked, taking a large sip of his drink. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Cocoa? Oh, you British kind drink tea, I'm sure I have a bit somewhere…could I put any sort of leaves in a mug and steam it? Can you make tea out of spinach?"
"Erm, no. That's just soup, mate," Mumbo explained patiently, taking a seat in the offered chair. He peered out, breathless at the beautiful view of mountains and the sunrise over the distant ocean.
"Mm, it's a lovely morning."
"It sure is," Mumbo agreed nervously. He fidgeted, squirming as Scar spotted the anxious movement. With a growing grin, Scar slurped his drink purposefully loud, making Mumbo squirm at the noise.
With a cackle, Scar threw back his head, setting the empty mug aside. Jellie yawned once more, stretching leisurely before leaping down, padding off somewhere inside.
"How can I help ya?"
"Well erm, I uh…well…" Mumbo stuttered. He shifted chewing on his lip nervously. "I uh, I reckon this is uh going to bite me but…uh…you know the uh, mountain?"
"The mountain that you've hired someone to texturize?" Scar said rather slyly. Scar looked at him from the corner of his eye, strangely intent. A paradox, his leisure and relaxed body with a feral intensity in his eyes. Mumbo forgot Scar's eyes were vertically slit.
"I uh, I didn't-."
"Oh I know you didn't do that. Vines? Greenery? Mumbo you've never touched a plant in your life," Scar scolded him. The words lacked any direct bite, but held the lazy intensity of someone throwing an accusation. "It was Bdubs wasn't it? Oh I knew I should have mentioned something earlier! How much are you paying him? I'll do it for ten diamonds less!"
Mumbo balked, struggling to comprehend what the man was offering. "You…you think I hired Bdubs to do it?"
"Well who else was it?" Scar asked impatiently. He lifted both eyebrows, pupils narrowing. "Was it Cleo? I don't think I can attack Cleo, but oh she'll regret it."
"Uh, no no! Nobody is uh, hired…"
"Oh," Scar said. He tilted his head, curious and feline. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, the man inquired: "was it a gesture of good faith? I hadn't thought Tango was around. Did Pearl do it? It isn't her style, but it is quite lovely work."
'You could not be further from the truth,' Mumbo thought, feeling sweat on his brow.
Scar locked into that instantly, spotting the anxiety with predatory focus. "Oh, oh. Someone is bribing you!"
"No no! Nobody is bribing me!"
"Oh, Mr. Mumbo Jumbo has been working behind our backs! Colluding with the enemy! How dare you!"
"I wasn't!" Mumbo squeaked, wilting under Scar's sharp cackles and overbearing presence. "I just wanted you to help with the mountain!"
"Me?" Scar asked, cocking his head once more. The man blinked twice, pupils shifting away from vertical slits into something more humanoid. "Oh, oh. You mean between your and Pearl's base? You want me to bridge that?"
"Please, Mate. I can't do all that."
"You did a good job on your mountain," Scar sniffed, overacting a degree of offense. "Why can't your mysterious benefactor bridge that gap?"
"There isn't…I…I just…really got into vines one day."
Scar squinted at him, then peered around him to the Mountain in question. Only a tiny section had been texturized. Maybe if Scar squinted, he could imagine Mumbo had suddenly developed a green thumb.
"...alright," Scar agreed, nodding with Mumbo's frantic nodding. "I'll pretend that you did it. You want me to fill that gap, but oh dear it seems I'm a little light in my pocket."
"I knew you were going to charge me."
"Oh you're going to have to pay," Scar agreed delightedly, slapping both thighs. "I know! How about an IOU?"
Mumbo wilted, looking every bit like a soggy bit of celery. With a heavy sigh, he drew a piece of paper from his pocket. "Please don't make me regret this."
"Oh you certainly will," Scar assured, looking absolutely devilish.
For the week and a half that Scar took to renovate and slowly construct the bridge between both mountains, Scout did not leave his attic space. The constant noise of loud chatter combined with music and Scar's occasional dropping of stone to clatter all the way down the mountainside… Scout was not a happy bird.
The parrots outside had abandoned the roost, flying to a safer location namely Impulse's candy factory. There, the birds nested in the tall bamboo and sugarcane, nipping at the plant life nervously.
Mumbo assisted when he could, providing the materials and poor suggestions. Scar ignored his words, frequently telling him that his advice was bad, and carried on with his artistic visions.
Scout stayed inside the attic, the dust quality increased tenfold and Mumbo was finding himself worried.
"Oh, what if he's gotten sick?" he fretted. Mumbo paced, walking laps around the stack of thoroughly clawed barrels. "Oh, should I just check in on him? Just a bit?"
"Check on who?"
Mumbo jumped, nearly tripping on his own legs. Spinning around, he gawked at Scar hauling inside his storage room a hefty collection of shulkers. Scar set them on the ground, squinting around the room while whistling a cheerful tune. Jellie, the cat in question, sat on top of the shulker pile with a miniature construction hat perched between her ears.
"Hi Mumbo, I need to snag some of your supplies. And oh, we at the Swaggon-Waggon are so grateful for your donation!"
"Wha- you mean you're just going to take my things?"
"No no! Take is such an aggressive word! I'm just ah, relocating a few things!"
Mumbo's jaw dropped, he struggled to think as Scar practically danced past him to burrow his face in one of his shulkers. Namely, one filled with chunks of calcite, concrete, and other pale materials.
"You know, I never managed to have a well organized shulker system," Scar told him. "I'm such a fan of chest monsters, but they just happen. I can't seem to help it."
Mumbo nodded slowly, feeling at wits end. "Uh huh, I reckon Peal is going to lose her mind when she finds it."
"Oh absolutely." Scar agreed.
Jellie hissed quietly, drawing Mumbo's attention. Scar either hadn't heard it or gave it no bit of attention.
Mumbo rotated, then froze on the spot. He inhaled sharply, suddenly very thankful for Scar's recent obliviousness. At the bottom of the pile of shulkers Jellie paced angrily, her tail fluffed to maximum size. With her teeth exposed and ears flat, the cat in question growled quietly at her great foe.
Scout perched on a single shulker, hind legs with impressive talons and front legs and wing combination struggled to hold onto the top of the purple box. Claws as long as an axe blade dug into the purple shell, the sight reminding Mumbo a bit of a horse trying to balance on a small target.
Mumbo waved his arm towards the creature. Jellie reinforced his distress with her personal hiss.
"- man, you've got a thing for diorite. Don't let Iskall find this, or he'll be burning your storage to the ground!"
Mumbo craned his neck back, spewing the first thing that came to his mind. "Yeah! Ah, I haven't seen him in a while. Have you heard anything?"
"Not recently. I imagine he and Etho are up to something crazy in their mountain base!"
"Yeah, what about you?" Mumbo asked, tip-toeing towards Scout.
The bird creature in question dug its claws deeper. The shulker bent with a small creak. Scout arched his spine, a second set of wings in the middle of its back flared upwards a bit like an owl trying to appear bigger.
Jellie, the largest most terrifying creature in the room, hissed quietly. Scout flinched away as if struck, his tail-wings flaring out like a large spooked peacock.
"-and that's my plan for the lumber sales!"
"That's wonderful Scar!" Mumbo shouted, having no idea what was going on. "Tell me more!"
"Oh, I don't want to bore you…"
"You aren't! Not at all!" Mumbo squeaked. "Please, tell me more!"
Scar made a small noise of excitement. "Oh man! I have such crazy ideas, okay so…hear me out…what if I started making some custom trees around the edge that…"
Mumbo shifted closer, gesturing aggressively at the birdlike creature. "Go! Go away! Scout, please!"
Scout wriggled slightly, staring at Jellie (assumedly). It was hard to tell anything behind the multiple sets of wings guarding its head. Little songbird wings flapped nervously, the middle set of wings posturing as intimidatingly as possible.
"-...what do you think, Mumbo?"
"Sounds great!" Mumbo shouted back, having absolutely no idea what his friend was talking about.
"Scout, leave! Please!" Mumbo hissed quietly, taking a final step. He reached out, not thinking of the consequences, and shoved Scout lightly.
Scout's head spun, or at least Mumbo assumed it did. Scout stilled, looked at Mumbo with the odd intensity of a thousand eyes, and with one set of wings pushed Mumbo away. The force of the movement was not as small as a meek human toothpick- it launched Mumbo off his feet and tumbling to the ground.
"-what was that noise? Are you okay back there?"
Scout turned his head slowly, staring at the backside of the sorting system before in a perfect echo of Mumbo's previous words, said in Mumbo's voice: "Great!"
"Oh, good to hear! So anyways, I was imagining the mountain won't take more than a few more days…"
Jellie grumbled, leaping onto the bottom shulker. Scout skittered backwards, barely hanging onto the top shulker. Jellie persisted, climbing the purple pyramid. Scout clearly was not okay with this, and increasingly panicking.
Mumbo hurried to his feet, using both arms this time to grab Scout's tail-peacock wings to try and drag the bird off the tower. Scout made something of a yelp, slid backwards with a horrible noise of claws on a shulker shell.
"And- oh! Jellie, stop that! Shulker's aren't your scratching post!"
Scout fluttered to the ground loudly, a poof of powder-down exploding upwards. Jellie growled, climbing to the top of the tower where Scout had been standing. Safely behind the pyramid of shulkers, Scar appeared with a collection of glass in his hands.
"Oh Jellie, look at all those scratches!" the man gasped. He set the glass inside the closest box, reaching out to poke Jellie on the nose gently, completely unaware of Scout's clumsy sprawl right on the other side of the pyramid, completely covering poor Mumbo who couldn't speak with feathers in his mouth.
"You just wait here a little more," Scar cooed to his cat, scratching her head fondly before he sneezed slightly. "I need to brush you more! Look at all this dander! Oh you dirty cat, just wait a bit for me to rob that man of all his stone."
Mumbo sighed through his nose, collapsing back on the ground with an exhausted shudder.
Sometimes, Scar's obliviousness truly was a blessing.
"Oh that was so risky," Mumbo scolded his feathery friend. He wagged one finger in Scout's direction, pacing back and forth across his sorting room. Scout perched atop his specific set of barrels, now safe from any unexpected guests. The deep gouges in the wooden siding buckled under the long scythed talons. Mumbo would have to replace the siding soon, lest the entire construction buckle on him.
"You are a naughty bird!" Mumbo scolded the enormous entity, running one hand through his hair. Already disheveled, he felt entirely at a loss. Scout watched him, cocking his head with each wing fluttering out like a large eared fox.
"Oh, Scar could have seen you! And oh dear, that could have been quite a mess. Don't you realize how risky this business is? I dare say X is going to arrange a hunt soon just to find you!"
Scout ruffled one wing, stretching it out before folding it neatly against his spine. Little sprouts of pinfeathers were beginning to grow back, filling in the absent space from his personal-spa day what felt like a month earlier. They looked like long matchsticks, as thick as one of Mumbo's fingers. They would eventually grow enough that the waxy covering would peel away and the blood supply would retract inwards. Then, the growing feather would reveal itself to the open air.
"You- you aren't listening to a single thing I'm saying!" Mumbo spluttered, throwing both arms into the air out of shock and distress. "Oh you big chicken! This is important!"
Scout cocked its head presumably, each wing folding back with a soft ruffle. Scout echoed in a voice eerily like Mumbo's, accent at all: "important."
"Yes! Yes it's important!"
Scout stared a moment longer, then folded himself down into a particularly round shape. He looked very much like a goose, except more round and very colourful.
"What am I saying," Mumbo moaned quietly t o himself, smacking his forehead with one open hand. "This is utterly hopeless."
"Hey! He appears!" Impulse cheered, sitting atop an ornate park bench. Mumbo paused in his walk, taking in the scene with a bashful sort of awkwardness.
It wasn't often that the trio frequented the town of Boatem. Sure, Impulse technically lived there- but Tango was more often a competitor than he was a friend, and Zedaph had run off to the far south for his wild experiments in a relatively stable area. Mumbo knew that lag in the local region interfered enough with his redstone, he couldn't imagine how the delicate timings of Zedaph would operate with such stress.
"Oh, I ah, I don't want to be a bother-."
"I don't see anyone being a bother, hmm…what about you, Zed?" Tango asked with a impish grin.
"No bothers around, not one bit," Zedaph assured Mumbo with a gentle sort of wave. The normal lab coat had been removed, exchanged for a comfortable looking cardigan. Mumbo took a second to notice Impulse's lack of Top-hat, and Tango's missing glasses.
"Oh dear," Mumbo said, wondering if he should have brought flowers or left right then.
"Have a seat, Mr. tall and handsome," Tango flirted without any true meaning behind it. With a wave towards the end of the decorate bench, or the blanket on the ground Zedaph had claimed. "What have you been working on? I noticed the mountain, or where Scar worked on your mountain."
"Not totally true," Impulse gently corrected his friend. "I think Mumbo did the texturizing with some of the greenery on his actual build."
"Can I just say? The parrots? Huge fan," Zedaph stated, nodding passionately towards the flock of cyan and red birds barely visible from so far away. Mumbo was lucky they came back after all of Scar's noise.
"Ah- yes, that. Those birds, certainly uh, bird-like."
Tango made an odd chuffing noise, something crackling and oddly hoarse like a blaze pressed between two rocks. Impulse rolled his eyes fondly. Mumbo thought it sounded strangely like a purr.
"Well, take a seat!" Impulse urged Mumbo. The man hurriedly fished through his bag, pulling out a collection of sweet berries and little tarts. "Zed made some of these- go right ahead."
"And no lying and saying you're full. You're a toothpick, I could bite you in half," Tango teased.
Mumbo wondered if Tango actually had any idea of how unsettling his forms of affection were. At least the man wasn't casually offering magma blocks or wither skulls as a sign of friendship. Or lighting things on fire.
"That could be a fun thing to test," Zedaph mused, cocking his head curiously as he scrutinized Mumbo. "How much force to snap Mr. Mumbo Jumbo in half. One boulder? Two?"
"How about we don't break our friend and instead just enjoy the day?"
"Aww, Impy you ruin all our fun," Tango mock-scowled, slumping against Impulse with a loud sigh.
Impulse rolled his eyes, meaningfully giving Mumbo a fairly obvious look. Can you believe this guy?
"Oh, actually since you're here," Impulse said, his eyes lighting up as he apparently realized something. "I was looking through my storage system the other day, do you know if Scar went snooping? I'm missing a couple things."
Mumbo blinked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "No, not that I'm aware. I mean, he did go through my storage system, maybe if he couldn't find something? What's missing?"
"That's the strange thing, it's nothing I'd expect him to use in a build," Impulse said, bodily shrugging. Tango shifted with the movement, lifting and lowering with each jerk of Impulse's expressive body language.
"Well, maybe I can help?"
"Unless you suddenly wanted to take a chest of bricks, snow, sandstone, and clay… well, I mean I would have given it over if you had asked-."
"You're missing what?" Mumbo spluttered, finding no cohesive link across all of those different textures and uses. "I- I mean….honestly I'd assume Pearl took random blocks like that-."
"Oh I know, if anyone can somehow make sandstone and bricks look good together, it's her," Impulse agreed with an easy smile. "I just wanted to ask. We don't want to keep you if you're busy."
"Oh- no not really," Mumbo hastily explained, rolling the sweet berries between his fingers nervously. "I wanted to see if there were any sales, maybe check my potato storage. I wanted to check on Pearl actually, I haven't heard from her in a while…"
Tango interrupted him with a loud noise of distress. "I uh, I wouldn't do that, my friend."
Zedaph winced, looking very guilty with his red-eyed friend. "Yeah, we uh…we stopped by, and she's a bit upset right now."
"She could probably fight a ravager with just her voice," Tango muttered, shivering visibly. "Sheesh, I never knew she could yell so loud."
"Yeah, maybe stay away for now?" Impulse said, his voice twisting high on the end to sound very much like a question. "I think she found out that Scout go out…not from me! Cub came around and was talking with Scar about it, I think she overheard."
"Ah, that would…that would explain a lot," Mumbo said, blinking quickly. "I was wondering how Scar could possibly finish an entire mountain in a week."
"Oh yeah, no that was Pearl too. When she gets angry she builds really fast."
"Well, that's good to know." Mumbo agreed, squinting at his mountain. The section of random texture was remarkably beautiful, even from such a distance. It was inspiring, and filling Mumbo's mind with more ideas of what was possible with the stone formations he had made.
Actually…maybe it was time to dabble with vines.
Scout knew why he had gravitated towards the specific random objects. It had started simple, small calculations equating to a predictable outcome. Things in chests, not what I want. Look in other chests.
There was a hitch between movements, a chorus of many eyes blinking at once as he stepped- and settled in a different place with many boxes and crates of the things he wanted and did not need. A part of him, swiftly fading, cried out at the thought of obtaining worldly possessions. A venomous part still hissed and recoiled at the touch of wood, at the ideas of ownership. Stay in the dirt. Do not make. Do not own. Stay unseen.
Snow was beautiful to him, bright and gentle. It was soft, cold although he had disabled that sensation and did not care to activate it once more. Snow, ID_80 according to the whispering veil he could see through his skin. He wanted it, because it felt like something else he had forgotten and was beginning to remember.
Clay ached in the same way, soft and gentle. Its tacky texture clung to the long claws and disfigured hands. Contractures and ailment, but he could not remember what it was supposed to be.
He looked at snow and clay and thought of water, of a shapeless building with no blueprint, burned from his mind. Halls with obsidian, with stone and a strange metallic sound and rumbling of carts below the crust of soil. He looked at sandstone and brick, bright and unforgiving, and thought of something more.
He wanted it, so he took it.
In the shelter of the dark cavern formed below a manmade mountain, he nestled himself in a small crevice of his worldly delights. He placed clay, the cold snow that would not melt so far from the sun. He placed his brick and sandstone in clumsy piles, scratching against one another with shrill aching noise. He looked at it, overwhelmed and frightened and thought: I do not have the hands for this.
Scout paused, shaking his head. Something ached horribly in his head, something that would not leave even as he stretched the wings across his face. Air felt sharp, bristling painfully on skin that had not felt it in- months, days, years.
(For a moment, in weakness and bright curiosity, he considered opening his true eyes, and hastily closed his wings in fear)
He didn not know how to create, to wrap and manage things like humans did. He was not like them- but he had been once. He had stood like them, walked and spoke like them.
He had been trying, struggling through sounds he knew only faintly. He recalled them distantly, too slow to reciprocate beyond that of echoes of familiarity. He felt distorted and wrong, a reflection on the trembling surface of a pond.
Linear thoughts, goal oriented. He did have the things he wanted, so he found them. He did not have the hands to do what he wanted. He would find them.
Climbing was easier with space, his wings and limbs moved easier now, no longer painful with each step. The painful spots were fading, the old hurts not so hurting. The joints tugged and pulled wrongly, he wondered if perhaps those could be fixed as well. Not in the box, never under so many eyes- never again.
He climbed, feeling the warmth of the moon across the land above him and the sleeping birds and cattle and on him too, so far from the surface. He was not below it directly, but he could feel its gentle light and see its glow. It was waning, arcing in the sky.
He could see the steps to take, trace the direct path across stone and other flooring. He clicked and scratched loudly, scrrt-scrrt with claws on terracotta. Something stank of redstone, not his perch of gouged lines on wooden barrels.
He would find his human- Mumbo Jumbo, Spoon - to help. Goal oriented, linear thought.
Scrrt-scrrrt, occasional ruffle of wings and feathers. They fit better now, not so disproportionate. He disliked them, but could not remember at what point he decided for it to change. He couldn't remember the conscious decision, but knew that this was his choice.
It was scary, terrifying in a sense. He had not recognized problems before, but this was interfering. He wanted something, he would do it. Mumbo Jumbo was sleeping with loud rattling noises Scout could not quite understand. He was asleep, and speaking.
Scout settled himself, resting his wings on the floor. His human- Mumbo- was below a fabric- blanket, which was obscuring his vision.
Mumbo jolted, yelping loudly as he found himself quite suddenly on the floor. He had been sleeping quite peacefully, then awoke abruptly. He scrambled, finding himself at a loss and suddenly quite chilly on the floor.
"What in the- good heavens!" Mumbo shouted, yelping in surprise at the unexpected proximity. Scout looked above him, large enough that his main bulk obscured th gentle glow of his night-light lantern in the corner.
Scout cocked his head, the faint humanoid neck visible below the feathers at such a close proximity. Scout said nothing, staying rather accurate to a gargoyle over Mumbo. If it wasn't for the fact the creature had woken him up quite abruptly, Mumbo would be worried he had somehow scared the creature.
"Uh, hello?" Mumbo squeaked, still half asleep. He waved one hand, which assuredly was not the thing to do.
Scout inhaled with a whistling noise, tensing suddenly at the movement. Mumbo froze, horrified that perhaps he had scared the creature.
Well beyond the acceptable period to respond, Scout echoed in Mumbo's voice: "Hello."
Mumbo wanted to sigh at how uncomfortably odd this was. Scout was an odd fellow, but this was up there in the irritants that came with housing the creature. "Is there uh, a reason I'm awake?"
Scout processed at a snails pace. Then repeated unhelpfully: "hello."
"Okay, yes hello to you too. Can I help you?"
"....hello."
Mumbo giggled, the situation too absurd to not find funny. "Yes yes. Can I help? Help? Do you need help? Uh, food? Water? Oh thats a dumb question, theres water outside-."
Scout stepped forward, and repeated more firmly with a bit of a slight slur: "hello."
Mumbo laughed, louder this time. He reached out slowly, letting Scout withdraw if he truly wanted to. Laying on his back, Mumbo smiled breathlessly as he let his palm stay outstretched upwards, in front of Scout openly. "You're really just a goofball. Come on then, hello to you too."
Scout waited, his body stilled. The smaller feathers ceased their ruffling, his entire body turned still. Then, very slowly, Scout lifted the largest wing on the right. This close, Mumbo could see the painfully thin stretched skin and odd joint fusion of Scout's right elbow and first wing joint- clearly a mutation or genetic disfigurement. He felt sad, wounded to see such a thing and be unable to help.
"Hello," Scout repeated, mimicry hazy and warped. Lighter, more airy and gentle and if Mumbo truly tried to imagine it- he could almost picture Scout with a voice of his own.
And then Mumbo gasped, eyes bugging out in shock. Scout settled the long odd hand- clawed and fused in a way no hand or talon should be. Mumbo stared, unable to believe it.
Scout cocked his head, looking at where their hands touched. He repeated: "hello."
"Hi there, mate," Mumbo croaked, feeling oddly tearful.
Scout made an odd noise, a chirrup in his throat. He didn't withdraw his hand, but twisted it slightly, craning Mumbo's hand to the side as well.
"Uh, you okay?" Mumbo asked, sniffling. He couldn't help it, the entire ordeal was oddly emotional.
Scout's attention was fixed on Mumbo's hand, and as the creature slowly withdrew his clawed talon he kept his head close to Mumbo's. If Mumbo closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it as another hermit sitting beside him.
And then, Scout broke.
Something shattered, crushing like an axe through skeletons. Mumbo gasped, hurriedly raising to his knees to scour Scout for any injury. Something had broken- had a mob gotten in and somehow-.
No, Scout was holding his front leg aloft, and the bone structure had simply broke. Shattered, bones were crackling one way and then another, splitting apart disgustingly before gluing back like a hideous art project. Mumbo couldn't look away, absolutely transfixed.
It was like the intricacies of redstone, the finite connections of small woven networks. It was as beautiful as StressMonster's loomwork, it was as ornate as Scar's woodcarvings. The butchered mastery of something that had once been excellent turned atrophied and stagnant. Mumbo watched in awe and open disgust as individual carpal bones snapped upwards like a dove's wishbone. Snap-sn-crack.
And Scout bowed his head, watching his hand in curiosity. The skin tore apart, little bits rearranging crudely as it struggled to sew once more into place.
"Spoon," Scout repeated almost fondly, bending bones oddly before he huffed in disappointment. Something crunched, and Mumbo closed his eyes to attempt to lessen the sudden queasiness he felt.
"Scout," Mumbo said, voice faint. His heart was quite loud in his ears- was he sweating? "Scout, did you just…just break your hand? Oh good gosh, I don't- I need to- to call Stress or or…"
"Spoon," Scout stated, withdrawing his hand before shaking it about like a dog's chew toy, or when someone attempted to gain feeling once more. "Hello."
Mumbo swallowed thickly, squinting open one eye. Scout waited patiently, mangled and repaired hand (and oh heavens, it turned out Scout had been mangling both hands) outstretched awkwardly like Mumbo had done before.
Mumbo stared, his nausea slightly less. He didn't dare look at whatever abomination Scout now sported, instead trying to focus on the monumental realization he had come to.
"Oh, oh," Mumbo breathed, careful to swallow once more. "You- no no. I well, I reckon this is a handshake. Or we could uh, touch hands for a greeting? Hello was more, Hello! I am now in your vicinity!"
Scout curled his hand, thankfully with no crunching or grinding of bones. The creature marveled over it, stiffly opening four individual fingers where he had been brutally struggling with only two larger appendages. Of course, there were remarkably large talons included, and the thumb wasn't quite where it should be, but if Mumbo squinted he could almost imagine it as a hybrid's hand. Not nearly as revolting as it was before.
"Oh," Mumbo said, realizing suddenly what Xisuma had been suspecting. He had theorized that Scout had once been an Admin- which meant the creature had essentially scrambled and rewritten his own unique code. Something even Xisuma was terrified to do, with repercussions as dangerous as instantaneous death.
Scout had innate knowledge of player and world code, but he could rewrite and modify it based on visual alone.
'Maybe Pearl was right when she was saying Watchers could scare the pants off of you,' he thought hazily. 'Oh goodness, what do I do now?'
Scout apparently looked quite pleased with his progress, opening and closing his new appendages. With a keen gaze on Mumbo ( comparing, Mumbo realized) Scout stretched out his wings leisurely, spreading his tail wings which were steadily growing back long plumes of purple iridescence.
"Okay, okay, this is fine," Mumbo muttered to himself anxiously. He settled back on the floor, taking a moment to lower himself until he lay on his back facing upwards. Scout shuffled next to him, curious as to what he was now doing on the floor. "It turns out the big feathered monster which I am illegally harboring in my base, is able to self-actualize and rewrite its own code which generally results in spontaneous combustion. This is fine."
After a long pause, Scout echoed with something close to pride: "fine."
"Oh off it, you big lousy pigeon."
Scout shuffled, settling himself. New hands pressed on the ground, clawing carefully with sharp nails. Scout shuffled over, peering down at Mumbo with a strange carefulness. Mumbo sighed dramatically, his breath brushing against the little wings that cradled and hid Scout's face. Scout snorted slightly at the wind, which led to Mumbo blowing air directly on him.
Like a cat flicking an air, Scout opened one of the smaller wings obscuring his face to smack Mumbo across his mustache.
"Oi! That was rude!" Mumbo stated, trying not to laugh. "Look at you, Mister I have so many wings, perfect to bop my friends with-."
Scout shook his head, little wings flapping adorably. Settled and content, marveling over new hands and bones, Scout said rather clearly in a voice that was not stolen: "Mumbo."