A Dead Canary In The Garden

Limited Life Winner Symbolism

So I had a few ideas for the symbolism of the winner of Limited Life and this is it:

The Sky: As the timer ticks down, the Sky remains the same. They change with time as all may do, but ultimately they remain loyal and are still the same person no matter what. They live their life as the others around them focus on the dwindling of time left to live. At the end of it all, the Sky will honour the fallen and remember them all eternally, even in death.

The Sea: Strong and powerful, the Sea is dedicated to protecting those closest to them. Their waves, raging or calm, move with the pull of the Moon and smile up at the Stars. At the end of it all, when those around them are dead and gone, the Sea will welcome its fate with open arms.

The Void: They take and take relentlessly, prepared to kill to delay their inevitable death. The Void is ready to die, but will go out swinging or won't go out at all. Theatrical and brave, they will fight until the end and accept their death with open arms, prepared to join the others.

This is all I have for now!

The Illusion Of Love

Pris had messed up.

She'd managed to go on a date with Eloise - beautiful, wonderful Eloise whose smile could light up a room. Okay, maybe that wasn't completely true, but Pris felt like it was. Every word that came out of the Illusionary Witch's mouth was melodious and entertaining.

That damn demon had to ruin it. The demon in her head possessed her at the worst moment. Why did she have to be the one who had a demon? Scott would have been better. A necromancer who dabbled in the dark magic no one would touch. He was a perfect fit. Possession would work incredibly well with his motif. Or maybe Cleo. Lauren? Maybe she could have made a deal with a demon to become a Sand Witch? Or Cleo could have bargained for...something! Anything.

And in that split second the date had fallen apart. Her heart had shattered just as much as the words of that demon that came from her mouth, in her voice that shattered the spirit of Eloise. Pris couldn't bear it. Not the tension. The silence. The agony that tore her apart with every passing second. Now it was awkward between them. The suffocating silence. The unspoken words that begged to be said but neither could muster the courage to do so.

Now she watched from her tower. Pris stared down below at the small congregation of witches gathered at Spawn.

Scott and Joey were walking together, with Scott bright red in the face whilst Joey laughed and laid his head on Scott's shoulder. That could have been Pris and Eloise. They could have been the duo walking together and showing affection in kisses and hand-holding.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for that. Not the right time for jealousy.

Cleo and Lauren were trading with Bertha. The two were laughing together at a joke Pris couldn't hear from all the way up in her tower. But there was genuine companionship written on their faces. She hadn't known they were friends, but Lauren's peculiarity often made people like her. Because the Sand Witch was so unafraid to be herself. Pris envied that. If she'd been proud of her demon from the very start, Eloise could have forgiven her faster and maybe they'd be together. Or at the very least they would have taken longer to go on a date but it would've been successful.

Damn it. Not again.

There was a crack of thunder. Pris hadn't seen the lightning bolt, but rather saw the flaming cluster of trees. Shubble and Tiff were frantically trying to put out the fire. Tiff was yelling in an erratic frenzy while Shubble apologised every few seconds.

And there she was. Perfect Eloise. The Illusionary Witch laughed at their efforts. And how her laugh echoed in Pris's ears. She found herself leaning further forward. If only just to hear Eloise better.

"You okay?" Joey and Scott were behind her. How'd they get there so fast? She would've been able to hear them.

"Y-yeah! Wh-why wouldn't I be?" Her hands were clammy and her heart hammered in her chest. Scott took one look between Joey and her and shrugged.

"You wanna handle this?" He asked Joey. The Fire-Frost Witch nodded and stood on their tip-toes to playfully swat Scott's forehead. The Necromantic Witch giggled for a second and walked down the staircase. "I'll be down here. Scream if you need me."

"So...how are you?"

"F-fine." Pris mumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"No you're not. What's going on?" Joey asked with a small tilt of his head.

"It's...nothing. Nothing important." She was adamant on this. Pris didn't want Joey knowing how...humiliated she felt. Humiliated because of her damn demon. Because she and Eloise could no longer talk as freely as before.

"Okay. I won't pry. Buuuut, if it's to do with love-" he gave her a knowing look, "-then I can listen. And maybe contribute a solution?"

"Ju-just don't laugh," She hugged her arms tighter. And slowly, she began to explain it all. Joey was uncharacteristically quiet throughout it. If anything it made her more self-conscious. He was only trying not to laugh at her. That was all. He was trying to be polite.

"W-wow. Okay, uhh..." Joey scratched the back of his neck. "I guess, if this helps at all, then she's probably just as upset about it as you are. Try and talk to her about it. Verbally. Tell her everything, maybe give her a gift and ask for forgiveness."

"You think that's not my first thought?"

"Have you tried it?"

"I mean, I left a chest. And signs. And rose bushes in the chest. But there's been nothing." Pris sighed.

"Then just talk to her. Forget the other stuff I said. Talk about it. It may sound dumb coming from me, but talking helps." Joey said. Pris could hear Scott coming back up.

"I-if you don't mind, then can I just say something quickly?" Scott asked. But there was something weird about the way he talked. It was different. Not as deep or intimidating. More light-hearted. Melodious. Upbeat.

"Okay..." Pris made eye contact with Scott. Only to notice they weren't the usual murky green colour. No, his eyes were green and blue. Like-

"I forgive you." And Scott 's appearance shimmered and the illusion melted to reveal Eloise standing there. "B-but...can we take it slow?" Pris might have died then and there. She was forgiven. And Eloise actually wanted to give them a try! Even if they did have to go slow, it was something!

And Pris nodded all too eagerly, practically throwing herself into Eloise's arms, who hugged her back with just as much enthusiasm.

Maybe they could work out.

Fields of Green, Rivers of Red

Scott nervously tossed and turned in his bed. The duvet felt itchy, too stifling on such a hot night, and too heavy as well. He kicked his legs, curled them up against his chest, then did some strange poses with them. One arm was tucked under his pillow, the other draped across the other side of the bed.

It was one of those nights when he wanted to shed his skin and fly free again. He wanted to tear himself apart, if only so he could feel the blissful emptiness again.

Anything was better than this.

He shivered despite the warmth, and tore back his duvet to go for a midnight stroll.

Silent, he snuck out of his house, past Gem's, and over to the diving board. He considered it, briefly; it was by far the fastest way to get down, but it was one of the louder ways. Could he risk it?

He glanced over his shoulder. There were no lights in Gem or Impulse's houses, which implied they were asleep, but sometimes that wasn't true. There had been instances where he'd been caught by one of them when he thought they would be asleep. This time, though, maybe he'd get away with it.

Scott shuffled towards the edge of the diving board. He felt as if he'd climbed to the top of a mansion and was about to make a risky jump, but it was either take the risk or die.

With infinitely less stakes than that, Scott stepped into the air.

He felt the air whip at his body as he plummeted down. An image in of himself, with gold-tipped snowy owl wings, falling in almost the exact same way, popped into his head. That happened more and more now, as the games progressed.

He collided with the water. He kicked his way to the top and broke the surface, panting heavily. He was soaked to the bone, and as he clawed his way onto dry land, he immediately regretted his decision. The water clinging to his skin, dampening his clothes and dripping from his hair irritated him.

Ah well. It was too late to turn back now.

Scott began to walk to Spawn, nervously eyeing the statue they went to hand in their Secret Tasks. He felt his very essence begin to pulse like a heartbeat, but multiple laid over each other.

The statue seemed to stare into his soul with its eternal judgement.

He sat down next to the button to reroll for a harder task. Scott pulled out his comm and typed out a message. Very few people would still be awake, but if he was lucky, then maybe he could not be alone tonight.

A reply was sent back. He exhaled in relief, eyes scanning the message, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Scott sat back, all tension leaving his body. He stared up at the moon and watched it make its nightly rounds in the sky. If he squinted, he could make out the vague shape of a howling wolf in the shadows cast across the moon, and a he shut his eyes with a small breath.

He opened his eyes to the sound of footsteps, and spotted four figures approaching; two blonds, one ginger, one brunette. Behind them was a white-haired man walking leisurely beside a man with dark brown hair with a coloured streak in it.

"Hey," he said, lamely. Cleo settled in beside him, slinging her arm over his shoulder. He leaned into her. Cleo was a constant that he could count on, across all the games; she was the ally he was guaranteed to have no matter what.

Martyn sat on his other side, Pearl next to him in turn. Grian perched himself in the centre of the structure, and Etho and Joel eventually arrived. They sat down on the floor against the button that signalled failure.

"Couldn't sleep?" Martyn asked. His cheeks coloured a little after he spoke. "Sorry. Stupid question."

Scott's hand reached out to the blond's and took it, squeezing it gently. Martyn looked down at the gesture with a soft smile.

They could all feel the malice radiating from Martyn; it was hypnotic, a blind lust for blood that caused a tingling sensation to spread through their bodies. It was a very familiar feeling, and it was one they did not fight against. Instead, they welcomed it.

After all, they were already awake.

What did it hurt?

"Crazy day today, huh?" Joel remarked. "I mean, my wife died, for one thing. Mumbo died."

"That's just life now, I guess." Pearl replied.

Scott nodded in assent.

Grian smiled. "Well, maybe in another game we can change it up."

Over the course of the night, the group moved in closer together until they were all huddled up shoulder-to-shoulder, laying across each other.

The night went on. The moon made its rounds with indifference to the collection of mortals beneath it.

Eventually even the Winners could not stay awake. They had all seen life, death and betrayal, and had learned to sleep with one eye open. But here, there was no need. Here they were among friends.

They let the night take their waking worries away.

The Clock Is Ticking

The clock is ticking.

Lightning lights up the sky to mark the players that may never come back. They are remembered by the survivors. The threat of death looms over them all.

Eyes are everywhere. Hundreds of eyes crawling over the lands, the mountains, the bridges and the sea. They see it all. They smile and watch in quiet amusement as players perish. Those that watch know that they will succeed. After all, who can defy a game like this, with these rules, with no loopholes? For once, the players must play to perfection. There is no other option.

Bloodlust hit the players. Waves upon waves of the urge to kill. Hands itching for weapons. Bows and crossbows craving an arrow to fire. Blood pulsing through their veins, bubbling under their skin. The newfound reality of permanently dying only provides incentive. No one wants to die just yet.

Alliances fall apart. The so-called "Bad Boys" have been destroyed. Only one of them remains. And now they have joined a new group. So the name Bad Boys is no more than a memory that time has robbed of them.

The end cannot be prevented. No matter how much blood is shed. No matter how hard the players may try. They will die regardless of any efforts to thwart it.

Scott was taken by the sea, now belonging to its domain. The ocean was his and none could take it from him.

Martyn watched the sand of his hourglass. He knew time was running out and he would protect those he cared for until the end.

Grian lost them. Jimmy and Joel were dead. And now they were gone, and he joined the Nosy Neighbours, he couldn't help but curse those that watch for doing this to him.

Cleo feared for her family. She had not only her own time to take care of, but her boys' time too. There was a duty she'd taken up to protect them. And she refused to shirk it now.

TIES had lost Skizz. Now they were just TIE. Deaths were inevitable here, but the loss of their friend hit them. Skizz, who, despite losing over two hours in the first session, despite those that had killed him and despite the revenge that others would've taken, had chosen to instead be kind to the players. He'd made it his duty to complement and assure the others.

The clock was ticking.

For all of them.

Ballad of Secrets

The Canary fell, but was not the first

An age of deceit, a broken curse

Slain at the hand of his ally another time

The light of The Stars has dimmed, gone past its prime

The Moon has set, a new era come

As The Sun shall rise, all pain undone

And as Mars died in a final war

Putting an end to the blood and gore

The Slayer's sword fell from her hand

And she joined the chorus, the rest of her band

And as Earth stood at the Secret Keeper

Ready to meet the grim reaper

He was not yet done

He never would be

But Earth was among them now

Now, and for all eternity

Burning Flowers

Scott was fed up. He glared at Jimmy, currently squatting on an open trapdoor with his arms stubbornly folded across his chest and a determined look in his eyes. It was a familiar look for Scott, one he'd have seen in the first set of death games when him and Jimmy had been friends - even closer than that - rather than enemies or allies.

But that was in a different time, when Scott was content living with Jimmy.

Now he wanted him out. And quickly.

He tightly gripped his flint and steel, maintaining eye contact with Jimmy's warm brown eyes.

"You've got ten seconds to get out before I set you on fire." His voice was calm, like the sea before the storm. His eyes burned with controlled anger, a wildfire that he would only push inside until he lost all inhibition as a Red.

Jimmy adamantly stood his ground.

Scott began to count down slowly, stepping closer like a predator stalking their prey. With each number ticking down his voice grew lower and lower.

"Three." Sparks flew from the flint and steel. "Two." Fear flickered in Jimmy's eyes as the realisation set in that Scott was serious. "One."

Scott lit the ground around Jimmy on fire, watching the flames climb higher with ravenous hunger. Jimmy yelped and began to jump around. Following, Scott lit and put out fires with incredible speed. When the flames latched onto Jimmy's skin, searing pink flesh, a smile stretched across his face.

Jimmy panted heavily, landing on a higher trapdoor. His arm was singed, the jacket and shirt sleeves practically ribbons.

"I'm not leaving." Jimmy said, his tone convicted.

That only left Scott with more of a challenge. His grin widened with the idea of a new game, a chance to see how long it'd take, how many injuries Jimmy would sustain, before he finally decided to back off.

Scott balled his fists and drew closer. Jimmy tried to jump, but couldn't get past Scott. He fell into a corner, his palms flat against the walls.

He reared his fist back and slammed it into the wall next to Jimmy's head. The blond flinched, eyes wide and panicked, yet still containing that flame of determination.

"Five seconds. Or I'll be punching you instead of the wall." Scott pulled his fist back. He looked at the dent he made in the wall with pride.

Jimmy, in typical Jimmy fashion, did not back down.

"Five." He balled his fist. "Four." Into the wall. "Three." Pulled back. "Two." Grabbing a fistful of Jimmy's shirt, yanking him closer. "One."

Scott slammed his fist into Jimmy's nose.

Thick red blood ran down his face, yet he made no reaction. Scott, frowning, prepared to hit him a second time.

Jimmy sprung into action and darted past him. A growl escaped Scott's lips and he trailed after him, blood staining his hand.

Upon him moving towards the entrance, Jimmy flung himself forward once more and back onto the high trapdoor. He wiped the blood running down his face but didn't clear it away, only leaving a smear behind.

"I. Am not. Leaving." Jimmy enunciated each word with a new wave of fury.

They both breathed heavily, chests rising and falling in unison.

Scott, for a moment, wondered why exactly he was doing this. Greens weren't meant to be particularly violent, yet there was no denying that there was a bloodlust that burned inside him, the kind that only a Red could achieve.

His vision went red.

A familiar weight fell into his hands. An axe, he realised. Scott glared at Jimmy.

This time he gave no warning. He lunged immediately, lifting the axe up and bringing it down in a swift arc on Jimmy's chest. The scream that followed was euphoric to Scott.

Finally, Jimmy fled. He sprinted past Scott, coughing and wheezing and hacking, barrelling out the door and into the open.

The axe dropped onto the floor. Scott stared at it, the blood on the blade and his hands. On his clothes. Even his shoes. Scott left his house with the desire to see himself guiding him towards Gem's diving board and flinging himself off of it.

He landed in the water and swam to the land, climbing onto it. Scott peered at his reflection.

Scott was covered in blood, although some of it had been washed off in the fall. His hair clung to his forehead, his eyes flickered red, then settled back on green. Blood was smudged on his cheek - how had it gotten there? It was all over his shirt, covering the green on it, and splattered on his trousers. The edges of his shoes were stained with a mix of blood and dirt.

He didn't look like a Green. He looked like a Red.

Scott fell to his knees, a laugh bubbling in his throat. He was cackling, bent over and clutching the ground. Dirt crept under his fingernails and each laugh out of his throat was like coughing blood.

He didn't recognise himself. Not really. He wasn't a Green. He was the spitting image of a Red. Of someone who'd lost every ounce of self-restraint. Someone wild.

He looked like Pearl, who went Red early in Double Life, even though she was still on her first life.

He looked like Martyn at the end of the previous life game, dirty with blood and grime and sweat, but cackling and joyful with madness.

Scott looked like a Winner.

The Florist and The Curse

"Do you really want me to hit you again?" Jimmy asked, standing on the terracotta mound, as the grass bled into the mesa. His arm was on his hip, chin jutting out proudly, with his other hand resting at his his side holding the hilt of his sword.

"I mean, you only did, like, a heart and a half of damage," Scott said with a shrug. He wasn't scared of Jimmy, no matter what the Red Life tried. He knew Jimmy for what he had been and who he is now; a kind, loyal and energetic man with room in his heart for everyone yet no one at all. "After all that-"

"Do you really want me to hit you again?" Jimmy repeated, more sternly this time. A muscle in his jaw ticked.

"-effort." Scott finished.

"You really want me to try again?" His voice grew deeper, slightly confused but remained firm and threatening.

"I mean, is your task to just hurt me? I'm so confused." Scott blurted out. "Also by shouting a weird catchphrase of 'the florist is gonna get me."'

"Yeah?" Grinning, Jimmy edged a little closer. There was a hazardous tone to his voice that set Scott's nerves on edge. He couldn't help it.

"You have thirty seconds."

The memory of the previous game left a bitter taste in his mouth. Obviously Martyn deserved the win. That was never in doubt. But being stabbed in the chest, then burned alive by his closest ally was not on Scott's bucket-list.

Nor was having Jimmy betray him like that. But, ah well.

He moved on.

Scott hadn't, cursed with too many memories and burdened with pain, blood and remembrance.

"Okay." Scott said. He gently tapped his heels against the horse's sides, urging it a little back. "I- is that your name, The Florist?"

"N- no? Dunno what you're talking about." Jimmy tilted his head like a puppy, his hair falling over his eyes. The usual honey brown was rimmed with bloody red.

"Oh, 'kay, okay." His horse moved further back, at his own insistence.

"Watch your back, Scott, alright? Watch your back." Jimmy warned.

Scott didn't stick around much longer after that.

---

He watched Lizzie fail to kill him. He knew it from the moment she tried to have him step up to the ledge; it was obvious from how her voice was pitched, the tone, the way her hands seemed to twitch urgently at her sides.

Scott hadn't thought she would fall. Maybe trip a little, get hit by an Enderman.

But not fall.

He heard the crackling of the lightning bolt and looked away as it struck at the empty Void, the space where Lizzie had fallen. In her memory and honour, Scott listened to the rolling boom of the thunder that followed.

Jimmy's curse was gone.

The Canary Curse was broken.

He felt something bubble in his throat, a hoarse laugh of joy and pain mixed together in a horridly lovely cocktail. He thought of how Jimmy would react to it. He thought of the shocked widening of his eyes and how his mouth would fall a little. He imagined the shocked huff of breath, pursued by hysteric giggles as he ran forth and proudly declared the curse gone.

Scott was happy for him, truly.

...He still had questions about the whole 'florist' thing, but at least Jimmy had lost his curse.

It was an odd feeling, when it happened. Scott looked fondly upon the last game because of the tether that had snapped when he'd died; the knowledge that the curse was broken, that he'd no longer have to live until all his allies and friends were gone, that the weight had finally been lifted, had relieved him.

He had laughed and smiled and actually felt happy for the first time in years.

Two curses down. Now to break the rest of them.

Sparrow's Flight

Sparrow hadn't been anticipating that his first encounter with that strange man would go like this. To be fair though, it would only have been a matter of time before he was spotted watching him from afar. He probably should've planned a better excuse.

"Argh!" Sparrow shrieked in surprise as the strange man appeared in front of him. Was that his ability? Teleportation? Sparrow scrambled backwards in shock.

"It's rather rude to spy on people," the strange man stated, fluffy cyan hair falling over his eyes. The strange man moved the strands so they didn't block his vision. "Now who might you be, weird person stalking me?"

He faltered in his answer. "Sp-Sparrow," he replied, stuttering madly. "My name's Sparrow. A-a-and you?"

"Scott S. Major!" The man said with a grin. "But you can call me Scott instead."

Sparrow squinted at the rings of energy around Scott's arms. The rings pulsed and glowed faintly with their respective blue and orange lights. What did they feel like? Soft? Hard? Rough? Did they feel like nothing at all? Or maybe water? Sparrow reached his hand out and, before he could even tell what he was doing, gently touched the rings.

There was an instant reaction in Scott. He smiled, pupils dilating like a cat. A low hum escaped his lips. The rings glowed a tad brighter.

Not long after, Sparrow saw a tiny beam of orange particles shoot out from Scott and connect the two of them. The particles dissipated almost immediately.

"What did you do?" he muttered quietly. Sparrow carefully retracted his hand. Some hybrids were dangerous. He couldn't just assume that Scott would be one of the pacifists when so many hybrids caused harm.

"This!" Scott launched himself into the air. Ten, twenty, thirty feet. And still going. Sparrow watched on, his mind archiving every second so he wouldn't forget. He couldn't.

Then Sparrow felt a tugging in his chest. Like a rope being pulled. His hand rose to tap his chest in curiosity.

Before he could blink, Sparrow was flung into the air. Scott now stood where he had previously. Wind whipped against his body as he fell to the ground. Shrieking, his arms flailed wildly. A myriad of high-pitched screams tore from his lips and rang in his ears. He'd misjudged Scott, and now he was gonna die. He was gonna die. He'd die and it'd be his fault for trusting Scott so easily. This wasn't how he wanted to go! Not falling from a height because he hadn't been on his guard.

Sparrow squeezed his eyes shut tight.

He landed.

He...wasn't dead?

Slowly, Sparrow's eyes fluttered open. Scott grinned at him. He looked down and saw that Scott had caught him.

Oh.

Sparrow sprung out of Scott's arms in a frenzy.

"Why would you do that? I could've died!" Sparrow screamed. Scott laughed, a mellifluous and whimsy sound. He kept laughing, tears pricking his eyes and clutching his stomach. Scott's shoulders shuddered with heavy full-body laughter.

"I-I'm sorry, I couldn't r-resist! It's to-too easy!" Scott eventually took several deep breaths, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

Sparrow huffed and folded his arms. "That was rude, y'know."

"How 'bout I make it up to ya then? I can grab some food and we can talk." At the suggestion, Sparrow smiled. This could be his opportunity to interview a hybrid! He could learn how Scott got his powers, how they impacted his lifestyle, and more!

"I'd say it's a deal." Sparrow's wrist was grabbed by Scott, and a ring of orange and blue particles floated around them. The world fell dark, and a brief bout of nausea decided to strike, but when everything was visible again he relaxed.

"Come on in," Scott said, opening the door to his home. "I'll get the cabbage rolls out."

Gem & The Scotts' First Concert

"You think this'll work?" Impulse asked, nervously peeking around the curtain.

Gem smiled. "I'm sure it's gonna be great."

Scott tapped his fingers repetitively against his arm. He glanced at the guitar laid out for him - cyan, with the green, yellow and red heart symbols running down the frets. This was a gamble; how'd they even know this would work out alright?

"This better not be someone's task," he muttered. Picking up his guitar by the strap and pulling it on, he strummed a few test chords for the umpteenth time that evening.

Impulse's hand twitched at his side, the other releasing its grip on the curtain. He took a deep breath and took a seat at the drum kit, picking up the drumsticks and tapping them against each other as quietly as possible.

Gem stood in that positive, easy-going way of hers, her hand gently gripping the microphone. Her hair cascaded down her back in tumbling ginger waves.

Their make-up had been a minor concern. Back-stage wasn't exactly the coldest, being uncomfortably hot at its best. For the past half-hour or so the trio had been vigorously panicking over whether it would stay or not.

They could only hope.

"And now, introducing..." there was a pause in the voice - Grian's, if he was correct - and the trio nodded at each other. "Gem and the Scotts!"

The curtain was yanked back.

The crowd of fellow Life members applauded and cheered. Gem plastered on that blindingly uplifting smile of hers that Scott could only wish he had.

Impulse tapped the drumsticks together over his head, counting up to four with a loud enthusiasm.

Scott strummed the first few chords. They were the ones he'd worried about most, as messing those ones up threw the whole song off its rhythm.

Gem began to sing. He went over the chords in his head, relying on a dangerous mix of muscle memory and mental effort. Her voice was powerful, stronger than the quaking earth and the rolling waves. She carried herself with an air of confidence, as if she belonged on that stage.

She began stamping her foot; their audience copied the motion. Scott joined in as well.

He leaned forwards into the mic in front of him and harmonised with her like they'd practised. Impulse joined in a few lines after. They sang the chorus in unison, their voices mixing together in the best possible way.

The crowd, by that point, had begun to sing along, having learnt the chorus and deeming their knowledge good enough to join in.

Hearing so many people gleefully singing along almost made him stop playing in shock. He hesitated, not long enough to disrupt the song, but enough for his forehead to start sweating in panic.

Slowly, Gem drew the song to a close.

He dared to look at Impulse, and found him smiling like a fool. Scott must have been as well, if he were being honest.

---

The rest of the evening continued mostly in the same way, only that they became more relaxed as time went on.

By the end, though, they were exhausted.

"I need to nap for three years," Scott said.

"Same." Impulse ran his hand through his hair. "I'm sweating like hell. Why's it so goddamn hot out there?"

Gem chuckled. "It's the lights."

"Damn lights." Impulse said, half-laughing at the end of his sentence.

"Wanna head home? It's pretty late." Scott checked the clock on the wall. Eleven-fifteen.

As soon as he said that, Impulse yawned, stretching his arms behind his head and arching his back. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Besides, we can play again in the morning, just us. No one else is gonna be here."

"Is that just an excuse to go home earlier?" Gem asked, a playful grin on her face.

"Would you blame if it was?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I see where you're coming from." Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Gem beckoned for them to do the same.

Scott put his guitar in its case, closed it then pulled the strap over his shoulder and held onto it with a white-knuckle grip.

Impulse just stood up, grabbing a water bottle and chugging it like he'd been wandering through a desert for days.

"Last one home does the dishes!" Impulse yelled, already bolting for the door.

"Hey!" Gem and Scott yelled simultaneously. Then, with a shared look between them, ran forwards. They shoved each other as they got to the door, squeezed through and sprinted after Impulse.

Hi!

So in Bertha's most recent episode, there was a truth-or-dare game played at the end. In which, Scott was dared to wear differently-coloured clothes that weren't green or black.

I propose to you this: What if Scott went to yellow? The colour he wore when he was with Milo? What if Scott does this, and someone teasingly calls him Sunshine and he gets flashbacks to his dead lover?

Bye!