I'd Hate To Do This To You On Your Birthday

Murder Mystery AU?

Since Pix withered away and lost the crown, I had this AU forming in my head. I wanted to get it out here, and I'm working on a fanfic of this AU for myself. I might post some chapters, but I might just leave it as this.

Suspects: Scott, Katherine, Sausage, Shelbie, Joel

Detectives: Jimmy, fWhip

Victim(s): Pix, maybe Joey and Lizzy

Side characters: Oli, Gem, False

Pix would get murdered either at his museum, or at the tea party Katherine held. Jimmy would arrive a couple hours later, and the investigation would begin. Scott would be interviewed first seeing as he just acquired the crown Pix had before. Katherine hosted the event, so she'd be second on the list. Sausage handed out drinks, so if the cause was linked to poison then Sausage would also be interviewed. Shelbie would've been seen acting off after the death, which would make her a mild suspect. And Joel would be interviewed by fWhip because Joel would mock Jimmy to death before spilling any important info.

Joey or Lizzy could die next, Lizzy as a means of hurting Joel, and Joey as a means of directing the murderer to Shelbie or Katherine.

Oli would try to calm the group down, and would offer some help to Jimmy and fWhip, but ultimately wouldn't help much. However, he would still be useful as he'd be the one to potentially intervene during a heated argument between the cast.

False would provide some insight into Pix just...as a character, and try to provide motives for the others. She'd mostly try and stay out of the whole thing, but would pitch in when called upon.

Gem would give a detailed account of the night and be a useful witness, because I think she'd be observant enough to notice some small details prior to Pix dying.

That's it! It's not a ton of stuff, but I still think it's pretty fun.

Bye, have a great day/night!

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!

Flaming Death

This wasn't the plan.

All Joey had wanted to do was to try and get revenge on the resident Necromantic Witch who'd decided to curse him. That was fair enough. If he got cursed, surely it would be fine to return the favour? So he tried to learn about those curses. It was very complicated, and he didn't understand all of it, but a few curses seemed simple enough. Joey wanted to start simple; to give Scott the burning curse he'd used on Joey not too long ago. From there Joey wanted to get progressively worse, but starting small seemed to be the best idea. He would have to be careful in getting a taglock. Last time didn't go down too well.

Not to mention how Scott was taunting him. In his own home no less! And maybe that's caused Joey to resort to some...creative methods of getting that taglock. But it's mostly because he needs Scott distracted by something.

Joey heard Pris from within her tower. He left Spawn and saw her standing there buying upgrades from her...what were they called again? Ah, it didn't matter.

"Pris!"

"Joey? What is it?" She folded her arms and pointed her chin up slightly.

"I want to try and get Scott's taglock again."

"He killed us both last time. What says he won't try it again?" The Water Witch had apprehension and doubt laced within her words.

"Because I'll distract him while you get the taglock. But go invisible when you do it!" Joey grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her tower and into Spawn. "Ready?"

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea..." she muttered, then sighed in defeat. "Fine. But be quick. I don't want to drag this out too long in case it goes south." She pulled out a glass bottle with a translucent lilac liquid in it and downed the contents in one gulp. Pris disappeared from his vision, the only indication of her presence being small particles floating whimsically around her in a tiny shroud. "Ready." Pris had removed her armour and hat to go fully invisible. Joey trusted she was still there.

"Alright then. Let's go."

--------

Scott had been minding his business.

Which isn't the easiest to believe seeing as he'd been grinding to get new armour, spells and weapons from the very start. No, he wasn't doing much. He had enough taglocks of almost every other witch partaking in the contest to become Supreme Witch. So why worry? He could curse anyone who dared cross him with pretty much anything. Misfortune being his personal favourite. Watching his enemies become bombarded with nausea, then blindness and poison, all at random and some simultaneously...it was a great stress-reliever.

But he hadn't been dabbling in dark magic. The Book Of Shadows was firmly shut and resting somewhere in his inventory. For now, all he was doing was gardening. And by gardening, he meant trying to get more plants to grow so he could have more secret rooms. Because really, who doesn't want multiple secret rooms to practise dark magic away from prying eyes? It was perfect.

Until Scott heard a quiet chuckle from behind.

He spun around on his heels to see who it was. To see who he had to threaten with curses to leave him alone. Annoyingly enough, it was the Fire-Frost Witch. And some...weird particles? They didn't seem to rise up very high, which indicated it could be Joey's familiar hidden with an invisibility potion.

"Hello," Scott purred. "How've you been since I cursed you?" To his own surprise, Joey seemed unfazed.

"Fine, actually. Managed to sleep through most of it. Really, find some better curses." The Fire-Frost Witch had an almost playful glint in his eyes. "Anyway, what are you doing? Looks pretty secretive."

"Just some gardening," Scott shrugged. He had a small list of excuses in his head to back himself up. "I figured my area needed a bit more death and decay in some bits. Thus, wither roses." He gestured at the small patch of black flowers with sharp thorned stems. "They weren't too hard to collect. The withering effect wasn't that bad." Which was a lie; it hurt like absolute hell, but Joey didn't have to know that.

"I didn't take you for a gardener," Joey didn't seem convinced. Yet instead of calling him out, Joey let it happen for some reason.

"Not many people do." One person did. One person Scott had lost a while ago. One person he needed to bring back. And Joey was standing in his way of doing so. All the other witches were. "But now that you know," Scott slowly approached Joey, ensuring each step was dragged out, one foot in front of the other. "I can't exactly have you running around telling people. I have a reputation to uphold, just like you. So how about we keep this between us?" Scott was practically leaning over Joey now. Their faces were inches apart, and Scott ensured that Joey could see the power burning in his eyes. The stench of death was carried on the wind, and the Fire-Frost Witch winced from it. Scott was unaffected; he'd become accustomed to it. Joey's moment of weakness gave Scott an edge.

"Really? Then how about we make a deal?" Joey knew he was playing a risky game like this. Pris's potion was starting to wear off, and he could see her figure flickering in and out of visibility. But with yet another potion gone, she was invisible once more. They both shared a silent look speaking volumes on their behalf. Joey had to keep going. The smell of death caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust. Honestly, it was just distasteful.

"What kind of deal?"

"Hmm...well it would be one both of us benefit from," He paused to give himself time to think. Pris was already getting close behind him. He only needed to stall for a bit longer. He stared up at Scott's lifeless green eyes. The necromancer really did embody death in a way. Menacing when he had to be, while also caring to those who'd earned his respect. "How about..." Joey's hand subconsciously reached for Scott's shirt and grabbed a fistful of it. He pulled the Necromantic Witch closer.

What?

Joey didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have to do...whatever this was! He just needed to give Pris time to get Scott's taglock. But since they were here, like this, Joey couldn't help but be curious. Surely it would buy Pris time if he...

A pause. Neither man knew what to do. They gazed at each other as if asking for mutual permission. Their eyes spoke for them. And before either could blink, their lips were pressed together.

Joey couldn't breathe. His face must've been bright red. He tugged Scott closer and held him there as if scared the Necromantic Witch would run away.

Scott wasn't questioning it. It wasn't hard to do, when thoughts were buzzing through his mind faster than flies flocking to a rotted corpse in the woods. But he didn't have an answer. All he could focus on was Joey. His arms cirlced around Joey's waist.

The two pulled away. They were breathing heavy and were unsure of what to do.

Joey recovered quickly. "Until next time, Scott." He gave the necromancer a quick kiss on the cheek for good measure, then ran away.

--------

"What was that about?" Pris didn't get the taglock. She'd hesitated a moment too long and lost her chance.

"N-nothing," Joey's face was still red from that encounter. "I-it was nothing."

"Really? Because you seemed pretty enthusiastic when you ki-"

"Shh!" Joey clamped a hand over her mouth and dropped it a second later. His gaze settled on the floor at his feet.

"Now what? We don't have a taglock of him."

"I don't know. Maybe we should just get stronger first and come back to it later."

"That's what you said last time." Pris folded her arms. Her eyes scanned Joey with an analytical glint. Her lips curled up in a smile as realisation dawned on her. "Oh, I see. Yeah we don't have to curse him anymore. But, you can convince him to stop cursing us."

"O-okay." Joey nodded. That was a compromise he could work with. In fact, that was probably an outcome he preferred over Pris having gotten that taglock.

If anyone said he made a protective voodoo doll for Scott that night, Joey would say they lied.

Music Witchcraft SMP Characters Would Listen To

So I had this thought in my head for a bit, and this was the result:

Scott - rock. The others can often hear heavy metal coming from Scott's tower, and Cleo has seen Scott playing songs on a guitar before. Most of them are break-up and recovery songs.

Cleo - classical. Gentle music drifted out of her tower to bring back memories from the other witches of happy times. Or even sad ones, depending on Cleo's mood. She owns a grand piano and a violin and will sometimes play them alongside Scott.

Cupquake - folk music. Her tower has songs passed down from villager to villager, and all are collected together. They often make good background music for her gardening and is relaxing for when she's practising magic.

Joey - pop. Upbeat melodies flow from his tower that can brighten the days of most passers-by. High-pitched for fire, low-pitched for ice, and a medium-pitch for both.

Lauren - musical theatre. You approach her tower and songs from various musicals or cheesy romcoms are blaring. She tries to do something unique compared to the other witches, and although it is a bold choice, the music is relatively okay.

Eloise - jazz. Smooth jazz plays whenever she uses illusion magic in her tower. It calms Eloise down a lot, and she owns a lot of jazz instruments for her to try out one day. Not yet, though.

Pris - a variety! Songs from 'The Little Mermaid' can often be heard from within her tower, as well as the occasional rock or classical here and there. Pris is inclined to mix things up. Her taste in music is as fluid as her water magic!

Shubble - techno. Electronic sounds forming energetic melodies flow from her tower. Maybe she can use electricity to generate new sounds to experiment with. Different songs can reflect the weather outside (e.g fast-paced could be storms, slower sunny, etc.)

So there you go. If any band AUs are out there, maybe this could help for which genres each member would be a part of. Or maybe this can just be for fun. Either way this was quite entertaining to make!

Have a nice day!!!

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.

Herons Aren't Lightweights

The Herons base was rowdy at night.

They all gathered together, tankards of beer in hand, drinking like there was no tomorrow. There may as well not have been to them.

Cleo continued brewing up drinks, adding input to the conversations going on around her.

Scott was up on the stage with Christian, asking questions in a hushed tone, yet somehow she could still hear the slur in his voice.

Eloise sat with Water, both singing somewhat poorly to bar songs and the made-up anthem of the Herons. Olive sat beside them, joining in every now and then but mostly just working on tuning their instrument.

Owen sat at one of the tables, head in his hands. He let out a low groan, eyes fluttering shut.

"Guys? I think someone needs to take Owen to bed." Cleo called out.

"Really? Already?" Olive asked. "We've only had...had..." Olive's eyes began to droop. They downed another drink. "We've only had, like, five drinks."

Water shrugged. "I can take him. Be back soon!" Water stood up, staggering a little, then approached Owen. "C'mon, let's go. You've had enough for tonight."

Owen only groaned weakly in protest.

Once Water had carried Owen out of the tavern, Cleo glanced over at Scott. He was still talking to Christian, and was gesticulating madly.

Olive and Eloise seemed distracted enough. They wouldn't mind if the next round of drinks didn't come for a bit.

Cleo carefully walked up to Scott, then paused a little behind him.

"What do I do? I- is there anything I can...do for him? I mean, we've just started talk...talking to each other again!"

Christian merely shrugged in response. "I am not sure. For now, give him some space and a little time. Eventually things between you will get easier."

Scott's ears flushed. "I don't have time to wait that long! What if one of us goes out on an expedition and never comes back? I may never get to see him again in time, and I don't want thing to be tense between us if and when that happens!" His voice rose in pitch and volume.

For a brief second, Eloise and Olive glanced his way. Then the two of them slowly turned back to each other and their drinks.

Cleo set her hand on Scott's shoulder. He spun around and grasped at the handle of his rapier, then let go when he saw it was her. "I think you should sit down now Scott. Give Christian a break."

He nodded meekly. "Yeah. Yeah, sure." Scott allowed Cleo to lead him to a seat at a table, then push him into it.

"Is it about Acho?"

Scott hesitated, then nodded. "I just...I just don't know what to do."

"Think about it in the morning. You're not thinking clearly right now. When you're sober, think about it then. For now, you can either keep drinking and drown your sorrows in alcohol, or you can take a rest like Owen. No shame in either option."

"Alcohol. Strong alcohol." He didn't stutter, and his voice was almost completely free of a slurred tone. Almost as if he hadn't had more drinks than most of the other Herons already.

"Sure?"

"Yes. I want you to give me so much alcohol that I can barely move around tomorrow. No, for the rest of the week."

Cleo sighed. It wasn't a good idea, but they were pirates.

Since when was anything they did a 'good idea'?

Olive let out a startled yelp, then a joyful squeal. "Cruppy! Hello!" Cruppy jumped at Olive's heels, rubbing against them and jumping like a puppy would. Olive bent down and stroked Cruppy, to which the crab-puppy-thing eagerly jumped into their lap for stroking convenience.

Smiling at the sight, Eloise was suddenly motivated to sing even louder and more joyfully than before. Olive joined in with equal vigour and Cruppy nestled in their lap peacefully.

Cleo shook her head with a warm grin, then grabbed the next round of drinks.

"To us!" She declared, holding her tankard tight and pushing it high into the air.

"To us!" The others parroted, with varying levels of volume and enthusiasm. Regardless, the sound could be heard well beyond the Herons' base and echoed through the town.

Water returned, arms free of Owen, and shouted, "To us!" at the top of her lungs. A delayed reaction, but a welcome one.

For the rest of the night, they all chanted the same thing over and over, falling asleep in the tavern.

They all regretted it in the morning.

But Herons weren't lightweights, and for some strange reason, they all wished to prove it.

Gaia's Curse

The vines dug into his skin sometimes. An unhelpful reminder of what he had lost.

They were like chains, in a way.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how his hair changed; from a bright cyan to a pale ivory tainted with blotches of red.

Every time he passed a body of water and gazed at his reflection, he couldn't help but think he looked familiar. He remembered fangs, long and pointed and sometimes uncomfortable in his mouth. He recalled how similar his cloud jump was to abilities he'd long forgotten; sometimes he'd jump up into the air and think about switching places with an angel.

But, as far as he knew, no one on the server was an angel. No one he knew closely.

Sometimes he would feel hungry. Phantom-hunger, if you will. Because he didn't need to eat anymore. But he'd still wish he could eat.

He'd probably kill to be able to enjoy the taste of cabbage rolls or pumpkin soup.

Would probably kill himself in order to get it.

As he sat on the balcony of his house, staring at the starry sky, he remembered.

He didn't remember anything specific; all the memories were murky, and most of the faces were blurred to the point where they couldn't be recognised. But he took note of other details. Like cod, cats called Norman, fields of poppies. Kingdoms of snow and golden antlers. Of rat tails, attics and giant feline catastrophes. Of necromancy, loneliness and dances with time.

They all mixed together in a strange cocktail of memories that both were and weren't his.

Scott clutched at an ache in his chest; a yearning for knowledge.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. Running his tongue along his teeth, he could almost imagine feeling fangs. But they weren't there. Because he was a fungal mage.

His hands itched. The pain of hurting a mob - he couldn't be bothered to remember which one - pulsed through his veins. Gaia had cursed him in that moment. He'd hurt someone, betrayed being a 'peace keeper' and paid the price for it.

How many people had he upset in the past?

Gaia, goddess of the earth. Mother Nature. She had given birth to the Titans and Giants. A powerful entity that was not to be messed with under any circumstances.

There were others, too. In a past life long ago, he'd killed an angel. And as a result, he was cursed to burn in the sun.

His own patron god, Aeor, and his brother Exor. How long had he been a devoted worshipper of the Stag Gods? How much of his life had he dedicated to following Aeor's wishes, to pleasing him, to keeping people safe, for nothing? Because he did everything in the end. He was the one to seal the demon away at the cost of his own life. And neither of the gods batted an eye.

He'd upset Them, too. Hundreds of pairs of eyes that Watched eternally. They despised him because he refused to play Their games properly. So he was made to constantly outlive his closest allies. Other than one.

Scott was a danger. To himself and to everyone around him.

The vines - nay, chains - dug into his skin.

He deserved them. He deserved the chains, for they were keeping him from hurting others. A criminal, a thief, a killer - all of those titles belonged to him - deserved the chains that kept them contained. That shackled them to their crimes.

He took a glance at the moon, and the stars surrounding it.

The moonlight shone down on him in a warm embrace. As did the stars.

The stars seemed to form a halo around Scott's head.

Scott curled up and allowed his eyes to droop shut.

Gaia's curse, as all the other curses placed upon him, would never leave him.

The Doll

He didn't expect to die so quickly.

Scott usually managed to survive a while. Not all the time, mind you, he was only mortal after all, but it just came as a surprise.

When he died, aside from the intense pain that came with being burned alive, Scott could almost feel his bones fracturing. Which was strange since he no longer had any bones to break. It was as if, in his third death, he had died as a Transporter too.

He felt a baby zombie sink its teeth into his non-existent flesh. Its fists collliding with his ribs. He felt that, as well.

Scott tried to shake the feeling off. He wasn't a Fungal Mage anymore. It was a new life, a different life. He wasn't like the others before him.

It was as if he was being pulled apart and pieces of him were scattered through lives he'd lived in the past. Glimpses of a sword thrust through his heart in snowy mountains, of dying to a friend's hand, of standing atop a mound of TNT and lighting it.

Of waking up in the flower fields again with a blurred face smiling at him.

Shivers crawled over his body.

He was dead now, wasn't he?

An emptiness crept inside him. The others would be gone soon. Properly gone. Would he be the last one left?

Scott thought about Sausage, his new life as an assassin. Of all his friends. Jimmy. Sparrow (although sometimes he thought he was Owen instead. Maybe he just had one of those faces). Lizzie. Martyn. Everyone he had cared about, gone.

Dead. Just like he was.

Something seemed familiar. He couldn't tell what it was.

"Home."

"Are you coming?"

"Martyn!"

"I'm giving you ten seconds to run."

Scott's eyes snapped open.

Siren Song

The Mean Gills were thriving. Martyn focussed on building his hourglass whilst Scott had built them a house. And now that it was done, and Scott was out gathering materials, he took the time to get used to the storage system. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't make sense of it. Although he did have to admit that the chests were at least somewhat organised. Martyn would never admit that it took him a solid ten minutes to get used to the storage system. In hindsight that didn't seem like a long time, but since everyone had twenty-four hours to live, it was kind of humiliating. It was like having fifty days to live and spending one of them trying to make sense of something simple.

He'd just put some stuff away when he heard it. In the distance, a tad bit muffled, he could hear something. Singing?

"Drown me underwater, watch as I flounder~" the song was low and quiet, but it's hypnotic melody caused Martyn to drop the wood he'd been holding. Curiosity held him in a vice-like grip and it refused to let go. "I'll gasp for air, for your touch, for your lips and your hair~," The song continued, slowly building in volume. The voice singing was clearly used to it, as each note was perfect and rich.

"H-hello? Anyone there?" Martyn called out. Nothing. No response. But the song kept playing upon his ears and his ears alone.

"As you pull me up and kiss me, water fills my lungs, is this something you'd miss?" The voice was closer now. Or maybe Martyn had subconsciously gotten closer to it. But he felt compelled to find the source. He barely even noticed as he gradually lost land to tread on and began to dip his feet into the water...

"Who's there?" He asked aloud. But before he could hear an answer, Martyn realised that he'd fallen into the water. The warm water was comforting. It warmed his bones and enveloped him in its embrace. He didn't want to leave. Even though his clothes were soaked and he'd lost his sandals despite not having moved, even though the water was filling his lungs-

"And when you release me and hold me down, the water floods my body, flowing down, down, down~," He was closer now. Martyn ignored the rational part of his mind telling him to swim back up and abandon his quest. But he was determined. And that voice was far too tantalising to ignore. "Down into my lungs and I forget how to breathe, but I see your smiling face and I forget how to leave, you keep me here~" And so he swam. Martyn swam down further and further. He was close to the coral. In fact, he was just skimming the sand at the seabed. Still no sign of the voice.

Actually, maybe he was wrong. Martyn saw a faint silhouette of someone not too far from him. He swam towards them. His movements were sluggish, and more and more water filled his lungs. If he didn't resurface he would die soon.

But he made it. Somehow Martyn had managed to reach them. A figure with a human body, but fins on their arms and legs and one ginormous one on their back, along with webbed fingers and toes and gills in their neck. The mop of cyan hair was familiar. So were the patches of colourful coral that clung to their skin. The jacket that had been torn and was loosely tied around their waist. Shimmering teal scales decorated the merfolk's body. They glinted like gemstones in the warped light illuminating the sea. The figure continued to sing, and slowly Martyn began to recognise more and more things. The way they sang sounded familiar. So were the figure's gestures. And when they turned around, Martyn recognised them in an instant.

"Scott?" His own voice was garbled, and water flooded in through his mouth. but he couldn't help but ask. Martyn suddenly felt light-headed. The lack of oxygen was finally catching up to him.

---

Martyn woke up later. He was in his bed with Scott kneeling down besides him, fretting over his still but newly conscious body.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit! Goddamnit, Scott, why did you do that? If you hadn't opened your stupid mouth to sing then he'd be fine!" Scott cursed himself. Martyn groaned, and Scott's attention snapped over to him in an instant. "Martyn! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Oh my god I'm so happy you're alright-" Scott cut himself off by tightly hugging Martyn.

"Whoa, whoa, sl-slow down. G-gimme a sec..." Martyn sat up and rubbed the side of his head. Scott had put on some clothes, but now that he'd seen the gills and the fins, Martyn couldn't un-see it.

"I'm so sorry about that. It was dumb and I should've thought and-"

"Calm down, Scott. It's fine," He grunted mildly in pain and coughed. Water flew out and splattered onto his clothes. "Wh-when were you gonna tell me you were a..." He struggled to find the right word.

"Siren? Merfolk? I was going to tell you later today, but I guess you beat me to it. A-and I am really sorry about this."

"Don't worry. And besides," He paused and locked eyes with Scott, taking on a grin. "You have a nice voice. And the fins really suit you."

"O-oh." Scott's face was bright red with embarrassment. "And I'll warn you if I sing again. I don't want you trying to drown yourself a second time around."

"Sounds good to me."

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.