Chapter Text
A letter came in today.
It was a large letter, sealed shut with a blue stamp outlining the beautiful and elaborate architecture of that crying city. Somewhere he hasn't been in so long. It was also wrapped in a magic seal, and only the most important letters were sent like that. Ones from Gods, or a God. And best of all, it was addressed...
“...to yours truly!"
He could barely contain his excitement, Brumm probably thought he wasn't trying but he was! His old friend, inviting him to a ball, and he wasn't hosting it! He's almost proud.
"I know, Grimm." They pull on their clothes; the stitching of fancy clothing always gives him an irritating itch. "I was the one who gave you the letter."
Grimm practically dances as he walks, skipping and hopping along the wet stone road like a child would. It makes Brumm appear like a begrudged stepdad forced to watch them in comparison.
"And for that, I thank you, my friend. Where would I be without you?" It was a rhetorical question.
"Debt." They say outright, still picking and pulling at their clothes, "Outrageous debt. Prison maybe."
"How fortunate I am to have you, then."
Brumm hums as they finally approach a grand building, one with architecture that fits the rest of the city; blue and sharp. There's a glow that bleeds outside, bright like a lamp in a dark room. Standing in the front was a retainer, short as ever, acting as gatekeeper. Its eyes land on them, bringing recognition and respect. It leads its arm out, indicating that they are free to enter.
"Good man!" Grimm passes by while Brumm whispers a quick "Thank you" as they slip by.
They immediately step off into a ballroom filled with guests and patrons, all sporting the same blue tint that coats the city, with the occasional white and gold hues. While some are blue or gold or white, all are half Grimm's height. He can clearly look over the ocean of bugs as they mingle about, talking and drinking to their heart's content.
Grimm spots a small bar in the distance, largely unoccupied, "Brumm, dear, could you grab me a drink while I grab our friend? I'd fancy some-"
"Wine?"
Grimm smiles, "You know me well. Find me after, I'm hard to miss!"
He was hard to miss, being double the height of most and uniquely crimson will have that effect. Though now he could find who he wanted to find with ease, He was quite small as well, but it was effortless to find His wife instead. She stood out with Her beautiful roots and equally tall stature, and She probably thought the same to him.
She has already spotted him, Her eyes widening, and mouthing "Oh, It's Grimm!" before leaning to get His attention. A familiar forked head peaks slightly out of the crowd looking for the red devil, only to come up short. Fortunate for Him, Grimm has waded through the busy crowd enough to have no one between them.
A smile beams across His face, "Ah, Grimm!"
Grimm prepares a bow only to be pulled down into an all-encompassing hug. He's surprised but flattered, hugging the Wyrm until satisfied. A laugh escapes the Queen as She watches the reunion from the sideline.
"Oh, Pale one, I miss you dearly, but I believe you have me beat!" Grimm passes a glance to the Lady, as if to say sorry for not greeting Her properly. She is understanding.
"Pardon my impatience, but it's been too long." He finally pulls away, releasing Grimm from His small but tight grip. "I'm glad you made it."
"I had to make sure you were throwing a ball correctly," he stands back up, towering over Him once more, "but so far, you've impressed me. I must have rubbed off on you if you were so bold to open a bar!"
His Majesty laughs, "It was actually Her idea."
"Oh?" He switches his attention to Her, "Then I have you to thank for this drink."
He turns around to Brumm delivering his glass of wine, holding it out in offering; he almost doesn't notice him. He takes his beverage, swirling it around, "Thank you, dear. You remember Brumm, don't you Wyrm?"
"Pleased to see you again, your Majesty." Brumm politely bows, not interrupted by a hug, "How do you fare?"
Grimm, now sensing a moment to himself, takes a swig of his wine as they catch up. It was red, obviously, he wouldn't dare go off-brand. A deep red, a deeper red than him. It's good, terribly good for a God, strong too. Did He brew a godly alcohol, just for him? He's touched. Already he can feel a buzz, usually when he feels nothing.
"We fare well Brumm, thank you." He looks to Grimm, noticing his reaction to the wine, "What do you think?"
"I think you spoil me." He grins, taking another swig, "Ooh, trying to entice me, aren't you?"
His Majesty laughs, "I thought you would like it!" He turns to Her, "My love, could you host the ball for the time being?"
"Yes, of course." She smiles, "I'll catch up with Brumm meanwhile. Would you like a drink, Brumm?"
"I don't drink, my Lady." Brumm begins to fade out as the two sneak away from the party, Grimm already beginning to stumble. God, this stuff was strong.
Wyrm grabs his drink and takes a sip as well, "We should leave the ballroom before we make a fool of ourselves. I wish to drink like we used to, like when we could hold our liquor."
"I can still hold my... my liquor!" They stumble again, Wyrm holds him up, "Woah, hey, I was testing you!"
They had since exited the crowd-filled ballroom, walking through the Palace's empty hallways. There were only sentries playing guard throughout, posted on doors and turns in the hallway. They pay no mind to the Higher Beings drunkenly stumbling to the King's guest room. He opens the door and leads Grimm inside, who unclips his cloak and throws it over the couch he flops on with a sigh.
He takes yet another sip, "What did you put in this thing? I haven't felt in such a way for so long!"
His Majesty flops down next to him, stealing his glass to take another swig with him, "Mortal alcohol is nothing in comparison, I ordered the bartender to keep that for you."
"You must teach me how to make some, or maybe not, I'm irresponsible." They lean on Him and whisper, "Irresponsible and... wanting."
Wyrm smiles solemnly, "Maybe I overdid that wine, I already have you nostalgic." Another swig, "You must find someone before you get lonely, Grimm."
"Too late." He leans back onto the couch, his head looking up at the ceiling, "Forgive me, it's the wine talking." A sigh, "Perhaps I'm jealous of your Lady."
"You? Jealous?" He's being sarcastic, then takes another sip.
He laughs, loudly like a drunken oaf, "I wish She would share. But in all honesty, if I had you all to myself, I wouldn't want to share either." He lolls over, "She's lucky to have you."
"I'd argue it's the other way around, but you flatter me." He places the wine on the table in front of them, the glass is almost empty, "Surely there are others that spark as I have?"
"None so far."
"How about Brumm? You two seem close?"
"Yes, we're close. Though, I can't consider him anything more than a close friend." They lean up, looking at the almost empty glass as if considering another swig, "I suppose it would be wise to concede this fruitless chase."
"It is not fruitless! It's just a matter of time, be patient. You'll find someone, you always do." He drinks the last drop of wine, "I'll get more."
He gets up, or, stumbles away to the door where a servant stands idle. He hands him the glass and quickly whispers, "A refill, please." The servant bows before running off to perform their duties.
Grimm couldn't help but notice his overwhelming warmth, the alcohol forcing him to redden and blush as if he wasn't red enough. The fireplace that cracked beyond the table certainly didn't help either, it's almost like it was planned. He gets up to inspect the room, hoping to work off the heat.
Ironically, he approaches the fireplace first. The fire illuminates its tips and curves, yet another stabbing hazard in a Palace of stabbing hazards. Ignoring that, he looks at the barely illuminated painting above the fireplace. From what he could make out, it was a portrait of the Wyrm and His wife.
He stood with His hands cupped together, looking slightly to the right of the painter to give a "regal" sort of look, like He was looking to the future. Meanwhile, The White Lady sat at His side, Her hand on His shoulder as She looked at the painter with a gentle smile. There was another figure behind them, but the light did not reach far enough for him to see who.
Moving on from the painting, sliding his claws on the fireplace as he moves, he lays eyes on a piece of armor. Again, it stood in the dark, so he was unable to make out much. It was tall, almost a head taller than him. The armor was bizarre; it had loops on the shoulder pad, and as far as he knew, that was largely impractical. Perhaps it's on this stand for a reason.
The servant is back already, holding a new glass of wine. He bows after passing it to Wyrm, who quickly thanks him before closing the door again. He walks over to Grimm, his eyes widen in mild surprise, "Oh, I didn't know they were here."
Grimm squinted his eyebrows in confusion, it was just those two, wasn't it? "Who?"
"Oh," He laughs proudly before pointing at the armor stand. "That wasn't armor you were admiring, but I guess it's too dark to see that."
Grimm does a double-take on the armor stand, now noticing that the plate of armor stops when it reaches the arm, but it is still a black hole; he needs more light to see anything. "I'm afraid so. Enlighten me?"
"Vessel," His voice becomes stern, "Come out so Grimm can see you."
The "armor" is suddenly filled with life as it takes a step into the light, Grimm recoils as what he thought to be inanimate stoically walks in front of the fireplace before stopping again. It's completely still again, as if dead.
The Wyrm smiles proudly as Grimm examines this, "Vessel" He spoke of. Their nail pointed to the ground, their hands resting on the pommel. Their skin was dark, completely black like charcoal. He didn't recognize the cloak on their back, falling to the floor, but still clean despite that. And their eyes, giant gaping holes without a single unloyal thought behind them. A royal knight of His?
"Beautiful, isn't it?" His smile shines brighter than the fire, "My greatest project yet in terms of engineering."
A construct, then? "I would ask but I'm too intoxicated to absorb any information."
"In that case, just think of it as an unwavering loyal knight." He takes a sip of His newly refilled wine, "Obedient to the very core."
He's not sure what to make of this, "Pass that to me." He mutters, wishing for another drink. How it was crafted is none of his business, but something as solid as this must have required a great sacrifice.
Another cup of wine down his gullet as he continues to poke and prod Vessel with his eyes. Was Vessel its name? Or did it mean something else? Who knows, who cares? He turns around to head back to the comfort of the couch, only for his legs to twist incorrectly, causing the floor to approach rapidly.
This clumsy oaf was about to eat marble before an arm juts out and catches him, causing the floor to approach not-so-rapidly anymore. He looks up to find Vessel had caught him with their free arm, their eyes now locked to his. Deep eyes, seemingly empty and void. The Vessel quickly retracts their arm and looks forward, becoming a statue once more.
"What's not to love?" Wyrm shrugs before waddling back to the couch. Grimm follows, this time with less appetite for the floor.
"It is a quality construct, I confess." He sneaks another peak at the Vessel, it still stands as a sculpture. He whispers, "It doesn't care for gossiping, does it?"
"Oh, no, I don't believe it could care of it tried. It's too obedient to spout our secrets." Wyrm takes another sip, "So gossip away."
"Alright," Grimm stares again at Vessel, specifically at the armor, "Why does their armor have..." He hesitates, "Loops?"
"Ah," He thought the question was silly, but the Wyrm seemed to instantly know what he was talking about, "So it's easier to pick them up."
He was going to ask why before a memory having suddenly be thrust upon him. During their walk here, he remembers seeing a statue in the middle of the city. It was still under construction, but the head was done. It had two horns and two hollow eyes just like his motionless friend by the firepit.
There was a plaque by said statue that read in big, bold letters, "Hallownest's Sacrifice", which left little to the imagination for their future. Usually, he's indifferent to such matters, but he can't help but feel a prick of sympathy. Poor thing was made alive just to perish again.
"Oh," Another prick of sympathy, "It's uh, very unique. Custom made?"
His Majesty nods, "I forget the name of the armor smith, they own the 'Armor an' Smiths' shop in the market square." A wicked smile erupts, "I remember the look on their face when I first approached them, he was so eager to please me."
The way He worded that left him a bit uneasy, but ignoring that, "Yes, I remember that place." Though not vividly, he never needed conventional weaponry, "Was the nail made there too?"
"No, they specialized in armor smithing, so they pointed me to a nail smith." His smile falters, "He was rude, but he makes quality weaponry."
He hums, "You put a lot of faith in them." He goes to take another drink only to realize that he has emptied the glass, again.
"I do," He sees the sour expression on Grimm's face and the empty glass accompanying it, and he laughs, "Gone already, hm?"
"Apologies," A weak, tired smile drags its way onto his face, "I barely shared."
His Majesty looks at a clock on the wall, its hands pointing around the 12:30 mark, "Well, I suppose it's getting late." He stands up and walks to the door. "Ring for a servant if you need anything, they'll treat you right."
"Thank you, Wyrm." Now having the couch to himself, he flops down on his stomach with a sigh. He rolls over, "Sorry for acting like a lightweight."
"It's fine, there's always a next time. I'm not going anywhere." He steps outside before turning around for one last "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he says, before He quietly closes the door, leaving the room silent, other than the crackling of the fire or the movement of Grimm on the couch.
He was alone, again. Or, alone with Vessel, anyway. He didn't mind too much as it didn't seem to be capable and higher thought. Actually, scratch that, they had caught him earlier without any orders, so it had some amount of intelligence, right?
Curiosity winning over, Grimm pulls himself off the sofa and saunters over to the stoic statue near the fire. They pay him no mind as he approaches, that, or they didn't notice him. They were so unresponsive that it was hard to tell, they could've died minutes ago for all he knew, and he wouldn't notice.
He circles them like a vulture, looking them up and down for anything that stands out now that they are alone. Tall, hollow eyes, cloak, nothing has changed other than his curiosity. He looks down at their nail, their hands resting on the pommel, covering the pale steel at the hilt.
Wait, steel?
He leans down to inspect it further, but their hands block his line of sight. It didn't suggest that it was going to move anytime soon, so he tried to peel their fingers away from the hilt, only to be met with stone stillness. It would probably be easier to ask.
"May I see your hand?" Grimm asks, holding out his own.
The first move is made, the Vessel turns its head, looking at him with their hollow eyes, or maybe through him. Then, after a moment, they hold out their hand, palm up. Their palm is horribly calloused, thick with dead flesh; looks like he was right, the nail lacked any kind of grip other than its exposed metal.
"Poor thing..." he whispers to himself, his thumb gliding over their calloused bumps. "You could use a break, huh?" Unsurprisingly, they don't speak nor move, simply staring. They do not respond, again.
For being so quiet, they don't appear to mind the pain. Holding a nail like that must hurt, yet they don't dare complain. Maybe they don't feel pain? It is a construct, so that's not a total impossibility.
"Does it hurt?" He whispers. Again, they do not respond. The only thing that responds is the fire, cracking away. He sighs, he isn't getting anywhere like this, the lack of communication makes it impossible to sympathize properly. It's almost like they aren't allowed!
Oh. The realization hits him, hard. Poor thing doesn't deserve this. A sad expression falls upon him, "You aren't allowed to say, aren't you?"
While their expression remains unchanged, their hand begins to tremble, shaking as if they were caught in a lie. Oddly enough, the Vessel can breathe, or in this case, hyperventilate. Choked gasps are let out instead of anything that could be considered breathing. It's like they're out of practice.
"No, it's fine! I'm not mad, I-" His eyes dart around, trying to avoid their hollow gaze, which now imparts the feeling of scrutiny. He regrets saying anything.
In their trembling, the Vessel seems to either lose its balance or stop trying to maintain it, falling forward onto Grimm. He instinctually catches them, noting their surprisingly lightweight figure. He continues to hold their hand to comfort them, so he wraps his other arm around them in a hug to further this effort. Their head hangs over their shoulder, still choking with shallow breathing. They hold on to their nail, although limply.
"Oh dear, don't worry so much. Come, sit down with me." He leads them away to the couch, basically carrying them as they struggle to keep upright. "Come now, take your time."
Finally making it to the furniture, Grimm acts as an anchor as the Vessel seats himself, letting go when he believes they are stable enough. They let their nail clatter down beneath them before clutching to one of their horns, still shaking and quivering like a wet ant. A black liquid began to stream down from their sockets; they were crying, he guessed.
He wanted to comfort them, to make the crying stop, but he wasn't sure how to do that. It's not like he could ask, it's a construct after all. So, to efficiently relieve stress the only way he knew how, he took the empty wine glass from before and quickly peered out the door, meeting the servant who stood just outside.
He holds the glass out, almost hiding himself, "A refill, please? Thank you." A small nod, followed by the quick scampering of their travel for even more alcohol.
During their little quest, Grimm looks back to the Vessel, who is still trembling. It's odd to see the statue that he almost missed melt into a shivering puddle of black tears, and without uttering a word, if they are even capable of doing so. If he hadn't gotten up, he probably would've never noticed them.
"Sir?" He whips around, the little servant is already back, holding their drink. Quick little guy.
"Oh, thank you." He takes his drink, closes the door, and walks back to the couch, only to realize his problem-solver had a problem, one that he couldn't believe he missed.
Where is their mouth?
He stood there wide-eyed in his epiphany for a few moments, looking for anything that could be considered a mouth. He finds nothing, but unwilling to squander the effort, offers the drink anyway. Perhaps the thought will matter more than the material.
"Would you like a drink?" He sets the glass on the table in front of them, in case they want it.
Surprisingly, they do reach for it, their shivering causing the liquid inside to swing in waves and ripples. They study it for a brief instant before bringing it just below the tip of their mask and pouring it down, spilling some drops in the process. So, they did have a mouth, it was hidden. His Majesty has created a very odd construct.
Their shaking had subsided a bit, replaced with a woozy demeanor that made him glad that they were sitting down. Their gaze glides about the room, eyeing anything and everything in what he could only assume was their first time getting drunk. At least they've stopped crying, or whatever that black goop was to them. They still stifle and choke but it's noticeably less intense.
To try and comfort them further, he rubs their back in a slow, circular pattern. They don't seem to notice or pay it any mind, but it doesn't appear to do much either in terms of comfort as the Vessel turns toward him and practically headbutts his chest in a desperate hug.
They tense up for a moment, "...Hold..." They voicelessly strangle out before loosening up again, going limp in his arms.
Grimm does a double-take, His Majesty couldn't have possibly taught it speech, could they? As Grimm ponders, the Vessel under him tugs and pulls at him, basically pleading for his embrace, and he would be cruel to not do so. He gently wraps around them, mostly their head and neck from where they're positioned, and slowly falls back onto the couch.
Only now did Grimm realize how tired he was, struggling to keep his eyes open. Sleep begged for a turn, but he wasn't quite ready.
The Vessel was silent again, no more crying, no more hushed choking, just their feather-like presence resting on his stomach. Mission accomplished, he guesses, though again, sleep was all the more tempting with each passing moment, especially when holding someone so intimately.
"Forgive me, my friend but I'm nodding off." His head falls back completely, fully ready to let himself drift, "You won't mind if I nap, do you?"
He is unsurprisingly met with silence, but they do manage to shake their head. He largely felt it more than he saw it, but they undoubtedly did it. At least they're responsive.
Instinct taking over, Grimm brushes their horns, his hand catching on the inner curves and points. Their horns look smooth as butter, but their texture is rough as sandpaper, they're probably durable. He moves past it, continuing to scrub away before jumping back to the stark realization that he did not ask for permission.
But the Vessel wasn't fond of that apparently, letting an arm go just to grab his wrist and pull it to their horns again.
That was weirdly endearing, "Sorry." He whispers before getting back to business, petting and brushing along their angles and arcs. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."
This continues, fortunately, for a long time, his hands becoming more and more irritated by the friction. But it was well worth it as the Vessel seemed to reciprocate by... purring? A low rumbling, vibrations that differ from the trembling from earlier. He assumes this is a good development compared to the choked crying; they could be sleeping for all he knows.
While they did purr, they didn't appear to breathe. There was no fall and rise of their chest, just the vibrations of their relentless purring. That's probably why it strained so much just to say a word, they don't know how to take a proper breath before speaking; and possible restrictions on their speech.
Drowsiness finally takes him, yanking away his thoughts and enveloping him in darkness. He sinks into the couch, arriving to the sacred bliss of hungover slumber. Only to be ripped out by a piercing headache and a voice that woke him.
"Master?" Brumm stood by the bedside, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him. When they see his eyes flicker open, they stop. "Apologies, it's well into the day and... I figured you slept long enough."
Grimm sits up, rubbing his headache away the best he can, the Vessel is gone, "It doesn't feel as such. What time is it?"
They shake their head, "It's well into the evening, almost four."
He stops, "Four? PM?" He didn’t have anything planned for today, but even so, that’s the most he has slept in, and it doesn’t even feel like it.
They nod solemnly, "PM. His Majesty was understanding, however, He worried that you may have perished."
As they say this, the man Brumm speaks of peers around the door with a worried look, "Is he dead?"
They turn, "Not dead, Your Majesty."
A sigh of relief as they push past the door and enter the room, "I had feared the worst! Grimm, you sleep like a corpse. I tried to wake you in the AM, but you were still asleep, so I waited until midday, but you were still sleeping! Same spot, not so much as a shift. I worried I gave you too much to drink.”
A soft laugh escapes him, as anything greater would pierce his head, “Sorry for the scare, I’m just…” Another painful wave rushes through his head, he groans, gripping his head tighter, “Do you have any water?”
“Of course,” The Wyrm turns around to the door he entered through and begins to speak to nothing before trailing off. “Can we get… Ah, he’s on break, isn’t he?” He whispers to himself and turns again to the fireplace; they cock an eyebrow. “Vessel?”
Oh, he nearly forgot. Where did the Vessel run off to? Surprisingly, he can remember last night rather well. He recalls the weird, guttural cry, the odd but endearing way they grabbed his wrist on the couch. But now they were gone, probably got up far earlier than him, he did sleep in after all.
“Grimm, did you send them off somewhere?”
“If I did, I don’t remember—” Just as he cuts himself off, Vessel opens the door, holding a glass of water. Dread takes him for a moment; he doesn’t know why, but he feels like he’s about to get them in trouble. That is further reinforced when the Vessel freezes up in the doorway after catching glimpse of the Wyrm, straightening his back immediately and looking forward at attention.
The unfortunate screeching of the door being pushed open gets the King’s attention, but a smile beams as he reaches them. “There you are!” He takes the glass of water from them and passes it to Grimm, “Looks like you were one step ahead of me.”
His confusion is barely hidden, but he manages, “Oh, yes!” He forces a nervous laugh, “I nearly forgot.”
He turns around to Vessel again, exceptionally proud. “Good thing Grimm had you around, huh?” Much to Grimm’s surprise, the Vessel mechanically nods their head. This only brightens the Wyrm’s smile even more. They mutter under their breath, “Exceptional.”
Grimm watches in increasingly worried looks, His treatment towards Vessel becoming more and more noticeably odd. They shoot a glance towards Brumm, but they quickly shrug before returning their attention to Wyrm. Grimm interjects, “What about your Highness?”
He clears his throat, as if regaining composure, “Gone, running errands. She offered me to stay here so I would worry less about your state.” They turn, facing Grimm, “I’m glad; now I have one less concern on my mind.”
“You’re still on mine.” Grimm blurts out before laughing at himself, “Sorry, that was too good to pass up.”
Your Majesty laughs with him, covering his mouth in artificial surprise, “In front of Brumm?” He adds sarcastically, “Have ye no shame?”
This time, Brumm cracks a smile, silently grinning to himself as Grimm snickers, “Oh, none at all. Brumm has seen far worse than a bit of bad flirting.” He turns to Brumm with a sly smile, “Haven’t you?”
Brumm just barely chuckles, “Grimm was always a show-off, as I’m sure you know, even during more… intimate moments.”
“What?” He asks, before it clicks. His eyes widen as he gasps, covering His mouth again in very genuine surprise this time, “Grimm! That’s devilish!”
Despite the growing pain in his cranium, Grimm cackles from their reaction, pushing their head into the arm of the couch to muffle his voice. Brumm is along with him, with soft, low snickering. Grimm lifts his head, “Come now, we’re Gods! Indulge a little!”
“I could never!” The King crosses His arms, shaking His head, “I’m a God, but I still have standards!”
“Such a frivolous thing such as standards should have no hold on you,” Grimm sits up, his headache is beginning to leave him be, “Live in shame and you’ll die lame.” His smile stays firmly on his face.
He scoffs. “So I’ve heard,” He pivots to the door, talking as he walks, “Stay as long as you wish, Grimm. You’re welcome here, despite your inappropriate mating habits.” He turns around and glances at Brumm, “The same applies to you as well, poor soul.”
Brumm’s smile flashes again, “Yes, of course.”
His head peaks from the door for one final say-so, “The Vessel will tend to your needs if you have any, all you need to do is ask.” His head disappears from view, and the door closes shut. Muffled footsteps are heard on the other side of the door as He walks away.
Brumm’s smile finally falters as he turns to Grimm, “You never told Him?”
“Never had the chance to,” He rubs his head still, “Not a lot of free time lately, for Him anyway.”
“He never made time for you?”
His headache had numbed itself enough for Grimm to stop the rubbing across his head, crossing his legs and propping up his arm on the top of the couch to lean onto. He looks off somewhere, a nostalgic look on him, “I’ve changed plenty since I first met him, but so has He. We've just grown apart over the years, and I fear he’s less fond of me now.”
His expression sours, then immediately brightens again, “But I’m clearly just reminiscing on the past! If we had drifted apart, He wouldn’t be so kind as to brew my favorite alcohol, would He?”
Brumm quietly shakes his head.
“I thought as much!” Grimm pops off the couch, "Come now, let’s return home, I have an idea for a script.”
His face distorts in annoyance, "Walking, aren't we?”
"Yes, we're walking. I’d like to stop at a shop or two along the way.” He pats them on the shoulder, “But don’t worry, once we get back, I’ll make sure you enjoy a well-deserved break. Sound fine?”
They grumble under their breathe, then sigh, “I suppose.”
“Wonderful!” Both walk through the door, except Grimm pays the Vessel some mind as it stands motionless again, soon to be alone. He calls behind him, waving, “Thank you for the water, it was very sweet of you!”
It slightly recoils, and silently and slowly nods, then is left behind with a click of the door enclosing it inside.
Perhaps it’s because of last night, but Grimm can’t help but feel just a touch affectionate, even if it was just a construct. It had such a cute virgin-like innocence to it; he’ll have to ask the Wyrm how to make one. Nothing could replace Brumm, but it could take the load off.
Grimm wanted to visit was the “Armor ‘an Smiths” his Majesty was talking about earlier. If they were good quality as He said, he might have to think about some designs; he already had some ideas. Unfortunately, they were closed, for good. They had apparently gone bankrupt a few days ago, according to the random bugs Brumm practically interrogated. Grimm would’ve asked but most bugs get cold feet in his presence. It’s almost annoying.
Of course, it’s unlike Grimm to come back empty-handed, so they stopped and had some ice cream along the way. "Aloe’s Ice Cream” Cute local place on the outskirts of the city. Brumm didn't get anything, but Grimm helped himself to a strawberry cone.
So fortunate that the Troupe moved here, now Grimm was able to live out his fantasies of shopping sprees and overpriced drinks. And the sight, he admits, is astounding. The city is beautiful, even more so during the darker hours. The light blue across the horizon was eye-catching, maybe he's finally growing used to the red shade of fire.
Probably not, the sight of that crimson in that quaint little town was a reminder that he was missing it. Yes, he supposes that blue tint was nice to look at, but it was far too static. If a breeze came through, it would not flutter and flicker as flame would, it would not warm the air and bugs surrounding it. It’s a one trick pony, it illuminates the surrounding area and that’s all. It does the job, but it could be done with more style.
“Master?” They follow Grimm’s gaze to a torch secured near the entrance. He snaps out of his thoughts with a shake of his head, looking down to see Brumm standing with his back to the troupe tent. “Are you okay? Is there something wrong with the light?”
“Huh?” His eyes flutter as he regains his conscience, “Oh! Apologies, I was lost in my thoughts. Were you saying something?”
“No, just checking.” He grabs the fabric of the tent and pulls it back before motioning Grimm to enter, “After you.”
He does so, ducking his head and walking through first. He takes a breath of familiar air, “Consider this a day off, I’ve made you walk around enough for one trip.”
They bow, “Thank you. I’ll be in my quarters if you need me,” A familiar crimson flame begins to envelop him, surrounding him as if he were in the eye of a tornado, “Good day.” He says, the flames obscuring him completely before poofing away, leaving a few remnants of flame to fly off and flicker out.
Poor thing...He couldn’t even gather the strength to walk to his room. How cruel of him to make him trudge through the city like that! Perhaps he’ll get the next day off as well...
But that’s for tomorrow. Right now, Grimm needed to recharge. Yes, he slept until it was well past the waking hour, but time to himself is in order; the fact that he spaced out earlier is evidence of that.
He takes a page from Brumm’s book and begins to surround himself in crimson. He closes his eyes, and with a small and quick twirl, he opens his eyes and reappears in his private chamber. Any longer without teleporting and he might’ve forgotten how to do so without effort.
His room was modest, at least for a humble God as himself. The carpet was soft, the bed was queen-sized, and the sheets for that bed were as smooth as the clouds. Pillows were strewn about it, operating under ‘the more the merrier’ policy of quantity. It made the couch he slept on seem like a punishment. His work desk was large, with multiple drawers and a built-in lamp hanging over the front. The top was decorated with a quill, some ink, and an unfinished piece of parchment.
He pulls the chair back and sits down. As he rummages through his drawers to find blank paper, he hears a faint accordion play just beyond the wall. Brumm had already begun to enjoy his leisure.
Finding an empty page, he gently dips the quill into the jar of ink. He taps it once on the lid before pressing it against the page.
He was inspired by that Vessel. Their character was unique enough to be written down. The silent and strong type, but with a soft side to them if you get close enough. That's protagonist material!
Though, he’s not sure what their motivation would be. To not utter a word, even if it would be nothing but beneficial, is difficult to write; better yet, explain.
Maybe a physical disability? They never learned? Childhood traumatic experience? No, that last one is lazy. Too cliché.
Suddenly, a gentle series of taps comes from his door. He puts down his quill and waves at the paper to dry the ink faster before answering.
It's a novice, already bowing at his feet, “M’lord, I hope I'm not disturbing you…” Though it speaks seriously, their voice squeaks as that of a child. They hold a staff behind them, with that familiar flame on top.
“No, not at all.” He bows back. He's well aware that he doesn't need to, but it feels only fair. "What brings you here?”
“Well, we found someone snooping around the troupe and…” Their voice lowers to a hush, "I think you might recognize them.”
"Recognize who—?”
He blinks, taking great to make sure his eyes aren’t failing him. Skin as dark as the void, a silver cape, V-shaped horns; yes, that was the Vessel, standing before him like a lost child. But unlike a lost child, their gaze was locked on him and him alone, almost staring. “Vessel?”
The novice turns around, “Is that their name?”
“It’s complicated,” Grimm says outright. He points, “This here is a good friend of mine, and I trust them with my life. Would you excuse us?”
“Of course,” The Novice bows again, “If you trust them, then so do I.”
“Thank you,” He thanks him, but as soon as the Novice leaves his line of sight, he drops his polite smile and ushers the Vessel inside, “Come, hurry now.” The Vessel offers no complaints as it’s practically pulled inside.
Grimm closes the door behind them, then takes a breath, “Why are you here?”
It does not answer. It instead stares.
“Ah, right...” Grimm saunters over to his desk, leaning against it, “You can answer yes or no questions, can’t you?”
It nods exactly once.
“Wonderful.” If they couldn’t, he wouldn’t know what to do with them, “Did you follow me here?”
They sit for a moment, before slowly and shamefully nodding.
“And why would you—” He stops himself, his curiosity is strong, “Sorry.” His eyes drift about the room as he thinks for yes or no questions, “Are you here to spy on me?”
They quickly and clearly shake their head.
Okay, worst case scenario has been thoroughly dismissed, good. At least that worry is off his mind. While his eyes drift, they land on the parchment he was writing on earlier. He has an epiphany, suddenly scrounging together a quill and paper, “Can you write?”
It doesn’t shake its head, instead shrugging. He guesses that’s their version of “I don’t know, never tried.”
“It’s alright,” He lays a blank piece of paper down, “it doesn’t have to be perfect. Come, sit.” He hands them the quill, “Now, could you write down why you’re here?”
It takes the quill, holding it like a sword in a tight reverse grip. They roughly plunge the utensil down and begin to drag it harshly along the parchment. It’s obvious that they have never written before. After a mighty struggle, they pull their quill away. It’s a mess, letters are backwards, the paper has holes from their rough treatment, misplaced ink blobs splattered about, but Grimm can just about decipher it. It read, “Scared”.
Now concerned, “You’re scared?”
They nod.
He was hoping they wouldn’t nod. He lowers his voice, “What are you scared of?”
The Vessel takes the quill and stabs into down into the paper again, this time spelling out a much simpler and shorter word, though it felt longer to Grimm. Again, letters are spelt incorrectly and without practice. This time it read, “Dad”.
Every question has an answer worse than the last. “The King? The Pale King?”
They nod again, oh dear God, they nodded.
Despite the worsening reality, Grimm asks another question, “Why are you scared of Him?”
They take the quill to the page again, quicker this time. It seemed that Grimm wasn’t the only one that wanted this conversation to end. They had run out of ink at this point, but they didn’t know when or how to dip, so they more or less scratched the next word onto the page. “Hurt”.
He exhales, finding this all just too much. It felt like a betrayal. That old friend of his would never even consider hurting a mere mortal, let alone a construct of his own making! The Wyrm has changed in ways he can’t fathom, nor approve of.
He’s disappointed, to say the least; his tone becoming more tired and strained, “So, if I were to...” He trails off. He would never but it’s good to clarify, “If I were to send you back, would He hurt you again?”
They quickly nod. Poor thing.
Seeing no other solution, he kneels with a sympathetic smile, “Then in that case, I have no quarrel with it. You can stay as long as you like.”
He is suddenly overpowered by an enormous hug, falling backwards from his kneeling position as the Vessel thanks him the only way they know how. They hugged so tightly it hurt, but he didn’t dare mention that.
He hugged back, “It’s my pleasure, my friend.”
He pulls back, a smile still on his face as he raises his hands and quickly claps twice. The muffled playing of an accordion stops sharply. After a moment, Brumm teleports in front of them, his head low in a bow.
“Grimm.” They greet, slowly raising their head to meet the Vessel’s gaze. Their eyes narrow as they look the Vessel up and down, as if confirming, "What are they doing here?”
“I'll tell you later,” he leans in, whispering, "I need you to relay a message. Tell the Grimmkin that this Vessel is under our ranks, and that this is a secret that will be kept with the utmost discretion.” He leans away, no longer whispering, "Got it?”
They seem confused, but after a moment they nod, "Done.” Fire begins to envelop them again as they prepare to make an exit. They speak from beyond the veil of flame, "But you owe me a story later.”
"Of course. Remind me later.” He quickly waves.
The flames secede, and Brumm is gone, to no one’s surprise. Except maybe Vessel, whose eyes dart around the room, searching for Brumm.
Grimm pats them on the shoulder, "Don’t worry, they’re fine." He would love to explain how the troupe’s teleportation works, but he doesn't want to overwhelm them. For now, simple explanation, "It's a…magic trick.”
The Vessel eases, and in amusement of their "magic trick”, applauds them. They clap their hands together in cold, but jovial praise. Grimm finds it endearing yet again.
With a smile, they nudge the Vessel, "They thank you for the praise.” Brumm has no idea they are being praised, but he can tell them later. Right now, his biggest priority is spoiling their new permanent guest until they know no pain, with the help of the entire troupe, of course.
As much as he would love for this to go smoothly, Grimm knows the King will come looking. He can imagine it now, “Grimm, have you seen my Vessel? You remember them from the party. They went missing the day after and I’m beginning to worry.”
But he would say nothing, the troupe will say nothing, and the Vessel will be safe.