Any new hermits in MCC: I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. If I had just survived 0.0001 second longer we would’ve had more coins, I’m a weak link, I’m sorry I will do better, I’m s–
Summary: In which Grian dwells on the aftermath of his encounter with Tango, and is the recipient of a peculiar lead.
Part I
~ Please reblog if you enjoy! ^ ^ ~
Grian stood now in the office, gazing at the rain-soaked world outside the window and thinking the vague thoughts of a rainy morning. A week had passed since the incident with Tango, and Grian had not seen him since. He made an effort not to linger too much on what had happened - after all, it was true that their paths did not cross often outside of business and there was no sense in needless paranoia - but he didn’t like the idea of the demon still alive in the city. He knew Tango well enough to suspect he was an unpleasant enemy to have; a person one would be remiss to leave out of sight. There was little chance he’d died of blood loss, unfortunately, and no doubt he'd have heightened his guard and be lying low.
Alas, it seemed there was nothing to do for it though but to carry on and keep a watchful eye. He sipped his tea, hoping privately he’d have no reason to venture out into the storm today, then turned at the sound of the door opening.
Mumbo entered bearing several letters. “Mail’s here,” he announced helpfully, “Just one for you.” He handed Grian the letter and began to open his own correspondences.
“Hope it’s a job,” Grian mused aloud, setting down his cup and saucer and beginning to open the letter.
“It’d better be; Papa K isn’t going to pay me until I get a new story for him.”
To Mr. Grian
I have something to say that I feel I must get off my chest, and I fear you’re the best person to tell. You see, I own a little cafe in Syville Square - it’s nothing special, but we serve 24 hours a day for convenience. That means, however, myself or my husband are often awake at odd hours, and I - we’ve seen some odd going-ons that I feel I must tell somebody about.
To be perfectly blunt, I am of the opinion that there is some sort of organisation or meeting-place of monsters in Syville Square - somewhere underground, I am inclined to think. I’ve seen one too many peculiar people in the area in the dead hours of the night. Funny silhouettes, people that act strange if approached. In the alley by Meadowsweet Cafe I suspect there is an entrance. I ask that you investigate this - while I haven’t enough money to pay you good commission, surely the police will provide you with bounty.
If this all turns out to be nothing more than shadows, you’ll have to forgive me for being a paranoid old lady. Thank you kindly.
Regards, Tabitha Crawley
Mumbo had evidently not discovered anything of interest in his own letters and had folded and returned them to their respective envelopes, preferring the greater intrigue of adjusting his collar. “Anything?” He asked, scrutinising his reflection.
“I’m not sure,” Grian said slowly, tapping one talon on the table in thought. “Do you know anything about Syville Square?”
“Syville Square? Place with a load of cafes and restaurants, right? Big statue of a bloke stabbing a creeper?”
“That’s the one I think. Here, tell me what you think of this.” He offered the letter to Mumbo.
A few seconds of silence passed while Mumbo read. “Well, that’s rather unhelpful,” he commented mildly, “One would expect a bit more promise of recompense.”
“Reckon I should check it out? I prefer to get paid upfront is all, and the police can’t be trusted to pay me bounty after I’ve done my bit.”
“Look at it this way,” Mumbo declared, moving back to the mirror, “Worst case is old Tabby is completely batty, in which case you just waste a bit of time. Best case is you find a secret meeting-place of monsters, which, if you play your cards right, could mean high reward.”
“You think it’s time to play spy?” Grian asked, a grin spreading on his face, “Collect intel and offer my service to the police only with commission?”
“Mhm. If I get paid per article you should get paid per monster. Otherwise, they’ll just give you a good boy sticker and a couple of emeralds, and gratitude doesn’t pay the bills.”
"Then again," Mumbo added thoughtfully, "I have ulterior motives for encouraging you. If you go through with a super important sting you can give me a special interview, and maybe we'll make enough to have someone else clean this place."
"Fair point! I’ll have a poke around later today,” Grian acquiesced, tail flicking in excitement as he picked up his cup and saucer and made for the door.
He paused at the door. “Tea?”
“Please!”
As Grian left heard the vague strains of Mumbo singing “Miss Tabby’s gone batty, her dress is all tatty …” to the tune of Oranges and Lemons.
-
Mercifully, the storm had grown bored of drenching New Hermiton and moved towards other venues, leaving only a thick ceiling of dark clouds and lacklustre rain in its wake. Grian found himself sitting in the Meadowsweet Cafe with a journal open in front of him, it’s pages slowly succumbing to mindless doodling as he conducted a very dull stake-out. He’d asked for a Tabitha Crawley, only to be told she wasn’t in and had thus resorted to drastic measures - ordering a hot chocolate and a cookie and sitting in the warm cafe.
He didn’t know what he expected to see, nor how long he expected to wait - in truth, he’d found the warmth and coffee-scented air of the cafe had a soporific effect on him, and the prospect of going out into the rain again seemed more uninviting than ever. Nonetheless, he kept an eye on the goings-on (what little of which there were) outside the alley-facing window. With only the mildest interest, he watched a pale grey cat catch a pigeon before realising the feathery wet carcass did not lend itself to palatability. He glanced at the clock - 7:20 pm - and took a desultory bite of cookie.
The sky was dim with the fall of evening now, and Grian knew he was out of time to stall. He stood, stretched, and donned his dark grey capelet in readiness for the elements.
The damp and narrow alley reminded him of the many others that made up the circulatory system of the city. There was a familiar aura of being trapped and vulnerable, and the tall walls on each side stretched far enough up that even in daylight one felt curiously shadowed. It was a place where the average pedestrian thought only of reaching the sanctity of the wider street, willfully ignorant of anything around them. A place where cretins like Tango skulked. Then again, so do I. This, Grian thought, was what made it such a brilliant hiding place. The rain had stopped, only to be replaced by fog. Brilliant.
He made a quick survey of the alley, meaning to note anything of interest. It was very much the same as any other - littered with rubbish, forgotten bins, straggling weeds, and the occasional glint of nocturnal eyes that blinked into invisibility. Those doorways that did exist did not invite entrance. They seemed to shrink back into the walls, their ugly countenances worn of rusting iron and rotting wood.
If he was to encounter a creature, it would be no good to be caught on the ground. He cast an eye up, looking for - there. Shifting his capelet and undoing the catch of his jumper underneath, Grian shook his wings free and flitted up to a niche high up the side of one building. Settling into the nook until he felt damp stone press his back, he made sure his cape covered him adequately. From here, nestled in the shadow of the niche, he had - fittingly - a bird's-eye view of the alley, obscured only by a few clotheslines.
He waited.
Perhaps an hour passed before anyone entered the alley, by which time Grian was getting fed up, scratching absently at the wall with one ungloved claw. But someone did come. A tall someone, only a silhouette in the now-complete darkness. Grian watched, unseen, comforted only by the weight of the various firearms against his hips. The someone didn't creep as a criminal would but strode in complete comfort, unfearing of the dark and seclusion. They looked up only once, and Grian's body tensed. The eyes that appraised the alley walls reflected the moon's light in iridescent, poisonous green.
It had evidently only been an arbitrary glance, for they moved on quickly enough. Descending a short flight of stairs that led to what must've been a basement, the figure disappeared into a wall.
Grian followed, no doubt faster than he should have. The stairway was only a dip in the ground, tucked against the side of the alley and railed. The door it led to, like others of the kind, did not invite company. His heartbeat pounded despite his lack of any particular fear. If it was a civilian, he could handle that. If it was a monster, he could simply reveal himself and act the part. Theoretically.
Upon entering the room, heralded by an unfortunate creak, he was met with a slaughterhouse, lit by a single lantern that did not appear to be a constant feature. It was clearly disused, and the smell of rot, old blood, and abandonment were thick in the air. The floor was packed dirt, the equipment that had been left was rusting and unuseable, the beams rotted and damp, stranded by cobwebs whose makers had even determined the place unliveable.
Disgusting. What a good method of keeping people out, he mused.
Grian suddenly realised he wasn't sure where his quarry had gone. He looked around hopefully, then examined the floor in search of a clue. Thank goodness for the rain, he reflected, seeing that wet footprints had pressed slightly upon the dirt floor, leading him towards the back wall.
A glimmer of light caught Grian's attention as he neared the lazily-masoned brick wall. The mortar was disintegrating and cracked all throughout, but where the light peeked in, he realised there was a very fine seam between the bricks, imperceptible were it not for the light. He ran a gloved hand over the brickwork, his grip curling around one of the bricks that had shifted from its confinement. He pulled.
A panel of the bricks came free on a hinge. They had been fixed with wood to create a hidden door that opened to a short, dark corridor. Well, he thought, if its not monsters, its definitely some sort of cult.
The short corridor led to a larger lobby of sorts, dimly lit by lanterns and tiled in large slabs of dark grey and green marble. A stone arch at the end of the room crowned a large door, and to one side of this was a countertop that seemed to belong to a cloakroom.
And there was the figure, too, standing near the cloakroom counter and chatting amiably to the man behind the counter. He had removed a dark red half-cape which was folded over one arm, but he also seemed to have allowed certain other attributes to relax. He was a phantom hybrid, by the looks of it - the back of his shirt ridged over a peculiarly defined spine, and at the base of his spine began a thin tail, ridged with the characteristic elongated white vertebrae of a phantom and ending with a blade of bone.
There was nowhere to hide, and even if there had been, the sound of Grian's boots on the tile would've given him away. The man turned his head, fixing Grian with those eyes that had flashed green, catlike.
The man at the counter also noticed him, and Grian in turn realised the curved white horns that grew from his head, the bovine ears that flattened upon seeing an unfamiliar face.
The man behind the counter disappeared, emerging from a door to the side of the desk, and revealing his person in full. The creature that entered the lobby was massive. Grian had seen centaurs before, though they weren't common - but in this case, the well-muscled torso of the man led into the stocky body of a bull, whose musculature rippled faintly under a sleek black pelt. He makes for a good bouncer.
"Who's this, Scar?" The bull-centaur asked, his voice impassive.
Grian acted. He moved further into the room, forcing down the anxiety that fluttered in his heart and reaching for the clasp of his capelet.
“I’m sorry for intruding,” he prefaced with an apologetic smile, “But I heard about some sort of organisation for monsters and I was intrigued. I’m sorry to have followed you without your knowledge, sir, but I uh -“ he faltered, summoning a pathetic air, “I - want friends.”
He drew off his cape then to reveal his wings.
Scar, who had been regarding him all the while with an odd, knowing sort of half-smile, seemed suddenly to snap to life. He chuckled good-naturedly as though they were old friends, and said, “Oh, you don’t have to bother with that; we’re friends here.” He turned to the bull-centaur to say airily, “He’s with me Impulse, don’t you worry!”
With little else to do, Grian followed in Scar's lead. If this stranger had decided to toy with him on a whim, he'd make sure the man regretted it.
Impulse moved closer to Grian, towering over him effortlessly. Then he held out a hand with a cheerful smile.
“Name's Impulse. Nice to meet you!”
“Adrien; and it’s good to be here.” He returned pleasantly, warming irresistibly to the unexpected kindness of such an intimidating creature.
“I can take your cloak if you like, and you'll have to leave your weapons with me too.” Impulse directed casually, offering an arm to take his capelet.
There was no sense in disobeying, and Grian (mostly) complied, removing all his visible weapons and leaving himself with a small revolver tucked into his waistband and a knife that sheathed conveniently at the back of his trousers, covered by his jumper. Lastly, he - rather awkwardly - freed his tail from the confines of one trouser leg. When in Rome.
As he got used to the room and peculiar company, Grian noticed a detail of the room he hadn’t before - the stone archway above the door had words carved on it. Fronti nulla fides.
"Fronti nulla fides," Grian repeated to himself in a murmur, "What does that mean?"
"It's Latin," Scar said with a chuckle, "It means appearences deceive."
How fitting, Grian thought as Scar led him to the door under the arch.
“Shall we?” Asked his companion with an inviting, fanged smile.
The Hermitcraft tarot card deck I did a few months ago! I am really proud of these so I’ve decided these are gonna be the first ones to make it into tumblr :D
Remember that ask where Grian gets shot but doesn't notice it until it's too late? Imagine this.
Mumbo and Scar are caught up in a really heated argument with Grian in the middle not knowing what to do or how to stop the both of them, he's too busy to notice the shooter behind him and gets shot, while thinking of a way to stop the two from fighting.
The sound of gunshot definitely got the two's attention, and the sight of Grian collapsing down made them forget about their quarrel.
ohhhhh my goddddd
that’s so good, please
it’s that —
“guys,” *arguing* “guys.” *more arguing* “guys!” *even more arguing* “gu—” cue the collapse *no more arguing*
Having internet friends is an experience. Did you eat today? I can't believe your sister hasn't apologized yet, what a bitch. Drink a glass of water right now. Want to see a cat picture? I love you. I know you better than your parents. I don't know your name. I'm having a rough day, can you talk to me about your favorite videogame? I love you. Good morning means good night means good afternoon means go to sleep. Here's a doodle I made in class. I'm stealing your clothes as we speak, they're so pretty. I love you. I love your pet. What does your hair look like? I'd love to see that weird leaf. I love you. I'm making you your favorite food. Thank you for holding my secrets for me. I love you. We're having a coffe date. I love you. I'm giving you a screen-sized hug. I love you. I love you. I love you.
I don't think anything will EVER compare to the chaos of the 3rd Life premiere. Grian's introduction. Spawning in a new world with all this uncertainty. Scar's abs. Bdubs spending his first diamond on a jukebox. Dance party. Etho trying to trade 5 feathers for a stack of redstone. The phantom attack. Cleo getting stuck in a tree. Etho's historical dark oak that Scar burned down on sight. Scar's insistence to monopolize sand. The beginnings of Renchanting. Martyn's fake creeper hiss prank. Scar's first death. TRULY unmatched. Nothing will ever be like it.
Happy one year to the series that rotted our brains and changed our three lives!!
