I asked a friend to give me a prompt: âHurt/ Comfortâ
SQUEE! HONK SNORT.
Sylas hears them before they see them, off in the distance. Scouting piglins strafe not too far, but far enough that they have to keep an eye out. âScarlett?â They call out in a shushed voice, and to no oneâs surprise . . . Sybil is nowhere in sight. She was supposed to be beside them, gathering for gold fragments inside the delta. The quartz in Sylasâ hands suddenly felt cold as they realized, crap. Where the hell had she run off to now?
The wastes are unforgiving. Sylas knows from first hand experience that the Nether does not wait to strike. Its inhabitants think all the same, pouncing at any sign of weakness. Sybil isnât weak, but her intuition for safety is rather lacking. The quartz lies discarded where Sylas once stood, unimportant to the worry now festering.
No, they're not worried exactly. Only mildly concerned. Itâs what Sylas tells themself as they hurriedly search for familiar red curls.
A wide grin spreads across Sybilâs cheeks the moment she sees what sheâs looking for. A large gold cluster, more than enough to fulfil the list Sylas had given her. Her pickaxe swings with effort, picking away at the Nether stone bit by bit. Golden nuggets fall, and her satchel soon begins to fill. Before she could grab another handful, a squeal steals away any rational thought in her head.
Blood runs away from her system faster than she can mentally catch up with. One of the many, many rules Sylas had told her was: Donât mine for gold in front of piglins. They are a territorial bunch, even when they donât know where their boundaries lie. To the piglins, any gold is theirs. How dare outsiders take from them?
A squad of piglins had flanked Sybil from behind, snarling at her direction, golden weapons raised and ready. One leaps forward in an instant, killing intent clear behind its swing. It misses, jabbing the vein of gold with a sick clink.
Sybil dashes to the side where the delta opens up, narrowly avoiding the strike of a spear. She takes the chance to run, legs stuttering forward as she clutches the pouch in her arms. Stomping immediately follows from behind her, deeper into the delta where cooled magma begins to replace stone.
If there were only one or two piglins, Sybil would have no issue taking care of this mess. But four? Sylas would have a better chance, always had the better chance in fights. Another squeal, and a missed swing of a sword. The magma below Sybilâs legs was growing hotter, and her breaths shorter.
A loud whimper in the distance makes her falter, feet stumbling for a fraction too long. Her coat catches a slice from a spear, tearing into the white fabric. Sybil yelps, fearing that the piglin squad had caught up with her.
At the heart of the delta, where the heat peaks at its highest, a piglin manages to swipe successfully at Sybilâs left arm. The scratch initially burns, then irritates. Before the piglin could take the chance of another attack, it suddenly collapses as a figure drops on top of it.
Time slows for Sybil as she glances back. The figure moves quickly, swinging an axe onto the neck of the piglin they initially toppled. The other three piglins, fully distracted with the threat, have no room to process as one gets cut down within seconds.
They squeal. They roar. They drop. Sybil cannot lift her gaze to see the outcome. Her hands are shaking, but her mind relaxes once she recognizes her friendâs presence.
Sylas dances with the axe in their hands as the sounds of slaughter die down. Theyâre breathing heavily, partly from rushing over as fast as they could, partly fromâ
âI told you to stay near me,â Their frustrated voice meets Sybil. Sylas turns away from the bodies, irritation and anger radiating from them in waves. It feels misplaced. The axe drops beside them the moment they see the gash on Sybilâs arm.
She doesnât comment on how gentle their grasp seems in comparison. Sylas inspects the wound with an indistinguishable edge to their gaze. âIâll be fine once we get back to the lab,â she begins.
Sylas shuts her down almost instantly, âNo. This could have been prevented if you just stayed within the parameters I gave you.â They sigh deeply with exasperation as they dig into their own pockets. Bandages wrap around a tattered sleeve as a temporary fix.
Sybil feels her heart sink, âSylas, I-⊠Iâm sorry.â
Another sigh, this time itâs full of resignation. âStop. Donât apologize. I should have kept a closer eye onââ
The same, loud wail from earlier disrupts Sylas mid sentence. A blast of smoke and fire is charging their way. Ghast are resentful creatures, and just like their host, they wait for nothing.
Sylas barely has enough time to grab their axe, even less time to think about deflecting the blast. They shove Sybil behind them, taking the shot without hesitation.
âSylas, no!â
The delta filled with the scent of ember. The ghast falls moments later as an arrow flies through the air, making its target. The dust settles around them both, and Sybil has to remind herself to breathe.
A steady hand meets her shaky own, pulling her up to stand. Sylas doesnât give her a chance to look over their bleeding wounds as they begin pulling her towards the exit.
Sybil thinks, dumbfounded, how are you still standing?
-ËË àŒ»âżàŒș ËË-
Sylas cringes as a damp cloth makes contact with the side of their throat. It stings more than it hurts, but it annoys them all the same.
Sybil had not stopped fussing the moment they stepped inside the safety of their lab. She felt extremely guilty, that much was obvious. âYou could have blown one of your horns clean off!â The rag moves up, cleaning soot off of a burnt cheek, âYou should rest more.â
âI have work to do.â
For once, Sybil puts her foot down with a huff. âYour work can wait. Taking a break wonât kill you, you know.â
Staying silent, Sylas does not argue further on the subject. âHow is your arm?â They settle on asking.
Sybil steps back with a little more life in her eyes. Her coat is gone, replaced by comfortable home wear instead. âI got it stitched up earlier, so it should turn out fine in a few weeks.â
âHm. Then I guess we have no choice but to stay inside,â Sylas says with their usual aloofness. âCanât work with a bad arm, Scarlett.â
âYou canât work with several burns across your face,â Sybil shoots back. Her arms cross around her chest with defiance, âIf I have to chain you to this bed just to get you to sleep, then trust me, I will.â
When you look too deeply into my eyes, I feel parts of my soul transferring over to you. I pretend not to be affected, but later at night, Iâm walking circles around our living room. Can you feel it at times? Can you feel the way I want your lips pressed against mine? Against every inch of my body? Map me with your lips as your quill. I am all yours to explore.
Iâm rambling about how long my day has been, how nice the weather has been treating me lately. When I stop myself, you say âcontinueâ as if you donât know what you do to me. I think of you when I braid yeast and dough beneath my fingertips. I want to mold our futures together. I want to press our lips against each other until you inevitably bite me and I beg you to continue, even if I begin to bleed and we both taste metal. It only happened once, and you were shaken to the point of shame. So you bite at my neck, bite my shoulders and leave bruises, whispering prayers of forgiveness without realizing youâve already been absolved. And you continue, and continue.
Kiss me where my body betrays me, mon amour. Place your hands where I shake, not from pleasure but from pain. Your lips absorb the aches deep within the joints inside my bones, and sometimes I cry when on the hardest days, youâre not home to hold me. That time you came home early, smelling of wood smoke and soup, and I embraced your waist. I told you I missed you, when all I really wanted was to go limp in your arms instead, to let you hold the invisible weight I pretend isnât there.
Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?
What is/was your characterâs relationship with their mother like?
What is/was your characterâs relationship with their father like?
Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?
On an average day, what can be found in your characterâs pockets?
Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?
Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?
Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?
Is your characterâs current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?
Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?
In what situation was your character the most afraid theyâve ever been?
In what situation was your character the most calm theyâve ever been?
Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?
Does your character remember names or faces easier?
Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?
Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?
What was your characterâs favorite toy as a child?
Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?
What is your characterâs biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?
In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?
If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?
What does your character like in other people?
What does your character dislike in other people?
How quick is your character to trust someone else?
How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?
How does your character behave around children?
How does your character normally deal with confrontation?
How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?
What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?
What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.
Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.
In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?
Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didnât work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?
How does your character behave around people they like?
How does your character behave around people they dislike?
Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?
Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?
Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?
How does your character treat people in service jobs?
Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?
Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?
Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?
How easy or difficult is it for your character to say âI love you?â Can they say it without meaning it?
What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?
