Day 3: TangoTek
Tango's eyes were red. And in the Nether, this was competely normal. Well, not normal, per se... while not unheard of for a blazeborn, red eyes were rare. Caused by eyes that were too human to handle the lava that boiled beneath their skin, but blaze enough to function regardless, the hue was reflective of the boiling blood cells bushing their way to the surface. The bloodshot red of adjustment, of heat, with minimal impact on his vision, as far as anyone could tell.
But in the Nether, it was a novelty more than anything. In a world where red was the color of the sky and ground, the fungi and bricks, and half the creatures all shared the hue, having scarlet eyes was no more interesting than heterochroma.
That had all changed when Tango first entered the Overworld.
As if it wasn't enough for the sun to shine brighter than any lava pool, or the sky to attempt to extinguish his flares, or the colors to be so vast and indistinguishable being outside sometimes simply gave him a headache, the people of the Overworld seemed much more... disoriented by the red-ness of Tango's eyes.
As he interacted with person after person, world after world, even in worlds with creatures of every variety, he felt estranged. People looked at him with their white sclera, meeting his crimson, and ranged in reaction from confusion to worry to fear to hatred.
He'd gotten question after question asking why he was "like that", if he had redstone dust in his eye, if he needed a medic, if he'd gotten enough sleep, if he was aware his eyes were bleeding, he'd heard it all.
He'd been called every name under the sun and then some, from a freak to a horror, something to be locked away and hidden. His eyes went from a something he forgot to a part of him he was painfully aware of. He learned to look down, to hide them as long as he could. To preface conversations with "I know-s" and dismissals, to back for reactions.
It wasn't as though everybody reacted strangely. There were always outliers, those who saw his eyes and barely reacted, who would be surprised and move on, or those who would find them admirable, cool, interesting. And those moments were held onto and appreciated, of course. But they were few and far-between. Those who approached, who commented, who spoke up were so overwhelmingly negative.
Red, completely and wholly.
Tango learned much later that the issue lied far beyond the color of his eyes. That people of the overworld feared the Nether, knowing it as a dangerous death-trap. They entered to plunder what resources they could and left without a word. They interacted with its creatures as little as possible, fearing the fires. His red eyes were something strange to latch onto, to blame the treatment and fear on.
Then, Tango entered another world. Hermitcraft. And in it, he built a home. One to mimic the world he no longer lived in, but loved nonetheless. And he held his breath, trying to scout out who to avoid, who he could befriend, and who would be uncovered by his presence. He waited for hatred, for stares.
He never made eye contact anymore. He'd learned to fear it. So when a taller man approached him to intrudoduce himself, he didn't look up. He was from the overworld; there couldn't be any chances taken. That was until he crouched down to eye level, and Tango had no choice but to look into--
Red.
White sclera, sure, but iris and pupil matched in hue, a red not too far from Tango's own. A long scar traced the half of the man's face with the red eye, partially covered by the mask over his mouth. A friendly conversation. A normal discussion. No hesitation, not a flicker of confusion or worry. Then, the man-- Etho-- turned around and called someone over. And Tango had to stop himself from staring.
A creeper-goat mutant, heavily scarred, but with a demeanor that radiated kindness. And his eyes... one eye was completely dark, inky and buglike, adding another question of the genetic pool of the person in front of him. And the other... strange and mechanical, whirring with redstone signals. And red. All the way through.
Hermitcraft was a special place. It seemed everyone had seen people act and react to their existence differently. Everyone had a story, ugly and beautiful and complex. And, as a result, those few and far between had all condensed into one server, one world. Long since having learned to look past what could be seen, as they all hoped would've been done for them. And, gradually, Tango's eyes returned to how they were always meant to be.
Just another part of who he was. Rare, and red.