#vampire skizz

[greenekangaroo]

Bad Moon Rising

"Guys," Skizz says, "I think we need to unionize."

"Definitely." Pearl agrees.

"Hundred percent." Etho says.

"Absolutely." Ren concludes.

"Okay. Now that we're all agreed on that, who's taking the twenty on the right?"

"I'll get 'em," Pearl says as she makes sure her ponytail is good and tight and tucks her shoes into the chest. For the sake of her friends' sense of propriety she is still wearing a tank top and boxer shorts.

"I'll get the hundred in the middle," Etho says, rolling his shoulders back. His long silver ears begin to twitch forward and back, catching sound.

"Okay Ren that leaves the billion to the right to you and me, buddy," Skizz says. In the full light of a Hermitcraft moon his blue eyes are once again glowing like soulfire torches, and his clawed nails are sharp and ready. He has a sword; everyone knows he probably won't use it.

"Roger dodger," Ren says as he tucks his sunglasses away in his own chest, his own eyes beginning to fill with sickly yellow light. "Count of three?"

"Sounds good to me. Okay, team, operation gravekeepers is a go in three- two- one- GO!"

Skizz leaps from the rocky outcropping where they have left their chests and beds, and his companions follow closely behind.

With each surge forward Pearl's body twists and changes until she is a true behemoth of a werewolf, all redgray fur and three inch fangs. Ren's shift is not so dramatic nor so large, but his howl of joy catches Pearl and their lift their voices together as they race towards their prey.

Etho does not so much change as he becomes immaterial, a thing of smoke and flame, flitting along the ground like a morning mist. His tails- one, two, seven, twelve, there's no real way to tell in the moment- flick this way and that, knocking into his targets and setting them alight in silver fire.

Skizz's approach is not as elegant, but it's effective.

The first zombie's head is torn clean off.

That head is then used to knock the torso from the legs of the next zombie.

And so on and so forth, each violent dismemberment and spray of blackened blood met with the cackling vampire's familiar mantra of "What's up?!" or, when a second death is particularly good, "YEAH BAYBEEE!"

You have to have fun with it, Skizz figures. Or else then it's just work.

--

-approximately fourteen hours earlier-

"Doc," Skizz says, holding a blackout umbrella over his head and still wearing his flannel snail jammies, feet stuffed into puppy slippers, "what the fuck did you do?"

"Good question," Ren says, glaring at his partner. Doc has the grace to look a little chagrined. "It was a miscalculation," he assures them. "I did not know that the surge of the Charged Creeper machine would blowback into that cave. I thought Xisuma took all the copper out of it."

"Apparently not!" Pearl says, aghast. They are standing on a rocky outcropping overlooking the mouth of a cave. Just beyond where the sunlight reaches, they can see zombies.

So many zombies.

Skizz figures there's got to be a couple hundred, the way they're climbing over one another. Once in a while one fucks up and winds up rolling into the sunlight to burn, but for the most part they're smart enough to stick to the shadows and wait.

"Won't they just despawn?" Skizz asks. Doc shakes his head. "No. I'm afraid the charge counted as a name tag."

"HOW THE- no," Pearl says, "no don't tell me. I don't want to know."

"It would take me too long, anyway," Doc assures her. He gestures to the cave. "I've run tests and this is the only hoard of such a size on the server. When the sun goes down they must all exit this spot in order to cause any harm. It's a perfect bottleneck."

"And you want us to be the cap on the bottle," Skizz says with an eyebrow raised. "Doc- that's a LOT of zombies."

"I know. But you four are all immune to the zombie plague, you're very efficient fighters, and Cleo wouldn't be able to do anything about them- she did not raise them. I considered letting the hoard loose for Welsknight, but that would allow them to get too close to the shopping district before the sun could be of any use."

"I mean I don't see why Wels can't do it he's a DRAGON and I'm sorry four?" Skizz asks, but then he sees Etho riding up.

"Hey Doc! Hey guys! Skizz you're up- early."

"Yeah you could say that." Skizz says sourly.

"What's in the hole- OH. Oooohhhhh." Etho looks from the edge of the cave mouth up the outcropping. "Doooooocccccc did you break the laws of nature and have to have help cleaning up the results of your hubris again?"

The spliced goatman sighs and Ren laughs and Skizz says, "I'm going back to bed."

--

Doc had been right about one thing, they are very effective.

By the time the last of the stragglers have been let go, doomed to be taken by the sun, the only one even remotely clean is Etho- and argueably that's because he wears a lot of black.

"Unionizing," Skizz bubbles when he pulls his head out of the bucket of water he was using to wash gore off himself. "We'll get shirts."

"Can they be in the super stretchy material?" Pearl asks wistfully. Her tank top and boxers had not survived her transformation, and now she is in a labcoat- one of Cub's, already stained and washed and stained again so many times that its color is somewhere between old tooth and bloody bone. Ren had fared better but his shirt is a lost cause and one of his suspenders snapped after a zombie got a sword caught under it, so he looks a little lopsided.

"Pearliepop I will do my damndest to make sure they come in size superwolf," Skizz assures her. Etho checks on his final tail and says, "It could have been way worse."

"Oh definitely," Skizz agrees, "but it also coulda been better. Ren is this gonna happen again?"

"Yes," Ren sighs.

"Okay. I'll draft us up a charter tomorrow night. Right now I'm going home to my closet Skizzie wizzie needs his beauty sleep."

"It won't help," Pearl says and Skizz jumps on her in outrage and then Ren joins the pile and Etho shrugs before leaping on and giddy with battle, with the closeness of blooded nightmobs, they wrestle and laugh and eventually all fall asleep there until the barest glimmer of dawn urges them up and home, to safety for Skizz and to rest for everyone else.

(they wind up voting Joel as their union rep.)

(He is incredibly confused.)

[greenekangaroo]

Table Manners

Of all of Skizz's clients on Hermitcraft, Mumbo Jumbo is without a doubt the most consistent.

His fellow vampire is not a helpless or unskilled fighter, absolutely not. Mumbo does, however, get lost in his work, and his awareness of what's around him in the moment is paper thin at best. He's also a bit of a chatterbox when he's working through a problem, which makes Skizz a good fit. The older vampire will stand guard and gossip with his redstone-oriented cohort, occasionally taking off into the darkness to tangle with a skeleton that got too close or a creeper that was ambling its way forward.

Their working relationship also gave both Mumbo and Skizz a space neither had had- in Mumbo's case ever, in Skizz's case in a long while- to talk about the woes, of, well.

Vampirism.

"-so I think that's why we all like suits so much," Skizz finishes, cocking his crossbow and peering down into the field but- no, the zombie hadn't dropped anything useful. Annoying. Clebert was on the lookout for rotten flesh for a build.

"Because you can predict what you're going to look like without a mirror?" Mumbo asks, laying down a fresh redstone line.

"Yeah! Everyone looks good in a suit, assuming it fits."

"Yours don't."

"Yeah I hate sleeves. Always did as a kid."

Mumbo finds this fascinating. He'd been of the opinion that only his breed of vampire gave birth to live young, but Skizz had parents- admittedly, one had been human and the other a vampire, but he'd come into the world in the usual way.

"What about the ties, though?" Mumbo asks. "I mean the obvious answer is food choice."

"Haaah yeah don't wanna stain the silk." Skizz frowns. "Hey that reminds me it's lunchtime."

"Ah, one more repeater."

"Alright I'm holding you to it," Skizz says and sure enough when Mumbo finishes the section of redstone he's working on Skizz all but harasses him off the ledge of the farm and down to the torched area they'd put together for the project.

Lunchtime is a new concept to Mumbo Jumbo. Not overall, he knows what lunchtime IS, but it's a new concept to him while working. He's used to snacking as he works, which admittedly does mean that sometimes he comes up short for projects. Since Skizz had insisted on a set time for good meal in the middle of the night, though, he's found he's feeling better and working more efficiently.

"Who's on the menu this evening?" Mumbo asks as they unpack their lunch boxes- Cleo's work, altered bundle with little horn handles and special pockets for ice in Skizz's case.

"Let's see," Skizz pulls out a bottle full of blood and reads the tag. "Oh it's a mid-week Zedaph! Muttony."

Mumbo bursts into laughter and Skizz joins him, uncorking the bottle and taking a sip. Like lunchtime for Mumbo, this is new for Skizz- easy access to pre-drawn blood. It had been a group project spearheaded by Doc, of all people, the cyborg goatman pointing out that a predictable foodsource would make their night watchman more efficient and besides, he had An Idea...

It had made Skizz uncomfortable, at first. He'd protested- he can hunt for himself, cows and horses are fine, he's not infectious in any way and he doesn't need to kill the animals to get what he needs.

"Skizz," Gemini had said as she signed up for one of the first slots, "Deal with it."

He'd given up after that.

Mumbo lays out his own meal- a redstone block half-crumbled. Skizz can't help it, he pauses with his bottle halfway to his mouth to watch.

Mumbo flexes one hand, then the other.

Thin lines appear in the center of his palms.

Lines that open to reveal small mouths, complete with teeth and long red tongues.

Mumbo holds his hands out, palms down, fingers spread, and drops them into the redstone like a child would with playdough.

"That is still so cool," Skizz says with a little chuckle over the munching and swallowing sounds coming from the hand-mouths. Mumbo laughs himself, his mustache wriggling a little bit and face flushed in habitual embarrassment. "I'm glad someone thinks so!" he says.

It had been a different reaction for Mumbo, the first time Skizz had caught him eating redstone. One mouth- the right- had licked up a redstone line and Skizz had said, "What the fuck?" in the same tone as a man who just watched a magic trick.

Mumbo was used to a more...surprised reaction. Sometimes a violent one but mostly just confusion and vague disgust. Skizz had instead said, delighted, "Do it again!"

Mumbo's hand-mouths, despite their fantastic placement, are not in any way what one could consider supernatural- they're like any of Mumbo's organs, just functional parts of his body. Skizz had, thankfully, observed them a little longer that first time and said, "Literally any dirty joke I could make here you're sick to death of, right?"

"Yes," Mumbo had said with resignation, and Skizz had clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Then I won't!"

That was that.

They eat their lunch, the two dapper vampires of Hermitcraft. Skizz keeps one hand on his crossbow and Mumbo keeps his pointed ears perked but nothing comes to bother them. That's good.

Vampiric table manners don't tend to last through violent mealtime confrontation.

--

A/N: I SAID YOU'D HATE IT : D

(shoutout to anyone old enough to remember vampire hunter D)

[greenekangaroo]

until they figure out a place for vamp skizz on hermitcraft he lives in a closet in Impulse's base

there's a sign on it which clearly reads 'Skizz's Closet Do Not Open Before Dusk'

and if you do open it like nothing bad happens but Skizz is hanging there upside down and if u wake him up he is like 'bro rude ;_; please let me sleep'

I wasn't gonna go with 'the sun hurts Skizz' but the more I think about it the better it makes him fit, like Skizz's job on the Hermitcraft server is to be with whatever hermit is working overnight (if any) and fight the mobs griefing them

so you'll have mumbo like

building through the night

and while he's up a thousand blocks working on whatever you occasionally hear the sounds of violent combat and animalistic snarling with snapping bone and blood dripping

and it's just Skizz having Vigorous Disagreements With Local Hostile Mobs

(I'm not saying Skizz has perfected leaping on creepers like he's a cat and tearing their heads off before they explode but BDubs watched him do it one night and couldn't sleep for a week.)

[greenekangaroo]

To Know A Guy

Skizz has done a lot of very questionable things in his long life, both when he traveled with Impulse and when he was running (for his life) solo. He doesn't talk about those things a lot, mainly because they just don't come up.

Occasionally someone will say something and he'll note an amusing anecdote in passing but that's about it. Skizz hasn't intentionally sorted his life into BH and AH, but that's sort of how it's been. There's the Before Hermitcraft and there's the After Hermitcraft. Most of the time things that happened Before Hermitcraft don't get to bite him in the ass.

So he was probably due, is the point.

"Okay." Skizz says. "One more time. You want me to..?"

"Transport me to the Cursed server, yeah," Jevin says. "You said you knew some guys there?"

"Yeah. I know some guys there. Um. Jev? Buddy? why the FUCK do you want to go there?"

Even Night Mobs don't tend to go to the Cursed server. It has its own perfectly normal mob population, your villagers and cows and mooblooms and chickens. There are even some player settlements further out from spawn.

Really. Far out from spawn.

In fact the Cursed server technically has two spawns. One is in a village about five hundred blocks from the original.

The original is in a valley of dense dark oak and birch, surrounded by mountains covered by the same.

"I owe a guy a favor and I can finally give him what he asked for," Jevin says, his smile big and cartoonish as he distorts his face. "Come on, Skizz, it won't even be that hard."

"Jevin if you're not whitelisted for the Cursed server-"

"Oh that's easy," Jevin says, and from his inventory produces...

a mason jar. One of the big ones, with a fliptop lid and an orange rubber seal.

"Jev." Skizz says. "What?"

"I got it from Joe! I already tested it, I can fit in just fine with my full inventory. All you gotta do is carry me through."

"We're trusting nashville tennesee glass to get you through the CURSED SERVER FIREWALL?" Skizz asks.

"I'm a slime," Jevin points out. "I won't ping as an entity if I'm in glass."

"Can you even breathe in there?!" Skizz asks.

"I mean I sort of bring in my own air when I squish. Skizz it'll be fine. I've owed this guy for a while and I'd like to pay him back."

"Why can't he get you white listed?" Skizz asks.

"Come on, man. You know how hard it is to get whitelisted on the Cursed server."

Skizz does know, is the thing.

Cursed aren't like Night Mobs. They were regular players once, going about their business wherever they were. Then something- happens.

Someone gets lost in the woods, never to be found.

A miner is separated from his companions and never makes his way back out.

An ambitious fool touches the heart of the multiverse, and is shattered into two equal and opposite halves.

A stolen boy becomes a bitter man, and he brings Hell home with him.

Cursed are- twisted. Tragic. Bound by strange rules, tied to terrible fates. A Cursed can be summoned, if you know the right signs and words, have the right items. They have to do what you say. Like demons- only demons were born understanding contractual obligation, and through it they gain power.

The only thing a Cursed gains when they are Summoned is death or blood.

Skizz eyes the clock. "Do you want to do this now?"

"Can we?" Jevin asks.

"We've got twelve hours until daybreak. IF you can contact your guy on the Cursed server, I can contact my guy. We can get this done and no one has to be the wiser."

Jevin nods. "On it."

-

It's funny, Skizz figured hanging onto a jar o'Jevin would feel heavier but there's no noticeable burden as he steps lightly down onto the Cursed server. Here in the valley, the huge dark oak trees cast the ground into near permanent shadow; there are vampire settlements here, Skizz knows, carefully monitored for population so that no one gets greedy or causes problems.

He steps out of the ruined tower and sees someone waiting for him.

"Hey, Skizz," says the goatman comfortably. "How you doin'?"

Skizz smiles, cautiously. "Hi, Jeb."

Jebedaiah Leeroy Philip Zebulon Schlatt- or just Schlatt, if you're summoning him- is one of two people on the Cursed server that make many think twice about coming around for a visit. He's strangely well traveled, for a Cursed; hell he's famous some places, not even for being Cursed.

He is also a mercurial fellow, and Skizz has about a second to be concerned that he's come all this way when something white moves in the shadows.

It's big, with dark, fathomless eyes and claws. It half-hides behind a tree, staring, unmoving. Skizz couldn't stop baring his teeth if he tried, but the stranger doesn't react.

"That's Will," Schlatt says conversationally. "Says you've got some contraband for him?"

Skizz coughs and gets the jar out of his inventory. In front of a bemused Schlatt he unhooks the lid and carefully tips it over.

An electric blue pool spreads, pulses, shifts and twists, picking up sticks and rocks and shedding them just as quickly as it coalesces into Jevin, who grins.

"Willy!" He greets, arms wide. "I got your stuff, dude!"

Willy- Will- whatever he is- makes a croaking sound and approaches between their blinks. Soon he is standing right in front of Jevin, towering over him, all claws and teeth. Skizz's legs tighten and he gets ready to pounce but Jevin just digs into his inventory, coming out with- honey bottles.

"I had some help from a couple Hermits," he's saying to the unmoving bone white horror above him as he uncorks one, "but I knew we had it right when I saw the striping on the newest drones. Here, smell!" he lifts the bottle.

Will tilts his head down and does so.

Then he nods, vigorously, head almost a blur. Jevin laughs. "Great! I've got a hive, and three queens, and some drones- you got a place to set up?"

More vigorous nodding, and Will looks at Jeb, who shrugs. "Knock yourself out. Don't let him get hurt."

"I'll be fine," Jevin promises. "Skizz? You okay to wait?"

"Ah don't you worry about Skizzleman," Jeb says with a smile, eyes shining yellow in the dark. "We got a lot to catch up on."

"I'll meet you back here at daybreak," Skizz assures his friend, who nods and just as fearlessly as he'd uncorked his honey bottles follows Will into the dark of the woods.

Jeb watches them go, says, "You know, I know Will was excited about bees but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. Never did like mine, but he'd never say it. Didn't want to insult me, I think. So." He looks back at Skizz. "Hermitcraft?"

Skizz sighs. "No, Jeb."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Jeb says. "First of all, too many nosy ninnies on that server. Second of all, I got mine." He gestures at the land around them.

Skizz chuckles a little grimly. "Yeah, you did."

"Oh? Is that a note of judgement I detect, Sir Skizzleman?" Jeb asks.

"No. You know it's not. I just. I wish it had gone different, is all."

"Hell so do I." Jeb says. "So does 'Brine, not that he'll ever admit it."

"...how is he?" Skizz asks gently.

"Doing okay. Still summoned too damn much- but mostly it's for flavor now, so he doesn't have to work so hard. He's recovering."

"Good."

Jeb chuckles. "Come on. I got a bottle of bourbon with our names on it, if you're willing. No strings. Just two old war buddies reminiscing. I can introduce you to our daughter."

"DAUGHTER?!" Skizz yelps, and Jeb laughs.

"You're not the only domesticated monster around here, Skizz. Come on. Last one to the farm's gotta drink dead man's blood."

"Don't even joke," Skizz mutters, and he follows Schlatt into the dark, leaving the ruined tower behind.

[greenekangaroo]

The Night Watchman

Skizz is used to people telling him to move along.

It's been his entire life, really- or at least the part since he went from 'dirty half breed' to 'full on child of the night' which is a whole other story he doesn't tend to think about much because what does it even matter, anyway?

The point is, the multiverse isn't a huge fan of vampires or vampire-adjacent mobs. Which is, in Skizz's estimation, TOTALLY understandable. Really you can only raise a vampiric army to blot out the sun on so many servers before the neighbors hear about it and the HOA issues a silver-laced cease and desist.

Still, Skizz IS a vampire. He knows a lot of ways to talk AROUND the fact that he's a vampire, and he knows a lot of ways to make something else being more dangerous than him a more immediate problem, but it always comes back to the teeth and the blood drinking and the not seeing yourself in mirrors, etc etc etc.

So when Xisumavoid- THE Xisuma, the guy with the key to the golden gate, the man in the mask who stands before the door to Glory- sees him, you know, covered in blood, Skizz figures that'll be it. Hit the road, jack, don't you come back no more. And that's fine, it really is! He helped Impulse, and Impulse is the most important thing in the multiverse. Skizz can always reach Impulse. He never wanted to bother him ON Hermitcraft.

Only that.

Isn't what happens.

Xisuma looks between Skizz and Ren, Grian and Gem and Impulse, and says, "I think everyone needs a good night's-" he squints at Skizz. "day's sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?"

And just like that, Skizz is in like flynn.

His feet are on Hermitcraft and he is following Impulse like a child glued to their mother in an unfamiliar grocery store, eyes wider than the moon shining overhead because holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In Impulse's base- which is a half-built city because of course it is, all neon and rust- he's practically shoved into a waterfall shower.

"Okay I can take a hint!" he calls.

"You better," Impulse says and goes to put his crossbow away.

Skizz washes up, takes the extra clothes that appear while he's doing so, and when he emerges Impulse drags him into a chair to sit on his lap.

"Dippledop-"

"Eat. Now."

And you don't get anywhere with Impulse when he's talking like that, tense and scared and unwinding too slow, so Skizz melts against him and finds that old familiar patch just under his collar. He nuzzles there a few times, just so Impulse will breathe a little easier, before he bites.

Skizz has never been one of those weird gourmet vampires who believe one type of blood tastes significantly better than another. He would agree, though, that blood freely given from someone you love more than life itself? The best. Borderline hard drug. When Impulse drags his hand up Skizz's back to grip the back of his neck, Skizz groans against him.

"No time," Impulse murmurs and it's true, they really need to be getting to bed. Skizz finishes, licks the bite clean and watches it heal under saturation. The hand on his neck cups his face and Impulse says, clearly ashamed at the issue, "there's windows in my room."

"No windows in your closet, though," Skizz points out and Impulse laughs. It's not his deep belly laugh but it's a laugh so Skizz counts it as a victory.

That's where he sleeps, then- in the closet, feet neatly stuck to the ceiling. He remains there, dead to the world, until dusk and the gentle rapping of a hand on the door. It's Impulse.

"Come on, Xisuma's got everyone together at spawn."

Skizz follows Impulse over the countryside, making sure to stay on his partner's left so that he doesn't get the blowback of the fireworks that let the elytra work. There's so MUCH down below- so many fantastical structures and builds, so many terraformed mountains and valleys and rivers. It's beautiful and chaotic and Skizz is reminded, once again, just where he is.

Where, he also sternly reminds himself, there's no way he will be staying. It had been nice, to spend the night with Impulse, to rest in a place he knew was completely safe, but you don't just welcome a vampire in willy-nilly even IF he was involved a reverse werewolf heist- and-

"Have we heard from Ren?" Skizz asks Impulse as they land. "Is he feeling okay? I know some of those bullets were silver."

"We can find out. Hey Ren!"

And there he is, the man of the hour, looking much better for a new pair of suspenders and a- a top hat. Huh.

"Hello, Impulse. Skizz."

"Hey man are you feeling okay?" Skizz asks. "I knew none of us were looking cute last night, but."

"I'm doing much better, thank you for asking! And now the Council meets."

"Yeah." Skizz looks around. Well, here they are- or here they come, a few stragglers landing farther back in the grass because who wants to face-plant into a lava pool. Holy fuck that's Tangotek. And Etho, THE Etho, who Impulse cannot shut up about if he was paid good money.

A red dragon lands a few hundred feet off to become a man in armor, clankily striding forward. Grian swoops in with another harpy, this one a woman with blonde hair and darkly colored wings like a bird of prey. Here is Gem, her new antlers already growing in, little fawn feet leaving flowers where she walks.

"Skizz!" She calls and he smiles. "Hi, Gem. You doing okay?"

"I'm fine what about you?"

"Ah nothing a nice night in a closet couldn't fix."

Gem gives Impulse a Look. "You made him sleep in your CLOSET?"

"It doesn't have windows!" Impulse defends and Skizz just starts laughing.

"Everyone!" Xisuma calls, and the meeting begins.

Xisuma immediately establishes a few things: they are meeting at night because they are discussing adding a new member who can only operate really efficiently at night, and it would be rude to not have him present. Yes this is a bit out of sorts for how they usually make these decisions, but Xisuma had made a jugement call over the extraordinary circumstances.

"What circumstances?" Someone asks.

Which is where Impulse comes in. He, Gem, Grian and Ren tell the story of heading to the world hub to do a quick trip to Empires only to lose Ren to monster hunters. How Impulse had called Skizz, and how Skizz had joined them to free Ren.

"So we're harboring a fugitive," the female harpy says.

"False," says a creeper-green goatman with a cyborg eye, "if we all start throwing stones at glass houses we are going to need more sand and in case no one noticed we are very low on sand."

"Hear hear," says a fellow with a truly glorious mustache.

"Okay but also a vampire?" notes another man wearing leaves. As a cloak, actually, it's kinda cool.

"And I'm a dragon," notes the man in armor. "Like Doc said if we start listing off how any of us are dangerous we'll be here all night."

"Besides, hello?" the man in the mustache says, waving a hand.

"You barely count, Mumbo, you eat redstone." someone says.

"Tell that to my shop stock," Tangotek says.

"Um." Skizz raises his hand. "Permission to, uh. Speak?"

The rest of the group falls silent and Xisuma nods. "Skizz you have the- er. Lava pit."

"Okay. Look, I don't need to stay. I appreciate the overday shelter but I can just go."

"This doesn't sound like a just go situation," points out another werewolf- different ear shape from Ren and wearing a post office uniform. "This sounds like a 'if they catch you there's problems' situation."

"Yeah but that's just for me," Skizz says. "I don't want to make trouble for Hermitcraft if I don't have to, like miss- False?- says."

"Oh my god Impulse you warned us and I didn't believe you," Ren says. "I'm so sorry."

Impulse sighs. "I know."

"Warned about what?" Skizz asks, suspicious.

"That you're a bit of a self-sacrificial idiot," Ren says. "you answered a call from your partner knowing it was for someone else, and you worked to the best of your ability, and you made sure everyone made it out. The first thing you did when you touched down was ask after my health, Skizz."

"Yeah caus' I'm not a jerk!"

"It's because you're a good guy, Skizz," Ren says.

"I have an idea," Grian says suddenly.

"Well share with the class!" says a zombie across the way, the poppet beside her nodding.

"Okay. Skizz, what kind of vampire are you?"

Skizz furrows a brow. "You would ask that question. Um. I don't know?"

"Well alright what are your rules?"

OH. "Oh, okay. Well, sunlight hurts- it takes me a while to burn but I'd rather avoid it. Blood is a necessity. I CAN cross running water and I have no issues with holy ground, but I can't see myself in mirrors or reflective surfaces. I can't enter personal dwellings uninvited but if the definition of the dwelling is squishy I can work around that rule. Also salt bad. Not like the salt in water but if someone throws a handful of the stuff at me it's like acid it sucks dude."

"What do you mean by squishy?" Asks a man in a lab coat with glasses and thick dark hair.

"Well, public spaces are meant to be public, right?" Skizz says. "Shops, libraries, restaurants, things like that. If you've got a warehouse attached to a factory, that counts as a public space for me. Caves, too. If there's a bed there it's harder for me to get in, that's when I need to ask permission."

"What's your idea then, Grian?" Xisuma asks.

"Well, sometimes Bdubs is up working, and with the Pale Garden more of us are up overnight instead of sleeping at least once a week, right?"

Nods all around.

"So wouldn't it be handy to have someone who NEEDS to be up at night to deal with the mobs in case we forget to light an area or need the area to go unlit?"

"Woah hang on," Skizz says. "There's one of me and like a million of you."

"So we have a roster," Xisuma says thoughtfully. "A sort of Skizz sign up. Would the work interest you?"

"I mean fighting mobs is no big, I guess. I just don't know how effective I'd be."

"That's the point," Grian says. "If this works, then you have a ready made job. If someone. comes looking, we. can honestly say we don't have any random vampires, we have working community members."

They discuss. It makes Skizz's head spin, how quickly they move through arguments and counterarguments, how they eloquently critique and agree and conclude.

By the time it passes midnight, the vote has been cast.

Skizz- for now- is a temporary hermit, dubbed the night watchman. He'll sleep in Impulse's base ("If and when you need a place of your own, we'll help you pick a space out!") and when he wakes up, he'll head where he's needed.

"And so it's agreed!" Xisuma declares. "Now, let's all get to bed. Unless we have other things to do."

"I'm gonna help Skizz get some gear," Impulse says.

"Yeah I'd rather not fight skeletons in my suit," Skizz says, dazed, and lets Impulse guide him away from the lava pit. By the time they're headed for the shops he's back together enough to say, "Dippledop?"

"Yeah, Skizz?" Impulse asks as they land.

"Is that- did that-?"

"Yeah. A lot of people find it really fast."

"Fast is a word." Skizz says. "I."

He feels Impulse touch his face and folds against the human, shaking. Impulse settles onto a bench and just holds him there for a while.

"I'll try not to fuck up," Skizz whispers. "I don't want to leave you."

Because that's the truth of it. It's been so long since he's spent the night near Impulse, since he's been able to peacefully feed and be held and feel the human's breath on his skin. He doesn't want to go. He doesn't deserve to be here, knows it down to his core, but it doesn't change how much he wants to stay.

Impulse kisses him softly on the mouth and then on the forehead. "It'll be okay, Skizz." He says. "I promise."

Impulse doesn't break promises, not when he doesn't absolutely have to.

So Skizz believes him.

He rubs his eyes. "Okay. Okay, I need some stuff."

"what, you don't wanna decapitate creepers in your dress pants?"

"Oh shut up!"

Impulse laughs and leads him further into the district, the moon shining in a crescent smile above their heads.

[greenekangaroo]

34. "In a pool of your own blood." Imp and Skizz

(I am cheating. This is cheating. But I wanted to write this scene so nyah)

"Oh my god," Gem whispers.

"Gem why did you stop running?!" Grian demands, coming up behind her and looking down the narrow alley. "Impulse said-!"

Then he stops, too.

The alleyway is full of bodies.

Five, Grian counts, wearing the same uniform of the people who had snatched Ren at the world hub, who had called Impulse by name. They are all different mobs, and each has had their throat or throat-adjacent apparatus torn out.

In front of these corpses, closest to the two hermits, a man is choking. He's kneeling in a slowly spreading pool of coagulating blood, one hand holding a gushing wound across his own neck- damn near a decapitation- that seems to be slowing. Healing.

His eyes are electric blue in the dark, and he's watching them carefully. When Gem makes another tiny squeak he lifts his other bloodied hand in a very clear 'hang on' motion.

Impulse comes up behind them. "Why did you two stop?! We need to- oh. Oh shit."

He peers over their shoulders. "Fuuuuccckk, buddy. You okay?"

The kneeling man gives a thumbs up, then coughs a few more times. "Sorry about the mess," he wheezes as Impulse pushes past his two shocked friends, fearlessly marching through the gore to the blood soaked man. "Didn't want them to make the street."

Impulse helps him up and pulls him into a tight hug. The man hugs him back.

"Um. Impulse?" Gem squeaks.

"Ah, yeah, sorry. Grian, Gem, this- wow this isn't how I thought this meeting would go- guys this is Skizz." "That. Is Skizz?" Gem asks, eyes wide. "THAT is SKIZZ?!" "I mean hey I don't have my white tips on but it could be worse!" The vampire says with a grin that shows off everyone of his sharp gore-stained teeth. "Come on I already fucked up their fuel tanks your werewolf buddy's gotta get loaded onto a new truck before they can get to the Night Watch Hub." "Skizz they can just refuel," Impulse says. "I mean not without the KEYS, Dippledop, give me some credit." Impulse laughs. "Perfect. Okay. Come on, guys. Skizz, you, uh, got a little bit of something all over." "Nah, you don't say."

"Gem is this weird?" Grian whispers.

"So weird." Gem whispers back.

"Come on you two," Skizz says, "we'll teach you how to hotwire cars!"

"Impulse doesn't know how to hotwire a car."

"Weeellllll."

"IMPULSE!"

The two younger hermits chase after their compatriot and his best friend, trying their best to ignore the dead men as they stumble through the alley. Ren needs them. Any questions they have can wait.

[greenekangaroo]

enemy of my enemy

Ren has been in a sensory dampening cage for more than ten hours when the whole thing shakes.

He sits up, ears perking, straining to hear anything. He's blind in here, the old magic worked into the slabs at the top killing his sense of smell, his hearing and his sight.

The whole thing shakes again, and he hears someone yell. He doesn't need access to supernatural sense for that- whoever it is, they're right outside.

There is a slam, against the bolted obsidian lined door. Ren, wisely, digs his claws as best he can into the sides and hangs on.

The armored door is being beaten like whoever it is outside has a battering ram, and maybe they do- did Impulse get Doc? Or Wels? Wels could punch through a dampening cage, even if he had to remain human shaped to do it. Either that or someone else has decided they want a werewolf. Ren shakes his head to clear it, tries to ready himself. Whatever comes through that door, he's going to claw its face off.

The door punctures and a surprisingly human fist- albeit one with longer clawlike nails- grabs the side and begins pulling.

Ren smells the blood long before he sees the vampire fully.

The man is big and scarred, wearing what might be a suit and tie- no sleeves, kinda weird- underneath all the blood. It's caked down his front and up his neck and chin.

"You Ren, my dude?" He asks, and it's so friendly, so out of left field, that Ren says, "That's what they call me."

"Cool. Who do you hate more, Vampires or the guys who put you in this box?"

"Right this second? Box."

"Awesome, follow me!" the vampire turns and jumps off the truck bumper into what is very clearly a fight. Ren takes just long enough to shake out his shoulders- sore from having to curl up to fit in this damnable prison- and then launches out himself, howling.

By the time said fight is done, Gem is holding her shoulder and she's shed a pair of antlers, which Impulse dutifully picks up. Grian is leaving bloody little clawprints wherever he walks and Impulse has a crossbow that Ren knows he keeps behind glass and under lock and key back home.

"You guys go," the vampire is telling Impulse. "These pricks are a known problem. I'll clean up."

"Skizz-"

Wait. Skizz- Impulse's Skizz, his partner, his closest companion, the man he'd described to Ren once when they were both a little drunk as 'the other half of my soul made manifest', is a vampire?

"It's okay, Dippledop. I'll make it through. I always do."

"Not this time. Skizz- come with us."

"Uh," Grian says, and Skizz shakes his head. "No, Impulse. Not without warning, not to a place like Hermitcraft. Look, I'll lay low. I'm good at that."

"Are you?" Impulse asks, and Ren can smell and hear his fear. "Skizz if they decide to put you on the line for this.."

"I'll vouch," Ren says suddenly. Impulse's head snaps up to look at him. "He can come with us to the holding hub and I'll vouch. We all need to get out of this, and I repay favors owed."

"Man you don't owe me nothing," Skizz protests. "Nobody deserves to live in a zoo or whatever awful shit they were gonna do."

"And no one deserves to be left tied to a pole for sunrise because they were helping a friend," Ren says. "I still hate them more than I hate vampires."

"Can we go?" Grian asks. "We can argue the virtues on the way!"

"I'll message Xisuma," Gem says, looking pale. "Come on."

Impulse swears and the group takes off into the night, away from the hub lot they had painted with the mess of the kidnappers. Ren and Skizz are fast but Gem is fastest, so she takes point as they flee.

By the time the sun rises on the hub lot where Mob Dominion had tried to bag themselves a werewolf, the perpetrators are long gone.

[greenekangaroo]

very curious what the Idea doc had was that would be helped by skizz getting pre-drawn blood on the regular in knowing your bite?

When Skizz wakes up, there's a bit of a process to it.

First, he stretches. Impulse, thankfully, has a nice big closet, so there's room for the stretch.

Then he lifts his torso up and unsticks his feet from the clothing rod, coming down in a crouch with his back facing the door.

This maneuver successfully completed, he stands up and stretches again- a thing only possible, again, because his partner is at heart a bit of a vain clothes horse and has a nice big closet.

Then, with a yawn wide enough to show off every incredibly sharp tooth in his mouth, he turns, opens the door, and steps into the bedroom. Normally Impulse will be gone, or downstairs; he has the room and adjoining bathroom to himself for his evening cleanup before he checks the Watchman signup to confirm where he's headed for the evening.

That's how it works on a normal day.

Today, when Skizz opens the door of his closet, he hears, "Hello, Skizz."

And he takes the unexpected company with grace and poise.

"NYAGAGAHAHAAAGAA!!!"

He throws himself back in the closet, clutching his heart, and when he hears the laughter- and recognizes it- he yelps, "JERK!" before opening the door again. "Doc what the hey!"

The spliced goatman is still chuckling into his hand when Skizz cautiously emerges from the closet. "I would say I'm sorry, but I'm not," he says gleefully.

"Well THAT doesn't surprise me!" Skizz says. "Jeeze, Doc, give a guy warning! I could have been naked!"

"I asked Impulse first. He said you weren't. They are nice boxers."

Skizz rolls his eyes. "Doc what are you doing here?" He asks as he shuffles around the bed in his creeper-print boxers.

"It is my turn on the roster. I didn't want to be late."

Skizz's face softens. "Doc, I'd have come to you," he says. the roster, like the Watchman signup, is entirely optional- and yet every Hermit who can has put their name on it. There are some exceptions- Joe is currently a puppet, a form without blood. Cleo is, of course, undead, and their blood (while viable) could poison Skizz. Jevin's a slime and never had blood to begin with.

Mumbo, strangely enough, can be fed from; they'd done a small experiment and while Skizz had declared his blood 'was the redstoniest fizziest he'd ever tasted', it didn't have any lasting ill effects.

If you're signed up for the roster? Skizz will pay a visit, and get a decent meal. If you're asleep, that's fine; signing up for the roster counts as a one time invitation. You might wake up a little light headed, but that's no harm done.

When the hermits had brought the concept up to Skizz he'd argued he could just feed off of animals, or he'd tried to. They wouldn't hear of it, and when BDubs had volunteered on the spot Skizz had burst into tears.

He's not ashamed of that, but as he'd told Impulse later, "It takes a lot of getting used to, you know! Being cared about."

"I know. And this brings me to my second point. The roster is inefficient."

Skizz frowns as he digs out his pants. "What makes you say that?"

"All this running around, Skizz." Doc gestures vaguely. "It wastes your time, wastes the time of the hermit waiting for you."

"Look I fly as fast as I can," Skizz says.

"I know, and that is why I am thinking we find a way to streamline."

"Doc how the heck do you want me to get MORE efficient at sucking the blood out of a person?" Skizz asks, voice muffled as he pulls his shirt on over his head- still buttoned, of course, he hasn't unbuttoned a shirt to wash it once in his life.

"We remove you from the equation."

Skizz stares at Doc, his nose and eyes above the collar of his shirt, one arm through, the other frozen in the wiggle for the second arm hole.

"Say what?"

"I believe I can create a system that will allow Hermits to have their blood drawn," Doc says, "and then stored for you in bottles, like water or potions."

Skizz gets his shirt on and blinks a few times.

Blood from a bottle.

Blood from a bottle.

No more trying not to step on important building materials, no more tripping over Scar's chest monster, no more playing 'don't wake Cub' despite him being the lightest sleeper in the whole of the multiverse. No more creeping through Hypno's huge house feeling like a robber or trying ever so carefully to not bother a single sheep or lord save him a goat on Beef's farm.

"...you can do that?" Skizz asks, dumbfounded.

"I would like to try," Doc says.

"Why?" Skizz doesn't mean to blurt the word but- but they've already done so much for him. He's safe, he's with Impulse, he has a steady food supply and interesting work and hell there's even a few diamonds in his chest. Why this? Why more?

"You know," Doc says, "Impulse said you'd ask that."

"Well of course he did he's only known me my whole life Doc-"

"Skizz I do not know how to explain to you that your needs are important to your friends," Doc says patiently. "that you have been an invaluable asset to us all, myself included, and the challenge this would provide is not only something I would relish because it is a challenge but also because it would help."

Skizz's jaw works.

"That- that'd be swell, Doc," he manages around the lump in his throat. "don't, um. Don't put anything important on the back burner for it-"

"Hush and get over here," Doc says with a gesture at his exposed neck. "You have work to do and so do I."

Skizz nods mutely and leans over Doc, locating a good feeding spot without issue. Feeding on Doc is always a little strange-Doc's fur is so fine on his body it's more like velvet, so Skizz feels like he's mouthing a curtain.

His blood, like Tango's and Etho's, has the same vaguely fizzy quality that shows up in Mumbo in force. Redstone. Who'da thunk?

When he's done Skizz laps the wound so that his coagulative saliva can help close it up. "You with me, Doc?"

"I am fine," Doc says.

"You sure? I got some apples hidden around here somewhere..."

Doc chuckles. "It will be fine, Skizz. Here, help me up."

Skizz does as Doc asks, holding out an arm for the other man to grab.

"Now," Doc says when he's upright, "let us get on with our evenings. I believe you are with Gemini?"

"Yeah, she wants to do some underwater stuff, so that means Drowned."

"I see. Well, if I need your input, I will find you there."

"You're not gonna start TONIGHT are you?" Skizz asks. "Doc that's nuts!"

"Science does not wait and when it isn't necessary, neither do I," Doc says. "Now put your shoes on so we can both go downstairs and Impulse can stop listening at the doorway."

There's the softest rattle and Skizz can't help the laughter. "You're my favorite!" he calls as muffled cursing is accompanied by thumping in the hallway.

"As if there was ever any doubt," Doc sniffs, and inclines his head. "Good evening, Skizz."

"Night, Doc! Um. Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," Doc says. "not until it works."

With those parting words he leaves Impulse's base and PixelPulse valley, headed for the Wash and Fold and the secrets beneath it. He has some things to pick up before he heads home, and then-

then. Science.