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Charlie Slimecicle crouches slightly, watching Purpled and Quackity argue. It's wrong, and it pulls at Charlie in a way nothing has in a long time, and they're pulling out swords, and he doesn't know if he should step in. He cannot fight as well as he should. Charlie can live forever, but he can barely wield a sword. And wasn't Purpled a friend? Part of Las Nevadas? Was this just something humans did?
(Yes and no, and there are mock battles in the snow and TNT raining from the sky and-)
Charlie is defenseless. He can't do anything. The world hums around him, comforting as always, but Charlie doesn't pay it any mind. Quackity- Quackity is his best friend. But they all turn into dust eventually. But Charlie doesn't want that. He doesn't want to go so soon.
And then an Ender Pearl is breaking open in front of him, cracking like an egg as Purpled flashes into existence, and shoves him into the lava.
Lava hurts Charlie. Weapons don't. Lava does.
Quackity screams, and Charlie thinks the man is silly when he jumps in after him. Charlie knew the moment he sank into the lava that he was gone. It eats away at his goop, and he-
He is not human. He is a Player. Loved by the world itself. And he supposes that makes a lot of difference.
"Get on the sand- get on the sand, Slime!" Quackity screams, digging stuff out of his inventory. Charlie moves sluggishly, trying to reach through the lava to brush Quackity's cheek.
"Thank you for showing me what it's like to be human, Quackity." He chirps, and he is, because he always needs someone to teach him all over again. It always ends like this.
(He sleeps, and he forgets, and he finds a new one, and then he dies again. Inbetween it all, he's so tired.)
"I think maybe I almost was-" Charlie coughs as he sinks further into the lava, staring into Quackity's frantic and teary eyes. The world sings a sad tune, and is ready.
Goodbye, Quackity of Las Nevadas. Charlie hopes Quackity sees the message in his eyes as something within him gives way, and he crumbles away into dust.
Charlie opens its eyes. Blinks. Looks around. A star-studded void is all around it, stretching far away. Charlie blinks slowly, getting up.
Hello, dear. The voice of the world washes over him, and Charlie remembers, humming as he uncurls and curls his hands. That had not been the shortest time he spent with a friend, nor the longest.
("Hello, I'm Charlie-" And blood paints the grass red.
"Two hundred years." The completely black and long-limbed creature dressed in a flowy white dress hums, glancing at Charlie. "Glad you stuck with me all this while, Slime.")
"I want to go back." Charlie murmurs. "I can! Quackity talked about canon lives!"
The world hums, starsong filling Charlie's ears as he sings along, rocking back and forth on his feet.
You will have to rebuild. Change again. Pretend. The world says the last word with disapproval.
(Charlie is a liar. He's been lying forever. But it makes people hate him less or like him more, and he likes it, too.)
"I am a human! The thousand year man said so!" Charlie cheers, and the world laughs, spinning around him as stars dance among each other.
"I want to see Quackity of Las Nevadas again." Charlie pouts, crossing his arms. The world heaves a sigh, and the universe peeks in just a bit, but does not interfere.
It will not be easy, little one. The world reminds him, and Charlie beams back.
"I'll just dap everyone up again!" He proclaims, and the world laughs, before it slams him back into the server.
Charlie comes into awareness slowly. He realises that he's green again. He forgot that happened when he died. It would be very painful to change back. Charlie would need to drift for a long time. But he needs to be human, and he needs to look human, so he begins the process of being something he's not.
(Quackity won't recognise him otherwise!)
He floats in and out, and he's being moved, he thinks, and placed somewhere. He doesn't pay much attention, he has half of his clothes now! That was good, humans were very picky about clothes.
Charlie floats into awareness a bit, noting that he's standing and staring at a carpet. How strange, he wonders where he was. Quackity's voice sounds suddenly, and Charlie nearly jumps at it. Oh no! He's been found! Maybe if he pretends to be very still, then the man won't realise. That's a good idea.
Charlie is very tired, anyway; he doesn't think he can move much. Quackity is talking about something, asking him if he's okay, to talk, that he'll do anything- But Charlie can't make himself speak. Rebuild, the world had told him. The beginning is much harder than he remembers.
(What does he remember?)
Quackity visits a lot! But Charlie is taking very long to shift, and he keeps spacing and blanking out when Quackity is talking. He still can't talk himself, a pity. Three days is short (he thinks), though! This would usually take years, but Charlie is trying very hard; so hard! Anything for his best friend!
(Legacy.)
And the legacy.
Quackity- Quackity had wanted a legacy? Quackity had brought people into Las Nevadas by promising them a legacy. Legacy. Charlie turns the word over in his mind.
Quackity left a book inside the chest next to Charlie. He wants to read it. Charlie should move. He really wants to. So he tilts his head up, wriggles his fingers. He claps his hands happily, and slowly reaches for the chest. A pity Quackity couldn't see how well he was doing!
He retrieves the book carefully, not getting goop on it. He reads through it, nodding to himself even when sometimes he can't quite understand what it says. He should write, maybe. Charlie doesn't like standing there, unable to properly move or speak while Quackity talks and talks and talks. It's a strange feeling, and Charlie doesn't like it. He doesn't like changing and knowing someone would see his progress daily. It's wrong.
It shouldn't be; Quackity is his best friend, after all! But Charlie can't even say dap me up, so he makes a decision.
Everyday. Before and after Quackity visits. Get a book from the world. Write some letters. Forget why. Remember his purpose. Begin the word. Forget. Remember. Every page.
Charlie's hand hurts. He doesn't like this; he's never dealt with this before, and a whine climbs in his throat as he struggles to write the final letter of the word he's trying to spell. The world croons comfortingly.
He finishes, scribbles out a few more random things automatically, and snaps the book shut.
You did good. The world reassures, embracing him. Charlie shivers, and slides the quill into the leather holder and carefully puts the book in the chest. There! Now Quackity will know that Charlie remembers! Quackity had been scared that Charlie wouldn't, the slime remembers that much! Everything is hazy sometimes.
(He can still feel the lava melting him away. Was this how Tommy had felt? How the boy with patchwork skin on one side from the pretty death explosion feels? Remembering? Was this how the green man felt, shears digging into his skin? Was this how Quackity had felt, a pickaxe sliding into his eye?)
Humans are strong. Humans are weak. Humans are so strange. Charlie still doesn't know enough about them, but he wants to. But he has to look human first!
He shuffles back into his spot, feeling drained as he drifts again, waiting for Quackity to come back.
Charlie blinks and Quackity is talking about something. Name. The world curls close around them, its influence clear, and the name 'Charlie' falls from Quackity's lips, and Charlie relaxes without knowing he was tense. His name. Quackity knew his name!
(His name, gifted to him, and the world helped, but it was his. Charlie is Charlie again, more than ever.)
Quackity doesn't notice, moving to put a new book in the chest, and finds the book he wrote in. This makes Quackity excited, happy, and Charlie feels a pleased hum attempt to crawl up his throat before dying out. Quackity rushes away, and Charlie slowly lifts his head. Twitches. He has to go. Mmmm.
Charlie takes a step forward. Staggers. Another one. He stumbles a few more. Nearly trips. But Charlie makes it, slowly clambering out of the place he had been brought into, and slips away quietly. Finds a nice little hole to goop in. The world will be his reminder. It’ll tell him if too much time passes.
(He doesn't want to climb out and find the world turned to dust.)
Charlie digs a hole with green, trembling hands in the dark, no one nearby. The world keeps the mobs at bay as Charlie slips into the hole, piling dirt up over him.
He curls up. Breathes in. Out. And he is loved, made with milk and love and slime and water and time folded upon itself.
Charlie breathes in, and out, closing his eyes and sinking into a haze as he remakes his body once more.