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It takes five days of floating in the void for the Watchers to find them.
The sum total of Boatem is drifting in a circle, holding hands, because they realised after the first five minutes that if they started drifting apart it was almost impossible to find their way back to one another. So, holding hands in a circle it was, Grian to Mumbo to Impulse to Scar to Pearl and back again. The Friendship Circle, Mumbo had called it, until Grian had started singing the thirty-seventh verse of ‘The Wheels On The Bus’, at which point he’d changed it to The Circle Of Let’s All Surrender Grian To The Void.
Thankfully, that second one hadn’t caught on. But it’d been close.
Grian’s hit the five-hundred-and-thirty-second verse when the Watchers arrive – two of them, dressed in robes almost as dark as the spaces between the void-stars. One of them wears red, so deep it’s nearly black. One of them wears purple, so deep it’s nearly black. Both of them have their hoods pulled so far down that their faces are entirely in shadow. Both of them have eyes, hundreds of them, orbiting their head in an unsteady halo.
The eyes in both halos are blinking, intermittently. They do not blink at the same time.
“XELQUA”, says one of the Watchers, the smaller of the two, wearing black-purple. “AT LAST, WE HAVE FOUND YOU.”
“–all day long!” finishes Grian, cheerily, and caps the verse with a bright, “Fuck off!” He extracts his hand from Pearl’s to summarily give both Watchers the finger.
Mumbo makes a stuttering noise of shock at the foul language. Impulse, on the other hand looks like his birthday has come early. Scar is too busy making a noise that might best be described as ‘gibbering’ to react to Grian’s sudden potty mouth.
Pearl uses her newly freed hand to join Grian in flipping the watchers off, with a sharp and vengeful sort of glee.
“YOU WILL COME WITH US,” says the second, slightly taller Watcher.
“Eat shit and die,” says Grian, promptly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Other than hopefully out of the void,” adds Pearl.
“Other than hopefully out of the void, yes. And currently through the void.” Grian sighs, as though he is busy and put-upon and not drifting through the void with all the time he could possibly want on his hands. “Okay, okay, I guess I’m actually going lots of ‘where’s – but only in or through the void, and definitely not with you lot. Because you suck. And you should eat shit and die.”
He holds out a hand and Pearl, dutifully, high-fives him with gusto.
Mumbo presses his hands over his ears, which, given he’s wearing a space helmet, is wildly ineffective at actually preventing him from hearing anything. It also means he lets go of Grian and Impulse’s hands. They both have to grab his ankles to prevent him from drifting away into the endless, star-filled void like a weird, mostly-human balloon.
Scar is still too busy staring at the Watchers and whimpering to contribute anything meaningful, beyond clinging to his friends’ hands hard enough they’re beginning to lose circulation. Impulse’s hand is beginning to lose feeling, his knuckles gone white. Pearl’s fingertips are beginning to turn purple.
The Watchers’ next words – regardless of Mumbo’s success at functionally preventing himself from hearing – are felt rather than heard, vibrating in the fine, tiny bones of all their ears.
YOU WILL COME WITH US, OR WE WILL TAKE YOU WITH US.
“No you won’t,” says Grian, with a supreme kind of confidence that seems unwarranted-bordering-on-arrogant in the face of two alien, godlike entities.
WE WILL, says the first Watcher, though it sounds less self-assured than it did before.
“No, you won’t,” repeats Grian. “I’ll bite you.”
He also has a helmet on, and is therefore incapable of biting anyone without removing it and suffocating to death in short order, but that doesn’t stop the Watchers from exchanging a look. It seems like a worried look. Insofar as a hundred-odd glowing eyes apiece orbiting the black void of a hooded robe can look worried, anyway.
IT’S TRUE, says the second Watcher. HE DOES BITE.
REALLY? asks the first.
OH YES, says the second. HE HAS VERY SHARP TEETH. SISTER XESTRI STILL BEARS THE SCARS.
Pearl, in a moment of brilliant inspiration, says, “I have sharp teeth, too,” and bares them in an immensely threatening smile. Impulse very nearly lets go of her hand on reflex.
BROTHER, says the first Watcher, anxiously. IT WOULD SEEM THAT THEY ALL HAVE SHARP TEETH.
The two Watchers exchange another, significantly more worried look.
…WE SHALL RETURN, XELQUA, says the second Watcher, with as much dignity as it can muster given the circumstances. WE SHALL FIND YOU IN YOUR NEXT WORLD. AND THIS TIME, WE SHALL COME PREPARED.
WITH… SHARPER TEETH, says the first, rallying valiantly alongside its comrade.
“No, you won’t,” says Grian. “Because you’re fucking herbivores.”
“Language,” Mumbo whimpers, his hands still over the sides of his helmet.
“Idiots,” says Pearl, dismissively. “Herbivores! All herbivores are idiots. Well known fact.”
The two Watchers, very wisely, take that as their cue to do what could generously be described as a tactical retreat. It would probably be more accurate to describe it as running the fuck away. Pearl jeers at them as they flee, with a surprising amount of aggression. Grian chucks a bit of moon rock after them. Scar, gradually, stops making cornered-animal noises of alarm.
Mumbo does not remove his hands from the sides of his helmet, on what seems to be the principle of the thing.
“…Are they herbivores?” asks Impulse, with mild interest, when the Watchers are little more than distant, dark specks amongst the many, many stars. “They looked pretty predatory to me.”
“I don’t know!” Grian shrugs. “Never really saw them eat.”
“Huh.”
“Why were you talking to them like that?” asks Scar, in the strained voice of a man who has just seen his life flash before his eyes. Mumbo nods, vigorously. “You swore at them!”
Grian shrugs. “I don’t think they’re used to people doing anything other than grovelling, to be honest,” he says, casually. “If you don’t, they default to threatening you, and then blowing your stuff up, and then blowing you up. But I don’t have anything to blow up right now, and they can’t kill me without risking me dying permanently, so.” He grins, brightly. “Easiest just to insult them until they get confused and leave. Or bite them. They’re weirdly scared of the biting thing.”
“Easiest,” says Scar, faintly. “Insult the nine foot tall, glowing purple eyes god-creatures. Easy. Or bite them. Right.”
“Or blow them up, first,” adds Pearl.
“They explode?” Grian sounds just a little bit too enthusiastically curious.
“Oh yeah. Taurtis built a TNT canon after you left.” Pearl makes a gesture with her free hand that approximates to kaboom, followed by gratuitous spattering motions. “Chunks everywhere. Didn’t keep them gone for long, admittedly, but it was great.”
“…Huh.”
Silence settles over their little group, as they watch the Watchers disappear from sight entirely. They’re all still holding hands. The void is still cold and star-bright around them. There is still no end in sight.
At length, Mumbo – having reclaimed his place holding hands in the circle, rather than being tethered by his ankles – says, “We should have asked them for the way out.”
“Oh no,” whines Scar. “We could have asked them for the way out.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” says Grian, sounding terribly bored. “They’re terrible at directions. Anyway! Where were we? Oh, yeah. The wheels on the bus go round and round–”