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hungry-tum-stuff · 3 years

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Lanayru Region - Zora’s Domain

Breath of the Wild Regional Food Series - Part Four

Description: After helping them conquer Vah Ruta, the Zora are more than grateful and decide to throw a feast in Link’s honor. Link over-indulges quite a bit, but Sidon is quite impressed by how much the hero can eat.

Includes: Hunger, Stuffing, Stomach rubbing, Touch-Starved Link, Ambiguously Platonic Link and Sidon interactions

//TW: Descriptions of hunger, descriptions of stuffing-induced stomachaches, Themes of Touch Starvation

Link had conquered Vah Ruta.

It hadn’t been easy, it had taken long enough to disable the beast, and even longer to navigate the inside and slay the Blight Ganon that had taken Mipha’s life. Such an ordeal had left him eager to return to Zora’s Domain, for more than one reason.

The biggest reason currently being food.

Food was practically the only thing he could think about after freeing Mipha’s spirit. With the adrenaline and rush of memories of his friend now passed, he quickly became acutely aware of the empty hole in his gut. Spending nearly a day disabling a Divine Beast and fighting a Blight Ganon had left him starving. He wasn’t doing a great job at hiding it, either.

“Link! My dearest friend, you did it! You are truly a hero among Hylians, a true- oh, goodness, you’re not injured, are you? You don’t look well” Sidon fussed, worriedly standing over Link as he got his footing after being teleported to safety by Vah Ruta.

Link just shook his head in reassurance as he took a shaky step towards Sidon. However, he wasn’t as alright as he’d thought, because his knees buckled as soon as he tried to walk. Sidon immediately caught him and stood him upright again, before kneeling down to Link’s level to inspect him.

‘Wounds were healed by Mipha, I’m fine’ He signed slowly, and Sidon looked at him, baffled for a moment.

“My sister healed you? But, how-“ He was cut off by a low growling sound, and as Link clapped two hands on his tummy, Sidon instantly knew what the problem was. His previous confusion was replaced by laughter, and Link’s face turned a bright red. “So that’s why you’re so light on your feet. You must be starving! Not to worry though, I knew you’d be hungry after your victory. So I had the domain prepare something special for you” He insisted, taking Link’s hand gently and leading him into Zora’s Domain. Link followed along, Sidon hadn’t exactly given him a choice, but he found it a little hard to keep up with the prince’s long strides now that his exhaustion was finally catching up to him.

Sidon led Link into the throne room where that ‘something special’ had been set up, and as soon as Link saw what it was he stopped in his tracks, absolutely stunned.

It was a feast. A huge table was laid out before him, covered end-to-end in tons of different fish prepared tons of different ways. Not to mention all the bread, pasta, and rice dishes. Link’s stomach could only groan longingly, aching a bit as he gawked at the feast. He winced and clutched his belly before looking up to Sidon and quickly signing: ‘For me?’

Sidon laughed again. “Of course it’s for you! We very well can’t let our champion leave the domain without a proper reward for his victory. I’d also feel rather awful if I wasn’t able to remedy that empty stomach of yours” Link’s face flushed once again, but he simply kept a hand on his tummy as he was ushered towards a seat. Prince Sidon sat beside him, and King Dorephan regarded them both with a nod.

“Welcome back, champion”

~~~

After King Dorephan gave a rather lengthy speech of thanks to both Link and Sidon, which was almost torture for Link to sit through politely while his stomach was practically begging him to dig into the food right in front of him, the King finally declared that the feast commence.

And Link wasted no time in filling his plate to the brim and scarfing down every last crumb. The other Zora, which Link could only assume was every single Zora in the domain judging by the size of the feast, watched in awe as the Hylian champion chowed down on a hearty bass, and then immediately reached for another helping. In fact, Link was in such a rush to eat that he hadn’t even bothered to use the cutlery laid out for him.

However, Sidon couldn’t help but find Link’s lack of table manners somewhat endearing. Link had been an expectation breaker from the very beginning: Ever since he was a child he’d been told stories of the silent, stoic knight that had fought alongside his sister, but never in a thousand years had he expected that knight to be a Hylian barely taller than most Zora children, or that his silent exterior masked someone incredibly silly and unrefined.

Link wasn’t what Sidon had expected, and that’s what made Sidon endlessly interested in him.

“You ought to slow down, my friend” Sidon interrupted as Link reached to fill his plate with a third heaping serving. But as Link bent over the table, Sidon couldn’t help but notice a new roundness pressing against the stretchy material of Link’s Zora Armor. Link just paused mid-way through filling his plate and looked up confusedly at Sidon, who was still eyeing his companion’s tummy. “Zora portions are traditionally far larger than Hylian portions, and I’d hate for you to give yourself an upset stomach…” He warned.

Link just frowned and continued to pile food onto his plate before setting it down and signing: ‘Still hungry.’

Sidon chuckled and nodded, leaning over to get a second serving of his own. “Very well then, eat to your heart’s content. You’ve certainly earned it”

At that, Link beamed and continued to eat his fill. It wasn’t until he was halfway through his third serving that he began slowing down a bit, and he was clearly struggling through the last couple bites until his plate was clean. As soon as it was, Link could only sit back in his seat with a sigh, one hand slowly creeping up to rest on his overfull tummy. Sidon finished his own meal before stealing a glance at Link and noticing just how distended his belly had become, and he gave a quiet laugh as Link met the prince’s eyes for a moment before looking away abashedly.

“You finished three plates of food? That’s incredible! I don’t even think I would be able to finish three servings of hearty bass without blowing up like a pufferfish” He marveled. Link’s face reddened when the prince pointed out just how much he’d eaten, and when he hiccuped as his stomach settled around the massive amount of food, Sidon just raised an eyebrow. “Although, it seems like you’ve gained a rather, hm, prominent middle after eating so much… Will your stomach be alright?”

Link just nodded and patted his belly assuredly, but as he did, his stomach roiled into a sharp cramp before grumbling unhappily. Link grunted and pressed both hands into his stomach, and Sidon worriedly set a hand on the Hylian’s shoulder.

“I’m not so sure you’re right dear friend, it seems like you’ve overdone it… Is your stomach upset?” He asked. Link tensed up as another gurgle tore through his stomach, and he nodded slowly before holding a finger to his lips and motioning to the other Zora at the table. He’d like to at least try to maintain a positive image with the people of the domain, and eating himself into a stomachache after they had been kind enough to throw him a feast didn’t seem like the best way to uphold his reputation. Sidon, somewhat misunderstanding the message, gave a bright smile and a thumbs-up in reply.

“Excuse us everyone, but our champion is quite exhausted after the events of today. I’ll be taking my leave to see him off to his chambers” Link’s face reddened even more as Sidon’s announcement drew the attention of the entire table, but thankfully nobody dared to comment on his noticeable gut as he stood from the table with Sidon. He was just bombarded with profuse good-byes and thank-you’s as he left with the prince.

‘Not very subtle.’ Link commented on their exit with a huff, and Sidon just tilted his head.

“Well, neither is that belly of yours.” Sidon quipped, causing Link to lay both of his hands back on his tummy, as if he were trying to hide it. “I apologize though, I wasn’t aware you wanted me to be subtle. I however, do want you to get some rest. And hopefully we can find a way to settle your stomach before you turn in for the night” Sidon insisted as he led Link into his bedchamber. Link would have just collapsed onto the bed, if he wasn’t cradling his swollen stomach like a mother would a baby. He opted to climb carefully onto the mattress, and when Sidon didn’t leave but instead sat at the foot of the bed, he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I can leave if you wish, but I believe I can help soothe your stomach a bit. It does sound rather unhappy…” Link flinched and let a small whine slip out as his stomach rumbled and contracted painfully around his huge meal, and he slowly nodded in agreement before removing his hands from his tummy. Sidon nodded back, and soon enough his large, scaled hand had taken the place of Link’s.

“Oh my, everything is really packed in there!” Sidon exclaimed as he began to rub in slow, small circles around Link’s firm belly. Link blushed, looking away before raising his hands up to sign to Sidon.

‘You don’t need to remind me.’

Sidon chuckled and shook his head. “I suppose I don’t. I think it’s a bit amusing though, you just completed a feat that not even I could imagine accomplishing on my own, but the celebratory feast is what has you bedridden”

Link didn’t sign anything in response to that, but he did sigh with relief as Sidon was able to loosen a rather painful knot in his belly, followed by a few busy grumbles. As Sidon continued, Link found himself slowly easing into the touch and the slow, soothing motion of the other’s hand on his belly, and the comfortable silence lulled him into a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt since he woke up in the Shrine of Resurrection.

‘This feels really nice, thank you.’ Link signed before letting his eyes fall shut. Sidon smiled as his hand smoothed over a particularly tight area, releasing a chorus of rumbles. Both of the boys paused upon hearing the sudden noises, but Sidon gave Link’s stomach a gentle, reassuring pat before continuing to rub his overfull belly in slow, soothing circles.

“You don’t need to thank me, my champion”

#the moment you've all been waiting for #tummy noises #hungry tummy #tummy #sfw hunger kink #whump #botw #breath of the wild #link botw #sidon botw #stomach growling #stuffing #tummy rubs #fanfic #botw fanfiction #long text post #sidlink #fluff

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journalxxx · 5 years

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No Rest for the Wicked (4)

The darkness vanished in overflowing hues of gold, red and pink as the first sunrays appeared. Few thin, non-threatening clouds streaked the sky, promising a wonderfully clear and bright day. All was calm and silent, save for the occasional chirping of the birds and the cheerful burbling of the food in the crockpot. The scent from it was delightful too, exciting like only a simple and hearty breakfast could be for an empty stomach. Between the fire and the hot pots, even the temperature was pleasant, just cool enough to shake off the torpor of sleep and get one into gear for a productive day. Wilson crossed his arms and leaned back against the ice box with a content sigh, focussing all his senses on letting that invigorating atmosphere permeate his very soul. Whether by design or by accident, even the Constant offered its moments of beauty and peace, and one had to be either foolish or heartless not to partake in those rare gifts.

“These eggs are runny. Practically raw.” Maxwell grumbled, poking around the bowl with his crude fork. “It takes some skill to mess up frying an egg.”

“Why don’t you make your own breakfast?”

“Why waste the effort? You’re going to make it for everyone anyway.”

“Now that I think of it, why don’t you make breakfast for everyone? You’re always awake before anyone else anyway.”

“Oh, sure. Why don’t I, on top of taking care of the heavy gathering and the occasional magic necessities, also do the cooking? Why don’t I give everyone back massages and polish their shoes too, while I’m at it?”

“Why do you hover around me and pester me for an early portion, only to complain that it isn’t cooked properly? Intriguing questions, I agree.” Maxwell snorted, and Wilson finally averted his attention from the horizon to consider his unhappy diner’s plate. His whites were a bit transparent, and not nearly the most disgusting or dangerous thing either of them had ever ingested. “Fine, leave that. I’ll give you another.”

Maxwell waited in irreproachable silence for the remaining minute of cooking time, while Wilson finished preparing more meat and proteins than Maxwell himself had in his whole body.

“Oh, by the way, we’re planning to hold a birthday party tonight.” Wilson casually offered, along with the second, piping hot and perfectly executed portion of bacon and eggs.

“A what?”

Maxwell wasn’t exactly the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve. However, he had a way of openly displaying few selected emotions, contempt and bewilderment in particular, that could have earned him a living as an actor in the real world. There was something oddly likable in how his whole lanky body bent forwards to deliver an accusatory glance or backwards to highlight the most artificially genuine shock, or in how his features crumpled in disgust or bloomed in deranged amusement, something that inexplicably made one tend to chuckle and humour his curious mannerism rather than mock it.

“Nothing grand, mind you, but I think the kids will appreciate it anyway. They haven’t celebrated it in who knows how long, and this happens to be roughly the time of year they were both born in, so-”

“A birthday party?” Maxwell repeated, still shell shocked by the news. He was even letting his precious second portion get cold. He wasn’t getting a third one, that was for sure. “You do realize that seasons - hell, that time itself is purely ornamental here, right? They aren’t any older than when they arrived!”

“Maybe not physically, but I’d say they’ve certainly grown in other ways. Hardship and death toughen the spirit, don’t they?” Wilson mused, sitting beside Maxwell and claiming the discarded dish for himself. He eagerly shoved a good quarter of its content in his mouth with a single forkful, almost tearing up from how tasty it was. It was the small things in life.

“Don’t go all philosophical on me, it doesn’t suit you.” Maxwell spared him a single judgemental glance before picking at his own food too, thankfully without further complaints. “Besides, we have more urgent things to worry about. It’s almost winter, we have to mend the warmer clothing and make some new thermal stones-”

“The’e ifnt mah two-”

“Were you raised in a barn!? Chew, you animal!” Maxwell unceremoniously pushed Wilson’s head sideways, censoring his regrettable lack of table manners. Wilson doggedly chomped on his food and gulped it down purposefully loudly, ignoring Maxwell’s disgruntled groan.

“There isn’t much that still needs to be done, actually. And we have a huge surplus of food, we may as well put it to good use before it spoils.”

“And, instead of turning it into meat statues or feeding it to the birds or the pigs, you suggest you fools simply stuff your face with it while singing obnoxious tunes near the fire? Have you people learnt nothing at all about resource management?”

“Relax. We’re good on supplies for food and materials, we all have life-giving amulets, neither hounds nor giants will attack for another week, at least. We can afford to take it easy for a single day.”

“Ridiculous. I won’t be taking part to any of this nonsense.”

“Believe it or not, no one was really expecting you to.” Wilson sighed. He helped himself to an extra portion from the crockpot, as a reward for putting up with Maxwell’s charming personality so early in the morning, every morning. “Woodie and Wolfgang have kindly offered to decorate the camp according to the kids’ every whim. Willow will be taking care of the cooking-”

“Oh God, why would you let her do that? She’ll set the whole place on fire-”

“In her own camp. Wickerbottom will keep an eye on her too. She’s objectively the best cook out of all of us, even though her dishes tend to be-”

“Charred.”

“Slightly overcooked. Sometimes.” Wilson patiently corrected. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? You could use some-”

“I can think of at least half a dozen better things to do with my time, frankly. Including catching fireflies, reading, and being murdered by bats.”

“That is certainly one way you could spend your night, yes.” Wilson absently commented. He eyed his grumpy companion with mix of concern and curiosity. Maxwell wasn’t the most easy-going and jolly fellow even at his best, but usually he wasn’t that unsociable. “You know, I was thinking that you could-”

“Pass.”

Wilson pouted. “Hear me out, at least-”

“No. Whatever you’re thinking of suggesting, no.”

The tempting scent of breakfast was always the best wake-up call in the camp; the low murmurs and rustles coming from the tents informed Wilson that the others would be joining them soon, and by that time Maxwell would have already disappeared. Ordinarily, Wilson wouldn’t dedicate too much mental energy to challenge Maxwell’s rebuttal: the man needed to meet his daily quota of lonely sulking just like air, apparently, and experience had proved that dragging him into forced socialization would only backfire tragically. But that day, Wilson decided, was going to be a good day. A day of merriment and rest and good food and birthday parties, a good day like no one in the Constant had had in ages, and he didn’t want a single, fleeting worry to cross his mind even for a second. He wouldn’t worry about death, he wouldn’t worry about finding a way out, he wouldn’t worry about the Shadows and their throne, and he wouldn’t worry about where the hell Maxwell could be or what could be slaying him at any given moment. He gobbled down the rest of his eggs, eliciting yet another disgusted noise from the object of his current predicament. He put down the plate and casually threw his arm around Maxwell’s shoulders, giving him his widest smile and holding his fork like a cigar, channeling his best impromptu impression of demonic persuasion.

“Listen, pal-”

“I will gouge your eyes out with my bare hands, Higgsbury.”

“You know, death threats lose their edge after being enacted more than 50-60 times. Anyway, I was merely thinking that you may delight us with one of those fascinating shadow shows of yours, like you did on Hallowed Nights. Everyone loved it, especially the kids!”

“Oh, how flattering. I’m being recruited as the court jester. Too bad the mime isn’t here.”

“What mime? Is there a-”

“No. There isn’t.”

“Mh. Too bad. I think you’d make a decent mime yourself, to be fair-”

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK-”

“Whoa, all right, no mimes! But I do wish you performed for us tonight.” Maxwell didn’t reply, and Wilson flashed him a marginally more honest smile. “Do it for the children, at least? You know, the children you kidnapped and likely mentally scarred for life? One of whom is your own flesh and blood-”

“Oh, for the love of - why are you so insistent about this?”

“Because it would be fun! It’s the point of this whole thing, to get everyone’s mind off things and just have fun, for once! And I do mean everyone, including you- don’t give me that look, I saw you last time, you were having a blast with those illusions-”

“Gööd mörning, Wilsön!”

Wigfrid’s fierce salute startled them both, and suddenly a swarm of famished survivors assaulted the steaming pots, in a lively cacophony of greetings and compliments to the chef. Maxwell immediately seized the occasion to weasel out of Wilson’s grasp with the efficient grace of an annoyed cat.

“You’ll think about it, then!” Wilson threw out, somewhat hopeful. He thought he saw Maxwell’s hand waving in response, utterly vague and non-committal, before he disappeared among the tents. Well, it had been worth a try.

Wilson’s day was indeed one he’d later remember with fondness. It had been so long since he had been able to afford the luxury to pour his remarkable inventiveness into purely recreational activities! Crafting decorations and trinkets with no purpose other than making them pleasing to the eye and amusing, with no concern for their durability or their usefulness, was incredibly refreshing. Everyone seemed to be feeling the same, and the camp was soon filled with a playful and gaudy atmosphere that drew laughs and jokes out of anyone who happened to stop by. Time literally flew by as the preparations for the party proved to be just as enjoyable as the main event was going to be. It was dusk before Wilson realized it, with three firepits blazing to light up the whole base and more than a dozen lanterns strategically placed for extra safety and ambience. Willow and Wickerbottom had produced enough delicacies to satiate a whole army, and everything smelled and looked so damnably appetizing that Wickerbottom had to guard the food with a stick to keep rude hands from snagging an early bite: Wilson himself got slapped once on his wrist for trying to steal a butter muffin, and twice on his head for trying to get Chester to commit the heinous deed in his stead.

The official start of the party was signalled by a veritable barrage of firecrackers and applauses for the youngest pair of survivors. In truth, Wendy’s mood didn’t seem to be any better than any other day’s, impervious as she was to any sort of positive emotion, but Wilson considered the fact that she wasn’t openly annoyed by the noise and the celebration of a prolonged lifespan a small victory in itself. Webber, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. Somehow, he had interpreted Wickerbottom’s constructive speech about age and personal growth as an encouragement to share what he had learnt in his hypothetical year in the Constant, starting from a genuinely impressive wrestling technique to be employed against pig warriors. Naturally, that had quickly devolved into playful roughhousing between Webber and Wolfgang, aptly clad in pigskin to better fit the part, and Wilson could only hope it wouldn’t result in too many accidental bruises. He watched in genuine amusement for a while as they tumbled on the ground at a safe distance from the fire, chuckling at Wolfgang’s belligerent oinks and Webber’s boisterous battlecries. Soon, however, Wilson’s enthusiasm started to wane. Not for any particular reason, just… well, Wilson wasn’t exactly a party animal. Noise and abundant company usually entertained him for an hour or so, but it was never long until he automatically gravitated towards the edge of the room and just got lost in his own head, letting the music and the chatter and the people blend in the background as his mind drifted back to that one project he was so invested into. Currently, he was short on idées fixes, so he simply let his eyes wonder. On the food first, yes, he was that base. While Wickerbottom was busy scowling at the brawl, he casually strolled to the table and snatched one of the coveted muffins; he idly munched on it as the little bubble of enthusiasm around the contenders kept sizzling without him.

Eventually, he noticed that Wendy wasn’t among the cheering crowd. He gazed around the camp in concern, but he spotted her soon, sitting at the very edge of the light and rather far from the group, holding her flower in her lap. Beside her, intently observing the unique item, was Maxwell. Wilson hadn’t noticed he had arrived; in fact, he had given up hope he’d even show up soon after he’d made himself scarce at dawn. Wilson couldn’t tell what they were doing: they appeared to be talking only now and then, and very briefly. At one point, Maxwell cupped the flower under his palm; when he removed it, shadows bled from its petals, morphing into copies of the flower itself, tied together and elegantly arranged as a whole garland. Wendy gingerly took it in her hands and studied it carefully, before wearing it. She was smiling.

A sharp cry from the crowd distracted them. Webber was standing victoriously on top of a squealing Wolfgang, dramatically begging for mercy. Neither Maxwell nor Wendy looked especially impressed, but Maxwell smirked when the girl whispered something in his ear. He closed his fist and made an odd gesture, as if he was rolling something between his fingers. He opened his palm, and tiny lumps of shadow plopped down from it, rolling here and there on the ground. They immediately grew small appendages and started crawling towards the group - they were spiders, Wilson realized as soon as they were close enough: not the kind of abominable arachnids that dwelled in the Constant, but the inoffensive earthly sort. Wilson hadn’t seen an ordinary spider in so long that he had almost forgotten they existed, and for some reason the realization made him inordinately nostalgic. How long had he even been away from home? It felt like a lifetime… Well, technically it was. Many, many lifetimes, however brief.

Wilson lost sight of the shadowy critters as they creeped among the crowd, unseen. Wolfgang’s scared yelp, a genuine one this time, made it clear where they were headed, and Wilson rolled his eyes. For all his haughty talk and composure, Maxwell had some rather juvenile tastes on the matter of pranks. Webber, on his part, immediately started collecting the spiders with obvious delight, letting them scuttle freely on his shoulders and head. He was positively adorable, at times. He ran to the dastardly duo as soon as he identified them as the responsibles for the disruption, and the rest of the group spontaneously followed. Maxwell didn’t look particularly happy about the invasion of his little corner of darkish solitude, but he didn’t complain vocally.

Finally, Wickerbottom declared it was time for dinner. Wilson barely managed to shove the rest of the muffin in his mouth before she finished her sentence, half choking in a desperate attempt to erase all incriminating proof. He obligingly waited for everyone else to grab their servings before approaching the banquet with an innocent smile. He was met with no reprimands, but the tight line of the librarian’s mouth made him suspect that he’d be charged with a sizable amount of crockery to wash later.

The feast was absolutely to die for. The loud chatters and laughters were soon replaced by the sound of vigorous chewing and a veritable onslaught of praises for Willow, who kept insisting that the best ingredient in any winning recipe was a fierce, crackling fire under the pot, and possibly around and inside it too.

“We should do this more often, eh?” Wilson heard Woodie comment amidst the other voices. “Lots of us usually eat at the same time, but we rarely do it together. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“You are absolutely right, dear.” Wickerbottom agreed. “It isn’t always easy to find the time and the energy to be properly sociable in this dreary place, but it would undoubtedly do us a world of good.”

“For what purpose? When death will inevitably seize one of us, our bonds will only deepen our suffering and haunt us to our own grave.” Wendy objected, and Wilson didn’t miss the small smile her words elicited on Maxwell’s face. Everyone else remained understandably silent, until Webber, probably used at the girl’s candid morbidity, chimed in as if no one had just exposed the tragic truth of human attachment.

“You know what would make this party even better? A story!” He looked straight at Maxwell, his many eyes shining with the unbridled excitement that only a hopeful child could harbour. If possible, everything went even quieter.

“...You want a story, eh?” Maxwell popped his last honey nugget in his mouth, without looking up from his plate. Suddenly, the old man was the center of everyone’s attention, and Wilson could bet that at least half of the bystanders, including him, were more or less expecting him to single-handedly ruin the evening with some untimely jab or rant. He unhurriedly put down his empty dish, cleaned his hands, and slipped his black gloves on.

“You know, I met a sailor once, just come back from a lengthy trip on the shores of Angola, who told me the tale of a boy just like you.” Maxwell stood up and started pacing in the middle of the rough circle of people, slowly rubbing his hands. Wilson could vaguely spy something coming into existence between Maxwell’s palms, some sort of fine, black mist; it almost looked like the gloves themselves were dissolving into thin air. “Anansi, the boy was called. A bright, mischievous lad, half human and half spider, with a heartfelt craving for stories as well.”

Maxwell waved his left hand with a flourish and a whiff of smoky shadow wafted from his fingers, coalescing into a vague Webber-shaped cloud. The apparition was different from Maxwell’s usual puppets: it was more ethereal, less defined and completely immaterial. Nevertheless, it fluttered and danced around with delightful ease and fluidity, immediately capturing everyone’s gaze and even earning Maxwell a couple of awed ‘Ooooh’. The story, as far as Wilson could tell, was a charming and classic fairytale with an exotic flair: a young boy sent on a quest for dangerous beasts, which he managed to capture against all odds through sheer wit and cunning. Despite the simplicity of its content, the tale positively enraptured the audience thanks to Maxwell’s stunning performance. Characters, monsters, items and even scenery were promptly summoned by Maxwell’s magic as soon as they were mentioned, interacting with each other, phasing through the onlookers and fusing hypnotically. Maxwell himself often stepped out of the circle to leave his creations under the spotlight, only to suddenly jump in again with a dramatic roar to highlight the plot twist. At one point, he even dived face-first into the silhouette of the current villain, brought the lit tip of his cigar to his lips and blew out, reproducing, in all its erupting magnificence, the impressive burst of fire the monster had just spit towards the protagonist. Wilson found himself wishing he had two pairs of eyes, so that he could watch both the shadows and Maxwell at the same time, for they were both spectacular in their own merits. The former King’s hands never stopped moving, his fingers wiggling and flicking as if he was really controlling his shadows via invisible strings. He never stopped pacing either, circling his spectators, drawing bizarre shapes in the air with the smoke arising from his cigar, as if tying his story together with that ephemeral strand. His narration was impeccable as well: he acted out each character’s lines with genuine passion (needless to say, he had a talent for channeling villainous threats and malignant snark), and his low tone and naturally coached voice had an enthralling quality that literally stole the show. When the story came to an end and the triumphant spider boy was promoted to God of the Stories, no less, for his brave deeds, Wilson felt the genuine impulse to join Webber in his enthusiastic request for one more tale. Everyone clapped warmly, and Maxwell dispelled his shadows with one last, wide motion. For the first time in the whole evening, Wilson’s and Maxwell’s eyes met and for a moment, just for a moment, Maxwell’s perfect showmanship seemed to falter: something shifted imperceptibly in his studied confidence and he stopped, briefly holding Wilson’s gaze, before bowing deeply to his audience.

Sadly, Maxwell wasn’t in the mood for an encore, and soon he retreated back to the farthest corner of the camp, away from the mounting buzzing and chit-chat. Wilson graciously allowed him five minutes of respite from human interaction, before deciding to fetch two cups of berry juice and join him there.

“That was amazing.” He sat beside Maxwell and handed him a drink. The other man accepted both the compliment and the juice with a nod. “You really have a knack for this sort of thing. You always look perfectly at ease when you’re in the spotlight.”

“I have been told. You could use developing the same skill, you know. The quality of your stitches is inversely proportional to the number of people observing you while you’re applying them.”

“Ehr, yes, I’m working on that. Speaking of peculiar skills, what’s the deal with that fire-spitting thing you pulled off back there? You can’t actually create fire, right? Because that would have come very handy on a bunch of different occasions-”

“I swear you get more gullible every time the sun rises. No, I can’t spit fire. That was just some basic fire-breathing trick.”

“I guessed so. It was fairly impressive but, if I were you, I wouldn’t have done it with Willow watching. She’s definitely going to try to do that, probably setting the whole camp on fire in the process. And when that happens, I’m going to blame you.”

“Like hell you are! She’s a grown woman, she’s responsible for her own actions.”

“Maybe, but you do have a talent for bringing out the worst in people. Anyway, how come you know how to breathe fire? Do you get a free course when you’re hired as a demon? Does that figure among the key curricular skills devils in training need to acquire?” Maxwell snorted in his drink, and Wilson smiled as well. “Do you have to pass a fire-breathing qualifying examination before you’re deployed to torment mortals? I suppose that demons who can’t properly handle the heat must be fairly damaging to the corporate image-”

“You cheeky sod.” Maxwell burst out laughing heartily. That jovial sound, so rare to hear, warmed something deep within Wilson’s chest. “Sure, why not? If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe it anyway.”

“Oh, yeah? Try me.” Wilson grinned, leaning his cheek on his palm and turning face Maxwell fully.

“Mh, let’s see…” Maxwell stroked his chin with a playful smirk. “I’ll give you three options. See if you can figure out the real one.”

“Nothing is ever easy or straightforward with you, is it?”

“Number one: I learned it from my own creations. I simply had to study how the dragonfly harnesses and redirects heat from the atmosphere to grasp the basic mechanism.”

“Mmmh… an intriguing explanation, but a faulty one. You can’t possibly create something functional without knowing or at least guessing how it works beforehands.”

“With just that one sentence, you fully proved your complete ignorance about the very foundations of the magic arts. Anyway, number two: I learned it from an alcoholic, self-proclaimed fakir travelling with a circus in exchange for half a bottle of Port.”

“That’s so ridiculously out there I can’t even imagine how you came up with that.”

“Number three: I never learned it. This was my first attempt ever and I instantly nailed the technique by virtue of my natural, unrestrained talent.”

“...This is stupid. All of these are stupid. You’re just pulling my leg.” Wilson pouted. “You’re right, I’m just going to assume Satan taught you.”

“Suit yourself.” Maxwell chukled, taking another sip.

“What did you use as fuel? Oh, wait-”

“You guessed it. Nightmare fuel, what else?”

“I didn’t see you put it into your mouth though… Where did you keep it?”

“Inside my very soul.”

“Ha! Ha ha! That- that was a joke, right?”

“Oh, I wish.” Maxwell declared with the utmost seriousness, taking a long drag from his cigar like the overly dramatic ass that he was.

“Is nightmare fuel even flammable? I experimented with it a few times, but I never managed to ignite it…”

“It can be, in the right hands. It’s extremely versatile if you know how to use it.”

“Well, that wasn’t an unnecessarily vague or creepy explanation in the slightest.”

“Oh, my apologies. I’d hate to accidentally give you the impression that your onslaught of childish and nosy questions was getting on my nerves.”

“Oh no, you aren’t fooling me, you know?” Wilson waved his finger at Maxwell with a knowing smirk. “You’re in high spirits tonight, no matter how hard you try to hide it. It’s quite telling that you even went as far as to waste some of your oh-so-precious fuel for the sake of our silly entertainment-”

“Mph! I only used few drops for the fire. The shadows didn’t even require any, they were little more than glorified tricks of light-”

“Nevertheless! You had a whale of a time and it showed, and damn if that wasn’t refreshing to see you waltz around like that!”

Maxwell gave Wilson a strange look. “Well, I’m certainly glad that my favorite petulant brat enjoyed the show. And Webber and Wendy too, of course.”

”Hey, no need to be- oh. Ha! See? You’re on fire tonight! With or without fuel.” Maxwell pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained groan, but it wasn’t enough to hide the obvious smile on his lips. “...You know, I’m glad you took up my suggestion. We’ve all been in dire need of a break for a while. Especially the kids, especially considering it’s their birthday-”

“It really isn’t.”

“It probably isn’t.” Wilson conceded. “But what’s the point of surviving just for the sake of surviving, with no real perspective of escape in sight, if we can’t find it in ourselves to enjoy our hard-earned lives?”

Maxwell didn’t reply immediately, regarding Wilson with something awfully similar to concern.

“...Say, is everything all right?”

“Uh? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, you’ve been awfully sentimental lately. And what’s with all this ‘poor kids’ here, ‘poor kids’ there? Where does this misplaced parental solicitude come from?”

“What an asinine question. I’ll give you a pass for not caring about the unjust punishment you’ve served to a bunch of naive adults, but Webber and Wendy, of all people, deserve better than being confined in this dreadful place. They’re just children!”

“Tsk! If you ask me, children are just as selfish as adults, if not worse. They’d literally sell their siblings for a handful of liquorice.”

“Oh come on, how can you be so cynical?”

“I am not, it’s perfectly true. My brother did it twice, and he didn’t even share the sweets. Wretched rascal.”

“Your brother?” Wilson couldn’t help but ask.

“Mm-hm.” Maxwell didn’t notice his surprise immediately, but he did when Wilson kept staring silently at him in mild fascination. He made a face. “What’s that doe-eyed look for? You chewed my head off for having a niece, you already know I have a brother.”

“No, I didn’t! It could have been… a sister… too…” It didn’t sound nearly as silly of a reply in Wilson’s head, truly. And Maxwell’s raised eyebrow did nothing to diminish his rapidly growing embarassment.

“Can’t argue with that airtight logic.” He deadpanned.

“Give me a break! You hardly ever talk about yourself, let alone your family. Sometimes it’s hard to remember you didn’t just burst out of a sulphur mine.”

“I really sold you the demon shtick flawlessly, didn’t I? Hey, and get this - you won’t believe your ears. I had…” He leant towards Wilson cospiratorily, lowering his voice and shielding his mouth with a hand. Wilson felt automatically compelled to draw closer as well. “...A father.”

“...Ha. Ha ha. Hilarious.”

“And a mother too! Astounding, I know. Don’t let the claws and the magic and the devilishly good looks deceive you, I’m 100 percent human, plus another 15 or 20 stemmed from the murkiest depths of darkness itself-”

“Will you stop that?” Wilson giggled despite himself, punching Maxwell on the shoulder. The old man let out a completely unwarranted yelp and leaned away from him, nursing his injured arm with an affronted scowl. Wilson was tempted to call him out on his dramatic reaction, before he remembered that that happened to be the spot where he had administered the injection.

“...Oh, sorry. Is it still sore? It’s been a few days, it should-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Maxwell ineffectively tried to wave Wilson’s hands away as he prodded the area. “It’s barely noticeable by now.”

As far as Wilson could tell, there weren’t any perceptible swollen or hardened lumps beneath the clothing. “Are you sure? I can have a look at it.”

“You don’t get to act all compassionate and thoughtful after deliberately poisoning me. Hands off.” Maxwell retorted without any real bite, and Wilson raised his hands in surrender. After a beat, Maxwell looked away. “Besides, you have no reason to worry about it. I think there may be some merit to that formula of yours.”

“Really?” Wilson instantly perked up. “Have you been feeling better?”

“Something of the sort, yes.”

“As if you had never died in the first place?”

“Possibly.”

“Yes! I knew it!” Wilson grinned, pumping his fist in triumph. He didn’t let Maxwell’s half-hearted answers mislead him: if he had felt like spontaneously bringing it up, the improvement must have been undeniable. “Now we only need to wait a little more to make sure it won’t have any odd side effects in the long term...”

“Glad to see you’re still expecting me to kick the bucket at any moment. How long will I supposedly be in danger for?”

“Now, I wouldn’t say you’re in ‘danger’… but I’d wait at least a full month before using the medicine on others.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Maxwell rubbed a hand on his face. Wilson chuckled and patted his back encouragingly.

A comfortable silence stretched between them as Wilson nursed his drink and Maxwell smoked quietly. They watched absently the small but lively crowd from afar, lost in their own thoughts. On moments like those, when Maxwell was in a decent mood, Wilson was honestly glad they had met after the throne. If one managed to grow a liking or at least a tolerance for Maxwell’s cutting humour and his peculiar ways, having him around could be positively invigorating. It could be fun. For all his gratuitous complaining and gloom, he wasn’t one to just sit and let the world kick him the teeth. By hook or by crook, he’d pull himself and anyone he needed together and he’d come through, with a sharp sword and an even sharper grin. On moments like those, when they were virtually alone and their past misgivings didn’t weigh on their minds and their words, Wilson could even take a honest look at himself and contemplate his own feelings without worry. On moments like those, it wasn’t difficult to see all the disquieting thoughts and suspects about the throne’s influence as the overgrown paranoia they actually were, and dismiss them with ease. And when the little tidbits of Maxwell’s past, the unguarded laughs and genuine concern, and even his distinctly British interjections reminded Wilson of how exquisitely human that self-proclaimed fiend actually was, accepting the undeniable affection he felt for the man was as natural as breathing.

“What did they do?”

“Mh?“ Maxwell came down from his own reverie with a surprised puff of smoke. “What? Who?”

“Your parents.”

Maxwell let out a deep, long-suffering sigh. “You have this unfortunate, ingrained habit of mistaking thinly-veiled insults for viable topics of conversation. I didn’t mention my parents because I feel like sharing my life story, I did it to highlight the fact that you’re as dumb as a rock.”

“Oh, I don’t do it by mistake, I assure you. It’s a deliberate choice.” Wilson answered genially. “It’s also basically the only way I can ever talk with you for more than thirty seconds.”

“Lucky me.”

“What about your brother? Who did he sold you to?”

Maxwell flashed him his widest, most disturbing grin. “The Devil, maybe.”

“...All right, I guess I walked into that one.” Wilson rolled his eyes, still smiling as well. A couple of high-pitched cries made them both turn towards the crowd. Wilson couldn’t quite see what was happening back there, but if he had to hazard a guess, Webber was probably testing his fighting skills against Wigfrid, this time. “...Have you thought about what I told you? About trusting the others a bit more?”

“Not really, no.”

“But you must see it’s for the best. Hell, just tonight you had proof of how little it would take you to make a great impression on them. I’m not going to say that now all is forgiven and forgotten just because you put up a fancy magic show, but you can bet everyone will be more friendly with you tomorrow. That’s a start, and it took you no effort at all.”

“That’s an awfully simplistic way of conceiving human interactions, and you’re well aware of it. It’s certainly easy to see everyone in a good light now, with full bellies, warm clothes, good health and relative safety. But when food starts to grow scarce and danger approaches, that’s when people show their true colors.”

“And your solution is to treat them as if they had already betrayed you, without even giving them a chance? Especially when you’re the one who betrayed them? What sort of backwards logic is that?”

“A more cautious one than ‘let’s just hope for the best’, surely. Besides, this whole situation is beyond worrying in and of itself.”

“What do you mean?”

Maxwell’s eyes narrowed, and his tone lowered. “...Do you really see nothing strange in this?”

“In what? What are you talking about?”

“This.” Maxwell made a vague, all-encompassing gesture, including the camp, the survivors, the darkness, everything and nothing. “All this. This… this is all wrong.”

Wilson blinked. He had no idea what Maxwell was referring to, but he sensed it must be something more important than his usual overly dramatic pessimism, so he waited for him to continue.

“Us. All of us. Meeting each other, surviving together, faring so well that we can afford to hold birthday parties, for heaven’s sake. Look at all the statues and the amulets and the piles of food! By now, death has become a mild inconvenience for us, rather than an actual threat. This is a far cry from the hellish experience you’ve had in the Constant when you first arrived, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.” Wilson agreed, dimly seeing where Maxwell was heading. Maxwell nervously shook some ash off his cigar.

“There’s a reason why you never stumbled into another living soul during all your travels, and that’s because I made it so. I kept you all accurately separated, I organized the connections between each world you crossed so that none of you would ever meet. Because surviving in pairs or larger groups is easier, both practically and psychologically. And this place was not crafted to make life easier. It’s an instrument of torture, devised to induce exactly as much pain as humans are capable of experiencing.”

Wilson didn’t speak. Maxwell crossed his arms, sulking at the noisy crowd. “And suddenly, within the span of few months, so many of us are reunited in a single place. Not by sheer chance, that’s for sure. Suddenly we’re allowed all this… comfort, company, cheer. It makes no sense.”

“Well, maybe the new Queen is on our side, inasmuch as she can be.” Wilson ventured to say. “You said you knew her, and she freed me from the throne. Maybe she genuinely wants to help us.”

“No, that’s not it.” Maxwell shook his head grimly. “Even if she harboured any sympathy for any of us, which is doubtful, she’d be in no position to favour us so blatantly. They wouldn’t allow it. Nothing happens here without Their permission, and They only care about Their own entertainment, which invariably involves slaughter and suffering.”

“So you’re saying that this is some sort of ploy?” Wilson frowned. “What are you concerned about, exactly? That there may be… I don’t know, a spy in our midst?”

“That is certainly a possibility.”

“Mh… that doesn’t sound right to me. It’s needlessly contrived and time-consuming as a way to torture us.”

“It certainly isn’t something I’d have resorted to… but if I was replaced, I guess They must have been growing bored of my methods to begin with.”

“I thought you got replaced because I bested you in a battle of endurance, stubbornness and wits.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, if it helps you sleep at night.” Maxwell deadpanned. “Anyway, there are much simpler ways our current arrangement can damage us.”

“How so?”

“What Wendy said earlier is true.” Maxwell shrugged. “Wounds of the soul are much more devastating than those of the flesh. When this idyllic period of peace will inevitably end and corpses will start to pile up, loneliness will be a heavier burden than ever, and loss will only add to its weight. That kind of pain is definitely something I can see Them enjoying.”

“So you think this is only temporary.” Wilson murmured, considering Maxwell’s words carefully. “That it was given to us only to be taken away.”

“That much is obvious. Still, I don’t think that’s quite all there is to it. It’s too much trouble for too little reward. They’re planning something, and I have no idea what it is. I don’t like it.” Maxwell rubbed his eyes slowly. “I don’t like it one bit.”

So much for his day without worries, Wilson thought. He had never really stopped to question which conjunctures might have caused the survivors’ paths to cross, but, as Maxwell put them, they did look suspicious. The thought that he may, possibly soon, be out there on his own all over again, completely alone with his struggles and his hallucinations against a whole, murderous world, was indeed depressing. Yet, for some reason, it was even more depressing to see Maxwell similarly affected by that perspective. Wilson silently considered the other man, all traces of his earlier mirth and lightheartedness gone; suddenly he looked very old and very tired, barely any more alive than the listless shell of a man he had found caged on the throne. Something within Wilson found that simply intolerable. He reached out and gently squeezed Maxwell’s shoulder.

“...Hey, look. There isn’t really any point in catastrophizing. We all know this place is terrible and evil, but that doesn’t mean nothing good can ever come out of it. Look at yourself, you’re free now. That’s an improvement over being bound to the throne, isn’t it?”

“Tough call.” Maxwell replied laconically.

“That’s an improvement.” Wilson declared. “I’m faring better than ever too! I’ve learned a lot, I’m free and in great shape, and I have at least one person I can unhesitatingly rely on, and that’s more-”

“Who?” Maxwell asked, with ridiculously genuine curiosity. Wilson gave him a look. “...Oh, you mean me.”

“No, I meant Chester. Who else, you thick-headed prick!?”

“Sorry, it was the ‘unhesitatingly’ that threw me off. Please continue.”

“And!” Wilson added, and abruptly stood up and walked away. He marched to the table and filled two plates with as much food of as many different varieties as they could hold, and brought them back to their comfortably private corner. He proceeded to refill their bowls to the brim with berry juice as well, and he added those to the heap before sitting down again, while Maxwell kept observing him with a mix of confusion and amusement. “We are currently in the perfect position to build our strength for whatever obstacle They might be planning to throw in our way. So eat up, stay safe and gather comrades.”

“My God, this has to be the most predictable and shallow pep talk I’ve ever heard.”

“Trust me, you just have to tackle the most immediate problems one at a time and don’t let remote fears distract you. Small steps. That’s how I made it all the way to your den.”

“Every time you rub that one victory in my face, you come up with a different reason for it. Last time it was by exercising caution and always having a backup plan, which is just about the opposite of what you just said.”

“That too. And also by being generally better, smarter and stronger than you. I’m just an extraordinary guy all round, when you think about it.” Maxwell snorted. Wilson smiled and held out his bowl of juice. “To peace and prosperity, however long they’ll last?”

Maxwell shook his head, but he was smiling. He lifted his own bowl and clinked against Wilson’s. “To short-sighted optimism.”

“Good enough.”

They drank their juice and enjoyed some more of Willow’s cuisine. It was true, Wilson didn’t have much valuable insight or advice to offer about Maxwell’s worries, but small steps did it, for real. And as of now, managing to turn Maxwell’s frown into a crooked smile felt like a worthy milestone.

“Maxwell!” Webber yelled. “Willow wants you to teach her how to spit fire!”

Wilson sighed. Maxwell, at least, had the decency to look alarmed.

#don't starve #maxwil #maxwell #Wilson P. Higgsbury #wickerbottom #webber #wendy #Wigfrid #wolfgang #woodie #willow

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violetosprey · 6 years

Text

BTD2 My thoughts on Cain

I covered my thoughts long ago on all of the “Till Death Do Us Part” game characters, but I never really took the time to talk about my thoughts about the main series “Boyfriend to Death” characters. I have actually talked about many of these characters through various different posts. But otherwise, there haven’t been that many posts dedicated specifically to certain BTD characters.

These posts will mostly be about my own opinions and views (a rough analysis more than anything). I may end up focusing on multiple aspects of the character, or just one particular one if I think it defines them best (we’ll see). For those that have read some of my other posts, there likely WILL be some thoughts I’ve stated before that I’ll simply be re-iterating here. But there may also be some new stuff in here if it happens to come to mind, or because I’ve simply not had the time before to go over such a topic.

It will take a while to get through all 8, so please have some patience and just check back later if it looks like I don’t have a post up yet for a character you’re really interested in. I will also be talking through these under the assumption that you’ve played/read all the routes (so I might mention but not go into explicit detail on a scene).

*major spoilers below, and this is stupid long…like anything I write*

Fun fact: Cain is my second favorite character in the entire BTD/TDDUP series. The ONLY reason he isn’t my #1 favorite is because I have an intense love for villainous male yanderes, so Marcus just has an unfair advantage here. If Marcus did not exist though, Cain would be my favorite hands down.

In some ways, Cain is very straightforward in regards to his characters. He’s THE bad guy. If he were in another video game or story, he’d likely be the final boss to defeat. His powers are ridiculous, he’s nearly 3000 years old I think, and I think his creator has implied that he’s not a fan of working under others. He’s had to as a torturer, but hasn’t seemed to like it (though maybe it depends on the other person/character). If his character just came off as too OP to you when playing BTD2, well that’s probably because he’s not supposed to be a push-over :P And the MC of all things in the game is CERTAINLY not a character implied to be anywhere near his caliber to take him on. What’s more, Cain can be considered a bad guy for the VAST majority of his life, and he shows no regrets whatsoever as to the monster he’s become.

Another fun fact is, I actually didn’t make the connection at first upon Cain’s introduction that he’s the Cain from the story of Cain and Abel. You do get some dialogue in BTD2 from Cain about his origins there, but in the event that someone is not familiar with the importance of this background, I’ll dip in a little here. Basically, in the bible you have the first humans, Adam and Eve, and their first sons following that were Cain and Abel. I’m not incredibly familiar with the full story myself, but what happened was the brothers needed (or maybe wanted- don’t remember) to make a tribute to God. Cain was a farmer, so he presented some of his harvest as tribute. Abel was a shepherd, so he slayed some of his livestock and presented it as a sacrifice to God. Between the two gifts, God preferred Abel’s. After this, Cain then murdered Abel. The significance here would be that following this tale of early human creation, that would make this the first act of human murder. So what Cain represents is the origin of one of the most extreme acts of violence on another human being. And when you ask Cain about his feelings on the matter in BTD2, he STILL does not regret murdering his brother after all these years. Apparently the bible doesn’t fully goes in Cain’s motives (so it’s fitting that in BTD2 it’s also left to the imagination), but jealousy is a common theory.

So the Cain we know of BTD2 was punished, marked, and sent to hell I believe. While likely being punished himself, he served a torturer in hell when needed. If you checked through ElectricPuke’s tumblr, you’ll also learn that he would have been used for big events of depression or war such as the black plague and the crusades. Most of the time, Cain was kept in line by the more powerful fallen angels in hell. He’s arguably one of the strongest villains, but not THE strongest person basically (Sam who pops up in one ending was confirmed stronger, but just is held back by rules and restrictions). Recently though, he was able to escape, and he does not plan to go back.

So what’s he do now that he’s out? Repent for his sins and come to terms with his years of torture to try to be a better person and go on a long journey of enlightenment *eyes sparkle*? Pfft, nope. He goes straight to tormenting humanity (likely both small scale and large scale, depending on his mood and what he can get away with without being caught) because that’s what he enjoys the most. That’s the thing about Cain. He does show moments in the game where he’s quiet, thoughtful, and perhaps even lonely. But when you look at him as a whole, he’s just a sadist that does whatever he wants to do. He’s a VERY charming character, but it’s best not to be fooled by this man. Sweet words may just end up being his way of manipulating someone, tempting them, into doing what he wants. He does this frequently throughout the game actually, encouraging you to join tell him your sins, join him in the bath, drink his wine, or join him on the balcony. But if you go back to many of these scenes and see what they lead into (often Cain getting rough and causing harm to the MC), you realize in your attempt to reach out towards the rose…that you forgot about the thorns underneath. Maybe that’s another reason Cain likes roses :P

The complexity to Cain lies in the fact that he’s difficult to figure out…especially when you NEED to figure him out to live. Cain is very fickle, and he gets bored fairly easily. On one hand, he does whatever he wants, and he’s most pleased when he’s tormenting someone. But he does have to still be careful about where he wanders because the other fallen angels ARE looking for him to a degree. And Damien’s aware of Cain’s reappearance and is prepping for whenever Cain decides to start causing mass genocide for the heck of it. How much damage Cain has caused since he’s gotten out btw, I’m not sure. We only know that the MC isn’t his first victim since getting out since apparently he likes to text “weird pictures” to Damien. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say these “pictures”…are likely of his victims after he’s done something horrific to them. Just a guess, but I’d bet good money on that :P

Back to what I was saying though, Cain is still restricted as to where he can go and how often. Damien can’t beat him, sure, but the other angels that can beat him he’s smart enough to avoid. He has to hide away in Tartarus for…who knows how long at a time honestly. That’s not something we learn in the game or are given hints to. Soooo Cain is even MORE bored when he has to sit around his house all day. He can read books, but he’ll probably end up reading his same stuff over and over again to the point where it’s unenjoyable. So what’s he decide he wants to do? Cain wants a pet (and he is the worst pet owner in the world).

Let’s face it, pets are companions that give you something else to focus on in your day-to-day routine and help even ease away some loneliness. But he’s Cain, so a fish, bird, dog or cat isn’t going to cut it for him. Why settle for smaller creatures like those when he could grab something that he can make conversation with, indulge in sexual pleasures…and listen to them scream when he tortures them? Cain makes it VERY clear that he sees the MC as nothing but a toy to him. You may not be a dog, but you’re just Pet 2.0 at best to him. He really doesn’t seem to have a high opinion of humans either honestly. Despite having been one, Cain’s not really all the impressed with what he sees. It’s not like Rire, who Darqx has stated likes humans and prefers to torment them over demons because it’s more interesting to watch something that’s so obviously inferior to you try to fight back. Cain does also like a victim that puts up a fight, but when he says the MC is “interesting,” it’s not explicitly because they are human. Actually, I forget who put up the post, but someone figured out that if you name yourself “Ashe,” then you get a few dialogue changes suggesting MC ISN’T human in this case (it’s a reference’s to Gato’s angel character you meet at the river). Cain can also turn you into a demon or a fallen angel, so he really doesn’t care about keeping you human. So if you wanted to think up an OC to use for Cain’s route, probably any species would work as long as it’s weaker than him (which would….probably be 98% of creatures that come across him anyway).

I fully believe Cain when he says his intention is to kill you in the end. While he’s looking for something more long term than when Rire “plays” with his victims, Cain’s “pets” just wouldn’t last very long. First off, trying to please him is infuriating. If you stay silent right after he’s kidnapped you, he’s unimpressed and kills you by ripping his tongue out. He gets furious if you yell back at him and storm off the kitchen, even calling you a child. Yet he likes if you say you’re not going to roll over for him when you take a bath together, and he gets turned on when you bring a knife and try to stab him. It seems if you want to survive Cain, you have to hit JUST the right notes of feisty and entertaining, while not going too far into a defiant state that's just too obnoxious for the nearly 3000 year old fallen angel to deal with. I myself, just kept getting abandoned and killed by Sam XD I never made him happy enough on my own. It doesn’t help that he’s one of the two characters where you don’t see his heart changes until the very end either. Kudos to whoever figured out those survival endings where you end up with Cain (alive I mean).

Speaking of his age…good luck with either of you relating to each other. That’s one of the hurdles here too if you’re trying to survive. I’ve always said that Cain is more likely to hold sympathy for you than someone like the demon king Rire, because Cain used to be human. That being said, there’s not a whole lot of sympathy for him to give. Like I said, he doesn’t really seem impressed with humans. And one difficulty with relationships where there are rather large age gaps is how life experiences and events (past and current) shape one’s personality and views. Basic example is an 18 year old and a 70 year old will have VERY different life goals and obstacles at the point in time of their lives. The 70 year MIGHT be able to relate to some of the 18 year old’s troubles since they’d have already experienced them, but at the same time they could just wave off those troubles saying “oh that’s not so bad, wait until you have to worry about this.” Meanwhile, the 18 year old of course isn’t going to be able to relate to later difficulties in life that the 50 year old has faced. I know I’m getting a little weird here, and you’re probably thinking “18 and 70 year old in a relationship? That’d be a disaster.” Well now the old man is nearly 3000 years old…you think he cares that much about your college exams, mortgage payments, or taxes you have to pay? Even the MC’s emotional trauma might just seem petty or insignificant to him. And if he picked up say…a 25 year old. You think the 25 year old version of him would have anything in common with a modern day 25 year old? Probably not.

And that’s another thing I like about Cain’s path. Your survival is based on two things: a) Either someone else comes and saves you after you’ve avoided danger long enough or b) your personality and Cain’s end up meshing. If Cain doesn’t care that you’re human, and he doesn’t sympathize or relate to you, you have to hope that you’re the kind of person that’s entertaining and pleasant enough for him. It also might help if the MC is a little masochistic (makes for a better slave) or has some dark thoughts (think of the painting in the one ending). There’s also two different ways this happens. If you get the ending where he turns you into a demon, Puke described that as him making you one of his minions. Whereas the ending where you turns you into a fallen angel, you’re more his equal. So demon ending I see as you are JUST obedient enough to not be boring or obnoxious, but it’s still like he’s just grown attached more to his “pet” to me. Like, he’s kicked you around and harassed you a bit, but when you betray Damien and stay with him on your own he’s like, “Awww that’s adorable. How can I say no to that face?” He’d probably still torture you a bit and keep you in a submissive role (but more playfulness there I suppose?). Is it weird that I could also imagine quiet moments where he’s petting the MC’s head on his lap while he reads a book? Fallen angel ending he’d probably have more respect for you and even treat you as a proper lover, rather than a sex toy.

Going way back to when I said I fully believed Cain when he said he intended to kill you from the start, I think it’s because he doesn’t really expect to end up making everyone he captures a minion or fallen angel (fallen angel probably even less). And let’s say he DOES like a person for quite a while, but never enough to turn them into a minion or fallen angel. He’s probably still eventually going to kill you because he’ll get bored of the same old thing and hasn’t gotten attached to you (this is probably more likely), or because you’re just getting too old to be durable for his torture. Yeah do you think he’d keep someone around when they’re elderly? He’d probably “pet his pet down” much sooner than that. I think he changes someone he REALLY likes into a minion or fallen angel so that they not only become more durable (if he keeps up his sadistic acts) but so they can live longer with him. Humans can barely live to 100. Cain’s so fickle though that my head canon is if he doesn’t grow attached to you after a week of torment, then he just kills you. I don’t think he has the patience to let someone prove themselves to him over a few years. That’s just my opinion though.

I’d have to replay ALL his routes again. Strangely enough despite him saying that he likes a little fight in the MC, it feels like there are more moments where he likes your compliance more. Weird, but I’d have to check into that. Still, with Cain it’s hard to tell whether that compliance just ends up making you too “yes-man” for Cain to really enjoy, or which moments you pick to be feisty won’t end up with you getting your tongue ripped out.

Overall, I think Cain is one of the more interesting characters in the series due to his backstory, charm, consistently evil persona, and survival difficulty. He’s one of the reasons I consider BTD2 more fleshed out than BTD. I know it’s not fair to compare the two games like that since BTD was made very quickly in good humor, but a lot of the characters in BTD2 have a little more to them going on that we get to see in the BTD guys (Strade, Rire, and Akira just doesn’t have as much screentime…I think). And out of the 4 in BTD2, Cain is definitely the most straightforward evil. Nothing really sympathetic about him. I may have said it’s possible that he gets lonely, but “being lonely” doesn’t mean you’re automatically a good person that people should feel bad for right away. Cain has not shown any remorse for what he’s done, and even in the survival endings where you end up with him, he doesn’t imply he’s going to stop being the villain in anyway.

#own post #I am SO sorry this is so long #Apparently I have not let myself talk about Cain enough...#btd2 #cain zeitgeist #electricpuke #horror game #btd

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