#this Hill lives rent free in my head | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunarblazes · 1 year

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whoops my hand slipped again (ao3)

Pearl has mostly settled in, all things considered. Chromia is beautiful, full of flowers and wild bees (Scott tells her he's not allowed to tame them on behalf of a foreign princess of the Dawn), and she's been fine there. Another person stumbles into the city bounds after her, someone who introduces himself as Joe Hills. Pearl can tell he's like her when she squints; the air shimmers oddly around him in the same way it warps around her fingertips. She wonders if he feels like she does, but they don't talk about it. Not in front of Scott. Scott shows them their rooms in the inn. He takes them to another empire, the city in the sky.

There are more people like her, in Stratos. She's not sure of their names until they introduce themselves to Joel, the ruler and maybe-god of the shining city (Cub, Scar, and Grian), but, like Joe, they each have some strange air about them, particularly the one called Grian. None of the emperors seem to notice. It makes her a little uneasy (she's almost relieved when Grian topples off the clouds) but that's quickly wiped away by the sheer splendor of Stratos' temples.

There is a temple to a grain goddess inside of Stratos. Pearl lingers in it for a while, examining the gardens planted inside. Despite all his blustering, Joel's kept them well, cultivated them exactly right. She doesn't know what metric she's using to compare, but she's right, she knows she is. Pearl asks Scott what the goddess' name was (this is a place of reminiscing, not of present honor; this goddess is at least dead to the man who made the temple, whether he's divine in his own right or not) and his face scrunches up in concentration.

"Peril," he finally answers hesitantly, his accent shaping the word.

Pearl stares around the temple again. The woman in the statue has no face, just a smooth slab of andesite stone, but the scythe she holds is sharp, huge enough to do real damage. Pearl knows that farming sickles are just dull enough to cut wheat. They shouldn't be used for fighting. What kind of a grain goddess is also a warrior?

"Peril," Pearl repeats softly and ignores the way the light that's replaced her heart jolts in her chest as the sunlight drifts into the temple. "Interesting."

She forgets about it quickly enough, even when Grian and Scar join them again with elytra and she has to squint against the deja-vu that presses at the walls of her mind. Pearl's still floating, after all. Glowing. She's paying attention well enough, but she's not really processing the things she's seeing. She's a little afraid, deep down, that they might hurt her more if she thinks about any of this too hard.

Things get a little weird when they enter the Nether.

There is a man, which is unassuming enough. Pearl has seen many men in her life, actually, and this one seems both unfamiliar and unlike her, but that is also par for the course at this point. He's wearing light armor, a teal tunic, and sturdy brown boots over dark pants. He appears to be talking to two people, one she semi-recognizes and one she sort of doesn't. As he turns, she sees that there's a scar over one of his eyes. It pulls tight as his eyes widen.

Pearl stares at him, mouth downturned slightly in a confused frown. Maybe she was wrong? He might be someone like her, she might have just not seen it.

She squints at him, trying to see the warping she's come to associate with the people who call themselves hermits. Sure enough, the air starts to stretch under her scrutiny, but it's not what she's looking for. The hermits have an aura like pulled taffy. It moves and stretches and explores lazily, heavy and cold without any mass; Pearl can see the weight on their shoulders and often wonders if it shows on her own. She doesn't feel any heavier, any more burdened, though she supposes she wouldn't have anything to compare it to. This man's wrongness--it's thin, flowing like water. It sets in fast, coming to a rolling boil then flickering out of existence all within a few seconds of him laying eyes on her. Whoever this man is, he's not like them.

Pearl takes a cautious step back as the man surges forward.

"Santa Pearla?" he asks reverently.

"Who?" Pearl says, bewildered.

"You--you! You're the Saint of Sanctuary, la Madre de Girasoles," he insists, though his voice wavers slightly at the clear lack of recognition in her own.

Pearl looks to Scott. She has no idea who that is or what those words mean. He shrugs.

"This is Sausage," Scott says, by way of explanation. "Protector of the empire of Sanctuary."

"No, no, she's the protector," Sausage insists, kneeling. "She's the source of our magic!"

"Mate, I'm a cleaning lady," Pearl says back. She blinks. This interdimensional memory stuff is getting weird--is she really a cleaning lady? The kneeling is also freaking her out. She knows that whoever she is, she's not supposed to be holy.

"But--there are statues of you," Sausage says, uncertain. "And murals?"

Pearl shakes her head and helps him to his feet. "I don't know. I'm just Pearl."

"She came here through the Rift, Sausage," Scott says in a stage whisper. "I think she's just a cosplayer."

"Oh, I did come here through the Rift, didn't I?" Pearl says thoughtfully. "Good to know."

Scott gives her an odd look. Sausage stares out into the distance for a moment before blinking, looking anywhere but at her.

"She looks so much like her, Scott," Sausage murmurs.

"I know," Scott says, "but she's not from here."

"Right," Sausage says, and claps his hands. "Yes, okay! You're a visitor, here, we--we can arrange a tour in Sanctuary, for our new guests!"

The tour is nice, and there are a lot of hermits. She's decided they're called hermits now. It just seemed like the right thing; none of them have a home, after all, and it's only right that they take the name of a creature that must share. It's an agreement they all innately have, maybe, because suddenly the term just becomes commonplace. Pearl's still not sure if the emperors can see the warping, but they definitely feel it. There's a gathering of about ten hermits crowded around Sausage's chests, including the man she was uneasy around earlier (Grian, she thinks it was), and the air is practically crackling with the way it's being tugged at. Different currents, different directions, all of it flying in separate spheres of chaos. She watches as one of the rulers, a goblin dressed in layered blue, red, and gold, staggers back from the fray, clearly disoriented as he leans against a tree.

Pearl retires to Chromia's inn after that, her head slightly spinning. If she thinks too much about any of this, she might dissolve or burst at the seams. Joe is there, absentmindedly tapping his fingers on the banister of the balcony to his room. They stare at each other for a while, the ever-present warped air still twisting behind them, and Pearl resolves to take a good long nap.

Before she gets to her room, it occurs to her to ask Joe about it. That wouldn't require her thinking too hard, really, and surely would prevent any further crisis or brain twisting caused by thinking too hard.

"Joe," Pearl asks, "are you okay?"

Joe doesn't turn around, but he sighs. "I mean, like, physically? Metaphysically? Dimensionally? Mentally? What flavor of okay are we talkin' here?"

"All of the above, probably."

"Metaphysically, I think I could be worse. My soul's probably fine. I don't think I have a way to tell, though, so that could be really wrong. Dimensionally--well, that's where the trouble starts, isn't it," Joe begins. "There're these mirage-type things--"

"Yeah," Pearl interrupts. "I think all the hermits have those."

"Is that what we are?" Joe says thoughtfully. "I like that name."

"Do I have it?"

Joe finally turns to look at her. He squints a little. "Yeah," he finally says, "I think it's--it's a little more obvious, actually. Kinda defined."

"Oh, lovely," Pearl says. "That means I'm the coolest and should be the leader."

Joe giggles. "Yeah, sure. Mentally, well, I got a little freaked out with so many people around, it was... not the best, but this inn is really quite nice, so I think I'm doin' a bit better. And physically my arm is broken."

"Joe!" Pearl yelps. "Why didn't you tell anyone? I'm sure they could have helped patch you up!"

"Well, it's--they were busy," Joe insists, "and I didn't want them to have to deal with it! They run kingdoms, Pearl, it's not like they have time to deal with--"

"It's a broken arm, Joe, how hard could it be to fix?" Pearl says. "C'mere, I can probably figure out how to set it."

"Ah. There seems to be a little bit of confusion here," Joe says. "Which is understandable. I didn't explain very well--that might be why nobody tried to help, actually, but--hm. Maybe this should have been in the metaphysical category, or the dimensional category."

Pearl stares at him, waiting for an elaboration. Joe stares back at her and does not offer any.

"What's wrong with your arm, then?" Pearl prods.

"Well," Joe says. He takes his left arm--not the one he was messing with on the banister, Pearl notes--and tries to prop himself against the wall. By all accounts, the attempt should have worked because he was literally just touching the wall with his arm. It does not. Pearl watches as the warping snakes its way down his left arm, causing him to simply phase halfway into the wall. He sighs.

"Oh," Pearl says. "That sure is a new and interesting way to break your arm."

"Yeah," Joe says miserably.

A beat.

"I don't know how to fix that," Pearl says awkwardly.

"Me neither," Joe says. They're back to staring at each other again. Joe pulls his arm out of the wall.

"Well, goodnight?" Pearl says.

"Yeah, g'night, Pearl," Joe says, remarkably amiably for the situation he's in, and goes back to staring out the window.

Pearl flops into her new Chromia bed, stares at the little toy sheriff that sits on her bedside table, and tries very hard not to think about anything until she falls asleep.

There are sunflowers growing from her pillow when she wakes. Their faces mirror her own in position as the sun rises to the east. Pearl ignores them.

Girasoles--sunflowers.

#pearlescentmoon #joe hills #smajor1995 #mythical sausage #the convergence #lunar prophecies #pearl in this au lives in my head rent fucking free shes about to get so much worse #also my apologies if joe's off base i tried my best but i have sworn to not watch him sadly #if i did i would grow too powerful to function in society and thus me and mr hills must always remain separate it is a tragedy

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