PSL for freedomsuitsme

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

The sun dips below the Constant's horizon, the cracked moon not yet visible in the orange sky. Webber approaches the garden, stopping to marvel at a shiny purple onion bigger than their spidery head. Bigger than the icebox! Bigger than Glommer! They poke it, then sniffle involuntarily and dab at their eyes as a puff of onion gas escapes.

"It's making all our eyes tear up... Oh, Mr. Maxwell! We have something important to tell you!" They wave their more human-sized arms at the tall, thin man currently digging Spiny Bindweed vines out from between the vegetable crops with a shovel. "WX asked if it was okay to invite Mr. Eyeball over tonight and Ms. Wicker said they could do it so we need to make sure everyone's ready!"

This is definitely not the way WX-78 phrased their request; Webber's paraphrasing.

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[two_souls_wedged_inside]

"Augh! Go away, you big meanie!" The watering can disappears into Webber's inventory in favour of a frantically waved tentacle spike, and he throws his spider-shaped backpack to the side to put on a log suit. A young asparagus fern droops dispiritedly and a miniature version of the big fly - still crabapple-sized in its own right - darts out from behind its master to sting Webber's wrist. He hisses and brings the spike down on it, spewing a pink-tinted hybrid of blood, hemolymph and berry juice all over the vegetables as it connects.

"That's the spirit. See you later, dude," Walani says with a wave, unperturbed by the commotion.

In the time it takes for Maxwell to rush over, Webber's splattered the first of the little fruit flies into pulpy chunks, but now there's three more swarming him. He's running around wildly to keep out of reach of the big one and taking swings at the swarm. And while he does, the big fly bobbles gleefully in the air and a suspiciously tillweed-shaped sprout pops out of the soil. "Stop messing up our garden!"

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell skids to a stop between Webber and the largest of the flies, teeth bared. He draws his night sword with a snicker-snack.

"Kill the flies! Spill their blood!" he chants as he lays into them, fuel edge vvorp-vvorping through another of the flies, popping it like it's a berry in late summer.

"Are you alright, child?" he calls over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of the most lordly of the flies.

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

"We're okay!" Webber calls back. The sting was painful and startling, but they know what serious injuries feel like and this isn't it. The bleeding's already stopped. Another fly zips chaotically around them and they miss it with the spike a few times before it connects, then take the opportunity to hit the stunned and leaky fly a second time and bring it to the ground for good.

The Lord of the Fruit Flies looks at Maxwell, sizing him up with its compound eyes. Like he's a jester in its court of rotten fruit and thorn-choked vegetables. And then it turns away, whispering poison into the ears of corn he painstakingly planted. Its eyes crinkle with malevolent delight. Then it goes at him with the stinger.

[freedomsuitsme]

He sidesteps the sting, well-practiced in the art of "don't get hit." He retaliates with a slash across its midsection, then another, before taking a step back and going on the defensive.

"Come and get me, you weed with wings," he hisses.

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

The monstrous fruit fly snarls in pain and affronted surprise as Maxwell's sword splits its rind and spills its almost-blood. It takes the bait, wings buzzing as it bears down on him.

Now that its attention is off them, Webber takes the chance to jump in behind it and stab it in the back with their tentacle spike. Just once, so it doesn't have too much reason to change its mind about who it's chasing. But if it does, they're a tough spider! They can handle a struggling fly.

Speaking of which, the last of the little fruit flies is targeting Maxwell as well, flying low to sting his leg.

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell falters in his evasive dance as the smaller flies dart in, not having been expecting them to change direction. He winces and hisses as he's stung, but he shakes it off. He's not going to let something so small make an opening for the much bigger foe. He counts under his breath, waiting for the pain to subside, waiting for the larger fly to lunge. It's all a game, the movement of pieces on a board, and he knows exactly how this troublesome piece moves. It's just a matter of outplaying his opponent.

One... two... three...

The smaller fly comes into range, and he swats it down. That takes a beat. Four.

Five... six...

He catches a flutter of papery, fruit-scented wings.

Check.

He steps back, then lunges forward, blade swinging.

"Child! Motivate the plants while I finish this!"

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

The little fly is easily swatted, and the big one isn't prepared for Maxwell's familiarity with its moves. It can't close the distance fast enough to actually hit him as it stabs out with its stinger, and now it's too close and can only twist far enough that the sword cuts into its guts instead of through its thorax. The effect is not entirely unlike swinging a lumber axe into a watermelon; burgundy-pink juice sprays out of the wound and threatens to stain whatever fabric it contacts on the way out. It snarls and repositions itself for another sting.

"Uh... okay, Mr. Maxwell! Just yell if you need our help!" Webber's aware of which of them has 175 HP and which one has 75 HP here, but he's a grown-up so he must know what he's doing.

To the disheartened asparagus, they say, "You're a very good plant!" It seems cheered.

They approach a pumpkin sprout, then a potato plant peeking out of the dirt. There's so many plants to reassure, though! Maybe not all of them were listening to the big mean fly, but this is still probably going to take forever. Hey, there's the One-Man Band Mr. Higgsbury left by the garden! Don't the plants like it when he plays it for them?

Webber wiggles out of their log suit and into the ramshackle assortment of instruments. Discordant, vaguely melodic accordion honking and cymbal crashing begins to play from behind the Lord of the Fruit Flies. The plants appreciate it; everything close to Webber visibly brightens.

[freedomsuitsme]

Ah, he'd forgotten they had one of those lying around. It's not the most pleasant sound, but that hardly matters to him when he knows how quickly such a cacophonous contraption will undo the dastardly diptera's work.

One... two... three...

The crashing of cymbals makes it hard to count steadily, so he plays things a little more cautiously.

Four... five...

He steps back prematurely, bracing himself to dodge as needed.

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

It sounds like an orchestra falling down the stairs and honestly it hurts Webber's ears and it's tiring him out really fast, but no plant can stay sad when surrounded by so many ridiculous noises. Either that, or it's because the Frankeninstrument producing them is greased with nightmare fuel and enchanted so that certain weak-willed or simple-minded beings will perceive the source of the sound as a friend. Could be both. Honk, boom, crash!

The fly, meanwhile, goes for a defensive retreat; instead of moving in to sting Maxwell, it flies further away from him, out of reach of the sword. It hovers on the edge of the garden, looking like it's dancing to Webber's atonal music. A fire nettle bud creeps out of the soil.

"Hey!" the spiderchild shouts, taking their hands off the accordion (the honking does not entirely subside) so they can first point accusingly at the weed and then take out a shovel to dig it up. "Stop that!"

[freedomsuitsme]

Maxwell snarls, pointed teeth flickering into view, as he loses patience and charges at the Lord of the Fruit Flies. Maxwell has other matters to be attending to, and this insipid insect is just trying his patience. His glamour slips just a little as his mood shifts, sharp claws just a little more visible under his gloves as his grip on his sword tightens. He swings recklessly at the creature, swish, swish, swish!

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

All three hits land, slicing the fly open like a melon, but that also means it's right there to sting him. It's a weak fighter for its size; a direct hit still hurts, but through his armor it's not going to leave much more than a bruise. It's no spider queen.

It does, however, have a similar penchant for summoning little minions. Here come four more fruit flies to throw him off his rhythm! At least Webber has the garden handled, digging up fresh weeds and speaking soothingly to the plants.

[freedomsuitsme]

This blasted fly! Well, he can overcomplicate things, too!

Yes, perhaps it's not the most efficient use of Nightmare Fuel, but if it insists on playing a game of numbers, so be it!

He steps back and opens his Codex Umbra, waving a hand over its pages. Slowly, silhouettes rise from the ground, taking the form of swordsmen. Maxwell smirks, closing the book and dodging back with his own sword, right before the largest fly can dart in for another sting.

"Do your worst, pest!"

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

The Lord of the Fruit Flies is, as previously established, no spider queen; it can zip around in a way that the swordsman-shadows have difficulty tracking, but once they manage to corner it - especially when it stops to discourage the plants with a little dance instead of dodging the blows - it doesn't take long to render it unto so many chunks of fruit salad and its retinue into garnishes.

Webber steps over a big hunk of Leafy Meat and picks up a fistful of seeds and a rounded pink fruit that fell from the fruit fly's husk. They sniff it, and stick their tongue out as if planning to lick it before visibly changing their mind and backing off. "Smells kinda like a big raspberry, but it doesn't look like one."

One of the fruit flies seems to have been spared by the shadows; it's green with a red belly and it's more concerned with squeaking lovingly at the plants than attacking either of the survivors.

There's barely any light left in the sky, although it's not quite nightfall yet. The Constant's moon is beginning to peek over the hills in the distance.

[freedomsuitsme]

"Just leave that pit in the garden... I think that last little one is drawn to it, and it seems to be far more favorable to the vegetables than the others were." He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small bowl of smelly, pink paste, which he proceeds to slather onto his wounds. They begin to heal immediately, as if by magic.

"How are you holding up? We should head to the center of camp as soon as we're ready."

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

"The big bug didn't hurt us," Webber says, and glances at their arm. There's a nick in their exoskeleton where the first of the little fruit flies got them, but it's just a bit sore. They've got a bit of a headache from their musical efforts and they're starting to get hungry. "Can we have a snack?"

It's getting darker. Wasn't there something he was supposed to do? Right, watering the plants! He takes the watering can out and gives them a sprinkle. As he does, a prismatic beam of light erupts from the camp, shooting off into the sky above.

You feel an evil presence watching you...

[freedomsuitsme]

He feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise.

"That insufferable automaton, they couldn't even be bothered to wait- come on, child! We'll fix you a snack once we've stopped this from spiraling out of control.

He bolts for the center of camp.

[two_souls_wedged_inside]

Webber skitters after him, stuffing their leggy head into a football helmet as they go.

The Eye of Terror turns its gaze toward Walani

The surfer looks up languidly at the enormous eyeball. "Stop lookin' at me like that, eyeball-dude."

It responds with a guttural bellow. Wilson, Willow, and WX-78 come running from their positions by the Terrarium, already equipped for battle.