When You Can't Sue Time...

This time he gets it right.  No clocktowers, no streetlamps, no stained glass, just the not-so-brand-new but certainly fresh air of what he assumes is a new timeline before him.  He dismisses his Time Pieces (now numbering two thanks to that little accidental excursion) in a puff of purple smoke, a bit of magic he’s picked up on here and there, filed away with all the other fascinating tidbits he keeps finding out about this not-so-human body of his.

Speaking of...

And the full picture of his waist-up from the “asks are now open” picture.

I originally was going to just give him a suit, but I wanted something more old-timey because he was going straight from prince. So Stereotypical Steampunky Victorianesque it was.

Technically he CAN look just like OG Snatcher (he’s just as much of a shapeshifter after all, and I actually enjoy drawing Noodle Boy), but he chooses the more humanoid route as a “fuck you” to fate.  Time screws with you and all your alternate versions out there?  Why not have the Prince screw with you back?

That and I wanted to slam the heck out of the symbolism button and go full on handsome deal with the devil.

Motivation-wise, he’s basically throwing a tantrum.  Tell him that no Prince will ever have a good ending?  That all of them are going to die?  NO. SCREW THAT.  He’s been reading about these Time Pieces and he’s going to prove that wrong!

As for the other Princes, he’s both more sympathetic and less sympathetic to them than he’ll let on.  He wants to help them, especially since the system isn’t fair, but he isn’t above the idea of screwing them over for his own sake either.  He’s working against himself in more ways than one, which goes back to the whole tantrum thing.  He honestly doesn’t know what he wants.

I’m already dead and all those other Princes just have a TON of good times to look forward to.

“See?  You’re both the prince!” Hat Kid announced with a smile that just seemed a hair too wide.  Avery wasn’t listening.  Moon Jumper only looked concerned.

“And where does this realm fit into this?” he asked.

Mustache Girl awkwardly brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.  “Well... he’s here because I couldn’t think of anywhere better to put him.  You, on the other hand...”  She glanced over at Hat Kid for guidance.

“I don’t know.  Did you see any weird, glowing orbs around?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Have a time piece thrown at you?”

“That seems like something I would have a clear memory of.”

Mustache Girl leaned forward excitedly.  “Oh!  Oh!  I know!  You stepped into a blue box, twirled around a bunch, and when you left, you were here!”

...

“What?  Not like your ideas were getting anywhere.”

“It has all these branches coming out from a single point, with its roots being... things.”

“‘Things.’“ Avery echoed flatly.  “That’s real specific, kid.”

“Hush, you!” the red-cloaked child snapped.  “If I had to go through this boring old talk, so do you!”

Hat Kid, makeshift pointer in hand, shot a brief glare Mustache Girl’s way and continued with her presentation.  “It can’t exactly get more specific than that.  There are too many variables and the roots aren’t actually roots?”  She shrugged.  “It’s a big tree.”

“From the earth to the sky, branches spread wide in an infinite embrace...” Moon Jumper mused.  He tried to gesture to the bottom of the whiteboard, but his arms were held back by the duct tape currently keeping him trapped in his chair.  “And the roots of our tree are myself and Vanessa.”

“Almost, Mavery--”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“--but not quite!  Not you specifically, but A prince.  Like you, or Snavery--”

“No.”

“--or any other person who takes the role of The Prince.  For Subcon Forest, there’s always going to be some form of Vanessa and a Prince.  They’re the fixed ‘things.’“

A brief moment of silence followed.  “So what about what happens to the Prince?” Avery finally asked.

Hat Kid didn’t look at him, instead making a show of adjusting one of the three pairs of glasses she was wearing, of shuffling blank papers covered in meaningless scribbles on the desk she had procured from who-knows-where.