Grian is a hypocrite. He knows. God, does he know it. Heād never acknowledge that fact, however, would never admit to it. He isnāt exactly the type that goes around readily confessing his flaws, after all.
He had told Jimmy he wouldnāt restart the session if he died, right after heād been knocked down a few lives. Grian said it without hesitation, as amusement spilled from his voice like it had been paint in a can that tipped over. It wouldnāt be fair, nor right, to restart the session. And if he restarted it for Jimmy, what kind of message would that send the others? It might become expectation if someone permanently died so early on.
He needed to be firm about itāeven if Jimmyās misfortune came from bad luck, things out of his control.
Grian canāt go giving out special favors. He canāt be biased.
Heās a hypocrite for it.
It happens on the mountain, right by the long staircase made of soft pink cherry wood. He doesnāt even notice at first, attempting to avoid his personal harbinger, a snail. Honestly, Grian didnāt mean for things to go this badly. As with most things with him, Grian thought it to be a silly joke. A hat tip toward a well known hypothetical query.
But in typical fashion, Grian overestimated his friendsā survival capabilities. With their own personal snails tailing them constantly, he watched as death after death rolled in, giggling over each one (unless it was Mumbo or Skizz).
Maybe by now he should know better.
āWho would make my snail invisible?! Who would boobytrap my snail like that?!ā
Grian looks over at Lizzie, both flabbergasted and impressed, āThatāsāthatās devious.ā
The second he turns, it happens.
(Sandy domes under their feet, a ravine cutting right through their path. Mischievous giggles shared between them before theyāre torn apart, the sound coming to an abrupt end.
With a shout he pushes his hand out, but to no avail. Yellow turns to red and all thatās left are their foot prints in sand, a pile of items below.
Heās left at the top, lips curling around the syllables of a name as hysteric laughter follows it, distress wrapping around it like a ring.
He never did manage to catch him.)
Grian is a hypocrite, because the moment Scar dies right in front of him, he panics. That invisible snail wasnāt Lizzieās. It was Scarās. He stops, breath cutting itself short on its own blade, body freezing itself in ice. He gets a second of eye contact with the man, seeing the shock and fear lacing his expression before heās gone.
āOh, Scar!ā The outcry is loud as it crackles with distress.
This is it, heās on his final life now. If he dies itās permanent. No do overs. No restarts. No special favors. Scar will die. Grian canāt stomach the thought, canāt let it happen. Heās failed every other time and this world has only just begun. Itās too early. Itāsā¦ itās not fair.
END THE SESSION. END THE SESSION! END IT. SAVE HIM. END END END END END END END!
Whether it be out of some sort of twisted and tangled guilt, or the lingering feeling of a debt to Death that never truly went fully repaid, he isnāt sure. There is no hesitation, just a natural instinct, an ingrained habit. If it were anyone else heād let it happen, let the game run its course.
But his choice is obvious when it comes to Scar, even when he doesnāt want it to be. Heās always going to be drawn to him, always going to feel this pull. Heāll sacrifice it all, twist himself up in however many different contradictions he needs.
āThe session is over!ā he shouts, rapidly typing in the world chat for the others. He spams the message a few times in his hurry before switching to turn the wild card off. And he does it just in time, with Scarās snail just a few inches away from the man. It disappears, along with the others, and a collective sigh of relief is released from those among them.
He feels Them watching, unhappy with their meal being cut short. But Grian doesnāt care. He never has.
āMan, that was a close one! I thought I was a goner,ā Scar laughs over to his side, drawing Grianās attention. āThanks for the quick save there, G-man.ā
Grian smiles at him, some small thing. āDonāt get used to it,ā he returns.
Thereās a knowing look in Scarās now ruby eyes, and the sun on Grianās hair feels warmer; heated, nostalgic. āOf course.ā
Heās not supposed to play favorites, not meant to be biased. Heās not supposed to interfere to keep a player alive (something he made very clear to Mumbo and Skizz prior). But existing in a world like this without Scar feels wrong and near painful so early on. He couldnāt stand around and do nothing. He couldnāt just watch.
Grian pretends not to notice the glance Jimmy throws at them, a brow raised. Heās been seen right through.
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