#conifer pine

“No. No. Definitely not! Nope.” Pal listed off in quick succession as he pulled various shirts out of his closet only to toss them over his shoulder when they didn't make the cut. Three quarters of his wardrobe was already on the floor behind him, his desperation to find something acceptable to wear growing as the clothes in his closet rapidly dwindled.

“Ah-hah! Perfect!” Pal announced triumphantly as he held a patterned button-up aloft, practically skipping over to his full-length mirror –carefully picking his way through the sea of clothes that littered the floor– in order to hold the shirt in front of his torso. The pale pink and white shirt complimented his green fur, though the patterns on his shirt would make it the center of attention.

Pal excitedly shrugged out of his plain orange t-shirt and shrugged into the button-up, fingers deftly fiddling with the small buttons. With his top taken care of, he turned his attention to the dresser, rummaging through it for a pair of tan khakis. Once he’d found and donned his chosen pants, he went back to the closet to peruse his not insignificant collection of fanny packs.

Maybe white? Or tan! Green?

“Gosh, who knew being back in the dating scene would be this hard?” Pal sighed, cupping his face with his hand as he tilted his head, struggling to make a decision. Perhaps he needed a second opinion? Conifer and Murray were downstairs last Pal checked, though they were both occupied with their own respective activities.

Surely they could spare five minutes to help him get ready for his first date in… wow. It’d been a while since he’d left the house for anything other than an outing with Mabel and Dipper. His last serious relationship had been back in highschool. And, understandably, romance was the last thing on his mind after he lost Conifer to the portal.

Suddenly, he was seized with the urge to see Conifer home and safe, which spurred him to snatch the white fanny pack, clipping it around his waist as he hurried out of the room. He jogged down the hall and turned the corner to head down the staircase that would bring him to the ground floor only to collide with Murray, sending them both down the steps and into a pile of limbs once they reached the bottom.

“Sorry Murray!” Pal laughed from his sprawled position below the older puppet, who was looking more annoyed than usual as he rolled off of Pal and stood. Murray fussily brushed himself off with some muttered insults and complaints that lacked any real heat, the older puppet looking away as he grumpily offered Pal a hand up.

“You don’t sound or look sorry.” Murray said blandly as Pal accepted the help with a huge smile, getting his feet under him. As soon as he was upright, his grip on Murray’s hand tightened so he could use their clasped hands to drag the older puppet into a crushing hug, eliciting a startled sound from Murray that was followed by hissed protests that Pal blatantly ignored.

“Murray? What are you yelling about–” Conifer asked as he poked his head out of the living room, cutting himself off when the answer to his question became apparent. Conifer’s face immediately lit up and he all but scrambled out of the living room to join them at the bottom of the staircase. Conifer circled Pal with visible enthusiasm, taking him in before coming to a stop beside him.

“Pal, you look amazing!” Conifer exclaimed, clapping his hands, and Pal couldn’t help but match his excitement. And now that Pal had eyes on his brother, relief washed through him, the fear of finding an empty and quiet house steadily easing the longer he basked in Conifer and Murray’s presence.

“Aw, stop! I just threw something together.” Pal drawled, his smile turning sheepish.

“Put. Me. Down!” Murray demanded with all the vitriol of a disgruntled cat, squirming in a futile attempt to free himself.

Based on this wonderful art!

It was an exotic plant that could be found in this stretch of the Eubuleus System, native to the uninhabited planet of Hetune. So, not only was it hard to find due to its rarity and the hostile wildlife, but it also cost a pretty penny to purchase from a third party. Granted, Ford would have just gone to Hetune to fetch some himself, but he was a little pressed for time.

His schedule for this entire week was packed with everything from an outing with Lee and Fiddleford today to drinks with Jerk, Anti, and Samuel at the end of the week. He had already had to ask for a raincheck on the latter activity twice due to a dire mission and the aftermath of another mission the following month.

At this rate, Jerk would send Samuel into dimension 419”3 to kidnap him. Jerk didn’t take well to being brushed off or ignored. In fact, his texts have been getting increasingly unhinged in a juvenile bid for attention. But Ford always indulged him, often leaving his communicator’s sound on since he actually got messages outside of The Polymath’s bi-weekly reports now.

Ah, there! A stand that had a selection of exotic fauna!

Ford swiftly changed direction in order to begin weaving through the borderline claustrophobic crowd of bodies, eager to purchase what he needed so he could go home to Lee and Fiddleford. Unfortunately, he wasn’t paying close attention to his surroundings, so it came as a shock when his boot hit something. Ford’s leg jerked on instinct, sending whatever it was up into the air.

Ford surged forward to chase it, his heart in his throat because whatever he had accidentally launched had made a noise of surprise, bracing his boot onto the broad back of a Dovel and using the leverage to launch himself over the sea of bodies. His gloved hands closed around a small form and tucked it to his chest before he twisted so his back took the brunt of the impact.

Thankfully, there was no structural damage. Sturdy wall.

Ford pushed himself to his feet with a pained grunt, his spine aching sharply with the movement. Though his own temporary injuries didn’t deter him from raising the entity that he had unintentionally punted so he could get a proper look at it. He was stunned to find that he was holding a fluffy green… puppet? It blinked at him. He blinked back behind the privacy of his helmet’s visor.

Its mouth opened and Ford’s eyebrows shot up when it spoke.

“Well hello there, sir! It was kind of you to catch me!” The puppet said cheerfully, its little fingers curling around Ford’s wrists with surprising dexterity. Now, Ford couldn’t see any strings upon first glance, but that didn’t mean that this wasn’t a robot of some kind. With this in mind, he began to turn the puppet this way and that, though it seemed like this design was quite advanced.

Its little limbs flailed as it continued to ramble on, Ford tuning it out as his hands lightly poked and prodded at its furry body. His curiosity grew when his questing fingers didn’t find any internal structure that implied an endoskeleton– or any inner mechanics for that matter. How peculiar. How fascinating. Was this a living puppet? That would be a first for him.

Ford shifted the puppet to one hand, the other angling his wrist gauntlet to scan it.

D – P-45-35-35-15-44 | Conifer Pine | 50yo | CoD: Mauled by Iciell

The Iciell were a nasty breed that were similar to rabid earth dogs, though only in the broad sense that they were both hostile and of the quadrupedal nature, otherwise they were completely alien with their brick red skin and sharp black quills that were reminiscent of a porcupine. They also just so happened to run rampant in the southern part of the market, so there was a good chance that this strange creature was meant to die today.

And, well, the puppet did somewhat resemble a dog toy.

“Where are you heading?” Ford asked, cutting through the puppet’s chatter. Its mouth snapped shut before those startlingly keen eyes fixed onto Ford in a searching manner that had him resisting the urge to tense and give his sudden unease away.

“To the southern part of the market.” The puppet declared and Ford frowned as his suspicions were confirmed, smoothly adjusting the creature so it sat on his bent forearm. Its little fingers gripped Ford’s trenchcoat for stability, peering up at him with blatant curiosity. It was better than the earlier scrutiny, at the very least. “What brings you here?”

“Muknore.” Ford grunted, turning his attention back to the stall that he had been trying to get to before he tripped over this small lifeform and sent it flying. Ford managed to relocate his destination through the current of bodies in a matter of seconds, setting off toward the stall as soon as it was in his sights. He… may have forgotten that he was still holding the puppet, which was forced to tag along.

“Ah, yes. That plant is good for–” The little creature spoke in a factual tone that reminded Ford of teachers that inhabited classrooms filled with unruly teens, trying to impart their knowledge to deaf ears and bored faces. His brother was one of those teens, often goofing off during class; Ford had lost count of how many times Stan had him desperately holding back laughter because of his antics.

“Making a strong and reliable general anesthetic gas.”

“Reliving pain.”

They spoke at the same time, and Ford stopped in his tracks in front of the stall, looking at the promising variety of fauna but seeing none of it as his brain struggled to process the puppet’s statement. He could see the creature staring at him from the far side of his visor, though its observant gaze didn’t make his skin crawl and his aggression levels rise like it normally would.

“Pardon?” Ford asked after a moment of silence, the puppet perking up at Ford’s baffled response.

“Muknore’s roots are a natural pain reliever if you make a tincture with them.” The puppet divulged with clear glee, gesticulating in an enthusiastic fashion as it spoke. It was unfairly endearing, making something in Ford’s chest clench in a not entirely unpleasant manner. Still, he pushed the feeling aside in favor of focusing on the information that was being handed to him on a silver platter.

“I was unaware of this benefit.” Ford murmured, the fingers of his free hand twitching with the urge to record the potentially helpful material into his journal to experiment with later. It wasn’t often that he came across a topic that he didn’t know about in some capacity, after all.

“I always carry some on me. Just in case someone needs it.” The puppet declared, rummaging in his tattered labcoat to retrieve a vial that was nearly as big as his hand. The liquid stored within was both chunky and murky due to the gray roots; utterly unappetizing. Ford wasn’t repulsed by much anymore, but he would definitely have to be in a substantial amount of pain before he downed that tincture.

“What about you?” Ford asked, slowly moving his gauntlet over the puppet to do a more in-depth scan. What he found was most intriguing. The puppet’s internal structure was an exact replica of the inanimate object, fabric and stuffing. Though there was something about the green fabric that covered the puppet’s exposed limbs and head that his sensors couldn’t identify. Magic, perhaps?

“Oh, it wouldn’t work on me.” The puppet hummed and, to Ford’s bewilderment, it offered him the vial. Ford blinked dumbly, hesitantly taking it with his free hand. Having a sample to break down the components would make recreating the tincture easier, but he certainly wasn’t expecting the little creature to give one up so easily.

“Fascinating…” Ford mumbled, quickly tucking the vial into a pocket on his utility belt before it could change its mind. The vendor barked something at him in their native tongue and Ford snapped back with equal vitriol, adjusting his companion so it was tucked more securely against his side. The position was ideal for defense, allowing him to use his body as a shield should the vendor lose their temper and lash out.

“How do you make a Muknore into a general anesthetic?” The puppet asked, drawing a fraction of Ford’s intense and predatory focus away from the temperamental vendor to address his little companion.

“Turning the stem and leaves into a gaseous form using the phase transitions can render a full-grown Scurko unconscious in three full breaths.” Ford disclosed, though he instinctively withheld the two other ingredients that were needed to successfully make the knockout gas. He wasn’t taking any chances. “Although getting the dosage right for different species can be a bit tricky sometimes.”

“Wow, that’s impressive!” The puppet exclaimed and Ford’s stomach squirmed at the praise, prompting him to clench his jaw and lock the feeling away. He had felt like this before. With Cipher. Never again would he let kind words and flattery blind him to someone’s true nature. Although the Heckler had proved his initial assumptions wrong, Jerk Ford was undeniably a rare find among his variants.

“Hm.” Ford grunted, his eyes trailing over the spread of plants. The vendor had become distracted by another customer, buying Ford some time to find what he needed before the impatient asshole returned to pester him some more. Ford already knew that the vendor was going to attempt to swindle him, but it wasn’t anything he didn’t know how to handle.

“It’s over there.” The puppet piped in, tugging on Ford’s trench coat with one hand as the other pointed to the Muknore. Ford muttered his thanks and reached for the potted plant, the last in stock if the otherwise empty shelf was any indication. Although, a meaty tentacle snatched it right as Ford’s fingers touched the rim on the pot, yanking it away.

The vendor, as expected, set a ridiculously steep price for the plant that they held hostage.

Ford felt white-hot rage churn in his chest, planting a boot on the edge of the table to violently shove it forward, pinning the vendor between the table’s edge and the wall. Then Ford surged forward, bracing a knee onto the tabletop to keep the vendor trapped as he simultaneously drew one of his guns and pressed it against their slimy face in a blatant threat that he fully intended to act on.

“Oh my goodness.” The puppet squeaked and Ford paused, finger freezing on the trigger. He took a deep breath, the anger slowly releasing its vice grip on his ribcage with each controlled inhale. Ford could hear screaming and shouting from behind him as the crowd scattered like a herd of prey fleeing a predator, Ford starling when a little green hand rested on the arm that still brandished the weapon.

The puppet spoke to the vendor in their native language when Ford reluctantly lowered the gun, but he didn’t holster it. Ford kept an eye out for the authorities as the vendor passed the potted plant to the puppet with a trembling tentacle, the little creature voicing its thanks and nudging Ford’s bicep expectantly.

Ford was torn for a moment, but ultimately put the gun away so he could carelessly throw a few coins onto the table before stalking away, his companion and potted plant in hand. He ended up ducking into an alley a few moments later when he spotted security rushing toward them, using a dumpster to launch himself up to a fire escape, gripping the railing one-handed and pulling himself up with a grunt of effort.

He wasn’t exactly surprised when they open-fired on him, he was a well known threat to criminals and governments alike. He certainly didn’t discriminate. Ford brought the puppet in front of him, and just in time too because two bullets hit his back, one of them puncturing his stomach. He stumbled with a low sound of pain, pressing against the wall as blood bubbled up his esophagus.

He swallowed it down, shuddering as his insides burned from the stomach acid that leaked out. They were using hollow point bullets, maximizing the damage. Smart. But it wouldn’t be enough. Ford could already feel his regeneration kick in, forcing the foreign objects out the way that they had entered. Ford shoved off the wall, pounding up the stairs and surging onto the roof.

He sprinted toward the edge, the puppet yelling some kind of protest that went unacknowledged as Ford launched himself off the ledge, clearing the sizable gap. He landed on the other roof with a tuck and roll, the momentum helping him continue moving forward as soon as his feet were planted on the gravel, putting even more distance between him and his pursuers.

He navigated across a few more buildings before he finally started making his way down to the ground floor, finding an alleyway to tuck them away in for a moment. Ford’s free hand scrabbled at his helmet strap, something fuzzy reaching up to squeeze the clasp so he could pull it off and vomit. Blood dripped from his lips as he heaved, his senses assaulted by the sudden flood of data.

“Ugh… fuck.” Watchdog croaked, spitting a few times as the last of the misplaced blood was expunged, slumped against the wall. He didn’t even have the energy to wipe his face, his stomach sore from the trauma. He hated when his stomach was damaged because he had to replenish burned calories but the lingering ache would make the experience an unpleasant one.

“Language!” The puppet chided and Ford flinched at the volume, an oncoming migraine building in the back of his head where the port was embedded. He hardly noticed when his mouth and jaw were wiped clean with a soft cloth, his eyes squeezed shut. When the puppet spoke again, it was much quieter, but no less enthusiastic than before. “Wow, that was intense!”

“Mhn…” Ford hummed weakly, managing to crack an eye open as his head throbbed. The puppet was holding a bloody cloth, easily relinquishing it when Ford took the sullied fabric and stuffed it into a pouch to dispose of later. The puppet stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression, Ford avoiding eye contact as his grip on his helmet tightened.

“Your plant.” It chirped, passing the potted Muknore to him. Ford took it with a careful hand, slowly crouching to deposit the puppet on its feet. It lingered in his personal space, pressing a little hand against Ford’s knee, and the lump that formed in Ford’s throat had nothing to do with the lingering taste of pennies.

“Thank you.” Ford rasped, swallowing thickly. He pulled the helmet back on to hide, straightening to his full height as he buckled it under his chin, plant securely cradled in his arm. And, on a whim, Ford grabbed one of the gas canisters from his belt and offered it to the puppet. “Here, this is the gas. Pull the pin, throw it, and don’t inhale.”

“Oh, thank you!” The puppet mused, accepting the canister with both hands. It looked comically big in the little creature’s grip, the sight stirring a sense of protectiveness. The puppet was so small in such a big and cruel multiverse. Ford closed his eyes for a second, steeling himself before he used his wrist gauntlet to scan the puppet again.

D – P-45-35-35-15-44 | Conifer Pine | 50yo | CoD: Incinerated

Ford’s mouth pressed into a thin line at the updated cause of death, and he reached for his belt again to grab a beacon, dropping it into the puppet’s labcoat pocket with impeccable aim. It blinked up at him curiously and Ford cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward as he explained: “If you’re ever in a situation that you can’t get out of yourself, press the button and I will come.”

“Thank you.” The puppet said, its voice saturated with so much genuine gratitude that Ford’s face felt hot. He just nodded before he turned on his heel to head for the main street, intending to bait the authorities into chasing him so the puppet could make a clean getaway. It was the least he could do considering he was the one that got it into this whole mess.

Murray's head immediately snapped up from the arrangement that he'd been fussing with for the better part of an hour between other tasks, narrowed gaze flicking between Pal and the door as if he expected an assailant to barge in behind the younger puppet.

"Pal? What's wrong?" Conifer called as he poked his head around the corner of the hallway that led to the employees-only area, a hand very tellingly remaining out of sight. Leo wasn't far behind, though he was way less subtle about his intentions as he stormed out into the main area holding a pair of scissors improperly.

"Have you… seen…" Pal trailed off, unable to find the words, so he just flailed an arm out behind him while looking at Conifer helplessly. And Conifer, being the amazing brother he is, followed the limb to the glass door then the world beyond, searching for a moment before the tension left his posture and he perked up.

"The shop across the street? Yes! They just–"

"No! Well, I mean, yes. But no." Pal interrupted, wincing when Murray's brow arched in that judgy way that Pal found amusing when it wasn't directed at him.

"What?" Leo grunted, moodily stuffing the scissors into his pocket in order to cross his arms.

"The artists! Have you seen the artists?" Pal asked urgently, waving his arms around to hopefully drive home how serious this was. Because it was serious. So serious.

"No…?" Murray said slowly, as if he thought that Pal was particularly dull. Which was just rude. Though the sharp look that Conifer fixed Murray with had the older puppet bristling before ultimately heaving a long-suffering sigh and proceeding to put substantial effort into looking more open and approachable.

It was… a solid effort. Baby steps and all that jazz.

"They're hot!" Pal bemoaned, burying his hands in his hair to grab fistfuls and tug. However, Conifer was at his side in an instant, guiding Pal into holding hands with him instead. Pal squeezed as hard as he could, feeling jittery. "They're so hot it's actually not fair!"

"Wait. Where’s the takeout I sent you to collect?" Murray piped in, staring at Pal and Conifer's interlaced fingers with a frown.

"On the sidewalk." Pal said with a shrug, head turning to stare out the large display window at the shop across the street longingly. "One of them smiled at me and I tripped."

"Pal–"