#its-an-echo

Sam watches Tommy through Nook's eyes as he works. His eyes flicker back and forth from his comm to the thick drawing paper; lines slowly merging and growing into the first, real draft of Big Innit Hotel.

Quite an undertaking it is. A living space for anyone who needs it. Transitioning from the ashes of another failed country in the server's barren landscape; a quick stop for rest while traveling; a home, maybe, for some.

His interest was captivated as Tommy explained the concept; nervous energy pouring off him in waves, knees bouncing under the table and fingers combing and recombing through his fringe of hair, catching slightly and tugging at his scalp.

He agreed instantly. Obviously.

Sam glances back at the screen, an amusement tugging at his lips. He made Nook so small, not even coming to Tommy's hip, every time the gangly teen is focused on he appears stretched tall like a giant. The pair's exaggerated height difference makes their friendship only more wholesome. The little tanuki robot happily chirps and waddles alongside Tommy whenever not directly needed by Sam. And he has more than once "caught" Tommy giving the animatronic pats on the head with a gentleness reminiscent of his old pet cow, Henry.

It's good to see him smiling again. With no slight amount of effort, Sam has to peel his eyes away from their current quest for the day: gathering the necessary blossoms to grind into dye powder. A bold and bright red would suit the hotel nicely, Sam decided very early.

His earpiece buzzes with Tommy's idle chatter, Nook's sensitive microphones transmitting easily across the several hundred-block distance. Between that and the gentle scratch of pencil and the ruffle of sheets as Sam references his notes, his workshop has an atmosphere of homeliness that he didn't know he craved until that moment.

Sam hums, relaxed in his chair, watching over the boy he'd irrationally come to care for so much. Nothing could ruin this.

Of course, that's when he hears the sound of talons. Eerie in the otherwise silence. A click-snap and jingling. A death toll since his arrival: sliding a sword between his son's ribs with love and reverence that earned him his moniker.

Sam stands from his desk, turning off the view screen on his comm and lowering the volume in his earpiece. Just enough that he can still keep track of Tommy's rambling.

"Philza," he greets blandly, a twitch between his eyebrows at how the avian snuck into his secure base.

A hollow laugh answers. Click-jingle. Click-jingle. Click. The Angel appears in the doorway, his smile crooked. "Ah. Warden. Just the man I wanted to see."

Sam detests the sly dealings that have become the norm on this server. The manipulations and games are tiring.

"What do you want?"

"Get straight to the point, don't you?" Philza says, entering the room and pacing alongside the wall.

Circling.

"I can do the same, I suppose," he muses. "I'll make this short and sweet: stay away from Tommy."

The avian's teeth snap on the name. Like he's consuming it, and Sam tenses.

"Why?" He recognizes a touch too late his mask has slipped. A note of protectiveness coloring his tone.

Tommy has nothing. No one. He doesn't need another thing ripped away from him.

Philza's eyes narrow. "He's an avian. A fledgling. He needs someone who can truly care for him."

Sam's hands ball into fists, gunpowder sparking in his chest and scorching his veins.

"Are you insinuating I can't?"