#scottsmajor

"What the heck are you doing in my forest, Starlight?!" A familiar angry voice says. Normally Scott would be shifting his weight in preparation for a fight and planning on the best way to keep any civilians safe at this point. Luckily there aren’t any civilians around. And it’d take more effort than he can put in right now to shift his weight to get in a fighting stance from his current position flat on his back on the ground. And the familiar angry voice isn’t the most dangerous one at the moment.

"Which Mad King're you?" Scott asks, tilting his head very slightly to squint at the blur of black and bright red. Even that much movement makes his vision swim a bit really. At least there isn’t blood in his eyes anymore. That had made running difficult. And he is laying down now which should help!

There's a slightly long pause.

Or he blacks out.

One of the two.

"Are you blumming on something?!" Is the next yelled sentence. Not really an actual question but Scott answers anyway.

"Not intentonally." He says, hurt and pitifulness bleeding into his voice unintentionally. He didn’t mean to do that. Pity of any kind never went over well with The Mad King, but drugs and injuries and adrenaline have shot through most of his normal control. "I don' know wha' they gave me." At least two injections and maybe something on the knives. Possibly others because he doesn’t really remember everything.

"Why the heck are you even here?!” The villain complains, before shifting slightly, tone turning to something between threatening and evaluating. “I could just kill you and finally win."

"You wouldn't." Scott says, vaguely shaking his head (and definitely getting more dirt in his hair, ugh), just letting the continued pendulum sensation happen. "I’ wouldn' be fair enough for you." There’s another pause, shorter this time and something he’s more certain of. Mostly because of the stinging pain suddenly reverberating through some of his ribs.

"Well now I just want to kill you more." The Mad King says, a more dangerous edge slipped into his tone. Scott thinks his adrenaline’s worn off. Yaaaay…

"If you do, can you make it quick?" He asks, tilting his head back to look a bit better at the villain. He thought he already did that. "I’d rather not deal with more pain righ’ now. ’Nd maybe not give my body back?" The change in position doesn’t help as any benefit is quickly countered by more pain, vertigo despite the fact he’s pretty certain he’s still lying flat on the ground, and his vision getting spotty. Like a dalmatian.

“What is wrong with you?!” The Mad King yells at him. A normal occurrence really. The yelling. Not the dalmatian vision. He hasn’t had that for a while. “You’re in some kind of fight, clearly, get drugged with something, and then run into my forest?! What the blumming heck!” Scott is usually not flat on his back in the dirt and in enormous amounts of pain for it though. Small pain, sure. Same with moments he’s on his back. But that’s normal even without the wild forest villain.

“You’re th’ only person who would help me righ’ now.” Scott says vaguely fighting to stay conscious, though he can’t quite think of why he’s trying to, before remembering his manners. “Please? Help me?” He tacks on.

This pause lasts longer.

Sort of. Probably. Scott doesn’t actually know how long it is.

Third time’s the charm afterall, and consciousness has finally decided to mostly leave him.

“—lieve I’m doing th—” There is no longer dirt under him.

. There's a gate.

“—ke so much fun—” Scott thinks he’s being carried.

. Open.

“—m but nooo, let’s save the he—” Probably. “—o keeps messing up my plans! That sounds—” His sense of balance isn’t quite working at the moment, so he has no idea which way is up.

. Opening.

“—ust had to come into the forest and ask for he—” His eyes aren’t willing to open, and Scott doesn’t really want to open them anyway.

. Coral is living bone.

“—ie’s going to be—” He’d rather just stay asleep.

. Color bleaching white as a precursor to death.

“—tupid her—” Unconscious. “—pid whoever poisoned h—” Whatever.

. Trees stripped of their bark.

“—etter not be anyone who foll—” He doesn’t care anymore what happens. “—nough to deal wi—”

. Leaves with too little light, too little nutrients.

Not really.

. Changes to their home leading to desperate, protective actions.

Not enough.

. Human bones are always white.

The angry mutterings aren’t even enough to really register to him. Scott’s too used to The Mad King’s ranting at this point.

. There’s a figure.

And it’s not the wrong voice.

. Her bones shouldn’t be white, Scott knows.

Not That one.

. He’s taken inside the gate.

“Hey.” An irritated voice says.

“Hey!” It says, louder.

“Wake up!” The voice snaps and something smacks him in the face.

It’s not that much pain, not really, not comparatively, but it is enough that s— Scott pushes through the action of (mostly) opening his eyes and squinting up at the blob, person, has to be a person. Probably.

“Oh for—” The angry voice says and the blob-blurr-person moves away. “You’re blumming useless! How the heck have I been losing against you.” The second part is muttered and Scott is pretty sure he shouldn’t have heard that, but his hearing and working memory seem perfectly fine.

The rest of him very much not so.

Angry voice returns, looking less blob-like which is a good thing.

Probably.

“Drink this.” They—He orders, shoving something to Scott’s mouth and for some reason he has the vague idea drinking things he doesn’t know is a bad idea, but also even if he didn’t have that strange growing certainty he literally can’t make his mouth seem to work properly to drink the unknown liquid.

Or his arms. Which he maybe just remembered exist.

Something smells absolutely terrible, and he has just enough time to piece together it’s the liquid before there’s a hand holding his mouth open and it’s being poured into his mouth.

The taste is worse. The taste is much worse and he chokes, spluttering slightly, wanting it out. Then of course, because the world hates him, there’s a hand clamping his jaw shut and another one that plugs his nose and weight pinning his body down, and Scot really doesn’t want to swallow. Everything says that’s a very very Bad idea, but his traitorous body wants air more than to listen to logic, so eventually he reflexively swallows the horrible mixture down.

The hands let him go and he half-gasps, breathing and gagging at the aftertaste that coats what feels like every part of his mouth and throat. The weight’s also gone and he can feel fabric under his hand, vision slowly becoming less blurry, but all of his senses are consumed by the horrible taste that’s still in his mouth!

He’s still gagging, and then it’s less because of the taste and more because his body has caught up to the “drinking horrible unknown liquids is a Terrible Idea!” and there’s something round shoved at him and Scott chooses to forget this section of time.

Everything is bad and his throat hurts and so does his head and it takes far too much time, never seeming to end. And the taste is still there! And worse!

Eventually it does end. Even if his stomach still roils in distress and his heart feels like it’s in his throat.

“What was that?!” Scott chokes out, both wanting to get as far away from the bucket as possible and not wanting to leave it in case his stomach decides it’s not done.

Was this worse than earlier? Maybe. (No, nowhere near it, but at least he knew how to deal with pain.)

“Something to purge your system.” The Mad King states with a normal level of aggravation like Scott hadn’t just vomited probably his entire stomach contents into a bucket in… the villain’s house? Scott’s on a couch. Which is on a rug. In a room. And not a cave like him, everyone, and their mother have all assumed The Mad King lives in if he lived anywhere.

Scott also can’t remember if anything they gave him was ingested. He mainly remembers the injections. And pain. And running. Not consuming anything. Which doesn’t really add up to why he feels somewhat more cognizant. “Purging his system” only should have worked if there was something in his system.

The Mad King of course is apathetic to his situation (except for the fact he brought Scott to his house??) and sort-of half slams a small pile of items onto the side table next to him.

“Here. Bandages. Med kit. Might be outdated. I don’t know and don’t care. If you wanted better, you should have gone literally anywhere else. Like a hospital.” He half-snaps out and Scott replies on automatic, still focused on The Mad King has a house, the Taste that’s still in his mouth, there shouldn’t have been anything in his stomach that would mean throwing up actually made him feel better and feel better quickly, and The Mad King lives in a house.

“Hospitals are run—”

“Yeah, whatever.” The Mad King cuts him off. “I don’t care about your drama.” Scott has… very little idea what’s happening and should probably be more on guard (his trainers and such are going to be appalled when he reports this— Oh, wait, no they’re not. They’ll just be appalled he’s still here.), but there’s still some stuff in his system, a sedative of some kind most likely, so that’s not really happening.

And he also mostly doesn’t care that it’s not.

This would be more concerning if Scott didn’t know why this was happening. Maybe. Sort of.

Oh hey, The Mad King’s talking again.

“You get one free night. One.” The villain says, glaring at him as he raises a hand, one finger up, to really emphasize his point. “Stay in here, or go out to the porch if you want, but leave the area and I’ll just finish whatever the idiot that started this did, got it?” He asks, snappish and threatening like normal, except they’re in a house and The Mad King isn’t covered in blood, or debris, or plants and Scott isn’t in a ready position between the villain and insert thing here.

“Why would I go out to the porch?” Scott asks, confused and definitely still slightly delirious, and the Mad King stares at him with a mostly unreadable expression, before sharply turning away like he’s resisting the urge to throttle Scott. Which is odd because normally he acts on that urge even if there is a trap in place.

“Just don’t go into the forest!” He yells, stomping off towards the door, grabbing the axe on his way out. The door slams, and some things rattle, but nothing breaks, or moves too drastically.

Scott watches the door warily for a minute or so, but The Mad King doesn’t come back. He shifts to looking at the med kit warily.

It is old. Anything that can be out of date is and some of the packaging flakes when he pokes at it.

He uses the bandages and alcohol wipes anyway, because he does need to before he starts bleeding (more) onto The Mad King’s couch (which is on a carpet in a room with wooden walls like a cabin because it probably is a cabin meaning The Mad King, feral forest villain who wears a crown of thorny branches and routinely has leaves and dirt in his bread, lives in a cabin. … Or he murdered the cabin’s previous occupants and dumped Scott here. One of those is more likely than the other.) And honestly he doesn’t think anything in the kit has been tampered with because nothing looks like it’s been touched for at least a year. There’d been dust on the outside. He still doesn’t pull out anything other than the bandages and only slightly expired alcohol wipes. Scott can’t really afford any more mental impairment, even if it would be really nice to not be in as much pain.

… He should check for a concussion shouldn’t he.

Difficult on himself, but it should be fine. He knows how.

Even if he can’t see any mirrors nearby and isn’t too eager to leave the presumed half-safety of the couch just yet.

He disinfects, bandages, and wraps his injuries quickly and expertly, going section by section, not removing his suit fully, focusing on the actions and nothing that would detach him from his clinical calm. One wound at a time. Line up the edges. Clean out the dirt. Don’t wrap too tight.

Scott focuses on treating his injuries as quickly as possible. The Mad King said he had one free night, and he’s never lied before, but the faster he’s done the faster…

The better it is.

He’ll go back to the city eventually. But he has to be healed first.

Ready for whatever is waiting for him.

Scott focuses back on the cabin. Packs the medical kit back up as neat as he can.

The cabin is still empty. Solid wooden walls, furniture that is nice but practical and used, decor leaning towards half a dozen styles, but still feeling specific, chosen purposefully.

It seems safe.

No one’s even guessed The Mad King has anything close to a normal life, if this is actually his cabin, and if not Scott hasn’t heard about any cabins made near the villain’s forest. Which means it’s doubtful anyone else knows about it. Meaning the only way to find him would be if someone followed his trail.

Scott curls up, drawing his limbs in close, careful not to aggravate any of his wounds, as he lets himself have maybe 13% of his waiting breakdown. He’s not safe enough yet, not enough time has passed, doesn’t have enough time in general, that he can have much more than that, but better to get a little of it over with for now.

He knows how to get over it. Knows he’ll get over it. Scott dealt with Xornoth, he’ll deal with this.

It’s not any worse than fighting them.

He’s Starlight. One of the best heroes of the city. The second top hero. Placed second, then third the next two tournaments. Even with—

Doesn’t matter.

He’ll deal with his injuries. Then go back, and deal with the betrayal.

He’s still Starlight.

It’s fine.

The door is thrown open forcefully and Scott jumps a bit, looking over at the door with wide eyes, half rising in case… if…

The Mad King strides in, face and clothes spotted with blood that Scott fixes his eyes on instinctively.

“Oh. You’re still here.” He states blandly. “Don’t you have some healing power aspect thing going on?” He asks, waving a hand and completely ignoring Scott as he stomps his way into the house. “Yeah yeah, I know, you’re not going to tell me anything about your powers or how they work.” The villain continues before Scott even opens his mouth to respond that he doesn’t. Which was not a smart idea. He checked for a concussion right? “Rhetorical question, idiot.”

The Mad King dumps the pair of rabbits that’d been in his other hand on the tall wooden table that acts almost like a kitchen island, and Scott realizes that his first thought about the source of the blood might not be accurate.

It’s… weird.

The Mad King calmly standing in an open plan cabin with a pair of rabbits behind him, loose posture, and no weapons that Scott can see.

“What are you staring at?” The Mad King snaps out, though still not up to the night’s previous levels. A different version, Scott realizes seeing the darker green stripe in his hair, though admittedly he doesn’t have much experience with the calmer versions of The Mad King.

“The rabbits bled on your robe.” Scott half-answers.

“Rabbit’s don’t have that much blood in them, idiot.” The villain retorts, rolling his eyes, and Scott stops talking.

He should ask where it came from, if not the rabbits.

He doesn’t.

Scott ran into the forest for a reason. He can’t afford to get kicked out.

He goes back to Not thinking from his spot on the couch. Staying out of the way. Not taking up the space he normally would. Both Scott and Starlight never shied away from the spotlight.

Well, Scott didn’t naturally.

He just has priorities. Like staying safe.

Not that he did the best job with that seeing as where he ended up.

The Mad King guts and cleans the rabbits with the swift efficiency of long practice and a very sharp knife.

Scott doesn’t recognize the type.

For some reason he’s not nervous either.

Where did The Mad King get the rabbits? He didn’t think they were nocturnal.

Scott watches the knife cut through flesh. Steady hands separating the good from the bad.

Black eyes not staring back at Scott because they can’t.

He’s not sure he can feel guilt right now.

Somehow there’s a pot on a wood-burning stove. And the table is clean. The Mad King chopping something else with a different knife.

Scott still isn’t worried.

Just tired.

Not just physically.

But he’s still Starlight right now.

Mostly.

It’s all The Mad King knows him as.

He’s dangerously tired if he’s having those kinds of thoughts.

Especially around a villain who likes calling him his arch nemesis.

The Mad King slams a bowl of (presumably rabbit) stew down in front of him without spilling a drop.

“Eat.” The villain half-orders. There’s even a spoon in the bowl. “Or don’t. I don’t care. Just don’t throw up on anything important.” The Mad King adds as he moves to his own seat with another bowl of stew, not looking back once, keeping up with his contradicting actions of helping Scott in the most uncaring manner he can. Ignoring him even as he gives him the resources and space he needs to heal.

Scott tries the stew. Partially because the villain already had multiple opportunities to poison or kill him, partially to give him literally anything else to do and think about, partially because he’s suddenly starving.

The stew is strangely good, he wouldn’t have expected The Mad King to have cooking skills above… well, above campfire cooking. Scott eats slowly, wary of The Mad King’s warning more than anything else and the cabin is quiet. The wood and practical environment fairly different from Scott’s apartment of clean lines and modern aesthetics.

The Mad King not looking out of place.

Outer robe hung up, a white shirt like from the victorian-pirate era and brown vest what he wears under it apparently. Easting soup from a clay bowl patterned in greens and blues. Kitchen just as clean as the axe sitting by the door.

Because it’s his home.

“What?” The villain demands, snappish but not moving aggressively. “Just spit whatever it is out already, you’re being weird and quiet.” He adds on when Scott doesn’t immediately answer, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say. There’s plenty swirling around his brain at the moment, but about half of it slips out of his thoughts as soon as he grabs at it and most of the other half is stuff he probably shouldn’t talk about in front of a villain who normally hates his guts and repeatedly declares he’d rather like to use them as a necklace or food for his “dogs”.

Even if he’s one of the better villains in his opinion.

One of the least chaotic when one looks at the facts. The Mad King’s actions fairly predictable as he follows whatever code it is he has.

"Why are you a villain?" Scott asks eventually. Not quite looking at the man over his bowl. Pretending his question was less than it is. He doesn’t know fully why he asked that.

"Why not?" The Mad King replies, matter-of-fact. "It's fun." He grins. Vicious. Feral. A madman in a forest.

It doesn’t feel completely accurate. Doesn’t feel like the whole truth. The stripes in his hair are leaf green. Loose shirt a mostly clean linen white.

His eyes aren’t red.

Scott knows what masks look like. He wears a lot of them.

He doesn’t know exactly what The Mad King’s looks like. Why he is wearing one.

Scott returns to his stew.

Swallows around the pastel collar of his costume.

The Mad King at least doesn’t ask him why he’s a hero.

He finishes his stew and The Mad King takes his bowl before he even manages to think about getting up. Scott doesn’t say thank you because that’d mean acknowledging whatever this is and that just feels Wrong.

The villain didn’t kill him, didn’t kick him out of the forest, gave him medical supplies and food and a seemingly safe place to rest, and Scott can’t really think of why.

The Mad King sits in the same place he’d eaten in, bramble circlet still growing through his hair but nothing else quite matching to his normal appearance, with a knife and small log he strips the bark from in quick clean lines.

The cabin is calm. And quiet. And Scott shouldn’t be slipping back to unconsciousness, a villain nearby, an uncertain situation, his thoughts still so loud in his head.

He is still tired though. Not recovered from his injuries, from running.

And the air is clear. His wounds bandaged, his stomach full. The cabin feeling safe.

The Mad King sits ignoring him and the knife cuts through the wood like a ship through water, slivers falling to the floor as the whorls grow and curl around the villains fingers. Silver sails across a dark sea, vines and ropes, the wood shavings falling like scales cut from a fish as Scott watches the knife make pass after pass. A shape not familiar but still something he knows slowly taking form in the wood. Shadows growing as his eyelids drift further and further down. The sound of metal through wood almost soothing. The lamp light and flash of the blade a rhythm to a song he doesn’t know but can almost hear.

Scott’s eyes slip closed.

. The woods curl around the center.

. Bramble and bark and bone and bush in walls.

. There are no stars above him.

. Covered by the leaves and leaving.

. And it hurts.

. He’s inside the barrier. The briar.

. But not Inside.

. Dancing path laid out and in with only one way.

. The spiral of a leaf unfolding.

. Wood peeling back over the opening.

. Green and blue and Pink bleeding through the center.

. Flower opening up over to hide the thorns.

. She turns to look at him.

. Hands behind her back.

. He can’t see her face.

. Doesn’t want to.

. She tilts her head.

. Allowing.

. The branches above him part.

. The stars shine down on him through the small opening.

. There's someone with her.

. The audience ends.

The next morning Scott wakes up with almost no pain, a much more clear head, and sunlight shining on his face.

He notices these things in that order and goes from relieved to aware to bolting upright because he’s in The Mad King’s Woods and the villain had said one free Night.

Scott’s not entirely sure what time it is other than day, and definitely not morning

“If you reopened anything, I am not giving you more time to heal.” The short, sharp voice of The Mad King says flatly from the same place he’d been last night. “Also if you got blood on my couch I’m taking away your breakfast privileges.” The villain narrows his eyes like the thought of a possible blood stain is a greater issue than any of their past fights.

“I thought I only got one free night.” Scott says carefully. Proving he is not back to full capacity, because reminding the villain what he promised (and didn’t promise) is one of the more stupid moves he could have done.

He resists the urge to flinch and or bolt for the door. Mostly because The Mad King isn’t immediately lunging for him or his axe, so drawing more attention to him and his weaknesses is a bad idea he doesn’t act on this time.

“Hotel rules.” The Mad King says like an explanation. Scott does not question it again. “Congratulations on your complementary breakfast. Check out is at 11.” The villain continues blandly, gesturing even as he grabs a piece of bread that’d been on the table in front of him.

Scott’s not sure what time it is. How soon to eleven it is. If that’s even the deadline he has to get out of the forest before The Mad King goes back to normal and starts trying to murder him. There’s sunlight coming in through the window the couch is under, something he thought was further away last night, but he can’t tell the position of the sun from it.

Scott steps over to the kitchen table, careful, both because of The Mad King and his own balance, which thankfully seems fine. He takes a slice of bread, half holding his breath and watching the villain in the corners of his eyes. But nothing happens. No sudden shift in behavior, no lunging across the table, no small shift in smug anticipation. The villain doesn’t seem like he could care less what Scott does.

Even after the bandages and soup and sleep it’s still a relief, and Scott slowly untenses that small bit he’d gained on waking up. Not fully relaxed, but no longer so on edge as he looks over the table.

There’s butter, what looks like a couple jams, a honey jar, and some other light breakfast foods set out, but no way Scott can see to toast his bread slice. He’s also not sure what is in the jams and therefore chooses to skip over them for the honey. He hasn’t even pulled out the spoon in it when the jar is plucked from his hands by a terrifyingly silent Mad King, when did he learn stealth, and a nearly identical jar of honey is shoved into his hands before Scott can really even register the reason behind his spike of panic.

“Um—” Scott starts, voice higher than he’d like at the sudden appearance and disappearance of the feral, murderous villain behind him.

“Unfortunately I can’t poison you.” The Mad King grumbles, like it’s an actual complaint he has, not being able to poison Scott. He sets the jar of poisonous(?) honey down closer to him. And doesn’t elaborate further.

Scott blinks down at the apparently non-poisonous jar of honey.

Questioning how he got here only works so much because he knows how he ended up here. And questioning The Mad King is a fairly pointless endeavor. The man does what he wants and while he has reasons and rules he follows, no one has really been able to chart them out.

He puts non-poisonous honey on his slice of bread and eats it. All his questions and thoughts and everything else can stay shoved into the other back parts of his brain for now. He’ll deal with it all, go through it piece by piece, later. Scott has time to deal with it later. (Probably.) But right now he needs his attention for other things.

Like The Mad King who’s continuing to ignore him as they both eat breakfast(?) and working out a bit of his plan on going back to the city.

The bread and honey and berries are the same decently well made homemade quality as the stew from last night, and that thought and others go into the not-currently-dealing-with section of his brain. It’s fine it’s almost overflowing. He will deal with it later. Not in a villain’s cabin in the woods he has until 11 to leave and get back to the city he was recently tortured in.

Scott is just now realizing he has no idea how to get back. Or how far away the city is. Or which direction it’s even in.

It’s fine, he can just use his powers to get a sense of where he is after breakfast. Even if he’s injured and it’s day so it’ll be more difficult.

Difficult is not impossible, and it can’t be too far away considering the numerous appearances of The Mad King in or close to the city.

So it’s fine.

He’ll figure it out, and be out by The Mad King’s maybe deadline of 11, and Starlight will return to the city and continue being one of its best heroes. Scott won’t be surprised, or drugged, by the agency and they won’t attack Starlight in public, probably won’t attack him while his guard is up now either, so he’ll have time to figure that mess out.

Scott eats his breakfast. Attempts to clear his minimal used dishes to the sink. Fails as The Mad King sweeps both of theirs together along with most of the other breakfast things from off the table and he moves out of the villain’s way, retreating back to standing by the couch.

The sunlight still comes in through the window and Scott thinks maybe this is a chance to leave, glancing back to thank The Mad King for his help and hospitality…

Scott closes his mouth. Trusting his gut.

It feels… bad to leave without saying anything, but he can at least open the door to better check what time it is. The Mad King had said last night he could go on the porch, and it was doubtful the villain wanted him here any longer anyway.

He moves over to the door, half watching the villain cleaning things in the sink just in case it’s something he’s not supposed to do, before opening it to the outside world with a minor flash of panic he quickly represses.

The porch is wood, with woods beyond the medium sized clearing around the cabin. Something he can vaguely recall seeing from the night before, though dark and blurry and not fully there in his mind.

It’s in the current daylight Scott notices the bushes around the cabin-house-cottage burn pink. The color bright and vivid against the rest of the mainly greens and browns of the area. A flash of blue darts across the vivid pink, drawing his attention more towards the flowers as the sky colored bee moves in and out of them. They’re joined by a second. Two spots of ocean blue in pink that swirls like blood in water, strangling vines crawling up a tree, roots around the body. Blinking at him, curious and knowing and—

Fingers snap in front of his face and Scott startles back.

“Hey, idiot!” The Mad King yells next to him in the doorway, before squinting at his expression. Scott’s sinus feel weird and he really hopes he’s not allergic to something in the area.

“Yeah, you’re leaving now.” The villain says shortly, scowling at him and shoving past to walk down the short path. “Come on, I’m not about to let you just go wandering off into the forest unsupervised.”

“Keep up or I’ll knock you out and drag you!” He calls back at Scott stomping off into the trees that surround the half-clearing and Scott quickly rushes after the villain in an effort to not get left behind.

He has half a thought to try and keep track of where they’re going, like the hero part of his brain demands, but it’s quickly ended with the number of partial turns and the weaving, circuitous path The Mad King takes them on.

To be honest Scott’s fairly certain he’s not even doing it to make him lose his sense of direction, the forest is just like that. Trees old, paths more animalistic than human, underbrush thick and thorned, only one way through.

The forest slowly thins, in that odd way where it still feels pressing and encompassing until Scott blinks and there’s sunlight falling in large patches on the forest floor and spaces large enough for a car between trees.

They aren’t aligned like it, but for some reason the not-path forward reminds him of the older roads where the trees have grown so much they create a tunnel, and how everyone always talked about being careful on them as they could easily turn into roads going somewhere else, especially if you weren’t sure where you were to begin with.

The trees aren’t in rows though, aren’t even blocking out the sky even, and the path is an animal one. So he isn’t sure why that thought came to mind.

The Mad King leads him out of the forest, Scott’s very sure of this despite the villain’s villain status, and his own sense of direction and time are starting to piece themselves back together with the sun now more visible than before.

They end up stopping close to where he’s fairly certain a road runs parallel to the forest’s edge, if down several meters from where they are due to the hills of the area. A semi-common route to and from the city even with its proximity to the forest, and the villain within.

“Now,” The Mad King grins all wolf-like teeth, the most familiar sight all day. “Get out of my forest.” He orders, eyes bright and fixed on Scott, one hand twitching towards his axe even as he shoves Scott off the (short, shallow) cliff with the other.

Scott doesn’t even open up any wounds rolling down.

He still gets to his feet hastily and speedwalks his way further from the uncertain border of the forest.

The Mad King’s cackle echoes through the trees.

Scott doesn’t look back.

He already has enough to think about and deal with.

I also have this tf!majorscythe art that’s been brainstorming in my head like crazy 💛 (also the heart shaped talking bubble is based off my Ariana griande art I have in my sketch books)

Honestly still have a bunch more of him to draw but this is a start at least (ᵕ ´ᗜ`)

Flowersmith/Majorscythe,

Ignore the fact that Scott is a lot taller than Nom in canon- and ignore parts of noms armor and Scott’s hand. I tried as best as I could..🗿

Anywayyysss

Can you guys tell i like rats a bunch