#like seriously that thing did not survive getting spit out it is DESTROYED. omg. Sniff was on there too so. the panik. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fountainpenguin · 8 months

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"You made your own conclusion... You think that I look scary? Well, that's your own delusion!" (x)

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New Criminal Experience chapter today!

Chapter 2 - “Taken”

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

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Mumbo has a special spawn egg delivery to make to a faraway client… but leaving the wandering trader spawn temple is easier said than done.

Today, Mumbo faces off against a death loop and Impulse flaunts his emotional support thermos. Is this the unstoppable team of trader and escort that intends to quest across the Between Dimension, spawn eggs in hand?? … Good for them.

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

MumboJumbo tried to swim in lava MumboJumbo returned home MumboJumbo went up in flames MumboJumbo returned home MumboJumbo drowned MumboJumbo returned home

Every death leaves him snapping awake in the cushy bed, hearts scattering like crickets, sick until it burns. Oh, it blazes. Oh, his mouth tastes like he's been living off soot and mold. Not even smacking lips can chase that away. Oh, it's real, real bad, bud…

Everything… hurts. Emotionally.

Question 1, as always: Am I back at the spawn temple?

That is accurate, yes. Mumbo K. Jumbo is very much back at the spawn temple. Inside his personal portal room, specifically. The soul sconces on the wall swish to life with twin blue flames. They look like puffy candy. Mumbo's never been one of those people who can lie in bed all cozy and warm, sluggishly blinking through a blurry mind after death. The covers are thick and colorful - all stripes and swirls in blue, yellow, and red - and he clutches them so tight to his chest, it's a wonder they don't glitch through. It's an actual wonder. He twists them like he's wringing salt from the ocean. How equally ineffective on his nerves.

Of course I'm at the spawn temple. It's the only place he'll ever wake up after dying in this world. Silly thought, really… Mumbo's got a whole head full of silly thoughts. How long has he been playing this game, again? Nothing ever changes. He oughta be familiar with the routine by now. He's no stranger to dying; why d'you think he bases in Little Sun?

But he asks the question every time. Even when you're scrabbling for every air bubble, even when you know the game… Well, whipping back to your soul spawner can really whack you upside the head. Mumbo shrinks into his pillows, blinking around the room. The door is much too close to the foot of his bed for comfort. There's no changing that. Mumbo wipes skittish pixels off his cheek with his palm, but it doesn't really help. His palm is equally jumpy. Touching his face feels like spreading butter.

The door is maple. All the wood in Little Sun is maple. That includes the end table. And the two hooks on the wall. One of them holds his satchel out by the ragged leather strap, finger crooked, and the other stays bare and watchful in the shadow behind.

There is nothing else. Only Mumbo and his blankets and th compartment he calls home just after a respawn.

Where are Double-U and Buzz?

Their hearts thump in tandem with his, their pain and panic inseparable from his own. And maybe that's why - on the tail of a respawn - Mumbo always jolts up with fight and flight and freeze clashing in his brain.

Can they feel my heartbeat, too?

Maybe. He shivers beneath an imaginary slab of snow. Honestly, getting out of bed should earn him a medal and a half. His legs fell like they're in a snake den. He's buried alive in a frozen whirlpool. Honestly? That should pair rather nicely with the ash inside my mouth, I reckon.

Breathing in.

Breathing out.

His llamas are still alive. Yes… Right, then. Mumbo pinches his nose, rubbing up and down. After another few breaths, his heartbeats trickle back down to a reasonable level. You know- like that of a normal person. Technically you're supposed to lose your adrenaline spike when you respawn, but his body never really got the memo. He jumps at his own shadow in here. Mumbo switches up his hands, this time dragging his palms all over his face.

Impulse is watching them.

They're safe. The aftertaste of alfalfa and clover is thick and warm on his tongue, even if it doesn't feed him.

They're safe. It's okay.

Okay.

He internalizes the reminder, then kicks off his blankets and tumbles from the bed. This time, he leaves his travel robes on (even although at this rate, it doesn't look like he'll be getting very far). The door to the mezzanine hall swings open a little too loudly. Outside the room, rows and rows and layers of identical maple doors stare back at him. Well… some are decorated with feathers and beads (Paper letters on occasion), but they're all the same inside, really. 5 x 5. On and on. Welcome home.

I am here. And I am fine.

Voices echo up from the lobby below. The soul sconces snuff out as soon as he leaves the room. The maple door clicks back into place. The copper railing's coated in llama spit and years of shiny hand rubs. Mumbo grips it tight, peering down at the soul spawner. He's only on the second floor, but caution is advised when you're still wobbly on your own two legs. Down a level and far to his right, someone in sparkly pink robes crouches beside a pair of pigs. They snuffle, eating from the hand.

I am here. And I am fine.

Mumbo bunches his fingers in the neck of his robes. He tugs down, pulling the hood tight against his scalp.

I've got this.

The wandering trader spawn temple is known for its bright colors. Cotton, silks, linens, and embroidery hang everywhere, popping against the duller maple, mingled with juneberries, dewberries, salmonberries, cloudberries, and more. Melons, too… Cantaloupes and honeydew. And grapes- all colors of grapes.

I am fine.

The whole place is something of a museum with wide, well-lit walkways and arched ceilings. There's even a glass dome at the top, which currently shines a sunbeam down on the only two people visible on the bottom floor (laughing and chatting together, scratching their respective llamas behind the ears).

Growth is a process.

Little Sun specializes in a lot of things. Most publicly, that's seeds and textiles. Their cold, moist mountainside isn't right for tropical plants, but if something's got seeds, they're squirreled away in Little Sun.

I am safe.

See, wandering trader spawn-turf sits smack in the center of the Between map, equidistant from the Farland corners, and they trade freely with any passersby who give their hub the time of day. Personally, Mumbo prefers his farm on the east side of the river (where hustle and bustle are lower in priority), and even then he keeps to the outskirts. He knows his trade. He keeps to himself.

I'm okay.

Six deaths in a row is a bit much for anyone. Mumbo grips his chest, squeezing the wrinkles in his robes. They play like fluttery insect wings across his palms. A tiny, fleeting thought in the back of his head wonders if maybe… if he stalls a little longer before exiting the spawn temple… Maybe Impulse and his friend will get bored of killing him and wander off.

(They will not.)

Despite his many travels, Mumbo's never stepped inside any other spawn temples. Seems a mite taboo, doesn't it?

If he had to guess, though… Most of them probably involve a lot fewer animals. Little Sun's known for their organization. Their livestock's kept in neatly labeled pens on the temple's north side. Mumbo can hear them now, even if he can't see more than the two pigs and the person in the sparkly robes from his spawn room door.

I… am… fine.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

#impulseSV #MumboJumbo #ridwriting #trafficblr #hermitblr #Pixels Imperfect #mcyt #apparently art #Skizzleman #Criminal Experience #Imp and Skizz #traffic life smp #Y'all get the transparent version because my scanner CHOMPED this and I'm amazed I recovered it as well as I did :p #like seriously that thing did not survive getting spit out it is DESTROYED. omg. Sniff was on there too so. the panik.#We are 2 for 2 on scanner munching Crim images. Bad boys.#fic announcement #hermitfic

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