Chapter Text
"You're not Trog."
Trog sputters and stops in their tracks from where they were walking up to Big Bircha. Fool, entirely monochrome-grey apart from the iridescent fluid coating half aer face and arms, leans against a fence bordering the void lazily. Aer tail and wings shift gently with the rainbow shimmer as well, relaxed and defensive all at once. Aer voice is cool and steady, stating aer words like law.
"I'm—what?"
"Not Trog!" he provides helpfully. "Honestly, I'm surprised nobody else has pointed something out to you; you're not exactly great at pretending to be them."
They flush, hands instinctively tangling in their already-messy hair and eyes darting down, away from its cold gaze.
"Oh, if you've noticed something off about me lately, then that was just Tube," they chuckle lightly. "It was a whole thing, believe me, but they're my clone! We're, well, pretty similar so it's a fair mistake to make, confusing the two of us… but nope! Completely, one-hundred-percent original Trog here! If you're looking for them, they're just back at Acacia." Their grin is stretched and looks more like a grimace than anything, and Fool just raises an eyebrow. Silent, but effective. They crumble immediately. "Okay, yeah, maybe not. How'd you figure it out?"
Fool gestures vaguely, droplets flying off and orbiting back around to melt back into her hand; her tail flicks with the gesture. "Y'know. A little birdie told me something."
"I—I haven't told anyone, though… right?" Trog mutters to themself, a decent part of it in worry. "Not even Tube ended up remembering—"
"Let's just say I know things, yeah?" Fool cuts them off tightly.
Trog bristles. "No! Not yeah, I— I wanna know how you know! And it's not nearly as bad as you're making it seem, I'm just a little kinda-sorta-maybe part of the void! That's, like, the fifth-weirdest thing on this server! Maybe! Have you even seen Milkman?"
"Really can't argue with that," Fool acquiesces. Trog furrows their eyebrows, beckons for them to answer the larger part of their statement, and Fool obliges with a tense sigh. "And yeah, maybe I'm not y'all's Fool either."
"Really?" Trog balks, "I mean, I thought the new outfit was just switching it up? Pride month in December, or something." It makes more sense as they think about it, though. It wouldn't make much sense for the color of Gold's entire soul to change, would it?
Fool shrugs. "Nah. Gold's dead, so I had to take its place. I'm not the best copycat either, obviously."
Something in Trog shifts and clicks into place, and the name slips off their tongue before they realize what it means, before they as a person can process anything he said. "Atium?"
Xe smiles. "Right on the kisser."
"Oh," Trog starts, and stops, because what are they even going to try to say to that. "Right. Okay."
"Name's Librarian," she says, like this is somehow their first time meeting— and maybe it is. "Pleasure to chit-chat."
"Right, you too… Librarian," they hesitantly mumble, still standing awkwardly on the bridge leading up to Big Bircha's island. Fool—Librarian, remember— notices, and gestures them forward into the trunk, ponytail swaying gently with their light footsteps. They move like a ghost, Trog thinks to themself—to the entire void—and nothing is surprised by this. That's just what Librarian, what Atium, is like, ethereal and otherworldly and intricately familiar, despite Trog barely even knowing what that name means. They follow their path swiftly, lab coat billowing in a breeze the leaves around them don't feel.
"So, welcome to my crib," Librarian starts awkwardly, standing in the center of the upper level of Big Bircha. Xe pauses, glancing around the cozy interior with a sense of unfamiliarity that makes Trog disappointed in themself for not noticing something sooner (though, in their defense, they barely see Fool—or, saw Fool. They'll still need to ask about what xe meant by dead, but maybe not now), especially when xe looks at xyr pile of storage in a corner with distinct unfamiliarity. "Did you come by for a reason or are you just doing a server tour? 'Cause there's not a lot to show off 'round here right now. Milkman's been doing some work out back, though?"
"Oh, no, actually, I wanted to try and get some birch…?" Trog fidgets with the acacia logs left useless in their pockets, feeling like a trivially insignificant reason after what they'd just confessed to one another, what still hung in the air like more ghosts.
"Ah, alright," Librarian sighs, moving to shuffle around in the chests he has no muscle memory navigating, "I think we've got some somewhere around here? 'Least, if Milkman didn't spend it all on something. I can do one-to-one, if that's alright?"
"Sounds great."
Trog follows aer and hops up to sit on a chest ae already searched through, their eyes glowing a gentle triangle shape within their pupils in the dimmer lighting. Librarian looks up at them, unamused, and continues to rummage around for logs.
"So… you're also not human?" Trog says softly.
"I don't think much of this server is, honestly," Librarian remarks coldly back at them. "But in the sense of 'more non-human than usual, and in a weird way that makes it hard to pretend to be humanoid', then yeah. Not human."
"Yeah. Yeah, same." They sit for a few moments, turn over questions and churn concepts in their mind. Words don't come easy to them anymore, so they take their time while forming them into questions. "How do you deal with, like, bodies?"
"Dead ones?" Librarian deadpans.
"What? No—like, the whole having-a-body thing," Trog sighs. "You know. The thing."
"Ah, yeah, that. 'm not great at it," he says plainly as he fumbles to hold a scrappy group of logs together. "Case and point. This thing feels too gosh-darn small."
"Right?" Trog leans in, their voice pitching up at Librarians immediate understanding. "It's just so tiny! When I was in the tube, I just kinda… became the void. And that was cool! I could see everything. And now, I'm back in my body and it's great and all to be tangible but… y'know. It's like cramming the entire universe into a can; it just doesn't feel right. And everything's too small."
Librarian nods solemnly as they pile birch logs in a small stack, moving on to the next chest in front of them. "Small indeed."
"Yeah," Trog mutters softly, drifting off as they continue to watch Librarian work. It's not interesting, really, but they get caught up in the subtle movements and mechanics of how ae moves. Shifting blocks around to find logs, tensing and lowering aer shoulders and wings, angling aer hands so ae doesn't touch aer soul—soul?—to anything. Ae looks like a well-maintained clock, a hard-working machine with all its pieces slotting together—but ae also look so effortlessly human, natural and real and alive, and Trog doesn't really know what to think about aer, so they settle for just watching aer move. It's a peaceful rhythm as the pile of birch grows.
"Do you miss it?"
Trog's voice barely cuts above a whisper, Librarian's ear twitching as the sound hits him. He puts down a few more birch logs gently, and turns around to face them. "Miss what, exactly?"
"I don't know. Being human, maybe?" Trog offers with a sad smile. Librarian gives them a blank look.
"Nah, not really," it says dismissively. "Maybe the original Fool would, but… nah. I'm good. I'm the Librarian, not some human-turned-god, so it's not my business to want to be human." It pauses, squints its eyes at Trog. "You miss it, though."
Trog sighs in lieu of a response, because they do. They don't want the Void gone, per se, but they often wonder what their life would look like if they hadn't ventured too far in, if they hadn't let something far greater than themself in. It's a silly thought, they know, and they do try to brush it off as much as they can. Sue them for thinking there might be a kindred spirit in Librarian.
"It's okay to, though," she continues, snapping Trog out of their downward spiral. They can feel their eyes flicker haphazardly still as they stare at the floor in front of them. "You used to be someone, and now you're something. Can't blame you for reminiscing on what once was."
They pause, the void filling in the gaps between words. "Thanks."
Librarian gets up and stretches, xyr wings fanning out behind xem as xe sighs. Xe rolls xyr shoulder as xe hands Trog the birch logs. "Should be about two stacks, does that work for you?"
"Oh—yeah, sounds great," Trog stutters, pulling the acacia out of their coat and handing them over to them as they take the birch.
"Pleasure doing business, Trog," ae smiles, and the amount of genuineness behind it takes Trog a bit off guard. "Stop by anytime."
Trog nods. "I will! Oh, and come visit Tube sometime if you'd like. They don't bite!" they smile back, baring teeth a little too sharp to be natural. "Alright, I'm off."
As Trog descends the ladder from Big Bircha, they think about a lot of things. They think about Librarian, and Gold Fool, and Trog—from back when Trog was just Trog—, and Tube, and personhood as a whole. They think about if they're a person, and if they can ever be one again, and if they should want to go back. They think about the Void and they think about themself as they are now. They think about everything the Void holds, and they hold it within themself. They settle on no answers, because they don't need any. They'll figure it out.