Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Toby lifted his hefty case onto the dock, the weight of it shaking the wooden boards as it dropped to his feet. His trunk, holding mostly clothes and stationary, was comparatively light.

He tipped the ferryman with a few coins from his pocket, once again picking up his belongings from the damp boards; each step a ‘THUNK’ against the wood.

He took a deep breath. A cool breeze whispered against the back of his neck, his thick hair plastered there with nervous sweat. He'd nearly lost his lunch on the boat ride over, and not solely from seasickness.

What else was one supposed to feel when they were to be meeting with a God. A real, true to life deity.

He had barely believed it when he'd received the letter in his tiny studio apartment, embellished in fancy ink that shimmered when he tilted the paper. A formal request…which was anything but formal, actually, to come to this place separate from Earth.

…To be an Editor, of all things. For a God.

The thought made him shiver, again.

Why he was considered at all for such an important role, he had no idea. Sure, he had snipped and pruned many scripts in his day, and some of those had been award winning films and plays…but he was far from the least qualified out there.

It made his guts lurch.

Maybe, it had been a mistake to come here.

His nerves got the best of him, and he turned around…

…only to see the boat already tugging away back from where it once came.

His shoulders slumped.

…of course.

…Well, I should have expected this. He thought. The Hero doesn’t get to refuse the call of adventure, now do they?

As if he was any kind of hero…he really wasn’t. But sometimes, it made him feel better…more in control of his life if he could just pretend he was the protagonist of his own story.

He took a deep breath, schooling his expression, and marched off of the dock, towards the beginning of his journey.

---

The Cove was warm in the Spring sun. Water burbled down the passing streams on its way to the ocean. Not for the first time did Toby wish that he had one of those fancy suitcases with wheels.

As it was, his poor trunk was already muddy, his poor arms were already killing him, and he still had much farther to go.

He took a break against a polished pillar of marble, passed by locals that stared at him in his overdressed state. The surface of the stone was worn by years of weather and human hands.

He dropped his suitcase at his side, setting down his typewriter in a much gentler fashion. He had not thought this through.

Ahead was a great marble structure, much like the scattered pillars. Light poured from the entryway, spilling out into damp grass and catching on the dew. Toby fidgeted, one hand on his collar as he eyed the place.

…Perhaps this was a tourism center…or a museum of some sort. He’d regrettably done little research on the place before he’d arrived; Perhaps he could speak to someone that could point him to a cart, or a vehicle that could take him to…he pulls the invitation from his pocket, adjusting his glasses to re-read the letter.

…Hobbyhoo? …What kind of a name was Hobbyhoo?

…Maybe the name was some sort of joke? Did Gods have humor?

All he knew was the name of the supposed writer. Thespius Green, the God’s scribe, he assumed, and not a very good one.

The Letter meandered between ramblings and waxings about the works Toby had redrafted…just how mesmerized he’d been with the love stories, how he’d been at the edge of his seat with the tragedies…and just how well Toby’s ideas would work with Hobbyhoo’s emerging theatre scene.

…Of course, Toby had been flattered. Not much left the Grove, little less an invitation to work alongside living, breathing Gods. Still, he wondered if there had been a mistake somewhere.

As well as Toby could edit a story, to really make it Pop…he was nowhere near a wordsmith. Those stories came from the creative minds of other people. He was simply the clean up crew.

…And it wasn’t due to a lack of trying, either. Everytime he sat down to write something original, he found that he just…couldn’t. The words would tangle up. A snip and an omission would turn into tearing up paper after paper of garbled nonsense in frustration.

…it was better this way, anyhow. Shining the shoes of other playwrights suited him just fine.

He folded up the letter and placed it in his breast pocket. The sun was at its highest zenith, and the noon haze was beginning to take its toll, in his layered state. He definitely was not prepared for the weather…instead used to the cold rains of his city home.

…maybe he could duck into that museum, just for a little while, until the heat wasn’t as unbearable. It surely wouldn’t hurt. There was no explicit time he had to arrive in Hobbyhoo, according to his note.

Picking up both sets of his luggage, he ignored the eyes of the locals as he made a point to keep his gaze straight ahead, struggling into the old mausoleum.

.. .. . …… …. ..

His stomach dropped.

It was like missing a step on the stairs, catching himself at the last moment. He dropped both of his suitcases, tripping over and spilling out onto the….sand?

He wasn’t thinking fast enough before a mouthful of it was already in his mouth, causing him to hack and spit as he struggled to get to his feet.

“Oh my….let me help you up, dear..”

With a lurch, someone hefted him up from the back of his vest with surprising strength. His nose ran, dribble flecked with sand. A study hand patted him between the shoulder blades, nearly sending him sprawling again.

“There…much better…give yourself a moment for the air to clear…”

He obliged, using his sleeve to wipe at his face. How embarrassing…

Not even a full day in the Grove and he was making a fool of himself. Straightening his glasses, he blinked away the remaining grains of sand in his eyes.

Where he had expected a desk, maybe some staff and a kiosk of shoddy pamphlets lie the convincing scene of a desert at night. Crickets chirped at random intervals, a cool breeze brushing through the dunes, the flapping of fabric at a hush over the landscape. Chairs set in lines like pews were set snug in the loose earth, all facing the shining crescent moon high above.

…but, it had just been noon.

His eyes rose farther still, and he froze, the breeze turning his sweat into ice.

Before him loomed a being wearing a mask of bone. Its hand reached behind him, curled over his shoulders, its veil waving in the wind like tapestries.

“ There…are you alright? You gave me quite the fright…I was not expecting visitors…”

…Her voice was pleasant to the ear, like wooden windchimes gently knocking into each other on a summer afternoon.

He pulled himself to his feet, brushing himself off as well as he could. She retracted her hand, slightly startled.

“ a-ah, I-i am..so so sorry Miss, or, er- Madame-” He stammered, not meeting her gaze as he struggled to make himself presentable.

How stupid could he be? Of course he had managed to stumble into an audience with one of the Gods of the Grove, and of course It wasn’t the one he was looking for- He was nowhere NEAR Hobbyhoo yet!

“ There’s no need to fret! You’ve not offended me dear, at least, not yet. But I doubt you could, really. Here, why don’t you take a seat and catch your breath.”

The Goddess said, so gently that it gave Toby pause. Her bony fingers plucked a chair from the neat rows, pushing it along until it was close enough that he could sit.

He fidgeted with his hands, taking a moment before he sat. It would be rude to refuse, after all.

“Now…isn’t that better?” She asked, her form settling over the horizon. She loomed far less, now.

“ …Yes…mm…again, apologies…I didn’t mean to intrude so abruptly.” He replied, his dress shoes shifting in the sand.

“ It’s quite alright, love. Now tell me…who is it that has graced my Grove? It has been a long time since I’ve seen a new face. You’re not a local, are you dear?” She moved so that she could lean her chin on her palm, her eyes upturned into a smile despite the lack of a mouth.

He swallowed, his hand drifting to his pocket.

“ …Toby is my name, Miss. I received a letter inviting me to your Grove,” He pulled it out, offering it to her. Her head tilted, she reached down to pluck it from his hand with surprising grace.

“ ...I am to go to Hobbyhoo at the request of the God that presides there. I’ve just arrived, and to my chagrin I may have overdressed for the weather…” He continues, rubbing the back of his neck.

The Goddess brought the small letter close to her face, eyes scanning its contents. Only when she reached the bottom did her eyes light up in delight.

“ Oh my!! You’re the editor then! I’ve heard talk of you for ages. Quite the reputation precedes you, you see. You’ll make a fine addition to Hobbyhoo.” She deftly moved to return the letter, pausing as Toby shakily pulled it from her grasp.

“ …And the God there? Are they…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say. Friendly? Terrifying? Open to Criticism?

She simply clasped her bony fingers together.

“ I can say with certainty that you are in good hands. Really, out of all of my fellow Gods, He is probably the most familiar with Mortal relations besides myself. You have nothing to worry about, my dear.”

Her response held knowledge that he couldn’t hope to ascertain in such a short time, but nonetheless he did feel somewhat comforted. Surely, she would know her fellow Gods best, right?

“ I see…”

He did not.

“ ..Well, I better be on my way then if I am to arrive before nightfall. It has been a long trip, and is yet longer still with my delay.”

He stood then from the chair, bending over to pick up the dropped cases, only hesitating to check on his beloved typewriter’s condition. Not broken. A sigh of relief.

She too seemed to straighten, eyes glimmering with mirth.

“ Then I wish you the best on your journey, dear. Do come back to visit if you’re ever in the Cove.”

She then waved, her bones rattling in the wind, and he waved back, much too nervous to do much else, hoisting his luggage back through the entryway from which he came.

…It was only after a minute, back under the bright afternoon sun, when he realized he had never asked for her name.

Chapter Text

As expected, the trek to Hobbyhoo was…less than ideal. No carts were available to take him up the trail, nor was Toby willing to ask for help, given the odd looks he kept receiving, probably due to his garb.

Dressing in darker, pressed clothes was just what he preferred. Most of the time, he was rarely seen anyways, sequestered away in his office as he edited away at his scripts.

A ghost in the theatre. Like a well-dressed rodent, scurrying this way and that.

Out of sight, and out of mind.

Compared to most everyone else out here though, he felt like a stain of black ink on a colorful canvas. Much too noticeable for his liking.

…Just another reason to feel nervous about his future meeting with the God of Hobbyhoo.

As the terrain transitioned from the lush grass of the Cove and into dried stalks of dead plants, he couldn't help but wonder just how much more hot this place was going to get. There was even less cover from the sun here. It didn't help that he was not used to this amount of physical activity in one day. He was sure he'd be regretting this in the morning.

It took all of his willpower not to stop and take a breath, even as he passed through the dusty town. The sound of schoolchildren giggling at him between the waves of tall grass accompanied him as he hurried through.

He tried not to imagine that they were laughing at him.

---

By the time he reached his destination, Toby's lungs were burning with exertion. His arms shook as he stumbled, half-numb, into the settlement.

The sun had begun to set at this point. Tents of varying sizes littered the clearing he had wandered into; dyed and patterned with swirls of color that were illuminated by lights inside.

If he wasn't so tired, he would have been in awe.

….Alas.

He trudged through the rows of tents, looking for someone, anyone to ask about his living quarters.

…It was much harder than he had expected.

First and foremost, many of the men and women he encountered were…inebriated, to say the least, stumbling between the tents, staring off into space, or sitting with their eyes to the darkening sky.

He could smell smoke in the air, in those moments. A smell that made his nose scrunch.

It was no tobacco smoke, that was for sure.

Secondly, It was growing increasingly obvious that there were no “proper” buildings in Hobbyhoo yet. Where there had been houses, schools, and mail posts in the other towns he'd come across, these tents seemed to be the only thing here.

…Great.

His patience was running thin.

The sun had fully set at the point he'd had enough. A group of hippies sat in a circle around a fire, the waving flames casting a warm glow over their bodies as they swayed back and forth to the strum of a guitar.

He approached from the outskirts.

“Oil-streaked daisies covered thе living room walls,-"

The singer was an older man, hair tied loosely into a bun as he plucked the strings. Besides the absence of other instruments, the song was far from lacking. The words flowed like a conversation.

“-He put water-colored rosеs in her hair.

He said, "Love, I love you

I wanna give you the mountains, the sunshine

The sunset too-”

It was a flowery song, something he would have imagined they’d sing at these sorts of events, but something about the notes gracing his ears told him that there was more to it than that. The storyteller in him was enraptured immediately, and he couldn’t help but watch and listen, his frustration tampering down into silent reverence. He took a step forward.

Quite abruptly, many of the onlookers to the performance owlishly moved their attention to him, including the musician.

Without pausing his playing of the guitar, he raised his eyes to meet Toby’s from across the campfire.

“ Why hello there kitty cat-” the man drawled, plucking the strings with capped fingers. As Toby looked closer, he realized they were acorns; one fitted over each nail.

“ You wanna take a seat? There’s plenty of room t’ go around.” He nodded towards the circle. His hands clenched into his vest as a few members scooted over, patting the ground.

Inviting.

He swallowed. Any negative emotion he had before this point shriveled up and died on his tongue.

“ Ah….that’s…that would be lovely, but…I’ve been traveling all day…and I was just wondering, you know..”

He stuttered as the guitar stopped, the man rising to his feet. Like many people, he was much taller than Toby.

“ …I-i-i h-hh-have a letter! Um, telling me to, to come here, and I was just wondering if there was any place I could rest for a while…e-eh…” his voice trailed off into a squeak, the musician strolling forward on his long legs to hover uncomfortably in Toby’s personal space.

Before he could take a step back, or even say much else, all of the air was expelled from his lungs as the man swept him up into a crushing hug.

“ Oh man, You’re the writer Mist’r Green called for!” he exclaimed, nuzzling the top of Toby’s head. As he struggled to breathe, the overwhelming smell of roasted pine nuts filled his nostrils.

“ It’s so nice t’ meet you brother! When we got th’ news the Big Man was makin’ plans t’ invite someone t’ help us out down here, we were thrilled!”

The man finally placed him down, his hands firmly fitted on his shoulders as he tried to suck up all of the oxygen in the vicinity without looking like a dying fish.

“ M’name’s Selphie. I’m kinda the..eheh…head guy around here,,,besides Mist’r Green himself, but we don’t really like, y’know, have a leader, here.” The newly labeled Selphie said, as he pushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

Now that Toby could see him up close, the details on the man became clearer to his eye.

He wore mostly greens and browns, his loose pants rolled up to his knees. Unshaven legs led down to sandaled feet, adorned with beads strung through leather straps. His upper half was dressed in a long bohemian vest, woven with green yarn and pinned with leaves.

…he was not wearing a shirt underneath. Abruptly, Toby averted his eyes to the side.

He cleared his throat.

“ …Toby.” He practically choked out. His hand was grasped, and he was pulled into another hug, though with much less force this time. He tried not to think of the bare chest he was pressed against at the current moment.

“ We’ll get y’ set up in your tent. Mist’r Green asked me t’ make sure you had some privacy for all your writin’ and stuff.” He tapped his temple with one of his acorn-capped fingers.

“ I know writin’ songs n’ stuff can get busy when things ‘r too crowded and the like, so he probably understands that more than anyone.”

With that, he pulled apart from Toby, leaning down towards his forgotten luggage. “Here, let me get these for ya’, an’ then we can go and-”

“ Wait!” He practically shouted.

The gentle background murmur of conversation from around the fire ground to an abrupt halt. Selphie looked up at him, surprise written in his expression.

He felt his face heating up. His heart skipped a beat, hand shaking.

He hadn’t meant to be so…loud.

Reaching down towards one of the cases Selphie had nearly picked up, he gingerly wrapped his fingers around the handle, hoisting it up and holding it close.

“ …m-my typewriter. I…prefer to carry it myself. It’s a very delicate piece of machinery.”

He stood, admonished for a moment. The pop and crackle of the flames were the only sounds, until Selphie stood back up, the handle of Toby’s trunk grasped to his side.

“ …It’s all good, kitty cat. No harm no foul, here. We all got our instruments we care ‘bout more than anything,” He said, pointing over to the fire.

“ See, Yulia over there is fan-diddly-tastic with th’ spoons an’ washboard.”

Toby looked over to see the aforementioned woman, waving from her spot in the circle. “And Phinealeus knows how t’ make a bangin’ tune with the bassoon.” A shorter man(?) closer to them nodded in disinterested greeting, his blue skin decorated in facepaint as a fellow hippie gently brushed a pattern onto his cheek.

Now, he didn’t quite understand how spoons and a washboard could ever be as delicate as an antique writing implement, but the emotional acknowledgement was still there.

“ -Y’just gotta let us know, man. We take care of each other here.” his attention was brought back to Selphie, who had clasped a hand onto one of his shoulders.

…he was unsure of how to respond.

The conversation began to filter back in around the campfire as Toby struggled to come up with something to say. Before he could, however, Selphie began guiding him away from the group.

“ Y’ must’ve had a long day. The Grove can be a lot when y’ don’t know anybody around.” He began again, effectively freeing Toby from his purgatory of the previous conversation.

“ … You can say that again.” Toby muttered. Selphie chuckled quietly.

“I can promise, it’ll get better now that y’er here, for all of us.” He straightened his spine, pulling Toby’s trunk across a particularly tough patch of grass.

“ Mist’r Green’s been in a funk recently. We all care ‘bout him, but we weren’t sure how t’ help.” He continued. “It’s become a little bit of a bummer.”

They came upon a small, dark tent, a good ways away from the rest of the camp.

“ But, he’ll be happy t’ see you. I’m sure that’ll solve the issue.” He finished. The flap to the tent was pulled open to reveal a much nicer sleeping area than Toby first considered.

There was a hammock at the back, loaded with colorful woven pillows. The floor was covered wall to wall in plush fabric that his shoes sank into as he meandered inside. A small desk and chair were pushed to the side, accompanied by a small oil lamp. It was…oddly comfortable.

… It reminded him of home.

“ Sorry it’s so small. We didn’t have much t’ spare on such short notice, I hope it’s good enough for now.”

Selphie pulled his trunk into the tent as he spoke, grunting. He set it down as carefully as he could manage given its size, hitting the floor with a solid ‘thud.’

He then released a deep breath, dusted off his hands and beamed at Toby.

“ I’ll leave y’ to it then. Breakfast is usually first thing in the morning...I’ll come get you or bring it t’ you, whatever you prefer. Bathroom’s down t’ the far left-” Toby leaned forward to peek out of the tent as Selphie pointed somewhere in the distance, “-aaaand that’s about it!”

Toby fidgeted with his hands.

“...Thank you, Selphie. Your help has been much appreciated.” He admitted, quietly. Selphie waved him off.

“ It’s no problem, kitty cat. Get some rest, yeah? You’ll need it for t’morrow.”

He turned to leave, a small smile on his face.

“ ‘night, Toby.”

Toby watched as the man strolled back off into the night, singing under his breath. It took him a few moments to decompress from the entire situation, his shoulders finally falling from where they had been hunched around his ears.

“ ….kitty cat?” He murmured, repeating the nickname with a touch of confusion.

Bewildered, he hefted his own case (smaller, but much heavier) onto the desk. His thumbs traced the buckles on the leather surface, clicking softly as he flipped them up and open.

Inside sat his most prized possession.

Georgia was a sleek black typewriter, her metal kept polished to a meticulous shine. Many an hour had been spent in front of her, pressing away at her keys with grace and efficiency.

Toby could say that she, before anything or anyone else, was his first, true love.

…and probably his only friend.

He removed her from the case, placing her precisely atop the desk.

…Well, he was sufficiently moved in. He had sold most of his belongings before he had left the city, aside from the contents of his closet and the innards of his writing desk.

Exhausted, he dragged himself to the hammock, struggling to pull himself inside of it for an embarrassing amount of time before finally just throwing himself on top.

…He wasn’t going to be sleeping a wink tonight. He was sure of it.

Chapter Text

The next morning couldn’t have come soon enough. The moment a peek of sunlight shone through the flaps of his tent, he was digging through his trunk in an effort to find something suitable to wear.

The letter written by Thespius Green made it quite clear that he wasn’t really the suit and tie type, and his experience the night before all but confirmed that nobody here really was.
That, however, did not mean he could simply not try, given the very important role he would be taking along the Scribe to fulfill the God of Hobbyhoo’s wishes.

Semi-formal men’s wear was his day-to-day go to, and had served him well in his past occupations. While he had never been on a stage himself, nor had he ever sat in a director’s chair, he felt a great sense of importance in wearing something that made him feel like he could.

Dressing for the job he wanted, he supposed, but never could achieve.

Today was different, though. He was dressing for the job he now had, and that job was to serve a God that could smite him if he saw fit for correcting poor grammar.

Shuffling through his garments, he laid them out as carefully as he could. A bleach white collared shirt. Black velvet pants. A black…ah, no…red bowtie. Silver cuff-links and white gloves to hide his chewed nails-

And, of course, a suit vest. The jackets were usually a bit much, even for him.

With no mirror in the tent, there was no real way to check his hair and face, but in any case there was not much to do about it anyways. His hair was thick and curled, tending to frizz as hours passed in the day. No amount of fussing would manage to wrangle it, at least, not in a reasonable time.

…He would also bet money that the bags under his eyes had not magically disappeared in one night, especially with no sleep to soothe them.

Hopefully, nobody would notice too much.

Selphie arrived not long after he had finished dressing, announcing his arrival with the hum of his voice. With much relief, breakfast was brought to him; a wooden bowl of honeyed oatmeal decorated with fresh, wild berries. It was delicious, and Toby tried not to scarf it down too fast in front of the man.

“ So, what’s with the fancy getup? Plannin’ on goin’ down t’ Buzzhuzz?” Selphie drawled, sitting cross-legged on the floor as Toby finished his breakfast.

He looked up, setting his spoon inside his bowl and placing it on the desk, tugging at his gloves to make sure he hadn’t stained them.

“ No…I plan on meeting Mr.Green today,” He started, without knowledge of what a Buzzhuzz could possibly be.

“ He wrote me the letter I told you about last night. I just want to assure him that I’ve arrived and I’m ready to get to work.”

“ Oh, well, he probably already knows you’re here, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Selphie replied, pulling a small, wooden chunk from his pocket. In his other hand, he produced a pocket knife.

Toby’s heart sank.

“ Did you talk to him already? I haven’t kept him waiting, have I?”

Selphie simply shook his head. “ Nah, Mist’r Green ain’t really like that at all,” He made a stroke on his carving.

“ T’ be honest, I think he’s a little starstruck by ya’, but don’t tell him I said that. We’ve tried t’ perform some of those fancy shows you’ve worked on, and it gets him all excited every time.” He takes a moment to blow a curl of wood off of his piece.

“ He’s ‘prolly more scared of you than you are of him, like they say in those nature docu’mentries.”

“ I-i’m not scared of him,” Toby tried to assert, despite the waver in his voice. “ …It’s just a matter of…stage fright. Or the equivalent, when you’re meeting someone in charge, I think. I’ve been through it before.”

It had not been a smooth trip to the top of his career, after all. There had been many, many bosses of his…demanding overtime or dissatisfied with his work. He was used to anger, shouting and spitting by this point. It didn’t make it any easier, though.

“ …but regardless, normal people aren’t under the employ of Gods…especially where I am from.” He finished. Selphie tilted his head at him, a strand of his hair drooping over his face.

“ ‘guess not. I forget that people outside the Grove ain’t used to it like us.”

His expression was unreadable for a few minutes. Toby tried not to fidget.

“ …I s’pose I should get y’ to him, then, if you’re this worked up about it.” He said, finally, looking over the little work he achieved on his carving, before sliding it back into his vest pocket.

Toby stood, only to realize how eager he probably appeared. He tried to play it off as he placed his hands in his pockets.

“Is it far?” He asked.

Selphie chuckled, following suit, and pulled open the flap to the tent.

“ See for yourself.”

They stepped outside, the sun brightly shining through the colorful tents in the area.

Selphie gestured behind Toby’s own tent, pointing to a small path framed by a grove of trees that he had missed in the dark of the night previously.

…He gaped.

“ C’mon now, it’ll be less than a minute’s walk.” Selphie continued, oblivious to Toby’s realization.

The two of them made their way up the path. It was on a small incline, though not to an unpleasant degree. Candles decorated either side of the worn trail, winding up until they met behind a large tent. The tent itself sat in a clearing at the edge of a sheer cliff-face. Ribbons adorned with flowers flapped in the wind, petals dislodging and floating over the forest far below.

A warm glow emanated from inside, brighter than candlelight. He wondered just how they'd managed to get electricity up to this spot, given the other tents had a distinct lack of it. With Green’s importance, it was certainly understandable why he of all people would have it.

Perhaps he could ask for some too, in time.

Selphie stopped walking, hands in his pockets, a low whistle drawn from between his lips.

“ Looks like he’s already takin’ visitors…No doubt ‘cause of you. He's right in there my man. Just head straight on through.”

Toby took a shaky breath. This was it. First impressions were everything.

He had to make it count.

With one last look back at Selphie, who offered him a salute with two fingers to his temple, he stepped into the tent of the mysterious Thespius Green.

-- --- - --- -- -- ---

His ears popped.

And suddenly he was falling.

Wind whistled in his ears, the scent of flora whipping up through his nostrils and making his eyes water.

He held his hands out in front of him, clouds streaking past his vision as he plummeted. He could barely even muster the ability to scream-

“ Whoaaaaaa little buddy! Slow your roll there!”

The nauseating drop began to slow, the air resistance pillowing out beneath him until he was simply drifting amongst the clouds.

“ That should do it. Sorry about the drop, it’s a bit of a trip if ya’ aren’t used to it.”

Toby shook so hard that he could feel his teeth rattling in his skull. He raised his head to wipe his face.

“ …Ya’ aren’t hurt, are ya’?” The God of Hobbyhoo asked, his vibrant eyes pinched in concern. A hand…er…several hands hovered close by, larger than he was tall.

Toby cowered back.

“ N-n-no! Not at all, sir, I j-just-- I’m alright!” He stammered, hands clenched in fistfuls of his pants.

The God looked perturbed by something, his expression faltering.

“ Aw jeez, I’ve totally biffed it already, haven’t I?” The glowing God groaned.

"I shoulda’ made you a loveseat or something.”

The editor sat in stunned silence as the all-powerful god in front of him lamented his supposed lack of hospitality.

He sat up a smidge taller, or the best he could, anyways.

“ I-it’s…really not a big deal…really. I must have made a wrong turn somewhere in the tents…”

His voice dipped into disappointment. Selphie must have taken this opportunity to play a practical joke on him, banking on the fact Tony wouldn’t know any different. The thought left a sourness on his tongue.

The flowery God blinked, drawn back to the matter at hand by the words of his guest.

“ …Really? I mean-”

He cleared his throat. Toby finally took note of the fact that he was not quite empty handed; an intricate ukulele held tenderly in the crook of his elbow.

“ …I…should’ve expected you not to be ready to get to work yet, with how long it takes to get here..”

The God rubbed his chin, thinking critically.

“ …but since you’re already here, I don’t see why we can’t get to know one another! Since you an’ me are going to be business partners and all that jazz. ”

Satisfied with that conclusion, he began to pluck at the strings of his instrument, smiling brightly towards the small man in front of him.

“So!! You’re Toby Cad-hew, right?”

“ …C-cadieux, sir.” Toby hesitantly corrected.

An errant pluck of a string. The smell of flowers grew overwhelming for a second, before dissipating. The God winced.

“ …That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“ …not quite. It’s French.” He responded modestly. To be honest, it was somewhat endearing to hear the mistake come from someone almighty.

Toby tried to casually sit back, only to set himself into a backflip over the clouded realm. The oatmeal in his stomach threatened to come up his throat before he was nudged back upright by one of the God’s many palms.

…Ignoring that, he continued.

“ …You’re the God of Hobbyhoo then. The kind Goddess in the Cove told me a little about you, but not much.” Toby admitted, deciding at the moment just to lean into the God’s hand like a seat.

“ You spoke to Miss Mitternacht?”

“ I didn’t catch her name,” he answered. “My mouth was full of sand.”

The God’s eyes seemed to brighten even further as he laughed. The sound was reminiscent of church bells.

“ Is that some type a’ fancy metaphor I don’t know about?”

He began to sweat. “...Something like that. But the point still stands…I know little to nothing about you.”

“ You’ll have to pardon my manners then, little buddy. Even after a handful decades it’s a little bit weird to get used to bein’ all formal-like.”

He set his instrument to the side, rolling his shoulders and leaning forward through the clouds. He raised his arm just enough to hold it out to Toby, a placid smile on his lips. His heart beat like a drum in his ears as the ethereal being held himself a breadth away.

“ -M’name is Thespius Green, God of Love and Mirth. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Chapter Text

The first draft of papers Toby left the tent with teetered precariously as he stepped back out into the mortal realm.

To be one hundred percent truthful, he could barely remember most of the conversation after Thespius had introduced himself.

He stumbled down the footpath, arriving at his own tent with little fanfare. It was just as he’d left it, sans the weight he now carried on his mind. He placed the script atop his desk, dropping into his chair heavily.

…Thespius Green, the God of Hobbyhoo, of Love itself had been the one to pen him from across the world.

He dropped his forehead to the surface of his desk with a groan.

…How had he gotten into this mess? Could he really do this? At least Thespius didn’t seem hostile towards him. In fact, he was quite warm…with a touch of awkwardness.

…He didn’t think it suited him. There was no need to be awkward towards someone like Toby of all people.

He sat up after a few minutes, staring at the pages presented to him by the larger than life god.

…at least he had something to keep him busy. Idle hands were the tools of The Drain, after all.

The top page was gingerly pulled from the pile. He adjusted his glasses to skim it.

A Liason of Longing: Script by Thespius Green

The title was interesting enough. Flipping open the packet, he began to read.

Sylas watched the auditions from the shaded box to the right of the stage, shadow deepening his furrowed brow. Below, actor after actor milled about like ants, a completely different world than that of the playwright above.

He leaned back into his cushioned chair, grasping the ornate wooden arms. Beside himself, he began to speak;

“ My heavy heart,

I must ask for pardon

For the words I have written have done naught to soothe your hurt

No act can move me,

And yet I still wait for the one

who can save my sorrow drenched soul

If not now

Then I fear they will never come.”

Sylas, resigned to his solitary fate, stood to return to the darkness.

Suddenly, from the left wing, a spotlight turned on. Out came a simple dramaturge, papers fluttering from his arms. Sylas was given pause, eyes pulled back from the stage. He listened intently to the soft voice down below.
“ e’vry day I read and write

The words I am given show sensitivities

I have never known from the pen of another

And yet searching as I might

The name of the one I long for eludes me

Their scripts a trail of hares

And I am but a poor excuse of a fox."

Forlorn, he picked up one of his dropped pages.

“ Like ships in the night,

I know that you are there,

And yet we pass by with no glimpse of one another”

Sylas reached out from the box, hanging over the edge so that the other may see him, the strings of his heart plucked for the sorrow of the poor dramaturge, but alas, the stage lights were too bright, hiding him from view.

He called down from above.

“ Lonely fellow

You speak the language of an artist

A salve on a wound that has yet to heal

Your plight reminds me of my own

With no-one to bear the burden

Do tell me your name

So that tomorrow night, when the stage is empty once more

I may see you again.”

The unknown wordsmith raised his gaze to the burning lights. Through the pain, he replied with hope.

“ If my ears do not deceive me

And you do not lie to spare my feelings

Then I shall give you my name

And we shall meet again on the ‘morrow

I am called Elam.”

The playwright’s heart fluttered brightly, caged only by his bones and his breath.

“ Elam…

I will engrave it in my memory

Return to me once more

And perhaps we may mend what has been broken.”

Satisfied, the dramaturge gathered his scattered belongings, eyes finally torn from the blazing heavens. Tomorrow he would learn more of the poet of whom he shared the page. He exited the stage, the light falling dim, the playwright already missing his other half.

Toby continued to read the script. Already, he was getting ideas on how to improve it, images of stage cues coming to mind. A little more definition on Elam’s character would do good. As of the current moment, he seemed a little…

Lame. In the sense that he felt like a blank slate. In contrast, Sylas was easy to picture in his mind’s eye. He took notes, scrabbling delicately on the margins of the paper with his pen.

A head poking through the flap of his tent stirred Toby from his work. Selphie looked on with a troubled expression on his face. The sun from outside peeked past him, leading Toby to realize that the day was beginning to end.

“ Hey kitty cat, ya’ doin’ okay?”

Toby set aside the script, leaning back in his chair to stretch. He gestured for Selphie to come in.

“ As fine as I can be, after finding out ‘Mister Green’ was actually a god.” He pinched his brow between his fingers.

Selphie’s worry melted from his face as he laughed, leaning against one of the posts pitching the tent.

“ Aw heck, y’ didn’t figure it out? I woulda’ said something if I’d known.”

“ ……It’s not your fault,” The editor sighed. “ It would have been nice to know, but there isn’t anything to be done about it now. Besides,” he gestured to the script he had started.

“Thespius has already given me something to work on.”

Selphie clicked his tongue.

“ Is that what’s had you cooped up since this morning?” He questioned, arms slowly crossed. Toby coughed a little into his fist, a bit admonished.

“ …Maybe. I might have gotten a little carried away. The writing is good…better than most that has come across my desk.” He admitted, bashfully.

The sheer number of times he’d encountered nepotism in his industry was staggering, and even higher came the shoddy scripts from amateur play-boys who’d only gotten a chance with their rich father’s money.

Still disappointed, the man across from him nodded.

“ That’s Thespius for ya’. He’s gotta lotta good t’ say when he’s in the mood,” Selphie’s eyes trailed to the sunset creeping through the flap of the tent.

“ …kinda makes me sad that we can’t perform it as well as he writes em’.”

“ …I’m sure it’s not all that terrible,” Toby tried to comfort awkwardly, standing from his seat. “ A stage isn’t everything, you know. I’ve seen terrible acting in the most grandiose theatres in the world!”

The hippie sent him an incredulous look.

“ We don’t have a theatre, or a stage for that matter. If ya’ haven’t noticed, we…don’t really have much around here. Most people go through t’ Buzzhuzz without stoppin’.”

The editor’s lips thinned into a line. No tourism? Was there even an economy here in Hobbyhoo? “ Not even an amphitheater? So you can all perform outside?”

“ Nope!” the other man popped the letter as he removed himself from the pitch pole.

“ All we do is perform outside. Makes it a bit rough t’ perform some of Mist’r Green’s scripts, though, so sometimes we gotta hand em’ back.”

Those final words shattered something in Toby’s heart.

“ …Hand them…back?” He whispered. Without warning, (and a surprising amount of strength) he pulled Selphie down to his level by the front of his vest.

“ What do you mean, hand them back? Where do they go? What does he do with them?” His voice rising in horror.

Selphie shrugged, seemingly unbothered by his height being halved.

“ Dunno, really. He never says.”

If Toby knew anything about the business of writing, it was that there was a high probability of never seeing those scripts again. The scripts of a writer that was actually talented, being tossed away. The scripts of a God.

This would not do. He would not allow the written word of Thespius Green to fall into obscurity. He wouldn’t stand for it.

He abruptly let go of the taller man, causing him to stumble, and marched straight outside, following the winding path back up to Thespius’ tent.

“ W-wait kitty cat!” It was his turn to be flustered, stumbling after him. “ You’re headin’ up to Mist’r Green this late? ”

“ I’ve got something important to talk to him about,” Toby called over his shoulder.

He didn’t look back.

---------- - -- -- - -- -

“ A Theater?” The mirthful God mused as Toby presented himself in front of him, hands on his hips.

“...Do we need one of those?”

“Yes we need one of those!” Toby answered, exasperated. He threw up his hands.

“How many scripts have you had returned because your followers didn’t have the means to perform them?”

Thespius’ eyes dimmed as he rubbed the back of his head. The smell of flowers grew tart in the air.

“ ...If it helps, it doesn’t bother me too badly. I just never thought to ask em’ to build one.” He tried, but the little mortal shook his head at the deity’s dismissal.

“ Hobbyhoo needs something new. How else is it going to grow?” He asked. A fist was placed firmly into his palm.

“ We are a team now. I’m here to take your work from great to perfect.” For the first time since his arrival in Hobbyhoo, he was not afraid to meet the God’s eyes, determination burning within them.

Thespius was quiet for a moment, before the corners of his mouth slowly turned up. He closed both of his eyes, laughing underneath his breath.

“ …If you think that’ll help Hobbyhoo, then I support it! Full send!”

He strummed his guitar in one broad stroke of his hand. The resulting sound wave blew through Toby’s hair, sending him higher and higher.

As he was lifted back up and out of Thespius’ clouds, he could only think one thing.

I won’t let you down.

Chapter Text

“ We’ll have to get some of the wiring from Buzzhuzz if we want lighting,” The burly man next to Toby said, his thick fingers tapping at the delicate linework of the blueprint.

Littérateur as he was, Toby was no architect. The plans for the outdoor theater had to be outsourced to someone more capable. Thankfully, the Grove was not without its skilled craftsmen.

The connections held by the residents of Hobbyhoo were quite useful in that regard. A quick trip to the Cove, Mildread and Buzzhuzz brought help in the form of talented tradespeople, eager to work.

…Toby’s money was finally of use, it seemed. With little else to spend it on, hiring them was the least he could do for the commune.

“ Can we really get electricity up here?” he asked the logger, who simply scratched his beard with a nod.

“ Shouldn’ be too difficult, since Buzzhuzz’s already got it. M’ not really an expert in hookin’ that up, though.” the man, known as Old Feller’ replied. Toby pulled out a small notebook from his pocket, scrabbling down the details quickly.

“ And who should I ask about that?” he questioned, eyes flicking up to meet the red-haired elder.

“ Mmmm…prolly’ my partner, Rhoscoe? He’s a whizz with techy stuff like that.”

“ Alright then. I’ll leave you to your work. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”

The logger grunted, turning back to his blueprints as Toby scurried off to find the next person on his list.

The past week or so had been full of this; running back and forth, organizing construction and making sure things were going smoothly. The activity in Hobbyhoo had brought an excited air over the settlement. He’d barely had any time to work on the script given to him by Thespius, but he was sure it would be worth it.

Striding past workers carrying wood and barely avoiding bumping into another with a bag of tools, Toby wove through the tents. Eventually, he came upon someone he recognized speaking with a much shorter man.

Phinealeus nodded along as the other ate from a lunchbox, chatting as he crunched on carrots. The man’s hands were blackened with char, smudges of it across his forehead and face. A small, frizzed tail flicked behind him as he spoke.

“- s’was a pain in the ass gettin’ us’d to the sun shin’n all the time.” He was saying as Toby approached. “G’ve me a bunch’a headaches at first.”

Phinealeus dropped their painted cheek into their hand, closing their eyes with a low sigh. Toby had learned that they preferred not to be referenced as a man or woman during the past week he’d spent in Hobbyhoo, interacting with the locals other than Selphie. It was ten times better than making a guess and offending them, but sometimes, he wished that he had the courage to ask more questions about it.

…It wasn’t as though he was jealous or anything.

“ Mmm~ But it’s nice, isn’t it? T’ see everything growin’ in the light?”

“Sure, but I ain’t gon’a wax all po-et-tic ‘bout it.”

The small man wiped his stained hands on his shirt. He caught Toby watching from the corner of his eye, turning to face him.

“ …’eh? Can w’ help you?”

Phinealeus opened their eyes, smiling and waving him over. Toby obliged, moving to stand at their side.

They squeezed his elbow, nudging him forward.

“ This h’ere is Toby! He’s the one makin’ Hobbyhoo even better! He don’ bite, promise.”

The small man wrinkled his face, looking Toby up and down like a choice cut of meat. He tried to look as unassuming as possible, outstretching his hand to shake.

“ …That’s right! The pleasure is all mine, Mister….?”

“ Rhoscoe. Rhoscoe Feller.” He grunted. His stained palm grasped onto Toby’s. It was like shaking hands with a child.

“ … Y’ look like y’er about t’ keel over and die.”

…Ah.

Toby forced a smile.

“ I’ll die when the job is done. It’s nice to meet you, sir. Your…ah…partner? Told me that you knew a thing or two about electrical work.”

Rhoscoe’s tail shook, like an overstimulated cat. A glimmer of interest sparked in his eye.

“ I do. Y’willing t’ pay for it?”

A nod from Toby.

“I’m well within the means to do so.”

“Good.”

The frizzy electrician closed his lunchbox with a crunch, the old plastic creaking precariously. He tucked it under his arm.

“ C’mon then. Hobbyhoo ain’t g’nna light itself.”

He sent a mock salute to Phinealeus, who giggled, before gripping Toby’s sleeve and pulling him along. The height difference startled him as he was led away like a dog.

…The next few hours were spent alongside the wiring expert, on his knees in the dirt, high up on ladders, and sitting precariously on wooden beams teetering above the earth. For once in his life, Toby was grateful for his smaller than average body. Rhoscoe guided his hands into tight spaces, past clumps of live wires and burning solder. By the time he was finished, his hands were just as dark as the electrician’s, sweat fogging his glasses.

…His clothes were filthy. Toby doubted some of the stains would come out of them, but in a way it was satisfying to have visual confirmation of his labor.

He sat down heavily at the campfire, tempted to sleep right there. He still had to complete his page quota for the night, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a few minutes to rest before he headed to his tent for the evening.

Sitting nearby and strumming his guitar was Selphie. Taking note of Toby’s appearance at the fire, he made an effort to scoot closer.

“ Ya’ good?”

“ …Could be better.” Toby muttered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

“ …You’ve been workin’ y’er tail off. I can imagine ya’ definitely could be.” The older man teased. He nudged him in the ribs.

“ And I thought editing was a tough job…” Toby breathed, pushing his glasses up to rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Selphie’s eyes softened. “ ….Cat. Maybe you should go have a lie-in. There ain’t enough light ta’ do much else.”

“That never stopped anybody where I came from.” The editor replied, finally opening his eyes to stare into the fire pit.

Sparks rose into the dark sky, reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses as he followed their path to the heavens.

“...It’s funny.” He began. Selphie’s strumming grew quiet as he listened.

“ Back in the city…it felt like nobody knew who I was.” The short man continued. “ …at the top of my career. Working for the most prestigious production companies from around the globe…and only one person ever recognized me for it.”

Why he had caught the attention of Thespius Green instead of the many, many names written in the lights, he could never possibly understand. He was a footnote at the end of the credits.

Insignificant.

Selphie played a few chords from his spot next to Toby. He could vaguely recognize it as the song he had been playing the night he’d arrived.

“ …I dunno if I could ever live in a place like that.” He said, finally.

“ I’ve lived in th’ Grove my whole life. Never once thoughta’ leavin’.”

“...not once?” Toby questioned.

A shake of the head. “ I don’t think I could live somewh’re not knowin’ someone was lookin’ over me…Lovin’ me.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes after that, the only thing between them being the fire and Selphie’s wordless song.

“ …You’re right.” Toby finally broke the silence, hoisting himself to his feet, knees creaking. “ I should probably tuck in for the night.”

Selphie chuckled, not looking up from his spot in front of the flames.

“ I’ll see ya’ tomorrow, Cat. Don’t worry. Hobbyhoo ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

The trip back to his tent was uneventful. He sank into his desk chair, spinning without caring if anyone saw. The hammock beckoned to him from its spot at the back of his tent, tiredness dragging at his eyes.

…he still had yet to work on the script.

The two actions fought each other in his brain, like feral cats over a scrap. Thespius was never upset at him for his slow progress. He could sleep for a few hours, wake up early, and work on it before it was time to head out for the day.

…The keys of Georgia gleamed in the lamp-light, untouched.

…Toby grit his teeth, pointedly turning away from the tempting allure of his bed.

He picked up the script, a little more forceful than he intended, hunkering down to work.

---

Elam stood waiting on the stage, hands clasped in eagerness. The playwright was never usually late to their midnight meetings. The heat of the stage lights seared his skin as he searched futilely above.

“ He is late to-night

How atypical of him…

He is usually so eager to meet me

Like the Glory greets the Morning,

A sight for new eyes upon the day

If I were to miss him for a single night

I fear I would wilt.”

Already the additions Toby had added to Elam’s character had turned him from a blank slate into a demure admirer, enraptured by the mysterious ghost of the theatre.

He continued.

After what felt like an eternity, the telltale sound of footsteps creaked from the box above. Sylas’ voice rang out.

“ My dearest Elam,

It fills me with great sorrow to have left you waiting

From the deepest pit of my heart

I hope I have not caused offense.”

“ No offense has been taken,”

Elam replied, relieved to hear his dearest confidant.

“ You worried me, yes

Only for fear of your being.

Tell me,

What ails you enough to keep you from me during our most precious time?”

Sylas leaned over the banister, pouring his woes straight from the spicket of his being.
To his beloved, he confessed;

“ You are the only one in this world that knows the depth of my heart.

My soul is bared to only you,

An actor may know the steps,

And a director may know the words,

But you, dearest Elam,

Truly Know Me.”

He began to choke. Rain fell from the spotlight.

“ …I am lonely, Elam

The loneliest man in the world.”

Elam was taken aback by the despair expressed from his partner. He knew not of the lengths Sylas had suffered. It made his soul ache, in turn.

“ Sylas…”

He called to the heavens,

“ You are to me as the sky is to the stars.

I have been there for your opening act,

And I will be there for your curtain call.”

He stood tall in the scorching circle of light.

“ I will carry your word upon my shoulders,

Even if the weight threatens to break my brow.

I will carry you,

If you will let me,

And they will know you as well as I.”

Sylas was stunned into silence by the devotion of his most dedicated comrade. His heart swelled, a wave of emotion spilling from his lips. He opened his mouth to sing-

There were footsteps drawing near his tent.

He sat up straight, his back aching with the action. There was no use in denying the fact he wasn’t asleep. Toby was neither fast nor quiet.

He turned back to his work.

“Come in.” He called, reaching over to sip from his clay mug of cold coffee. The tent opened, and his visitor stepped inside.

“ Nice digs!” Came the chipper voice of Thespius Green. Toby spat out his coffee.

He whirled around in his chair, greeted by the God looking around the small space with wonder. He looked…

Human. Painfully normal. He was dressed in his normal attire, with the addition of a skirt Toby had never had the chance to see above the cloud layer.

He gaped at the deity standing before him.

“ T-thespius! What are you doing here? How are you doing here???” He gasped, struggling to his feet. He brushed past the god in disguise to pull the flaps of his tent shut tightly.

The unbothered God continued to mill about the room, eyes roving freely.

…They were a warm, bright amber. Toby felt his face heating up.

“ I wanted to visit man! Heard of all the work you’ve been up to, and I’ve gotta say…I really don’t know how you do it!”

He approached Toby’s hammock, brushing his hands against the woven bedding.

“ -And as for how, it’s somethin’ we can do on occasion. Not too often, though. Gives me a heck of a back ache.”

Thespius sat down on the hammock, swinging back and forth and kicking his legs. His eyes glimmered as Toby watched him, frozen with indescribable emotions.

“ …Soooooooo. What’re ya’ doin’ up so late?” He questioned, as though it was a normal situation to be sharing a tent with the God of Love.

Toby mentally slapped himself. He cleared his throat, walking back over to his desk and slumping back into his chair.

“ I was just…working on your script. I haven’t had much time to look at it, lately.”

Thespius nodded in understanding.

“ …do you like it so far? I mean, I might be a writer, but sometimes I just kinda throw everything on the page. Doesn’t always make for a good script, you know what I’m saying?”

Toby reset the paper shelf with a ding, settling his fingers over the familiar keys. Maybe, if he just treated this like a normal conversation, he could make it through.

“ It’s not bad at all. A few tweaks here and there, maybe, and some redefinition of the character’s motives, but otherwise, good.”

He began to type away again at the script, quickly falling into a rhythm. Thespius was oddly silent as he worked, watching from the hammock.

“ …You’re really good at that.” Thespius commented after several minutes. Toby hummed in acknowledgment.

“ We’ve been partners for years, her and I,” Toby said, not thinking much about it. Thespius made a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

“ …Georgia.” He elaborated, not looking up from his paper, still tak-tak-tak-ing away at the keys.

“ …I bought her with my first paycheck when I started working as an editor. She’s been with me through it all.”

More silence followed Toby’s answer, and he feared he had lost Thespius at ‘naming his favorite inanimate object like it was a firstborn child.’

Instead, however, he was surprised.

“...That’s kinda neat, actually.” He admitted, leaning back in Toby’s hammock. He was essentially horizontal in the bed at this point.

“...Do you think It would be weird if I named something too? Like….” He trailed off, thinking for a moment, before snapping his fingers. “ My guitar! I think it could use a name, don’t you think?”

“A name for your guitar?” Toby snorted, a wry smile forming on his face.

“Like what?”

“ Liiiiiiiiiike……” Thespius drew out the word, knitting his fingers together and tucking them over his heart. “....Tony.”

Toby stopped typing, turning his chair so that he had visual access to Thespius’ face. The other was trying dearly to keep a neutral expression.

“ …Thespius.”

“ Yes?” He replied, innocently.

“ ..You don’t think that the similarities between Toby and Tony will become confusing when referring to me?”

“ Mmmmmmmnnnope! Becaauuuuuseee…” he drawled, staring Toby straight in the eyes.

“ -I’ll give you a nickname. It won’t be confusing if you sound totally different.”

Toby raised an eyebrow. “ I’m intrigued.”

The God smiled. “ I knew you would be.”

The mortal across from him rolled his eyes, turning back to his desk. He began typing again.

“ …I’m assuming you have the perfect nickname already picked out for me, then?”

Thespius closed his eyes, gently swaying in the hold of the hammock.

“ Of course.”

“ I don’t suppose you’d tell me, would you?”

“ Only if you say please.”

The editor released a deep seated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“ Thespius.”

“ Yes, Clicky?”

…Toby turned around again, incredulous. The God swayed innocently in the Hammock, one eye open to gauge the other’s expression.

“...Clicky?” He wondered aloud.

“ Yeah! Like…the little sounds your fingers make when you’re typin’.... ‘Clickity Clack’.” He mimed the action with his own two hands.

The mortal shook his head, laughing under his breath as he once again turned back to his work. Thespius continued to advocate for the silly nickname as he resumed typing away, and when the God’s voice finally went silent hours later, Toby glancing over his shoulder only to see he had vanished, he still found it humorous that Thespius thought that the stupid thing would stick.

Chapter Text

The heat of the summer brought change to the pace of Hobbyhoo.

In the hottest hours of the day, workers lounged underneath the shade of the tents and trees, sipping sweet drinks and chattering amongst one another. Cicadas screamed from their perches on the branches of pine; a back track for the music of sawing wood and pounding hammers.

With the change in weather came a shift in Toby as well. Once the construction was set in motion, there was little really to do except offer a hand when it was needed, or to lend an ear.

Rhoscoe, a regular presence now that the electrical grid was being built, often had much to say. He was different from most people Toby had met so far; crass, blunt, and more than a tad rude at times, but Toby found he was interesting to say the least.

“ Wh’n I first got here…M’ybe ten years ago? Th’ Cove wasn’t nearly as lit as it is now.” He had explained, elbows deep in a tangle of wires. Toby had sat nearby, handing him tools and marking down measurements as the man worked.

“ Say wh’t y’ will ‘bout the Drain, but we made do w’th what we had. Seein’ that when I stepped into th’ Cove? I wanted to show em’ we’re more than that place said we were.”

It was certainly more of an in-depth friendship than Toby had expected from him after their curt first-meeting, but he couldn’t really complain. Rhoscoe was a hard worker; a good one at that. It was the least the editor could do to listen.

Hobbyhoo wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

As the cool breeze of spring became stagnant and humid, Toby had set his formal-wear to the side, donning poet shirts in an attempt to keep cool. The nights were spent fanning himself with the papers of his scripts as he tapped away at Georgia, longing for the luxury of air conditioning.

On some of those nights, when the heat was just a bit too unbearable, when the words struggled to come to him and his fingers stagnated over the keys for a bit too long, he would visit Thespius.

The clouds of the God of Love’s realm were cozy, but not unbearably so. Walking inside was an instant relief, and even more so was seeing Thespius himself. The smile that would alight on the God’s face when Toby appeared, flustered from the heaviness of the summer night, could wash away any mental block he’d been chipping at instantly.

It made him wish that he could stay for longer than an hour or two at a time, but as Thespius had told him, it simply wasn’t possible.

“ Mortals ain’t made of the same stuff we Gods are, Clicky.” He’d explained, expression pinched in regret. Toby had crossed his arms and tilted his head, more curious than anything.

“ How so?” He had asked. The God had struggled for a moment, before attempting to explain.

“ When we visit you, it’s like…tryin’ to keep a cup from spillin’ over, if that makes sense. We can only go so long before the dam breaks,” The multiple hands that hovered behind him pantomimed the expression. Thespius continued.

“But when you come here… It’s like… tryin’ to keep a drop of water separate from the ocean. Once ya’ let it go…”

“ -You can’t get it back.” Toby had finished. The thought was disturbing. What exactly did that mean? He couldn’t fathom the consequences of being dropped out of reality.

…Is that what would have happened during their first meeting, had Thespius not caught him?

Whatever the case was, the barrier between them did not stop Toby from visiting at least once a day. At first, he had tried not to overstep his boundaries with the God, worried he was invading his personal space by showing up so often, but if anything Thespius was more adamant about meeting together than he was.

If Toby wasn’t the one to visit him in his realm, then the God would simply show up at his tent in the evening. Toby was sure that his neighbors knew of these meetings at this point, but were too polite to say anything given the looks they shot at each other when he would show up to breakfast the next morning.

It was one of the many things that had become regular in Toby’s life. The new normal.

…And he was loving every minute of it.

----- - -- - -- -

Falling pine needles carried by the wind twirled past as the town of Hobbyhoo waited with bated breath, the moonless sky providing no spotlight for the momentous occasion.

“ Aw’right everybody. Get ready t’ count us down.” Rhoscoe was perched on the shoulders of his partner, the Electrician’s hands wrapped around a throw switch on the side of the newly constructed stage. He wobbled a bit, only for Old Feller’ to reach up and grasp onto his ankles with his strong hands.

The crowd began to chant, excitement palpable.

“ Ten…Nine…Eight…Seven..-”

Toby stood at the back of the crowd, the fruits of his labor about to be made real. He quickly wiped the wetness from behind his glasses before anyone could see.

“-Three…Two…One-!!!”

Rhoscoe, a sharp grin on his face, flipped the breaker. One by one, lightbulbs flickered on, the clearing coming to life with cheers as the Amphitheatre was revealed in all its glory. It was beautiful…painted with flowery patterns and a large, colorful rainbow that stretched from one end of the stage to the other.

Strings of lights trailed from it, guiding residents through the tents and makeshift homes. Tables were set up, piled with enough food and drink to rival that of Mildread’s harvest.

Rhoscoe hopped down from Feller’s shoulders and into the ginger man's arms. The two shared a passionate kiss, and the crowd began to clap before their attention shifted towards the tables.

Toby clapped along, a deep breath released from within his chest. A weight on his shoulders had been lifted. The stage and surrounding area had come together perfectly.

Thespius would never have a script returned to him ever again.

He migrated through the party, moving past the colorful residents of Hobbyhoo. Even after his extended time in Hobbyhoo, he still stood out starkly against them; A monochrome mark at odds with their vibrant palettes. People were laughing, dancing, singing and toasting at the success of the night…and yet…

He still couldn’t find his place among them.

The person he really wanted to do those things with was not, and never could be here.

“ Clack!! Get ovah’ here!!” There was a shout from one of the far tables. He turned his head to see Yulia waving enthusiastically across the way. Internally cursing at Thespius for spreading his god awful nickname, he shuffled closer.

The young woman had practically decorated her hair with a bouquet of flowers for the occasion, adorned in a bright sundress that swished at her bare feet. She set a plate of cookies on the table as he stood in front of her, next to the already massive variety of sweets across the surface.

“ How are things, Yulia?” He asked her, eyes roving over the table. He wasn’t really hungry, but something small wouldn’t hurt.

“ Bettah’ than evah’! Business is boomin’!! People are lovin’ the food…I even got asked ta’ make somethin’ for a wedding in Mildread if yew can believe it!”

“ Of course I can believe it. You’ve got a talent with baking I’ve never seen before!” He held a soft spot for Yulia’s cooking. It beat the humble meals he had sustained himself with when he had lived in the city, that was for sure.

“ Oh Clack,” She waved a hand at him, shyly turning away with a blush. “ You flatterer! Ya’ know just what ta’ say to a lady!!”

…he really didn’t.

“ -Why don’t ya’ take one of these for yer’self? I made em’ with the good stuff! ” The woman winked, pushing forward a particular tray.

“ I think you of all people deserve one, given everythang y’did for this place.”

Toby leaned down to inspect the offered treats. They looked like typical brownies, dusted with powdered sugar. He gingerly plucked one from the tray, holding it up to the light, before taking a bite without much thought.

As always with Yulia’s food, it was incredible. It was soft and warm, gooey chocolate on the inside having him humming with ecstasy. He closed his eyes, a low ‘mmmmm..’ emanating from his chest.

Yulia laughed at his expression, noting the powdered sugar and chocolate left behind on his face and deciding not to mention it.

“ …I’ll take that as a compliment. Go on, don’t let me stop ya’... enjoy it!”
She shooed him away with both hands. He rolled his eyes at her, not hesitating to take another bite as he meandered away from the table.

The party continued well into the night, the musically inclined residents of Hobbyhoo picking up their instruments and playing songs to one another, shouting the lyrics to the sky. A quick glance showed Selphie and Phinealeus playing side by side, and the odd sight of Rhoscoe drunkenly belting out notes on a harmonica whilst balanced on a stool.

…It was wonderful to see everyone so happy.

He hung on the outskirts of the party, leaned against the corner of the newly built stage. Shrouded in twilight of the structure, his eyes traced the dancing bodies, their shadows growing and shrinking against the tarps of the tents.

The music was becoming distant in his hearing, the lightbulbs creating halos of light that was slowly giving him a headache. He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the effect, frowning as it only seemed to worsen as time passed.

He was beginning to become quite aware of a detachedness to his own body; a fog falling over his senses that threatened to send him leaning forward too far from his perch. He abruptly straightened his spine, holding his temple as he wobbled in place.

…Something wasn’t right.

He’d been fatigued before, sure, but it had never felt like this. His chest clenched in panic. The lights were too bright, his heartbeat too loud in his ears.

…He had to find someone. Someone that could help him and tell him what was happening to him. He took an uneasy step towards the lights and music, only to cower away as a round of cheers exploded from the partygoers.

…no. Not there. He needed to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere that he could get help.

…without even realizing it, his legs started carrying him to the safest place he knew of, tripping multiple times as he climbed the familiar path. The soft glow of Thespius’ tent drew him like a moth to a flame.

He ducked inside.

-------- - -- - - -- -

“Thespius,” He gasped, appearing among the clouds. He clutched his shirt so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “Thespius. Thespius, i-i need-”

“ Click Clack? Dude, shouldn’t you be celebrating out there with your buddies?” The God materialized around a column of mist, his back turned to the mortal man.

He was leaning on a cloud, one leg balanced on his opposite knee. Tony was propped in his lap while he carefully tuned the pegs.

Toby’s eyes began to water. He snuffled, wiping his face roughly on his sleeve. The noise had the God’s head turning, his eyes widening as his gaze fell on the tiny mortal.

The response was immediate. The glow of the clouds dimmed, the smell of flowers overpowered by that of petrichor. The God leaned in close, cradling Toby in his hands.

“ Clicky, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“ T-thespius-” He grabbed onto one of his fingers, holding it like a lifeline. His breathing came quick and shallow. “ I-i think i’m dying. I c-can’t breathe, I can’t breathe-”

“ Shhhh…h-hey…It’s gonna be okay, okay? It’s gonna be alright.” There was a rumble of thunder from the cloud layer, soft and rolling. Thespius pulled him close, his nose nearly brushing against the smaller man.

“ Just hold still, okay? I’m gonna check you out.”

It was quiet for a long time as Thespius’ eyes roved him over. Toby hiccuped, trying to slow his tears.

“ …Looks like you’re just havin’ a bit of a bad trip, bud.” he finally murmured, a thumb coming up to brush the man’s back. “...I’m sorry this is happenin’ to you.”

The editor looked up at him with the most miserable expression that Thespius had ever seen him muster.

“ …I’m n-not gonna die..?”

The god shook his head with a gentle laugh. His hold on the mortal was not removed.

“ No, Clicky. You’ll be fine in a little while. Ya’ just gotta ride it out, okay? …Here.”

The God of Love tucked him close to his chest, holding him as he rolled over to lay down amongst the clouds. The action made Toby wobble a bit. Carefully, he laid down atop of Thespius’ chest. The God let out a pleased hum.

“ I’ll stay with you, okay? Just until you feel better.”

The mortal man rested his head to the God’s heart. It matched the thrum of the thunder, he distantly noticed.

“ …How long issit going t’ take?”

Thespius opened one of his eyes to look down on him.

“ Ehh…depends. About…8 hours, usually. Give or take.” The God was lost in thought.

“This is your first time, and I don’t know how much you had. Doesn’t matter too much, though. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The amount of time Thespius was talking was not what Toby had expected. How could one brownie do that?

“....You’re gonna have to send me back before then,” Toby muttered. “...Or else you’ll drop me.”

Thespius shook his head. The smell of flowers was beginning to creep back through the clouds, fresh after a rainstorm.

“ I swear on my godhood, Toby. I would never drop you. ”

He cradled the man carefully. Toby’s heart began to slow, his rasping breaths deepening as he relaxed.

“...Thespius?”

“ Yeah?”

“ …Thank you…for staying with me.”

The God considered his words, even as Toby began to fall asleep.

“..For you, Click Clack? Anything.”

Chapter Text

In the blink of an eye, a year had passed.

The growth of Hobbyhoo was exponential, Tents and shacks replaced with stable housing. The town was beginning to draw tourists from around and off-Grove, music performances and plays establishing a booming night scene.

…A Liason of Longing had not yet found its place among them. Having diligently edited each addition given to him by Thespius, the God had apparently hit a snag in the process of writing the ending.

“ Sorry Clicky,” he had said, running a hand through his hair. He had looked oddly frazzled when Toby asked about it. “ I’ve gotta get this ending just right…I just don’t know how to get the words to work for me.”

“ I can help you, if you’d like? That’s what I’m here for, right?” Toby had offered. They had known each other long enough to trust one another with these sorts of things.

But, unexpectedly, Thespius had shaken his head in refusal.

“ I ‘ppreciate that, man, but this is something I’ve gotta get down myself,” The God had sighed, an odd chilled breeze gusting through the normally warm cloud layer. Toby had furrowed his brow in worry, but hadn’t pushed the issue.

Even Gods were susceptible to writer’s block, it seemed.

…Besides, other screenplays that had been set aside due to the lack of resources were dusted off and quickly adapted for the stage. It wasn’t as though there was a shortage of materials to perform from.

The influx of scripts kept Toby plenty busy. Now that the ball was rolling, he had little to do with planning the development of Hobbyhoo. His help was mostly requested for little things; opinions on placement, design, and to welcome and hire new actors for the productions Thespius trusted him with.

…Not that he didn’t offer his help when he felt it was needed. Occasionally he would pop on down to the significantly smaller campsite to sit with Selphie and the other hippies, listening to songs and catching up with their lives.

Yulia was moving to Mildread to found a bakery. Phinealeus had begun to practice painting, and Selphie moved with a freshly carved cane after a particularly chilly spring.

Surprisingly, Rhoscoe and Old Feller’ had elected to stay; citing the construction continuing to build up Hobbyhoo as their reasoning. Toby had reason to believe there was more to it than that, given the glimpses of the two of them he’d caught watching the newest stageplays, the ginger man knitting suspiciously small clothes while the shorter of the two leaned against his shoulder, but he’d refrained from calling them out on it.

Besides, he’d had his own things to deal with.

Not long after the completion of the stage, a building had been proposed to the crew of architects inhabiting Hobbyhoo. A studio, simple but striking, for the God of Love’s chief editor. Not having asked for it himself, Toby had no clue where the idea had come from, his only received response from Thespius being a shrug.

“ Someone must’ve wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for em’, Clicky. Who am I to deny the people what they want to see?” Came the cagey response from the God, which had confused the editor.

…Wouldn’t he of all people know who had made such a large request? It boggled his mind that someone would have wanted to make something specifically for him.

The studio was completed fairly quickly, to his surprise. Moving in took even less time with the limited belongings he had stashed away in his tent. It was humble but beautiful, with running water and electricity. His first night in a real bed since arriving at the Grove had him staring at the ceiling for a long time, longing for the hammock that smelled faintly of Thespius’ flowers.

Toby’s only regret was how much longer it took to walk from his home to visit him.

At the present moment, visiting Thespius was not on his mind, however. A part belonging to his precious Georgia had finally given out, rendering the typewriter unusable. Sending out for a replacement piece had drained the remainder of his fortune and required a trip down to the Cove to receive the order.

The area was bustling with activity. Tourists milled around the ancient structures, taking pictures and chatting with the locals. Fishermen cast into the water, seagulls calling overhead.

The dock was the same as he’d last seen it, aside from the amount of people standing around.

It didn’t take long for him to receive his package, brushing past the crowd to meet the ferryman. A quick thanks later, and he was already back on his way, the box tucked under his arm.

…Absently, he recalled the last time he was here. His first day in the Grove, carrying his heavy luggage and trying not to lose his nerve. He walked over the streams of running water, past a couple posing in on the grass for photographs, towards the path leading to Mildread.

The height of Miss Mitternacht’s mausoleum stood proud on his way through, just the way he remembered it from his accidental visit. It gave him pause, the bright glow of the realm inside temptingly close.

…He wondered if she remembered him.

Hopefully not, He thought bitterly. I made a fool of myself.

…Still. He hadn’t talked to her since then. If anything, it probably wouldn’t hurt to at the very least apologize for his behavior.

He shifted his package in his grip, looking back and forth. None of the tourists were watching or taking pictures of him.

…quickly, as to not attract attention, he stepped through the barrier, this time expecting the sudden shift that brought him into her realm.

--- -- - - - - - ---- --- - ---

He landed on his feet this time, his shoes only sliding a little in the loose sand as he caught his balance.

It was just as he remembered, the calm of the desert at night nestling atop his senses like a blanket. Unlike Thespius’ realm, Mitternacht’s felt grounded in reality…much more solid and stable than the cloud layer the God of Love rested upon.

…not that he disliked Thespius' clouds by any means. They were just…different.

It made him wonder what the other gods' realms were like.

As he looked around, Toby noticed that her form was nowhere to be found over the sprawling landscape. He held a hand up to his mouth.

“ E-excuse me…Miss Mitternacht? Are you home?” he called, his voice ringing across the dunes.

It was proof enough that she knew he was there, given he hadn't outright fallen out of the world, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He continued to pace around the pews, anxiety climbing the longer he stayed.

…Where was she? Had she gone out, like Thespius tended to do?

…Maybe he could come back later. He turned to leave, slight disappointment weighing his steps. She was probably busy, given her role as the oldest in the pantheon.

However, before he could reach the entrance to her realm, he felt a wave of pressure that pushed the breath from his lungs. It was a slow and compressing feeling; Like a weighted blanket settling over his chest.

A low creaking and groaning, like that of an old house settling on its foundations, perforated the calm of the landscape. Toby turned around to find the familiar Goddess brushing herself off as though she’d simply been completing chores outside.

“Oh dear,” She began, her voice slightly winded. She sent him an apologetic look. “ I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“No! It’s quite alright, Ma’am.” he waved his hands, trying to dispel the tension.

“ I shouldn’t have dropped in so unexpectedly.”

“ What kind of God would I be if I didn’t entertain my children’s visits?” She asked, now recovered from her sudden appearance. She leaned in close, though this time, Toby had no reason to cower.

“ It’s nice to see you again, Toby. Or should I call you Click Clack? Thespius has been so happy to tell me about how you’ve been getting along.”

He schooled his expression to keep from moving his hands to cover it.

“ It’s…whatever you’d like. Most people in Hobbyhoo have started calling me that.”

To his embarrassment. He was too polite to correct them on it. He continued.

“ Good things, I hope? He’s become a close friend of mine.”

“ Yes of course…he considers you a close…’friend’ of his as well.” Her tone lilted for a moment, catching him off guard. Not wanting to make any assumptions, he instead elected to change the subject.

“ Well…I just wanted to apologize to you for our first meeting. I was incredibly rude, stumbling in like that, and I neglected to ask you for your name,” He began, fidgeting with his fingers. “ …Even now, it seems my timing is to doom me by showing up at the most inopportune times.”

The skeletal Goddess waved her hand dismissively.

“ My child, It’s water under the bridge. And really, you’ve caused me no trouble at all. I don’t receive as many visitors as you’d think.”

She folded her arms on the horizon.

“I was only just keeping record of the Rift. This is a Rift-year, after all, preparations need to be made, festivals planned…”

Toby's ears tuned into her explanation, curiosity highlighting the unknown term like a grammar mistake.

He raised his hand to politely interrupt.

“ P-pardon me, but…I’m a little confused.” He started nervously. The Goddess paused, focusing her full attention back on him. He swallowed.

“ Forgive me if this is a silly question, but…I’ve never heard of this Rift-year celebration…could you…?”

“ Oh dear, I had assumed you already knew about it! Being so close to Thespius, that is.” She tsk’ed, bringing a bony hand to her temple.

“ How rude of me…you’ll have to excuse my behavior.” Mitternacht leaned in close over the dunes, “ Here, let me explain. You see-”

She began to trace pictures in the sand with her finger. The Grove with all of its major settlements, and a large, square tower in the middle.

“ As you may know, the Grove is very careful with the people it invites to visit. This is because of the thin barrier between the mortal realm-” She pointed to the drawn map, “ And the heavens.”

Toby nodded. This, he knew, which was why he had been so surprised to have received the letter from Thespius in the first place.

“ However,” she continued, “ This is not the only reason we are so cautious….you see…”

She began to draw a large gap in the sky, high above the Grove, and directly positioned over the tower.

“ Once every 33 years, the barrier between our realms thins so much that it begins to fray. The sky tears asunder, and a hole is formed as a direct entrance to the pantheon.”

She pointed to the gap. A shiver ran down Toby's spine.

“ We call this the Celebration of the Rift…the rare occurrence where mortals and gods alike are closer than ever. It's a beautiful time in the Grove, you'll see.”

She smiled as well as she could, her birdlike skull watching him closely.

“ At the end of the celebration, all of the Gods of the Pantheon work together to close the Rift, else the heavens fall to earth and tear the world apart. But this is not the only interesting thing to come of it.”

Toby chuckled nervously, tugging at his collar.

“ What could be more interesting than the looming destruction of the world?” He asked, a wobble in his voice. Mitternacht clapped her hands lightly, the resulting noise akin to that of wooden wind chimes.

“ During this time, the barrier between worlds is practically non-existent, meaning that mortals like you,” She softly tapped him on the chest. “-can cross over.”

He frowned. The pieces were not connecting as easily as he had hoped. “ …Meaning…?”

“ Oh Click Clack, you silly goose!” She laughed, returning her attention to the sand. She started drawing again, this time focusing solely on a depiction of the Rift. There was a stick figure on one side, and on the other a tall, imposing body.

“ It means that, for a short time, mortals and gods can switch places. And when a mortal crosses over…” She trailed off, giving Toby the opportunity to fill in the blanks.

The implications hit him like a train, his eyes widening. His hand shook as he pointed to the drawing.

“ …You…You’re telling me that humans can become Gods?”

A chipper nod came from the Goddess.

“ Indeed! Of course, not anyone can become a god…here in the Grove, the people decide who is worthy of the honor, and sometimes a consensus cannot be reached, so we haven’t had a new addition to our skies for a long time…”

The pictures were destroyed as she gently wiped the patterns in the sand away with her hand. Toby’s eyes lingered on the final drawing, even as it was swept away.

“ …In fact, Thespius was the last one that the Grove could agree upon. He’s been the most recent god for over ninety-nine years, give or take.”

…Thespius had been mortal. Thespius, the God of Love, had been a mortal.

Something unexplainable in Toby’s heart cinched.

“ …Do you know how he was chosen?” He found himself asking, trying to keep the shake out of his voice.

Mitternacht considered the question. “ From what I recall, Thespius was born in the Grove. He was well-liked and showed kindness to everyone he met,” she said. Toby nodded. That sounded like the Thespius he knew.

“ There was a rough year. A storm hit the Grove, and we lost many people to the aftermath. He was one of the few that stepped up, offering the clothes off of his back when he barely had anything himself. He founded Hobbyhoo as a temporary place to live away from destruction…”

She sighed at the recollection.

“ No matter the circumstances, he never ran out of love to give. I think that’s what made the Grove love him in return.”

Toby went silent.

…His perspective of the god had completely changed. Thespius, someone who he had assumed had been thrown into creation as ethereal as the day he first met him, had been just like him at one point.

…Albeit considerably better. A hero to his community.

How could he ever live up to that as his partner?

He abruptly bent down to pick up the package he had dropped in his shock, stuttering out an excuse for his sudden departure.

The fact of the matter was that Thespius was still a God, one that had asked for him specifically, and one that he’d promised to work for, uprooting his entire life to join in the Grove.

...Thespius was a God, and Toby was a mortal. A plain, insignificant mortal.

No amount of friendship, late nights talking, or silly nicknames could change that.

…But even as he hustled his way back to the growing town of Hobbyhoo, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like had they both met on equal ground. Two humans, partners, with stories to tell and lives that could take them anywhere.

Chapter Text

Toby felt like he was losing his mind.

Since his impromptu visit to Mitternacht’s realm, he had been troubled. The flow of words underneath his fingertips began to stagnate. Every sentence read like nails on a chalkboard, and even his internal voice felt jumbled and stilted.

The scripts began to pile on his desk, untouched as he paced during the longer and longer nights. Coffee was his only vice to stave back the shadows in the corners of his vision.

The problem was, he had no idea why he was stuck in this rut. The reveal of Thespius’ past mortality had been shocking, but by no means was it world shattering.

Toby still visited him every night, despite everything. Their talks were the same, Thespius himself had not changed…but Toby still felt a rising tension, like a pipe ready to burst, every time he stepped into the God’s realm.

The looming occurrence of the rift festival didn’t help, either. With each day that passed, the energy in Hobbyhoo grew taut with anticipation. Focus had shifted from development into preparation; decorations strung about the tents and buildings, travel upticking between the areas of Buzzhuzz and Mildread.

The advertising promoting the vote that had the potential to ascend a resident of the Grove began popping up merely weeks ahead of the main event. Citizens were encouraged to make their voice heard, to recognize the important people in their communities for the honor of joining the pantheon.

Toby’s vote laid blank upon his desk, untouched.

Before he knew it, the final days were upon him. The few scripts he had managed to choke from Georgia had been sent out to the actors for the proceeding day’s festivities. Tourists and Grove-born visitors alike enjoyed themselves among the tents; food, drink and music in a constant rotation throughout the days and nights.

It did nothing to help the rampant insomnia Toby had been suffering from, but in a way, it did make him feel better. Hobbyhoo wasn’t in ruins just because he couldn’t pull himself together.

Thespius himself had been growing more and more invigorated as the days drew close, the editor had noticed.

“ This’ll be my third Rift Celebration,” he had said, the smell of flowers nearly intoxicating to the mortal. Both of his eyes glowed with mirth as he plucked at Tony with little thought.

“ -and your first! It’ll be awesome, Clicky, you’ll see. It’s kinda pretty, when it opens up.”

Pretty was not the word he would have used to describe a world-ending tear in space-time, but he supposed he could trust Thespius’ opinion, given his experience.

The day of the vote count arrived with little fanfare. Like any other morning, Toby had sat up all night struggling to overcome his writer’s block. A headache raged from behind his eyes, the letter keys blurring in his vision.

…He needed some fresh air, it seemed. And maybe some breakfast with it, if his stomach grumbling was anything to go by.

He pulled on a simple sweater to keep out the fall chill. If past Toby had seen the lack of professionalism in his dress, he might have had an aneurysm, but as of now, the editor had little care. His clothes were warm, and that was all he needed.

Stepping into the street, he was greeted with crowds of people chattering away excitedly. Many turned to look at him as he passed, the feeling making his skin crawl. Whispers were white noise in his ears, tangible, but unclear.

The feeling of eyes on him increased tenfold as he walked into the greater Hobbyhoo common area. It didn’t stop, even as he approached the ever-going campfire, Yulia stirring a pot of her famous oatmeal over the flames.

“ Click Clack!” She said brightly, smiling wide. She was already pulling a bowl from the stack of dishes she had beside her.

“ Haven’t seen ya’ around recently. Must be the nerves, right?”

“ How did you guess?” He deadpanned, rubbing his sleeves as the itching feeling of eyes on him steadily unnerved him.

“ Mmm, Anyone in your position would be feelin’ the same way, I think.” She ladeled the sludgy substance into the bowl. “ It’s only natural.”

“ Yeah, well, I didn’t think my work would draw that much attention. All the good stuff comes from Thespius.” He chuckled. Yulia handed the bowl over to him, the warmth seeping through the wooden dish and heating his hands.

“ Yer’ sellin’ yer’self short there a little bit, Clack,” The woman dusted her hands before reaching over to pick up a jar of honey balanced on a nearby log.

“ Yew’ve done so much in tha’ short time you’ve been here. Without yew, we wouldn’t have most of this.”

“ Anybody could have done it.” He countered, gently blowing on the steaming bowl. He didn’t want to burn his tongue.

“ Yer’ right. Anybody could’ve,” she replied, pouring in a tad more of the honey before continuing to stir. “ But yew were the one ta’ do it. Nobody else.”

She smiled softly, reassurance painted across her face as a spoonful made its way to Toby’s mouth. “ ‘S why you had so many votes. I ain’t the only one who sees it.”

He stopped. The spoon clattered onto the rim of the bowl, slipping out of his hand.

“ …What?” The air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“ Don’t act so surprised!” She cackled, a hand on her stomach. She stuck her hand into her dress pocket, pulling out a flyer that she handed over.

His fingers trembled, brushing out the folds.

Your Voice Matters!

Vote for Toby Cadieux of Hobbyhoo Studios:

God of Teamwork!!

“ They said they’d nevah’ seen such a clean sweep since Thespius himself got voted in, ain’t that amazin’?" Yulia continued, unaware of the crack forming in Toby’s facade.

His gaze slowly lifted to meet hers. Tears threatened to spill over the edge of his eyelashes.

“...I won?”

Yulia looked at him, incredulous.

“ …Yew didn’t know?”

He stood abruptly, the bowl of oatmeal on his lap falling to the ground and spilling over the grass. His heart thumped in his ears as he made a mad dash for Thespius’ tent. He could feel the eyes on his face, their gazes tearing into him like vultures as he rushed past.

He couldn’t be the next god of the Grove. He wasn’t…he wasn’t special. He was just a man who could fix stories; a man who showed up one day and demanded that Hobbyhoo change for him.

There was nothing special about that.

He tore through the flaps of Thespius’ tent, the golden glow of the clouds washing over his vision. The god had his back to the editor, turning his head in surprise at his sudden entrance.

“Clicky! I heard the news! I can’t believe you-”

“ Did you know about this??” Toby demanded, holding the flyer aloft. Thespius was taken aback by his tone, a short burst of trumpet-sound echoing over the space.

“ What? Of course I knew, man!” Thespius exclaimed. He set aside his guitar, fixated on the mortal.

“ Everybody was talkin’ about it for the past few weeks! They even asked me if I thought you’d be up for it, so I told em’ you’d be down to do a great job.”

Tears streaked down Toby’s cheeks, pooling at his chin and falling to his feet. He gripped the flyer, so hard that he felt his nails burrowing into his palms.

“ And you didn’t think to ask me?? To ask if I even wanted to become a god??”

The light in Thespius’ realm dimmed harshly, the ethereal glow moving into the familiar color range of a storm. An icy chill whispered past. The God of Love seemed to cringe back.

“ …Is that…not what you wanted?”

“ NO!!” Toby practically bellowed, the uncharacteristic volume causing Thespius to jump.

“ If you knew me at all, you’d know that I'm nowhere near qualified enough to be a god. H-hell, I’m barely even qualified to be your editor!” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging painfully at the roots.

“ Clack, that’s not true! You’re one of the most talented people I know…and I know talent when I see it.” The god bent down as close to Toby as he could muster. Snowflakes began to land in his dark hair, the petals of his flowers closing up to shield from the frost.

“ Without you, my scripts would never be as popular as they are now. Hobbyhoo would still just be some tents and some dirt…and I would never have met my…best friend.”

Bitterness rose in the mortal’s throat.

“ …Tell me, Thespius.” He looked up at the God with a scowl. He wiped his face with his sleeve.

“ Where's the script for A Liason of Longing?”

The deity looked taken aback.

“ What does that have to do with anything?”

Toby rounded on him, his hands clenched into fists.

“ The script, Thespius. The reason you wanted me around in the first place. I'm your partner, aren't I?”

He was close enough that he could feel the clammy chill on the God's skin.

“ Where. Is. It?”

Thespius cowered back, a hurt expression dawning on his face. A harsh gale plowed through the cloud layer.

“ Clicky…I…It’s not finished yet. I told you that.”

He refused to back down, taking a step forward. His tears were freezing cold, a rosy tint flushing his face.

“ You've told me a lot of things, Thespius, but you haven't taken the time to listen.”

His hands went flying to his chest.

“ I’m not this…this wonderful, perfect person you think I am! I’m a fraud! Someone who can only polish up other people’s lives, because I’m a failure in my own.”

The wind was whipping around them now, wilted petals whirling in the air.

“ I’ll never be good enough for you, you realize that, don’t you???”

Thespius looked crushed. The normally relaxed god had frozen, hands curled into his blazer, eyes empty of any light they’d held before.

“ Oh Clicky….” he murmured. Toby tried not to flinch at the sheer devastation in his voice.

The editor turned around. He could hardly bear to see Thespius looking at him like that.

“ …don’t expect me to show up at the Spire.” He choked.

The man made to leave. The God did nothing to stop him.

…Outside, flakes of snow began to fall, the autumn air phasing into that of an early winter chill.

Chapter Text

Toby’s trunk was open on the bed.

He pulled clothing off of their hangers with reckless abandon, tossing them over his shoulder in a pile. He’d have to pack light if he wanted to be able to get down to the docks in a reasonable time.

He glanced out the window. Snow was piling on the sill, the cold frosting over the glass. Bile rose in his throat, and he turned away.

…He’d have to account for the snow now, too. At least his formal-wear, usually too hot for the Grove’s weather, would come in handy. A black spot on a bright, white canvas.

…He threw a dress shirt a bit more forcefully than he intended. It hit the wall, sliding down to the floor in a wrinkled heap. He stared at it for a moment, pressure building from behind his eyes.

…It just…he wasn’t wrong. Toby was just a man. A flawed, insecure mortal.

…But Thespius had been mortal, once.

…Did Thespius ever have his doubts, before becoming a god? Had he expected to be chosen? Had he ever worried, considered the fact he might not have been a good fit for the job?

Thespius Green had been mortal. Toby Cadieux was a mortal.

There was a knock on his door. He ignored it, moving to shove the remainder of his clothing into the trunk. He…he couldn’t see Thespius right now. Not after the confrontation he’d just had.

He could hear the handle turning, the soft creak of wood as the door swung open.

The click of it closing behind the unnamed visitor.

He froze in place, his hands gripping the messy entrails of his trunk. He couldn’t face him. He couldn’t.

“ …Toby.” Came Selphie’s timbre voice. The editor jolted. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes wet.

The hippie stood there, leaning on his cane. Snow melted on his shoulders, sinking through the wool. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, Toby thought.

The older man hobbled closer, reaching out to hover a hand over Toby’s back. Toby removed himself from the trunk, turning to face him.

…There was a minute of silence, before Selphie pulled him into a hug. The younger buried his face into the other’s chest.

…and then he cried.

He cried about the overwhelmingness of it all. The frustration, The anger, The lack of sleep….

The loss of Thespius.

Selphie pulled him down to sit on the mattress, the both of them in an epicenter of messy clothes and scattered belongings. He pulled away, still close, as Toby took a moment to breathe.

“ …I don’t get it, Selphie.” He whispered.

“There’s…I don’t know where people are seeing this ‘god material’ in me.”

He removed his glasses, thumb smudging on one of the lenses.

“ …I can’t be that person for them. I’m not that person.”

The older man said nothing for a few moments, leaning back. He grasped the handle of his cane, his acorn capped fingers tapping on the wood.

“ …But you are, Toby. God or not…it doesn’t matter,” the hippie said. “ Even if you hadn’t been voted in…ya’ made a difference.”

Toby watched as he held up his hand, counting his fingers.

“ Ya’ made Mist’r Green happy again, like, genuinely happy. Ya’ commissioned th’ stage, ya’ gave people jobs that they needed ta’ start families and settle down, ya’ put yer’ blood, sweat and tears inta’ everything you do…the scripts, the town, th’ people…”

He zeroed in on Toby, making direct eye contact.

“ …and ya’ did it without askin’ for anythin’ in return. You didn’t expect anythin’ in return.”

The man placed a hand on his shoulder.

“ …And maybe we shoulda’ listened….really stopped and asked if you were okay…me included. If anything…we failed you, Toby. Not the other way around.”

The editor's ears rang in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Selphie…fail him?”

“ N-no….thats…thats not…Selphie, you’d make a much better god than I would.” He stuttered. “ Me…I’ll mess it up. I’m not someone to look up to…but you…you’re wise…friendly...charming…why can’t someone like you take the job instead?”

The hippie simply shook his head. His fingers curled around his cane.

“ …that life ain’t for me, son. Watching over the world…living forever…”

…his eyes went distant for a moment.

“ …I had a wife, Toby.”

The younger man stilled, hands falling to his lap. Selphie continued.

“ We grew up together, born here in Hobbyhoo. She was the moon to my stars…my world…If Thespius was my worship, then she was my God.”

The wind outside rattled the window pane.

“ …She got sick. Somethin’ awful…it took everything from her…and her from me.”

Silence.

“ …I can’t live forever, cat. Not if there’s a chance of me bein’ with her one day. That’s my dearest hope.”

He turned to the younger man, a deep, pained sorrow etched into his face. Toby realized just how old Selphie appeared to be in that moment.

“ …but you..Toby. You have th’ potential to be somethin’ more than I ever could be. More than any of us could be,”

He stood, swaying on his feet.

“ …nobody expects ya’ to be perfect at first…heck, Thespius still makes mistakes, as you can prolly’ tell.”

He smiled one last time before heading towards the door.

“ …What matters is havin’ people ya’ care about with you ta’ help you through it, and ta’ pick you back up when ya’ fall.”

He pulled it open, the warm glow of the stairwell light reminding Toby of the barrier between his and Thespius’ realms.

“ …We might not have been that for you…but, of all people, I think he could be.”

Toby didn’t even have to guess who he could be talking about.

“ …think about it…and try to get some sleep, kitty cat. Cryin’ really takes it out of ya’.”

He walked out the door, closing it as quietly as he had opened it.

…and then Toby was alone.

He took a long look around his studio. The mess, the emotional fallout. The empty coffee mugs and stacked scripts, waiting to be started.

His gaze fell on Georgia…sweet, beautiful, innocent Georgia.

His first friend, but not his last. His thoughts went back to Thespius…how devastated he had looked after Toby had torn him apart.

Darkness was falling on the world outside. He got up, creeping to his desk, and bent down to pull Georgia’s case from underneath.

He would have to get going soon, before the sun rose if he wanted to make it in time.

----- -- - --- - -

The wind blustered at Toby’s face, the cold cutting through him like a sharp knife. He had no boots to make the journey, so each step had him sinking into the powdered snow like quick sand.

This, of course, was not ideal for someone of his stature. Tearing through his destroyed wardrobe had yielded nothing to help him on his way to the Spire, aside from a scarf and another sweater, which was quickly becoming wet with the heavy snowfall.

The only other thing he elected to bring with him was Georgia, of course. She had been there during the successes of his mortal life, and like the Drain was he going to leave her behind in his godhood.

Passing through the small city, Buzzhuzz was not as he’d first pictured it to be. Surprisingly modern, with sculptures and shops lining a plaza, it was nice. Normal, even.

…He somewhat wished he had taken the time to explore it before all of this, not that he could do anything about it now.

Maybe the Gods that lived there would let him visit…but he knew nothing of them.

Hopefully, they might like him, if he made it in time.

He trudged through the drifts, past closed curtains and doors. Buildings petered out into empty land, and the wind grew stronger with no cover.

He looked ahead and up, his glasses covered in frost. The Spire stood imposingly over the horizon, clawing at the sky like a monolith. He could see golden flashes peeking through the clouds from below, like lightning threatening to pierce the cotton layer.

Toby’s breath puffed out in front of him. He couldn’t feel his toes, and his legs were steadily becoming as useful as dead logs.

He hefted Georgia into his opposite hand.

He was so close…

Close to Thespius. Close to ‘I’m sorry.’

…He could do this.

Bracing himself, he entered the Spire. There was no turning back, now.

----

Faintly, as he climbed the never-ending stairs, Toby recalled the Hero’s Journey. The call to adventure…the mentor…the crossing of the threshold, into another world…

Death and Rebirth.

…he wondered if ascension was like dying. Surely, it was in a sense. Losing your mortal life, being stripped of everything that made you human, being made into something other…something new.

He could feel his lungs burning with exertion. HIs body shivered from the cold, his blood painfully coursing through his veins.

Things he would no longer have, when he became a God.

Would he miss it? Would he go crazy, having taken for granted the internal churn of his human body?

To be perfectly clear, he was terrified.

…But Thespius had done it. Thespius had a heartbeat…warm hands and a gentle smile. Thespius, God as he was, was still human all the same.

Toby just had to hope that whatever form he took next, he would not lose sight of that. He would not allow himself to forget what it was like to be human.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself to ignore the exhaustion threatening to black out his vision, one stair at a time.

----- - - - ---- --- -

The top of the Spire reminded Toby of polished obsidian…a glassy surface that reflected the light from the rift ahead.

Golden rays shone from the crack in reality. He could not see beyond it, even as he squinted.

He tried to ignore the dizzying height, gaze fixated straight ahead. He was completely numb, by this point.

He stumbled forwards.

“ T-t-th-Thespius?” He called, his voice carried away by the howling wind.

“ …Click Clack?” A familiar voice filtered through the rift. He felt her before he saw her, the weight of a world sending stars across his vision. The pressure was immense.

“ Is this the newest we’ve been so eager to meet?” Another voice, unfamiliar, like stones being washed in the tide.

“ The scaredykitty that made poor-sad Thespie cry? That one?” Tart, like lemons, was the next, sour to his ears and his tongue.

“ Oh shhh…we all know what it's like to be in his position. Come now, moonbeam, are you alright?”

He could see her now, the Goddess of the Night, silhouetted in the rift. He struggled to get closer, trembling.

“ I-i-i’m fine… I j-j ju-just…I…”

He swallowed, his mouth dry from the cold air.

“ I c-ch-changed my mind. I….I want t-to be Thespius' p-p-partner….e-even if…e-even if I don't think I deserve it…”

…Especially after what he had said…what he had done.

The Goddess watched him for a moment.

“ …And you're sure this is what you want?”

He thought about hesitating…about turning back around like he had tried at the beginning of his journey.

….Of the people he had met…Selphie, Yulia, Phinealeus and Rhoscoe.

Of Mitternacht herself…and of course…

Of Thespius.

“ …I'm sure.” he answered, steadily fighting the urge to let his teeth chatter.

She glanced beside her, and suddenly he could see the shapes of two other gods that he did not recognize.

“ …Then allow me to welcome you, Click Clack.”

She bowed down from the rift, closer than he'd ever been to her before. He fell to his knees, Georgia forgotten at his side.

“ …Click Clack….Do you promise to take all people under your wing?

Will you forgive always, and encourage forgiveness always?”

The rift tugged at his very being, it almost hurt, this close to it.

“ Will you speak with care and kindness, and lead the gods and humans by example?”

Mitternacht’s words carried weight untold, thousands and thousands of years of experience rising to her call.

“ …Do you, Toby, pledge to serve the Grove as the Storytelling God?”

That…didn’t sound quite right…at least, from what he had read before on the flyer…but at the current minute, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“ …Y-yes….. I do. I will.”

He answered.

Miss Mitternacht then smiled, clasping her hands to her chest.

“ ….Normally, this would be the part where I welcome you with open arms…but, I think someone else has been waiting for you.”

There was a flash, a light that pierced from behind his eyelids. Spots danced in his vision as he shielded his face with a flinch.

…The familiar smell of fresh flowers hit his nose.

“ Click Clack…”

He opened his eyes.

Replacing the other Gods, in all of his glory, was Thespius Green. He stood, arms abroad across the Rift. Flowers from his hair dislodged and fluttered on the roaring wind. Like the sun on a cold winter’s day, a blast of heat warmed Toby’s face.

The both of them had tears in their eyes, streaking down their cheeks. Toby tried to crawl closer, but his frozen limbs refused to respond. His scarf loosened from his neck, fluttering off of him with the current.

“ T-t-th-thh-Thespius…oh Thespius….I-i-I’m…I’m so sorry.” He cried.

“ I s-should have said something…d-d-done more…I should have…s-sh-should have…”
He was cut off by Thespius’ warm hands cradling him from behind.

“...It’s okay, Clack. I’m sorry too…for not being a better partner. I should have listened to you…asked you what you wanted.” Thespius’ expression wobbled with tears.

“...You do want this, right? You can still turn back. I won’t be mad…I could never be mad at you.”

The mortal looked up at him.

Thespius Green. The Color to his Neutral…The Music to his Lyrics…The Script to his Stage.

“ …I c-couldn’t ask f-f-for anything more.”

The God of Mirth and Love beamed, then, and the cold began to leech from his tired limbs.

He raised his hands. Toby could feel gravity’s ownership over his soul and body slowly slipping away. He rose into the glow of the Rift.

“ Then please, Clicky…Join me, won’t you?”

He was blinded, the darkness that had been threatening his vision finally masked his sight. The cold was gone.

Click Clack smiled.

…and then he slept.

Chapter Text

Click Clack was sure he had never slept so soundly in his life.

Every time it seemed like he would wake, he was dragged back under by a soothing hand stroking his back, a murmur he couldn't quite make out rumbling in his ear.

There were others voices too occasionally, that he could tell, but the most consistent of them stayed by his side.

…Distantly, he hoped Thespius wouldn't be too upset at him sleeping in. He had most likely missed at least one of their nightly visits at this point…but the God of Love had suggested more rest for the poor editor.

…Eh. That was something for awake Click Clack to deal with. Sleeping Click Clack was still exhausted, and no amount of rushing was going to make him get up any faster.

Eventually, though, the deep slumber he had fallen into became shallower and shallower.
The surface was right there, just beyond the curtain.

He stretched, reaching out to pull it back, just a peek-

…He opened his eyes.

Soft light filtered through a dewey morning fog, shining down atop where he laid.

He squinted, yawning widely. He was so tempted to lay back down and catch a few more minutes of rest, but he knew there was work to be done…scripts to rewrite, writer's block to plow through, and preparations for the events planned for the rift celebration.

Click Clack reached up to wipe the sand from the corners of his eyes, ready to start the day.

…His hand gently bumped into something that was not his own face.

…Confused, he patted his cheek. Again, no feeling from his face. Instead, he was reminded of the texture of porcelain…stiff and cool to the touch.

Trailing downwards, he pawed at the surface, finding an edge just under his chin. Carefully, Click Clack looped his fingers underneath, tugging it up and away.

It slipped off of his face easily, a strap he hadn't noticed before dislodging from around his head. He turned the object around, held in both hands.

…It was a mask. The expression painted on the front was one of confusion, eyebrows furrowed with concentration. Oddly enough…it hadn't even felt like he had been wearing anything before taking it off. Like it was his face, and not just a prop.

Quickly, he prodded at his cheeks, nose and eyes, mask forgotten for the moment, just to make sure they were still there.

They felt…different. He felt different…

…An anxiety was growing in his chest. Without much thought, he quickly slipped the mask back on, adjusting the strap over his head. Relief flooded over him at the comforting weight.

…..where was he? What was going on? He racked his brain trying to remember.

…There was…oatmeal….a flyer….Thespius…snow… and….

He gasped, jolting up suddenly.

The Spire. The Rift.

He'd gone to the Rift. He'd said yes to Mitternacht…to Thespius.

…And if he'd said yes ….then that meant …

He stood abruptly, only to trip and fall back onto the soft ground. He realized after a moment that he was resting on clouds.

Thespius’ clouds.

They were much more solid than he was used to, bouncing back as he prodded at the surface.

…Was this what it was like, being on the other side as a God? It would make sense…after all, Thespius had said that gods and humans were made of different things.

…And he was no longer human.

He looked down at his hands.

They were stained dark, like they used to be after he worked side by side with Rhoscoe doing electrical work. The pads of his hands lacked the callouses they'd had as a human, replaced with soft skin.

The rest of himself was a bit more difficult to discern. He could tell at the very least that his coloring was consistent with that of a shadow, but very little else was made clear.

He huffed, frustrated. There weren't any mirrors in Thespius’ home as far as he knew.

….and where was Thespius anyways? The man of the hour had not appeared in the time Click Clack had been awake.

It seemed that he would have to go and find him.

The trek through the clouds was mostly uneventful. The realm was much bigger than he had first realized, a seemingly endless grove of clouds that stretched on for infinity in every direction. How Thespius navigated without becoming out of breath was a mystery.

…And that was something too that Click Clack had noticed. He was breathing…tired even from his never-ending exploration. There was no absence of feeling, no lack of exertion that he had expected with becoming a god. His heart pattered gently under his hand when he placed it to his chest, just like it had when he’d been fighting for his life up the stairs of the Spire.

It was…relieving, to know he hadn’t lost those simple things. Things he’d taken advantage of his entire life.

…The frostbite, on the other hand, was gladly missing. He supposed it made sense…death was a world away, now. It wouldn’t fit to be injured here.

Distantly, he heard a noise from afar. He turned his head, standing on his tippy toes to gain height to see over the clouds.

“ Click Clack? Buddy? Where’d you go??” A familiar voice rang from a distance, like trumpets signaling the arrival of angels. Emotion surged from Click Clack’s chest. He began bounding towards the sound, that wonderful sound he had grown to love so much.

[ “ Thespius!” -The newly minted God exclaims, dashing towards the voice of his dearest friend. “Thespius, I’m right here!”] The extra dialogue went unnoticed, his thoughts racing as fast as his feet.

“Oh jeez…. I leave for 5 minutes-” As Click Clack came upon the scene, he found the flowery God digging through the clouds frantically, a stark contrast to his calm demeanor. It reminded Click Clack of when he’d lose his keys, usually before he had to be at one important meeting or another.

He darted forwards, Thespius turning just a moment too late before the other bowled into him, hugging him tightly. He yelped in surprise, arms wrapping around the newer God’s back before they both fell backwards into the clouds with a ‘pomf.’

“ Wh-!! Clicky! You’re awake!!! How are you feelin’?” He asked, squeezing him as much as he dared. No longer did Click Clack fit only in the palm of his hand.

[ “Fine, now that you’re here!” Our eager Editor warbles, grateful for the return of the Love God. “ Where did you go? What happened? One minute, we were at the Spire, and then…”]

He trailed off, the thought lost to the wave of emotion that washed over him. He sniffed, a hand reaching underneath his mask to wipe his eyes. Thespius’ own eyes widened, and he sat up, holding the smaller close.

“ H-hey…it’s okay! I was with you the whole time…I just went to go talk to Mama Mitternacht…I was worried about you. You’ve been sleeping for a hot minute, bud.”

[ The younger of the two Gods is curious. He hadn’t yet realized just how long he’d been out of commission. “ What do you mean? How long was I out?” ] He asked, bringing his gaze up to meet Thespius’ own.

Thespius raised an eyebrow at the new linguistic quirk.

“ About a month,” He began, slowly. “ Mitternacht said it was because you were in rough shape when you arrived, but none of us were sure when you’d wake up.”

He wrinkled his nose at Click Clack.

“..and knowing you, with your sleeping habits, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be quick…So I stayed with you. Pretty sure Hobbyhoo’s been gettin’ anxious not hearing from me, but you came first.”

…A month. Click Clack had been sleeping for a month?

That amount of time was mind-boggling, especially for him, who usually slept for an hour or three at best.

“ -But hey! Ya’ look great!! Godhood wears you well! ….or is it you who wears Godhood well…”

Thespius scratched at his chin, pondering. Click Clack moved to get him back on track before his mind wandered too far.

[ “Thespius,” begins our Storyteller. “ I'm …confused. More than a little, might I add.” ]

He sat on Thespius’ lap, holding the God's attention.

[ “ If I am a God now …. shouldn't I be …you know…taller?”]

To emphasize, he raised a hand above his head. Be as it may that he was no longer the size of a mortal compared to the other man, the God was still significantly shorter… about the size of a teddy-bear, Click Clack reckoned.

It was….a bit embarrassing. Weren't Gods supposed to be tall, strong and imposing? He was, as far as he knew, none of those things.

“ Mmm…well…” Thespius picked Click Clack up from under his arms, turning him this way and that, inspecting him like a particularly curious item. “ The way I’ve been told, is like, you become what you already are, or what you’re always supposed to be.” He explained.

“ For the time that i’ve known you…I don’t think bein’ tall and intimidating really fits. You’re quiet…smart, and a little bit hard to read if I’m not listenin’-” He brushed a thumb against Click Clack’s mask. The smaller God fought down the heat rising to his cheeks.

“ …Dunno about the bunny stuff, though. Do you like rabbits that much?”

[ …“What? Bunny stuff?”] He twisted in Thespius’ grip, trying to see what he was talking about.

[ The newest God is unsure of what Thespius means. He hasn’t had a chance to look in any reflections since he’s woken up from his slumber.]

“ That too! That…word thing you’re doing? That’s new.” The script-writing God exclaimed.

Click Clack stopped moving, eyeing him with confusion.

[ “Thespius,” our hero God deadpans, unaware of the odd recitation ability godhood has bestowed upon him. He crosses his arms, dismayed with his writing partner’s choice of words. “Word thing? I use ‘word things’ every day. That doesn’t really help.”]

Surprise lit up Thespius’ face, a small laugh drawn from him. “ See, you’re even commentin’ on it, and you haven’t even realized! Shoot…what’s that word…”

He thought briefly, before snapping one of his many sets of fingers.

“ -Narration! Yer’ Narrating, Clack. C’mon, just listen to yourself for a moment.” He set down the smaller God upon the clouds, arms still crossed.

Click Clack thumped his foot on the ground, a puff of vapor kicked up from the frustrated movement.

[ Click Clack shakes his head, disgruntled. He has no idea what Thespius is talking about, even as he takes the time to recollect each word as he says them. “ That’s absurd. Why would that be useful at all as a God? I think you’re just…just…” The God of Storytelling stops, buffering as his speech continues to flow, despite the lack of conscious input allowing it to do so. He looks up at Thespius, the gears turning in his head, unsure of what-]

He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Thespius laughed, leaning forward to gently remove Click Clack’s hand from his face.

“ C’mon…you don’t have to do that. It’s not too bad…in fact, it’s kinda sweet? Now I know what you’re thinkin’...no guessing games this time.”

He stared down at Thespius’ hand holding his, the worry and embarrassment washing away.

[ “ …It’s not…the same as it was when I was human,” Click Clack admits. “ It’s odd, but it doesn’t hurt or anything like that. You don’t think it’s annoying, do you?”]

“ I could never think you’re annoying, Clicky.” Thespius replied, shaking his head. “And besides, what I think doesn’t matter.”

He cradled Click Clack’s cheek, faces suddenly a few inches apart. He could feel his breath fogging up from behind the mask.

“ This is you, all of you. What matters is that you’re happy.”

He smiled, that beautiful, bright smile that Toby had tried to make appear as often as possible.

“ So….are you? Happy, I mean?”

Click Clack thought for a moment.

[ “...You know what?” Click Clack answers, placing his hand over Thespius’ own.

“I think I am.”]

---- -- -- ----- --- --

“ Are you really ready for this? You’re always welcome to stay with me, if you’re not.” Thespius asked, putting a hand on Click Clack’s shoulder. The two of them stood at the edge of Thespius’ realm, The mist seeping off of the edge and into the unknown.

[ “ We both knew this day would come, Thespius.” Click Clack reminds the other. His face is one of confidence, but the bravado is only a mask to hide his worry that this will not work.]

“ Hey, It’ll work! I know it will. Every God has some place important to em’ after all,” The taller God tried to reassure. “ Do you want to go get Mama Mitternacht? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind helpin’, if you’re worried you can’t do it on your own.”

[ “No,” The Storytelling God replies.] He squeezed Thespius’ hand a smidge tighter. The God of Love went still.

[ “You being here is enough, I just need a moment to brave myself.”]

He stared into the drop, his heart pounding in his ears. He was a God now, immortal in every way, and yet the fear still gnawed at him. He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes.
He let go of Thespius and stepped off.

..His feet didn’t miss the ground. The smell of clean air slowly shifted to that of one he recognized…old leather, musty pages…

He peeked through his fingers, and gasped.

It was a studio, Large windows filtering in the light of a sunset. Stacks of books were sprinkled atop shelves and tables, filing cabinets neatly (but not perfectly) pushed against the walls. He spun in a slow circle, eyes lit up in awe as they caught set pieces dangling from the ceiling; hand painted stars, clouds and the sun.

As he moved closer to the centre of the room, he heard a heavy switch thrown, and suddenly a warm spotlight was casted onto a dias, lifted higher than the surrounding floor.

…there, in all of her beauty, sat Georgia, his beloved typewriter.

Genuine tears pooled in his eyes. He rushed to her, hands lovingly stroking the smooth metal. Her polished keys twinkled at him as if to say hello.

[ “Oh Georgia, how I missed you!” Her companion cried out, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. “ I’ll never leave you again, that is a promise!”]

After a few long minutes, he removed himself from the embarrassing display, sitting back in a chair that had appeared for him the moment he felt the urge.

…It was perfect….down to the smallest details. He wasn't sure how…but it was.

…The issue was…what to christen it with? His hands practically itched to create…to write something meaningful…if only he could-

…

There was a script to his left.

It was tied with a green ribbon, sat neatly at his side. It begged him to look within its pages, so he obliged.

A note was tucked onto the front. It read:

Finally finished it. The ending was dodgy for a bit there, but it came to me in the end.

Thought you would be happy about that,

Don’t work too hard!

-Thespius

A Liason of Longing sat before him. The final chapter of their first story together.

He didn’t hesitate to open it and read.

----

Elam climbed the stairs to the Left Booth. No light followed him up the steps, his only companion the sound of his own breath.

Tonight was the final curtain call…The last of the show. He was to be with the actors on stage taking a bow…and yet…

Sylas had invited him, far from the stage, up and behind the spotlight.

“ Elam,”

He had said.

“You have proven to me,

Beyond a shadow of a doubt that you Know more than any man

Of the love that it takes to write song and dance

You are not one of them, you know this.”

He had leaned as far as he could from the booth. It was the most Elam had seen of his face.

“ You are a beautiful human being,

The most precious to me.

Join me, won’t you?

Watch the stage, far below

Shielded from eyes

As Lovers may wish

When their feelings demand compense.”

The stage would never know his name, the audience barred his face, only left with the words he once wrote…much like Sylas himself.

…but they would be together, alone in their misery with one another. The offer was of no question.

Elam pushed open the door to the booth. There were two chairs, one empty, and one occupied.

Sylas turned to Elam.

“ You came,”

He said.

Elam replied,

“ I could not live this life without you, Sylas.

There will be many more plays,

More words to be said,

More actions to be directed

But there is only one you.

If I had a choice,

I would choose you again and again over myself,

For the only person I want to hear say my name

Will forever be you

And only you.”

Sylas did not move from his chair, but instead offered his hand. Elam stepped forwards, taking it.

“ ..Then sit, Elam

Hold my hand in the dark

And may we enjoy

The fruits of our labour.”

He sat in his chair, now high above the stage in which he started.

Together forever,

as Time Will Tell.