vagabond

chapter 2

It's a saturday morning in the SMP.

There's no mobs, it's nice and bright outside, the light peeking through the small opening on the tent. It's quiet, as is always when Wilbur chooses to camp out in the forest. The forest is significantly further away from the capital of the SMP (the SMP being the continent Wilbur is travelling in,) and thus there's usually not a person in sight. Wilbur could be alone.

...At least until now.

Unfortunately, Wilbur has a child now.

He thinks.

He's not sure.

But.

The child still hasn't left. Infact, the child was living the prime life. Tommy slept peacefully in Wilbur's sleeping bag, meaning Wilbur just had to sleep on the floor, and everything.

Wilbur realizes that maybe he really just isn't going to leave.

"Surely what I'm doing is illegal. I'm just taking a child. I don't have a home or anything. Tommy, I think this is illegal." Wilbur mumbles, lacking any train of thought, simply spewing words as they come.

Tommy is, well, he's just not listening. Tommy is, instead, occupying himself by investigating all of Wilbur's things as Wilbur just sits on the grass outside and rants.

"U-huh."

"Financially speaking this is a terrible idea, too."

"Yuh."

"All things considered, this is not a good idea."

"Yupperty-doo."

"I have never taken care of a child in my life."

"That's preeeetty obvi- wait," Tommy says, interrupting himself.

"Hm?"

"I'm- I'm not a child." Tommy states, trying to sound as assertive as possible. (And, judging by the voice crack, failing.)

"How old are you?" Wilbur asks, genuinely unsure.

"33. Like Jesus Christ."

"Stop comparing yourself to Jesus Christ. And no, you're not 33."

"I mean, I might be 33, big W, I wouldn't know," Tommy muttered. It's abundant that Tommy has already lost interest, completely ignoring Wilbur, instead focusing on the mysteries of his older companions bag. "I haven't exactly been countin', you know."

Wilbur is trying his best not to think about that. It's- It's upsetting to read into, to analyze beyond a surface level, all the connotations and weight that comes with the fact this kid doesn't even know his birthday or how old he is.

"-I walked in on someones' birthday party once, though. Man it was fucken- It was so fucking funny, people just accepted I was there and thought I was, like, y'know a guest, and I got cake." Tommy starts rambling, stealing and applying some of Wilbur's bandages.

(Wilbur was going to help Tommy with that sooner or later anyway, so he doesn't really mind him taking the bandages and doing it himself.)

"Speaking of cake-" Tommy continues, "You have cake in your bag."

"...I do." Wilbur agrees, turning his body to face the door of the tent.

Wilbur knows what is going to happen.

The child is going to ask for the cake.

"Can I have it?"

The child has asked for the cake.