We Could Be Sleeping in the Flowers (A Hermitcraft Story)

Chapter Eight: Caveat Emptor

Grian's flight was a bit of a blur, but eventually he found himself on the edge of the settled lands, far past the ring of floating stones he'd put up to mark his future megabase. He circled aimlessly for awhile, losing himself in the feel of the wind as he rode air currents and dodged past the occasional automated farm. Finally he touched down on the roof of an empty pillager outpost and buried his head in his hands, then unburied it just long enough to wipe the pollen off his face. His straw hat was long gone and the lilacs drooping down out of his hair just seemed lumpier and sadder than ever. That had all gone so, so terribly.

"Why did I even say that?" he demanded plaintively, looking up at the sky. "Why did I say it like that? I know how to talk to people! I've got the rizz! Rizz for days!" he insisted. "I almost became the mayor by proxy once!" The sky was silent, leaving Grian with nothing but the echo of his own words and the taste of flowers and phantom membrane in his mouth.

"And hey!" he realized suddenly. "I want a refund on that potion!" He dug the other bottle out of his inventory, staring accusingly at it. "You didn't work at all," he told it. "You're worthless and you taste terrible." The potion bottle did not reply. Righteous anger felt better in the moment than terminal embarrassment and it was a lot easier than examining how he felt about all those things Scar had said, so Grian decided it was time for a strongly worded letter.

You whispered to Cubfan135: I want a refund!

You whispered to Cubfan135: That potion didn't work at all!

Cubfan135 whispered to you: So I hear. You should've specified you needed a potion that worked.

Grian stared at his communicator, gape-mouthed. "Should have specified?" he squawked.

You whispered to Cubfan135: Should have specified? Of course I wanted a potion that worked, everybody wants potions that work, what the heck?

Cubfan135 whispered to you: I told you I didn't have any potions to beat Hanahaki disease, but you insisted that I give you whatever I had.

Cubfan135 whispered to you: Incidentally, do you happen to feel any more or less insubstantial since taking that potion? It's for science.

You whispered to Cubfan135: I hate you so much.

Cubfan135 whispered to you: I'll mark that as inconclusive. Where are you?

Grian had a sudden, feverish image of Cub chasing him down with an enormous butterfly net to test his insubstantiality. Why do you want to know? he typed back suspiciously.

Cubfan135 whispered to you: Because Scar is over here losing his mind worrying about you and I'm going to sic him on you before he breaks all my redstone again.

That was actually a worse idea than the butterfly net thing.

You whispered to Cubfan135: No, no, absolutely not. Tell him I'm fine and he doesn't have to worry.

A moment's pause.

Cubfan135 whispered to you: He doesn't believe me. He's trying to msg you but he's too upset to spell. He just keeps typing gibberish and deleting it.

Cubfan135 whispered to you: Which is not dramatically different from how he usually types but it's still making me feel bad.

"Scaaaar, noooo..." Grian moaned aloud, his shoulders slumping. The whole point of talking to Scar had been to make sure he wouldn't feel bad, and now it was worse than ever. Tell him- Grian began.