Everything is much, much, *much* better when you've got some friends along.
For Marker, for the longest time now, that had been Foldy and Stapy. The story of how the three met and came to be great pals is a story as old as time: they came into existence one day, they inexplicably bumped into each other, they said hi, they talked, and one thing led to another, and now they were friends. Eventually, it reached a point that they just... were. They were great pals, and there was no reason to question it. Why would you want to question it? They hung out, they got together pretty well, they did things, and the things were great. Things were happy. Things were nice. You don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You don't question why any of this stuff happens, especially if it isn't really a bother at all. Nobody but the most stuck-up nerds (ie. Golf Ball) care about how these three arbitrary objects became friends, or why the sky is blue, or why the grass is green, or why objects unsupported fall towards the center of the Earth. That's just how things are. That's the facts. That's reality. You don't question reality, lest you go mad. And you don't go about trying to change it, either. They were permanent. Affixed to the laws of the universe. As unchanging as the misery and cruelty of the world. And with so much of *that* going around, why would you want to rid people of the one source of distraction away from that?
Point is, they were good friends. Great friends. Best friends. And they have been for as long as they could remember. None of the three could possibly imagine them being friends with anyone else, and couldn't even begin to fathom a world where such a reality was the case. Paying a visit to at least one of them had become part of their everyday routine. Their lives. It'd become the standard. It'd become ordinary. And when things are ordinary, one begins to develop the illusion that they are permanent.
Which makes it all the more surprising when that facade of permanence is smashed before one's very eyes.
Whenever a long-time friend suddenly gets ripped away from you, whether because of a competition for some island (or the very competition for said island itself) and its strange or arcane rules, or some more rational and reasonable circumstances beyond your control, it can be pretty devastating. And it was especially so for that purple writing utensil; he just didn't really know how to feel about it when it happened. For the most part, it was because of how different the situation was. Whereas most of the others were instantly snapped away from existence the moment their elimination was announced, the stapler just... stuck around. The one that was usually dishing out punishments was currently... *busy*, and so everyone else had to resort to more creative measures to keep the illusion of normalcy going. For Stapy's case, however... they just gave up. He was allowed to stay until Four finally arrived back at the scene, upon which they immediately set about rectifying that little error.
Talking with him during that weird little interval felt... off. It felt illegal, almost. Stapy was a dead man walking (well, hopping), and everyone knew it. It was only a matter of time until someone came up with a novel way to get rid of him, whether it be through absorption into the self or some other wacky and zany manner. Every single moment spent with him could very well be their last. Each second was a second risking a lack of a proper goodbye, a dignified send-off. That made maintaining a smile around him rather difficult, even for someone like Marker. He was known to keep a smile on his face in even the direst of circumstances, but in the end, he was still just one of them. Another living object amidst dozens. He still had feelings. He still had emotions. And those emotions were bound to give way at some point.
All that time would end up being spent consoling the stapler, reminding him that there's *no* possible way this could be goodbye, that they'd eventually get back together at some point. This was just... an interlude? An intermission? None of them had the words to put it. But it would be spent in a solemn, stern, and serious way. Get everything done before it's time to leave. No time for fanciful and childish things. No time for playing games, especially one as time-consuming and intensive as Toss the Dirt.
