SULLY'S MUSICAL GRIAN ONESHOTS!! ✨

Something Bad (WAU)

lmao

yeah im gonna write a wicked au for aprox. three more days then abandon my entire plot for 7 months

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New year, new major. Through Grian, Doc was attracted to the mindbending powers of admins- it couldn't hurt, right, to take a few classes in the city-hall sort of building looming over the rest of the bustling hub with its marble exterior that thrums with magic, a slight pulse you can feel deep in your bones with each step into the magnificent building.

Doc slipped through the halls of the white, gleaming palace of the Admins- it was definitely after hours, and he certainly shouldn't be here, but the alure of a place so bursting with energy settling into steady, unsettling quiet intrigued Doc enough to outweigh the prospect of lunch detention.

"We hybrid admins are now being blamed for everything that goes wrong! Forced from our jobs, told to keep silent..."

He peaks from behind a door way, finding a gathering of admins- indicated by the white magic flowing from an avian's hands, curling as the owner seethed in frustration to a collection of others, hybrids or not.

"I've heard of an ox, a professor from Quox, no longer permitted to teach!"

A satyr says, waving his arms around with each word. Doc tilts his head, a habit he's noticied he's doing more, one which he presumes comes from that stupid bird

"Who has lost all powers of sorcery!"

A gasp, fearful and drawn out, from the crowd. The creeper can't resist looking down at his own hands, watching white sparks bubble up, the best of the magic he can muster. Too much goes into maintaining his unique physiology, the professors said.

He decided to code anyway.

"And an owl in Munchkin Rock, an owner with a thriving flock!"
Anyway, he's starting to realize why magic was considered so important to admin-ing, besides the obvious. People used it constantly. Like the avian, again, spraying white flecks of energy with each aggressive hand movement.

"Forbidden to code! Now he only can screech!"

He mimes coding, searching his companions with vigor. Doc leans against the pillar, making his presence visible- if not yet noticed.

"Only rumors, but still enough to give pause... To anyone with cause,"

The familiar, thin, disklike and translucent plate extends from the avian's hands, pushing it over to the center of the gathering. It displayed a map of the planes; the markets and houses and the portals to every world.

"Something bad is happening in the hub.."

Doc barely catches it- the flicker in the projection, the black, inky dark bleeding into the code displayed there. It's easy, meaningless code, too- an up to date map of their world.

"Something bad happening in...?"

He finds himself whispering, hands itching to probe what he's forbidden from touching. Surely the firewalls wouldn't...?

"That's it, I'm leaving this plane, while I can still speak the spell to teleport!"

It's a bull hybrid who says this, standing up and swishing his tail as though someone will challenge him.

Risky. Outside of the hub there is only nothingness- an empty space occupied not even by the invasive roots of the void. Simple nothingness. Surely, yes, others had stumbled on new planes, but they were never told of again.

"Doctor Dillamond,"

As the bull exits, sharing a glance with Doc, the satyr addresses the avian. Dillamond? Doc will have to look that name up later.

"If admins are losing the ability to code, and leaving the hub..."

The room is silent. If the very keepers of this world can no longer control it....

"Then someone's got to tell the Head. That's why we have a head...."

Doc says, the words spilling out before he can process it. Five pairs of eyes turn to stare at him- he squirms under the attention, unused to being the sole focus of such unwavering sight.

"So nothing bad-"

He continues, fumbling to justify his point. Doc's new to this coding business, okay? He's not as confident as Grian is, throwing things at the wall and turning in the amalgamation of code he gets for a final grade.

"Perhaps you're right.."

A bear hybrid speaks, tentatively touching the map.

"Nothing all that bad,"

The satyr repeats, studying the people mulling around in the miniature model, painful aware of the tiny speckle of darkness creeping up the edge.

"Nothing truly bad-"

The avian tries to join in, but their body is wracked with a cough from a dying man as the map nearly shatters, obsidian color glitching out the pleasant white.

"Sorry, bad... must be catching a cold."

They whisper, eyes tracing their palms, the black specks dancing along the white ones.

That. Is not a cold.

"It couldn't happen here... In the hub...."

Doc whispers, watching as the hologram fades away, glitching as it does so.