BLIND | DreamSMP

XX - Preparations

Tommy didn't like birds.

The damned things were insufferable, unable to stop fucking twittering for one goddamn second, and if it wasn't making that blasted sound it was pecking at the table or flapping its stupid little wings like a pompous twat. What business did the pigeon have thinking it was so important?
He scoffed under his breath, the bird tittering its snooty response back. The prissy shithead was lucky he was too busy gathering armor and supplies to stomp it.

"Tommy, did you find that chestplate?" Techno called, rummaging through another chest close by.

His fingers fumbled over a smooth surface, layered with plates of equal size. Pulling the heavy item out, Tommy replied affirmatively.

"Yeah, just got it."

The armor was taken from his outstretched hand.

"Thanks. Give me a second to put this on, ok? I'll find you something to wear in a moment."

As Tommy waited impatiently for Techno to finish donning the full set of armor, he recalled the events preceding the current insanity.

Just a few hours ago, they had been sipping steaming mugs of hot chocolate to warm themselves, frozen from the horse ride. Techno went upstairs to work on finding the antidote, and Tommy went with him, sitting on his bed while he worked, occasionally tossing an idea or two out, or distracting his brother with some mindless talk.

A faint pecking coming from the attic window abruptly ended the conversation, as a messenger pigeon was let inside, the letter attached a bone-chilling warning from Phil:

Quackity and others coming your way. Be prepared. Don't let them take you or Tommy.

I'm sorry,

Phil

Techno had immediately sprung into action, employing Tommy's help where he could. Potions were strewn across the table, the quantity of concoctions far fewer than desirable, the brewing stand still broken and unusable. Bits of armor crowded the floor, while numerous weapons balanced atop counters, gambesons of varying sizes and colors littered among the disarray, the heavy cotton tunics snatched and thrown back as Techno rummaged through them, holding one after another up next to Tommy's thin torso, scrutinizing the pieces of clothing heavily, trying to find one that would adequately cover the small boy.

"This one's a bit too large, but I can't find a smaller size. Throw it on quick. I'll help you fasten it."

Tommy pulled the stuffy material over his head, feeling down the front of the gambeson for the buckles to make sure it was facing the right way before fully sliding his arms through the long padded sleeves. He already felt overheated in the garb, but the sweat and discomfort was worth the extra protection the piece provided against the violent slashes of a sword.

"Techno? You can do the buckles now."

"Great, I'll be right there."

As Techno worked with nimble fingers to secure the belts and clasps, he radiated a kind of stalwart calmness. Tommy wasn't sure if the sense of ease came from the fact that his brother was a seasoned warrior, and thus would be able to overcome the approaching challenge, or if it was that even in the face of crisis, when he should be rushing to prepare his own armor and equipment, Techno was taking the time to help him with such a minor task.

For so long he had been in the kind of consistent danger that one slips into without realizing it, the persistent threat surrounding them becoming almost mundane in its presence, because what choice do you really have other than to trod through the suffocating mess your life has become, taking each blow with a subdued groan or whimper, eventually coming to perceive the violence as normal lest you drown in the blood-soaked brutality of your existence? It was now that he felt something besides apprehensive terror that he could understand this, and understand too that what he was experiencing was outside of the norm he had grown used to.