𝕻𝖔𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖘 - (Wilbur)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟗

Without much to do but think and hopefully forget what Inka had experienced in what she wanted to call a dream, yet knew it wasn't; she rubbed her face in distress. There was a certain edge that came with the last thing he had said - before the dream bit - she was close to dying just before. Self control stopped that. The self control of who she could only expect to be Schlatt. Who else, Mercury? The man did nothing but smother her. Unless of course, it was about Mercury. After all, the man was drunk and alone with her where no one could help. But that could have been said for Schlatt also - he too was drunk and though there was a woman there (who she was certain was his love given if she could recall: the lady glared at her through the insanity of alcohol), Inka knew that Schlatt could have and would have attacked her without interference if that was how he pleased.

The silence in Wilbur's room left plenty of space for Inka to imagine everything that would come next. She needed to bring back her logical thinking: that was basic logic so clearly, Inka had a start. But it was strange to imagine that they had grown sentient. And had the ability to die; granted it was implied they could be reincarnated. There were religions about that. Inka felt she should write about it. She wanted to remember it; it felt important and plus, if she died at least someone would be able to decipher it. Perhaps that was why poets wrote so much, they wanted someone to solve the problems they couldn't yet understand.

Unrolling her sleeve which had hiked up since she slept, Inka searched for a quill and parchment from where she sat, before standing up and rummaging around. For a man who wrote songs and stories in his pass-time, Inka was impressed by the sheer lack of paper in his room. The only paper was in his bin, crumpled to the point of no reading.

Inka travelled out of the room and into the halls she was all too familiar with, going to the library they had. It was small, and rounded. They clearly didn't read much. Inka asked why and Wilbur explained that they had a royal library built solely because of Minerva (who Inka had never seen), but it was open to the public. So the princess who was never around took her favourite books and kept them in the castle library. Where they sat and waited to be opened and rediscovered.

Her table was small, a yellowish wood with blue drapes to decorate it. Inka sat by it and continued her imagining, muttering and sighing onto the wood with frustration with absolutely nothing to help her write about it. Tubbo was a saviour, in that moment, slipping into the velvet seat beside Inka and resting his arms on the table, waiting for Inka to speak. But she kept her head down and muttered once more, simply trying to remember the names and the images of what she had seen. Tubbo didn't catch on so easily, and sat waiting while picking up the smaller mutters with the sense of hearing he had as a humanoid.

"Tubbo, could I get parchment and plume?" Inka sighed in defeat and watched Tubbo shrug and get some, to where she victoriously began writing all she knew in her sloppy handwriting. Tubbo read over what she wrote from under his fringe and was beyond a state of confusion. Yet there was something oddly wonderful about when she scribbled down her imaginings. It was like re-reading a story from a more archaic time. Her terrible illustrations of how she imagined mortality and logic, though both oddly specific, seemed fitting. Tubbo personally imagined death to look more dark, blacks and purples as stereotyped; then again, everyone for themselves.

After some time, she folded the paper and decided to focus on Tubbo, who rested his head in his hand while looking at Inka. She crossed her arms and leaned back, wondering where to begin. Then she decided to wonder if Schlatt, a nearly splitting image of Tubbo, but more mature and sleazy looking, "Tubbo, your eyes are red, aren't they?" She asked as Tubbo nodded, flipping up his fringe to where Inka winced at the sight of Schlatt in those eyes.

"You look scared. Why's that?" Tubbo tilted his head and frowned, it was strange for Inka to see him frown, she often went off of what his mouth would flex to.