Burning Flowers

Hi!

So in Bertha's most recent episode, there was a truth-or-dare game played at the end. In which, Scott was dared to wear differently-coloured clothes that weren't green or black.

I propose to you this: What if Scott went to yellow? The colour he wore when he was with Milo? What if Scott does this, and someone teasingly calls him Sunshine and he gets flashbacks to his dead lover?

Bye!

Bertha's Lament

Forever aside, Left to abide By the rules that she set Not allowed to forget

Watching them thrive Barely alive They took my prize In front of my eyes

But I'm not done yet They've not passed the test I'm waiting for my chance For my powers to enhance

I'll reclaim what's mine All in due time And none of them have a clue What they're helping me do

I'll undo my curse Then put her back in the hearse My power I'll enrich And become the Supreme Witch

Bertha Theory/Character Study (?)

So I saw the video Bertha had, and this came to my mind.

To start with, at the end of the video, Bertha mentioned something their sister did to them. Now I immediately thought that Bertha's sister sabotaged them and became the Supreme Witch. But then why does Bertha bother hosting a competition for the role of Supreme Witch when they had been told their whole lives that they were worthy of the role? So now, I present to you...

What if Bertha is cursed? Cursed to be everywhere and nowhere, and never be fully present in the world? They commune with the animals, can instantly see their lives, apparently sold their soul to Scott (which kinda confused me for a sec - can't tell if that was a joke or not) and they don't seem to talk much to the other witches outside of the Dungeons. Even Pris touched on that in the video! So what if Bertha is cursed to forever remain semi-present in the world?

I think of it as the Curse Of The Entity. Because Bertha did mention that they were an Entity. So what if this curse basically turns anyone into an Entity? The doors that alone could open is unbelievable: Scott could use it to bring someone back, Tiff could fulfill Mother Nature's orders with it, Joey could prove himself to the frost mages, and so much more!

So yeah. Bertha has a curse placed on them by their sister to forever be an Entity, never fully able to live their own life and enjoy themself.

How's that?

The Illusion Of Love

Pris had messed up.

She'd managed to go on a date with Eloise - beautiful, wonderful Eloise whose smile could light up a room. Okay, maybe that wasn't completely true, but Pris felt like it was. Every word that came out of the Illusionary Witch's mouth was melodious and entertaining.

That damn demon had to ruin it. The demon in her head possessed her at the worst moment. Why did she have to be the one who had a demon? Scott would have been better. A necromancer who dabbled in the dark magic no one would touch. He was a perfect fit. Possession would work incredibly well with his motif. Or maybe Cleo. Lauren? Maybe she could have made a deal with a demon to become a Sand Witch? Or Cleo could have bargained for...something! Anything.

And in that split second the date had fallen apart. Her heart had shattered just as much as the words of that demon that came from her mouth, in her voice that shattered the spirit of Eloise. Pris couldn't bear it. Not the tension. The silence. The agony that tore her apart with every passing second. Now it was awkward between them. The suffocating silence. The unspoken words that begged to be said but neither could muster the courage to do so.

Now she watched from her tower. Pris stared down below at the small congregation of witches gathered at Spawn.

Scott and Joey were walking together, with Scott bright red in the face whilst Joey laughed and laid his head on Scott's shoulder. That could have been Pris and Eloise. They could have been the duo walking together and showing affection in kisses and hand-holding.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for that. Not the right time for jealousy.

Cleo and Lauren were trading with Bertha. The two were laughing together at a joke Pris couldn't hear from all the way up in her tower. But there was genuine companionship written on their faces. She hadn't known they were friends, but Lauren's peculiarity often made people like her. Because the Sand Witch was so unafraid to be herself. Pris envied that. If she'd been proud of her demon from the very start, Eloise could have forgiven her faster and maybe they'd be together. Or at the very least they would have taken longer to go on a date but it would've been successful.

Damn it. Not again.

There was a crack of thunder. Pris hadn't seen the lightning bolt, but rather saw the flaming cluster of trees. Shubble and Tiff were frantically trying to put out the fire. Tiff was yelling in an erratic frenzy while Shubble apologised every few seconds.

And there she was. Perfect Eloise. The Illusionary Witch laughed at their efforts. And how her laugh echoed in Pris's ears. She found herself leaning further forward. If only just to hear Eloise better.

"You okay?" Joey and Scott were behind her. How'd they get there so fast? She would've been able to hear them.

"Y-yeah! Wh-why wouldn't I be?" Her hands were clammy and her heart hammered in her chest. Scott took one look between Joey and her and shrugged.

"You wanna handle this?" He asked Joey. The Fire-Frost Witch nodded and stood on their tip-toes to playfully swat Scott's forehead. The Necromantic Witch giggled for a second and walked down the staircase. "I'll be down here. Scream if you need me."

"So...how are you?"

"F-fine." Pris mumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"No you're not. What's going on?" Joey asked with a small tilt of his head.

"It's...nothing. Nothing important." She was adamant on this. Pris didn't want Joey knowing how...humiliated she felt. Humiliated because of her damn demon. Because she and Eloise could no longer talk as freely as before.

"Okay. I won't pry. Buuuut, if it's to do with love-" he gave her a knowing look, "-then I can listen. And maybe contribute a solution?"

"Ju-just don't laugh," She hugged her arms tighter. And slowly, she began to explain it all. Joey was uncharacteristically quiet throughout it. If anything it made her more self-conscious. He was only trying not to laugh at her. That was all. He was trying to be polite.

"W-wow. Okay, uhh..." Joey scratched the back of his neck. "I guess, if this helps at all, then she's probably just as upset about it as you are. Try and talk to her about it. Verbally. Tell her everything, maybe give her a gift and ask for forgiveness."

"You think that's not my first thought?"

"Have you tried it?"

"I mean, I left a chest. And signs. And rose bushes in the chest. But there's been nothing." Pris sighed.

"Then just talk to her. Forget the other stuff I said. Talk about it. It may sound dumb coming from me, but talking helps." Joey said. Pris could hear Scott coming back up.

"I-if you don't mind, then can I just say something quickly?" Scott asked. But there was something weird about the way he talked. It was different. Not as deep or intimidating. More light-hearted. Melodious. Upbeat.

"Okay..." Pris made eye contact with Scott. Only to notice they weren't the usual murky green colour. No, his eyes were green and blue. Like-

"I forgive you." And Scott 's appearance shimmered and the illusion melted to reveal Eloise standing there. "B-but...can we take it slow?" Pris might have died then and there. She was forgiven. And Eloise actually wanted to give them a try! Even if they did have to go slow, it was something!

And Pris nodded all too eagerly, practically throwing herself into Eloise's arms, who hugged her back with just as much enthusiasm.

Maybe they could work out.

Gaia's Curse

The vines dug into his skin sometimes. An unhelpful reminder of what he had lost.

They were like chains, in a way.

He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how his hair changed; from a bright cyan to a pale ivory tainted with blotches of red.

Every time he passed a body of water and gazed at his reflection, he couldn't help but think he looked familiar. He remembered fangs, long and pointed and sometimes uncomfortable in his mouth. He recalled how similar his cloud jump was to abilities he'd long forgotten; sometimes he'd jump up into the air and think about switching places with an angel.

But, as far as he knew, no one on the server was an angel. No one he knew closely.

Sometimes he would feel hungry. Phantom-hunger, if you will. Because he didn't need to eat anymore. But he'd still wish he could eat.

He'd probably kill to be able to enjoy the taste of cabbage rolls or pumpkin soup.

Would probably kill himself in order to get it.

As he sat on the balcony of his house, staring at the starry sky, he remembered.

He didn't remember anything specific; all the memories were murky, and most of the faces were blurred to the point where they couldn't be recognised. But he took note of other details. Like cod, cats called Norman, fields of poppies. Kingdoms of snow and golden antlers. Of rat tails, attics and giant feline catastrophes. Of necromancy, loneliness and dances with time.

They all mixed together in a strange cocktail of memories that both were and weren't his.

Scott clutched at an ache in his chest; a yearning for knowledge.

He sighed and looked up at the sky. Running his tongue along his teeth, he could almost imagine feeling fangs. But they weren't there. Because he was a fungal mage.

His hands itched. The pain of hurting a mob - he couldn't be bothered to remember which one - pulsed through his veins. Gaia had cursed him in that moment. He'd hurt someone, betrayed being a 'peace keeper' and paid the price for it.

How many people had he upset in the past?

Gaia, goddess of the earth. Mother Nature. She had given birth to the Titans and Giants. A powerful entity that was not to be messed with under any circumstances.

There were others, too. In a past life long ago, he'd killed an angel. And as a result, he was cursed to burn in the sun.

His own patron god, Aeor, and his brother Exor. How long had he been a devoted worshipper of the Stag Gods? How much of his life had he dedicated to following Aeor's wishes, to pleasing him, to keeping people safe, for nothing? Because he did everything in the end. He was the one to seal the demon away at the cost of his own life. And neither of the gods batted an eye.

He'd upset Them, too. Hundreds of pairs of eyes that Watched eternally. They despised him because he refused to play Their games properly. So he was made to constantly outlive his closest allies. Other than one.

Scott was a danger. To himself and to everyone around him.

The vines - nay, chains - dug into his skin.

He deserved them. He deserved the chains, for they were keeping him from hurting others. A criminal, a thief, a killer - all of those titles belonged to him - deserved the chains that kept them contained. That shackled them to their crimes.

He took a glance at the moon, and the stars surrounding it.

The moonlight shone down on him in a warm embrace. As did the stars.

The stars seemed to form a halo around Scott's head.

Scott curled up and allowed his eyes to droop shut.

Gaia's curse, as all the other curses placed upon him, would never leave him.

Woes Of A Thieving Parent

The child just wouldn't sleep.

Scott had awoken from his slumber for the umpteenth time that night to the sound of a wailing goblin baby. He threw the covers back and his feet slipped onto the cold floor of his manor. Shuffling forwards, he reached for his trusty jacket hung up nearby and his signature fedora. Now he was dressed (well enough), Scott left the confines of his room.

He had given the kid its own room. The point of this was to have it be somewhere else so he wouldn't have to hear it screaming constantly. But that plan had flopped almost immediately. Now pretty much the entirety of Chromia could hear the small goblin child cry out in the midst of the night.

Scott was not parenting material.

Why couldn't fWhip deal with his own population burst? Scott found himself cursing Goblands under his breath as he gently nudged open the door to the child's room.

The goblin child had its arms and legs waving in the air, kicking and reaching out for hands that would never hold them. Its ears were tilted downwards as opposed to the usual upward point of most goblin ears.

He drowsily approached the child's crib and picked up the baby. How was he meant to hold a baby again? Scott had been to many places in the past and stayed with many people. At least one time he had lived temporarily with newly-made parents and a young baby. He barely recalled the way that both parents had cradled their baby and rocked it back and forth.

Maybe he could try that?

Scott gingerly shifted the baby's position in his arms to something reminiscent of what he had seen during his days of travelling. The baby's wails were still ear-splittingly loud, but slightly more bearable. He rocked the baby back and forth gently. What else had those parents done when he lived with them? Sing it a lullaby?

Oh. Oh they did do that.

Scott's dignity was going to die tonight, wasn't it?

Hesitant, Scott began to mumble a lullaby under his breath. It was one he somewhat remembered. One from his childhood. He couldn't recall who exactly it had been to sing it to him, but the voice sang alongside his own as he repeated it to this child.

At least the child's screaming was quieter. Now instead of screaming and crying at the top of their lungs, the goblin child babbled faintly. They made grabby hands and poked Scott's cheeks as he sang. Resisting the urge to pull away, he kept singing.

It took him a moment to realise the child had stopped screaming.

The child had nuzzled their head into Scott's chest and was babbling jovially. Eventually the young goblin's head dipped down further as slumber finally overtook them.

He did it. Scott got the child to sleep.

With a silent cheer, Scott placed the goblin child back in its crib. The child's breath hitched from the sudden loss of warmth. Its tiny green body shivered.

Scott sighed in defeat as he took off his jacket and wrapped it around the goblin child. Was the term swaddled?

If he had ever thought of handing the goblin child off to his people, he certainly wouldn't be able to go through with it. The child's hands gripped his jacket tightly and its ears were finally tilted up in the usual sign of contentment. Even more, the goblin child almost seemed similar to Scott, despite the difference in species. The goblin baby's eyes had taken on a mild teal hue, with one eye ever so slightly yellow around its pupils.

Damn it. This was his kid now, wasn't it?

Scott never thought he could be a parent. The option was never really available. Not when he was constantly on the move. Constantly running, whether it be from the consequences of his actions or even the law. Back then, he only ever wanted to travel and 'collect' things from everywhere.

Love never crossed his mind. Mainly because he knew he'd screw up. Betray them, cheat on them, steal from or scam them, run out on them in the dead of night. Or he would abandon them at the smallest hint of misfortune. There had been many instances from the past when Scott had left behind a multitude of lovers because of his desire for adventure and his cowardice.

Children were new to him. The prospect of now having a child to raise, on his own no less, was alien to him. He had always turned away at the prospect of kids. The best he could do was tell tales of his adventures to the children of whichever village or town he resided in.

The child's eyes fluttered open for a milisecond, and they smiled at him with a naivety and joyful innocence only a kid could have.

Scott hesitated. Then before he could second-guess himself, he pressed a small kiss to the goblin child's forehead.

He wanted to leave the room. To go back to bed.

But just in case the child woke up again, Scott wanted to be nearby.

So he slept on the floor. For the sake of his child. Not because he wanted to ensure it was safe throughout the night.

Scott got comfy on the cold floor and removed his fedora, clutching it tight against his chest.

He would figure out the whole parenting thing eventually.

He still hadn't given the child a name, had he?

Ballad of Secrets

The Canary fell, but was not the first

An age of deceit, a broken curse

Slain at the hand of his ally another time

The light of The Stars has dimmed, gone past its prime

The Moon has set, a new era come

As The Sun shall rise, all pain undone

And as Mars died in a final war

Putting an end to the blood and gore

The Slayer's sword fell from her hand

And she joined the chorus, the rest of her band

And as Earth stood at the Secret Keeper

Ready to meet the grim reaper

He was not yet done

He never would be

But Earth was among them now

Now, and for all eternity

Pris: We need to distract these guys

Scott: Leave it to me:

Scott, yelling: Centuars have six limbs and are therefore insects!

Joey, Eloise, and Shubble: Immediately start arguing

Lauren, watching from the side: Oh this. I don't like this. I don't like this at all

Fishy Friendships

Scott hated his scales.

Yes, he was surrounded by the sea. Yes, he lived on an island. Yes he had coral in his hair and clinging to his clothes. And yes, he was part of a duo called Mean Gills. All of those things are very fish related, but that didn't mean he wanted to become a fish!

He couldn't change it now, though. He'd fallen to sixteen hours. He'd become a yellow life.

And for some reason, that meant scales were now appropriate.

Staring at his reflection in the sea, Scott ran his hand through the water to disrupt the offending image shown by the water. Glistening blue scales slowly creeping in on his face. They stayed near his forehead, but also went down the side of his head. Luckily his hair could cover most of them, but he would always see them.

His chest ached for reasons he couldn't explain.

He wanted to go swimming. He yearned to swim. For no apparent reason.

Taking a deep breath, Scott dived underwater.

He remembered dying. He was swimming, swimming as fast as he could, desperate to get away. Jimmy was hot on his trail. If he didn't act fast, Scott knew he would die. So he kept swimming. He swam and swam and swam. His lungs burned. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain. Martyn was close, too. Scott reached out for him, calling out Martyn's name, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Water flew into his lungs. Scott begged Martyn to kill him. He'd watched, helpless, as Martyn and Jimmy fought, shoving, kicking, elbowing each other, all whilst trying to kill him. Scott remembered how both Jimmy and Martyn had called out for him for different reasons. He felt the sword plunge into his heart. He felt it as his time as a green life was gone.

And suddenly Scott was panicking. Flailing in the water, his garbled screams could be heard all the way from the Bad Boys' mansion.

Someone dived into the water. One, no, two people had dived in. Scott couldn't tell who they were. They both looked too similar to each other. Maybe they were just one person. He couldn't tell.

He was being lifted up. Scott let them, no longer screaming in fear. The two people slowly swam up. He was getting closer and closer to breathing properly. Scott didn't even mind the water now. Even though he'd felt nothing but fear moments earlier. God he was a mess right now.

"Scott? Scott! Can you hear me?" He recognised one voice as Martyn's, but it was hard to make out the words. They all seemed to slur and mix, creating a weird linguistic concoction of nonsense.

"Scott, please. L-look at me. I'm sorry. Okay? I-i-if that helps, I'm s-sorry. Just-...please. Look at us, damnit!" Another voice cried out. This one was familiar too, but Scott couldn't place it.

His vision began to clear up.

Standing over him were Martyn and Jimmy.

"Please. Please just...acknowledge you can hear us. I-I need to know if you're alive. Your pulse is weird and-" Martyn's voice got caught in his throat.

Scott groaned. He tried to sit up, but Jimmy's gentle hands guided him back down. "H-hi," Scott offered weakly. Tears bubbled in Jimmy's eyes, and he hugged Scott tightly. Martyn was crying too, but instead was holding Scott's hand, squeezing it every few seconds.

No one moved for a while. Although Scott had recovered now, neither one of the men currently with him moved an inch. He resigned himself to watching the waves lap up at the edges of the Coral Isles. Night had crept up into the sky by now. He could hear the worried shouts of Grian and Joel off in the distance.

Reluctantly, Scott managed to crawl out of Jimmy's vice-like grip and just-...laid there. Not like there was much else to do. When he saw Joel and Grian, he gestured down to Jimmy with a simple thumbs-up directed towards them. The remainder of the Bad Boys visibly relaxed. The two dived into the sea with a faint splash and swam over at a slow pace. Scott knew they weren't slow swimmers. But it was excusable.

Jimmy had fallen asleep. With a nudge, he groggily blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked up at Scott.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out in an instant. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you and- and doing that, but I-I'm scared, I don't wanna die and we don't get a choice and-"

"It's...okay." Scott said in response. He didn't necessarily feel okay, but he could. He could learn to. For now, he'd just pretend.

"Timmy!" Grian clambered onto the island and tackled Jimmy with a hug. Joel followed soon after, slinging his arms around both of their shoulders. "Are you okay? You were gone for ages and we were worried but no death message appeared so-" Grian took a breath. "Sorry. I'm just worked up. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted after having to deal with Grian. Don't scare us like that again." Joel said in a playful tone. But it was clear to everyone that it was only there to maintain an act of confidence. In Joel's own, weird way, of course.

Jimmy looked to Scott for permission. He nodded, and Jimmy smiled at the others. As the Bad Boys left the Coral Isles, Jimmy dropped something on the ground.

"Wait, you-" Scott was about to tell him, but Jimmy smiled and shook his head. The Bad Boys disappeared.

Scott knelt down to pick up the item Jimmy dropped.

A poppy.

"You alright?" Martyn glanced up at Scott. He'd almost forgottten about his fellow Mean Gill!

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Is that-"

"Mm-hmm." Scott showed Martyn the poppy. "But, I don't know what it means anymore. So..." Scott walked to the edge of the Coral Isles. Memories flashed up in his mind, memories of him and Jimmy in the first of the Life Games spent together. Each one was closely tied to the poppy and the Pufferish of Peace. But since Jimmy lost the pufferish, Scott was going to lose the poppy.

"Are you sure?" Martyn hurriedly asked.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Scott threw the poppy into the sea.

"My place is with you. Here. On the Coral Isles. Not with him anymore." Scott smiled at Martyn and held out his hand. Martyn took it without hesitation.

It felt nice having a friend.

Fire Brings Death

Joey was getting stronger.

He took pride in knowing this. After that dungeon, he was slowly getting more and more powerful. And yes, Scott had killed him and tormented him in his own home, but the two were now at some kind of weird truce that Joey didn’t really want to break. He didn’t feel like risking it now. Not after what he saw what the Necromantic Witch could do.

Gathering more Inquisitive Gems from Bertha, he turned to go up to his tower and use the gems for more spells and tools. If the other witches were getting upgrades, so should he. He couldn’t risk being seen as inferior. Not when his competition was so obviously weak in comparison to him. And perhaps that was his ego talking, but it was true! He won the first dungeon. That counted for something. Not if your only competition for that dungeon was Lauren, his mind replied. Joey sighed in annoyance and sped up. 

“Gah!” He turned around to see where the noise had come from. To his own surprise, Balthazar had seemingly tripped upstairs. Joey rushed to go help him. The stairs were oddly slippery today. Almost as if someone had covered them in butter. Maybe that was another witch? Wasn’t one of them an Illusionary Witch? They sounded like one for pranks.

Once he reached the top of his tower, his suspicions were confirmed. Balthazar had in fact taken a nasty fall, and his robe had torn at the base to reveal a bloody gash on his leg. Joey helped him sit comfortably. Handing Balthazar a healing potion, he thought on what to do next. Healing potions were handy, but they couldn’t solve absolutely everything in an instant. They took time. And unfortunately that meant Balthazar was going to be immobile for a couple of hours. Which normally wouldn’t be too bad if not for the fact that Joey was about to trade with him. But that could wait. He wasn’t in a rush. A few hours would be fine. He’d waited a lot longer in the past, and he could wait. After all, his friend was injured! Joey was many things, but he wasn’t very cruel. But you betrayed Lauren in that dungeon when she was meant to be your friend, was yet another unnecessary comment from his brain.

Other things grabbed his attention. Like how someone had appeared in Spawn! He could go talk to them for a bit, and then go check back up on Balthazar again. By then his wizened wizardly friend would be fine. With his miniature plan in his mind, Joey leapt back down the stairs, remembering to tell Balthazar he’d be back later. 

Spawn was a nice area. It was where Bertha was, the mysterious trader who’d trade anything for Inquisitive Gems, as long as there was a decent amount of the item. Joey never fully understood what Bertha was, but he had theories. An enderman being one of them. They had most of the right qualities, from the eyes to the way that their hood concealed most of their face, which could allude to them being an enderman but not proud of it. Joey was happy to theorise stuff like this. It didn’t matter in the end, but it was awfully fun to muse on.

Stood in the centre of Spawn, wandering about with a distant look in their eyes was none other than the curse-providing mischief-loving Necromantic Witch Scott. Joey gritted his teeth at the mere sight of the man. To say they weren’t fond of each other was an understatement. Joey resented him for those nuisances of curses that Scott practically handed to everyone at any opportunity, plus the fact that he’d died several times to the necromancer’s hands.

“Hello,” he greeted.

“O-oh.” Scott didn’t say much else. Joey frowned. Normally Scott would jump at the chance to mock, belittle or use sarcasm directed at Joey, but for some reason, he wasn’t speaking.

“How have you been after you, uhh, chased me around my own home?” He tried. It was sort of pitiful from an outside observer’s perspective. A good attempt, but not enough.

“Fine.” Scott turned away after his quiet response. Joey’s frown deepened. There was something off. Not that he cared or anything, but if he was meant to be competing then his opponent clearly wasn’t in a good condition. How was Joey meant to prove himself if his competitors weren’t in a good enough mindset to put up a decent fight? 

“Do you want to spar?” The words fell out of Joey’s mouth. For a second an expression of shock passed over Scott’s face.

“You? Want to spar? With me?” Scott was slow, enunciating each word in disbelief.

“I-I- sure? But no magic. Or weapons. Good ol’ hand-to-hand combat.” Joey was careful in his continuation. He didn’t really fancy going up against Scott, magic and weapons and everything. An even fight would be best.

“Hmm.” Scott gazes at the floor. Joey worried that Scott would turn him down. Or laugh at him. Or just walk away. “I’ve not done it in a while, but I suppose…eh, sure. I have the time for it.” The Necromantic Witch grinned, and Joey could’ve sworn that Scott’s teeth were sharper than normal.

“A-alright! Follow me.” Joey quickly walked off, checking Scott was still behind him. 

He didn’t know where he was going. This was just a random idea he blurted out by accident. But by whatever gods existed he was going to go through with it. So he found a random open space somewhere close to Spawn. Removing his hat, Joey prepared to fight.

Scott took a bit longer. The Necromantic Witch removed his hat, but also undid the clasp of his cloak and tossed it to the side. Scott’s bare arms were on show and Joey couldn’t help but stare. Mild muscle, likely from having to dig up graves and relocate corpses and such. His right arm was blackened from the shoulder to the wrist, and if Joey squinted, he could see something like souls trapped in permanent screaming expressions swirling underneath, like with soul sand.

“Like what you see?” Scott asked playfully. If he was feeling well enough to do that, then whatever tiny thing Joey was doing at the moment was working.

“Eh, it’s not bad,” Joey shrugged. “Let’s do this.” He lowered his body slightly and balled his fists. Scott remained upright with a confident smirk. 

Joey was first to attack. That was expected. With a fiery nature, of course he’d begin. He charged forward and small sparks of fire licked at his heels. It stung his feet slightly, but not so much from the actual fire. More of the feeling that it should have hurt. Scott easily side-stepped with practised grace. The Necromantic Witch kicked him sharply in the back and Joey stumbled. He quickly regained his footing and swung around. Scott threw a punch. Joey jumped backwards to avoid it. The dance continued, an attack, a dodge, perhaps a little stumbling here and there, rinse and repeat. It was a cycle both witches fell into quite easily. 

Scott brought his knee up and hit Joey in the gut. The Fire-Frost Witch staggered, caught off guard. He’d thought Scott would punch him instead. With Joey off guard and struggling to recover, Scott swept his legs and Joey fell to the floor. Scott planted his boot on Joey’s chest. The Necromantic Witch leaned down until their faces were barely inches apart.

“I win.” He whispered into Joey's ear. Joey’s face went bright red. Why did he find that kind of hot? Scott laughed and stood up, taking his foot off of Joey’s chest. He offered him a hand in standing up. He took it, somewhat reluctantly. “You’re not that bad. Could use a few pointers though.” Scott remarked.

“Yeah, yeah. I just went easy on you.”

“Oh really? Why? Because you think I’m too weak to take you on properly? Or are you saying that just to defend your ego?”

“Now you’re asking for it.” Joey clenches and unclenches his fists, then tackles Scott to the ground. The Necromantic Witch kicks up into Joey’s abdomen and shoves him off. Joey rolls over and scrambles to his feet. Both men stood at the same time.

“C’mon then,” Scott said, throwing his arms wide and rendering himself an open target. “Show me what you’ve got.”