Work Text:
Techno needed some form of practical application for the recent information he'd just perused. Mountains of books on floriography covered the tables in his reading nook. He didn’t want to start a garden as it’d take valuable time from his potato farms. On the other hand, worksheets would be too boring and besides, why waste paper on that when it could be used for potential maps? Sitting on his plush suede chair facing the window overlooking a ravine, he decided to come up with which flowers his friends would be.
Sorrow filling his senses when he thought of what he and Phil had gone through. They’d truly gone to hell and back. He regretted how he’d dealt with the avian’s house arrest. Hating that Phil was used as a pawn to gain his attention in attempts to kill him. Just another instance where he was treated more as a machine than a man. Retirement had always sounded too good to be true and hence the reason these regrets would follow him to the grave. Within his mind, the pictures of anemone and asphodel formed. A field of colorful bulbs with lilies mixed in on a grassy knoll. Mentally dragging his sword against the ground, dropping it as it felt akin to molten lead. The story of Aphrodite and Adonis—his time in prison with Dream being his stay in the underworld. He recognized Phil was remorseful at the fact that it’d taken longer than expected to rescue him. But they were both hopeful for the day tyranny no longer existed in the SMP and they finally know peace.
His brain shifting from times of new to times of old, Techno turned to the man that’d picked up his sword. The forced poet, burdened with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Wanting a place for anyone considered abnormal to call home. Techno thought the bluebell was fitting as it’s sap was used in bookbinding and arrows. A true diplomat in every measure which is why it was so disheartening to see him go mad towards the end. Losing to someone like Schlatt would make anyone disregard constancy to the wayside. The color reminding him of the softness Ghostbur brought to the server. A polar opposite to the only man able to humble him so dearly, coerced to honesty.
‘The heavens have lost their zone of gold. And earth her robe of green.’ The lines from one of the Brontë’s summed it up best, Techno thought to himself. Wiping the dust off, he placed the crown back on the mantle. Walking up the stairs to the closed room. If he were to open it, there’d still be discarded clothes all over the floor. The boy that looked up to his older brother as if he were the stars. How his story resembled that of Hamlet, a boy aged by pain and betrayal.
Tommy who was raised on the precipice of war. His first memories of frolicking in the field with his friends. To the trench foot he got during L’Manberg. Techno only realizing how much Tommy had lost himself when he showed up in the arctic. How he stared into the fire as a mug of hot chocolate and oversized clothes warmed his soul. Shyly asking Techno if he could sleep with him due to the night terrors and the need for something familiar after everything he experience at Dream’s hands. Alas the final picture held bluebells, stinging nettles, queen of the night, anemones & asphodel.