You and Mugman trudged through the tall, watery, grass on the way to the pond of the Quadratus.. the pond that’d tell you how many times you’ve perished. Normally, people never heard it, since by the time they could— They’d already be dead and moved on.

You both sat down at the edge, and Mugman dug through his bag, pulling out a large bottle of whiskey.

“ We really shouldn’t be doing this but— It’s been a week. “

Mugman mumbled, popping open the cap before taking a hearty swig. He offered you the bottle.

“ Want s— “

“ Through all your battles and all my rhymes, you have failed and perished 157 times… Mortal. “

Mugman scowled and snapped at the old lake.

“ I WASN’T TALKING TO YOU- YOU OLD— “

He clenched his fists, covering his face.

“ Stop reminding me… “