Rising Shards

Chumbler and her companion wandered along the train tracks that were on school campus, alternating who got to be the one sighing and who was on lookout.

“Oh, Z.O.K.” Chumbler said. “How did we end up here?”

“I dunno,” Z.O.K. said. “Walking on the train tracks for a few weeks probably hasn’t greatly helped our mood.”

“Yeah, but more interesting than class, right?” 

“Sure, but our teachers are gonna hate us when we come back.” Z.O.K. said.

“I think they’ll be sympathetic to our plight.” Chumbler said. “Whenever we run into anyone out on these rails, they all give us big sympathy.”

“By yelling at us to get off the train tracks?”

“Big sympathy like I said!”

Z.O.K. shrugged, so Chumbler sighed.

“Even if we don’t get big sympathy, we almost made the big leagues. Chumblerosa was a real place and not just a basement ballroom,” Chumbler said. “And I can barely even remember it.”

“It was alright,” Z.O.K. said. “The whole thing kind of went to your head, so maybe it was good you don’t remember that.”

“Still. Maybe if we kept that going…we could have maybe almost had friends.” Chumbler kicked at the wooden planks. 

“Like who, Typo? Be glad you don’t remember his terrible stand up set at void Chumblerosa.”

“Maybe some non-Typo friends?” Chumbler asked.

“Since when do you care about having friends? Everybody at this school is a normie anyways, so it’s probably a net win for us overall.” Z.O.K. said. “My doctor told me you shouldn’t interact with normies much, lest they infect you with their social toxicity. You want to keep your normie balance in a stable range. That’s what he told me, at least.”

“I keep telling you, I don’t think that guy is accredited.” Chumbler said.

“He told me you’d say that.” Z.O.K. said. 

The two carried on. Chumbler kept lamenting how her latest scheme had fallen apart.

“Did you hear from that Quececeilitrex lady at all?” Z.O.K. said.

“She sent me a postcard thanking us for the fun time, but said that she wouldn’t grant any casino based wishes again.” The words stung as much saying them out loud as they did reading them on a postcard that looked like it came from a very unsavory place.

“For real? Why didn’t you tell me?” Z.O.K. asked. “Can you show me? Did she have a return address? Maybe she’ll fall in love with me if we become pen pals…”

Chumbler decided to ignore Z.O.K.’s infatuation with the magic tall lady they found in the void who granted them a wish of a perfect casino. “What are our options now?”

“Do we still wanna find Super Chumbler?” 

“Who?”

“Or maybe something with Wayfarer Saga?”

“Way…what?” Chumbler said. “The way I see it, we can keep going off in our own little corner, or I dunno. Try contributing to social. Junk.” 

Z.O.K. sighed. “I really don’t like anyone here.” 

“Not even me?”

“Especially not you,” Z.O.K. said. “But especially everyone else a little more.”

“That...barely makes sense.” Chumbler said. “But I think I understand.”

Chumbler looked really pathetic, so Z.O.K. gritted her teeth. “We could try sitting with someone at a cafeteria maybe. Mainly because it’s freezing out here.”

“Oh so little miss ‘I hate normies’ wants friends now too?”

“No, I’m cold,” Z.O.K. said. “And getting some food sounds better than whatever we’re doing out here while we’re rebuilding and regrouping.”

“Right, we can drop the normies as soon as we’re back in action.”

“Exactly!”