Pollen Season
The second journey that Klogg and Nike made around the klay universe was fifteen years long. After their first experience, where they ventured too far out and had to go back on foot, they were both loathe to leave the vicinity of the Neverhood. This time, therefore, they left their flying machines with Jerry-O on Idznak, and continued on foot. They walked as fast as they liked, they stayed at some places and quickly left others. It was like a trip. Fifteen years, by Neverhoodian standards, is not such a long time.When they returned to the Neverhood, the mulberry pollen season had just begun. This happened every now and then: the mulberry bush stopped producing fruit and went into bloom instead. Its blossoms were white and tiny; they lasted for a time and then disappeared again, making way for another batch of fruit. They were pretty to watch, but there was one particular Hoodian who could not stand them. That Hoodian welcomed Klogg and Nike with a puffy face and frequent sneezes.
“Happy to see you again,” he sniffled, “…I would say, but I can barely see you so, eh, too bad for me.”
“You look terrible, brother,” Nike observed, inspecting Krevel’s swollen eyelids.
“Thanks.”
“You go to the Brokenhood for every pollen season, right?” Klogg asked for confirmation. “So why haven’t you left yet?”
“I was waiting for you two,” Krevel pouted. “Jerry-O let us know you were coming a couple of weeks ago, and I didn’t want to miss you.” He took a shivering breath, another one, and finally sneezed. “It wasn’t so bad back then,” he commented, rubbing at his eyes.
“Don’t put so little trust in me, I would have gone to the Brokenhood to see you,” Nike frowned. “Actually,” he paused, “I could go there with you now. I have nothing to do here, anyway, and I’d love to see Bortor again.”
Klogg gave the hoophead a startled look. “No, you wouldn’t,” he snapped.
“Excuse me?” Nike raised his eyebrows at him. Klogg turned a darker shade of red, and he gave no answer. He only glared at his travelling companion, mute and upset.
Krevel interrupted the moment by a violent sneeze. He moaned and cradled his sinuses. “Whichever way you two decide, I need to leave soon.”
“Of course,” Nike said, rubbing his brother’s back. “Will tomorrow work for you? I’ll just say hi to everybody and I’m good to go. Will Nehmen go with us?”
Krevel grimaced. “I doubt that. He’s on very bad terms with Caline.”
“Oh,” Nike said, disappointed. “Klogg? Will you come along?”
Hoborg’s firstborn threw his arms out. “We’ve just arrived! I want to spend some time home for a change.”
“So you’re staying here.”
“No!”
Nike pinched his forehead. “Which is it?” he growled, running out of patience.
Instead of answering the hoophead, Klogg turned to Krevel. “Can’t you stay on the Neverhood a little longer?” he nagged at him. “What’s two weeks to you?”
“Uh, two weeks of needless and excruciating pain?” Krevel said mildly.
“Big deal!” Klogg barked with disdain. “You’re a Neverhoodian. Get your shit together and stop being a pussy over nothing.”
Krevel’s mouth fell open. For a moment, he was at a loss. Both Nike and Klogg were looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to defend himself. Especially Klogg seemed eager to argue him into submission.
After a momentary lapse, Krevel shrugged and said: “Sort it out between you. I’m leaving tomorrow and both of you are welcome to come along.” He turned and left, pretending not to hear Klogg calling him a coward and a weakling.
On the next day, the three gathered in the Castle where the long range teleporter was sited. They were accompanied by the Guardian of Invisible Forces, who would operate the teleporter, and Nehmen, who was seeing his brothers off.
“Okay,” Ruze slapped the machine fondly. “Teleporters on both sides are on standby, you’re good to go. Bon voyage. Take care and don’t die.”
Klogg snorted as he climbed into the teleporter. “If I end up in pieces all over the universe, it will be your fault, sunsetter.”
“Duly noted. I take full responsibility for your potential demise,” Ruze waved him away and bent over the controls. “Off you go.” He pushed a big red button and, in a flash, Klogg disappeared. His grumpy expression seemed to be the last thing to go. Krevel sneezed and groaned. He looked even worse than on the previous day. His skin had turned pinkish and he had to rely on his brothers to guide him, as he nearly couldn’t see.
“He’s being impossible,” Nike complained. “He doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t want to stay either.”
“Because he wants to stay home but doesn’t want you alone with Bortor, you sod,” Krevel rolled his eyes, sniffling. “You could be less obvious about why you’re going with me, I mean…” He glanced at Ruze, who was watching them with amusement, “I mean, really. Subtlety isn’t that beyond you. I know you like Bortor a lot, but aren’t you with Klogg now? You’re really putting him into a bad place there.”
“Subtlety is for those who are afraid of the truth,” Nike declared, getting into the teleporter seat. He was giving Krevel a very pointed stare as the sunsetter sent him off.
“Oh Quater,” Krevel mumbled. “And here I thought I was going for a nice, uneventful holiday.”
“Stay cool!” Nehmen chirped, hugging his brother. “Come back soon.”
“Yeah yeah,” Krevel nodded, returning the hug briefly.
“I’ll be waiting,” Nehmen reminded him as he helped him into the teleporter seat.
“I know.”
Krevel took the last breath of Neverhood air, knowing that this would be the blissful last of mulberry pollen he’d pull into his lungs for a long time. He caught a glimpse of Nehmen waving before the world disappeared in a flash of white light.
“Good evening! Welcome to the Brokenhood, uncle Krevel.”
Krevel blinked, as much as the swelling allowed. He moved his fingers, shifted his left leg. Quater, long distance teleporting was like a punch to the gut. He felt like someone had ripped out his soul and only returned it in pieces. He groaned, touching his aching head.
“You don’t look so good,” Alan said in concern. “Here, let me help you.”
Krevel half stumbled, half was pulled out of the teleporter. “Hey Alan,” he greeted his nephew, leaning against the nearest support, which conveniently happened to be Nike. “Good to see you. Uh, do you have some water?”
“Yes,” Alan nodded enthusiastically. “I came prepared.” While he was presenting Krevel with a bowl of water and a clean cloth, Nike said to Klogg:
“He needs to wash his face clean of the pollen. It’s not the first time he’s come here like this, so they already know what he’ll ask for.”
“I know,” Klogg said bitingly. “You’ve only told me about it two dozen times.”
Nike heaved an annoyed sigh. Krevel stopped scrubbing his puffy face and raised his head.
“That’s better,” he appreciated. “I can see again. But the water smells like old weasel intestines.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Nike shrugged. Alan sniffed at the cloth, seemed confused, then shrugged it off and he lead them toward the Brokenhood manor.
“Ah yes, travel sickness,” Krevel sighed as they began following the chamberlain. “The next couple of weeks are going to be so fun.”
“Oh put a sock in it,” Klogg rolled his eyes. Quietly he mumbled: “No one’s interested in your bitching.”
“Klogg,” Nike turned to him seriously, “stop it. I get that you and Krevel are like night and day, but I’d appreciate if you at least tried to become friends.”
The red Hoodian grinned ominously. “Oh, we’ll be best buds by the end of this holiday, you’ll see.”
Nike nodded, apparently satisfied, and Krevel gulped. He was going to have the time of his life, it seemed.
A few days later, Krevel’s allergies receded and he looked as good as new. Klogg questioned him thoroughly on this ailment: Was mulberry pollen the only pollen he was allergic to? What would happen if he stayed on the Neverhood throughout the pollen season? What if he ate a mulberry? Krevel answered honestly and as best as he could, since Klogg’s interest seemed genuine. Yet, at the same time, he could not shake off nagging unease. Klogg seemed to be familiar with him, like he knew everything about him, even though they had barely ever spoken. Moreover, Klogg often talked of things that Krevel had only told to a handful of people, and he did so with flippant, flashy nonchalance. Once Krevel learned to recognise this pattern, it began grating on his nerves.
“So uh,” he asked one day, while the two redheads were waiting for Nike to return from his morning jog. “Did Nike tell you everything about me? Did he hold nothing back?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” Klogg shrugged, tearing apart a piece of soft wood, strand by strand. “I don’t imagine he would. Unless he had a good reason to.” He gave Krevel a pointed stare.
Krevel avoided his eye, looking instead over the countryside. Another private reference. “It’s… true. But it’s uncanny. You know me so well and I barely know you.”
Klogg grinned. It was a feral grin and it betrayed a lot of what the Hoodian was thinking. He loved having power over people. He enjoyed manipulating them if they were dumb enough to allow it. He was playing with Krevel right then, too, as he had been for days.
“Well, you know,” Klogg said, pretending indifference. “Days are long, nights are cold, so you talk to keep the boredom away. And since Nike has no imagination, he always talks about you and Nehmen.”
Krevel shrugged. He didn’t like that game. “Then tell me about yourself.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t trust Nike’s judgement one hundred per cent. Sometimes he can be wrong. Like when he judged you as a good person the moment he saw you.”
Klogg bristled. “I am not evil! For Quater’s sake, if you talk about that, I might as well leave right now.”
“No no,” Krevel raised his palms to placate him. “That’s not what I was saying. I mean – there’s more to morality than good and evil. People love to put it that way, but it just isn’t true.” He glanced at Klogg, who nodded a little. So far so good. “You know, after you left fifteen years ago, I heard people call you the new Klogg. They can’t wrap their mind around one person being simultaneously good and evil, so they split you from the old Klogg.”
“I am the old Klogg,” Klogg growled. He pulled harshly at the wood strands in his hand, tearing them into pieces. With an annoyed grunt, he let them fall to the ground.
“I know,” Krevel said simply. “Of course you are the old Klogg, you have his memories and his personality. But I’m thinking…” He reached into his chest compartment and pulled out an apple and a knife. A big, rotting bruise marred one half of the fruit. In front of Klogg’s curious stare, Krevel cut the apple in two.
“Here,” he passed Klogg the better half. “I’m thinking, there’s a way for you to be the same and yet different. These two halves, both of them are the original apple, right? And yet one is better and healthier than the original, and the other is more rotten and sick.” He turned the bad half in his hands. “Also, there’s still some good in the bad half, and some rot in the good half,” he observed. He shrugged. “Just some food for thought.” And he bit into his half.
After Krevel threw the core away, Klogg was still sitting motionless, staring at the apple in his hands. Glancing up, he met Krevel’s eye. He couldn’t hold the stare, though, and looked down again. Krevel allowed himself a small, victorious smile.
“I have never told that to anyone,” Klogg said in a small voice, cradling the good apple half. “Not to Nike. Not to Hoborg. Not to Klaymen. Not to anyone.” He swallowed. “How do you know?”
Krevel smiled, fully this time. “I’ll trade you for it. First, tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”
Klogg looked up sharply, and upon seeing that smile, he slowly grinned as well. “Well, well,” he shook his head in amusement. “Nike always said you were passive and weak, but I shouldn’t have believed him. Which, heh,” he chuckled in surprise, “was actually your point a while ago! You had me dancing to your music, didn’t you? Very well. I accept the trade. I’ll tell you why I possessed you, of all Hoodians, to be my puppet who would put Hoborg’s crown on.”
Krevel leaned forward. He had outplayed the puppet master once, and he was ready to do so again, if Klogg ever tried to play him once more. “I’m listening.”
“...and his nose,” Ottoborg concluded his breakfast anecdote, pausing for effect, “…was blue!”
The table burst out laughing. The twins banged their fists on the table making their milk jump and spill, Bortor covered his face and only his shoulder shook wildly, Ceola giggled into Alan’s shoulder. When the ruckus ended, Nike said:
“I don’t get it.”
“Well,” Ottoborg hasted to explain, “fepgerkins are naturally only yellow, so…”
“No, they’re not,” Klogg interrupted rudely. “We’ve seen blue ones, too, in the Ba Sing Se gardens. And red, and white.”
“And purple,” Krevel added. “They were bred by the royal gardeners for generations, all because of that nose colour gimmick. It was quite the fashion, too, back in the day.”
“How do you know so much about fepgerkins?” Klogg looked at him suspiciously. Krevel shrugged, the very picture of nonchalance.
“I looked it up in the Castle library after Nike told us of the gardens. It was interesting. I mean, fepgerkin eater is pretty much the worst thing you can call a person, but half of us doesn’t even know what a fepgerkin is, nor what it tastes like.”
“Do you know what it tastes like?” Klogg asked, eyes twinkling.
“I do not, because I am not a fepgerkin eater,” Krevel replied seriously. Glancing between the two of them, Nike grew a confused smile.
“You’re bantering,” he remarked. “You’re actually getting along.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know you’re picking things up from each other? You smoothed your stem back the other day,” he told Krevel, “and you, Klogg, wanted oulong tea this morning, even though Krevel is the only one here that likes it.”
“I just wanted to try it,” Klogg protested. “It tastes like mould anyway.”
“That’s why I like it,” Krevel smiled. “The smell is so strong that it covers everything else.”
“Like the taste of fepgerkins?”
“Nah, like the taste of your mum.”
“Oooh,” the Otto clan went, watching the exchange with excitement.
“I don’t even have a mum. But your mum, she must have been a real something that she abandoned you at birth.”
“Rude. At least I got several dads who admit to making me. Your dad watched you get blown off the Neverhood and all he said was: You know, I never really understood that guy.”
“Eat a mulberry!”
“Get a life!”
“Get a boyfriend!”
“By Quater, guys,” Nike interrupted them, appalled, “chill! You don’t gotta strangle each other over a breakfast… right?” He looked from one to the other. They stared back at him, grinning so wide that all their teeth showed. Nike shook his head. “Now I’m just confused!” He had recognised references in that banter, references that he knew to be deep and personal insults. And yet, both the Hoodians were smiling.
“You’ll get over it,” Klogg patted him on the shoulder and downed his oulong tea, suddenly in a great mood.
Breakfast was over and Caline was cleaning the table when Bortor asked:
“Nike, are you okay? You haven’t said anything for a time now. You’re frowning like a storm, too.”
“Huh?” Nike looked up. “Uh, yeah. I’m just thinking.”
“What about?”
Nike rubbed his forehead. “I don’t understand why Krevel suddenly gets along with Klogg so well. The two of them are like night and day, you know? They’ve got nothing in common.” He leaned back on the sofa and began counting on his fingers. “Klogg is proud and power-hungry, Krevel is weak-minded and submissive. Klogg loves machines and robots, while the most complicated tool Krevel can handle is a hammer. Klogg has no patience, Krevel has drawn twenty maps of the entire Neverhood underground. Klogg likes fighting, Krevel hates it.” Nike ran out of fingers then. He looked at his opened hand as if it had wronged him. “It’s probably a fluke,” he sighed. “They’re gonna be at each other’s throats tomorrow.”
Klogg and Krevel, who were still very much in the room, gaped at Nike. “Well,” Klogg laughed finally. “Good to know what you think of my ability to make friends.”
“It is near zero,” Nike replied without hesitation.
“Is it!” Klogg exclaimed. Grabbing Krevel by the hand, he began dragging him away. “I’ll show you night and day, you big stupid buffoon with a stick up his ass!…” his voice trailed from the hallway.
Bortor and Nike looked at each other.
“A stick up his ass?” the Brokenhoodian echoed in amusement.
“Don’t take it literally.”
“I… wasn’t.”
“Quater, he pisses me off!” Klogg cried out, slamming the door behind them. “I hate the way he gets sometimes! Ugh!”
“Whose room is this?” Krevel asked in mild alarm, looking around.
“I have no clue and I don’t care.” Klogg took the other Hoodian by the shoulders. “Now listen up. We’re gonna pull a prank on Nike. There’s no way out, you gotta do it.”
“Nike doesn’t take well to pranks,” Krevel warned him despite his curiosity. “He takes them too seriously.”
“My point, he’s gonna hate it.”
“What do you want to do?”
“We’ll play a little game with him.” Klogg let go of Krevel’s shoulders and began scouring the room. It was somebody’s bedroom, as far as Krevel could tell, though he wasn’t sure whose. Almost every member of Ottoborg’s family wore blue clothes, which Klogg was now piling on the king-sized bed.
“What are you looking for?” Krevel asked curiously.
“Something without holes. Ah, this one looks good,” Klogg held up a blue sweater. “Oh, sweet, there are two. Must be the twins’ room. Catch!”
Shortly, a pair of blue shorts followed the sweater. Krevel looked at the clothing in his arms, at the identical clothing in Klogg’s arms, and he swallowed with dread.
(Picture by Splatty-Skitty.)
“I totally am,” Klogg grinned widely. “Put those on.”
The twins had a full-length mirror in their room, probably for private fashion shows and for reasons. Now the mirror served to compare two red-skinned Hoodians, who suddenly found themselves looking… extremely similar.
“Cool,” Klogg appreciated the view. “Just take your boots off and we’re good to go and scare the shit out of Nike.”
“I, uh, would prefer not to?” Krevel took a step back.
Klogg set his hands against his hips. “Cold feet? Think our mutual friend can’t handle his ‘night and day’ fellas looking exactly the same?”
“Not exactly. Can’t we both wear boots?”
“Why though?”
Krevel stared at Klogg defiantly.
“Fine, a trade then.”
A short exchange of information later, Krevel took his boots off.
“Ah, I knew it!” Klogg exclaimed. “You’ve got markings under there. We can’t let those show. Not because you’re shy but because they’d set us apart. I haven’t seen any boots here, though…”
There were, indeed, no boots, but they did find two pairs of yellow leg warmers. Looking at their new outfits in the mirror, Krevel remarked:
“We look terrible.”
“And exactly the same,” Klogg cackled in satisfaction. “Nike’s gonna blow his lid! He thinks we’re so different, he’s gonna be so confused when he can’t tell us apart.”
“He’ll be flabbergasted,” Krevel nodded. “One more thing, though. Our eye colours are different.”
Klogg leaned forward to examine their reflection. “Damn, you’re right,” he muttered.
“But I have some protective goggles at the silver mine,” Krevel continued. “I’ll go and get them. In the meantime, you can clean this mess. Meet me at my room in an hour. I’ll come up with a strategy.” Brow furrowing, he placed a hand on his abdomen. “Now if you excuse me, I have to find the nearest bathroom. I held it in remarkably long but now travel sickness calls.”
“Pleasure doing business with you,” Klogg purred, watching Krevel undress and leave in a hurry.
Later that morning, Nike was having a nice conversation with Bortor about horse breeds when Krevel strode into the room.
“What are you wearing, brother?” the hoophead asked in mild disgust. Clad in a blue sweater with rolled up sleeves, blue shorts, yellow leg warmers, and yellow goggles, Krevel indeed looked like a fashion crime. The Hoodian grinned and, not minding the critique, sat down next to Nike. He smoothed his stem back, taking a possessive hold of Nike’s hand. Then he glared at Bortor and shooed him away.
“…Klogg?” Bortor asked tentatively, double-guessing Nike’s identification of the redhead.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nike told him. “That’s Krevel.”
Into the room walked another Krevel. Or Klogg. No one knew. Nike’s eyes widened.
“What,” he breathed.
The other Krevel also grinned, sat at Nike’s other side and, smoothing his stem back, grabbed his other hand.
Nike looked at his hands. He looked at one of the redheads. He looked at the other one. Finally he grew the most puzzled expression. “Am I dreaming?”
The redheads shook their heads.
“Then… I don’t know what’s going on. I’d think…” He leaned toward one of them, examining his face up close. “No…” He scrutinised the face of the other. Bortor noticed that they were both wearing Klogg’s trademark grin. They must have practised. “The goggles make it hard to guess,” Nike complained. He leaned forward, looking his two companions up and down. Finally he leaned back. Brow furrowed, he was the picture of frustrated confusion.
“I didn’t think they looked this similar,” Bortor commented. “Don’t take it too hard, I can’t tell them apart either.”
“I should be able to!” Nike cried out. “One of them is my brother and one of them is my boyfriend, and they are nothing alike!” At that point Bortor thought he glimpsed one of the redheads flush a dark shade of red and hide his face in Nike’s shoulder. The other redhead followed suit, so he couldn’t be sure. But, Bortor thought devilishly, it was worth a shot. Even if it was just for the sake of harassing Klogg a little.
“Hold on,” he raised his hand, “I thought you and Klogg were just friends?”
“No?” Nike replied, puzzled. “We have been together for several years. I thought it was general knowledge…?”
It was, Bortor thought, but it was also general knowledge that Klogg was sensitive to being called out on it. He liked to pretend he didn’t have any feelings, that one.
“So have you kissed already?” Bortor asked with a wide grin.
Abruptly, one of the redheads stood up. Even under the coloured goggles he was obviously blushing, his eyes narrowed in anger. Strangely, it was the other Hoodian than whom Bortor had pegged for Klogg.
The other redhead got up as well. He patted his alter-ego’s shoulder, and received an understanding nod. In unison, they turned to Bortor and gave him the finger.
The Brokenhoodian gasped in offence. “I will remember this, uncle! I would expect such rudeness from Klogg, but from you…!”
The Kloggs grinned victoriously. One of them even gave a bow.
“Okay, so…” Nike began muttering to himself, somewhat upset now. “I know that one of them is Klogg, and the other one is Krevel impersonating Klogg.” He squinted at the redheads, who were now looking at him curiously. “There’s gotta be a way to tell them apart…? Like…” Groaning, he picked up a pillow from his side and buried his face in it. “Oh they’re killing me…”
One of the Kloggs stepped forward, producing two cardboard cards. Nike took them and glared at them. They read simply Krevel and Klogg, in the owner’s respective handwriting. Upon flipping them, Nike found the same text written on the other side, only the handwritings were exchanged.
He looked up. “This isn’t funny.”
Apparently the Kloggs found it very funny, because they started snickering. Nike’s indignant expression at that point, truthfully, had Bortor hide a smile as well.
“Knock it off,” the hoophead pouted. “You know I don’t like it.”
At that point the redheads began chuckling uncontrollably and they quickly pushed each other out the door. Outside, Klogg’s and Krevel’s distinctive laughters could be heard, but Quater only knew which was whose.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if the two didn’t show up to lunch without changing back into their normal clothes.
“I would rather have two Krevels than two Kloggs,” Ottoborg let everyone know as they were eating the soup. “Krevel is not that nasty.”
One of the redheads gave him an offended look and reached for a small typewriter. He typed something and tore the message out, letting it pass around the table to Ottoborg.
“Krevel can’t build robots,” the king read. “Well, yes, but at least he hasn’t build any nasty, bloodthirsty robots!”
The other redhead pulled the typewriter toward him and produced another message.
“Your robot,” Ottoborg read, “kung-fu kicked Klogg’s robot off the Neverhood – yeah, and good riddance!” He crumpled the piece of paper into a ball, and then he turned to the twins. “By Quater’s chequered pants, why did you let them have the typewriter? This would be bearable if they couldn’t talk.”
“Yeah,” Ottimo rubbed the back of his head, “we betted them that we’d be able to tell them apart.”
“If we guessed right, they’d return our clothes and actually clean our room,” Tuborg continued. “And if we were wrong, we’d have to become their accomplices.”
“You can guess what happened,” Ottimo concluded.
“So is there no one who can tell them apart?” Ceola asked, looking around the table.
“Nope.”
“Not me.”
“I’d imagine that I’d be able to recognise Krevel,” Caline complained. “But every time I think I’ve got it, the confuse me again. I’m just trying not to think too hard about it.”
One of the redheads produced a note addressed to Caline, who read: “Yeah, stick to cooking and let the men do the think… – Klogg!” she cried out in indignation. “Or – no. See, I can’t tell! I don’t know if it’s Klogg being mean or Krevel guessing that this is exactly what Klogg would say. Oh, I’ll just… ugh. The soup has curdled…” she frowned, steering her portion furiously.
“It’s still delicious,” Gred soothed her.
“Thank you, dear.“ Caline huffed. “I would expect Nike to be able to tell them apart, though. And… well.”
Everyone at the table looked at Nike. The hoophead was eating mechanically, not talking, just staring ahead at the soup pot. He didn’t react to his name being mentioned and he ignored their stares.
“He’s watching the sky,” Alan sighed.
“He’s taking this kinda badly, isn’t he?” Tuborg whispered to Ottimo.
“Well, you know him,” the older twin whispered back. “He’s got compartments for everything…”
Their voice, however, wasn’t as low as they thought, as shortly they received a note.
“Don’t talk of him as if he wasn’t here,” Ottimo read. “Okay you guys, firstly – obviously the lights are on but nobody’s home.”
“And secondly, you’re the ones responsible for it!” Tuborg added. “Have you got no compassion?”
One of the redheads looked at the other. The latter one shrugged. The first one frowned and tapped the middle of his chest. The other one shook his head.
“I would appreciate if this game stopped,” Caline guessed at the meaning of the exchange. “Have some decency.” Promptly, she received a note. “Not yet,” she read. She sighed. “Fine. But if you take too long, I swear, I will take your costumes off myself.”
She did not read aloud the next note she received, but she did blush and cry out: “Well I’d never!” Neither of the redheads got any dessert.
After lunch, Nike would not get up from the table, so the two redheads pulled him to his feet and half walked him, half dragged him to his and Klogg’s room. There they threw him on the bed and covered him up to his chin with a blanket. The hoophead didn’t resist. It was hard to tell whether he was aware of it at all.
“I’m worried about him,” Krevel murmured. He took the coloured goggles off and stared at his brother’s form. “I thought he was just ignoring us at lunch, but now… he’s almost catatonic. The last time I saw him in such a state was…” He trailed off.
“I’ll take a guess,” Klogg said, plopping down into an armchair. “Hmm. When the Killing Koktail, AKA Kilko, was invented and the entire Hood got absolutely smashed?”
Krevel grimaced at the memory. “That was terrible. But no.”
“So… when I smacked Hoborg’s crown on top of his head and he ran around the Hood like a madman?”
Leaning down to check if Nike’s eyes were closed, Krevel shook his head. “Earlier.”
“Earlier?” Klogg echoed. “Ah… that early? When he was going through that personality crisis?”
“Watch it,” Krevel growled. “I know Nike’s very matter-of-fact about it today, but for me it is still that time when my brother told me he wanted to kill himself. And yes, I was referring to that.” He hugged himself, unconsciously, as if he was cold despite the warm sweater. “We didn’t know what would happen with him. Sometimes he’d talk to us, but mostly he’d just stare at nothing, just like this. And… if he’s really lapsing back into it, if he shut us out to the point where his conception of self suffers for it… then I won’t forgive you for coming up with this prank. And I won’t forgive myself for going along with it.”
Klogg watched the other Hoodian closely. “Call me insensitive if you will,” he said, “but I really think you worry too much. Nike’s been screwed over worse. Like… I don’t know, that… that time with Bortor. Quater, I’ll be damned for using that little bitch as an example, but here goes.”
Krevel’s head shot up. “Let me get one thing straight. You met Bortor on your travels, right? After you lost the flying machines and you were coming back to the Neverhood.”
“Yeah,” Klogg affirmed.
“That little bitch didn’t tell us,” Krevel hissed. Klogg did a double take.
“Hey you don’t gotta impersonate me right now,” he chuckled, disturbed.
“He knew why you and Nike were so late, he knew the entire time,” Krevel continued, an uncharacteristic animosity in his voice. “People were telling us to give up hope. They said: ‘If they could and wanted to return, they would already be back.’ They said my brother was gone and I had to live with it. And Bortor knew all of this and still he didn’t tell anybody that he had met both of you, that he knew why you were running so late.” The anger drained from Krevel’s voice and only tiredness remained. He hid his face in his hands. “Why? Do you know why he didn’t want to tell us?”
Klogg gulped. “I’ve… never really thought about it. But if I had to guess, yeah, I know why he never spilled the beans. You know, he fucked Nike over big time.”
“The core word being fuck?” Krevel asked, trying for humour but sounding spiteful instead.
“Yeah,” Klogg nodded, frowning like a storm. “Long story short, Nike saved his life, they had an affair, and then Bortor left him. Tell you what, Nike worried his ass off for the little bitch. We thought he was dead for a long time, and Nike blamed himself. He thought he had done something wrong that drove his little lover off.” Klogg spat on the ground. “Even today he treats Bortor like a baby who needs all the attention while having zero responsibility. It’s disgusting. By Quater, if I catch them doing anything, I’ll make both of their lives hell.”
Krevel said nothing. Klogg cleared his throat.
“Anyway, my point was: Nike is incredibly tough. He lived through being treated like shit and taking the blame. He lived through his own death, as he puts it. And he’ll live through this prank just fine, you’ll see.” He hesitated and then, in a lower voice, added: “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t know he could take it.”
Nike snored loudly.
“Look at him,” Klogg gestured toward the hoophead. “He’s sleeping like a log in the middle of the day. He’s just tired. He should have stayed on the Hood to soak up some best klay first.”
“Even if you’re right,” Krevel said flatly, “I want this prank to end.”
Klogg looked at his hands, saying nothing. Then slowly, he admitted: “I want to do one last thing. Then we can drop everything and never speak of it again, but… not before then.” He huffed. “Don’t make me beg.”
“As interesting as that would be,” Krevel’s mouth twitched in amusement, “I will settle for a favour to be named later.”
Klogg frowned. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“With people like you? Always. Now. What is that last thing you want to do?”
Nike woke up slowly. He cracked his eyes open and immediately shielded them from the bright afternoon light. Blearily he sat up. Had he been sleeping?
His gaze fell upon the two Krevels, who stood at the foot of his bed.
He sighed.
“Alright guys, I admit it – I can’t tell you apart. I didn’t think Krevel liked to banter and I didn’t think Klogg would team up with someone without ambition. You’re much more similar than I thought, and I’m sorta glad that you get along so well. Even if it’s to pull practical jokes on me.” He rubbed his face. “Now please, take those costumes off. I can’t imagine going to sleep with both of you in the bed.”
As far as he could see, both of the Hoodians blushed. And then one of them stepped forward and kissed him.
It was slow, sloppy, and heartfelt.
Then, the other stepped forward and kissed him as well.
Nike’s mouth was still hanging open when both of them had left. He touched his lips… balled his hand into a fist… and he hit the mattress as hard as he could.
“Fuck both of you!” he bellowed at the closed door. “By Quater!”
It was not much later that Krevel and Klogg exited the twins’ room, clad back in their respective, white and brown clothing. Ottimo and Tuborg walked out after them and the four took a casual stroll through the manor.
“So did you do it solely to spite Nike?” Tuborg asked.
“Not to spite him,” Krevel shook his head. Upon seeing Klogg’s raised eyebrows he corrected himself: “Okay, spiting him was a part of it. But…”
“But he had it coming,” Klogg cut in. “You said it yourselves: he’s got compartments for everything. If you’re stuck in the wrong compartment, well, too bad for you. Doesn’t matter who you are, doesn’t matter if you change – Nike will never let go of his first impression. It’s good to ruffle his feathers.”
“He absolutely hates being in doubt,” Krevel added. “But it’s good for him.”
Klogg flashed him a suspicious look. Krevel raised his brows. Klogg huffed. “Anyway…”
“There you are!”
The four turned around. Nike was striding toward them, a furious expression on his face. Krevel and Klogg froze, glancing at each other, which gave Nike just enough time to close the gap. He drew his fist back and punched Krevel in the face, so hard that it sent the Hoodian flying.
Seeing this, Klogg lost not another second and broke into a sprint. Nike ran after him, yelling: “For every kilometer you make me run, I’ll punch you again! You know I’ll catch you eventually!”
Startled, the twins helped Krevel sit up. The Hoodian spat out fragments of several teeth into the palm of his hand. “Yep,” he said, looking at the white shards, “I deserved that.”
“No, you did not,” Tuborg disagreed. “This is over the top…”
“No, it isn’t,” Krevel shook his head. “Nike knows we did it to spite him. Imagine the one thing you hate the most in the world. And then, your brother and your boyfriend do it to you, just because they know you’ll absolutely hate it. Naw, Nike’s reaction is pretty adequate.” He ran his tongue around his mouth and spat again. “Ten out of ten would do it again,” he added with a devilish grin.
Ottimo watched him through narrowed eyes. “I didn’t know you had a mean streak, uncle.”
“Right?” Krevel’s grin widened, and both the twins recognised it for what it was: Klogg’s trademark grin, daredevil, proud, and challenging. “For a while there, neither did I.”
