"What I'm saying is that it's an insult to the Creator to say that Notch is his full being. Notch is only the creative aspect of God, do you understand?"

Red sighed quietly and picked cookie crumbs off of an empty plate. Hon. Greg met his eyes over the heads of the two priests arguing in his living room and gave a sympathetic grimace. Red had been very good, bringing cookies, defusing one or two potential disagreements with observations on the weather, and not getting involved. Even when this had started up. Well. It was nearly midnight and their guests showed no signs of leaving. Usually Red wouldn't mind, but listening without saying a word was beginning to make him feel like a ghost.

"What I'm saying is that that view is completely outdated. What's next? The world is made out of blocks?"
"Actually," said Red, mildly surprised at the sound of his own voice, "That's a very interesting theory, and it's never been disproven." the two debaters looked up in surprise, having apparently forgotten that he was in the room.
"Er—who is he, again?"
Who is he, not who are you.
"Red," said Hon. Greg, ignoring the speaker, "We're out of cookies." Red stood immediately. Thank Notch, he was giving him an excuse to leave.
"I'll go get some, excellent idea." he fled the room and leaned against the closed door with a sigh of relief, then made some distinctly uncharitable faces. When he walked upstairs he was calmer—until he looked into his room. "Arix?"
His friend and, as of recent times, roommate was slumped on the floor surrounded by not yet folded laundry, clutching an undershirt. He gave a small, hysterical laugh, the sort that can easily become crying. "Isn't it sad that this shirt's whole purpose of existing is to be worn underneath other things?" he looked up in response to Red's silence and began giggling at his expression.
"Arix, stop that." why's everyone insane tonight? Arix caught his breath and folded the shirt slowly. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. I'm good. Fine."
"You say that a lot." Arix hugged the shirt to his chest.
"I said that," he said faintly.
"Huh?"
"Nothing. Shirts are weird though. Have you ever thought about how weird clothes are? Like, they're made out of plant tendon and shit."
"Arix?" Arix had to stifle another attack of laughing.
"Sorry. I haven't been getting much sleep."
"I've noticed. What's wrong?"
"Heh. Nothing unusual." Red sat down, motioning him to continue. "My arm's hurting, but it's been doing that."
"Do you think you've strained it, using it in ways it's not accustomed to?"
"No, my other arm. The one I don't have." Red looked curiously at him. "I know, it doesn't make sense. But it hurts."
"That's not good."
"Eh I don't know." Arix placed the shirt on the stack of folded clothes and smoothed the top. "It's not like there could be anything wrong with it, you know? Annoying as hell though."
"So that's the cause for the tablets. You scared me, I thought you were turning into an addict."
"Huh? Oh yeah. When did I show those to you?"
"You didn't. I went through your pockets." Arix looked at him in surprise. "I was trying to find your keys because I'd lost mine." Arix nodded and looked down, rubbing the stump of his right arm. That wasn't, strictly speaking, a lie, Red mused. He had been happy to find the keys. He had been looking for the keys in the first place, right? Or had he just been going through Arix's pockets? Was that a lie? Dangit. He'd have to confess that later. He hated it. Not that he was ashamed, but Greg always looked so completely flabbergasted at the idea that he wasn't entirely truthful all the time. Greg made a terrible confessor. Whoops, Hon. Greg. He just seemed like a layman. Now that wasn't charitable at all. See, he was starting to rave as well. Arix wasn't the only one who needed more sleep, although Red had no real excuse, which made him angry at himself. Up until two in the morning doing reading you could do during the day? Really? "Hey. Want to go get donuts?" Arix looked up.
"Now?"
"I volunteered to fetch some cookies, but it's mainly an excuse to get me out of the house. I'm going to get something for myself while I'm there. You should come if you're not going to sleep."
"No, I'm not sleeping."
"Good," said Red, digging his wallet out of a convenient nook behind his chest, "put your shirt on and let's go. I'll meet you downstairs."

Arix got up and stuffed his clothes, folded and unfolded alike, into his chest and slammed it shut. Then, he paused. With a snort at his own stupidity, he reopened the chest, snatched the topmost shirt out and pulled it over his head. He worked his left arm through the sleeve and straightened it with his teeth, shook the shoulder seams into place, and reached across his body for the cuff of the right sleeve, which he tucked into his pants pocket so it wouldn't flap. He touched his hair and decided to leave it as it was, since it would take a long time to comb it at this stage and even longer to tie it back. He could manage by using a long tie and holding one end in his teeth, but it took a while, and Red was waiting. Arix pulled his fingers down to the level of his ears, where they got stuck in a knot and had to be worked out. His hair was a ratty, tangled mess that fell past his shoulders, a few fuzzy braids from months ago still knotted in. He couldn't bear to take them out. They were one of the main indications that he might be sane, that his memories might be the correct ones and not fever hallucinations. He hadn't been able to braid that well even with both hands. Besides, they'd be a real pain to take out at this point and he didn't want to cut them off. Arix stuffed his feet into his boots, scooped up some coins from the windowsill and dumped them in his pockets. He picked up his sword belt from the corner near the door and fastened it around his hips, then walked to the door before pausing.

The doll sat on the windowsill, looking at him. It was small, made of soft fabric, with fluffy brown yarn hair, blue stitched circles for eyes, cyan shirt and blue pants. He walked back, picked it up and pressed it against the side of his face, thinking. Finally he slipped it under his belt and brought it with him downstairs, stepping quietly past the door to the study where smartasses were arguing about the human condition and shit instead of doing something to, you know, improve the water systems or retake infected areas. Red was leaning against the doorframe, peering out through the diamond pane into the night. "It looks clear." Arix grunted. Red glanced at him, then at the doll tucked under his belt. "You're bringing that?"
"What?" Red looked questioningly at him. "It's the middle of the night. Why, are we going to see someone important and you're afraid I'll embarrass you?"
"No. You should get a jacket, it's cold."
"Nah, I'll be fine."
"Arix, it's cold."
Arix made an unimpressed sound and pushed the door open, letting in a blast of air.

Holy shit it was cold.

He really didn't care that much. The sting of cold seeping through his thin layers of clothing was invigorating, and he embraced it with a masochistic joy, racing on ahead of Red to draw out any critters that might be lurking in corners where the torchlight didn't reach. Red followed with his hands deep in his pockets, quarterstaff tucked in the crook of one arm.

A/N: I use all my own screenshots for the cover pics. But I'm also lazy. So for this one I just walked into the nearest village and set myself on fire. Solved.
Also known as "Boring Conversation is Boring" (or, we hope, perhaps not?) and "Arix is Definitely Not Abusing Painkillers."
Also the Hon. in front of Greg's name is not an abbreviation for Honorable. It's literally just "Hon." He likes people calling him Hon. I guess he was raised in the South.