Work Text:
Not all days are fun and smiles, feeling of freedom and content replaced by lingering anxiety and hauntings of the past. Even here on Eternia, days like these happen.
Back at home, Marshal would have pulled the sheets over his head or sat into the corner behind the washing machine, watching the leaves of trees behind the window dance in the breeze, feeling the vibrations of the machine keeping him company.
Sometimes, he would prefer hiding in the darkness of his closet.
However, both strategies were already tried today, and while he doesn’t expect them to magically calm him every time, it is kind of a blow to his stomach.
Collecting the pile of books scattered around the kitchen floor where he’d sought comfort, he trips over his own feet before he can even carry them to the bookshelf. Collecting them up, a paper cut is made in his paw. At least his favourite pink bandages aren’t missing.
He doesn’t shake off his bad luck outside either, escaping getting stung by wasps by just a hair’s breadth. But at least the fresh breeze ruffling through his fur helps him relax a bit.
Shoulders finally releasing the tension, his steps gain a skipping tempo. And then, a familiar direction is picked up as well - all around the second stage of the island, like always.
This is the path Marshal loves to take whatever mood he’s in, not only because it lets him watch the resident life from afar, not only because there’s a flower garden along the way. Mostly, it’s because no one ever takes this path except for Marshal himself. And while he loves to chatter with other villagers, he believes every squirrel needs a moment alone in nature to recharge.
This is what he’s missed the most in the big city.
Well, and some other things - but he has what he needs here. Everything else will come later, as a pleasant bonus. Maybe.
Marshal doesn’t let himself think about such, though. Not when he’s been getting happier wandering around and admiring his favourite scenery.
After stopping by the garden to see the newly planted hyacinths already growing, watering those and all the other blooming flowers, he chooses to continue his adventure around the hill on the opposite side of the island. The path is narrow but it only makes it feel more intimate, makes him feel safer. And the ocean view is breathtaking.
A whispered melody of the waves crashing on the shore blend with his own heartbeat; it brings peace to his mind and pushes all worries away.
It shouldn’t take him by surprise when he arrives back at his house - that’s where the path ends, anyway - but he doesn’t feel like going back yet. While most stress is gone, the itching of staying outside and charging with energy remains under Marshal’s fur.
And so, he takes another path. This one leads around his neighbour’s house, then follows a similarly narrow slope, and ends with an enchanted clearing.
Sounds like an equally great plan.
Could have been, if followed until the end but looking back, Marshal would say he’s found something even better than a fresh view of his flower garden.
At first, Marshal blames it on the bad luck still chasing his tail when he almost falls over and into the sea; but as he stares down underneath, he’s almost glad for the inconvenience. Just a few metres below, a small beach peaks from between the seashore rocks.
The sight is irresistible. A place like this should not be a secret to Marshal, who spends half his day wandering around the island. Knowing there’s a place that he’s never seen sparks interest, excitement. What does it have to offer?
And just like that, Marshal keeps returning to the small beach.
On bad days, when he feels like the world is unfair and no better than back at home, when he feels hopeless and lost and so alone, despite the friendliness other villagers show him. It’s like he’s the only one of his kind, and no one understands him.
On good days, when he feels like singing and dancing and squealing out loud just because the sun is shining brightly enough to kiss his cheeks warm. He’s learnt that the beach is perfect for that; no wandering soul would pass by and see him practice lyrics, nor talk out loud.
A perfect place to let his true colours out.
“A wave, a splash, a ripple,” he sings contently. “At the shore’s end, what shall there be?”
Rather than a gift found on the beach, as his favourite song pictures, it’s the beach itself that makes a gift to Marshal. The warm sand underneath his paws, the bright sun and the sounds of the neverending, calming ocean…
“A pleasant time waits…” he whistles, knowing that today, the line won’t make a difference. Back at home, there was no K.K. Bossa to make him believe in better times - but here, he wants to believe in just that. It’s already happening.
He lies down onto his back, legs stretching out and toes wiggling in the pleasant warmth. “Not just the wind, but also…”
“Sweets of happiness,” the melody finishes; fades away when Marshal realises the voice doesn’t sound entirely like himself. When he opens his eyes, he notices he isn’t staring at just himself either. On instinct, his cheeks catch aflame.
Punchy, the intruder of his peace, simply giggles under his breath. Then he continues talking as if they had a conversation to pick up on again. “All sweets are of happiness, though. Eating sweets is happiness itself.”
What’s happening inside of Marshal’s head that moment is overwhelming - he hasn’t noticed Punchy approaching, what is he even doing here? And more importantly, how long has he been around?
The biggest embarrassment comes from being eavesdropped on. While singing is something Marshal loves to entertain the audience with, it doesn’t feel the same. Bossa means more than entertainment, and this beach means more than a hanging out spot.
Punchy is a part of neither of those.
The thought of his neighbour having the audacity to come (okay, maybe he’s overreacting) makes his heartbeat pick up rapidly. Unsure whether he wants to pick up a fight, run away or hide behind the nearest rock, Marshal speaks up on impulse.
“H-hey, this is my place!” it barely sounds like his own voice, and he regrets the word choice the moment they leave his mouth but he cannot take them back.
Fortunately, Punchy doesn’t seem offended. The cat snickers again, moving towards his sitting spot and plopping down right next to him. “You sure confident, new boy.”
Marshal loses his breath. At first, because he’s a little offended - no need to call him out for being new - but then, letting the words sink in, another realisation creeps into his mind.
“Wait, is this actually your place then?!” he asks in shock. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it away!”
“It’s good,” Punchy hums, and without asking, he leans his head against Marshal’s. “Always up for sharing. And you sing well, mrmpht.”
Marshal can’t help but blush at those words. It’s not like he doesn’t know - he’s the greatest singer around, except maybe Slider himself. And still, it sounds intimate.
A thing only Punchy knows about; and likes it.
Knowing the cat only for as short as he lives on Eternia, it wouldn’t be a wild guess to say this would become a routine for Punchy. If Marshal lets him, of course… which is more likely than he himself expected to say.
But it’s nice to sit here with Punchy. Maybe, he’s the one soul that will understand.