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Nelson Tethers was an Agent of Order, of taking things as they were and setting them as they were supposed to be. He was the anti-entropy standing in the center of a sea of chaos, and it was no less than his pleasure to put things right. To see the world for what it was, know how it was meant to be, and slot every last piece into place until all the errors in reality were corrected. Wasn't that all puzzles were, in the end? Just a scattered reality for him to collect and set straight?
The basic principles of puzzle solving had served him well in his old life. Gathering information, pondering its implications, looking for every possible conclusion, and taking the steps necessary to ensure the most favorable outcome was a simple process, to be sure, but that didn't make it any less effective. And it had so many more applications than just puzzles - he saw that now, as an envoy of the Eye, and now he could see so much more than just petty jigsaws and crossword puzzles.
Working with the FBI, he'd used his powers of deductive reasoning to fix problems that meant so little in the grand scheme of things. Puzzles were fun, sure, but who cared if he'd navigated a maze correctly in record time? What did it matter that every crossword in every newspaper he'd ever received had been filled in successfully - in pen, no less - and had, in some cases, been improved by words the original creators hadn't even realized were a better fit?
No, now he could take the skills he'd spent his whole life honing, and use them for something a little more real. People cared, when they thought something had stakes. People cared, when you showed up in the middle of the night, to finally solve the riddle about who was really the one embezzling all those company funds.
Or to ask about the nature of the interesting deposits made to a secret account under a false name, never the same amount, and never on any set schedule. Sometimes he just liked to relax with a simple sudoku made up of all the trivial tidbits of someone's life, like the little places they used to play as a kid, or their favorite flavor of candy, or the brand of shampoo they preferred.
In the end it didn't really matter what he was looking into, just that he was looking at all. You couldn't solve problems if you couldn't see them in the first place, and even when there wasn't anything about a situation that needed fixing it still made him giddy to know that he was more than prepared should the need ever arise. That he was going to be the one to find the answers to all those little questions swirling around in everyone's minds - who did it? When? Where? Why? For how long? Who else knows? What else do they know? Who do I need to talk to next?
Now, however, he had a problem of his own to solve. Over the last six months he'd been very enthusiastic about fulfilling his duty and collecting every last scrap of information onto his tape recorder, and now he had quite the collection. So large, in fact, that it was becoming a little unwieldy.
He thought he’d wanted to organize his tapes by date and time, but now that he looked back at the truly massive amount of information he’d accrued, a chronological ordering just seemed so inefficient. It would be far more accessible to organize the data by subject, or by person, or by region- he still hadn’t quite decided. Whatever he chose though, it had to be better than the date.
Pulling open one of the drawers of his filing cabinets, Nelson began to pull out a few of the tapes within and consider how many different factors each could be categorized by. They could be subdivided by genre, separating the purely informational tapes from his personal and, ah, professional recordings. Or, he could do it based on the data itself and keep all the murders together in one spot, with all the trade secrets and confidential government information in another, so on and so forth until he had his own self-compiled encyclopedia. Maybe he could even borrow the Dewey Decimal system to start labeling things more clearly, and-
His thoughts were interrupted by a deep groaning in the walls, vibrating and reverberating through the whole hull of the Philadelphia Experiment. It was the creaking squawk of the ship’s metal structure bending to Guybrush’s warped laws of reality somewhere, and it sounded far enough away that whatever the pirate was doing probably didn't concern him. The noises were easy enough to ignore when you knew what they were, but they were still loud and annoying enough to grab his attention from time to time.
Anyway, perhaps it would help him decide how to organize his findings if he had a clearer idea of all the things he'd found. A spreadsheet with all the relevant details could speed the process up considerably, and when he was finished it could probably be used to make a catalogue of everything he had in his collection. Sure, it would take some extra time to compile, but never let it be said that Nelson Tethers was afraid of a little hard wor-
The ship groaned again, closer this time. Louder this time. Nelson felt a little flick of annoyance at the interruption he just knew was on its way; they said that for any two points there was exactly one line that could be traced between them, and it looked like that line was going to lead straight to him. He loved hanging out with Guybrush, he really did, but now really wasn't the time.
Nelson picked up another tape and resolutely put the noise pollution out of his mind. If Guybrush was coming to bother him, he wasn't going to waste what little time he had left. As he let his thoughts sink back into the intricacies of his mission, weighing and debating each of the different factors for each possible category each tape could belong to, he lost himself in the pure bliss of being able to recall everything he'd learned about everything.
So lost, in fact, that he didn't notice the six other structural anomalies warning him of Guybrush's approach. He continued to not notice as the light coming from his little desk lamp went from a flickery sepia yellow-brown to a watery blue, as if the ship had once again sunken to the bottom of the ocean and trapped him with it beneath the waves. He still didn't notice when various trinkets and objects started to float aimlessly around the room, gently swaying and buffeted as if by an invisible wind.
What he did notice was the tapes beginning to wind and rewind themselves at random, shivering and starting to scuttle around in their drawers like tiny plastic crustaceans. Setting the tape in his hand back in the drawer, Nelson slammed it shut.
"Guybrush. Is there something you need?" Glaring flatly around the room, there seemed to be no sign of his partner anywhere.
Then, all at once the world snapped back to reality to reveal Guybrush draped across the tops of his filing cabinets.
He wasn’t smiling.
Nelson's expression shifted to include a little more concern. It was still tinged with just a trace of exasperation at having been interrupted this way, but if Guybrush wasn't feeling well then exceptions could be made. “This again?”
Guybrush nodded sluggishly. His shattered sea glass eyes were trained on him with a sad yet hopeful look to them, and he made a questioning sort of keening noise as he blinked mournfully at his partner.
Nelson shook his head. "Nope. Still no sign of it." Whatever it was.
Guybrush made a noise of disappointment, and seemed almost to deflate. He let his limbs dribble despondently down the sides of Nelson's cabinets, and the Agent had to grab his wrist when his fingers started to curl around the handle on one of the drawers. “It’s not in my files.”
“Youu dOn’Tt knOw tHhat…”
Nelson pinched the bridge of his nose and responded, very patiently, “You’re right. I don’t. But I would, if you could tell me what it is.”
Okay, so, maybe not as patiently as he’d intended. Guybrush’s only response was to slide headfirst off the cabinets and pile onto the floor like a depressed garden hose.
After a few moments, he burbled, "I woUlddn't eVen knoOw wherE to staRrrt…"
Slowly, Nelson reopened one of the drawers and picked up another of his tapes. If Guybrush wanted to lie on the floor and be miserable, that was fine. As long as he stayed quiet and let him think.
Of course it was never that simple. After a minute or two, Nelson was pulled away from his task yet again by the feeling of Guybrush coiling one of his hands around his ankle.
“HoWw caN yoou tHinK of filiiNg at A tiMe likke thIs?”
A time like what, Guybrush? he wanted to ask, because this is starting to be an every-few-days kind of occurrence.
Somewhere over the course of their new careers as boogeymen Guybrush had lost something important to him, and he'd been feeling its absence more and more poignantly as of late. Nelson had done everything he could to help him find it, but there really wasn't much for him to do because, no matter how hard he tried and no matter how much he missed it, Guybrush seemed utterly incapable of talking about it in any way that would actually help lead him to it. Games of 20 questions hadn't gotten them anywhere, mostly because they started out with the basics, and then Guybrush got lost trying to pin down some indescribable detail about his thing, and upset himself when he couldn't adequately describe its uniqueness.
Over time Nelson had been able to ascertain that the missing something was indeed a thing, not an experience or a place, and that the thing was from before everything had gone wrong. All attempts to get Guybrush to be more specific about the thing, like about whether it was a thing from his personal or professional life, about whether it was a valuable thing because it was an actual important, useful object or just because it meant a lot to him, or even just about where they might be able to find it had failed.
It was unclear whether or not this inability to articulate those details was because Guybrush couldn’t recall the right words to say, or because he’d forgotten most of the details entirely and was simply left with the impression of a void in his life - a hole where something should be, but wasn’t.
Whatever was happening with him though, whether the object was real or something he could only find in his dreams, the feelings he was having about it were real and it made Nelson sad to see him so heartbroken. Which just made his own uselessness all the worse. There was nothing any of them could do but be there for him until he turned his attention onto something else and forgot.
Sighing, Nelson set down the tape he was holding and pried Guybrush's fingers off of his leg. They curled around his hand and up his wrist like the tentacles of a miniature octopus.
He couldn't just ignore him, that much was clear. He could try to set him up in a chair and interest him in the things he was working on, but Guybrush had a remarkably short attention span sometimes, and it didn't look like now was a good time for a long-winded explanation about what he planned to do with his data collection.
No, it was probably a better idea to give him over to someone who was a little better at handling wayward emotions than he was. Guybrush had come here to ask him if he'd seen his thing, he'd told him that he had not, so he didn't really need to be in Nelson's room specifically.
Y'know, now that he thought about it, Eddie was probably getting pretty lonely again, and tossing Guybrush his way would let him get some much needed human contact. And Nelson could also get back to his filing project. A win-win, really.
Gathering up the noodley pirate in his arms, Nelson did his best not to trip over any of his trailing limbs as he hauled him out into the hallway. Thinking back on the habits he’d observed of his shipmates, he tried to recall where he’d be most likely to find Eddie.
Let’s see… it’s 7:48 on a Thursday night. We’re still out in the middle of the ocean, so he’ll have finished his last smoke break twenty-two and a half minutes ago, which means he’s probably in the common room nearest the portside hatch.
Simple. Destination decided, Nelson hiked his partner up a little more securely over his shoulder and headed off in the direction of their resident firestarter.
It was a good thing Guybrush had such a loose relationship with the laws of reality; some days he felt dense enough to be made out of lead, or tungsten, as if he'd somehow managed to compress two or three extra people into a space only big enough to be occupied by one, while on other occasions he was lighter than the seafoam churned up by the ship. Today he was somewhere in the middle; not weightless, but not nearly as heavy as he ought to have been either.
Guybrush’s arms and legs were like creeping vines, wrapping themselves insidiously around Nelson’s own limbs as he walked through the shadowy, rusting corridors of the Philadelphia Experiment, and more than once he’d almost fallen over trying not to get his feet tangled in Guybrush’s embrace. Three close calls and a near miss later, they arrived at the common room.
Standing in the doorway, Nelson could see that his deductions had been correct. Eddie was sprawled into the corner of one of the couches - probably not as comfortable as it could have been, what with the fact that he hadn’t taken off any of his protective gear - and was listening to a CD he’d picked up at their last stop off the coast of Korea.
The lights in this particular common area were barely functional. Half of them were just shattered bulbs that needed to be replaced, while the rest had a bad habit of flickering or going out at inopportune moments. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant place to read a book or hang out with friends so most of them didn’t bother with it, but Eddie always seemed to end up here one way or another when he was starting to feel empty inside. Maybe he appreciated the black, empty shadows and broken vibe the room gave off as a reflection of his state of mind, or maybe he just came here because he knew it was an easy enough place to be alone.
Whatever the case, if he'd wanted to fix the room up he was more than capable of it, and his predictability meant he was right where Nelson had expected him to be.
It was time to let his misery have a little company.
As he stepped into the room, Nelson had to pry Guybrush off of him before lobbing him onto the couch. He'd have taken his friend the entire way, but Eddie insisted on keeping at least six feet between himself and anyone who wasn't Guybrush at all times.
The pirate landed squarely on top of the roadie's shoulders and splayed out across the back of the furniture like a beached jellyfish. Eddie jumped at the unexpected contact, swearing under his breath and jerking away from the sudden body at his back, but as soon as he realized his surprise guest was simply Guybrush he relaxed back into the couch and pulled his friend towards him a little more securely. As he glanced back towards the door, Nelson had the distinct impression that Eddie was most likely glaring at him.
Now, is there a reason you decided to ambush me? He asked telepathically, Or is this just a friendly way of getting him out from under your feet?
He's missing his whatever-it-is again. Nelson replied. From the doorway he could see Guybrush slowly curling one of his arms around Eddie's right bicep. And I don’t need him melting all over my filing cabinets while I’m trying to reorganize. Mind keeping an eye on him for a little while? Just until he feels better?
Nelson could practically hear the flat look Eddie was giving him from underneath his visor.
… Yeah, I can do that. I’m tossing him back your way if he doesn’t improve by dinner, though.
That was fair. It was certainly too much to expect Eddie to cook and let Guybrush hang onto him like a particularly colorful yet gloomy moss, and by then Nelson would have made considerable headway into revamping his catalog. As Eddie pulled the rest of Guybrush’s body over the back of the couch so he could ‘sit’ properly on the cushions, Nelson turned back the way he came. Guybrush would be fine, and he had a lot of reorganizing to do.
&&&&&&
It had been six months since Guybrush's world had been knocked off its axis, and everyday he found himself being bothered more and more often by the black, gaping void in his life.
He was lonely. Or… not lonely… you couldn't be lonely if you weren't alone, and he had an entire shipful of roommates to hang out with. He wasn't lonely. Lonely was the wrong word. What was the right word? Sad? Wanting? Lacking? Absent, inadequate, incomplete, inconsolable, despondent, forlorn, LONELY. Almost.
Whatever he needed to patch up the hole in his soul was still evading him. He couldn't retrace his steps, because he didn't really walk anywhere anymore and all the old footprints in his mind were trampling all over each other and getting in the way of the one path that would lead him back to where he needed to be. Despite all his fun new tricks as an avatar of the Spiral, he still couldn't just unwind time and go back to the last moment he'd been able to really feel whole, to feel so wonderfully complete he'd never want for anything ever again. No, only Nelson seemed to be able to recall memories like that, and he'd made it more than clear that Guybrush was on his own.
Moping around the ship's bow, Guybrush sighed and let his arms spool down over the railing to sway like streamers in the wind. Why was everything so much harder than it needed to be?
He was just about to slide his way back down below to find… someone, maybe Sam and Max, or maybe Manny this time, when he caught the barest hint of a whisper on the edge of his awareness. It was a teeny tiny little impression, like a harp string had barely been brushed by a fly’s wing as it buzzed too close to the instrument. Perceptible, but only just.
The thread of consciousness was drifting by on the wind. Twisting and turning in place on the deck, Guybrush started looking around for whatever might be causing it. It was far too small to be anything as developed as a person, but it (probably) wasn't nothing either (this time).
At last, letting the impression lead him like a guidewire, he found the source of his latest distraction resting comfortably in the shade of some of the ship's ventilation pipes. It was a little spider about the size of a gumball with fragile, spindly legs and eight glittering eyes. It lounged comfortably in the middle of its web, and it's yellow eyes almost seemed to glow with an intelligence that was… familiar, somehow.
Against his better judgement - a spider lost in his hair or his clothes would be a nightmare to find again - he reached out the corkscrew tip of his hook towards the spider as a place for it to perch while he inspected it further. It ignored him for a few moments before testing the waters with one of its front legs, and then allowed him to bring the hook closer so it could climb aboard.
Almost immediately it started spinning another little web in the curve of his hook, whispering and clicking and murmuring to him all the while. It was mesmerizing, watching the way it pulled so many disparate threads together to create such a lovely little net - a bug net, for catching all the little secrets bugs were known for collecting. What secrets was the spider trying to share with him…?
Slowly, gently, he brought the arachnid up to his ear so he could hear it a little better. He shuddered when it touched the side of his face with one of its legs, but then-
Then the spider began to talk to him. To tell him so many things he hadn't realized he'd been dying to hear. It was spinning a new web now, one made of drama and mystery and intrigue, and the tale it told was one that he hoped beyond hope that the little spider knew the ending to, because it was his story.
He listened as it - she, he decided, its voice was pretty enough to be a she - told him all about the Motherlobe, and the people that worked there, and the one they called Guybrush Ulysses Threepwood, Mighty Pirate. Er, Psychonaut. Not the avatar of the spiral, not the swirling vortex of pain and misery he'd become, just Guybrush.
One day, he'd been minding his own business, when he'd changed. No one knew how, and no one knew why, but sooner or later everyone around him started to change too. They changed so much that they had to leave, all of them, to wander the globe in search of… something. It wasn't really clear what, but if you were going to sail to so many distant ports you had to have a reason, right?
The spider didn't tell him what it was, so he decided right then and there that he was looking for treasure. He was a pirate, after all, in command of a ship! Therefore, he had to be going after some kind of treasure. Yes, she agreed, a treasure.
Eventually, however, after months of his voyage the addled captain lost sight of his goal when a whirlpool tossed and turned his ship around, and the terrible storm that caused it stopped him from being able to navigate, to see the stars and find his way home. He'd lost his compass, he'd lost his map, he'd lost his marbles, and he'd lost his way.
Guybrush frowned. He didn't like this story anymore. He didn't want to be lost. It sounded like the spider was almost finished, and there wasn't enough time for him to be found again.
Not found, not yet, she hissed. She crawled up onto the top of his head and settled into his hair like a little barrette. Not until you find, instead.
But how was he supposed to find? What was he supposed to find? He didn't know where he was going. He didn't know where to look.
Impatiently, the spider tugged on his hair. The web. Find the Web. The treasure web.
And suddenly Guybrush realized. The spider hadn't just been spinning pretty little pictures into his hook, it had spun a naval chart of the sea. Even as his hook twisted and warped he could still see the coordinates and the little blobs of land that let him know exactly where he needed to go.
The pieces were clicking into place; all the loose threads and broken lines had been neatly wrapped up by the spider's tidy weaving, and now he was practically giddy at how simple everything seemed, how wonderful it was to know his purpose AND the way to get there.
When he'd realized he couldn't remember where exactly he'd been the last time he'd seen his reason for living, and that he didn't even know where to begin looking, he'd resigned himself to the mercy of the tides - hoping that maybe luck would favor him for once, and he'd wash up on whichever shore would help him find his missing piece. His treasure. His heart. The wind in his sails, the jolly in his Roger, the shiver in his timbers.
Finally - after all that time spent waiting around wishing he could find a way, wishing he could remember, wishing for the impossible, FINALLY - everything he could ever want was waiting for him at the end of this map.
Finally. He'd found her.
&&&&&&
Back belowdecks, Nelson was scribbling the last few details about his new filing system into the little notebook he'd decided to use as his catalogue. It was highly unlikely he'd ever actually forget what he had on hand, but it never hurt to be organized. Leaning back in his chair and tossing his pen onto the desk, he couldn't help but smile at what he'd accomplished.
And then, without even a hint of a warning, the ship suddenly lurched to the side, veering off course and unceremoniously tossing him to the floor. The abrupt lurch almost took his filing cabinets with it, and the only thing that stopped Nelson's library from scattering all over the place was his panicked scramble off the floor to keep his precious collection in place.
The ship's gravity righted itself almost as quickly as it had gone wrong, and as soon as he was satisfied his records weren't going to end up underfoot, Nelson was out the door and making a break for the bridge. There was only one man aboard who could pull a maneuver like that, and he'd need control over the ship's directional equipment to do it.
Thankfully there weren't any more abrupt course corrections in the short amount of time that it took him to run from his personal quarters all the way up to the command center, but the ship was still groaning under the stress of the sudden turn. Eddie would not be happy if Guybrush had burst some of the welds and other repairs he'd just finished working on, not if there wasn't a good reason for the detour.
As he suspected, Guybrush was standing at the ship's helm with his good hand on the wheel and his attention divided between the windows and every gauge and dial in sight.
"Guybrush? What's going on?" Nelson demanded, "Why did we turn? Where are we going?"
Guybrush didn't even seem to notice him. Ignoring his questions entirely, the avatar of the Spiral just kept adjusting the ship’s navigational systems, setting them off on a heading known only to him.
"Guybrush? Hey, Guybrush!" Nelson snapped his fingers in front of his partner's face, grabbing his attention at last. "What are you doing?!"
Guybrush felt a sharp flare of annoyance; what did it look like he was doing?! Really, for an avatar of the Eye, Nelson could just be so blind sometimes. Sparing a glance for his friend, the pirate couldn't help but notice that Nelson had his tape recorder in hand, ready and waiting to bother him with more useless questions. Questions, questions, always with the questions! They didn't have time for questions, it was time for action!
"NotT noWw, NelSonn!" Careful not to disturb his map, Guybrush swept his partner back out into the hallway and shut the door behind him.
Nelson stared at the closed door for a moment, stunned. A moment later however, he pounded on the door and, when he found it locked, took off toward the main deck.
There were no further changes in the ship's course; whatever Guybrush was so intent on reaching, he was laser-focused on it and it was almost certain he'd find a way to get his hands on it, come hell or high water.
Nelson ran into Manny and Eddie on the way down. Manny's jacket had a large coffee stain down the front of it, while the visor of Eddie's motorcycle helmet was cracked in a spiderweb pattern over his right eye. Whatever was going on, Guybrush owed everyone a serious explanation and an apology to boot; there was no telling just how much of the ship's contents had been damaged by his little stunt, and it was a miracle that no one had been hurt.
As far as Guybrush's goal went, the ship's surroundings didn't offer Nelson any clues. They were still a decent ways away from the shore - a different shore than the one they ought to be sailing by, as far as Nelson could tell - and with the sun still in the sky it was impossible to tell just how far Guybrush had taken them. All he had to go on were the distant trees and rocks on the beach of whatever landmass they were traveling around, and what he knew of Guybrush's usual impulses.
So, in short, not a lot to go on. Guybrush would go out of his way for a box of donuts just as easily as he would for a real emergency or an important errand he'd forgotten about until just now. There was no telling what it was that had motivated this detour - not until Guybrush decided to tell them himself.
Sam and Max were already up on deck when the three of them arrived. It seemed they'd been playing a game of hide and seek in the ship's cargo hold when the ship had turned, and the extra challenge the falling crates and containers had posed was a welcome addition. In the end it seemed Sam had made the decision to hang out up top instead, if only because getting squished by a rusty corrugated metal box didn't sound like a fun way to spend an evening, but Max was still yelling up at the windows of the command center to do it again.
Despite Sam and Manny's questions about what he'd found up on the bridge, Nelson waved them off in favor of scanning the horizon. He didn't want to miss anything that could identify where they were.
He could see a few small houses dotting the coastline, but their construction was simple and generic enough to belong to any nation. Impoverished fishing villages weren't known for their lavish architecture, after all. Based on the sun's position in the sky they'd swapped hemispheres, but the similar levels of daylight to their last known position suggested that the time zone was the same.
Movement on the shore grabbed Nelson's attention. Squinting, he tried to see who or what was out there in the hope that, if it was a person, their clothing and ethnicity might reveal their location, but before he could discern anything a call from above dragged his attention away once more.
"AhhoY tHerE!!"
Nelson turned just in time to see Guybrush hang himself out of the central window of the bridge with a bent spyglass to his eye, then slink down the outer wall to stand on the deck.
At once he was set upon by questions from all sides.
"What's going on?"
"Where are we?"
"Why did we turn?"
Guybrush just smiled. "YOu'lL sEe!!"
He started to drift forward towards the railing, but Nelson had had enough. Gripping Guybrush's shoulder, Nelson turned him around and demanded an explanation. Guybrush frowned at him and started to look back over his shoulder, but Nelson stopped him with a hand on his chin.
"Answers, Guybrush. Now."
"Itt's… I…" Guybrush tangled his fingers into his hair and grunted. "THeRe waSS- i heArd a VoIce, and sHe siAd-"
"You did all this because you're hearing voices??"
"nOoo! NOt jUssT a voiCe, A spiDeR toO!!"
Guybrush furrowed his brow at Nelson like he couldn't understand why he didn't get it, like that non-explanation made any sort of sense, then twisted out of Nelson's hold before he could ask another question. Quickly, he wrapped an arm around his torso and hauled him forward to the railing.
"Look."
Guybrush used his hook to gesture to a small black fishing boat bobbing in the waves a good distance away. His unstable state of being made it unclear whether he'd actually reached his arm all the way out to it or if some kind of warped forced perspective just made it look like he had, but either way it seemed like he'd almost gotten close enough to tap on the little boat's roof.
Guybrush released Nelson as he rubbed some of the insanity out of his eyes and walked further down the railing to call out to the little boat once again.
"A boat…" Nelson whispered, once he could see again.
How had he missed the boat? Sure, it wasn't particularly large or obvious, but details were what he prided himself on. How had the boat riding the waves escaped his notice?
Nelson felt like the entire ship was sideways. Granted, it actually was a lot of the time, but this time it was all in his head. He didn't like it.
To compensate, his mind seemed to want to take in everything all at once in the hope that having the full picture would let him make some sense out of the world; the position of the sun means that we're still where we were longitudinally speaking, but on the other side of the world- Guybrush is humming and smiling so we can't be in any real danger, but on the other hand he smiles for no real reason these days so for all we know, that boat could be a superweapon capable of sinking the ship with hardly any effort- the boat. The boat. Guybrush wants to meet the boat-
"We're here for a rendezvous?" He asked, mouth finally catching up to his brain.
Guybrush nodded without looking back at him.
"How- how did you find out about this??" The voice, of course, the one Guybrush had been trying to tell him about, the woman's voice-
“Thee InTernett oF coUrsE!”
What?!
Most of the time they barely had a clear radio signal, let alone a connection to the world wide web - how on earth had Guybrush pulled information like this off of the internet?!
While Nelson was spiralling the small boat had drifted ever closer. Guybrush waved at it until it was right next to them, close enough for Nelson to notice that the boat's deck wasn't black because it had been painted that way, it was black because of the hundreds of thousands of spiders swarming over every visible surface. The hull, the main cabin, everything- spiders.
Just, spiders.
Nelson wasn't particularly afraid of spiders, no more so than he was of unexpectedly finding any other bug where it didn't belong, but still- just looking at the writhing mass of shadows made his skin crawl.
Nelson stared incredulously at Guybrush. All he could think to ask this time was a flat, "Why."
Guybrush, however, had run out of patience for questions again and shushed him.
Nelson rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel the start of a headache forming at the back of his eyes. Why was this his life? What had he done to deserve standing here in the middle of the ocean with a boat full of spiders coming to make his acquaintance?
The fishing boat glanced off the Philadelphia Experiment’s hull with a grinding sort of crunch that meant the smaller wooden vessel had to have damaged itself in the impact. It hadn’t capsized, but another hit like that would probably make short work of it.
Guybrush wasn't concerned though; if he knew anything about that boat's captain, it was that she wouldn't let a little fender bender like that get her down.
“prEpaare to bE boArdded!!” He called out to the little boat, grinning like a madman as he searched the deck with his whorled eyes for even just a trace of his wife.
His smile faltered when he realized there was no one aboard. All the navigational equipment was held in place by thick silken ropes, and the only signs of life were the little black dots creepy-crawling around on the vessel's deck. The whole thing was abandoned.
Guybrush’s broken smile took the opportunity to fall off his face entirely, crashing into the surface of the ocean just like all his hopes. The soulless black void in his life that had settled across his shoulders was now in his ribcage, sucking his heart into the crushing, expansive vacuum and tearing him apart from the inside. No… no, that’s wrong, I was promised- the little spider PROMISED-
She had to be belowdecks- there are no belowdecks, it's too small- there must be some mistake- the spider just wanted its own friends, it TRICKED you- she HAD to be there- she’s not- but she was! He could feel her! Like a cloud of her favorite perfume, he could sense something so distinctly her in the air that there was no way she could be anything other than in his arms-
Unless he was dreaming with his eyes open again. Unless he was hallucinating, and he’d only imagined her being there for the sake of ignoring the fact that he was never going to see her again, because he was a monster and she wasn’t and if he ever found her again he might hurt her, and maybe she didn’t like him anymore for being too swirly - she was always the swirly one, with all the lovely curls in her hair, and he took over her monopoly on swirls when he turned into a monster and so she’d never want to see him again and he didn’t even realize it because he was CRAZY-
“Prepare to be boarded yourself, sailor.”
The breathless voice came from almost directly below him. He had just enough time to look down, to see a glowing pair of bright yellow eyes and a wide, toothy grin before he was all but tackled by the creature that had scaled the hull of his ship with nothing but its fingertips. It knocked him flat out onto the deck, and as his back hit the steel hull he found himself pinned beneath his assailant - not an altogether disagreeable position to be in, because it was her he’d found her no she found him it didn’t matter because they weRE TOGETHER AT LAST-
The others started forward when Elaine lunged over the side of the ship, but Guybrush was faster. In the blink of an eye his arms snaked around and around his wife's torso in an inescapable hug cocoon. Nelson had drawn his gun in surprise and very nearly fired on the ship's intruder when Guybrush yelled, and it was only the barest base instinct that stopped him from pulling the trigger. His partner wasn't screaming in pain or calling for help.
He was laughing.
For a moment he didn't understand. Whatever had boarded their ship, it had attacked Guybrush. Its limbs were long and thin, and it had an extra pair of arms sprouting from its waist. The glowing yellow eyes and the needle-like fangs in its mouth, combined with all the other physical abnormalities, meant that this couldn't be anything other than the work of one of the Fears - why was Guybrush so happy about it?
And then the other details about the creature's behavior and appearance caught up, and it dawned on him - the wavy red hair, the creature's seeming familiarity with Guybrush, the way it was crushing the pirate with all of its limbs just as fiercely as he was doing to it - this had to be Elaine.
Slowly, shocked by the revelation, Nelson stowed his gun and put a hand to his head in disbelief. Looking over at his friends, it seemed they had the same realization at about the same time he did, and were equally surprised by it.
Manny was the first to actually make a move. Approaching the pair, he crouched down next to them and asked, "Elaine, is that really you?"
"YeSss!" Guybrush cooed, pressing the side of his face into Elaine's, "I fouUnD heR!"
Elaine giggled, then pushed herself up into a sitting position so she could properly greet her friends. As she crossed her legs and pulled her husband more securely into her lap with her secondary arms, she raised a finger to the spider still tucked into Guybrush's hair. The little orb weaver crawled across it and onto the back of her hand, which she displayed with no small amount of pride. "I found you first, darling."
The spider scuttled down to her wrist and descended to the deck on a strand of silk as Guybrush caught his wife's hand in his own and brought it to his lips.
Now that the two were sitting up, Elaine's former co-workers were finally able to get a good look at her face. It was more angular than it used to be, just like the rest of her body. Her chin and cheekbones were sharper, and she had two small sets of extra eyes around and below each of her original ones.
If Guybrush noticed the changes, he didn't seem to care very much. Elaine was Elaine was Elaine in his mind, so any extra features were just one more thing to love about her.
Manny voiced the question on everyone else's minds. "What happened?"
Gently, Elaine pulled on Guybrush's arms to loosen his hold a bit so she could speak without suffocating in his anaconda-like grip. He allowed his arms to drape more loosely around her two sets of shoulders as she addressed the small crowd of onlookers.
"After we parted ways I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I went home. I needed time to think and to figure out what came next, but the house was just too big for one person to live in all alone." Her face fell as she recalled those awful first few days after she'd escaped from the corrupted Motherlobe and left everyone behind, haunted by the knowledge that they were corrupted and wrong too. She shook her head. "Eventually I went back there, but everyone was gone. We had nothing to go on. No way to track you, no eyewitness accounts, no idea what had even happened in the first place. The Psychonauts were less than useless and Guybrush was missing, so, eventually I did what I had to to find him. I should've known that all I'd need was a boat."
She smiled sadly and lapsed into silence as the weight of the memories brought down the mood. Her explanation didn't quite answer the question that had been asked of her, but they could fill in the blanks. What had happened was obvious enough, based on her appearance alone.
“MInne’s biGger,” Guybrush interrupted at last, with a saucy eyebrow wiggle.
The two stared each other in the eyes and held their poker faces for as long as possible before simultaneously dissolving into laughter as though it was the funniest joke either of them had ever heard.
As Elaine wiped a tear out of one of her auxiliary eyes, she pulled Guybrush back into a tight hug. “I missed you so much.”
Then she stood, still crushing him in a hug with her primary set of arms while his legs draped over the second set at her waist like some kind of pseudo-bridal carry.
Nelson was still just standing there in shock. Why on earth hadn't he realized Guybrush was missing Elaine?? In all the time that he'd known his partner, his biggest constant had always been his undying devotion to his wife. Of course he'd start to miss her. Even unrecognizably twisted by insanity, Guybrush was never going to stop loving Elaine.
At once Nelson marched toward the pair. Hooking his fingers beneath the collar of Guybrush's shirt, he snagged the leather cord he knew Guybrush never took off and brought forward the golden ring he knew was threaded through it.
Holding it up to Guybrush's eye level, he hissed, "This. This was all you had to show me."
Guybrush, for his part, seemed entirely captivated by the ring. Reverently he took it from between Nelson's fingers and, after studying it for a moment, showed it excitedly to Elaine.
"I sTill hAvE it!! I didN't lOse it!"
She smiled at him and pressed a kiss into his cheek. "No, you didn't. And I didn't either."
Brushing her hair back behind her ear, she gave him a clear view of the diamond band-turned-earring she wore. Guybrush nearly split his whole head in two smiling about it, and once again he wrapped his arms around and around Elaine and hugged her as if he'd never see her again if he let go.
Which, considering how they'd gotten into this situation, could very well be the case if he had another memory lapse at the wrong time.
Still, Nelson mused as Guybrush tugged Elaine towards one of the ship's hatches to give her a tour of her new home, even if Guybrush's memories were corrupted again, it wasn't as though Elaine would let him forget about her for very long. Behind him on the deck Eddie swore emphatically as a veritable infestation of spiders swarmed up and over the side of the ship to crawl across the deck and disappear into every crack, corner, nook, and cranny they could find. No, Guybrush certainly wouldn't be able to forget, not with so many of Elaine's helpers spinning spiraling reminders of her everywhere he looked.
Nelson smiled to himself and mentally started to organize the facts of this little adventure for later storage in his newly organized collection. Manny was talking Eddie down, trying to convince him not to burn down the entire ship with everyone still aboard just because a few spiders were lurking in the shadows, and Nelson shook his head fondly. Even after all this change, so many things were still the same.
At once, Nelson was struck with an idea for another little collection to add to his library. Opening a new mental category he labeled as Personal History, he started filling it with all the facts he could currently recall about each of their lives prior to their current circumstances. They would do well to remember where they came from, and this way, the next time someone started missing something from the past a record of it would be waiting for them somewhere in his files, exactly where it belonged.
Ignoring the delighted giggles echoing further and further away from him as Guybrush pushed further belowdecks, Nelson straightened his tie and turned his gaze to the disaster threatening to happen behind him on the deck. Pulling his tape recorder out of jacket, he strode over to Manny and Eddie's continued argument.
Grinning broadly, he asked, “So, Eddie, how long have you been bothered by spiders?”