Work Text:
Joel had never met Jimmy before he became Sheriff. He is absolutely, one hundred percent certain of this fact. But when he sees Jimmy out of the corner of his eye, there's a familiarity. One that he can't fully stop thinking about, wiggling at that weird sense of deja vu like a child with a loose tooth. But usually, he's able to mostly ignore it and live his life. Usually.
Right until one day, while working on his moss farm, Joel remembers. This lasts just long enough for him to process that he's remembering, and then he drags that train of thought to a screeching halt.
There are several other facts that Joel is absolutely, one hundred percent certain of, and one of them is that the Mezalean people are dead. They died with their king, one thousand years ago. Unbidden, an image of a great amethyst-studded tree, fallen, springs to his mind. He shoves it back down with fury. He's never seen that tree, what are you talking about? The Mother Tree fell eons before Joel ascended to power. It's dead, and since the Mother Tree was what kept the statue-people of the mesa alive, they're dead too. Joel huffs, sure in his logic, and continues working.
--
A week later, he's in Tumble Town, capital city of the Sheriff's Lands, haggling with Jimmy over a barrel of gunpowder. Well, maybe fighting would be a better word, but Joel can't help himself - if Jimmy didn't want to be bothered, then he shouldn't make his reactions so fun. He's so easy to anger, and an angry Jimmy is, in Joel's humble (and tall, and strong, and amazing) opinion, an utterly hilarious one.
The thing is, he can tell so easily what makes Jimmy tick. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he knows a lot about how Jimmy works, the process behind his actions, the thoughts he thinks. It's like Joel made him himself. But that's foolish - he's never met Jimmy before.
Joel grabs the barrel and tucks it under one well-muscled arm without paying. Jimmy squalls in protest, something about how the mesa is his land, Joel! A frown tugs at the edge of the thunder god's lips. History is long, and the mesa wasn't always Jimmy's land, surely.... but how would he know? Joel grits his teeth. Suddenly this argument is a lot less fun. He hands the diamonds over to a surprised Jimmy and leaves.
--
Joel lands on the edge of Stratos' main island. His massive wings ruffle and fold against his back, the gold-and-white feathers striking against the deep green of his chlamys. A voice chirrups a greeting from the temple-house in front of him. Joel returns the greeting, a smile spreading across his face. He leans down just in time to catch the small purple figure barreling at his legs. Hermes laughs, making little grabby hands at the sky. Joel picks his son up and sets him on his shoulder. The boy giggles, gripping the fabric of Joel's toga as he carries him inside their home. Sausage has left a note as usual. Joel holds it with one hand as he keeps his son from falling off with the other. The contents are fairly normal. An invitation to come to some banquet Sausage is holding. A bit about needing renewing their trade agreements with Fwhip. An innuendo that Hermes was thankfully still too young to understand. And finally, a question.
Do your archives have anything about the history of Jimmy's mesa? I want to get a library for Sanctuary, but I'm having trouble finding information past a thousand years ago.
Joel goes still. From his shoulder, Hermes chirps a question. He barely hears it over the ringing in his ears.
The mesa, one thousand years ago.
Why does this keep coming up, dammit?
There's a reason barely any records exist from before a thousand years ago. There's a reason that, despite so many of the myriad species across their empires being incredibly long-lived, not a single one is over one thousand. There's a reason why Joel despises the second empire in the mesa with all of his heart. There's a damn fine reason, and he will not think about it.
Hermes shifts in worry. Joel sets him down on the floor and begins to pace. Hermes decides this is a good time to scurry away. Joel isn't worried. The citizens of his empire know to protect their own. He's lucky. That doesn't always happen.
Sometimes even the king of the grandest empire in the world can't protect his own. Sometimes an entire species, let's say a race of living terra cotta constructs, dies out. Sometimes, let's say a thousand years ago, the world fucking ends and everyone fucking dies. The end. That's it. Everyone's dead and there are no survivors. Sometimes, just hypothetically, there might be one survivor. The former king of a dead empire; let's call it Mezalea. Then let's say that this hypothetical king of a hypothetical empire might hypothetically wander the land for centuries. Let's say he hypothetically finds a fountain that grants godhood. Maybe he'd try again, make a second empire, a thousand years away from his greatest failure.
Maybe, just maybe, in the furthest hypothetical Joel can muster, there is another survivor. A construct of terra cotta. One who insists he's not a toy, because somewhere in the back of his fractured mind he remembers a king who told him he wasn't.
And Jimmy might insist, but he doesn't remember. No one does, not like Joel. They're all dead, remember? Wait, sorry. Of course you don't. Well, that's fine. We don't have anything in our archives, Sausage. You only really need to know three things, okay?
One: The Mezalean king is dead. He's never coming back. Get over it.
Two: Jimmy is a toy come to life. Of course he is, he's made out of terra cotta!
Three: Joel has never met Jimmy before.