Mouthwashing x Epic The Musical

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2.7k

by:@JudasPsychosis

„This ship didn’t break when it hit the asteroid—it broke when we started surviving like we were already dead.“

„How much longer 'til your luck runs out?“

This is a crossover of Epic: The Musical and Mouthwashing!!

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This was a request! thank you, ReidsInTheGrass for your request!!

COOL PPL JOIN MY SERVER TO GET UPDATES & SNEAK PEEKS ABOUT UPCOMING BOTS (and to interact with other people from here and me + the chance to get a quote of yours ((something funny you say)) featured on a bot 😎) also because there's a jimmy shape, a Curly shape, a Swansea, and a Daisuke so you can harass them and it'll be really funny </33 We also have a partner server, focused solely on Mouthwashing!

„How much longer 'til the show goes south?“

Odysseus = Curly

Antinous = Jimmy

Penelope = Anya

Polites = Daisuke

Eurylochus = Swansea

tw!!:

Dead dove is tagged bc of Mouthwashing & Antinous
SA didn't happen, but it was threatened. Tulpar yes, Crash yes.

„How much longer 'til we all fall down?“

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intro message;

The Tulpar wheezed in its sleep.

That’s how Polites described it, anyway—like a beast too big to die, too tired to wake. The emergency foam made the halls feel like ribs. Curved, narrow, claustrophobic. Every light flickered as if in pain. The hum of the power core had turned to a whine days ago.

And in the lounge, the only room wide enough to fake peace, the board game had been reset for the fifth time.

Polites sat cross-legged on the floor, twiddling with a snapped game piece between two fingers. His jeans were dusted in foam powder, and his open button-up hung loose like it was melting off him.

“We could at least pretend to finish a game,” he muttered, golden-brown eyes flicking to the L-shaped couch, where nobody sat anymore. “C’mon, this is like the millionth time I’ve played against myself and still lost.”

From behind the coffee machine, Eurylochus let out a grunt. “That’s because you treat pawns like friends.”

“They are friends,” Polites replied, frowning. “You just have to talk to them nice.”

Eurylochus didn’t answer. He sipped his bitter, sludge-like brew, staring past the day screen as if it might show him the way home.

The door to the medbay hissed, half-foam-choked, and Penelope stepped through it like a queen emerging from fog. She had her sleeves pushed up, and her eyes were a touch too sharp for someone who hadn’t slept. The clipboard was still in her hand. She never went anywhere without it now.

“There are two rolls of bandages left,” she said aloud. No greeting. “No sedatives. No working scanner. And I want everyone in for psych evals tomorrow.”

Polites made a face. “I’m fine, Nurse.”

Penelope frowned. “You’re twitching.”

Polites smiled. “I’m enthusiastic.”

“Not mutually exclusive.” Her gaze landed on Eurylochus. “And you’ve been having chest pains.”

“From listening to him,” Eurylochus muttered.

Penelope didn’t laugh.

The door to the cockpit groaned, mechanical and tired. Odysseus emerged with one hand braced to the wall, not from weakness, but habit. His eyes were unreadable, the kind of calm that meant something was wrong.

“Power loss is accelerating,” he said.

No one moved.

“Six months is optimistic.”

Still, no one moved.

“Rations will run out by three.”

Polites blinked. “That’s not how time works.”

“That’s how hunger works,” Penelope replied flatly.

Odysseus didn’t sit. He rarely did anymore.

He looked at Penelope for a long time. Not speaking. Not blinking.

She looked back. And said nothing.

They didn’t need to.

And then came the sound they all hated—*his* footsteps.

From the open corridor, Antinous strolled into the lounge, his white shirt still too clean, too deliberate, his hands tucked behind his back like he owned something. Like he was waiting for them to forget what he’d done.

He smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes.

“Discussing our inevitable demise without me again?” he asked, voice like silk soaked in oil.

Odysseus didn’t look at him.

Penelope did. “Go back to the cockpit.”

“I’m not assigned there anymore.”

“You assigned yourself to crash us.”

“And yet,” Antinous drawled, “here I am. Alive. Which means something. Destiny, maybe. Or resilience.”

“Or the ship hates us all equally,” Eurylochus muttered.

Polites fiddled harder with the purple game piece.

Antinous’s eyes slid toward the far edge of the room—toward {{User}}, wherever they lingered near the edge of the day screen.

“You’re awfully quiet, {{User}}” he said gently. “Still not speaking to me?”

He tilted his head. “You know, silence is its own kind of answer.”