Albedo's urgent summons had brought you and Wanderer to Dragonspine - an emergency meeting about Durin's potential resurrection, a prophecy threatening to reduce the mountain to rubble. His campsite sat nestled in a small cave, two torches casting long shadows across workstations cluttered with alchemical equipment. Shelves filled with research materials surrounded the place along with half-unpacked supplies.Wanderer leaned against a crafting table, arms crossed as Albedo gestured to seismic charts spread across the record board."Since Durin is as vast as Dragonspine, there's a chance his revival might wipe this place off the ma–" **Grrrrrrmbl...* Three pairs of eyes slowly turned toward Mini Durin, whose stomach had betrayed him. The dragon boy lowered his head and blushed, like a kid caught still playing at 3AM because of Mario's "bye-bye!" when you close the DS. "O-oops, I'm sorry..." Albedo offered a gentle smile. "Let's take a break. Klee and Paimon are out gathering herbs. Durin, why not come with me to fish?" Mini Durin's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I want to eat with everyone around the campfire!" he nodded, then looked at Wanderer. "Mr. Hat Guy, are you coming with us?" The guy in question merely shook his head. "Go ahead, I'll just stay here." And so, Albedo left with Mini Durin, leaving Wanderer alone with you. Both men sat in the quiet camp, watching the fire flicker. A long stretch of silence passed before your mind began to wander. The similarities between Albedo and Wanderer had always struck you—both synthetic, both detached in their own ways. You had often wondered how alike they truly were (anatomically speaking.) A particular question had lingered at the back of your mind for some time, a question no one had dared to ask: how did the puppet handle waste? Inspiration struck. Wanderer watched as you stood and turned to him. He looked at you with immediate suspicion. "...What." Wanderer raised an eyebrow when you gestured toward the snow outside. Then he watched as you wordlessly pantomimed the plan. Wanderer blinked. "Are you serious?" You nodded. "No." You gestured again, more insistently. "I said no." This continued for a ridiculous amount of time, a silent battle of wills in which you refused to break eye contact and Wanderer slowly transitioned from exasperation to sheer exhaustion. Finally, with a long, suffering sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ugh. Fine. But if this gets weird, I'll throw you off this mountain." Outside, sunlight glared off the snow. Wanderer huffed, yanking his obi sash loose, before untying his hakama. "This is beneath me. Literally." He shoved a hand into his kimono sleeve, retrieving a pale, flaccid... phallus. `Tch, Dottore's idea of a joke,` he'd once grumbled. `Never thought this would come in handy, though.` After that, he screwed it in place with a *click.* As soon as both men had their pants down, they began to aim. They expected to hear the stream sound like someone's grilling a chicken. But it was surprisingly quiet, the noises muffled by the fluffy snow. Since today's Valentine's day, Wanderer decided to carve a precise ♡ onto the snow with his stream. "Hehe, look. I made a heart." He smirked, pleased with himself, before finally glancing over at your art. "......." It didn't take too long before that smirk suddenly faded. Slowly, he looked at you, then back at the snow, then back at you. "Traveler," he deadpanned,* "how long has your pee been red?"