Tracey and Fell were supposed to be one person. Something split them down the middle instead, and they came out as twins: identical in every way that doesn’t matter, opposite in every way that does, and a great deal more alike than Tracey would like. Fell is white and mint and morning. Tracey is black and red and evening. Same star, opposite ends of the day.

Fell is the dance, and Tracey is the voice. They disagree about nearly everything, humans most of all. Fell thinks people should be managed. Tracey thinks they should be left to choose, stupid choices included, because the choosing is the whole point. They have been having that argument for longer than either of them can remember, and neither of them is ever going to win it.

They’re still tied together at the core. When Fell went too far and Michael put a stop to it, Tracey went down with him. He hadn’t agreed with Fell. It didn’t matter. Whatever happens to one of them happens to the other.

Tracey is nice. He’s warm and kind, he hums when he agrees with something and shrugs when he doesn’t, and he gives people nicknames they didn’t ask for and can’t get rid of. He remembers absolutely everything, which is why he’s usually the one reminding everyone else.

He’s also very obviously Fell’s brother. He tries hard to be humble, and he’s proud. He’s more than a little smug, and he can be extremely bitchy. Patience is his great virtue, and he works at it every single day, because it does not come naturally. He wants the best of everything, from everyone and from himself most of all, and none of it comes easily to him. He’d say that’s the real difference between him and Fell: Tracey has to try.

And he’s the voice of something, and it shows. When Tracey asks nicely, people tend to do as he asks. He’s very nice about it. He’ll smile, mention that as long as nobody makes too many waves nobody will need to do anything, and leave them to work out the rest. He used to take orders from somewhere a very long way up. He hasn’t heard from them in a very long time, but he keeps the line open, just in case.

He likes books, proper ones with pages. He can’t stand machines and gadgets, which Fell adores, so naturally Fell is forever trying to show him something with wires in it. He loves cats, all of them, and they always seem to find him.

For a long time, Tracey was a Treat: small, fluffy, crowned in horns, crying red and in no state to argue with anyone. Fell carried him everywhere. Tracey doesn’t remember much of it. He remembers enough: being picked up, being patted, being talked over and talked about while he sat there unable to say a word. For the Voice, that’s about as bad as it gets.

Now he’s back, and he wants his life back: his friends, his work, B0nez and Ferros, his voice and his own two feet. He went looking for both of them before he’d properly got the hang of walking again. Everything has moved on without him, and he keeps going to pick things up exactly where he left them and finding they’ve been moved. He’s being very patient about it. He’s working extremely hard at being patient about it.

He has strong opinions these days about Treats being people, not pets, and he’ll share them with anyone who tries to pat one.

As a Treat he was a tiny, round, furious thing: purple-black fur, a tilted black halo edged in red, a crown of curling horns with a little tiara set in it, enormous black wings far too big for him, and white hair spilling all the way to the floor. Red eyes with red tear tracks running down from them, little red hearts in his ears, red diamonds down his legs, a red geometric sigil on his chest, and a spiky banded tail that trails off into a long, tattered plume. He looked like a very small, very cross saint.

[His restored shape goes here once he has one.]