#The talons are Pretty Sure these are strange baby-talons but think they might be sick | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

98prilla · 4 years

Text

Shifted

Thomas decides to see what all the Side’s animal forms would be. It does not go so well for Anxiety.

This is set pre accepting anxiety, and diverges a little from the cannon of that episode, fair warning.

He is terrified. His heart is pounding as he pulls further back into the shadows, hiding under the couch. He can hear the others out there, talking, laughing, having fun. This isn’t fun.

“An owl? Really, Thomas, owls aren’t even actually smart, their eyes take up much of their cranial cavity.”

“Come on, kiddo, they are symbols of wisdom. And those wings sure must be nifty! I’m having a pawsome time myself!” A groan at the pun.

“I always thought Logan was a bit bird brained.” Roman mutters. “But seriously, a dragon? While the scales are quite flattering, it is a bit strange, considering I usually fight them.”

“I don’t know, Roman, I guess cause you’re always talking about questing I just settled on a fantasy creature. It is pretty cool." He rolls his eyes at the huff of pride he can hear as Roman no doubt puffs up his chest, flares his wings.

“Speaking of strange, where's anxiety?” his ears flatten against his head, pulse picking up again. They’re talking about him.

“He should be here. I did summon him.” Thomas, confused. He curses his inability to sink out in this form.

“Perhaps he has taken the form of a smaller animal and is hiding.” He almost hisses, could Logic shut up for once?

“Aw, maybe we should look for him! He’ll probably be so cute!”

“Please. That weirdo is probably a venomous spider or a little parasite. Who cares, where he is?” yes, thank you Roman, for once being not a moron.

“Patton, if you’re worried perhaps you can sniff him out. You are a cat, after all.” No. Nonono. Logic, shut it!

“Good idea, Logan. Give it a try!” and he is outta here before he even knows what he’s doing.

His terror skyrockets and he shoots out from under the couch to the startled yelps of everyone else. Everything is big, huge, compared to him, the living room seems endless.

The stairs, he just needs to get to the stairs and he'll be able to physically enter the mindscape, he’s so close-

Then there is the flap of wings, a victorious shriek, and talons are digging into his shoulders pinning him down.

“Well, what have we here?” He shoves aside his fear, proud as his voice comes out just as scathing and steady as ever.

“Get off, you overgrown lizard.” He bites out, Roman’s scaled head coming into view. He glares at Roman’s laughter.

“Anxiety, kiddo? Is that you?”

“No, its Joan, yes it’s me, Patton, now get off, Roman!” His heart is beating fast, too fast, and his words are wavering. He is afraid, afraid, afraid. He hates this, hates it, he just wants this to be over.

“Hmm. I don’t think I will. Think about it, Thomas. We have the opportunity here to get anxiety out of our way for good.” His stomach drops, his blood goes cold, he is shaking.

“Roman, what are you suggesting?” Logan, he can’t be considering this, please no, please!

“I mean, we don’t need to vanquish him. We can keep him like this. Put him in a cage, or something.”

“I'm not a pet, you idiot, and you can’t keep me like this forever.” He hisses out.

“Oh contraire, little mouse, we can keep you weak enough you don’t have any choice.” His heart lurches as he is lifted up, Roman's wings buffeting him, they are in the air.

“Roman, put me down! I… please! Pleasepleaseplease…” he is crying now, begging, because he can’t, this can’t be happening, they can’t actually intend to keep him locked in this form, weak and powerless, in a cage.

The floor seems so far away, and he feels sick, from the altitude shift or what is happening or both, he can’t tell. The anguished terror is filling him and he lets out a broken, choked sob.

This is what he gets, for thinking he could ever be accepted, for thinking he could ever be tolerated, much less liked. All he’d ever done was his job, and this is his reward.

“Logan, what-" he lets out a squeak despite himself as a blur of gray rams into Roman, sending him spiraling off balance.

Then he feels the talon’s grip slip, and he screams. He is falling, flipping through the air. From this height in this form his bones will break, shatter, with his luck his neck will snap. He has time to cry for help, before he impacts.

“Gotcha!” The halt is jarring, and he is shaking, instinctively flattening himself to make as small a target as possible as he tries to get ahold of himself. He realizes it’s soft, the ground.

He looks up and nearly screams again, instead flattening further. Patton has caught him, sitting on his back haunches, he is caught in Patton's front paws.

“p-p-put me d-down. Please.” His voice is a whisper, trembles making him stutter, but Patton instantly complies, much to his relief.

He hears a shriek and looks up, just in time to see silver talons coming right at him, then they crash into him and he feels a ripping pain in his shoulder.

He can hear Patton yelling, Logan screeching, Roman growling, and it is loud so loud and all he can think is he is about to die-

“Enough!” Thomas yells, and suddenly the ground isn’t so close, suddenly he is stumbling to his feet, lunging for his normal spot on the stairs, reaching it in two strides. He lets out a relieved sob as he clutches the bannister, looking back at the others.

Logan has landed in a heap on the couch. Patton and Roman are tangled around each other on the floor. Patton's gaze meets his, worried.

“kiddo, you’re bleeding.” He lifts his hand numbly to his shoulder, mildly surprised as it comes away sticky and red. He lets out a broken, bitter laugh.

“Gee, wonder how that happened. Not like someone was trying to kill me, or worse hold me captive and torture me for my whole existence." His voice is raw and instead of biting sarcasm, it comes out as an almost whisper, red rimmed eyes glaring at the floor as he shakes, from latent fear and pulsing anger.

“Anxiety-" he half successfully chokes back another sob, harsh laughter tearing at his lungs.

“no, know what, it’s fine. It’s fine, Thomas. I always knew I wasn’t wanted. I was an idiot to hope you might… might ever actually change, actually want me around. Hell, even care about me like I care about you and keeping you safe.” He can barely stand, he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain and blood loss or the adrenaline fading or the panic attack he can feel pressing against him, tightening his chest.

“Kiddo…” he shakes his head.

“Y'know, if you really wanted me dead, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve done it myself.” He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see the pained shock on Patton's face, the suspicious surprise on Roman's, the horror on Logan’s. The pain on Thomas's. Instead, he flips up his hood, hugging himself as he wordlessly sinks out.

He managed to lock the door before he collapses to the floor. His chest feels like it's being squeezed by a boa constrictor, his ribs crushed and all the air shoved out of his lungs. His vision narrows to a dark pinprick, gaze unseeing as he sees Roman's talons again and again, falling and splattering against the floor, bones shattered, bars, a cage, closing in, pressing him tight, he can’t breathe, he’s choking, he’s dying, god, he’s going to die here. Why not? He laughs hysterically, that’s what they want, may as well give it to ‘em.

“virgil, no. It’s not what we all want. Come back to me, stormy. Focus on my voice. You can do it, Virgil.” Virgil. None of them know his name. Only, only…

“Dee?” he chokes out, blurry vision focusing enough to see Deceit, holding his hands in his lap, rubbing circles on his knuckles.

“There we are. Hello, dearest.” Deceit reaches up, softly wiping away his tears, brushing back his hair.

“I’m an idiot. I’m a stupid idiot.” He mutters.

“No. Virgil, you’re not. It’s ok.” He hisses in a breath of pain as Dee places a hand on his shoulder, vision going speckly at the slight contact. Dee pulls away, eyes wide, face darkening to fury.

“You’re hurt. Vee, you’re bleeding" he just shrugs, another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. Deceit hisses, and pulls him onto his lap.

“It does. Even if they don’t care, even if they don’t love you, I do. It matters to me. You will always matter to me. You’re my baby, Virg. Even if you’ve left the nest, you’re still my little rain storm. Got it?” He feels Dee's extra arms removing his hoodie, then all six are cradling him against Dee's chest, holding him tight and safe and secure, letting him relax and melt into the touch, knowing Dee will never let anything hurt him. He feels Dee press a kiss to his head.

“you’ve wiped yourself out, love. I'll take care of that nasty shoulder gash. Get some sleep, dearest.” Weakly, he clings to Dee's shirt. He doesn’t want him to let go, he doesn’t feel safe, if Dee lets go.

“I’m staying, darling. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“remus-"

“can rain down all the hell he wants. Until you’re better, they deserve it.” He finds he can’t argue with that. He falls asleep to Dee humming softly, stroking his forehead and holding his hand, his other arms working to gently bandage his shoulder.

Deceit sighs as he hears a crash. Looking up, he sees Remus kick in the door, eyes aflame.

“who hurt him? Who’s ass do I gotta beat until it falls off?”

“hush. I just got him settled.” Dee replies. In three strides, Remus is beside him, head cocked unnaturally far to the side, like a snapped neck.

“He’s ok?” Remus asks, neck snapping back to a normal position with an audible click.

“yes. Keep an eye on him, please?”

“What? Where're you going?” Remus asks. Deceit’s eyes flash.

“I am going to go see what exactly those half-witted buffoons did to send him spiraling. Then I am going to determine whom it is I need to beat the shit out of.” Deceit growled, stepping away from the bed.

“Boo, you never let me have any fun.” Remus pouts. He instantly stops as Virgil lets out a small sound, immediately climbing into the bed with him and spooning around him. Virgil curls against him immediately, stilling as he clings onto Remus.

“Thank you.” Deceit murmurs from the doorway. Remus nods.

“I'll take care of our little stormy night. You go teach ‘em a lesson, Dee.” Remus replies, relishing the sharp fanged smile Deceit flashes him, before sinking out. As an afterthought, he snaps, replacing the door, before turning his attention to Virgil, trying to mentally send him all of his love. Virgil is more of a brother to him than Roman has ever been, and he hates seeing him hurt.

“hang in there, vee. Dee'll fix everything.”

“I highly doubt he wants to be called right now.”

“But he was so scared! We have to help!”

“I don’t know Pat, seeing us might make it worse.” He clears his throat. He meets three sets of surprised eyes with steel. Thomas yelps and falls backwards, catching himself on the wall.

“Who is that?!”

“Deceit, you scurrilous snake, what are you doing here?” his eyes narrow at that.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Roman, was I not wanted here at this exact moment?” his voice is a perfect mimicry of Virgil's, and to his satisfaction it makes Roman flinch.

“Thomas. This is Deceit. He is responsible for the lies you tell not only others, but yourself. I am puzzled as to why you have appeared now. To my knowledge, no lies have been spoken.” Logan explains, and his hands ball into fists.

“Oh, truly, why ever would I be here? It'ssss not like Anxiety returned bloody and injured, in the midsssst of a panic attack, talking about how nobody wantssss him and it doessssn't matter. I’m sure that hassss nothing to do with it, Logic.” He hisses out, spitting Logan's title like it burns his tongue.

He can see Patton's guilty face out of the corner of his eye, knows whatever happened, it wasn’t him. But Roman… yes.

“So Thomas, dear, care to explain what happened?” He asks, sickly sweet, turning his gaze to Thomas, who has a slight frown on his face. As an afterthought, he notes that Thomas isn’t afraid of him, despite his scales and sharp fangs. Interesting.

“I thought it would be cool to see what everyone’s animal forms would be. Logan was an owl, Pat was a persian cat, and Roman was a dragon. But we didn’t see anxiety anywhere so we thought he was small and hiding and maybe too scared to move. Pat was gonna find him, then a mouse shot out from under the couch and Roman…” Thomas trails off, eyes shifting away, but it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Roman. Care to continue?” Roman meets his ice cold gaze imperiously.

“gladly. I captured the fiend in my claws. Hurting him was an accident. I merely meant to catch him while he was small and couldn’t hurt us and contain him. Keep him small, so he’d stop bothering Thomas. It’s not like we need him, anyways.” Roman scoffs.

Rage is filling him. Because Roman truly thinks he is in the right, truly thinks he didn’t do anything wrong, and his voice is proud as he speaks about traumatizing Virgil, who is the youngest, the smallest, the most vulnerable to start with. How dare he?

Before he can think, he has crossed the room, he rears his hand back and slaps Roman hard enough to send him reeling backwards.

“You are a heartless, soulless bastard. I told him not to come, I told him he’d get hurt but he didn’t listen. You know why? It’s certainly not because he wants to be included, he doesn’t yearn for your acceptance, it doesn’t break him a little more each time you all dismiss and send him away unwanted. He definitely doesn’t just want to be liked! He never has a hard enough time just being himself, being afraid, all the fucking time, and you have certainly helped make him feel right at home.” He hisses, ignoring the tears stinging at his eyes as he whips around, facing the rest of them.

“And you’re no better. How do you think it feels, knowing the person who conjured you doesn’t even want you? How terrified would you be, surrounded by people who have never showed you kindness, who have admitted their distaste, small and defenseless, being threatened to be put in a cage? His worst fear is something happening to Thomas and being unable to reach him, to react and help. It’s his job to protect Thomas, and you were threatening to keep him away, to put Thomas’s own safety at risk for your own stupid biases! You were threatening to make his nightmare real, and not a single fucking one of you said otherwise, did you?!” He yells, slowly looking at each of them in turn. No one will meet his eyes now, not even Roman.

“you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve his name. No wonder he hasn’t told you. You’re a bunch of ignorant bullies. And you’d say I’m the bad guy. You all picked out the most vulnerable and pounced.” He shifts his head, turning to Thomas, a curling, empty smile on his face.

“It was a fucking pleasure, Thomas. I’ll be taking my leave.” The lie is bitter and acrid on his tongue, tasting of ash as he sinks out.

He returns to Virgil's room, immediately hurrying to his bedside, because he is crying, despite Remus's attempts to soothe him.

“Vee, what’s wrong?” he asks. Virgil glares at him through his tears.

“you said you were gonna stay!” he lets out a soft breath, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I just had to check on something. But you know Remus would never let anything hurt you, right?” Virgil nods, leaning back into Remus's arms.

“That’s right, starshine. You’re safe.” Remus whispers, rocking Virgil gently, who responds by pressing his face into Remus's chest.

“You’re staying now, right?” Virgil mumbles. He smiles, slipping under the covers.

“I am. No lies this time.” He murmurs as Virgil lays down, curling into him. He reaches out with all six arms, pulling Remus closer, hugging both of them and sandwiching Virgil in warmth and safety.

“What was it?” Remus asks lowly, once Virgil is out again. He sighs.

“Shapeshifting, animal forms. He was a mouse. Roman was a dragon. Threatened to keep him locked up. It got physical.”

“You mean Roman was a bitch and attacked Virgil unprovoked.” Remus's voice is flat, and he shoots him a soft look, one of his hands slipping into Remus's.

“I’m going to kill him.” He squeezes Remus's hand.

“Later. We can work on murder plans later. Right now Vee needs us.”

“Anxiety, it’s dinner time!” Patton's voice trills. He opens his eyes with a groan, freezing instantly.

This… isn’t his room. It isn’t even the commons. He’s laying in soft bedding. He realizes he’s in a little plastic hut. His heart speeds. He looks down at himself, human, good.

He flinches as the house is lifted up, leaving him exposed. His breath catches in his lungs, Patton is looming over him, he is giant. He skitters back, realizing his back is pressing against metal wire. Cage, he is in a cage, he is tiny, in a cage.

He scrambles, trying to claw his way out, trying to bend the wire enough to wriggle out.

“hey, now. None of that kiddo.” His stomach flips as hands squeaze around his waist and he is lifted into the air. He is barely as tall as Patton's ring finger, he is so high in the air as Patton places him down on his palm.

“patton please, please, just let me go, please!” he begs, feeling tears slipping down his face.

“Aw, I know kiddo. But this is better for everyone. This way you’re still around but don’t bother Thomas.” He stumbles as Patton places him back in the cage, doubling over and choking on sobs as a small food dish is placed inside, the shadows of bars shading his face.

He is still begging, pleading, screaming, for Patton, for anyone, to let him out, let him go, but he knows no one is coming, and the bars are pressing in, and soon there won’t be any more space, any more air.

“hush, stormy, shhh. It’s ok. It’s ok, lovely.” His eyes fly open, and he clings to Dee, feeling all of his arms cradling him tight as he sniffles into his shoulder, sobs shaking his thin frame.

“Just a dream, Vee." He feels Remus's hand on his, feels the terror and residual fear draining out of him as the nightmare is removed from his mind. The pros of dark creativity. Remus can steal other people’s bad thoughts, bad dreams, but then he experiences whatever the thoughts were. He hears Remus's sharp inhale as he sees it, feels his hand tighten it’s grip.

“thanks ree.” He manages, his voice hoarse and sore.

“Virgil, love, we should talk about it. I only got minor details from them.”

“what’s to say? They were going to keep me in a cage, they d-didn't want me.” Dee draws back a tad, looking down at Virgil's face, eyes hidden behind his bangs.

“did anyone help? Surely not all of them went along with this.” He shrugs, taking a deep breath.

“R-roman g-g-rabbed me in his talons and st-started flying. But he yelled… I think L-Logan tried to stop him. He was an o-o-owl. I think he rammed Roman and made him drop me. P-p-patton c-caught me. And… and he put me down, right away, when I asked. I… I don't think they woulda let Roman k-keep me.” He mumbles out, shaking. Dee feels his heart breaking, can feel the murder on Remus's face.

“That's good, Virge. They were trying to defend you.” Virgil shakes his head.

“but they didn’t. Only p-patton even cared I was h-hurt. Thomas… Thomas didn't say a-anything.”

“but he changed you back.” His brow creases as he looks out from Dee's arms at Remus's words. “if he agrees with Roman, he wouldn’t have changed you back.”

“He's right, lovely. Thomas doesn’t hate you. I know that. That is fact.” He sighs.

“Doesn’t feel like it right now.” He mumbles.

“I know. And that’s ok, Virge.” Dee kisses his head softly. He startles at a knock on the door.

“Remus, see who it is?”

“If it’s princey stab him for me.” Virgil mumbles, making Remus chuckle and ruffle his hair.

“Gladly, stormy.”

He throws open the door, leaning in the doorway with a cocky grin, teeth sharp and eyes glinting.

“Well, well, hello there Daddy. Have I been naughty?” he teases, moving to block Patton's view of the room.

“Remus… what… what are you doing here?” Patton asks nervously.

“Apparently playing the butler. Y'know, Patton, in the movies the butler is always guilty of murder.” He tilts his head slowly, relishing the fear that races across Patton's face. “Now, what are you doing here, daddio?” Patton fiddles with his sweater sleeves, a frown settling on his face.

“I just… I know he probably doesn’t want to see us right now, heck, maybe ever, and I don’t fault him for it. Today… today was bad. Really, really bad. I just want to make sure he's ok. And apologize. We… we chewed out Roman. His actions were unacceptable. Just… I would never let that happen. He’s not… he’s a person, and I don’t always agree with him, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to take away his voice or opinion. Can you just… pass that on, for me? Please?”

Remus looks back at the bed, softening as he sees Virgil uncurling from Dee, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, leaning against Dee, who has an arm around his shoulders. Virgil looks up at Dee, a silent question.

“No lies.” Dee murmurs, and Virgil bites his lip. “You wanna let him in?” He asks softly. Virgil hesitates, but nods.

“If he means it... yeah.” Virgil mumbles.

“He does. Remus, stop playing. V- Anxiety says he can come in.” He calls, catching himself before using Virgil’s actual name. Remus sighs, but steps aside.

“Well? Come in then.”

Hesitantly, Patton steps inside the dark room, taking in the soft, dark carpet, the dark to light purple gradient painted on the walls. There are also posters for bands carefully hung in frames, and a few posters for movies that Anxiety must like. He sees fairy lights strung across the ceiling that sparkle like stars without the main lights turned on.

He lets out a soft noise of hurt as he takes in Anxiety, knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders hunched. His eyeshadow is smeared all over his face, his eyes red and puffy. He glances at Deceit, not as surprised to see him here, tilting his head. Deceit nods minutely, and he sits down next to Anxiety, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him, to give him space.

“hey kiddo. How’s your shoulder?” He asks.

“better. Dee helped. It still... still hurts.” His voice is quiet and unsure and hoarse.

“Yeah. I think it would be pretty strange if it didn’t. I’m glad you’re going to be ok, though. Even if it hurts now, it’ll feel better eventually.”

“will it?” He is surprised as Patton pulls him into a hug, startled, but after a moment he leans into it, tucking his chin against Patton’s shoulder.

“I have never wanted you to die. I have never wanted you to leave. You’re one of my kiddos, kiddo, and that means I stand up for you when something hurts you, no matter who or what it is.”

“i’m scared. I hate... I hate being small... I hate... it’s so big, everything... I could drown, in a puddle, I could be crushed by a book, I could be stepped on, I could be crushed, I could get hurt and no one would know, no one would realize or find me. I could be caged...” He chokes out, fear flooding through him again. “I could be caged and my influence squashed, and then no one would protect Thomas, look out for dangers, keep him... keep him on task, keep him motivated to d-do better. I c-can't... trapped, and b-bars and it-it's too much... too small...” He is shaking again, on the edge of hysteria, but Patton is rocking him, holding him.

“Oh honey... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were gonna be that little. I’m sorry we didn’t ask permission first, we weren’t thinking. I promise, promise,” he pulled back so Anxiety could see his eyes, tears spilling down his own cheeks, “that I will physically fight anyone who suggests we do that again, who even dares to mention putting you in a cage. I nearly did fight Roman, Logan had to hold me back.” That gets a weak laugh out of Anxiety, imagining Logan holding back a kicking and spitting furious Patton. “I love you, kiddo. I really, really do, and if anyone has a problem with that, has a problem with you, they’ll have to go through me first.” Patton’s voice is fierce, and he doesn’t have to look at Dee to know that he isn’t lying.

“T-thomas-”

“Is worried about you, kiddo. I came to check on you cause he wanted to make sure you were gonna be ok. What you said... really, really scared us, but we didn’t wanna summon you, because we knew you probably didn’t want to be summoned. He’s sorry, too. We all are.”

“Even Roman?” He asks, bitterness in his voice. Patton hesitates, sighing.

“I don’t know. I think... I think he’s sorry he got yelled at, sorry he got in trouble, sorry we didn’t agree with him. But I don’t think he’s sorry for what he actually did to you, said to you. Which makes me angry, because he should be sorry, but he isn’t, and if he isn’t, I can’t change that. What I can do is make sure you are going to be alright. I can learn what else we shouldn’t do without asking your permission. I can be better at speaking up when Roman threatens or takes jabs at you, and eventually, hopefully, his attitude will change as he learns none of us are going to enable him anymore. I’m sorry it went this far.” He blinks, surprised. He didn’t expect Patton to acknowledge Roman’s inability to see his own wrongdoings. He didn’t expect Patton to admit to his own shortcomings. He didn’t expect Patton to be... honest.

“What would you like us to do for now, Anxiety? Clearly, you have two people who love you very much helping your right now, so I feel ok leaving, if you like. I just didn’t want you to be alone, when you were so upset. Thomas... all of us, want to speak with you about what happened, to try and make ammends, but we’ll do that on your terms, so there’s no rush. Just, whenever you’re ready to talk, we’re ready to listen. If you like, I can bring you meals, if you don’t wanna leave your room for a while. I wanna keep you healthy, and I know if I leave you to your own devices it’ll be chips and soda for every meal.” He lets out a little snort at that, because Patton is right, of course, and he’s already calmed down so much because Patton is being so nice, and he knows Dee would have told him if Patton had lied.

“that all sounds good, yeah.” He mumbles, shifting out of Patton’s hug, pulling his knees to his chest once again.

“ok. Is there anything else you need, or would like me to do?” He bites his lip, thinking.

“Just... just let them know I’m ok? If they’re really that worried about me.” Patton squeezes his non injured shoulder once as he stands, smiling gently.

“Will do, kiddo. If you ever need anything, or just want some company, don’t be afraid to call me up.”

“I... might.” Patton smiles again, soft and warm.

“I love you, Anxiety.” Patton turns away, but before he sinks out, Virgil steels his courage.

“Virgil!” He shouts, and the room seems to freeze. Remus is staring at him in wide eyed surprise. Deceit has stopped rubbing his back, and Patton falters mid step, before turning to face him, something akin to awe on his face. “That’s... my name. My name is Virgil.” A huge smile blooms across Patton’s face, his eyes light up with tender joy, and he sniffles, wiping away tears.

“Virgil. I think that’s a lovely name, Virgil. I know I'm usually a blabber mouth, but it when it counts, I can keep a secret.” Patton winks, sending a smile flashing across his own face as warmth blooms in his chest. With a wave, Patton sinks out, and he collapses back against Deceit with a long, low sigh.

“You sure about that, Virg?” Remus asks, from where he’s leaning against the wall, having simply observed everything.

“yeah. Yeah I... think I am.” He feels Dee press another soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Proud of you, lovely.” He smiles, closing his eyes as he feels Remus settle on the other side of him. He is still scared and afraid and knows the nightmares won’t leave him alone for ages, now. But he also knows that at least Patton is on his side. And Patton is almost more of a mama bear than Deceit. If the two of them are looking out for him, he knows nothing will hurt him like this ever again.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #thomas #deceit sanders #unsympathetic roman #mostly he's a dick #pre accepting anxiety #sympathetic dark sides #minor injury #virgil angst #platonic anxceitmus #hurt/comfort #Angst with a happy ending #shape shifting

2K notes · View notes

sword-dad-fukuzawa · 4 years

Text

The Monster in the Port Mafia's Basement

What tale will I tell you tonight, love? I have pretty ones, the sort of shiny baubles I could sell at a flea market for a dollar apiece. They glitter in the sunshine but they’re made of glass. You can see straight through them. But those are boring. Boring to tell, boring to listen to. You know how those end, anyway.

Well, I’ve got a couple sad ones. Real tearjerkers, you know. A brother and a sister torn apart by the machinations of a great and hungry beast, a pair of lovers who can never truly touch...maybe a woman who would rather choke on flowers rather than ruin something lovely and pure. Do those bore you, my dear? You look as if you’re spacing out.

I have just the story for you, then. I’ll tell it just as I was told, and you can’t complain about the ending. Or the middle bits. Do be warned, love. It’s not a nice tale at all.

Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lives a monster.

What’s the Port Mafia, you ask? A group of smugglers, with their claws dug deep into the underbelly of Japan. Their reach stretched westward, consuming entire cities with their own lust for profit. In the end, they destroyed themselves, as all great and terrible things with claws and teeth do. But this story takes place long before that, so don’t worry your little head about it. Just listen.

Now, where was I?

Ah. Deep in the bowels of the Port Mafia’s base, there lived a monster. For all I know, she’s still down there, writhing and snapping at anything that comes too close.

The Port Mafia was well acquainted with monsters. Their boss was a serpent in human skin, with fangs held tight behind his smile. His second was an angry, rampaging god, who never did make much of an effort to keep his talons sheathed. And while he left of his own accord, though that’s an entirely different story, the man who kept the monsters caged was born under the Port Mafia’s stretching shadow.

So when they found this particular monster, a young girl no older than thirteen, they did what they did best. Instead of letting the dark in her burn away with the sunshine, they tossed her deep into the bowels of the beast.

She did terrible things down there, dear. Perhaps at first she was made to eat the apple, but soon she began to enjoy the taste. And that’s how little baby monsters, who can still become people through no small amount of healing, grow into adult monsters with eyes that flash in the dark and claws to pierce your skin. You were a baby monster, you know, just like me. Now look at you, all grown and clutching the handle of your teacup like a civilized being. I’m quite proud of how far you’ve come, you know.

The sad bit about this monster in the Port Mafia’s basement, though, is that she was never meant to be one. By some accident of birth, some people are just going to grow up into dark, twisted little things, and no amount of happy circumstances will change that. But she was always meant to be a flower of the light, unlike you and I, who had to fight tooth and nail for sunshine.

The greatest tragedy, I think, is that she never got that chance.

Ah, but I’m rambling. Do indulge an old woman, love.

I heard this story from a boy who went down there, into that hungry darkness beneath the Port Mafia’s towers. He’s now a man, as old as I, and you’ll be pleased to know he survived the monster to run the candy shop on the north end of this city. Perhaps you’ve met him? No? Well, you never were one for sweets.

Regardless, this boy knew the monster. Not very well, I’d say. He told me that they had only talked once, and so I asked him why he went. He told me that once was all he’d needed.

Do I know what they talked about? No, unfortunately. You’ll have to ask him yourself.

I do know, however, that they met because of their mentors. Hers was that great snake I mentioned. He was always so fond of warping young, powerful flowers into decaying husks of themselves.

Ah, of course I knew him well. He was an improvement on the old Boss, if only because the snake had a brain and knew how to use it. He wouldn’t send me to my death out of spite, or out of paranoia. He would send me to my death if it served him. Though, perhaps that makes him worse. Regardless, the monster’s master gave her a short leash, and so she followed him wherever he went.

The boy who told me this story also had a mentor. The Silver Fox, he used to be called. He’s dead now, long dead, of old age if I took his measure right. The snake and the fox were friends, once upon a time, and they remained friends as long as the fox turned a blind eye to his friend’s tricks. Perhaps the second tragedy is that he did so for too long to save her.

Regardless, they met once, when their masters went for tea. A week later, the boy would infiltrate the Port Mafia base. It took him hours, he told me. The layers of security then might have stopped even the greatest assassin. As far as I know, it has.

How did he do it? Well, I can only speculate. He never did tell me the details—but I suspect he has forgotten them. It was a long time ago. But know this: the boy may be as human as you or I, perhaps more so, but his mind was something far greater than anything we may possess. He could have become the greatest detective in the world if he so chose. And while I don’t know for sure, he might well have, if he hadn’t visited the monster’s lair.

It changed him, of course. Such things do. At the very least, you come out the other side of such a crucible fundamentally different, if not fundamentally warped. I do believe the boy was one of the lucky ones.

Somehow, he walked into the lowest level of the Port Mafia’s base with his head held high. When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, there was only one door, with a little glass window to peek into. It was a 2-way mirror, so he could glance inside without fear. And make no mistake, the room was undoubtedly occupied. But the hallway was as quiet as the grave. Even his shoes, he told me, made no sound. He is the sort of man who notices such things.

Silently, the boy stepped to the window. It was a bit taller than him, he recalled, so he had to push up on his toes and brace himself on the door with his fingers. He only remembers because he had to wipe away his fingerprints after. He looked inside, then—

What did he see? Dear, I’m trying to hold you in suspense. Be patient, and don’t interrupt.

As I was saying, he looked inside. And he saw the monster, sitting as calm as you please, in a little metal chair. She was wearing the business attire that the Port Mafia favored, always pretending at civility when they’re all dark, writhing things stuffed into a mortal shell. She had her legs crossed and her golden butterfly hairpin, which the boy told me was the first thing that had caught his eye, sat jauntily in her hair. She was sitting across a table from a man.

The man is not important. He must have been a failure of some kind, someone who hedged on a deal or leaked information to the wrong person. He could have been anyone.

Oh, honestly, don’t look at me like that. I’m not callous, I’m realistic.

But he was laid on that table like an offering, tied down with hospital-issue restraints. He had a strange expression on his face. The boy hesitated when he told me this part, as if he couldn’t quite find the words. I’ll repeat them to you.

“Terror,” he told me. “Terror and bliss and some unspeakable dread.”

But also, the boy said, he looked so very tired, as if he could slump over at any moment. The monster smiled at the man, then leaned forward over the table. He couldn’t hear what she was saying to him, but he could read lips well enough at the time. Apparently, he picked it up during a stint in the police academy. From what he could tell, from that foggy two-way mirror, she was murmuring a poem to him. Some sort of lyrics, anyway. He told me that she recited an entire poem to this quivering mess of a man, but he only recalled one line after.

“Kimi shinitamou koto nakare,” she whispered to him. “Thou shalt not die.”

And a thousand butterflies burst from her, flashing red and purple and brilliant gold, descending upon the man in a swarm. They perched upon his head and shoulders, upon his arms, upon his chest. They covered him like a living blanket of jewels. But instead of looking awed, the boy told me, the man looked horrified. He began to babble pleas for rescue, for mercy, for salvation, but the monster only smiled wider.

Then she flicked her fingers, twirling a scalpel between them. She cut the poor man open on that table, surrounded by butterflies. The boy could only watch as she dissected him with all the precision of a surgeon and the calm cynicism of someone who had done so a thousand times. And yet, when the man, by all rights, should have passed from this world to the next—the butterflies, the terrible, beautiful butterflies, flapped their wings. It felt like the air was sucked from the entire floor, the boy told me, as he watched the butterflies whirl around the man like a plague of locusts.

When he could see the man again, he was perfectly whole. His skin unblemished, his blood no longer staining the table, and his face no longer slack with agony. The boy watched the monster cut him open again, and again, and again, each recitation of that poem bringing forth a new cloud of insects to pass judgement on his soul.

He never opened that door. It had been his intent, he admitted to me, to open the door and tell her that they could run away together. That the snake would never find her, not if he had anything to say about it. But after watching her cut that man open a thousand times and putting him back together with a murmur, he turned around. He wiped his fingerprints off of the door. And he left the base, never to return.

You look sick, love. Drink your tea. I warned you, you know. The story of the monster in the Port Mafia’s basement was never going to be a nice one, or one with a happy ending. I still don’t know what happened to her. She would be an old woman like me, now. Perhaps she has died. Perhaps that curious ability of hers means she cannot die at all. Perhaps she will live forever and ever, longer than any monster has a right to, and watch us all perish from this earth.

Too dark? My apologies. And here you are, taking the time out of your busy workday to talk to your poor, elderly mother. I do adore you, Kyouka. I don’t think I tell you that enough.

Thou Shalt Not Die always made me wonder if it could be applied to torture and interrogation. This fic exists in the same universe as They Took Her, if you were wondering--my dark little AU.

#fanfiction #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bsd #akiko yosano #bsd manga spoilers #kind of #barely #mori ougai #kouyou ozaki #izumi kyouka #mom kouyou #one shot #horror #psychological thriller #angst #edogawa ranpo #aurie writes

23 notes · View notes

theres-no-protocol-for-this · 3 years

Text

Kitties Afoot

At some point, this started a discussion about Murderbot in the present as a cat. It has since become something else entirely, and I don’t regret a thing. So, I guess, stary kitty meets almost-stray human.

There’s more written, but I haven’t edited the rest and I’m not sure I trust Tumblr with anything longer.

I came home to find a giant, scrawny feline curled up on my front porch. The black and gray creature lay on top of the welcome mat with its paws tucked under its shivering body. It looked huge for a cat but not big enough for a mountain lion, and it didn’t look like a kitten. The strange animal was malnourished; as I approached, I could count the poor baby’s ribs with each shuddering breath it took.

“Shit,” I whispered and checked my phone.

It was well into the evening and getting colder outside with each passing moment. The kitty looked up when I got to my front steps. Bright blue eyes stared at me as the creature scrunched up, making itself as small as possible.

“Hey, it’s all right,” I said as soothingly as I could. “I won’t hurt you. Let me get you inside before the weather turns nasty.”

Not that I thought the cat would understand me, but I was used to talking to animals. Before Tasha had passed away earlier that year, I had always had pets at home. I’d spoken to the family dog as a child and to my ex-boyfriend’s two ferrets. And, of course, Tasha the Princess never shut up. Most days, I still woke up expecting to find her dozing on my head.

I set my backpack on the ground, slipped out of my sweater, and wrapped the warm clothing around the shivering kitty. It tried to claw me through the thick fabric but didn’t get very far, though I caught a good look at its sharp talons. I held it in my arms and did my best to navigate the front door. The cat must’ve weighed twenty pounds, but it was probably all muscle and grump.

Inside, I set it down on a folded blanket on the couch and went looking for a heating pad. September was a little early to be getting out the winter stuff. Still, the kitty wouldn’t stop shivering, and I wanted to warm it up as quickly as possible.

The furball stayed put and watched me from its new comfortable perch. Its sleek fur was pitch black, the color of raven wings, but its paws were gray, as was its stomach. I couldn’t tell if the cat was male or female, and I wasn’t going to peek between its legs to find out.

Once I had the heating pad in place, I put a couple of Tasha’s bowls on the coffee table and scooted the table right up to the couch. From here, the kitty had to only shift its weight to reach the water and wet cat food. Everything about the situation was weird, from the cat’s knowing glances to the constant reminders that Tasha was gone.

I scrolled through my contacts and found the phone number of a family veterinarian. It was too late to call Dr. Hopkins now, but I sent him a quick message and asked for an urgent appointment. If the kitty survived the night, and I had a sneaking suspicion the grumpy monster wasn’t going down without a fight, it would need medical attention.

The cat shifted restlessly on its pile of blankets, so I turned on the television. Tasha had loved those stupidly endless videos on YouTube where the camera was trained on a tree stump where birds came to feed. This cast couldn’t care less. It didn’t even notice the TV until I turned on a food documentary episode on Netflix.

I went to make myself a snack in the kitchen and noticed the cat half watching me and half paying attention to whatever it saw on the television. Like I said, weird cat.

My home is tiny, a two-story townhome with an unfinished basement that occasionally floods. I’d gotten lucky with the place; I’d been sharing it with a roommate who suddenly had to move cross-country, and she paid for her share of the mortgage for three months. And then I’d found a decent manager job at a local cafe that let me keep the place.

I hummed while puttering around the kitchen. It was too late for a proper dinner, and I wasn’t hungry anyway. And I couldn’t drink coffee that late in the evening, not if I planned to get any sleep. The kitty drank some water from the closest bowl and then closed its eyes.

Asleep, it could almost pass for a house cat.

Up close, though, there was no mistaking that it was a wild creature. Its ears followed my motions even while it dozed. I turned up the heater for the night and then sat on the other side of the couch, giving the strange feline plenty of space. To my surprise, it stretched out a bit once I was sitting down like it didn’t mind the company so long as said company kept a respectable distance.

***

I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but that’s where I woke up the following morning. I sat pressed against one of the couch’s plush arms, legs tucked under me. There was a blanket draped over me that I didn’t remember grabbing. The strange cat lay curled up a few inches from my left foot; I could swear it was purring slightly.

As soon as I moved, uncurling my stiff legs, it got up and jumped off the couch. Standing next to the coffee table, it was apparent just how big it was for a feline. It trotted over to the front door like it owned the place. Standing on its back paws, the cat had no trouble reaching the handle, though it didn’t have the thumbs needed to operate it.

I stood up, followed it, and opened the door for it. “You’re pretty smart for a kitty,” I said as it jumped out onto the front porch. “You gonna be OK, little guy?”

“Meow,” said the cat and vanished into the bushes next to the porch steps.

“Bye, kitty!”

I went back inside but didn’t close the front door. It seemed stupid in retrospect. What kind of person leaves the door open for anyone to stroll inside? But it was Friday and my one day off, so I made coffee in the kitchen and texted with my mother. And maybe hoped that my feline companion might return.

My mother lives halfway across the country in a memory care facility. I can’t say I love my mother — that would be a bald faced lie — but we still text occasionally. I know that my stepfather is taking good care of her, and I love him dearly.

That morning, she was showing off a watercolor painting that she’d created that week. She told me she’d never been to the beach before, and I had to put the phone down for ten minutes before I could answer. Mom and I had vacationed at the beach every year while Dad was still alive. She’d painted a sunset over those turbulent waters.

Sniffling, I cradled my mug and tried not to let the tears fall. I should’ve known better by then, but it still stung every time.

I was still struggling to keep my composure when I heard the sound of claws on the linoleum. Tasha had loathed coming into the kitchen because it wasn’t carpeted, and the drama queen just hadn’t liked the feel of it under her little kitty feet.

Giant Cat had no such compunctions. It stood a few feet out of reach, watching me with those soulful eyes until I had to look away. Sniffling, I rubbed at my face and forced myself to smile.

“Hey there, furball. Back for more food?”

“Meow.”

I opened a can of wet food — if I was going to feed this beast, I would need to get more immediately — and poured the contents into a bowl. After setting the bowl on the floor, I stepped away from it and perched on a counter, watching the cat.

I walked over to the bowl, sniffed at it a few times, and then devoured the food like it was starving. When it was done, it licked its lips and, in one mighty leap, jumped onto the counter. Where it sat down and nuzzled the toaster.

Tasha had never mastered the art of climbing on the furniture. Anything taller than a couch had warranted a loud, obnoxious mew until I came over and picked her up. Not this cat. It seemed perfectly capable of getting up to wherever the fuck it wanted.

“How about a trip to the vet?” I asked. “Just to make you’re not all scratched up inside.”

“Hiss,” said the cat.

I rolled my eyes and giggled. “Not a fan of vets, huh?”

“Hiss.”

“Right.” I finished my coffee in three big gulps. “Of course not. Though, to be honest, I’m not a huge fan of doctors, either.” Mom had seen so many doctors after she’d first gotten sick that I loathed the smell of disinfectant now.

Kitty jumped off the counter after sniffing at the coffee maker and my box of tea samples and went exploring. Like it owned the place, it wandered into the laundry room and then up the stairs into my bedroom. I rinsed out my coffee mug and followed it, curious to see what it might do next.

About half an hour later, the cat decided that it had sniffed at those things it deemed essential and returned to the living room. Hopping onto the couch, it settled on top of the blanket pile and stared between me and the television.

“Seriously?” I asked, choking back laughter.

I’d never heard of a cat that liked watching Netflix. Tasha had mostly enjoyed shows with bird noises or where things moved. Sometimes, the princess would randomly attack the TV like she hoped to catch whatever she was looking at. Meanwhile, this cat meowed at me unhappily when I turned on a bird video and didn’t stop until it saw the Netflix logo. Then, it focused on whatever action flick began playing and snuggled further into the warm blankets.

“Seriously,” I muttered again, quietly, and stood there by the banister, shaking my head.

My weird companion spent the next few hours chilling in front of the TV. Its ears would occasionally perk up when a truck passed by, but mostly it watched the show. Have you ever seen a cat watch television? Because, up until this point, I hadn’t. And I wasn’t sure what to think.

Doing chores proved somewhat tricky when I kept casting furtive glances toward the strange creature. It paid me no heed, but somehow, it seemed to know when I watched it with blatant curiosity. Like, my previous pets had been… pets. This hissy weirdo, meanwhile, was something else entirely.

Eventually, I decided that I needed to get groceries and more cat food, and generally get out of the house for a little while. During a nice, long shower, I convinced myself that I was crazy, and there was nothing weird about the kitty in my living room. Then, I came back downstairs and found the kitty nuzzling the TV remote and decided that I didn’t care.

“Wanna watch something else?” I asked.

The cat looked up at me. “Meow.”

It took me a moment to actually look at the TV and realize that the action movie had ended while I was upstairs. Kitty apparently just wanted something else to start playing. Right. Totally normal right there.

“I need to go out for a while,” I said while scrolling through the Netflix menus. The rest came out before I could think too hard about speaking to a wild animal. “I need to pick up groceries. And cat food. And honestly, I’ve worked twelve-hour shifts for the last week and a half, and I’m ready to see something other than more walls.

“So, let’s get something nice and long started, OK? So you don’t get bored while I’m out. I’m not too keen on leaving the front door open, but the back door’s not locked — I know, I know, bad habit — and you can probably just reach the handle. It’s the pull-down kind.”

“Meow.”

I turned on some kind of drama that promised at least fifteen hours of episodes. “Well, anyway. I’ll be back in a while. Tuna or chicken?”

“Meow meow.”

“Chicken it is.” I was still talking to a cat. Maybe I missed Tasha more than I’d thought. “See you later, kitty.”

#fanfic #of what i don't know #kitties afoot

5 notes · View notes

bdfanfic · 5 years

Text

Eyvie the Kobold

This is a (very) short little story about Eyvie the Kobold - goes with the image I colored the other day by Boogeestro. I have no idea if he had anything like this in mind, but I went for it anyway.

And also, yeah I notice a lot of my stories revolve around taverns. And I don’t even like beer or ale! (Well, Redd’s Apple Ale isn’t too bad.)

Don’t worry Tumblr censors, I’m posting only the cropped picture!

Eyvie the Kobold

Otherwise, it had been a pretty normal night. It was midweek, so the place was fairly light, and I wasn’t exactly working hard. It was getting late and our Bard had retired. As for me, I had my head down cleaning mugs. Then the door opened.

Now, keep in mind, late at night like that there’s nothing more exciting than the door opening. All the locals have come in by then, and most have staggered back out already. Of course we do get the occasional adventurers, being on the wrong side of the caverns as we are, but mostly they keep themselves to the big town on the other side of the river. The main cavern entrance is closer there anyway.

So as the door opened, all eyes - that were sober enough to focus - were on it. Mine too, for that matter. But whatever we were expecting to see, it was certainly not Eyvie.

Standing no more than four feet high, she peered into the tavern with a look of both wariness and curiosity - green, scaly and about as far from human as you can get I suppose.

More than one scream was heard, and not all by women.

Of course, living near the caverns we locals had heard of Kobolds, but it was so rare for them to venture out of there that few had ever actually seen one - let alone had one waltz right into their pub. But the screams had frightened the poor thing, not to mention half a dozen men grabbing their weapons, and it scrabbled at the door latch trying to get back out.

“Hold on!” I yelled from behind the bar, trying to calm things down before anyone did anything stupid. “Beric, put that damn sword away. She’s obviously not here to attack anyone.”

I turned to the pitiful thing as the patrons backed off. By now she had curled up into a ball, having failed in her panic to manage the door.

“Hey there,” I said, speaking slowly and calmly as I could. I didn’t dare get too close though. Besides the horns on her head, those massive legs - and the talons at the end of them - looked like they could gut a boar.

“You’re a Kobold, right?” I said, crouching down. “Do you speak Common?”

I saw two bright green eyes peek up over her arm and look at me, then glance around at the others. I looked back.

“Come on, put away the weapons. Look at her. She’s not going to hurt anybody.”

A few complied, at least sitting back down if not putting their weapons away completely.

“Holy shit,” said Clifford.

Clifford was in theory the town’s blacksmith. In reality he was the town drunk. I’ve probably sold him more ale than everyone else combined. Still, he could hold his liquor better than most - considering the volume at least.

“Look at those tits!”

I looked back at the Kobold, who was uncurling dubiously. It wasn’t so much that the creature had massive bosoms - in fact they were quite small pert little things - but that she had them at all. And yes, I couldn’t help but notice other even more obvious… similarities… to human anatomy. She was undeniably a she.

“She’s got more than tits!” said Clifford’s longtime friend and drinking companion, Tom. He pointed between her legs - as if it needed to be pointed out.

“God dammit, Ralf, get that thing out of here unless you’re planning to open up a lizard brothel. She’s obscene!” Marge said over the growing murmuring.

“You’re just jealous ‘cuz the lizard’s tits are bigger than your’n!” laughed Clifford, his friend joining in.

“Pfft. You’d probably fuck the thing. Come on Ralf, get her out. I’m getting sick.”

“I will,” I said over my shoulder. “Just give me a minute, okay? Tom, do me a favor and prop open the door.”

I heard him behind me move to do so, as I turned back to the lizard, who was getting to her feet. She seemed to be calming down, and I took her hand to help, gently. The feel of the smooth scales was cool, but she took my hand hesitantly.

“No kobold okay?” she said timidly in broken Common.

The voice was odd. Not siblent as I’d expected, but as if she was speaking in a higher register than normal, but kind of hollow. The Bard could probably describe it better. Still, I understood it well enough.

“Be quiet!” I said over my shoulder. “She’s trying to talk!”

They did so as I turned back again.

“It’s okay. Kobolds are okay,” I said, trying to reassure her. “What’s your name? Do you have names?”

“Name is…” she said, but the sound that came after I couldn’t really call a word. Still, it sounded a very little bit like Eyvie.

“Eyvie?” I asked.

“No. Name is…” and that sound again.

“I’m going to call you Eyvie. Sorry, I can’t say your name right. But it’s okay. Kobolds are okay, I suppose.”

“Speak for yourself!” Marge said with a disgusted tone.

“I hear they kill babies,” Clifford said.

“Who says that?” my barmaid, Karen, demanded.

“Well, my grandma said so.”

“Cliff, your grandma has been dead for twenty years!” Tom laughed.

“Well…”

“Eyvie okay be here?” the Kobold asked, her eyes brightening. The strange voice silenced the others again momentarily.

I turned around to my customers. “What do you think, guys? Should I allow Kobolds? Look at her. She’s cute! She wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

It seemed the consensus was somewhat mixed, but no one had ever actually had any experience with Kobolds, pro or con. Even Marge was perhaps a little taken in by the imploring eyes of the reptile.

“Well,” she finally agreed. “I suppose. But not like that! She’s got to have clothes on! She’s positively indecent.”

I nodded. I had to agree actually. As cute as the little thing was, there were just too many similarities to allow her to hang around naked. I found myself glancing at her myself too often to ignore.

“Sorry Eyvie. Maybe if you can get some clothes on. We humans wear clothes to cover us up for modesty. Decency. Come back someday when you’re dressed, okay?”

The Kobold positively beamed with delight! “Sure! I get clothe!”

“Clothes. We call them clothes.”

“Clothes,” she repeated. “I get clothes. Be back.”

“Well, sorry Eyvie. I close up in an hour or so. Maybe tomorrow?”

“But, Kobold okay here? Yes? If clothes?” she asked as if to confirm - this time asking Marge directly.

The old woman squinted at the reptile and bent low, wielding her best “sour face”.

“Okay. Kobolds are okay, if you come back decent!”

“Eyvie be back with clothes. Eyvie be decent!”

And with that, the scaly thing practically skipped out of the door. I closed it and went back to the bar as the conversations began.

“Well that’s something you don’t see every day!” said Tom.

“Ever seen a Kobold before?”

“Not me. My cousin says he has. But he’s a nut.”

“Well, we’ve seen one now! Say Ralf, you should rename this place!”

“Yeah! The Naked Kobold!”

“No, the Kobold Tit!”

“The Kobold Puss… SLAP!”

Marge had delivered a heartfelt flap to Clifford at that.

But the night wasn’t yet over for me or my patrons. Not a half hour later, the door opened again. Once more, Eyvie stood there. But this time she was clothed. Somewhat.

“Decent? Yes?” she asked, directing the question to Marge.

I think there was more beer launched through nostrils at her return than was actually drank. I’d have to admit to being one of those, but Marge wasn’t laughing. I thought she was going to physically kick the little cutie out bodily at first, so I rounded the bar again and put myself between the two.

“Now Marge…” I started, then noticed the familiar smell of stale beer behind me. A scaly reptilian head poked itself under my hand defensively.

“No?” she practically sobbed. “Not decent?”

I turned and knelt in front of the Kobold. The smell was not overpowering, but I looked again at the rags she wore - quite literally. They were, in fact, scraps of rags and other refuse I’d dumped out back earlier that day. Even an old belt had been reworked as a collar of sorts, with some pretty impressive embellishments as well. Other than the smell, it was really quite impressive.

“Eyvie? Where did you get these?” I asked, fingering the dirty red ragged cloth that yesterday been an old bartop cleaning scrap I’d thrown out for having gotten too worn even for that use.

“Found clothes! Behind here! Lots of stuff! Look. Leather too!” she said, her expression brightening. “Look! Cover titties!”

But then she looked back at Marge who was approaching with an odd look on her face.

“Cover titties? Not decent?” Eyvie squeaked, her eyes now filled with the ample face of Marge.

I even backed off as the old battleaxe knelt in front of the trembling Kobold.

“First off, Kobold,” she began in a low tone, “you’ve got to cover your pussy. Do you know what that is?”

The Kobold pointed to her groin, her eyes never leaving the big woman.

“That’s right. In fact, that’s the most important thing to cover. To be decent.”

“But…” the Kobold began, “no make water?”

Marge’s face wrinkled even more as she sorted out the words.

“You take it off first!” she retorted when she finally worked it out.

The Kobold backed a step towards the door as Marge fished for something in her ever-present bag.

“Here. Here’s a scrap I’ve been knitting. Wrap that around you.”

The Kobold took the proffered bit of cloth and deftly tied it around her waist. It still didn’t quite cover her completely, but if you didn’t look too closely, it might not be noticed.

Everyone noticed.

Still, no one said anything. I always appreciated that - even in their inebriated state, no one had the bad humor to point it out.

“Now, Kobold, I want to see how you worked these old scraps into clothing so quickly,” Marge said. She escorted the Kobold over to a table. Eyvie’s eyes began to brighten again I noticed.

The table was a high-top with tall chairs around it, but Marge picked up Eyvie and sat her on a chair before the little Kobold even started to struggle with the climb. As massive as the kobold’s legs were, Marge lifted her like a sack of potatoes. Marge was not to be trifled with, we all knew. Then she drew out more bits of cloth, thread and other sewing equipment.

Now, I know nothing about sewing, knitting or the like. But I can tell you that the beady little eyes on Marge’s face as Eyvie demonstrated her prowess grew larger than ever I’ve seen them. The little hands worked fabric without the need of needles or thread apparently, weaving the existing threads together to make a stitch.

When finally it was closing time, I had to run the pair out myself, such was their mutual interest in the tailoring skills of the other.

The next day the town had a new resident. Apprentice to Marge the seamstress, Eyvie the Kobold moved in with the old maid - and they’d been thick as thieves ever since.

That was years ago though. Marge left this world a while back, and Eyvie took over her shop - to the surprise of no one, since the Kobold had been doing all the work for quite some time anyway as Marge’s age had caught up to her.

As for Eyvie, she still drops into the bar regularly. In memory of Marge, she still wears the old blue knitting around her waist. And it still doesn’t cover her - but we don’t say anything.

Once a traveler said something. He was kicked out the door before I could intervene - if I’d wanted to.

I’m sure Eyvie knows by now. She’s become a big part of our town and has assimilated with us surprisingly well. But whether or not she’s properly covered, as Marge would have said, she’s still a very decent Kobold - and we love her here.

#kobold #fiction #short story

55 notes · View notes