there is a disgusting, bubbling, fleshy sound roiling beneath reconstructing skin, “bones” creaking and popping, creating new mass from what has been lost and carved away, joining together at the midsection of his sternum. barely heard above this gruesome cacophony, black hat teases.
❛ what────you put me on a table, split me open, delve into my insides, and you’re not even going to stay and cuddle ?? ❜
flug makes it as far as the doorway. freedom is in sight. but they both know there is nowhere he can go to escape his employer’s wrath, and black hat has no intent to simply let this slide.
ropey tendrils sprout from the eldritch’s torso. serpentine and eerily autonomous in their movements, the tentacle-like growths close the gap between black hat and flug. they’re wrapping tightly around flug’s wrists and ankles before his mind even has the chance to process what is happening, and with a tug they begin receding back into the strange, sinewy body────and dragging flug along the way.
in just a moment they’re so close that black hat can hear flug’s quickened breaths hitting the inside of his paper bag, nervously hovering over him sitting on the operating table. and in this proximity, the one eye fogging over with exhaustion, the sweat beading against his forehead, the stuttered rise and fall of his thin chest with every labored breath, are noticeable. and yet black hat manages to look about as composed and put-together as ever. it is all in the way he carries himself. but even this much physical manipulation is taxing.
yet grinning maniacally in the face of the man to blame for his weakened state, he refuses to concede.
❛ i never would have guessed that you had it in you, doctor! ❜ the abomination expresses again, positively giddy────he’s been alive for so long that few things genuinely surprise him anymore. yet thanks to his uncharacteristically bold and underhanded tactics, flug has (unfortunately) now made himself a subject of great interest to his supernatural superior.
he knows what he’s willing to do. just how far can he push him?
❛ i would say that i must be rubbing off on you, but that wouldn’t be an accurate observation, now would it ?? no… ❜ the remaining length of those creeping vines of flesh wormed their way back into black hat’s body; he reaches up under flug’s bag to clutch his jaw, holding him in place.
❛ i should think we’ve always been a similar sort of monster !! ❜
❛ no, no no no, that’s not——— ❜ his lips snapped shut almost too abruptly, the possibility of offending black hat even more a risk he's not willing to take. not that he thought his boss would be upset if flug insinuated that he’d rather take a very, very violent death every single day instead of standing in the same room as he for another second. if anything, it’d be flattering. something he is clearly not interested in doing.
the fleshy tentacles drag him away from the door instantly, the back of his head hits the floor and he’s left seeing stars for a moment, before panic settles in. he’d prayed for the end of things many times before, when fatigue and pettiness took the best of him, hidden away like a rat in case black hat could, somehow, make his way inside his mind if he saw him, but he never imagined it’d be like this. the scientist starts counting the seconds before black hat’s jaw cracks open, as if he were a snake ready to devour him whole, and he closes his eyes, stomach bubbling with anticipation.
luckily, the human mind is well known for coming up with nonsense when under pressure, and despite everything, he’s still only human. nothing happens, at least nothing deadly, not yet, and flug feels his chest compress with the sudden comfort that washes over him———his breath hitches then, burning lungs reminding him that he needs to breathe, and once he starts it’s impossible to avoid hyperventilating. the crazy expression his boss wears clearly doesn’t help, nor does the paper bag clinging to his face because of the sweat. he feels gross, knowing he could’ve avoided... this so easily if he hadn’t been so dumb. so self-centered. his own stupidity annoys him terribly, even more so than the threat of torture or death——or how unaffected black hat looks, too, if he ignores the clear evidence of weariness. how he remains so well put together, flug does not know, but shamelessly wishes he could, because maybe then he’d know black hat’s limit and he’d be a little bit easier to predict.
flug frowns, all his life he’d thought that surprising black hat would feel more satisfactory, but is truly the opposite: he feels debunked, disgustingly so, like surprising him is not worth all the trouble caused. shoulders tense when slender, dangerous fingers press against his face, and one of the many mouths placed along his jaw laps at them, curiosity winning over logic. the scientist feels repulsed, but keeps his words to himself, not daring to interrupt.
❛ you’re wrong, i’m, i’m nothing like you. ❜ he spits, and although it’s meant to be dismissive towards black hat, to draw a clear line between them, flug feels like he’s only pulling himself lower. of course he’s nothing like black hat, but that’s like a compliment for the eldritch creature. ❛ are you, ah, going to kill me? ❜ he groans, hastily wraps his hand around black hat’s wrist. gloved fingers claw at his skin to try and get the abomination to release him———flug blames the fear of having someone touch under his bag for such a stupid action. ❛ because that’d be, um, very inconvenient, boss. for, for both of us. ❜
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