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54. My muse says they hate yours
Wolf was on the wrong side of the board in a losing game of chess. He always was--it was as though every time the fallen lupine would pick himself back up, he would change alliances and find himself playing for the losing team once again. Perpetual, it was an endless streak of failure for the captain of Star Wolf and he can’t help the grumble he gives while he sits on a cold, metal stool in that filthy, half-empty dive bar, hovered over an untouched pint of whisky as he gathers his thoughts. These were the closing days of a long, bloody war that he had given up everything for.
And of course, the lupine was condemned to it: taking aim and making bad shots for a cause that was damned from the start. Just like always. Doomed to scratch the losing markers off of every lottery ticket. Just like always. Fated to buying the one drink that would get stuck in a vending machine. Just like always. The gray wolf’s ears bend flat as he depresses himself by thinking of all of life’s unpleasant experiences that he could compare his existence to.
A clawed hand finally reaches for the drink he had long since been served and he takes a sizable gulp. The burn of his spirits seemed to crawl slowly down his throat before nestling warmly in the pit of his stomach. He can’t help the hiss that whistles through his yellowing teeth as he breathes through it, eye shut tightly as he tortures himself with another sizable drink.
It would be during this time that a familiar vulpine enters the room. Of course, he’d initially go unseen by Wolf, whose only sense of vision was taken from him for the moment. He would only alert Wolf to his presence by choosing to actually sit next to the lupine. It’s a quick glance to the fox that brings him to make a quick decision: a third swallow, albeit one that was much easier would be what would help Wolf with what was surely to come.
Fox was going to gloat, right?
He had it--he had won. Every last line of Andross’s defenses were down, the mad scientist’s fleet was almost completely wiped out. And where did one of the few remaining people on the supporting side of Venom find himself at this moment in time? Sitting next to the very man he was losing the battle to in some dinky little bar floating mindlessly through space. Every day, Wolf would see fewer and fewer familiar faces; less and less men he had fought alongside to defend a heartless maniac from the long arm of the law--from justice.
And it churned his stomach to be physically right next to the man who had single-handedly done it. The grip on his whisky glass was tightened, his sharp and unruly claws giving a tap against the glass as his fingers wrap around it.
“Figured you’d be halfway to Venom right now...” Wolf begins in the lowest voice he could possibly muster. Those who knew the wolf well enough could recognize the slight slur in his voice. The lupine had been self-medicating for a while, it was shocking he wasn’t more drunk than he already was. Both ears pull back in anger, the moving muscle in his ear causes the strap of his eyepatch to shift -- something that always frustrated Wolf more, just like always.
"Why the hell are you here?” He barks sharply, fully turning his body to face Lylat’s hero. “--No, course you’d be here. Of course you’d take a fuckin’ drink while standing in the face of the last fuckin’ hurrah. It’s all so easy fer you, why would I expect otherwise? This whole thing has all been one fuckin’ game to you -- you couldn’t take none’a this seriously, even if you fuckin’ tried. I mean, every fuckin’ victory was practically handed to yer spoiled ass. Everybody’s been pamperin’ yer ass because you lost yer dad n’all this -- shouldn’t expect Junior to not reward himself fer all his hard work during such a hard fuckin’ time -- that would be selfish of me! N’who am I to take away James Junior’s happiness!? After everything the poor kid’s gone through! S’not like he hasn’t had his his hand held through all’a this ‘er nothin’ while the rest of us ‘er left alone to grin and fuckin’ bear it. Oh. wait.”
The glass is raised to his lips and two large swallows of its contained spirits are taken. Sharp breaths shoot through his nostrils as the anesthetizing alcohol burns through his insides. “How come when I’m forced to face somethin’ ugly, I gotta do it alone? But when Corneria’s fuckin’ Golden Boy stubs his goddamn toe, everybody’s gotta stop what they’re fuckin’ doin’ and kiss it better? S’it cuz your daddy was killed? Cuz mine fuckin’ walked out b’fore I was even born, and I ain’t got a consolation prize ‘er nothin’.” His hand rises and he rubs at his good eye, his palm sweeping against his socket and he gives a long, outward sigh.
“V’always wanted to be you, Fox. V’always wanted to have yer life, be yer father’s son, meet the people you get to meet n’see the places you get to see; you get to have the freedom of doing whatever you want, like fly to dive bars outside Venom airspace just so you can harass the person whose soul you’ve crushed into the ground time after time again... But the worst fuckin’ thing about it, Fox, is you can’t do nothin’ but complain about all of it.”
“I’ve always coveted the name Fox McCloud. But now--now when I hear yer name, it makes me sick, makes me wanna drive my fuckin’ claws into yer throat and tear out yer goddamn esophagus. Yer absolutely fuckin’ terrible, McCloud, yer sarcastic, and pessimistic, entitled and fuckin’ annoying as shit...and I still want to be you! I want what you have and I hate it! I hate it -- I hate you! I fuckin’ hate you, Fox!”
Elbows to the bar counter, each hand grips as his skull tightly as he buries his face in his arms. Why the fuck was Fox here? What did he want from Wolf, so close to his victory? The drunk lupine’s world was spinning, the alcoholic burn in his stomach was replaced by the fire of anxiety. He needs to get out of there.
