Knives and forks clink against the dinner plates, metal scraping and laughter, their base drips with water from above. Drip, drip, drip. Impulse watches. It seeps into the center of the table, a growing patch on the wooden grain. Right between the steaks and loaves of warm bread. Nobody pays it any mind. Drip, drip.
(…Nobody but him.)
Etho says something he doesn’t catch, a bark of laughter from Tango. Beads of water splash onto the surrounding food.
Impulse’s hold on his fork goes tight.
He needs to fix that.
“Impulse buddy, you with us?” Skizz shakes his arm, “You agree Scar’s acting weird right?”
“Yeah yeah,” Impulse answers on auto-pilot, “I heard rumors he’s been trying to get kills. Yellow Scar, man.”
Tango cackles and the conversation cycles on. Impulse steels his jaw, he can’t zone out again. Keep pretending, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t be good to stab his teammates at the dinner table. He’d have to clean the table out. Maybe pull out the entrails from the cracks in the grain of wood.
(Drip, drip.)
No, focus.
Focus.
(A faint, metallic scent permeates his senses– gone in a moment.)
Impulse bites into a piece of steak. Buttery juice slides over his tongue and between his teeth. The taste of blood makes his grip on the fork creak. For what feels like the first time in millenia, his glamor itches at his skin. The careful control over his form twitches and squirms like a coiled snake poised to strike.
Show them what you really are, hums in his mind. The dripping echoes like a wardrum. Show them your true face.
Impulse licks at his lips, “You did a nice job, Tango. It’s delicious!”
“Aww!” Tango coos, his flames crackling a soft orange-red, “Etho lent me some seasoning but he won’t tell me where he got the happy happy sauce.”
Impulse takes another bite, canines digging into flesh and bone, and the rip is loud. Or is it loud for him? Again, infernal magic bubbles at the back of his throat. He swallows, appraising the flavor. It doesn’t drown out the sickly sulfur like he hoped.
“Bdubs?” Impulse guesses with a tease.
“Oh come on,” Etho groans, “Ah I guess that was way too easy.”
“He married me too, remember?” Impulse laughs at Etho’s expression, “Can’t blame me for forgetting the best meals I’ve ever had! Bet he’s feeding his family around now.”
Etho waves him off as they cackle at the blush rushing up past the mask. Impulse cuts another piece off the bone. Rip, snrk, clink. Idly, he wonders if human skin still made the same noise.
The clink of metal against the plates, the dull pounding of water. The snap-crackle of Tango’s fire. Buttery-sweet blood coats his tongue.
He remembers the musky smell of Etho's burning hair and flesh, his screams turned into bloody gurgles as he flailed in lava in the first game. Just minutes before everything ended.
Impulse tears off a chunk of meat.
(Snrrk, clink.)
People die in so many ways. It’s why he loves the variety poison provides— stomachs twisting and lungs seizing— and yet he wonders if anybody’s tried skinning someone, if the server would even allow it.
Impulse swallows a dark laugh, is vivisection on the table? His glamor shivers.
Metal catches the light, the smooth shimmer taking him back. To sharp arrowheads and snapping magma, to a castle reaching into the sky.
He remembers a golden clock.
(Rip, snrk, clink.)
Impulse remembers the way Bdubs’ flesh bubbled and blistered from the Wither. The way his Red bloodlust sang at the way his corpse crumpled to the ground. Bdubs’ skin growing dark, mottled with blackened streaks and bruised from the Withering and regular battle.
The worst of it healed over, scars stitched into flesh. But he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t revel in it, the stained canvas left on Bdubs’ face and arms.
He kissed that face. Peppering them along wither-cracked ribs and arms, tracing every dark and poisoned line with a smile. I’m sorry, he had said. I’m sorry.
He meant it. (Yes, really.)
Impulse hadn’t meant to curse Bdubs with chronic pain and scars, especially since he had to feel the echoes of it through the soulmate bond. He loved Bdubs. Loved him since the beginning.
And he remembers the rip-schk! of the ax in his back.
The way his blood pooled on the grass as everything went dark.
The phantom feeling of Pearl’s wolves tearing flesh from bone in long strips and bites. Riiiip-snrk-crunch.
Blood dripping from between their teeth.
(Drip, drip.)
Impulse stabs his fork a little harder into the next cut, picturing a handsome face with a cute and crooked grin. Damn him. He glares down at his plate. No, focus. Pretend, he tells himself, you’re good at that, aren’t you?
There’s a hand over his, warmer than it should be. He looks up.
Tango has cocked an eyebrow up with a cute little nose crinkle, “You in?”
Impulse blinks, the words registering in his head.
“Yeah, sure,” He grins, “A walk sounds great. I think I’m tired of Skizz’s stink overpowering the place. We really need to install some ventilation.”
“Hey!”
And they laugh, bright and loud as Skizz pouts, checking his armpits. The glasses shake as Tango rattles the table with a smack, a cackle on his lips. Etho’s eyes twinkle with amusement.
Impulse’s focus drifts. Back to the present, away from the blood.
Poppy watched in disappointment Barb breaking her fourth paint brush. The stick with the soft end broke into two pieces and fell on the forest floor next to it's poor predecessors.
"Barb it's not gonna work if you keep mistreating the materials." Poppy pointed out. In return she got a mean glare, it was easily ignored as Poppy went to look at her own painting. She had painted a field of flowers with a few animals scattered here and there.
Looking back over at Barb's painting, it was..well.. different!
"I told you this isn't my thing, I know you're trying to help but this is honestly making me angrier." Barb took a few steps back with- what Poppy deemed - an exaggerated sigh, arms limp at her sides, ears pinned down in annoyance and eyes rolling to show her lack of enthusiasm.
Poppy stood up from her foldable chair and faced Barb. "Well, maybe painting isn't your thing. Is there any sort of art you like?" This time Poppy could actually see Barb thing. Unlike most rock trolls Barb was very expressive, especially with her face.
Pulling in the back of her Mohawk she let out a small breath. "Do you have.. charcoal sticks?"
Oh! Poppy wasn't expecting that. But the pink haired queen quickly nodded and ran over to her backpack nearby that she had set down earlier. This spot was a little aways from Pop Village but not too far away from the perimeter line. Grabbing some charcoal sticks she walked back over to Barb who seemed grateful.
Poppy watched as she threw her current canvas behind her and plop and new one into place. Seeing that she was actually putting in effort, Poppy went back to her own painting.
-------------------------------
Barb swallowed as she stared at her now finished painting. It was the flower patch in front of her as the foreground and the trees and rest of the forest as the background.
She glanced at Poppy's painting, it was bright, colorful and full of life. Barb's eyes immediately shot back to her own painting, before she could tear up the painting caused from all the anxiety filling her chest, she heard Poppy gasp. Now the pop troll was standing beside her, oddly quick and a little confusing to Barb but she didn't comment.
"Barb it's beautiful!" Poppy gasped out again. Fiddling with her spiked bracelets Barb looked down at the grass, frown on her face except at the very corner of her lip where a smile seemed to pull with all it's might. "It's nothing special." She answered with a shrug.
Out of the corner of her eye Barb could see Poppy take a step closer to the painting, inspecting it like it was an important letter from another kingdom. "Nothing special? You shade better than I do! And I've been painting my entire life." A small snort escaped the pop queen and Barb had to physically look away until her blush died down.
"I think King Thrash would love this."
Barbs ears- or more like ear - perked up as she finally looked at Poppy. "You're..just saying that." But when Poppy grabbed both of Barbs hands and held them in front of her chest, then gave her the happiest look of all time, a small spark in Barbs chest lit. "No! I mean it! Honestly I'm surprised you hadn't pursued this before."
She could only hold so much eye contact with Poppy before she had to look away, all her positivity was getting to her; Barb wasn't so sure she liked it. "Well..I have when I have the time. I only started in my early teens though." If Poppy could let out a bigger gasp then she would. And did. Right in front of Barb and her precious ears. "Oh sugar that's so cool! We have to do this more oftenohandwecanbringsnacksand-"
"Poppy!"
The pop troll stop quickly snapped her mouth shut. "I think once in a while it wouldn't hurt." Barb slightly caved, but that's all it took for Poppy to become a dog whistle from how much high pitched squealing she was doing.
Maybe this girls painting day wasn't so bad after all.
Elka immediately knew camp was going to be hell the second Vernon tripe walked onto the bus. His blabbering only further solidified her visions. Any chance he got he would blabber about a random story or get someone to play a game with him, which Elka slightly pitied him a little bit but nothing further than that.
So when he walked up to her asking what she knew about Frankie, Elka knew it was going to be a nothing but painful interaction.
“Hey Elka.” The boy said at an annoyingly slow place. She already wanted to walk away. “Do you know that red haired girl that sat near the front of the bus? I was curious about her and wanted to-”
Elka put up her hand in a ‘Stop’ motion, then closed her eyes, breathed in deeply before looking back at Vernon. “I will tell you what I know about her if you don't talk to me for the next two days. Got it?” Thankfully it only took a second or two of thinking before Vernon nodded.
“She’s pretty happy go-lucky from the looks of it, I believe she likes arts and crafts since she's always making stuff with that..creatively dressed girlfriend of hers.” Creative was putting it nicely.
“Girlfriend?”
Elka looked up from her nails and at the black haired boy, who seemed to be sporting a disappointed expression. “Well..I'm pretty sure anyways, we’ve only been here a week and I haven't had much interaction with her.” Much to Elka's..relief? He perked up at that. No, it was a good thing, now he wouldn't be bothering her about something stupid about ‘How to win over a girl' or asking for any updates on Frankie's and Kitty's relationship.
The boy seemed to fidget with the sleeve of his shirt as he stood, clearly thinking about his next words that she only prayed weren't as ridiculous as she was guessing. “Thanks Elka, since you helped me you can always ask me about that blonde kid..uh, I don't know his name though.” There was only one other blonde kid so Elka knew exactly who Vernon was talking about.
She felt her own face flush, her arms crossed and she slightly turned away as a slight scowl appeared on her face. “What makes you think I'd like to know anything about him?” Elka asked incredulously.
She watched as the boy tapped the side of his face in thought. “Well, aren't you always staring at him?”
Elka made sure Vernon walked away from their conversation with a bruise to the nose and hopefully a second thought about talking to her in the future.
