Went out to the parking lot with some friends and burnt some newspaper in between performances today to blow off some rage. Felt incredibly Sink-coded.
[Said ghoul researcher walks into the sink and wipes off their shoes before stepping into the room.]
"So this is what the inside of the sink looks like. Never got the chance to see before the war."
-@bajarangers
Indeed it is, sir. A dreadful tragedy sir. So much scientific advancement laid waste by those barbaric bombs. May I serve you dinner and/or other hospitality, sir?
Well, now! Your face has seen some wear and tear. How's about if I give you a little once-over?
Xerxes hadn’t acquired a new project in half a year.
Of course, Pet wasn’t complaining. He had forced himself, over the years, to tune out the wailing and begging and silent suffering every new trainee went through until they learned their place, knowing there was nothing he could do to help, but he had certainly never enjoyed it.
It was kind of nice, if he was honest, to just exist along with Xerxes. Their tendency of using him as a punching bag when they were bored or having a bad day had already been in decline, and the little humiliations of everyday life as a pet barely registered anymore. Sometimes they just sat and chatted. Sometimes Pet even ventured an opinion.
Still, the fact Xerxes had, by all appearances, given up on their profession seemed like a symptom of something Pet couldn’t quite pinpoint, even after knowing them for so long. Money wasn’t an issue; by now, at the height of their success, they were rich enough to take a year or several off if they so desired. But he caught them staring into nothing, or observing him with unusual thoughtfulness, as if they were grappling with something in their head they weren’t used to.
For a while, he worried they might be ill, and wrapping up their life in the knowledge of an approaching end. Yes, worried; maybe this was that Stockholm syndrome people always talked about, but after all, he had lived with this person for years and years. He’d never liked the way he had grown fond of them, but he couldn’t simply cut it out. And if they died, what would become of him?
So when they invited him to sit at the table with them for lunch that day, an otherwise ordinary day that warranted no such treats, he was prepared for anything.
He kept stealing glances at them as they both ate. They kept silent, staring onto their plate as if avoiding his eyes. It felt wrong; they shouldn’t act this way towards their pet.
He was halfway to plucking up the courage to straight-up ask them what was up when the entire meal had passed in silence, but that was when they put a hand on his wrist, to stop him from clearing the table, and finally looked up.
»Do you remember your name?«
Pet had, he realized as quickly as if he had been slapped, not been prepared for anything.
This being a test didn’t seem to line up with things had been in the past months, even years. He did remember his name, yes; it just seemed strangely foreign now, like the name of an acquaintance from the past. He had tried to hold on to it as his own for a while, but ultimately, Xerxes won. Of course they did.
»Yes, Master,« he replied cautiously.
Xerxes kept looking at him, and Pet - who was, as he was now reminded, once Nor - was startled at the shine in their eyes. They weren’t - those weren’t tears, were they?
»That’s good.« They sounded miserable. Defeated. They fished something out of their pocket, and leant over. Before he could make sense of what was happening, their warm hands were on his collar, and it was mere moments before the little lock opened with the tiniest click.
»What are you doing?« Pet blurted out.
Yes, those were definitely tears, even if they weren’t spilling over yet.
»You can go.«
»To where?!«
Xerxes chuckled wetly, and lowered their eyes again. »Wherever you want. You - you can stay until you figure it out, of course. But… you’re free.«
Free. The word bounced through his head, fluttered in his chest. It seemed unreal. He hadn’t even bothered to wish he were free in ages.
And yet…
Abruptly he got up and walked out the room. Walked down the hall, past the basement door that still made his heart beat faster. Up to the front door.
Touching it was forbidden, he knew that with every fibre of his body. His skin prickled, almost painfully, when he reached out to the key, in the lock as always.
He didn’t know how, but then moments later the door was open, and he stood in the yard. The guard sitting on the front porch looked at him—and made no move to stop him when he went over to the driveway, looking down the hill.
His vision blurred.
He barely could put a name to the emotions that brought the tears—there were too many, too overwhelming. His whole life was about to change; he would—would he? Would he have the nerve to leave everything he knew behind?
He wiped off his tears.
He didn’t have shoes. Regardless of what he was going to do next, there were still things to be sorted.
Gingerly, as if walking on eggshells, he went back to the house.
