Boss Attacks: Trash Monster - always worth something - 1169 words

Using 1 x Steampunk Calipers for 5x required word count. (35AP)

 

7. Comfort a friend. Someone has come to you, feeling guilty. They fear their intense, uncontrolled, discarded feelings have become one with the rubbish, and added to the creature’s size and agony. They can sense it being drawn out of their chest, like string off of a spool. It’s taken a lot of courage to get to this point, but they’re here now… They’re here. Draw or write your character listening to, or comforting someone who’s dealing with some very difficult emotions.

 

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"I thought you hated me."

 

Kyy scoffed, turning to face away from the shifter sitting next to him. "Trust me - I do." Despite his answer, the young man wrapped his arms around himself. He rubbed his upper arms as though he was cold. The snakes tattooed into his skin shifted, each wondering the hand across their inky, flat bodies. They seemed worried.

 

Caspian tilted his head, mirroring the tattoos' one-dimensional feelings. He leaned forward on the wooden bench, letting his elbows rest on his knees. He waited for a suitable opening, but didn't have time to wait for long, until the other turned to face him again.

 

"I thought you were the one that was supposed to have issues beyond comprehension." Kyy sounded upset. Almost offended. The eternal's brow furrowed, and he leaned away slightly. The grey man gestured at the humongous monstrosity in the distance, its inconsolable wailing traveling with the wind. "How isn't your bullshit affecting it?"

 

Caspian looked at the creature. It straightened itself and opened its maw, sending out a discordant cry of lament to the skies - to whoever and whatever would be willing to hear, or listen. The shifter's ears flicked downwards simultaneously. He knew all too well how such felt. Nonchalantly, he shrugged with only one of his shoulders. "Either it doesn't care about my bullshit because I'm aware enough of it, or feasting on my stuff doesn't affect it that much - either way, I can't really say that I care."

 

This man was both an enigma, and an open book. Everything he said and did felt unbelievable, in both good and bad. Kyy shook his head softly, the whole, minuscule movement drenched in the shades of incredulity. "How can you have everything so figured out?"

 

Caspian chuckled. "No. No I don't." What an outrageous claim. If Kyy had seen him break down, there was no way he'd think that - but maybe it was for the best. "But I've had time to mull things over."

 

Kyy scoffed once more, turning to stare forward. "Must've been a fast process," he mused bitterly.

 

"Thousands of years doesn't feel that fast, but what do I know? My sense of time is utter shit."

 

Kyy's whole body froze. His eyes widened as he stiffly turned back to the shifter. How many years? The guy looked like he was thirty at most, if even that. There was no way. He was lying, surely. His tales were so tall, anyway. It was more likely that the neonpole was a compulsive liar, than telling the truth.

 

Still, it didn't help Kyy. The guilt he felt had grown in intensity ever since the trash-whatever had appeared from the mud and sludge.

 

A soft whine drew the attention of them both. Palo - a huge, black dog with a small white spot on its chest and a skull for its head - sat slightly farther away in front of the two men. Its tufted ears were pinned back, and its tail wagged cautiously every now and then.

 

Leaning forwards and towards the hound, Kyy unraveled his arms from around himself. The animal perked up instantly as it saw movement, and sprung up like there were thumbtacks under its tail. It trotted over to its master and sat down right in front of him. It seemed to know exactly how to act, and what to do.

 

Caspian watched Kyy gently embracing the dog. His face got buried into its rough neck fur. Simply just observing, the Athos stayed silent. The grey man wasn't one to talk - and yet, here he was. Sitting next to a guy he despised so. If Kyy was here to talk, he would do so in his own terms. It had been clear from the start that he didn't dance according to anyone else's whistle or flute.

 

"I think I wanted Max to kill me," Kyy finally spoke, his voice careful and muffled. "And I... think that's still true." His hold around the dark dog's neck tightened, and his shoulders rose rigidly.

 

His tattoos shifted again. The stripes inked into his neck slithered to the side momentarily like adders. It revealed the scars underneath. Caspian couldn't help his ears from drooping as his face twisted in sorrowful sympathy. People were so unbelievably cruel. It always both surprised him, and didn't. He had gotten quite a fair share of it himself - and yet, despite everything he had seen in his life, some sick bastards still managed to go just a little bit further.

 

"...I don't deserve any of this," Kyy continued. His voice was weaker, and began to quiver. "You made a mistake not leaving me there."

 

"I don't think that's the case."

 

Kyy's whole demeanor grew thorns. He pulled himself off Palo and turned to Caspian to object - until he saw what was being offered to him. The young man petrified in place for a passing moment, before he yanked the black bandana off the eternal's hand. "Where did you--"

 

Caspian pointed to his side with a lopsided half of a smile. Seeing Puro - another black, skull-headed dog - wag its tail happily ceased Kyy's seething before it even properly began.

 

That angry hiss melted into a puddle of grief right after. Kyy grabbed the bandana with both of his hands. His eyes ran over the worn print, an image of a strikingly white, double row of sharp teeth. Tears started to distort his vision. His mouth pinched into a thin line as he tried to keep himself at least somewhat together. "...she died because I was nothing more than a brat."

 

He could've grown up - grown a spine. Instead, all he did was bickering with his mother like a goddamn toddler. Defy every word and even the smallest request. He only stirred trouble around the city with his friends, just because he could. He could've been there for her - but he wasn't. Because he was a stupid, spoiled, piece of shit.

 

The way the other writhed in his guilt twisted Caspian's insides like a corkscrew - and he couldn't even say that it wasn't Kyy's fault. He didn't know. It was quite likely that the guilt Kyy carried on his red-robed shoulders was unjustified, but there was no way for the shifter to know for sure. He couldn't just spew lies, no matter how much he didn't know if they were or weren't such.

 

Well, here goes nothing.

 

"No matter how deep you fall, someone still cares, Kyy. These guys definitely do." Caspian scratched the saluki-like hound's neck. Its tail swung side to side in a faster pace.

 

Kyy turned away. "They're not even real," he spit through a scoff, sounding defeated. He sniffled a few times, attempting to push away the heavy veil that had overpowered the beating of his heart.

 

"They look quite real to me," Caspian objected. "What were their names? I can't quite remember."

 

"What can you remember?" Kyy huffed at the shifter while absent-mindedly tying the bandana around his own neck.

 

Caspian let out a chuckle. "Touché."