Chapter Text
Purpled has been hired to do a job, and he is going to complete it. He’s getting paid after, though, and there’s no particular time crunch, so he can take his time scouting for surprises and building some trust with the target (either to make killing them easier or to make getting them to the location easier).
He opens the door to Puffy’s Therapy Office and a bell above the frame rings with a merry jingle. Puffy sits behind the desk, reading through some papers. She looks up and smiles.
“Purpled! It’s good to see you. Come in, come in.” She says, standing up and ushering him further into the room. Purpled hears she’s a hugger, so he’s on guard, but she only offers her hand to shake. He shakes it tentatively, and she smiles.
“So, what brings you to visit me today?”
“Just wanted to see what this is all about. I was a landlord for a little while.” Purpled shrugs.
“Of course, of course. I can show you around if you’d like? Or we could sit in my office, it’s much more comfortable.” She offers. Purpled’s never been offered a tour straight-out by a target before. In fact, Purpled had never been greeted by a target, or had his comfort concerned over by a target. Normally he just shot them or stabbed them and moved on. But this was a special case. He could take his time, scout it out.
“Yeah, I’d like a tour.” He says.
“Sure! Right this way. Here is the-“ Puffy starts the tour immediately, and Purpled follows along, marking exits and entrances, looking to see what windows have locks and what windows don’t, and what rooms Puffy skipped over showing him. It wasn’t very many, which made Purpled highly on-guard for how easily Puffy trusted him. She had to suspect something , right? But what? He’d just came to her therapy office and asked-
Oh. She thought he wanted therapy.
The thought was laughable, but useful enough to his agenda that he could follow along for a while. Puffy completed the tour and brought him to her office, the only room they’d walked by without touring. It was cozy and comfortable, with overstuffed chairs, wide windows, a white noise machine, and LED lights. Puffy kept the main light on and switched the LEDs to blue, closing the window blinds behind him. It turned the room well-lit and private. She ignored the white noise machine, keeping it silent. He wouldn’t change the setting if he could, which was probably a sign for how good at her job Puffy was. There wasn’t a notepad or a pen in her hands, and she sat down in a chair with her back to the door, beckoning for Purpled to sit. He sat with his back to the window (three step unconventional escape, tear down blinds, smash glass, jump) facing the door (she could block it but it was unlocked, meaning he could slam her out of the way and run).
“So, Purpled, what have you been up to lately?” She asks. It’s conversational, like she’s catching up with an old friend, and he can almost imagine he’s not being picked over to fix like a broken cup. He thinks he’ll do that.
“Wandering, prepping for my next job, you know. The usual.” Purpled shrugs.
“What is your job right now?” She asks.
“I’m a hitman. Unhired, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
It takes a moment for Puffy to formulate a response to that, but Purpled can’t pick any specific feeling from her face.
“How long have you been working this job?” She asks.
“Six-ish years? I had my landlord front going for a while on top, but I never really quit getting commissions during that.” Purpled says, fiddling with his hoodie strings.
“Are you in need of the money?” Puffy asks, “A hitman isn’t a very conventional job.”
“Well, as they say in the real estate buisness, money is power and power is money.” Purpled shrugs again.
“Plus it’s a good fallback plan, just in case.”
“How many people would you say you’ve killed over your six years?” Puffy asks. Her tone is still conversational, and so are her questions, but Purpled feels like he’s been gutted. He hates this question, no matter how common.
“Thirty-five.”
Puffy takes an even longer moment to respond, hoofed hands folded in her lap.
“Do you ever work with anyone?” She asks.
“Punz and Ponk, most often. Ponk finds commissions and clients, and if either of us get a job too big, me and Punz cooperate.” Purpled shrugs again.
“So you’ve been alone, lately.” It’s a statement and a question, and Purpled doesn’t know how to respond without giving himself away.
“Yes.” He answers. Shouldn’t he be asking questions as well?
“How did you know?” He asks. He’s seen Puffy’s face out and around on anti-egg posters, but he doesn’t know how entrenched and informed she is, so he estimates it’s a good place to start.
“Ponk and Punz have been working for the egg lately. That usually means they abandon anything besides the egg and their own self-interest.” Puffy answers. He doesn’t like the implication of being abandoned, because he was not related to them.
“They didn’t abandon me. We just don’t work together anymore. They weren’t my friends.” Purpled corrects. Puffy hums an acknowledgment, but Purpled doesn’t think she believes him. That’s alright. He knows the truth.
“So you don’t consider them friends? Just co-workers?” She asks. Purpled nods. There’s a moment of silence before Purpled decides to continue his investigation.
“Why did you decide to start a therapy office?” Purpled asks.
“Because prime knows this server needs one, and I’m willing to provide.” Puffy responds.
“Are you licensed?” He asks.
“Yep. And experienced.” She says, “Had a crew to take care of, y’know?”
“You were a pirate?” Purpled asks.
And thus, they talk for far too long. Puffy talks about her days as a pirate, Purpled throws in anecdotes about his time exploring and in the UFO, and overall, he thinks he has enough info and trust to bring Puffy to where Bad had wanted her the next day. He leaves feeling significantly lighter then before, but there’s still a rock in his stomach he doesn’t think he can contribute to nerves.