Work Text:
You hate me but you can't let me go.
Dying in your bed.
My clothes on your floor.
Your soul entangled with my inner sorrows.
Let me be your Mars
To turn you into my Venus.
Wrap me in your threads.
Stab me in the chest.
I want your tongue to be my ashtray.
Rudo had been chewing on pastries on his throne when the first alert sounded—distant and haughty like a buzzer, joined by the muffled screams of people. He was trying to wind up a metal bird while Tamsy feigned reading some silly document he’d eventually refuse to sign (just for the pleasure of making life difficult for the people of the Sphere), when an army of Apostles burst into the calm throne room.
"My master! The trash has rebelled! A monster is attacking us!" Unconsciously, Rudo and Tamsy looked at each other, unable to believe what the man was saying. A burst of laughter threatened to escape their throats under the surprised and confused gaze of the messenger.
Tamsy finally rose from his throne, discreetly gripping Tokushin and giving Rudo a mysterious glance, and left without the haste the Apostles tried to convey. A shadow crossed the sky, clouding the warm, sunny atmosphere displayed through the windows. But Rudo didn't care.
"Can you bring me a pitcher of water?" he inquired of the servants stationed at his side.
"Have you come to destroy the Sphere?"
"Yes."
"Will you kill me to achieve it?"
"No."
Rudo watches the flow of water overflow from his glass; the water spills from the crystal to the floor in a continuous stream. However, Zodyl does not look at the spill. Waste without cause—that is the Sphere. And he, as Regent and Consort, must set the example.
"I disgust myself," he thinks, watching the clean water fall until it hits the marble tiles. When the water runs out, only a container remains, as empty as his soul. Zodyl emits nothing more than a sound like a murmur between his teeth.
He looks at Rudo. The intensity of the "Sphere-dweller's" gaze is lost among the layers of mystery surrounding the Raider. What could a guy want who has been obsessed with Rudo's total lack of vengeful judgment? Flying a beast of trash all the way here, replicating such a pathetic experiment. Just like when they first met, moments after meeting Amo.
"I think you should do it," he snaps, his voice an octave higher than it should be. However, Tamsy won't hear him begging for death. He is too busy fighting a kaiju and a trash beast destroying the wealthy district of the Sphere. He can see the shadows through the windows; the glass rattles as a structure falls and a bestial roar echoes. It feels distant. Miles away. But how far is Rudo from his freedom?
"Killing you will only ruin my plans; I still need you to destroy the Sphere. Even if you've started it from the inside, you're only postponing the descent." Zodyl feels his Jinki pulse with recognition, almost tracking Aromatica, the book, and 3R somewhere in that palace. The same ghostly sensation consumes his spine like cries of recognition. The coat laments the fate of the gloves. It misses them. It pulses like a necessity in his head.
"And the best way to do that is by breaking into my house?!" The raw anger escapes his measured tone. Zodyl pays sharp attention to the metal throne behind him; the spikes protrude and the scent of rust floods the hall. Another mournful groan breaks the atmosphere, hinting at the shadows of a pitched battle. He wonders if Cthoni hasn't joined the fray. Or if the Cleaners are destroying more than they are mediating.
Rudo, who is now an extinguished flame, squeezes the handle of the pitcher as if imposing his will over the object. It isn't trash. It has no Jinki. Only silk over bleeding wounds. Even if he had an arsenal of junk at his disposal, it would be impossible to grant them anything more than the blood that escapes his palms almost constantly. The white silk has begun to darken.
Anger suits him. How long has he been turning it into a silent weapon? Zodyl didn't learn of his disappearance until it was too late. Seeing himself betrayed by Tamsy, he had no choice but to further postpone his detailed, long-term goal. With no means to reach the Sphere, he resorted to desperate attempts and media experiments to get there.
"You should kill me," Rudo repeats, louder. With a demand that disguises the urgency in his voice.
"I should? You are not a sacrifice; you are a weapon. Behave like one."
"A dull weapon, in any case," he muttered under his breath. Zodyl snorted in disgust.
"Don't be a brat. In all these years, you haven't gotten rid of that look we share."
"What look are we supposed to share? You, who chews on cockroaches and talks about useless plans, and me, who lives in this palace eating fresh and sweet things? Let me repeat it to you! You and I. Are. Not. The. Same."
"You have nothing of the Surebrecs in you," the coldness mixed with disgust abounds in Zodyl's cutting tone. Rudo smiles, a horrific grimace of bleeding teeth and gums.
"Caines, you mean," it sounds thick on his tongue, a word he has refused to let go since he became entangled in Tamsy's power plays.
Under the light of a bellicose noon, the thimble that serves as a ring shines as red and gold as blood itself.
The vengeance he swore, he fulfilled. Like blunders and idiocies—small things.