warning: this project contains mentions, implications or depictions of: sexual assault, misgendering, gore, violence, body horror, suggestive conversations, abuse, mind control, and death.
all of which are present in the narrative for defined and purposeful reasons, with no shock value intended. please stay aware of your own limits, and pay attention to content warnings on specific update notifications on discord.


created by B. Comorant and Ringor Mortis

---

Chelsea watches from afar, both grateful for and cursing the fact that she was hard of hearing. Even a single word out of that god's mouth made her feel a knot in her stomach, especially after finding out her and Bucket's feelings were requited. She tries to do her best to avert her eyes, her glance sneaking by to make sure nothing funny started with Rein- not that it'd ever start anything in public.
 




It leans in, pressing its mask to their forehead. 
 



It pulls away, tracing a finger under their chin. 
 

They smile slightly, trying to hide any sign of strain. 
 



It withdraws its hand, turning towards the front of the truck. 
 

Rein simply nods before slithering away, leaving Bucket alone with Chelsea. The other demon is still leaning against the truck, trying not to look as bothered as she feels.

BUCKET: I'll be quite honest, I'm surprised that worked.
CHELSEA: What'd it go on about this time?

She grumbles her words, clearly out of sorts over the whole thing. 

CHELSEA: Couldn't hear any of it.
BUCKET: The usual banter, Spit's followers this and that as you'd imagine.

CHELSEA: It tell you I'm worse than the devil herself yet?
BUCKET: Would you be surprised it still has not tried such?
CHELSEA: Guess I'm just grateful you don't listen to it trying that...
BUCKET: What it sees and what I know have a very defined line of separation.
CHELSEA: ...thanks, Buck. 

She almost leans in for a kiss, stopping herself and settling for a pat on their back. Bucket turns bright red even with just the pat.

BUCKET: We'll save it for the rest stop...
CHELSEA: Y-yep. Good plan. Sorry.
BUCKET: I can't blame you for being eager.

Their tail wags just a little. 

BUCKET: But we're a tad too exposed…

Before she can get another word out, the back doors to Spit’s truck open up wide, a raggedy looking ruffneck standing there. 

????: You ladies ready to get going, or what? 
????: Plenty of room for you to gossip inside the truck. 
????: God forbid, maybe they'll leave without you! 

He smiles wide, no warmth to it. 

????: What a goddamn shame that'd be.

Bucket refuses to acknowledge him, Chelsea settling on an irritated glare. She was already sick of him the second he opened his mouth. 

????: Well, aren't you two a couple of livewires. 
????: Lil' miss horns over here already knows me, but-

He extends a hand to Bucket, practically waving it in their face. 

????: You, you're new to me. I'm Matthias.

Bucket grabs him by the wrist, going for a full arm shake. 

BUCKET: Bucket Judgment, licensed Master of All.
MATTHIAS: Well aren't you fancy? 
MATTHIAS: Me, I just run a cult.

He doesn't get phased for even a second, returning the shake. 

MATTHIAS: Guess I should have expected much from the fabled snake bride, mm? 
MATTHIAS: You've got a rep, you know.

Bucket raises a brow. 

BUCKET: Do I?
MATTHIAS: Oh, yes, all it took was the name matched to your face for me to realize just who you are.
BUCKET: I am...flattered?
MATTHIAS: You shouldn't be.
 

He gives them one more shake before dropping their arm. 

 
MATTHIAS: I've got a lot of people who want your head on a pike.
BUCKET: Does that include yourself?
MATTHIAS: Not for the next week, or however long this takes. 
MATTHIAS: After that, who knows!
BUCKET: If you'd like to be my sandbag well... it's a choice.
MATTHIAS: Ah ah ah, we're on a truce, aren't we? 
MATTHIAS: I'm pretty sure you don't want to disappoint your lovely porcelain partner with-

He raises his voice a few pitches, making a mocking whine. 

MATTHIAS: Uncontrolled behavior. 

He lets his voice fall back to normal, snickering. 

MATTHIAS: That's about right, yeah?
BUCKET: Defending honor is an occupational hazard, it'd understand.
MATTHIAS: Guess we better behave then. 

He shrugs before turning back towards the inside of the truck, feeling the engine start up. 

MATTHIAS: Time to get rolling!

BUCKET: Chelsea?

She snaps out of her daze, unclenching her fist. 

CHELSEA: S-sorry. That guy puts me on edge…

Bucket frowns, clearly concerned for their partner. 

BUCKET: I take it you two are very familiar then. 
CHELSEA: More familiar than I'd like to be…
BUCKET: Are you going to be alright for this?
CHELSEA: I'm going to have to hold up one way or another. 

Chelsea tries to scrabble and get up into the truck, struggling a bit. Bucket helps nudge her onto it, gently as they could. She scoots in, giving them a grateful look and holding out her hand. Bucket grabs on and pulls themselves up, no issue about it. 

BUCKET: Thank you!
CHELSEA: No prob, Buck. 

She keeps her voice low, reaching out to close the truck doors. 

CHELSEA: Let's hope the ride goes...as smooth as it can.

The ride goes relatively smoothly, with Chelsea and Bucket doing their best to ignore Matthias' presence. Hours pass without much trouble, and both demons wonder if maybe, this was going to go fine after all.

And then comes the rest stop's diner.



Chelsea makes her way over to the furthest possible corner booth, waiting anxiously for Bucket to come and sit down with her before Matthias can take the spot. Bucket finishes up with the staff at the register and manages to catch up right before she sits, giving her a reassuring pat.




As soon as Bucket takes a seat, Matthias pulls up two chairs from another table entirely- putting one down for him to sit in, and the other to prop his feet up.

BUCKET: Oh? You're joining us for dinner today?
MATTHIAS: Why not? Can't I enjoy a little company?
BUCKET: I suppose it's fine for now...

A waiter places menus down for them, shooting a dirty look at Matthias' chair setup. 

WAITER: Let me know when you're ready to order- 

Their expression worsens as they notice Matthias’ cigarette, the dog exhaling smoke directly in their face.

WAITER: Sir, there's no smoking allowed here- 
MATTHIAS: I didn't see a sign. 

He looks over at Bucket and Chelsea, eyebrows raised. 

MATTHIAS: Did you see a sign?
BUCKET: I don't smoke, so I wouldn't have checked. 
BUCKET: Perhaps you should go and ask the manager for a ruling yourself? 
BUCKET: See how that fares? 
BUCKET: Would be far more helpful here perhaps.
MATTHIAS: If a manager comes and talks to me, I'll stop. 
MATTHIAS: But I'll have you know, this shit's medical. 
MATTHIAS: You wouldn't want me getting all sick, would you?

He makes a mock pout at the waiter, getting a frustrated sigh in return. 

WAITER: Just...let me know when you want to order.

Chelsea puts her face in her hand as the waiter walks away, sneaking an apologetic look at Bucket. Her partner returns a slight smile and a shrug, followed by a sigh. Chelsea tries to shake off her anxiety, going for her menu and skimming it. 

 

CHELSEA: Guess the soup sounds alright...it's got meat in it.
BUCKET: Go as hard as you'd like, I'm covering.
MATTHIAS: Wow, really? 

 
Matthias peeks over his menu. 

 
MATTHIAS: I know what I'm getting, then!
BUCKET: I suppose I can cover you as well...

 
Matthias starts flagging the waiter down again, Bucket leaning all the way back in their booth. This bastard is gonna squeeze in as much free dinner as possible. Hopefully Rein won't mind.
 
The waiter doesn’t seem pleased in the slightest to return to their table, their movements slow and hesitant as they carry a tray with glasses of water in hand.

  
WAITER:  Are you ready to order- 
MATTHIAS: Yeah, I'll take the steak combo. 
MATTHIAS: Extra sauce. 
CHELSEA: ...I'll have the soup of the day.
BUCKET: The biscuits and gravy if you will.
WAITER: And...got it. 
WAITER: I'll be back with your order soon, then. 

 
They leave as soon as the last of it’s scribbled down, leaving the party to themselves. 

 
MATTHIAS: So...you two know each other long? 

Matthias leans forward, elbows on the table.

 
BUCKET: Knowing other demons is part of the job so... quite long.
MATTHIAS: Must be pretty close, then.
BUCKET: I consider her one of my closest allies, yes.
MATTHIAS: Can't imagine either of your bosses are too happy with that... 
 

He glances over at Chelsea, watching her squirm. 

 
MATTHIAS: I hear things, you know. People talk.
BUCKET: People also gossip based on vague tidbits of information when you're effectively a celebrity.
MATTHIAS: I'm just wondering how true it all is, that's all.
BUCKET: What in particular?
MATTHIAS: Oh, you know. 
MATTHIAS: Things. 
MATTHIAS: All kinds of things, ones I'm sure you can guess.
BUCKET: You're going to have to be more specific.
MATTHIAS: Well, all I've heard is that people see you two together all the time, and, you know. 

 
He leans in even more, tapping cigarette ash on the tablecloth. 

 
MATTHIAS: People gotta come up with reasons for why that is, and one theory is that you're taking pity on Spit's prized demon. 
MATTHIAS: Slipping her some favors behind closed doors. 

 
Chelsea chokes on her drink.

 
BUCKET: I genuinely consider her my friend, there is no pity in anything. 
BUCKET: As for these favors? I'm unsure what that means.
MATTHIAS: Not really appropriate for a little diner to go on about it, but I'll put it another way: favors of an intimate variety, if you get my drift.

 
His grin practically splits his face, staring the two of them down intently. 
 

 
MATTHIAS: Can't help but wonder.

 
Bucket raises their brow. 

 
BUCKET: Oh? 
BUCKET: Are you looking to become a third wheel?

 
Chelsea chokes on her drink again, Matthias stunned for a moment.
 

BUCKET: No I suppose you're doing that already, but you do what you have to for free steak.
MATTHIAS: You've got a hell of a mouth on you for someone serving such a stuck up prick.
BUCKET: Occupational requirements, you understand.
MATTHIAS: Can't help but notice you didn't deny it, though. 
MATTHIAS: The rumors.
BUCKET: You've already made up your mind on them. 
BUCKET: I can tell you no but that wouldn't persuade you, yes?
MATTHIAS: I mean, I don't think I'd believe you on merit of how lil' miss demon over there looks like she's going to pass out just by me bringing it up. 

 
He points his cigarette at Chelsea, the karacel completely pale.
 

 
BUCKET: There's plenty of things that would pull the same reaction as what you're implying, I can assure you.
MATTHIAS: Oh yeah? Name a few. 

Bucket grins, no humor to it. 

 
BUCKET: You're a real voyeur, has anyone told you this?
MATTHIAS: If I was going to watch someone, it wouldn't be you two. Not my taste- 
CHELSEA: Oh, my god. 

Chelsea puts her head in her hand, pulling it down her face. 

 
CHELSEA: Will you two please shut up.

Bucket gives Matthias a big shrug. 

BUCKET: You heard her. 
BUCKET: Be a good guest and wait until food gets here.

Matthias actually falls silent, keeping a watchful eye on Chelsea. 

MATTHIAS: Sure.

The food arrives not too shortly after, Bucket shooting the waiter a very apologetic look in advance. The waiter shoots a look back, more embarrassed for Bucket and Chelsea than anything else. Matthias starts poking at his massive steak platter, sizing it up before tearing off a small chunk with his claws and popping it directly into his mouth.

Bucket gives Chelsea a nudge, smiling at her and prompting her to try the soup. The karacel gives them a weird look back before taking a careful sip of the broth, getting a proper chunk of meat in the next bite. She doesn't say much, avoiding eye contact the entire time.
Bucket dips into their plate with a fork, trying to avoid being the one who breaks the silence.



Without warning, Matthias stretches, bringing his knee up to hit the bottom of the table- shaking it and spilling soup all over Chelsea.

 
BUCKET: Chelsea!
 

Chelsea scoots away from them with a hiss, completely panicked.
 

BUCKET: What a mess.... please allow me to patch you up. 

 
Bucket reaches for her shoulder, only to be frantically pushed away. Chelsea growls something through gritted teeth, unintelligible.
 

BUCKET: Please relax. 

 
Bucket places their hand down, careful. 
 

BUCKET: I just need a moment.
CHELSEA: F-fucker did it on purpose.

 
Bucket nods. 
  

BUCKET: We'll deal with it later.
BUCKET: Are there severe burns?
CHELSEA: He did it on purpose. 
 

She glares at the dog across the table with an unfamiliar look of hate in her eyes. 
 

CHELSEA: Fuck the burns.

 
Bucket lowers their voice. 
    

BUCKET: Wait until we're outside. 
BUCKET: I'm going to take care of you first. 
 
 

Bucket’s hand starts to crackle against Chelsea’s shoulder, pain starting to slowly drain away.
 

CHELSEA: I ain't waiting for shit. 

 
Chelsea shakes them off, pointing at Matthias. 
 

CHELSEA: You think you're some hot shit- 
 
 

 
MATTHIAS: Oh, it speaks. 

Matthias exhales a ring of smoke, snickering. 

  
MATTHIAS: How fun.

Bucket reaches for Chelsea’s hand. 
 

BUCKET: Please not here, I don't want to see you get hurt more...
CHELSEA: He's just gonna keep fucking with us. 

 
She yanks her hand away after a brief moment of hesitation. 
 

CHELSEA: And I'm not gonna sit here and take it. 
MATTHIAS: Are we causing a ruckus, then?

 
Bucket reaches out again. 
 

BUCKET: If you insist on retaliation .... allow me to bite the bullet and take the fall for this.
BUCKET: I'll get off easier.
 

 
Chelsea bares her teeth at them, something she hasn't done in years. Bucket’s visibly stung, but despite this, they still try to hold her hand.  
  

BUCKET: I don't want you to be punished. 
BUCKET: Please. 
BUCKET: If you really need this, let me make the move here.

 


Chelsea squeezes her eyes shut before getting a grip, shaking off whatever came over her.
 

CHELSEA: ...no, no, I'm...I'm okay. Fuck.

 
Chelsea gives their hand a squeeze, shaking her head a bit. 
 

CHELSEA: Fuck. 

 
Matthias watches it all with a shit eating grin, practically begging to be punched.

 
BUCKET: ...Chelsea?
CHELSEA: I'm okay. 

 
She’s practically squeezing the circulation out of their hand. 
 

CHELSEA: Really. I'm fine.

Bucket returns the squeeze. 
 

BUCKET: I don't understand.
CHELSEA: I don't want to talk about it here...please.

 
They nod, unwilling to push her any further.

MATTHIAS: You two should get a TV show or something, this is the best drama I've gotten in weeks. 

Matthias downs the last of his drink. 
 

MATTHIAS: And I thought today was gonna be boring.

BUCKET: ...I would suggest you not be caught on your own.
MATTHIAS: That a threat?
BUCKET: I'm looking out for you. 
BUCKET: I cannot guarantee your safety if you are found by your lonesome.
MATTHIAS: Mm, got it. A threat it is!
BUCKET: Legally speaking, no. 
BUCKET: That sort of claim would not hold any weight. 

They don't bother to face him, completely focused on Chelsea. 
 

BUCKET: Don't drag friends who aren’t willing to go down with you into this either. 
BUCKET: Spare them. 
BUCKET: They deserve better.

It seems to shake him for just a moment, but his horrible smile is back soon as ever.
  

MATTHIAS: I get the drift, lap dog. How about- 
 

 
He stands up, practically kicking one of his chairs away. 
 

MATTHIAS: I wait in the truck, and you ladies pay up. 
MATTHIAS: Motel's not too far from here and hey, I don't want to keep the drivers waiting.
BUCKET: We'll wrap up relatively soon. 
BUCKET: I don't want another incident like this for the rest of the trip.
MATTHIAS: It was an accident, just a little bump of the table. 

 
He makes an exaggerated gesture. 
 

MATTHIAS: Cross my heart.

 
Bucket doesn’t dignify him with a response. 
 

MATTHIAS: I'm out, then. 
MATTHIAS: Good luck with the bill.

 
He turns away before they could protest, bumping into their poor waiter on the way out. Bucket starts fishing through their pockets. 
 

BUCKET: Would you like to pack this for later? 
BUCKET: We can talk about this in our room.

Chelsea only manages a nod, clenching and unclenching her hand.
 

 

BUCKET: Are you okay?
CHELSEA: Managing.
BUCKET: Do you want out now?
CHELSEA: ...yeah. Sorry.

Bucket shakes their head. 
 

BUCKET: Dinner in bed is better anyway.
 

Chelsea does a quick look around before pressing her face into their shoulder, withdrawing just as quickly. 
 

CHELSEA: Okay. I'm okay. 
CHELSEA: Let's get out of here.

 
Bucket flags down their waiter, getting the food packed up, meal paid for, and scuttles along to get them both out of there.

The motel isn't more than ten minutes away, and doesn’t seem to be in that bad shape...not exactly exemplary of what god money could buy, but it works. Chelsea fumbles with the key to the room, finally unlocking it and stepping inside. Bucket follows along quickly, luggage in tow. 
 

BUCKET: Close it please, I'd like some privacy after our earlier encounter if it's alright.

 
 
 
Chelsea closes the door as quickly as she can, locking it tight. Bucket practically tosses the leftovers into the minifridge before flopping onto the bed, rolling over to face their partner. Chelsea settles in next to them, unsure what to say. Bucket just looks over, equally awkward, but extremely concerned. 
 

BUCKET: So...
CHELSEA: I'm sorry. 
CHELSEA: For all that, back there.
BUCKET: It's not your fault. Is he.... like that always?
CHELSEA: On a good day, yeah.
BUCKET: That's a good day?!
CHELSEA: He was testing you.
BUCKET: I take it things went poorly?
CHELSEA: Trust me, I did worse than you.
BUCKET: Tell me whatever you can.
CHELSEA: About what in particular?
BUCKET: Anything.
CHELSEA: Alright... 

 
She exhales, slow and raspy. 
 

 

CHELSEA: Matthias is Spit's head cultist, you know that part by now...he's not on the same level of terrible that she is, but he's pretty close, and wants to get worse and worse to "prove" himself to her, or something. 
CHELSEA: Loves picking on people, preying on them, and he especially has it out for me.
BUCKET: I've never seen you really snap like that at anyone before.
CHELSEA: ...yeah. I know.
BUCKET: ....Did I cross any lines during all that?
CHELSEA: No, god, you were fine- 
 
 

 
She takes another long exhale, clenching  and unclenching her fist. 
 

CHELSEA: It wasn't you.
BUCKET: Is your hand alright?
CHELSEA: Just a tic. 

 
She’s clearly lying through her teeth.
 

BUCKET: If it's sore I can fix it.
CHELSEA: I...don't know if touching me right now is a good idea.
BUCKET: Do you need space?
CHELSEA: I don't want space, all I want is to be near you right now, I just-
BUCKET: ...Would a hug be of help then?
CHELSEA: I don't know, I just....I...fuck.

  
 
She presses her face into her hand, unsure of what to do. 
 

CHELSEA: I didn't want you to have to deal with this.
BUCKET: I don't deal with you. 
BUCKET: Not ever.
CHELSEA: This is different.
BUCKET: What do you mean?
CHELSEA: It's...I was hoping it'd never come up.
BUCKET: You can tell me.
CHELSEA: Back there, it wasn't like me to get that worked up, right?
BUCKET: Right.
CHELSEA: So...what if it wasn't me?
BUCKET: Pardon?

 
Chelsea has no idea how to continue off from there.
 

BUCKET: How can you not be you?
CHELSEA: I don't know how it works, I don't- I'm not good at it either, with dealing with it...
BUCKET: Please try to explain as best you can.
CHELSEA: After Spit took me in as her demon, after the ritual...I started hearing things. Voices. 
CHELSEA: I tried to ignore them, but all they did was get louder, and I'd lose these huge stretches of time, only to find out someone else had done things- but not me.
BUCKET: A ghost?

 
She snickers a little, unable to stop herself. 
 

CHELSEA: Sorry, sorry- no, not a ghost.
BUCKET: Then what could it be?
CHELSEA: Some kind of, I don't know, one of the othe- 

 

 
She struggles to get the words out. 
 

CHELSEA: Fuck, sorry. 
CHELSEA: One of the others looked into it, when I- we, were at a library a long time ago...it's...something's wrong with me, I guess. 
CHELSEA: Something happened and it broke my head into pieces, or something.
BUCKET: ...Did you get hurt?
CHELSEA: I can't remember.
BUCKET: Did you hit yourself on something?
CHELSEA: No, not broken like that...
BUCKET: Inside?
CHELSEA: Yeah. It's all inside.
BUCKET: Will you... be okay?
CHELSEA: I don't know. 
CHELSEA: I didn't want this to ever- I didn't want you to find out.

 
Bucket frowns. 
 

BUCKET: What could possibly be so bad?
CHELSEA: You saw how one of them acted earlier!
BUCKET: Was that not you?
CHELSEA: I would never show my teeth like that, Bucket. 
CHELSEA: I know I have a bad habit of gritting them but- I'd never bare them to you. Not like that.
BUCKET: And you're... not haunted?
CHELSEA: I'm not haunted, or possessed.
BUCKET: But there's... someone else in your head? 
BUCKET: And that's what's broken?
CHELSEA: ...more than one someone else.
BUCKET: People?
CHELSEA: Yeah. A bunch.
BUCKET: How? How are they all in there?
CHELSEA: I don't know, it's just how it is...I don't get it either.
BUCKET: But they're all there?
CHELSEA: They're not always like, there, as in paying attention, but yeah.

  
She makes a face, clearly distressed. 
  

CHELSEA: The guy from earlier isn't too happy with me right now for telling you.
BUCKET: Why?
CHELSEA: He just... 
CHELSEA: I don't know how to describe it.
BUCKET: Try your best. 

 
Bucket scoots onto their belly and strikes a pose, hoping a cute gesture would put her at ease. It gets her to smile for even just a moment, that alone making it worth it.
 

CHELSEA: He...kind of thinks telling you is dangerous.
BUCKET: You're already halfway there.
CHELSEA: Yeah, and he doesn't like that.
BUCKET: There's no harm that could come from here on.
CHELSEA: He thinks our whole relationship is just as bad, that we're risking too much for not enough reward- you know I don't think that myself!
BUCKET: We are getting out of this one day together, the reward will be more than enough.
 

 

CHELSEA: Well..he got pretty heated earlier because he thought you were being too careless, with taunting Matthias and all... 

 
Her posture droops, clearly embarrassed.
 

BUCKET: If I allow Matthias space of any kind, he'll take it.
CHELSEA: I- 

 
She shakes her head, overwhelmed. 
 

CHELSEA: Sorry, he's getting kind of loud...maybe we should just go to bed.
BUCKET: Ah... are you certain?

 
Chelsea nods, looking as tired as she felt. 
 

CHELSEA: Sleep's the only way to get some quiet when it gets like this.
 

 

BUCKET: .... Can we hold each other for this?

 
She hesitates for just a moment before scooting in close, laying her head on Bucket's chest.
 

CHELSEA: Tuck us in.

 
The dog pulls the blankets over the two of them before curling up. 
 

BUCKET: Is this good?
CHELSEA: Yeah...is it okay that we keep the light on?
BUCKET: Yes... go for it.
 

   
She gives their cheek a kiss, closing her eyes. 
 

CHELSEA: Thank you for listening to all this...I love you. 
CHELSEA: No matter what the asshole in my head says.
BUCKET: I love you too, I don't want any of you to be scared to talk to me.

 
She can’t help but smile. 
 

CHELSEA: Good night, Buck.
BUCKET: Good night! 
BUCKET: Tomorrow will be a better day.
 

  
The two of them drift off in each other’s arms, the noise in Chelsea’s head finally settling down, leaving both of them to dream.

 
You are Beatrice Judgment.

It’s a familiar sight, back home with your mother. A 6-shooter in your hand, a bunch of dangling bottles swaying in the wind. Your mom likes to make a point that if this ever comes up, it'll be against a moving target. She adjusts your arm slightly, as your angle is a little off. 


 
"Gun safety kiddo."

You steady your hand. "I apologize. Was I that off?"

"You were shooting a little high. What goes up comes down, and if something strays that far off you don't know where it'll land."

"I suppose...."

"You gotta respect what one of these can do if you ever need to use one. Kids who don't respect what it does... well...I ever tell you the story about my brother's buddy?"

"Mm.. You've told me a good number of times." 

"Lost out on his childhood because he played with one of these. Lost his friend, friend's family-"

"-Didn't deal too well, I know."



 
"You gotta know gun safety Beatrice. I want you to know in and out and respect the things it can do to a person. Can't just be prepping for horrors and ghosts, people are just as scary."


 
You take aim at the swaying bottle.

You adjust your earmuffs. 
 

 
You focus with all the fire and courage you need to pop the bottle. 



The more you stare at it, the more it rattles erratically. You take the shot and absolutely completely and utterly whiff. Your mother grabs your arm again and readjusts it.

"Look at yourself Beatrice." 



Her eyes shift toward your shaking hands. 

"I'm sorry. I'll correct it."

"There's no second chances. You can't afford to be missing shots. You're lucky nobody's out in these woods or you could've killed a passerby. Do it again."

You try again. The bottle absolutely shatters into shrapnel. The look and sound of glass flying and spreading is so fast that it makes you flinch.

"You got it. Again."

 
Bucket wakes up in a whimpering state, covered in sweat and almost crying. Chelsea’s no better, having tossed and turned away from her partner and curling up tight.

The dog tries to scoot themselves closer to her to get her attention, expression softening as she makes a low groan, eyes squeezed shut.

 
BUCKET: Are you alright?

She wakes up with a start, panicking. Bucket tries to comfort her, keeping their voice gentle. 
  

BUCKET: Shhhhhh. I'm here, talk to me.
CHELSEA: I, I... 

 
Her voice sounds off, just a bit lower and deeper than usual. 
 

 

CHELSEA: Where am I...?
BUCKET: We're in a motel, do you not remember?
CHELSEA: Oh...I'm sorry... 

 
She sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. 
 

CHELSEA: I didn't know...
BUCKET: ...Are you alright?
CHELSEA: I had a really bad dream, it was so terrible...
BUCKET: Tell me all about it.
CHELSEA: I'm not supposed to tell you about things like that, though.
BUCKET: ...Pardon?
CHELSEA: I'll get in trouble if I do. 

  
She fidgets with the blanket, clearly nervous. 
 

CHELSEA: I'm not supposed to tell you about any of the gross, disgusting stuff.

  

 
Bucket tries to pull her in for a hug. 
 

BUCKET: You can tell me anything. 
BUCKET: You're safe.
CHELSEA: O-oh-!
BUCKET: Oh?
CHELSEA: W-why am I getting a hug-?
BUCKET: Do... do you not want one?
CHELSEA: No, it's warm...I just, I don't really get hugs, they're not for peopl- things like me...
BUCKET: We do this all the time....
CHELSEA: Oh...you think I'm her...I'm sorry...
BUCKET: Are you someone else? 

 
Bucket pulls away very hesitantly as it nods, looking away. 
  

 

????: Sorry...
BUCKET: Then I suppose this must all be strange for you.
????: I guess...I don't usually get a bed, so that's a little weird.
BUCKET: Could you please explain what you can?
????: Okay...my name's Derry, and I’m not like Chelsea much so I’m sorry in advance...
BUCKET: And you have just been... somewhere?
DERRY: I was inside...it's safer there.
BUCKET: Where?

 
It hesitates before tapping its head. 
 

DERRY: I watch, usually...sorry if that's creepy, Bazil always says it is...
BUCKET: Bazil is there too?
DERRY: Not right now, but he'll probably find out I had bad dreams and came out and he'll get mad at me...he usually does.
BUCKET: I don't understand why he'd go out and do such a thing. 
BUCKET: You appear to be nice from what I can gauge.

   

  

DERRY: I'm nice? 

 
It perks up immediately, looking over with a tilt of the head. 
 

DERRY: Really? 
DERRY: You mean that?
BUCKET: Mmhmm! Why would I not?
DERRY: Oh...I mean, you don't really know me, do you…

 
It sinks back down again just as quickly. 
 

DERRY: You don't know that I'm gross, yet...
BUCKET: I don't think so, not as far as I can see.
DERRY: I mean, no one really likes me here, because I do all of this terrible stuff, all the time...nothing ever good happens when I'm out like this. 

 
It droops even more. 
 

DERRY: Chelsea's probably going to be stressed when she finds out I was here too...I'm just in the way.
BUCKET: Well... I don't think so, and until I see something significant I will not yell nor think of you poorly. 

 
They smile just the slightest bit.
 

DERRY: Oh...I mean, I didn't think you'd yell, not from what I've seen when I peeked... 

 
It starts to hide under the blankets. 
 

DERRY: I know that's weird, for me to know you more than you know me at all.
BUCKET: That's.... not that uncommon. I'm a household name in some parts.
DERRY: Household name...wow...You're the only person I ever got to tell my name, really...
BUCKET: I consider that quite special in its own right.
DERRY: It's pretty special to me too, if I'm being honest...but I don't want to make things weird like I always do.
BUCKET: You haven't! I assure you.
DERRY: I hope- 

  

 
It gets distracted for a second, frowning. 
 

DERRY: Oh, hold on...
BUCKET: Is something wrong there?
DERRY: Mm...I'm getting yelled at.
BUCKET: By who?
DERRY: Bazil...I don't think you know him either.
BUCKET: I have yet to meet him.
DERRY: I don't think he likes you very much...
BUCKET: Why?
DERRY: He likes to stomp around and yell a lot about how Chelsea being with someone puts us in danger...I don't really get it.
BUCKET: ...Does it have any validity?
DERRY: I...I don't know, he always says I'm putting us in danger too...
BUCKET: That seems like a large claim without any explanation.
DERRY: Well, I....  

 
It trails off, almost as if in a daze.
 

BUCKET: Yes? What is it?

 
It’s clear Derry isn't here anymore when the body faces them, the familiar scowl from the diner back on his face.
 

BUCKET: ...Bazil?
BAZIL: Can't believe that son of a bitch told you my name.
BUCKET: Don't be upset at them.
BAZIL: Why not? 
BAZIL: It's going and throwing shit in the trash just because it had a little nightmare.
BUCKET: By telling me your name?
BAZIL: You- 

 

 
He puts a finger on their nose, pushing them back slightly. 
 

BAZIL: Aren't supposed to be involved in our shit.
BUCKET: This would have had to come up at some point regardless.
BAZIL: Not if you or Chelsea had any sense to stop this damned relationship before it got to this point. 
BAZIL: Now I know the two of you have dug your heels in deep and aren't going anywhere good.
BUCKET: We're at risk everyday regardless of how we handle things. 
BUCKET: This is the nature of the job, no?
BAZIL: Nature of the- so you're okay with this job now?
BUCKET: Until we find a proper out, it's the cycle we must endure.
BAZIL: Ugh. 
BAZIL: You sound like an old poetry book.

 
  
 
The dog frowns. 
 

BUCKET: Do... do you not... like…
BAZIL: ...are you going to cry?

 
The dog goes quiet, causing Bazil to sigh and avoid eye contact.
 

BAZIL: Fine. I'm sorry for talking shit about the way you talk.
BUCKET: Why do you oppose what we do so much?
BAZIL: Because our situation is terrible without you throwing in extra variables in.
BUCKET: Does Spit know?
BAZIL: About what, your affair?
BUCKET: Mm.
BAZIL: Not yet.
BUCKET: Is she getting close?
BAZIL: Close enough that you should be a lot more worried.
BUCKET: I'm sorry for causing you trouble, I genuinely am.
BAZIL: Sorry doesn't keep our shit from getting kicked in.
BUCKET: She suspects us?
BAZIL: She's not an idiot. She knows something's different with us.
BUCKET: And.... she's been acting in response?
BAZIL: Where do you think the fresh cuts come from?

  


Bucket’s ears flop even further down. Bazil continues to avoid eye contact, not wanting to look at their expression.
 

BAZIL: She says it's to 'mark' us. 
BAZIL: Make whoever it is Chelsea sleeps next to know that she's not really theirs. 
BAZIL: What Spit doesn't know is who actually takes the brunt of it when it happens. 

 
His scowl worsens. 


 

BAZIL: She'd probably get a sick kick out of it anyway.
BUCKET: Why you?
BAZIL: Because whatever shit we go through gets passed around nice and even, everybody gets fucked up somehow. 
BAZIL: And apparently, I get that.
BUCKET: Every time?
BAZIL: Enough that Chelsea doesn't realize who her fuck-ups hurt.
BUCKET: But... why would it keep happening just to you? 
BUCKET: I don't understand.
BAZIL: Would you rather Chelsea take it instead?
BUCKET: I don't want anyone to take it!
BAZIL: Everybody's actions got consequences.
BUCKET: That's not fair to anyone!
BAZIL: Did you honestly think going into this relationship that it was going to end up fair?
BAZIL: That the two of you were going to ride away into the sunset untouched? 

  
He turns away from them entirely, hiding his face.
 

BAZIL: It doesn't work like that. 
BAZIL: It never has, and now you've gone and dragged me into it.
BUCKET: I did not even know you existed until yesterday!
BAZIL: And what'd change if you knew earlier, huh?
BUCKET: I'd... hope that perhaps we could be friends.

 
Bazil seems taken aback even while he’s hiding his face, not saying much in response.
 

BUCKET: And maybe I could help you feel better too... if you wished.
BAZIL: And how the hell would you go about doing that?
BUCKET: Well, on contact with another I can tend to wounds by taking the other's pain.
BAZIL: I don't like being touched.
BUCKET: I wouldn't do it more than I need to.
BAZIL: I don't. Like. Being. Touched.
BUCKET: I know.
BAZIL: I'll live with it. 
BAZIL: You can get all healing handsy with Chelsea when she's out again, handle it then.
BUCKET: Why would you endure something you should never have to?
BAZIL: ...Do you need to touch the wounds directly?
BUCKET: No, it's faster but anywhere else is sufficient.
BAZIL: Fine. 

 
He points to his shoulder. 
 

 

BAZIL: Do it quick.
BUCKET: There? What happened there?
BAZIL: Nothing, but I don't want you shoving your hand down my pants to fix me up. I'll take the slower heal.

  
The dog nods and places their hands there. 
 

 
Little flashes of what went down trickle toward them as they get to work, the usual trade off for their abilities. They aren’t detailed glimpses, but Spit's all too familiar cackling and jeering can be heard as Bazil is hurt, again and again. The feeling of raw anger and hate from him is almost overpowering, even just from the brief contact.

 
Bucket tries to grin and bear it. 
 

BUCKET: I'm halfway there.

  
The flashes continue, increasing in intensity with every second. One moment of Bazil trying to fight back turns to many, all blurred together. Bucket’s effort to keep cool slips, their facade visibly broken. Bazil grimaces, picking up on it immediately.
 

  

BAZIL: What?
BUCKET: You've been hurting for a long time...
BAZIL: Yeah. What of it?
BUCKET: I wish I could have helped you a long time ago.
BAZIL: Too late for that kind of talk now.
BUCKET: Is it at least helping?
BAZIL: ...stings less.
BUCKET: Where?
BAZIL: Everywhere, I guess. 
BAZIL: It's fine.

   
The dog flops back, already drained. 
 

 

BUCKET: I hope it was not too difficult on your end.
BAZIL: I'll manage.

  
No one speaks for a few minutes, the silence deafening.
  

BUCKET: ... Would you consider being friends? 
BUCKET: Genuine question.
BAZIL: We literally just met.
BUCKET: Eventually.
BAZIL: I can't predict eventually.

   

  
Bazil grabs his pillow and turns away from the dog, laying down and wrapping himself up in blankets.
  

BUCKET: I don't want to make you feel worse, and I’d rather not be fighting... I do hope it's possible.
BAZIL: We'll see. 

  
He hesitates before closing his eyes and settling in. 
 

BAZIL: ...thanks.

 

 
Bucket's already fast asleep, leaving Bazil alone with his thoughts. Eventually, sleep comes for him as well. 

This time, their sleep is dreamless.

 
Morning comes after the closest thing to a restful night the pair of them have had since beginning this trip, sun filtering in through the window blinds. Bucket’s first to rise, the dog getting their bearings slowly as the events of last night come back to them.
 

BUCKET: Chelsea?

 

 
The other body in bed stirs, low grumbling coming from underneath the blankets.
 

BUCKET: Did you sleep well?
BAZIL: No dreams, so... 

 
Bazil sits up slowly, stretching out. 
 

BAZIL: ...shit, still here.
BUCKET: Ah! Bazil. 
BUCKET: Were you not supposed to still be here?
BAZIL: Usually Chelsea's the one who wakes up...ugh. 

 

 
He rubs his temple, irritated. 
 

BAZIL: Great. Now I gotta pretend to be her.
BUCKET: We will be mostly to ourselves today, away from Rein and Spit at the very least.
BAZIL: Yeah, but we still have to deal with that smug son of a bitch.
BUCKET: We could manage him just for a little. I will make the best to keep him in line through this trip.
BAZIL: Good luck. He's a bastard and a half.
BUCKET: I would say you could round that half up... but I will make it work.
BAZIL: Just don't expect me to act all mushy with you, even if I have to play up an act- you two shouldn't be affectionate in front of anybody anyway, but I'm drawing the line now.
BUCKET: Understood, we did just meet I suppose.

 
He drags himself out of bed, stretching more as he stands up. 
 

BAZIL: Guessing we didn't bring more clothes. Don't really have enough of those.
BUCKET: I would offer to spare an outfit but... they might be a tad large for most.
BAZIL: You're built like a brick wall and a few sizes too tall for us. 

  
He cracks his back with a grimace. 
 

BAZIL: Surprised you haven't crushed Chelsea yet.

Their face goes bright red. 
 

BUCKET: Did you... see everything?
BAZIL: More than I wanted to. 
BAZIL: I know better now than to look.

  
Bucket goes quiet, entirely embarrassed. 
  

BAZIL: Look, it wasn't on purpose. I'm not a peeping tom.

 
They nod, willing to move on as quickly as possible. 
  

BUCKET: I...should prepare for the day. 
BUCKET: Then we will check out and make way toward the trucks.
BAZIL: Guess I'll hang tight here. 

  
He leans against the wall, closing his eyes. 
 

BAZIL: No changing where I can see it.
BUCKET: I plan to shower first, I'll dress in the restroom...

 
They shuffle over to the restroom, leaving Bazil to his own thoughts. 
 
Of all the times to be stuck out here…

 
Bazil heads towards the door of the motel room cautiously, hesitating to open it and step out entirely. Bucket had finished their shower only minutes before, the pair rushing out to catch up with their ride. 
  

BAZIL: Cmon. Let's go.

  
Bucket waits for him to open the door before following behind, luggage in tow.
  

BUCKET: Mmm, hurrying.

  
Check out is simple and straightforward, the money Rein gave Bucket more than covering it. Bazil avoids talking to the lady at the desk entirely, letting Bucket handle everything and not saying a word until they start heading back outside. 
  

BUCKET: Do you think we will be allowed to stop for lunch? We may be awhile on the road...
BAZIL: Not a clu- 

  


Bazil's voice stops short, all of the color draining out of his face. Just up ahead is a familiar, stationary snake, talking with Matthias.
 

BUCKET: Is something wrong- oh. 
BUCKET: Yes... well...I suppose I was mistaken on us being Rein-free. 
BUCKET: We must be due to update on our current status on things.
BAZIL: How does Chelsea usually act around it? 

  
He whispers hoarsely, swallowing.
 

BAZIL: I didn't know this was coming.
BUCKET: Minimize direct interaction with it, avoid eye contact. I did not know either....
BAZIL: You go first. I'll...hang back.

  
Bazil lets Bucket head forward, his grimace worsening as he hears more of the conversation. 
   

MATTHIAS: And I was just thinking to myself- Rein, you have yourself a lovely demon. 
MATTHIAS: I can only aspire to be as good as- and there they are now!

 
  
Bucket approaches as they normally would, trying and somewhat failing to appear confident. 
 

BUCKET: Is that a compliment? So early in the day?
MATTHIAS: I gotta get them in before you get up, you early riser! 
MATTHIAS: I wanted to make sure Rein here knew just how much you've been inspiring me. 

 
   

 
Matthias puts an arm around Rein, getting a polite but firm push back in response. 
  

MATTHIAS: I'm considering turning over a whole new leaf.
BUCKET: If you wish to join Rein's temple I am sure there's roster slots open...
MATTHIAS: Oh no, I'm considering talking to Spit and getting a complete overhaul of how we run things.
BUCKET: Oh?
MATTHIAS: I mean, if you and Chelsea can be so close, why can't I try to bridge the gap between our two religions? 

  
Rein says nothing as Matthias goes on, turning slightly to face Bucket. 
  

REIN: Mm.

  
Bucket makes psuedo-eye contact with the god. 
    

BUCKET: Do you have thoughts on this proposition?
REIN: I'm still forming them, but I suppose it's...a move in the positive direction. 

    

   
Even with the mask, it’s almost as if they can see its eyes narrow. 
 

REIN: Though I am curious as to what brought this up, what inspired him so.
BUCKET: I'm not certain myself really, first news of such interest I've heard.
MATTHIAS: Don't sell yourself short, Beatrice! 
MATTHIAS: You're willing to put your differences aside enough to share a room and everything. 
MATTHIAS: Why, I'd say the two of you seemed quite cozy, even!
REIN: ...Beatrice?

  
Bucket’s nerves feel like they’ve been hit with an atom bomb. Matthias says nothing, allowing the silence to seep in with a horrible smile.

 
 
Bazil backs up as Bucket looks up at Rein, their throat completely dry. 
  

BUCKET: Sir.... I'd very much prefer if I was not referred to as such. 
BUCKET: I do hope this request is within reason.
REIN: I suppose, but...it is a lovely name, my Judgment- it suits you. 
MATTHIAS: Isn't it? 
MATTHIAS: I thought the same thing when they told me. You'd never guess!

 
Bucket tries to save face on this... whatever scheme is going down. 
 

BUCKET: Admittedly, Matthias prompted to join me for dinner and some discussion of life before taking up my current mantle came up but... that is a detail I do not disclose under normal circumstances. 
BUCKET: It must have been a slight slip... I offered to pay for his plate of course and I gave him the task of picking beverages. 
BUCKET: There certainly was a kick but he assured it was just a local fizz....

  
Matthias doesn't miss a beat. 
  

MATTHIAS: And you took that fizz like a real champ, didn't you! 
MATTHIAS: Sure, you ran your mouth a bit...but it was all in good faith- why, even Chelsea here joined in! 

 

 
Bazil pales, trying not to look as blatantly nervous as he feels. 
  

MATTHIAS: Told us all about her friends back home. I didn't even know she had friends, but that Bazil sounds like a real swell guy. 
MATTHIAS: Isn't that right, Beatrice?
BUCKET: I wish I could meet him some time, he seems nice. 
BUCKET: Admittedly your enthusiasm for this worried me at first but you seemed oddly invested in knowing about us... me in particular. 
BUCKET: You certainly kept tapping me with your foot at the table and were insistent on walking me back to the motel. 
BUCKET: You even opened up my day with an interesting choice of words. 
BUCKET: Lovely demon. 

 
They tilt their head. 
 

BUCKET: I'm sure it's all in jest however, isn't it Sir? 
BUCKET: I'm certainly flattered... 

  
They feign a sheepish little smile. 
 

BUCKET: Wishing to bridge such a long existing gap over a dinner with me... I cannot help but wonder. 
BUCKET: It certainly would mean we'd have to work closely. 
BUCKET: It'd also draw quite a bit of press to our temples as well, publicity and wanting to know those involved.

Rein casts a look over at Matthias, the ruffneck shaking his head hurriedly. 
 

MATTHIAS: That's just how I talk with everybody, you know! I had to get to the top of where I am somehow- you'd be surprised at how far a little friendliness gets you even in my business. 
MATTHIAS: My interest is purely professional- after all, even if my motivations were even the slightest bit sleazy, I could never hold a candle to the two people you hold most dear.
BUCKET: If you say so, but that makes me ponder.... how does holding my hand compare to Spit? 
BUCKET: I assume you've made the attempt at very least and I cannot imagine you being any less nervous than the half melt of a dog I witnessed before heading back.... which was admittedly sweet. 

They tail wag in anticipation, really trying to sell it.
 

REIN: Hand holding. 
MATTHIAS: Cmon now, that's more than a little bit of an exaggeration for what went down-
REIN: Mm.
BUCKET: For someone who has a rather... experienced look by all your scars, I imagined they'd be rougher to touch.

 

BAZIL: I mean, I've seen how he looks at Spit. 

 
Bazil can't help himself, trying to keep his voice as close to Chelsea's as possible. 
  

BAZIL: It's pretty obvious just by looking at him- 
REIN: That's enough. 

Rein crosses its lower arms. 


 

REIN: I see the three of you are getting along...swimmingly, perhaps too much so. 
REIN: May I speak to you, my Judgment? 

 
It tilts its head towards Bazil and Matthias briefly before returning its masked gaze to Bucket. 
 

REIN: Alone.
BUCKET: ...Certainly.

Rein reaches out and takes Bucket by the upper arm, gripping tight. 
  

REIN: Just over here is fine.
BUCKET: Is something wrong?
REIN: Mm.
BUCKET: I suppose you have caught on then yes?
REIN: Such antics are inappropriate for someone of your status, you should know this by now. 
REIN: I've taught you to be better than this, making suggestive jabs at someone far beneath you.
REIN: I don't want to see you sinking to this level again.
BUCKET: He prompted it I assure you, you witnessed how he floundered whenever it was brought up yes?
REIN: I don't care who prompted it, Judgment.

 

 
Their eyes water up, an attempt to garner sympathy. 
  

BUCKET: You do not know the whole truth... at the diner Matthias realized quite quickly he was hitting a wall with flirtation.
BUCKET:  He became rowdy with the staff as a desperate attempt to get attention and Chelsea had to intervene. She made sure I returned to my room safely. 
BUCKET: That dog is a schemer but I cannot pin a motive beside a desire to start an affair.
REIN: And you aren't to engage with it, or give it even a bit of attention- your earlier display was shameful. 
REIN: To even joke about such affections is to smear mud on our name, our relationship-

  
It sighs heavily, almost growling. 
  

REIN: I don't want you touching him. 
REIN: I don't want you giving him any opportunities. 
REIN: I don't want you to invite such flirtation, or make light of it. 
REIN: You are not to fight with him, you are not to indulge in any more drink, and you are not to indulge his sick fantasies, whatever they may be. 
REIN: You are my Judgment, and you are going to act like it. 
REIN: Restrain yourself, or I'll see to it that you won't be allowed on this kind of trip again.

 

 
Bucket starts sniffling. 
 

BUCKET: You would rather punish me than keep me safe...?
REIN: Now, now, don't cry. 

  
Its tone softens, raising a finger to wipe away their tears. Bucket pulls their face away from its hand, sniffling even more.
 

BUCKET: Coming along was a mistake, I don't know why I bothered.
REIN: There's no need to be like that. 

 
Something seeps into Rein’s voice, drenching its words and making them seem more...important. Agreeable. 
 

REIN: You are needed here- I need you here. I need you, Bucket.
BUCKET: I suppose you do... I only fear that if Chelsea had not stepped in you would have outright disowned me... such fate I do not think I would recover from emotionally...

  

 
Bucket no longer makes any effort to distance themself. Rein pulls them in close, gripping their shoulders. 
 

REIN: With proper restraint, you will have nothing to fear- and I know you are capable of that and more, my Judgment.

 
Bucket eases into its touch, an unnatural calm settling in. 
 

BUCKET: I never had any sense of attraction at any point, if it's worth anything...
REIN: I know you would never stray from me. 
 

 
Its fingers dig in just enough to be felt, its voice still sickeningly smooth. 
 

REIN: You would never.

  

BUCKET: You have such confidence?
REIN: I don't know what I would do if I didn't.
BUCKET: But why?
REIN: Do you have a reason for me not to be so certain?
BUCKET: Hand holding.
REIN: Mm?
BUCKET: I was holding hands.
REIN: And will you dare to do that again, with anyone but myself?
BUCKET: Not if you hold mine first.

  

It reaches for one of their hands, taking it in its own, its porcelain skin uncomfortably cold to the touch. 
  

REIN: Like so?
BUCKET: You're cold.
REIN: No colder than usual, my Judgment.

     
Its voice is smooth again, almost echoing in Bucket’s head.
     

REIN: I thought you liked it.
BUCKET: It does make you stand out... 

   
They give its hand a squeeze, getting nothing but hard ceramic in return.
  

REIN: Only for you. 

 

 
It withdraws its hand, giving them a stiff pat on the head. 
   

REIN: Are you soothed enough, my dear?
BUCKET: For now.
REIN: And how will you behave around your...travelling companions?
BUCKET: I trust Chelsea to prevent an incident... I cannot promise the safety of Matthias if he were to continue doing what he's doing in a setting where there is a glaring lack of crowd.
REIN: I don't want you fighting him.
BUCKET: Would you forgive me if it came to such?
REIN: Mm.
BUCKET: I will only do so if the situation becomes dire. I promise I will not strike first.
REIN: As long as you don't make the first blow, I suppose I can forgive it...but I'd like you to avoid it under all circumstances. 
REIN: Do I make myself clear?
BUCKET: I understand. If it comes down to it I will take responsibility for treating injuries.
REIN: I trust you, my Judgment. 

    
It withdraws entirely now, pulling back. 
  

REIN: You may return to your travels. 
REIN: I'll be speaking with Matthias myself after this whole trip is over...see how he explains himself.
BUCKET: Of course. 
BUCKET: You do take care dealing with Spit.
REIN: I can handle myself, as always.

  

 
It starts slithering away, its masked gaze lingering on Bucket for a few moments more before it turns completely.
   
Bucket makes their way back to Chelsea and Mattias, the haze slowly fading from their mind.
 
 

Matthias has Bazil in a headlock, letting go with a sheepish grin as soon as he sees Bucket coming.
  

BUCKET: What were you doing just now?
MATTHIAS: Oh, nothing! 
BAZIL: ... 
MATTHIAS: Tell 'em, Bazil. 
BAZIL: Nothing. 

  
Bazil rubs his cheek a bit, covering it with his hand. 
  

BAZIL: Nothing happened.
BUCKET: You are on thin ice.
MATTHIAS: From the sound of how things went over there, so are you. 

    
Matthias taps one of his ears. 
   

MATTHIAS: Good hearing, unlike horns here.
BUCKET: I assure you, you would not get off nearly as easy.
MATTHIAS: Looks like I did just fine.
BUCKET: Define fine.
MATTHIAS: As long as I don't touch you, you can't do shit to me- unless you want your little trips with your lover taken away.
BUCKET: You are odd...
MATTHIAS: Oh?
BUCKET: I don't understand what benefit you get out of throwing yourself in hot water.
MATTHIAS: Everybody's got their reasons to do things. 

 

Matthias turns, getting ready to hop in the back of their truck. 
 

MATTHIAS: Maybe I just wanna see the world go to pieces and don't mind being taken down with it.
BUCKET: You certainly are quite the piece of work aren't you?
MATTHIAS: As best I can be. 
MATTHIAS: You coming?

 


Bucket hesitantly climbs in, hauling their luggage up with them. 
 

BUCKET: I pray this is the last time we are seated in the same vehicle.
MATTHIAS: Oh, we got plenty of time together! 
MATTHIAS: There's a whole other leg of the trip after we rest tonight! 
BAZIL: Great... 

 

 
Bazil sighs as he climbs in after them, having a bit of an easier time than Chelsea did.
 

BUCKET: Ah... you're paying for your own meals from now on.
MATTHIAS: Sure! 

  
Matthias settles against the far wall, crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head. 
 

MATTHIAS: Fair's fair.
BUCKET: I assume you're paid quite well if you're this committed to your craft during a normal work day.
MATTHIAS: Oh, yeah. 

 
Bazil sits down in the other far corner as he talks, avoiding eye contact with either of them. 
 

MATTHIAS: My wallet isn't hurting.
BUCKET: I would also appreciate it if you were at your own table.
MATTHIAS: Easy. Any other requests?
BUCKET: Minimal interaction for the rest of this trip.

  

  
The truck starts up, Matthias yawning as it rumbles and the overhead light flickers on. 
 

MATTHIAS: If you say so. 
MATTHIAS: Your loss, though.
BUCKET: Oh?
MATTHIAS: It's just, we have so much to talk about. I have so many questions.
BUCKET: Such as?
MATTHIAS: Ah, I thought you wanted minimal interaction? 

  

 
He leans over a bit. 
 

MATTHIAS: Isn't that right, Bazil? 
MATTHIAS: Beatrice here said she wanted minimal interaction, right?
BAZIL: ...Yeah.

 
Bucket goes quiet, not wanting to acknowledge any of that.
 

MATTHIAS: Nothing? Not even a peep?

  
Bucket turns and looks over at Bazil with a frown. He’s turned away from both them and Matthias entirely, fist clenched. Bucket scoots toward a corner of their own, trying to ignore the overbearing silence.
  

 
Matthias just watches, a pleased smile on his face. 

 
Bazil steps into their motel room, slumping against the wall as Bucket makes sure the doors and windows are absolutely, completely sealed.
 

BAZIL: Is he gone? 

 
Bazil's voice is back to a familiar cadence, a raspy voice Bucket knows very well.
 

BUCKET: Mm..... tell me what's wrong?
CHELSEA: I'm sorry I wasn't there for you... 

  
Chelsea slides down the wall a little bit, completely exhausted.
 

BUCKET: It's alright, we have a moment to rest right now.
CHELSEA: He's never been...active, I guess, for that long. Usually I come back in a few hours. 

  
 
 
She glances up, face full of shame. 
 

CHELSEA: I left you alone with Bazil. With Matthias.
BUCKET: We'll be done with this trip sooner or later.
CHELSEA: Did he hurt you? Touch you at all?
BUCKET: No, but he does seem to be trying to complicate our situation more.
CHELSEA: And Bazil, he didn't hurt you either?
BUCKET: No.
CHELSEA: He was alright to you?
BUCKET: Mmhmm, is he alright?
CHELSEA: He... 

 

 
She touches her cheek, wincing at the sting. 
 

CHELSEA: Matthias did something to him.
BUCKET: Let me see.

  
She turns to face them, a cigarette burn clear on her cheek.
 

BUCKET: Did he do this to you on the truck?!
CHELSEA: Bazil says it was while you were talking to Rein.

 

 
Chelsea touches it again and hisses, flinching from even the tiniest graze. Bucket pulls her hand away, worry clear on their face. 
  

BUCKET: Let me get a closer look, I can patch you up.
CHELSEA: Help me on the bed first...

 

 
Bucket scoops her up and carries Chelsea over without hesitation. She hangs on tight, running a hand through their chest fluff.
  

CHELSEA: I don't think it's a normal burn, Buck...stings like hell.
BUCKET: I can fix infections.
CHELSEA: Go ahead, but be careful.

  
 
Bucket sits down, places their hand near the burn and starts working away- only for there to be an immediate kickback, a creeping dread sneaking into Bucket as soon as they make contact.
  

BUCKET: ...What did he burn you with?
CHELSEA: Bazil said it was the kind of cigarette he always has.
BUCKET: There's a bit of a sting.
CHELSEA: It's...not going away, either. 

   
She frowns, looking more and more concerned. 
  

CHELSEA: Usually this kind of thing fades away after you've had your hands on it this long.
BUCKET: That's concerning... when we return I will bring in an expert.
CHELSEA: I mean, it's fine, I've had worse…

  
She pushes her face back into their neck, watching to make sure her horns didn’t scratch them. 
  

CHELSEA: I just want to be with you right now.
BUCKET: ....Are we going to be okay after this trip?
CHELSEA: ...what do you mean?
BUCKET: Does he have any motives beyond making this job miserable?

   
Chelsea lets out a deep, exhausted sigh. 
    

CHELSEA: He wants my job.
BUCKET: Why?
CHELSEA: I don't know, he has some kind of fucked up crush on Spit or something...he's probably hoping he can bait her into killing me. 
CHELSEA: With him knowing about Bazil and god knows what else, he might be able to.
BUCKET: He cannot find a promotion if he does not see the day. 
BUCKET: If he were to pull something, I would be coming for him.
CHELSEA: Would Rein let you?
BUCKET: Rein could forgive me.
CHELSEA: It's not the forgiving type...god, this is fucked. 

   
She squeezes her eyes shut, grimacing. 
  

CHELSEA: I'm not opposed to killing him, trust me, but it'd have big consequences for you, ones I don't want you to ever have to deal with. 
CHELSEA: You haven't seen the cult, not up close. 
CHELSEA: You haven't seen how much they love him.
BUCKET: The cult would not want to show their faces in Solitude.
CHELSEA: I'd hope not, and I know you could take on whatever they threw at you, but I don't want you to have to go through this for my sake.
BUCKET: I do not fear them, and they will give up eventually.
CHELSEA: Then...you want to kill him. For real.
BUCKET: If he becomes a genuine threat to our lives... yes.
CHELSEA: We could frame it on me. Spit won't kill me for that. 
CHELSEA: I think.
BUCKET: I will take the blame, you do not need to be punished for my actions. This is assuming we get to this point of course.
CHELSEA: He's not going to back off on us. We're already at this point.
BUCKET: I really don't want to do this....
CHELSEA: I know. 

 

  
She gives them a nuzzle, still holding onto them tight. 
  

CHELSEA: I don't want to either, and I especially don't want that blood on your hands. 
CHELSEA: But, if we don't...
BUCKET: I could perhaps put him in a position to back down.
BUCKET: If it doesn't happen well... whatever it takes.
CHELSEA: What'd even make him back off at this point? 
CHELSEA: I've known him for a good few years and as far as I can tell, he's as similar to Spit when it comes to weaknesses. 
CHELSEA: He doesn't care enough about anything.
BUCKET: I have a trick up my sleeve perhaps, but it'd be quite ugly.
CHELSEA: Whatever techniques he's using are uglier.
BUCKET: ...You're right.
CHELSEA: So what's your trick?
BUCKET: If I were to reveal it, there's a chance he could peek yes?
CHELSEA: With however he's getting into our heads, I guess...
BUCKET: It'll happen when we get to it.
CHELSEA: If you're sure.
BUCKET: Our options are limited, I'd rather take as few lives as possible.
CHELSEA: Then...I guess we act tomorrow, unless you have any idea on how to break into his motel room…
CHELSEA: Scratch that, we don't want to cause trouble for the people running the place. I don't want to make somebody clean this up.
BUCKET: We'll get him in a quieter spot.

  
Chelsea goes quiet, resting her head on their shoulder without saying much at all.
  

BUCKET: Please be safe until we deal with this.
CHELSEA: You know I can't guarantee that.
BUCKET: As best as possible.
CHELSEA: I'll try.
BUCKET: We'll make it.
CHELSEA: You promise?
BUCKET: I do.

  
Chelsea takes a deep breath. 
  

CHELSEA: I...I know I'm not the best, about permanence. 
CHELSEA: About processing things and knowing they'll last, that sort of thing. 
CHELSEA: Any time I'm away from you, I could just get my skull crushed in by Spit. She could just do that, and there's nothing I could do to stop her. 
CHELSEA: I don't really have a sense of the future, or what could happen, but…

  
She looks up at them, worry clear on her face. 
  

CHELSEA: If we have to kill this guy to keep our shot of getting out of here safe, of getting a life away from these gods, then I'll do it. 
CHELSEA: We'll do it.
BUCKET: Whatever we have to do.
CHELSEA: I love you. 
CHELSEA: I know I say it every time we're together, and you must be sick of it by now-
BUCKET: I could never hear enough of it, and I wish I had more chances for it.
CHELSEA: Once this is all said and done with, I'll tell you again. 

  
She adjusts herself in their arms. 
  

CHELSEA: Could you lay us down?

  
Bucket obliges, trying to get them both comfortable on the bed. 
 

BUCKET: Like so?

  
She scoots into a better position, nodding.
  

BUCKET: Tell me if I can improve this at all.
CHELSEA: ...hold me tighter.
BUCKET: Thisss better? 

  
Bucket nuzzles up to her with a little smile.
  

CHELSEA: Watch the burn... 

 
She makes sure her cheek would remain untouched, doing her best. 
  

CHELSEA: That's perfect.    
BUCKET: There we go, sorry for that. We will rest up and resolve this soon enough.
CHELSEA: Goodnight... 

   
She closes her eyes, taking in her partner’s warmth. 
  

CHELSEA: We'll try to be okay in the morning.

  
Bucket’s already half asleep, out like a light as usual.
 

BUCKET: Mmhmm...

 

 
Chelsea smiles, unable to keep herself from doing so even in this dire situation. 

Tiny comforts, she supposes.

The room is crowded, not so much that Chelsea can't take a look around, but enough to make her anxiety spike. She has no idea how she got here, or why her old theater troupe is here, or why she’s dressed up, or-
  

CHELSEA: We're dreaming. 

   

 
The pockitt next to her shoots her a glare, his arms folded. 
 

????: No shit. 
????: What tipped you off, the fact that you have ears and two arms?
CHELSEA: No, just that you're here...and I remember being next to Bucket before this…

   

 
She reaches up and feels her ears, frowning. 
  

CHELSEA: It doesn't feel right, though. 
CHELSEA: Something's off.

   

  
Everyone else in the crowd is talking amongst themselves, a drone that cannot be heard in clarity or detail but one making it very obvious everyone else in the room is having a better time. The pockitt starts walking away from the obscured yet familiar faces, leaving Chelsea to scramble after him. 
   

CHELSEA: Bazil! 
CHELSEA: Where are you going?!  
BAZIL: Looking for a way out. 
CHELSEA: Don't leave me behind!

  

 
A taller than average karacel bumps him back toward the little corner they’re all scrambled into. Chelsea could have sworn they were over behind them before this...
  

????: Careful where you're going there, yeah? 
????: You can't be free floating all over the place right now, we gotta keep our spot here. 
BAZIL: Our? 

  

 
Bazil scowls, backing up. 
  

BAZIL: You're with her. 
BAZIL: Not me. 

 

   
Chelsea shoots them an apologetic look, putting a hand on Bazil's shoulder to try and steady him, only to get shrugged off immediately.
  

???? (1): Why'd you bring this kid along? 

 
Another member of the troupe steps in.
 

???? (2): Look keep him from starting stuff would you? 

???? (2): If we start letting folks lean in over here we're gonna see our group scrambled across the room. We gotta keep it close knit, right?
CHELSEA: Bazil's not-
BAZIL: I'm not a kid!
????(2): You know what I mean, keep him in check.
BAZIL: I don't need to be- 

   
Chelsea clamps her hands over Bazil's mouth, getting a muffled but indignant snarl in return. 
 

CHELSEA: Sorry, sorry...we'll take it easy.
???? (1): Good, y’all stick around for a bit and find your spot, we gotta claim what we can before the place fills with stuffy folks.

Chelsea drags Bazil back to a chair and struggles to hold him down, letting him go before he can bite her. 

BAZIL: Do that again and you'll be back to one arm.
CHELSEA: Look, something's not right about all this...

 
The troupe glares them down before turning back to chat amongst themselves.
  

BAZIL: That's what I'm trying to say!
BAZIL: This is a dream, we can just bust out of here! 
CHELSEA: And what if something worse is outside? 
CHELSEA: You know what our dreams are like.
BAZIL: And whose fault is that?

 
The troupe gets louder amongst their own conversations, making it harder to talk over them.

BAZIL: For the- could you people keep it down over there? 

 

 
Bazil leans over onto his elbow, narrowing his eyes. The troupe refuses to acknowledge him. He crumples up the napkin on the nearby side table and throws it before Chelsea can stop him. 

BAZIL: Hey! 
BAZIL: Keep it down!

 
The group starts talking even louder, as if provoking them both more.

BAZIL: Sons of- 
CHELSEA: Bazil, stop.
BAZIL: They're not even real.

  

 
One of them "accidentally" shoves the pockitt. Bazil immediately gets up and shoves back, looking up at them with hate in his eyes. 

BAZIL: They're just fucking figments. 
BAZIL: They can't do shit to you if you don't let them.

 
The one he threw the napkin at drops Bazil onto the ground, the troupe focusing their attention on him fully now. 

???? (3): You really wanna start shit today? 
???? (1): Why'd you bring him with you Chels? You should have left him at home.
???? (3): Scrappy little brat shouldn't have showed up.
CHELSEA: Leave him alone- 
BAZIL: I can handle myself! 

  
Bazil spits at the feet of the person who dropped him, Chelsea completely unsure of how to approach.

???? (2): Keep him under control! Why did you bring him?
CHELSEA: I didn't- he's not trying to hurt you! 

 
She takes a deep breath before stepping in, the troupe scrambling to haul Bazil up into one of the member’s arms and grip him tight. 
 

CHELSEA: You're the ones making him this upset.
???? (1): You're gonna start shit with your own people? 
???? (2): For shame.
CHELSEA: I don't mean it like that, I just... 
???? (3): Have it your way.
CHELSEA: Wait, I-

 
She stammers, trying to find a way through this. The troupe continues to glare her down, silently and in unison before they drop Bazil again, angry disappointment at Chelsea on their faces. 
  

BAZIL: God, you're terrible at this. 

 
Bazil grumbles, dragging himself back into his chair. 

CHELSEA: I'm trying to help you! 
BAZIL: Yeah, and you suck at it.

 


The troupe starts mumbling amongst themselves. Chelsea looks up at them, still keeping close to Bazil as she sits back down. 

CHELSEA: What is it?

 
They look over just for a moment before returning to their private banter, leaving Chelsea’s nerves a mess, and leaving Bazil to stew more and more.

The status of knighthood meant that you were allowed to "interact" with nobility, and in fact were encouraged to. It's a novelty, but one that makes the wealthy feel like true monarchs. This is the recurring story of these festivities with charity drives attached, to play security to make sure the poor have a chance to hold out their tin cups and gain a little from those with excess golden melt from their pockets. Bucket sits bored, resisting any urge to fuss or tap the ornament work and tableware nicely nested in front of them. They can't help but look over outside the circle of aristocrats they and their Aunt were surrounded by, it looked so much more fun....
 
Aunt Ali drums her fingers on the back of Bucket’s chair, looking over her relative with a disdainful expression before returning to her seat at the table. An ornately dressed selected sips at her wine as she watches Bucket, having chosen to coil on top of a floor pillow over a typical chair. 
  

????: What are you staring at, dear?
BUCKET: I simply wonder what it's like to celebrate on the other side of these celebrations. 

 

 

BUCKET: The entire town is here, it's such a shame to not share their enjoyment... is that odd?
????: Their enjoyment is more akin to roughhousing than celebration. 
????: Isn't that right, Ali?
ALI: You're on the clock Bucket, if you wanted to talk to the whole town you shouldn't have taken this job.
BUCKET: I should learn of the people I am here to protect.
ALI: Mm, that's the folks we're with right now. Talk with them. 
ALI: They got plenty to say.
????: We're so happy to have you here, indulge in our company! 
????: Besides, someone of your status belongs here. 
????: After all, it's an elite job, for an elite knight.
BUCKET: I would not call myself an elite by any means but... I do appreciate the compliments when they come.
????: Good! Take them, our words hold more weight than anything you'd find on the other side of the room. 
????: Lots of meaningless fluff and crass words, that's all you'd find over there.
BUCKET: Mm... there's so many of them over there though which I must admit makes it appealing. 
BUCKET: I'd like to be at a fancy party with so many at least once.
????: Trust me, it's not all that exciting. You'd spend one moment over there and wish you were back at this very table.
BUCKET: I'm sure there's a few sensible folks in the mix and... admittedly I'd like to dance with someone in general. 
BUCKET: Nobody really seems to want to dance with me over here.
????: Dancing is- 

 

  
The snake is cut off by some chatter nearby raising in volume, some voices sounding outright disgusted. Bucket leans over, trying to get a look. 
 

BUCKET: I think there may be a legitimate work related concern about to come into the front of things.
????: Mm...sounds like there's an unwanted guest.
BUCKET: If it escalates I'll step in-

  
Aunt Ali interrupts.
 

ALI: I can handle it if things get too bad, for now entertain these kind folks who invited us.
????: Yes, please do! I'm sure whatever it is will get sorted. 

 


They sneak a peek over when they think nobody would catch them. There’s a flash of bright green visible between the people milling about, Bucket tailing the wandering green with their eyes. The green seems to be getting shoved around, moving abruptly between person to person, the occasional startled squeak coming through.



Bucket tries to slink away from the table toward the fuss, taking the opportunity while the selected is too distracted with drinking her wine, starting up conversation with Aunt Ali.

Inside the crowd is a pinitelle, covered up only by its cloth flaps. 
 

???? (2): It's not even wearing any clothes!
???? (3): Disgusting...how did it even get over here?

  


Bucket rushes in as the pinitelle tries to scoot back away from the crowd, only for people to poke and pull at its flaps. 
 

???? (1): Stop it...I don't know how I got here either...!

 
Bucket intervenes, just before things can get ugly. 
 

BUCKET: Town knight, what's the disturbance?
???? (1): I... 

 
It looks up, panicking as soon as it saw them. 
 

???? (2): A pervert snuck into the party. 

 
Someone hisses, prodding a finger into the pinitelle's cheek. 
 

???? (1): I d-don't have any clothes, I didn't mean to come here-!
BUCKET: Please do not invoke physical harassment, I'll escort them out of here.
???? (1): W-wait, I can't go outside!
???? (3): See? It won't leave!

 

 
The dog reaches for its hand, drawing it away from the crowd. 
 

BUCKET: Please, lets not make this difficult. I'd rather avoid seeing people fight during the rest of this celebration....

  
It takes their hand while avoiding their eyes, its voice somewhat familiar. 
 

???? (1): You don't understand...but, maybe if you see for yourself...

  
Bucket heads toward the exit, the pinitelle walking along with them and dragging its feet. 
  

BUCKET: Mm.. I do hope you know I do not mean bad for you, I just cannot allow potential chaos right now.
???? (1): I get it...I promise I don't mean to cause trouble, I don't even know how I got here-

  

 
The door to the building is ajar, the pinitelle opening it further, swinging it wide open, enough to let Bucket see. Outside of the party's entrance is scorched earth, the sky dark and full of thunderclouds. 
 

????: It's not safe out there, see?
BUCKET: How is that possible? 
BUCKET: Where are we really?
????: I don't know... 

   
It looks down at its feet. 
  

????: I, I know you don't recognize me, but I really don't think I should be out there..
BUCKET: I should get you some clothes then... you do seem familiar admittedly. 
BUCKET: Have we met before?
????: Only once...not with me looking like this, though.

  

 
They tilt their head.
 

BUCKET: I feel like I may have seen you at the record store once.

  
It can't help but smile, just a bit. 
  

????: That would have been nice...no, it's, um...it's Derry.
BUCKET: Derry? 
BUCKET: How.... how are you here?
DERRY: I don't know, all of a sudden I was just here and these people- 

  
It takes a peek over at the crowd, getting some glares in return. 
 

DERRY: They don't like me much, and I can't leave...
BUCKET: Are we not in the real world right now?
DERRY: I don't think so...
BUCKET: How did we just end up here?

   
It shakes its head, shrinking back (unsuccessfully) behind Bucket as someone makes a rude gesture at it. 
 

DERRY: I don't remember at all, no one really let me know what happened yesterday after everything...

 

 

BUCKET: We need out, we need out before things escalate.
DERRY: Escalate? 

 
It looks a little panicked. 
 

DERRY: What do you mean?
BUCKET: You're naked in a public setting, that'll attract attention no matter where we are here.
DERRY: Finding something that'll fit is going to be hard, isn't it...? 

 
It tries to think of something, visibly struggling. 
 

DERRY: If this isn't real, maybe we could make something? 
DERRY: I don't really know how this works...
BUCKET: Can you cast?
DERRY: Bazil can, but all he does is shove me around with it, not make things.
BUCKET: Unfortunate, let me see what I can do then... 

  
The dog fishes around their pockets for a scrap to work off of. There had to be something...
 

DERRY: Anything is okay, I'm not picky. 
DERRY: I don't...usually wear stuff, but I don't want people poking and prodding at me anymore.

 

 
Bucket perks up as soon as they find the perfect scrap...a night not too different than this, but far more pleasant. At least that party had dancing. They focused and placed a hand on Derry’s shoulder, covering it up with an illusion of full casual evening attire, warm and comfortable looking.
 

  

DERRY: O-oh...this is so...it’s cozy, but kind of fancy too... 

 
It does a little half spin, looking itself over. 
 

DERRY: I've never worn anything like it…
BUCKET: The illusion will be stronger if you're close to me. 
BUCKET: Going too far away will potentially put any illusion I cast at risk of breaking but... this place isn't large enough for that to happen so long as I am conscious enough to maintain it.

 

 
It nods, making sure to scoot in close. Someone places a hand on Bucket's arm almost immediately after, gripping tight. 
 

????: Why haven't you thrown it out yet?

  
Bucket turns around to face them. 
 

BUCKET: We're waiting until its ride is here, I would rather not throw it out into the streets as is and potentially risk drawing in those who may take the wrong impression and assume this event is... something certainly special.

 
They scowl, letting go of the dog’s shoulder. 
 

????: Fine, but get back to work then.
BUCKET: Mm. Derry, come with me while I... handle damage control I suppose?

 
It nods and keeps to their side, avoiding eye contact with the person glaring them both down. Bucket keeps their voice to a whisper.
 

BUCKET: Are the others here? I'd imagine they'd be...
DERRY: I don't know...It's hard to see through the crowd. 

 
It stands up on tiptoe as best as it can, making a surprised squeak. 


 

DERRY: Chelsea and Bazil are here! 
DERRY: Way over there, though...
BUCKET: You see them?

 
Bucket turns their attention over. 
 

BUCKET: What are they doing?
DERRY: Talking with people...I recognize them, a little. Old friends.
BUCKET: Lead me- 

 
Someone grabs Bucket’s wrist, startling the dog horribly- only for it to be their aunt, a scowl across her face.

 

   

ALI: Bucket, you need to be back here at the table now.
ALI: You're slacking.
BUCKET: I'm working, Ali!
BUCKET: Just give me a few minutes, I assure you I'm not going to party with ruffians in that time.
ALI: We're being paid Bucket, they expected knights and we need the money.
ALI: You know your poor mother has been having a hard time lately right?
ALI: She hasn't left the house in so long.
BUCKET: I mean, I know bu-
ALI: Then why are you still arguing?

  
Derry tries to avoid being seen as much as possible as they bicker, intimidated as hell.

BUCKET: Just please let me finish what I'm doing....
ALI: I need you to come over right now, everyone's worried you left on them.
BUCKET: I... I'm sorry Ali.
ALI: Tch, don't give me the sad schtick either right now.
ALI: After today you can party with them all you want but you're a knight right now.
BUCKET: I know.
ALI: Act it.
DERRY: We can go over there with the fancier crowd if you need to...it looks like they're having a good time over on the other half too, so...

  

 
Bucket nods quietly and follows their aunt back toward the mass of the wealthy folks. Derry shoots Bucket a worried glance, getting bumped into as it follows the both of them.
 
Just don't make a scene any bigger than you have to.
 
Bucket sits at the table back where they started.
 
Gotta find an out to this.
 
Derry takes an empty chair with more than a little nerves, getting an inquisitive look from the selected at the table.
 

????: Interesting choice of company.
BUCKET: I am keeping an eye on it for now, it's not something I planned to be doing.
????: It's just, I've heard rumors about it.

  
She leans forward, sipping at her drink, her words just the slightest bit familiar.

????: I couldn't place its face from afar, but this one's got a reputation.
BUCKET: Oh?
????: I just don't think that keeping the company of someone who lays with cultists is the best idea for your own look.

  
She looks up at their aunt.

????: Did you know about this, Ali?
ALI: No idea who this person is, never permitted inviting a friend to this occasion either.
ALI: A discussion will be had after this celebration.
ALI: I don't want to see you wander off with it together.
DERRY: I, I'm sorry to cause trouble...
????: I just don't understand what motivates a person to make their bed with Spit's people...let alone Spit herself.
ALI: I would hope Bucket here isn't planning on joining ranks like those, mmm?

 
Bucket frowns in response.

BUCKET: What are you saying?
ALI: You come home with me, I don't want to find any shenanigans.
DERRY: I wasn't planning anything w-with them!

 

 
Bucket tries to find the words to stand up for it but can't come up with anything that won't summon backlash. Derry tries piping up to defend itself, only to be interrupted by a loud shriek from the other side of the party.


 
On said other side of the party, Bazil’s sunk his tusks into somebody's arm.

Bucket rises from their seat at the table, ignoring their company’s protests.
  

DERRY: Do you think they're in trouble?! 

  
Derry follows suit, getting an indignant hiss from the selected as it bumps into the table
 

DERRY: Sorry, just...oh, god, what is he doing...

 
The dog bows their head at the selected and their aunt. 
 

BUCKET: Someone appears to be bleeding out, I apologize.
ALI: Bucket, what did I say?
BUCKET: Do my job. 

  
Bucket bows their head at the selected and their aunt before rushing off. Derry holds onto the hem of their sweater as they run, not wanting to get separated. 
 


On the other side, a complete fight has broken out, Chelsea in a tight headlock and Bazil nearly biting clean through someone's arm.
  

BUCKET: Is that them?!

  
Derry puts its hands up to its mouth, cupping them. 
 

DERRY: What are you doing?! 
DERRY: Let go of them!! 

  


Bazil looks up from his tight grip, flipping Derry off immediately. 
 

DERRY: ...definitely them.

  

 
Bucket dives in and tackles the unfortunate bastard who has Chelsea locked. The karacel goes down with a harsh thud, freeing Chelsea and leaving her to choke and gasp. 
 

CHELSEA: Bucket?! What-
BUCKET: What are you doing all the way out here?
CHELSEA: I could ask the same for you, this is our dream!
BUCKET: This is a dream?!
CHELSEA: Bazil says it is- oh, god, Bazil. 

 
Chelsea snaps her head up, seeing Derry try to wrestle Bazil off of the person's arm. 
 

 

CHELSEA: Someone punched him in the face, I wasn't able to help him.
BUCKET: He's got it covered it would seem.

 

 
The crowd begins to circle around the people fighting, the noise starting to grow deafening. Chelsea staggers to her feet, ears back. Bucket reaches into their pockets for another scrap. 
 

BUCKET: None of this is real, yes?

 
Chelsea shakes her head, doing her best to make out what Bucket’s saying. 
 

CHELSEA: We're definitely dreaming.
CHELSEA: How we’re in the same dream, I have no idea, but...dreaming.
BUCKET: Then I shouldn't feel any guilt for what comes next. 

Bucket makes a break for it, climbing onto a table and shattering a glass bottle, resting on it before jumping into the void of people on their way out. Chelsea can’t help but feel a moment of pride in their partner- but her attention is quickly drawn away to Bazil and Derry.






Derry keeps close to Bazil, trying to look for a way out as people's hands grab and grope for a chance at the action. Chelsea’s getting equally swarmed, the crowd reaching for her and trying to grasp at her clothes. The three of them are surrounded completely, and Chelsea starts to get overwhelmed- she hasn't done a group fight like this in a long time...but there's always something that works. 


 
She reaches for the nearest person and claws at their face, hard enough to draw blood.



It’s enough, the ever-familiar sickening feeling bubbling up as she brings Spit’s power forth.



Her victim’s head buckles inwards and explodes off of its own skull, and the entire crowd backs up.  Bazil’s shoved hard in the chaos, Derry getting absorbed into the crowd.



Chelsea doesn't hesitate for a  moment to rush over and help Bazil up, getting only a grumble for her trouble.
 

BAZIL: ...Thanks. 

Derry’s already gone by the time both of them look around, not slowing down for a second. It knows their breather won’t last long, and Chelsea’s stunt can only buy them so much time. That kind of magic slows her down and exhausts her, and it’s seen her wear herself down time after time on the job…

She needs a weapon, and Derry’s determined to find one. 



A pile of raffle prizes lays by one of the tables, ready and waiting for the charity event. One stands out among the rest- a long gift, wrapped in fancy paper and topped in a curved head. It’s the closest thing to a staff it can find, and it’ll have to do.



Derry breaks out into a run, as fast as it possibly can. It’s not the first time it’s had to run, but a crowd this large is terrifying to the pinitelle, the people behind it seemingly swelling into a mass. A lone target is easier as far as they’re concerned, and Derry’s bright colors catch the attention of more and more people. 



With silent coordination, a clawed hand manages to grab Derry by the ankle and slam it into the ground. It flails and shakes as much as possible to try and keep the crowd from swallowing it but there's only so much one can do against a mass of people so large. Its voice is shaking as it calls out, having trouble getting any kind of volume out of its throat.

  

DERRY: H-help, please! 
DERRY: I’m caught-

Out of some miracle, it’s released with a series of shrieks and scowls as Bucket bursts in from the crowd with their makeshift shank in hand.
 

BUCKET: I have you covered! Go!

  

 
Derry manages to make it into the larger mass, grabbing the package and praying that it resembles a scythe enough to be useful to Chelsea. 
 

DERRY: Chelsea! CHELSEA!

 

 
Chelsea whips her head up from twisting an attacker into a horrible pile, already looking more exhausted. Derry leans back, winding up to throw the staff and sending it sailing over the crowd.
 

 
Chelsea runs for it and barely catches it in time, just narrowly avoiding it falling into someone else’s hands. 
 

 
She fumbles and rips a scrap out of the twisted mess of a person on the ground, making a face as she gets splattered. She hated doing this kind of thing more than anything, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and right now, she’s pretty damn desperate.
 

 
The scrap coils around the package, the wrapping paper bursting off of it as the meat shapes into...
 

 
...a rather sharply edged horse on a stick. Derry winces slightly at its choice, Chelsea giving it a tired but at least somewhat appreciative look.
 

DERRY: S-sorry!

 
Something’s going to have to be better than nothing. 
 

 

BAZIL: Nice toy, guys! 
BAZIL: Think you can get anything done with that piece of shit?
CHELSEA: Not now, Bazil-

  

 
Before she can snark back at the pockitt, he’s sucked into the crowd. 
 

CHELSEA: For fuck’s sake…
DERRY: I’m coming over! I-I can help!
CHELSEA: You’re going to need to hurry it up, then!

Chelsea swings her makeshift scythe into the crowd, relieved to find that at the very least, the weapon can still cut these nightmare people down. Making her way to Bazil only gets harder as more people pour in, a flood that just seems to keep coming. 








An unexpected miracle comes through in the form of Bazil getting spit back out of the crowd, practically slamming into Chelsea with a string of cusses. Bucket pokes their hand up out of the mass and gives a confident thumbs up, leaving the two of them to get back into the brawl.

BAZIL: Be a little more fucking gentle next time!
BAZIL: Tossed me out on my fucking ass…

  


The crowd lightens up on its load just enough to expose a familiar, bastardly face, Matthias in clear view of Derry...and right between it and Chelsea. 

DERRY: I found him! 
BAZIL: Who?!
DERRY: Matthias! He’s over here!!

 




Matthias snarls and tries to melt back into the crowd, seemingly not wanting to risk a face to face fight. As soon as he gets into it, Bucket gets out, a miserable, bloodstained mess with a red drenched chunk of glass tight in their hand. There’s a bit of stagger to their gait as they regroup with Bazil and Chelsea, trying to catch their breath. 

 

BUCKET: I don't remember this many people being here, he's making more and they will eventually outnumber us.
BAZIL: No shit, we're already outnumbered.
CHELSEA: If we can get to him, we might be able to break this.
BUCKET: We need to limit his options, narrow down his movement to a clear traceable path.
CHELSEA: We also need to get Derry somewhere safe, it can't handle this kind of thing alo-

 


Derry dashes over before she can finish her sentence, snatching the bottle out of Bucket's hands even with the glass digging in.

BUCKET: Derry! Careful!

 

 
It doesn’t respond, throwing the chunk of glass over its shoulder and nailing Matthias right in the back of the head.



His concentration shattered, the crowd stops moving, frozen in motion.

BUCKET: Oh my god Derry...
DERRY: I think I got him...

 

 
Bazil says nothing, refusing to admit he's impressed. Bucket on the other hand, tries to give Derry an encouraging look. 
  

BUCKET: Jump him.
DERRY: Oh no, I think I’ve done enough- you should get him, I’m good-
BAZIL: For fuck's sake, we don't have time for this.

  




The pockitt rushes forward and activates his own magic, sending shockwaves through his elbow and knee to knock the frozen wall of flesh forward, rippling and crashing onto Matthias before falling around him in a soggy, horrible heap.





Chelsea reaches out and starts manipulating the flesh as best she can, snaring Matthias around his waist using the former crowd and lifting him up high, watching him thrash and try to get free.  





Bazil takes advantage of the snare and goes for another magic hit, this time choosing to send an electric shock coursing up through the flesh. Bucket follows suit with little hesitation, dashing forward and narrowly avoiding touching the electrified flesh.
  

BAZIL: Watch it!

  




Chelsea lowers Matthias just enough for the dog to throw a massive jab straight into Matthias' nose amidst the chaos, causing the world to almost shatter around them. 

BUCKET: Sorry, gotta double tap to be sure!

 
Everything falls apart around them, Derry, Chelsea and Bazil starting to blend together into one form. 
  

 
When the colors stop swirling everyone hits the pavement- Bucket, Matthias, and from the sound of his voice as he gets to his feet, Bazil.
 

BUCKET: We're.... outside?
BAZIL: Fucker had us in so deep we didn't even realize we were sleepwalking...

 

 
Matthias struggles to his feet, lips pulled back in a snarl. 
 

BAZIL: Too bad we can't get a 4v1, but 2v1 should do just fine.
BUCKET: It may as well be 4v1.

  

 
Bucket starts approaching without a single tremble in their own step. 
 

MATTHIAS: You...you're fucked, you know that? Rein's going to know about this, and you can kiss your little visits goodbye! You crossed the line it set and it is going to find out about this, and technically, you threw the first real punch. You, you lost!

 
The dog keeps marching toward him, every step with the weight of the planet caving. 

BUCKET: Rein is a bastard in the grandest sense, and if this gets back to it I would be in rather big trouble... but Rein does not hire losers. You won't forget that.




 

Matthias spits in their face, only to be grabbed by the muzzle and lifted up.
  

BUCKET: I'm a professional abomination. I can build up a man on wishes and break him down for assets. We're both dogs, you and I are made of material that's very physically compatible should I ever need to replace tissue or organ. Common flesh. I am going to farm you for all you're worth.
MATTHIAS: You're...bluffing....

Bucket's body twists and tears itself until they’re no longer the cutesy dog they seem to be this entire trip. 
 

BUCKET: Nothing but the truth from my mouth, and not a soul would believe you if you ever repeated it. You'd be deemed a conspiracist. Pick a limb. Specify which one.

  
Matthias shuts up, not saying a word. Bazil can't help but grin.
 

 

BUCKET: Pick one.
MATTHIAS: L-left leg! No, arm. Left arm!

   

 
A large, heavy, sharp cuff manifests around his left arm, tightening until it’s on the verge of cutting in.
 

 
A mirroring one manifests onto Bucket. 
 

BUCKET: Your fate will be linked to mine. Your ability to sleep at night, to wake up in the morning, your happiness, all of it. 
BUCKET: This will only hurt for a moment, enough pain to potentially knock most people out but I assure you will be awake for all of it. 

 

 
He starts to struggle, trying to get away from them.
 

BUCKET: You cannot run.

 


The cuff guillotines both of their limbs at once, Bucket entirely unphased. Matthias almost starts screaming, Bazil lunging forward and wrapping a meat scrap around his throat as both his and Bucket’s arm fall.
 

BAZIL: Don't want to wake up any other patrons, you sick fuck.

   
 
The limbs squirm and flail before crawling over toward the opposing dog, stitching and resizing themselves to appropriately fit on the freshly cut stump. 
 

 
The process feels like needles and hot oil, sending pain up both dogs’ shoulders. Matthias does manage a gargled scream now, Bazil struggling to keep him clamped. 
 

BAZIL: Hurry it up!

 

It molds to fit proportionately, distinctly not quite the original limb but at a distance, a match. Little strands of the other's fur speckle in, creating a mixed effect. 
  

BUCKET: You are now under my watch. So long as part of me is attached to you, I control the state of your body. Shall I be injured, I may repair myself by taking flesh from you. Dare imply I had anything to do with this and I’ll vaporize your entire being on the spot. I want you to come up with a story and stick to it. Any inconsistencies I will hear about. If you play your cards right we will rarely need to interact ever again and you will not have to think about being a living bomb. Do you understand?

  


He nods quickly, eyes full of fear and anger. Bucket grabs him by the wrist and lifts him up. 
  

BUCKET: Now I will treat your injuries.
BAZIL: Hold up.
BUCKET: You're right, this is your fight first is it not?
 

 

Bazil pulls back his hand, Matthias unable to get a word out before he sends a shocking punch into his chest and leaving him spluttering and barely conscious.
 

BUCKET: Get a few more in.
BAZIL: With pleasure.

Bazil's panting, his fist still crackling. 
 

BAZIL: That's enough. Any more and I'd kill him.

BAZIL: As much as I wanna see this guy burn, you gave up your fucking arm for that, and the idea of this guy being monitored for the rest of his life until he's a fucking saint sounds like pretty good justice to me.
BUCKET: You really think so?

 
They can't help but smile, albeit a very tired one.
 

 

BAZIL: Yeah. I do.
BAZIL: Besides, Chelsea's bothering the hell out of me to get back in. 
BAZIL: And I don't want to be around for whatever gross shit you two get up to. Eugh.
BUCKET:  Fair enough. Would you ever consider meeting again when things are calmer?
BAZIL: ...maybe. We'll see.

  

 
They offer their hand. 
 

BUCKET: We'll see. I'm glad to have met you either way and I wish you nothing but the best.

  

 
He hesitates before taking it, giving it a proper shake. 
 

BAZIL: Don't fuck things up for us.
BUCKET: I won't.

  
He drops their hand unceremoniously, seeming to lose focus for a moment or two before shaking it off.
 

 

CHELSEA: ...ugh.
CHELSEA: Hand feels all tingly.
BUCKET: Is everything alright?
CHELSEA: Yeah, just...hate when he uses magic like that.
CHELSEA: I don't like it period, but the body always feels all weird after using a different type...

  
She staggers a bit, reaching out to lean on them. 
 

CHELSEA: Let's go inside. Please.
BUCKET: Of course. 

 


The dog shoulders her back toward their room, the pair keeping close to each other. 

The door closes behind them, leaving Matthias alone on the pavement.

The cafe is crowded, but at this point, that’s a blessing. Both Chelsea and Bucket are exhausted from the night prior and a bumpy ride over, but after finally reaching their destination, it feels like it could be over soon. Hearth boasted an impressive number of restaurants, and after a little bit of searching, they found the best option- somewhere they wouldn’t be overheard easily, covered by the hustle and bustle.

Chelsea sits down at their table, letting out an exhausted sigh. Bucket walks on over with coffee and pastries, having gotten their orders from the front counter.
 

BUCKET: I share the mood.
CHELSEA: Thanks...what a mess.
BUCKET: I pray the ride home is much easier than this.
CHELSEA: I don't think he'll give us trouble again, not after what you did... 

 
She reaches for her drink, taking a sip.
 

BUCKET: I warned it would be ugly. 
BUCKET: I fear you might have night terrors for quite some time.
CHELSEA: If you're worried...it doesn't change how I look at you.
BUCKET: I'm very relieved to hear it.
BUCKET: Did you manage any rest?
CHELSEA: Not a single dream.
BUCKET: Honestly? Good.
CHELSEA: Did you sleep alright yourself? 
CHELSEA: I mean, you had to go as far as you did...
BUCKET: All things considered, better than I anticipated I would. 
BUCKET: I should be good now, for certain.
CHELSEA: That's good... 

 
She takes another sip of her coffee, not sure where to go from there. Too much has happened.
 

BUCKET: Mattias is too much of a coward to risk speaking up. We are covered at least for now.
CHELSEA: I don't know how things are going to go once we're back to Consumption.
BUCKET: Did we miss a base somewhere?
CHELSEA: No, no, I think we covered everything...it's just...I still have to deal with him...even if he doesn't talk about our relationship, or my whole deal, I don't know how he's going to act around me. 
CHELSEA: It might seem suspicious to Spit if he's too different.
BUCKET: I pray he is not too much worse after all this but... I do have the option to intervene now, much to his dismay.
CHELSEA: Guess we'll just have to see how it pans out.
BUCKET: I do worry but.... worst case scenario, I will come to your aid.
CHELSEA: You do too much for me, Buck... 

 
 



She picks at one of her pastries, tearing off flakes with a claw. 

CHELSEA: For us, I guess now.

Bucket takes a drink of their coffee. 
 

BUCKET: I'd do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe... do not ever feel you need to hide such a thing from me ever again. 
BUCKET: I will try my best to understand.
CHELSEA: I just...I didn't know how you'd react. 
CHELSEA: You're the first person we've ever told.
BUCKET: Nobody else?
CHELSEA: Who would we even tell?
BUCKET: For so many years though? 
BUCKET: That must be terrible to have to keep quiet on it for so long...
CHELSEA: I would have kept going, not telling anyone, for as long as possible, if this hadn't happened. 

 
She keeps looking at her food, avoiding meeting their eyes at all. 
 

CHELSEA: Even keeping it from you.
BUCKET: Well now that I know I am open to anything you may want or need to say on it.
CHELSEA: You mean that?
BUCKET: Mmhmm!
CHELSEA: Well...where do I even start, I guess.
BUCKET: Anywhere.
CHELSEA: Too broad... Ask me a question, or something.
BUCKET: How long?
CHELSEA: I don't know, it started showing up after the ritual- the one to make me Spit's demon...I don't think that caused it though. 
CHELSEA: I feel like it's been here longer, but I don't know for how long or why.
BUCKET: Some of your friends do seem to remember before that time.
CHELSEA: Friends...that's a new term for them.
BUCKET: What would you call them?
CHELSEA: I don't know, but I don't think all of them are friends.
BUCKET: Are some of them?
CHELSEA: ...I guess, maybe? I don't really talk to them.

BUCKET: But they are there?
CHELSEA: Some of them are nice to me. 
CHELSEA: Guess that's close to a friend.
BUCKET: Perhaps we could try to talk to them more, both you and I.
CHELSEA: You'd want that? 
CHELSEA: I mean, I don't know how much I can facilitate something like that, but I could try.
BUCKET: I'd be up for it, should you be.
CHELSEA: You already met Derry and Bazil, at least. 

 
She finally takes a bite out of one of her pastries. 
  

CHELSEA: What was it like? If that's not weird.
BUCKET: I like them. 
BUCKET: Derry seemed nice, and Bazil I think just needs time to warm up a bit.
CHELSEA: You think he's going to soften up around you? Because, no offense...it kind of feels like he hates both of us.
BUCKET: I think he's not so bad.
CHELSEA: Eh...
BUCKET: With time!
CHELSEA: A lot of time, if you're right.
BUCKET: I think we will manage well.
CHELSEA: Derry's got its own problems, I just don't get it.
BUCKET: What do you mean?
CHELSEA: I mean...it seeks out Spit, for one thing. 
CHELSEA: I can't understand that.
BUCKET: Does it really? 

BUCKET: Why?
CHELSEA: None of us know.
BUCKET: So odd...
CHELSEA: You'd have to ask it yourself. 
CHELSEA: I'll be honest, I kind of don't want to know.
BUCKET: I think I will if the opportunity comes up.
CHELSEA: Then I guess next time we meet I'll try to set that up. 

 

Chelsea hesitates before reaching across the table, hoping for Bucket to take her hand. Bucket gets it immediately, clasping her hand in theirs.
 

BUCKET: Do you think it'll mind?
CHELSEA: Maybe it'd be good for it to have someone to talk to...for all of us to have that, honestly.

 
Bucket smiles, warm and comforting. 
 

BUCKET: I will do my best to make everyone feel welcome.
CHELSEA: And what about you? 
CHELSEA: I mean, are you really okay with all of this? 
CHELSEA: With us? 
CHELSEA: Aren't you worried?
BUCKET: It's confusing to me but... I want to accept every part of you into my life, even the things that are quite unusual.
CHELSEA: ...I love you.
BUCKET: I love you too.

 
Chelsea gives their hand a squeeze, unable to keep her own smile off her face.
 

CHELSEA: I guess this was never going to be easy, but maybe we can do this together. 
CHELSEA: Maybe it's going to be okay.
BUCKET: I think it will be.
CHELSEA: Then we'll just...keep going, then.
BUCKET: Mm. To the end of time.

 
ASHTRAY: FIN