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."

You line up your eyes but don't quite match things up with your hands. You end up with the bullet being so far off you're not even sure where it landed. You lose your cool and drop your gun out of nerves.

"Count your shots."

You reach for the gun.

"Count them without checking." 

You missed, then got it, then missed again.. you count on your hands and... She doesn't give you the time to put it all together in your head.



"How many did you hit?"

"One."

"How many did you miss?"

You look at your hands.

"Uh..." 

"More than one?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Two."

"How many shots are left?"

You do the math on your fingers. She grabs you by the chin and turns your head to face her. 



"Don't look away, look up at Me."

"Six?"

“Six?!"

"Three! There's Three left!"

"You've fired three times and hit once. One in three is cop numbers, and if you can't do better than cop numbers you got no right to be doing this."

"I'm sorry-" 



"Pick up your gun, Beatrice Judgment."

You reach to the floor for it, holding back an urge to cry.





You pick it up as careful as can be, adjust your muffs, and take aim again. You honestly don't feel up to doing this anymore, you just want to get it over with. You focus your eyes on the bottles but.... the more you look, the harder it is to recognize them as bottles. No, they're more like tiny little ambiguous homunculi dangling by strings than anything you could classify as a glass bottle. 

Focusing on them makes you uneasy.

"Hurry up and take the shot."

The mumble and drone from the horrific little beasts starts getting to you, too panicked and intelligent to be unaware of what's coming next, and too unintelligible for you to recognize it as anything specific. This isn't right.

"I'm not feeling good mom..."

"We're not going back until you're done. We spent a lot of time setting up."

"Please-"

"Finish up, I don't want to hear a thing until you do."



You take the shot with everything you've got. The bullet sinks deep into the center of the small, thick mass dangling from the wire. 

The homunculus struggles to breathe, stuttering and trembling as it has the delayed realization of what just happened. It flails hard and shrieks through the phlegm and blood in its throat, it shakes so hard that its angles start scraping too deep against the sharp coil hanging it. You feel disgusting, a mixture of anticipatory anxiety and weight strangling your chest. 



You look up at your mother, whose face you can't recognize as hers. Your senses are muffled and nothing comes clear to your ears but from the way her vague shape is mouthing it's clear it's dissatisfied.

Your brain fizzles and scalds under the increasingly drowning sensation of everything being innately wrong. 

"Count your shots."

You had three, you just fired one. You look at your hands to keep track.

"Look up here, do it in your head."

Right, sorry... 

"Say something."

"Right, sorry!"

"How many?"

"Two!"



She yanks your arm in line with the screaming mass. 

"It's suffering. You got more than enough to clean up your mess. Take the shot."

You try pulling away from its grip and fire by accident. 

She lost any patience she had.. It drags you closer until the muzzle is pressed right against it. 

"You wanna be funny kid?"

"No!"

"Give that thing its proper mercy. Take the shot."



You drop the gun in a panic. You hear it fire as it hits the ground. You feel her grip loosen as you pull. 

You run off as fast as you can into the bushes.

You realize nobody is chasing after you.

You make the correlation in your head.

You look back.



The weight in your chest is now the biggest it’s ever been.

You're sorry.

 
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.