[SIDESTORY] Morbit Vignettes

[skinstealer]

Paycheck- 2020
Ringor Mortis
CW: Gore, body horror, death, violence
Payce tends to the community garden.

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The garden is beautiful today, and Payce is hard at work making sure it stays that way. Thicket’s community relies on their crops, and while anyone could pitch in, they’re definitely the most active gardener around here. They find it soothing to get their massive hands dirty, uprooting weeds easily with a single claw. Harvesting berries is a little trickier, resorting to gently brushing against them with their hands until they fall off, not wanting to pull too hard and damage the bushes. 

People pass by and wave as they work, to which they always wave back- they’re a quiet sort of person, but they do their best to be friendly. God knows their appearance takes people aback...an unmutated corvice left on Fallow’s Island turns heads, especially at their age. Native corvice in their 40’s are an anomaly here, and they’re hyper aware of that fact...but they choose not to dwell on it now, not while they’re gardening.

At least, they wouldn’t if it weren’t for the sirens starting up.

They get to their feet in a swift, intimidating motion, careful not to step on any plants as they race towards the sound. Sure enough, there’s a terror halfway over the gate, with people panicking and rushing away. Payce huffs to themself and makes sure their sleeves are all rolled up, cracking their claws and getting ready for a scuffle. Other defenders are making their way over, armed with harpoon guns and nets- but the killing blow would be down to Payce, whether they managed to capture it or not.

Gardening was their escape, but this? This is their real job.

The terror makes it over the wall and falls to the ground, dazed as the sound of its body crunching echoes through the clearing. Payce knows enough to know that that’s not going to slow a hungry enough terror down, and continues rushing forward. They hear their name being called out, a startled “Paycheck!” among the citizens screaming, but they don’t pay much attention. It’s not important, not right now. 

As they get closer to the terror they can see it’s a corvice, used to be, anyway. There’s feathers torn away on its wings, revealing oozing cracks in its flexible shell. Obsessive preening, presumably. They’d seen it before so many times, and it never got any less horrible in their mind. When the plague came for their kind, everyone’s feathers, fur, scales, anything on their torsos, all of it just sloughed right off, leaving exposed shell and a moist, unpleasant texture. Some terrors never recovered from it happening, unable to stop themselves from trying to pull out whatever was left. No one knows why, but Payce has their theories. 

They don’t matter now, Payce reminds themself as their left hook shatters what’s left of the terror’s face. Sludge splatters everywhere, but it’s not enough. Corvice have no vitals, after all. The other defenders have stopped approaching as they make sure, absolutely sure, that this thing is dead. 

They don’t remember how far they get before it’s over. Someone’s draping a blanket over their shoulders and saying that they should get cleaned up, get some rest...all Payce does is nod, and walk away. 

Thicket is safe again, and that’s what matters.