[SIDESTORY] Morbit Oneshots

[skinstealer]

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DROP DEAD!- 2018

Ringor Mortis, TCP Gauntlet

CW: Drugs, Violence

Come one, come all, to Hoopla's greatest new show- the TCP Gauntlet!

The question everyone has, however...what is our host like off the air?

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Part 1: Breakdown

Brat. Fucking brat.


Dropdead stood in her office, trying to get a grip on herself. The walls were swimming and the small cuts in her hands were starting to bleed, shards of broken mugs and vases surrounding her. She staggered through the sharp pieces and onto her couch, wondering if they’d be less painful than the shoes on her feet.

Fuck this show. Fuck every single one of these contestants, but especially that one.

She traced the markings on her arms and shuddered, looking away as best she could. Everywhere. It was everywhere and she couldn’t do anything about it. Nothing new though, right? Just one more thing she couldn’t deal with-

She grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, wishing she was strong enough to tear it in two. She didn’t know how long it lasted, or how loud she was, but by the time she stopped she had nothing left in her. Empty again.

Good.

Stopping wasn’t an option. She would clean up her office before Meatball found out, and continue to film the players. She would sit through interview after interview, and ideally, none of them would go this badly. No more of this. Nothing like that would happen again. There were only a few left, and things would be fine.

It was all going to be fine.

Part 2: Basic Business

“This wasn’t part of the deal.”

You’re seething, all vitriol and rage directed at the man in front of you. He remains smiling, as always.

“You see, kid...that’s the thing.” He leans forward, overbearing and looming. “When you make a deal, it’s usually...an even split, or close to it. A deal requires both parties to have something the other wants. That’s just basic business.”

He reaches out, placing a claw under your chin. You turn away, trying to ignore the sting. “And you know, Dropdead? Everything you could offer me…” You try not to hiss as he puts pressure on with his claw, ignoring the feeling of your skin burning. “I already have.”

“I have all the cards, so I suggest you...what do you tell the contestants?” He starts laughing, a rattle that slowly escalates into a high pitched cackle. “Play nice, was it?”

He withdraws his hand and you nearly pitch forward, trying to catch yourself as he grabs your neck in a single motion. “We good, kid?”

He squeezes.

“Or do I have to make some calls?”

You shake your head and he drops you, falling over for real this time. He taps his foot a few times before shoving you along the floor with it, out towards the door.

“Glad to see we have an understanding. Keep those ratings up, won’t you?”