[SIDESTORY] ASHTRAY

[skinstealer]

[cw: this sidestory will contain misgendering/deadnaming, body horror, and violence]

ASHTRAY

written + drawn by @ThreadLurkingComorant and @skinstealer

The restaurant is crowded, just a local place at peak business hours. Chelsea seems even more on edge than she usually is, not even sitting next to Bucket helping her relax. Bucket can’t help but notice that she’s avoiding eye contact with the other end of the table...and can’t blame her one bit.

CHELSEA: This place is...nice. You picked well.

BUCKET: I looked for something that seemed comfortable.. in theory.

CHELSEA: There's only so much you can do with- 

A jeering voice comes from across the table, cutting Chelsea off. 

????: You ladies having fun gossiping over there?

Bucket refuses to acknowledge it, responding to Chelsea and Chelsea alone.

BUCKET: Personally I prefer smaller places regardless. There's a very comforting nature to the food.

Chelsea pretends to be harder of hearing than she already is, doing her best to ignore the snickering across the table. 

CHELSEA: Better than what I'm used to, but that's a low bar.

BUCKET: Mm, is the food doing you well?

????: Could be better.

Bucket finally turns to look at the party at the end of the table, a ruffneck seated with one of his legs up on another chair. On top of his rude posture, he’s smoking instead of eating, not having taken a single bite. 

His name is Matthias, one of Spit’s head cultists, and Bucket is beginning to hate him.

CHELSEA: ...It's good. I like it.  

Chelsea mutters her answer, letting out an exasperated sigh.

BUCKET: Likewise. 

Bucket turns and faces Matthias directly, trying their best to keep a poker face.

BUCKET: Is there something wrong with your order?

MATTHIAS: I can just tell when food’s subpar, that’s all.

BUCKET: Bring me your critique then.

MATTHIAS: I figured that somebody with as much cash to burn as you would spring for something a little classier- you've got that snake bastard padding your pockets, don't you?

He taps some ashes onto his plate. 

MATTHIAS: Or would something fancy be too difficult for the runt over there?

BUCKET: Are you paying for dinner?

MATTHIAS: That’d be you.

BUCKET: Is this your domain?

MATTHIAS: You couldn’t pay me to live here.

BUCKET: Then I suppose I can forgive you for not grasping the concept of humility. 

BUCKET: For now.

He almost bursts out laughing, catching his cigarette before it falls.

MATTHIAS: So you’ve got a mouth on you!

MATTHIAS: I figured you’d be the goody two shoes type, but that’s almost a roast.

BUCKET: I’ve earned as much, I feel.

MATTHIAS: It’s more than she’ll bother to do.

He gestures at Chelsea with his cigarette, the cat trying to ignore him and focus on eating her soup.

BUCKET: She isn’t causing a fuss over a plate she hasn’t touched.

BUCKET: Now I suggest you either eat or call for a take out box.

MATTHIAS: You gonna act like my mom now? Babysit me?

BUCKET: I really shouldn’t have to.

MATTHIAS: Then get off your high horse and don’t.

He plunks his elbows on the table, jostling it and spilling soup all over Chelsea’s front. She almost jumps out of her chair, hissing and spitting. Bucket immediately drops the argument, turning their attention over to her.

BUCKET: Chelsea!

There’s a strange look on Chelsea’s face as Bucket reaches out.

BUCKET: Hold still, please…

Chelsea flinches away.

BUCKET: Please?

Chelsea shakes her head, getting a grip.

CHELSEA: Yeah, I...sorry. Holding still.

Bucket places their hand on her head, healing away at the burns. Chelsea does her best to sit still, sighing in relief as the pain subsides. 

BUCKET: Tell me when.
CHELSEA: It’s fine now...sorry for being so clumsy.

Across the table, Matthias couldn’t help but smirk. Bucket passes over their napkin, too concerned to notice.

BUCKET: You’re alright, do you need anything right now?

Chelsea pats herself down, making sure not to leave any stains.

CHELSEA: To finish my soup and go home, mostly…
BUCKET: We can ask for a box and reheat it at the manor if that would make you more comfortable. 
CHELSEA: You sure that’s okay? I don’t want to ruin things here.

Bucket turns back over towards the envoy of rudeness himself.

BUCKET: Would you mind? You don’t seem to be eating, so…
MATTHIAS: I’ve been waiting for you to say that as soon as we got here.

Matthias puts his cigarette out in his meal, getting out of his chair. Bucket tries not to frown as they call over a waiter to wrap up the soup. They can’t help but feel a bit of dread as they catch the other dog watching them, his smile all too familiar to the god he served.

This was going to be a long visit.

[skinstealer]

Chelsea’s in the middle of trying to get to sleep when Bucket knocks on the guest bedroom door. She’s hesitant to even answer, still off from earlier.

CHELSEA: ...Is that Bucket or Matthias?

BUCKET: Bucket! I doubt the latter would bother…

CHELSEA: You’d be surprised...you can come in.

Bucket steps inside, looking concerned.

BUCKET: Are you doing alright? You’ve been quiet, and I’m a tad worried…

CHELSEA: Just...can’t stand that guy.

BUCKET: He certainly does have a way of testing my patience.

CHELSEA: I’d say not to take it personally, but he seems to want to get under everyone’s skin as personally as possible.

BUCKET: It suddenly makes sense why Spit left him with us.

Chelsea laughs, bitter.

CHELSEA: You kidding? She loves the guy. No, he’s here to keep an eye on me...and presumably you too.

BUCKET: Surveillance? But why?

She shrugs.

CHELSEA: Probably thinks I’m getting too comfortable with you.

BUCKET: Frustrating...there’s certainly a reason why him specifically, yes?

CHELSEA: He’s a head cultist, close to my ranking.

She grimaces, clearly not happy about this.

BUCKET: Are his odds good, or is he just a little optimistic?

CHELSEA: No chance. But he’s the jealous type, and not one to give up either.

BUCKET: He’ll die out eventually.

CHELSEA: Not soon enough, if I’m being honest.

BUCKET: Eventually.

CHELSEA: Well…

Chelsea sighs, shoulders drooping.

CHELSEA: At least he was mostly well behaved at dinner tonight- relative to his usual.

BUCKET: This is less than his usual?!

CHELSEA: Trust me, tonight? He was testing to see how easy it is to push your buttons.

BUCKET: ...I take it I failed.

Chelsea nods, a grim expression on her face.

BUCKET: Ah...and the consequences of such?

CHELSEA: Expect heckling the next few days...I wish I had the chance to warn you about him, but we were thrown right into this.

BUCKET: I’ll make do...is he going to be here the entire time?

CHELSEA: Looks like it.

BUCKET: I’m not a fan.

CHELSEA: Well...maybe he’ll just, focus on me. I can hope for that, at least.

BUCKET: I’d rather he just not be around for most of this.

CHELSEA: We don’t have that option, and with him around Rein’s going to insist you keep an eye on him. Just like he’s keeping an eye on me.

BUCKET: We could just lock him away for a few days.

CHELSEA: Yeah?

Chelsea can’t help but smirk.

CHELSEA: Maybe we can look into that tomorrow.

BUCKET: I’m sure with the right framing, I could sell a cause for such an action to Rein. 

CHELSEA: Better get some rest for now...best we can, anyway.

BUCKET: Mm. Will you be alright tonight with the guest bed?

CHELSEA: Considering my options back at Spit’s? This is a luxury.

BUCKET: Do call me if you’re in need of assistance of course, you know it’s never an issue. 

CHELSEA: I will- I’m keeping you up, aren’t I?

BUCKET: I don’t mind!

CHELSEA: You never do, but...I don’t want to be a bother to you, you know?

BUCKET: You’re never a bother to me, Chelsea.

A smile creeps across Chelsea’s face, a rare sight. She catches herself and turns her head to hide it as soon as she can, but not before Bucket gets a glimpse.

CHELSEA: Still, it’s late...we can figure out what to do about Matthias tomorrow.

BUCKET: We’ll meet up as soon as we can to discuss it further. Sleep well, okay?

CHELSEA: You too…

She lingers a bit, trying to fight back the urge to hug them. Bucket gives her a little smile and she can’t take it, doing her best to give them a one armed hug before pulling away just as quickly. Bucket’s own smile grows, soft and warm.

BUCKET: I’ll be back in the morning.
BUCKET: I promise.

[skinstealer]

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. 

[i]The more you stare at it, the more it rattles erratically. You take the shot and absolutely completely and utterly whiff. [/i]

Your mother grabs your arm again and readjusts it.


"Look at yourself Beatrice." 

[i]Her eyes shift toward your shaking hands. [/i]

"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 so fast that it makes you flinch.

"You got it. Again."