CorviDoggo

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Taco bell? Really? Of all fucking places? At this point the tall man might as well have microwaved chicken and rice, it would’ve been healthier. Sorrel could tell this… Cricket? Ironic name, isn’t it? worked out, so… why not fuel his body better?? Surely it’d give him more energy.

Sorrel followed close behind Cricket, leaving the food container gently by a trash can. He knew he wasn’t going to finish it, anyways. Someone, or something, else could have it. He wasn’t going to make them dumpster dive for it.

“I’ve… actually never eaten there, before,” Sorrel said. It was true! He didn’t want to eat the fucking plastic that was the entirety of Taco Bell food, and he could make better versions of everything at home. It’s— it’s okay! He didn’t have to eat there. He wasn’t hungry, anyways. Why was he following this stranger, again? He held himself, crossing his arms as he walked. As much as the feathered stick of a man tried to hold his tongue, he just felt some anxious need to fill the silence.

“Firefighting’s dangerous, takes a lot of work,” Sorrel mumbled, more to himself than to the giant a few steps in front of him. “‘Least you’re doing it in the states, though— I’ve seen a few cases in South Korea, the government’s corrupt there to the point of just givin’ their firefighters a like.. 25k salary and raincoats instead of real fire protection. There was a whole scandal there, too— took the idiot in the blue house 6, I think, firefighter deaths in a single night, n’ public outrage because of that, to actually properly supply the firefighters there.”

Oh. Oh what the FUCK was that tangent? Why would he talk about that? What the fuck? What the fuck, Sorrel??? Why is he LIKE this? Sorrel undid his half-up bun after a few seconds of awkward silence, and tried his damn best to hide his face in his green and blonde dreads. What the fuck?

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel couldn’t believe himself. He also couldn’t believe what he was going to say. Fast food? That’s so bad for you! Why would this man just fill his body with junk?? And… on top of that, he still was holding the half-eaten taco bowl, and he just felt… really bad wasting food like that and throwing it away. It wasn’t right! But it’d be… a lot weirder to waltz into another stupid chain restaurant with taco bowl food. The food wasn’t good anyways. Maybe… it’d benefit the raccoons more than him?

Jesus. What was he thinking?? He meets one kind stranger and decides it’s okay to contribute to more and more unneeded waste, all because he… wants to spend time with the pockmarked man? Why does he want to spend time with this dude? What’s he doing??? Why was Sorrel being so dumb right now??

“I’m not the best at talkin’ either, don’t worry…”

Why was he considering this?? Why was he going to do this?

“I’m Sorrel, I don’t mind joining you, i-if you’d like the company…? Where… would you be going? If you’d like, uh… I could at least walk with you there..? I have the time.”

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

“Oh, uh…”

Sorrel forgot that his illness wasn’t exactly invisible when he… looked the way he did. And, frankly, it was kind for this pockmarked stranger to care that much— most of the time, people just stared at him, or at most silently pitied him as they went about their dare. Most normal people, at least.

This man wasn’t exactly normal, and Sorrel already figured that. But… being not normal includes being kind to him.

“It’s not much, really…” Sorrel didn’t really know how to explain his illness— it was rare and often ill-understood, and… maybe it was better to just brush it off. “It’s just part of an autoimmune disease I have, not infectious, not a… not a big deal.”

… Should he offer to do something for this stranger..? He couldn’t tell, he just felt wrong leaving and heading off.

“Do you, uh… are you still hungry..?” Real smooth, Sorrel— “because I could, uh… I could probably cook you something better than a processed taco bowl..? Or at least walk you to… a better restaurant..?”

Gods. Sorrel wanted to ram his head RIGHT into the fucking wall. Why was he like this. How the fuck would he cook for this stranger? Isn’t it creepy?? Isn’t he being creepy??? Fuck.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

“Byebye.”

Sorrel was finally alone. Well. Not really— hulk-and-a-half over here was blocking the sun. “Man could’ve at least said thank you,” he mumbled, again, looking vaguely up at the tall man. He was planning on going to the park, anyways, to finish this stupid and overpriced meal he still held— he wasn’t about to inconvenience himself to the point of dragging a shitty plate of food through the sewers just so he could peacefully eat in a little house quite literally the size of two shipping containers.

And… once again, he bumped into the fucking mobile granite slab of rock. Why the fuck was he sobig??? Sorrel already knew he was essentially a stick, this just made everything feel a bit worse. He felt so small— gods, why couldn’t he be alone? Why did the universe hate him so fucking much??

“… did’ya even get your food yet? Or did You lose your place in line running for goat guy?” And… Sorrel forced himself to stop there. He almost said ‘do you want to join me at the park?

Obviously he wouldn’t! Who’d like to join him? Sorrel, of all people! Weird lanky guy who coughed up blood and didn’t know how social interaction worked. He almost could laugh at himself.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

“Oi, you boiled shrimp, if you’re going to chew out my ears at least know it’s pronounced gall. I know I got feathers on me, but I’m not fighting your puny ass for some fucking chips. Also, I’ve got a whole bunch of braincells in this noggin! That’s infinitely more than what you’ve got. Did the radiation blast your logic out’a you?”

Sorrel bit down on his tongue. Maybe he was getting carried away. Maybe he was being a bit too mean, but, by Jove this idiot deserved a chewing out.

He took a breath in. This was about to get nasty. “For the record, I do pay attention. Ground Zero is literally a weird ass northern jungle in the edge of Wilacrik, so you know where he is. Gamma-Burn has an active social media, which I follow, and last I checked he’s also responsive. Fuck! If you had a damn Geiger counter, they cost like 50 bucks on Amazon and I bet your stupid boss would reimburse you for an epic story, you could definitely just wave that thing around at people until you stumble into him. Oh! Also! There are other people living in Ground Zero, who, last I checked, interact with the dude regularly and might also be open to talking. Making excuses for yourself just shows how much of a shit-faced dumbass you are.”

Shit like this made Sorrel remember why he hated just interacting with people so much. This was absolutely exhausting. He wished he was in his lab, or with his plants, or just cooking his own food at home. He wanted to hide away and just be nobody. His thoughts snapped off as he noticed the pockmarked giant just careening towards him— why did that feel familiar? A giant dude running straight at him in that exact way?

Sorrel pinched the bridge of his nose instead, and only spoke again when the man caught up to them. “Anyways… if you want to continue this conversation civilly, maybe don’t be the world’s pissiest toddler?”

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Damn. Sorrel wouldn’t be surprised if the pink-haired reporter’s skull contained just water swishing around. It was a genuine question! He wanted to know! No need to be so rude— it soured Sorrel’s tastebuds too much. Fuck the mediocre food, he’d just take it home.

Sorrel snapped the plastic container’s lid back onto his meal, leaving the plastic spoon in there. He didn’t exactly want it to end up in a landfill— it’d probably work as some Tupperware storage, or another little garden container. Up-cycling was important! As he stood up, he just… had to poke holes in ol’ Strawberry Shortcake’s logic.

“Well,” he started, “first of all. I see tons of anti-hero interviews n’ shit, they’re *more* hated by the DNCC, no..? ‘Cause they aren’t regulated, and the DNCC really wants control n’ a good way to lock ‘em up, or at least recruit. And— second!” Sorrel paused to cough, and wiped the blood from his mouth with the edge of his sweater sleeve. “Second, you said you got coverage on the fight between King Stag n’ the radiation dude, right..? How’re you not dead yet? Maybe he can’t really hurt you, for some reason? Maybe that’s a start if you’re super duper interested, which it sounds like y’aren’t.”

Sorrel didn’t exactly want to respond to Swiss-cheese, but, of course, he also just had to bump into the fucking behemoth as he was trying to leave. Sorrel’s skin was..l feverishly, unnaturally warm at the moment— not really dangerous, per say, but he knew he got warmer when his body was acting up the way it did. He took a few steps back, looked at the giant, pockmarked man, and then the door. And he looked back, and saw a little beetle scurry down the man’s neck. What the fuck?

“Two things for you too, I guess—“ Sorrel furrowed his brows as he more mumbled than tried to push a debate. “First, take a shower, for the love of everything that is good?? I just saw some bugs on you??? And second, you’re just as big as the bug hero, so either stop being a walking concrete wall or start having a bit more self confidence..?”

Another cough. He’s just gonna leave. He’s just going to leave. He wiped his now bloodied sleeve over his lips again before wiping at his forehead and eyes. He pushed himself through the door with his leftovers in his hands, and just… started walking away. Maybe he’ll go sit at a park and keep eating. Maybe he’ll actually go home.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Oh. THAT was where Sorrel had saw this man. How.. how was this pink-haired stranger still alive? Some sort of radiation immunity? They were obviously Numan, with the pink hair and the goat horns and such, but maybe it was rude to assume some other abilities underneath..? This little goat also claimed to have coverage on the fight from this morning… something the press rarely could catch with all the fights involving himself and King Stag.

And… along with that, the short stranger had an interview with King Stag. Sorrel couldn’t help but wonder how many of those were out there, and how many people begged and begged for interviews. His mind then trailed to— this dude must have met King Stag. Probably today. Probably this morning. Maybe that was why King Stag dove through a building. Maybe this was the person who threw a piece of building at him, too..?

Hmm… Sorrel wasn’t exactly hungry, anymore. He wasn’t hungry in the first place. He felt like just grabbing his bowl and snapping the lid on to make his way out. Maybe he’ll… eat it later? Fat chance, though. He wiped the little drop blood from his lip instead of having another bite.

“Shit, King Stag’s going for an interview? After what happened this morning?” Sorrel almost clasped his hand over his stupid mouth, why did he blurt things out all the time? Jesus Christ he was so stupid.

Instead of minding his own fucking business, he continued with his stupid, stupid rambling. “Aren’t hero interviews like… a dime a dozen? Have you ever done a villain interview..?”

He turned to the far taller man with pockmarks as he twirled his spoon around. “You’ve ever read a villain interview?”

He also already wanted to beat himself up. Maybe he should’ve never gone out, and just spent the day alone in his little house at Ground Zero with his weird cat.

Afterimages: The Mirrored World

It was another busy day for Tohato, a time where even the off hours have a good few tables, and where Tohato played against a few customers who requested the mahjong challenge because his father was busy cooking. Overall, he didn’t have a chance to think about the strangeness around him ever since that hallucination earlier in the day. He didn’t have a chance to think about how, sometimes, the customers he spoke to didn’t have faces. He didn’t have a chance to think about how the walls felt like they were caving in. He didn’t have a chance to think about why his heart kept beating so quickly and why he felt uneasy. He didn’t have a chance to think about how there were moments where he couldn’t hear his dad calling from the kitchen.

In between all the orders, some time in the evening, Ha-Neul eventually asked Tohato what was going on.

“Is there anything wrong, snowbird?” Tohato heard from the kitchen, after silence and melting walls plagued the young man’s senses. Tohato couldn’t answer anymore… for some reason, he kept feeling fear..? A fear so strong and so… unreasonable that Tohato both wanted to run despite his bad leg and hit his skull against a steel beam for being so scared of what was most definitely nothing.

Ha-Neul gently put a hand on Tohato’s shoulder. “Can you check on the chickens for me?” They asked with a smile on their face— Tohato knew his father was trying to give him a little fresh air. Maybe it would help.

The albino still couldn’t talk, and instead silently nodded. The chickens were… probably fine, honestly, but he loved just being with them. So, he slowly walked over— out of the back door, into the little patio, right where the chicken coop was. All do the hens were getting ready to roost as the light started to dim, the rooster trying to encourage the ladies to head into the little wood hut that Tohato was about to sit in.

How did it still feel so… tight? He was outside, but he still felt trapped. He felt uneasy, as the lush garden around him started to… melt? Strip itself away from the world? The chickens disappeared from his vision, as did the restaurant, as did all the buildings in the traditional town he was in.

He felt hands all over him. He felt claws on his back. He felt the pain of being thrown around, the pain of people, the pain of loneliness, the pain of fingers on his neck tightening until he could black out. Where was he again? What was going on..? He should— he should go back to the restaurant. He should go back home. He was just there! What time is it? Where is uncle..?

The last thing Tohato was able to hear was his name, until everything swallowed him up. “Snowbird? Tohato?” Ha-Neul called from the back door.

“Tohato..? TOHATO??”

And then Tohato was entirely alone.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

Bezaliel startled with the banging sound. Its wings flapped, its legs kicked out, and it almost bumped into a wall and the ceiling with that reaction. Not to mention, that nest was now… entirely strewn across the room. That colorful nightlight globe in the corner still soothed the Angel, however, and a few minutes staring at the gentle lights got it feeling well enough to rebuild the nest. The Angel spent a good few meticulous minutes weaving all of those plush blankets back together, putting every cozy pillow and plush back in place, and placing string lights back on top. Finally, it laid on its precious little mound of coziness, and chirped in satisfaction.

As much as Bezaliel wanted to bury its head back into all the covers, tuck its large wings in, and curl up into the nest, it simply couldn’t go back to sleep. Today was such a good night, too— dreamless, painless, eased by all the sweet little lights around it. But, young Bezaliel still wasn’t home. It was still entirely alone, in another dimension still entirely foreign to it. It flicked its long tail as it decided how to vent its frustration.

Bezaliel’s door swung open, a few minutes after the whole commotion. Out came the giant, ethereal bird, its wings stretching out to almost take up the hallway. A single powerful flap was enough to absolutely launch Bezaliel over the strange meat man, over the guards, over plant guy, over the doctor he saw as a friend— straight to Sabriel. The Angel essentially tackled the white-haired man, its talons not piercing skin but still pressing down on his chest. It crouched down and let out a loud hiss before stepping off and going about its early morning, first turning around when Sabriel managed to get up by piecing together a sentence.

“My nESt!” The Angel shouted in that parrot-like voice, “my NEST! Do nOt! No scarING me!”

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

It seemed that Sorrel decided to spend a little more time in the city… of course, as Sorrel— not Gamma-Burn. Instead of a haunting specter with a gas mask, he had a simple knit sweater with a patterned yoke in Icelandic styling. He had his dreadlocks half-up in a bun, and his feathers framing his hairline puffed out. The sweater absorbed his thin form, bunching over his hips and leaning to one side and covering his slim hands almost entirely. Those baggy jeans he chose to change into didn’t do him too many favors, either— each movement still showed just how much of a stick he was, and it made him want to peel his skin off. At least… the height was right..? The jeans didn’t sag onto the ground, instead stopping right before the heel of Sorrel’s trusty steel-toed boots.

He still felt like absolute shit. While he got his core back in control with a quick visit to the meta-doctor stationed at Ground Zero, a few minutes of little intra-venous drips and painkillers, he… was supposed to be fine. He wasn’t dying— that counted as fine, but Sorrel struggled to stand up or swallow food. Why did he decided that today was the day he had to air out a bit, to be in the city and be… among other people? Ground Zero is a wonderful settlement, a great community built upon the work of the people and ran by those same people. Everyone also knew exactly who Sorrel was, there. He was alone, in his double shipping-container house overgrown with vines and trees. He was alone, in the repurposed guts of the power-plant that became a perfect lab for him. He was alone, as he double-checked the tasks of the day and talked about nothing in particular with people who… tried to treat him like a god, for some reason. Long story short— he was alone, sitting in this stupid Mexican-American restaurant, but… sitting with strangers who just saw him as some dude with feathers and green hair was much calmer, for some reason.

His taco bowl started getting cold. Why did he come here anyways? He could cook! He was a great cook, he had fresh garden ingredients and fresh meats and a mighty set of recipes stored in his head, but… he frankly didn’t have the energy. That, and… Sorrel just wanted to feel normal for maybe two seconds.

Of course, he wasn’t normal. He wasn’t ever normal. He knew that, as he stared down at the stupid taco bowl as he sat at the very corner of this stupid restaurant in the center of town. He still felt like his insides were two steps away from becoming outsides. He still felt like his lips were stained red.

Sorrel coughed into a napkin, still staring at that stupid, overpriced, probably-full-of-GMOs-and-preservatives taco bowl. He finally moved his mismatched eyes to the brown napkin crumpled in his hand. Blood. Of course. Nine Hells, this day was the worst day his body could’ve chosen to just fuck him over so severely. For some reason, he still felt cold, despite that thick sweater and despite that pulsing core radiating an eerie heat from his solar plexus.

Eventually, Sorrel fought against his nausea and fatigue to take a spoonful from that taco bowl. It was… okay. The shrimp was obviously frozen, the cheese was from a bag instead of freshly grated, the tomatoes were maybe a week old instead of freshly-picked, the sauce was obviously from a mass-produced can— Jesus. He could say it was okay, but it cost him 12 dollars, and he could cook better at home for basically free. What the fuck?

He crinkled his green and blonde brows together as he glared down at his meal. Well… this was his fault, for wanting to try a new place. No matter. Wasting food is just plain bad. As he took a second bite, he looked up to the sound of the front door’s jingling bell. A short man with pink hair and horns entered, with large and pointed ears. Where did Sorrel see this man before? He could’ve sworn he knew those features from somewhere else. It seemed his two seconds of being normal had ended, because Sorrel literally just stared blankly at that familiar stranger, half hunched over his mediocre food.