Chapter Text
Lash tosses and turns in his bed.
This isn't meant to happen.
The only person that The Lash loves, is himself.
The only person that The Lash is infatuated with, is himself.
Jacob Lash is not attracted to most people.
Jacob Lash, is especially not attracted, to Bebop.
Bebop, the less-than-mediocre bot that he fights in The Bear Pit.
Bebop, the scrap golem who is the only one who is able to keep up with The Lash.
Bebop, with his British accent, and his stupid face and his punch that Lash can't help but admire—
But he can help it.
Lash gets out of bed.
He goes to his bathroom, turns on the faucet, and splashes some cold water on his face.
He can hear little chirps from his pet Zephyrs, coming to check on him.
His fingers brush over their fuzzy little bodies and Lash sighs.
"I'm fine. I'm The Lash, guys, and The Lash will never falter. You know this."
He gets the Zephyrs back into bed, and gets into bed himself. He doesn't go to sleep yet.
Lash stays up, and he thinks.
"Paige, The Lash requests your assistance." Lash purrs, strolling into the library. It's a reasonable distance away from the town centre, where the ritual will commence, tomorrow night.
Paige looks up from her pile of books, where she's honing her bibliomancy in preparation for the ritual tomorrow. She's not participating, she has decided to stay back and make sure there aren't kids getting into the rubble or are getting to scared of the loud explosions sure to happen.
"Always ready to help! What do you need?"
"The Lash… I wanna write a love letter."
Paige perks, this is her speciality. Of course Lash came to her for help with this. Immediately, she sets to work.
"Sit down, I'll get what you need."
Lash sits in one of the chairs that don't quite comfortably fit his frame and waits for Paige's return.
She comes back with a box of arts and crafts.
Lash groans.
"Hey, you asked for help, now you're getting it." Paige warns, and Lash gives in.
"Yeah, I did. Come on, gimme what you got, bookbrain."
Paige rolls her eyes.
"The best way to another person's heart is through honesty. Honesty to both yourself and to them, about how you feel, and how they make you feel.
"Poetry is a great way to be honest. It's more intricate than just stating blankly that you like them, and it allows for an easier overall experience to explain which parts of them you like most and how much you like them and pay attention to them." Paige explains, pulling out some cardstock paper, and folding it neatly, then bringing out some high-quality pens, and passing the mall to Lash.
"I'll be studying if you need me, because I really need to get back to that, but I trust you'll figure it out — You're The Lash after all."
Lash looks down at the paper and pen, and he starts to write after a long period of thinking.
A patron has fallen. Lash can hear it all the way from The Bear Pit.
If Bebop's team won or not, he doesn't know. Not yet. It'll be in the papers tomorrow morning, the news, the radio, everywhere. Names, faces, success or loss.
Lash sticks around The Bear Pit long after his fights are over for the night.
Bebop was meant to be scheduled in for the night — he is every week on this particular day — but tonight, he's not here, he's in the ritual.
Doesn't mean he won't drop in. Even to gloat to Lash that Bebop killed a patron.
It gets later.
And later.
Lash is sure the letter in his pocket is starting to wrinkle.
Maybe he should check the city square — maybe Bebop's still there, this many hours after the ritual is over?
No.
No, he wouldn't be.
Bebop must've gone straight home.
Shame.
"Where's Bebop? Lost the ritual so bad he had to run back home to mommy to cry?" Lash chuckles, entering Wraith's office the next evening. He didn't have a fight tonight. He was looking for Bebop.
Wraith flinches. She never flinches. What the hell—
"Do you even know what Bebop was fighting for?" Wraith snaps, cutting off Lash's train of thought.
"Sheesh, touchy—"
"Clearly not. Lash, I'll keep it simple — I know you're a busy man. Bebop fought for his mother's health and lost. She didn't survive the night. Bebop had no other reason to go on after we buried her, so he shut himself off permanently.
"Lash, Bebop is dead. Hope you're happy now."
Jacob Lash is not happy. The opposite, in fact.
"You're— You're serious?" His own voice has become uncharacteristically quiet. A weakness. Wraith lifts her head, recognition flashing in her eyes.
"Oh. Oh." She breathes. "You…"
Wraith takes a breath. The silence between them weighs heavy.
"…I'll get Rick to drive you there." She promises, getting out of her chair. "I'll be back in ten."
Of course, she didn't need that much time to tell someone they need to drive Lash to a cemetery. Lash knows this. She's giving him time to use her room as a safe space, get out his emotions, so that he doesn't break in the drive there.
He takes the letter out from his pocket and looks down at it. His breaths become deeper, heavier. He's left staring at the golem's name on the front.
The world goes quiet around Lash. Bebop's name taunts him. Screams at him. Laughs at him.
Lash didn't realise how much time had passed, nor had he realised that he had been crying, until Wraith's knuckles rapped against her own door, snapping Lash out of his haze.
The door opens, and Wraith silently stands to the side. Rick is standing beside her. Lash's one and only signal to follow the driver.
Wraith stops Lash gently as he leaves her office.
"Hey. The Bear Pit can wait for you, but we still need you. Alright?"
Lash nods, slightly. He knows what she means. Not like he was planning on it.
Lash places down his letter in front of Bebop's body.
He's quiet. It's quiet.
"You should've asked me, you know. For help in the ritual." Lash says. He doesn't know where it's come from, but he can't stop himself now that he's started talking. "Maybe then you would've won. Wouldn't have let your mom die. You wouldn't've died. You would still be alive, and I could tell you in person that I wrote you a stupid love letter because I guess the only other person that The Lash can love, that isn't himself, is you, Bebop."
Bebop doesn't respond.
"Yeah, you would give me the silent treatment. Anyone would be shocked into silence when the Lash admits his love for them."
Bebop doesn't respond.
"Just— Wake up. I know you can hear me, Bebop. The bear pit still needs you. You've got fans to sate. We've got fans to sate."
"Stop staring at me like that— You— I— I need you, okay?! Fine, I'll admit it! The Lash needs you! Just wake up and we can get going."
"Bebop— Just WAKE UP!
"Wake up…
"Wake up, Bebop."
Bebop doesn't respond.
Tears fall heavy and hot down Lash's cheeks.
"I need you. You left without saying goodbye and— Bebop, please, I—
"…Wake up…"
"It's been a week since the maelstrom, and I'm here to announce, live, tonight's fights in the bear pit! We have Lash up today, who has been doing nothing but fighting every day since the day of the ritual! After Bebop retired, Lash's performance has been doing nothing but getting more and more sloppy — could this be a result of the maelstrom? Let's see if The Lash loses his win streak to a nobody for the first time since Bebop!"
Everything hurts. Everything is so loud, and bright.
Lash hasn't slept. He hasn't eaten. He's still trying to find a place to put his zephyrs, but he can't bring himself to leave them.
They're the only reason he's still here.
The Bear Pit doesn't need him anymore. He'll show Wraith.
None of them are Bebop. They'll never be Bebop.
Without Bebop, Lash is nothing in the Bear Pit.
Maybe this fight, he can fight his instincts.
Maybe this fight, The Lash Will Lose.