Chapter Text
Already, Andrew regrets agreeing to ‘worship’ Edgar. More specifically he wants to throw him out of a window for going around and telling everyone about it. The match is late at night and the people who join the two are Helena and Patrica. “Come on Andrew, stop being a coward and say it, I know you want to!”
“I would rather eat glass than say it again.” Perhaps Edgar is humiliating Andrew in front of others on purpose— to let the others know of how much of a fool he is for even agreeing to it for the first place. He was just playing along with Edgar when he called him ‘My Lord’ but now he didn’t even give Edgar a chance to do this. Tapping in a rhythmic motion on the table, Edgar grins evilly. Speaking to the others, he says, “You guys should’ve heard him, he said he would abandon his Christanity just to worship me! I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted.”
The two ladies sigh, “Edgar leave the poor guy alone, obviously you are making this up.” Comes from Helena. A dull thunk comes from a wooden cup hitting the painter, courtesy of Patrica. They both laugh at Edgar’s offended expression. Andrew bristles, do they think he can’t take care of himself? That he is some weak willed man who needs to be protected from? As the three bicker about useless subjects, Andrew feels frustrated at this situation. Here they are, about to go into a ranked match and get terribly hurt in some way, and they are enjoying themselves! Andrew would be jealous if he didn’t think it is foolish.
A squeak comes from the door, signalling that the hunter has entered and the match will start shortly. The four survivors get started on their ciphers, a ping from Edgar shows that he will be the first kite. Andrew is glad Leo’s memory is so dark, it makes it much nicer on his eyes. Edgar gets chaired at three ciphers, not bad at all. Grabbing his shovel and leaving his cipher he slowly tapped at, Andrew makes his way across the map. Checking his communicator, the chair is getting close to halfway so Andrew runs to the chair. Ripper is the hunter, he moves towards Andrew when he sees him. Narrowly missing the foggy blade, Andrew manages to save Edgar at full health. “Nice! Now bodyblock for me!”
Following the painter's instructions, Andrew takes the hit for Edgar. By the time the Ripper finishes his cooldown, only Andrew is visible. Growling he gives up on him and chases the gravekeeper. Somehow, Andrew kites the Ripper at half health for over a minute, before he is eventually lost. By now the hunter is furious, he’s only chaired a survivor once and there is only one cipher left! Teleporting to the almost primed cipher, he gets a terrorshock on the Enchantress who is vaulting.
Edgar runs to Andrew “Let me heal you! Helena should be able to prime the cipher by the time you get to the chair.” Nodding in concentration, his back is patched up from Ripper’s blade. There’s a slap to his back from Edgar when he finishes, Andrew yelps and starts running to the chair. Ripper is protecting the chair when Andrew nears, crouching Andrew waits for him to turn around so he can get a drop on him. When the hunter is satisfied that no one is coming from one side, he turns to check the other. Dashing forward, Andrew readies his shovel for action. By now Ripper has noticed him and throws a foggy blade in his direction, again Andrew predicts it and swerves around the blade. “Ah… little gravekeeper, you have been so much trouble this match. Who are you trying to impress?.” The raspy voice of the Ripper surprises Andrew, never before has the hunter spoken to him before.
“None of your fucking business.” Faking saving the enchantress, Ripper hits the chair. A swear comes from the hunter and Andrew pushes Patricia away. Patricia gets hit by a foggy blade but Andrew hears the last cipher being popped just in time. For the rest of the match, he keeps near the hunter, using he still has one shovel left. All of the other survivors are told to leave, giving Andrew time to burrow in the ground and block a hit. Jumping out of the ground, he dives to the open dungeon. A four man victory.
Post match, both of the ladies are celebrating, Edgar seems to have left already. Andrew walks in, breathing heavy, but looking very determined. Hearing the gravekeeper the two of them congratulate him. “You were amazing Andrew! Usually you're not that into the games but that was impressive.” Helena reaches to shake his hand, Andrew recoils so he isn’t touched. Being blind, she doesn’t really notice. Patricia gives him a small smile. “That was a good save.”
Confused by the compliments, Andrew shakes his head. Does this mean before he was a bad rescuer? To earn the appreciation of the other survivors he must have to sacrifice his body so they aren’t hurt instead? It left a bad taste in his mouth. Before, no one had spoken to him, even when he did try to save. Grumbling, Andrew speaks. “I don’t need your pity, I can take care of myself.” The comment before the match still bugged him, he doesn’t want others to look down upon him, that he is some feeble man. He may be a monster, but he can handle himself just fine.
Walking back to his room, he leaves the post match room once the two became silent. Sighing, Andrew runs his hands through his hair. It’s late at night and he is quite tired, but he’s used to fighting off sleep late at night. Opening his door, he sets his shovel down—only to be interrupted by Edgar tapping his shoulder before he closes his door. The painter must’ve been walking down the hall looking for him. Andrew jumps at the touch, bristling until he realizes it’s only Edgar wanting his attention. The gravekeeper is too low on energy to even attempt to be polite to Edgar. “What do you want now? I am tired, if you want me to model I am not going to.”
“Well I was to congratulate you for not dying or some shit, but now I am offended.” He crosses his arms at Andrew. Fighting the urge to tell the painter off, Andrew replies. “You’re being sarcastic, you never congratulate people, especially not me. I only did well because he missed most of his foggy blades. Besides, you embarrassed me in front of the others. Wanting me to call you… that especially next to them, I can’t do that!”
“Well you are the one who agreed to worship me, I asked you and you said yes.” Andrew looked more and more eager to go to bed. “I didn’t think you would take it that far! Honestly, you kept saying things like ‘God doesn’t exist’... have you any decency? I would rather worship the lawyer than some egotistical bastard like you. I said that to make you leave me alone.” Perhaps he also just agreed to it because of the heat of the moment— Andrew didn’t like Edgar being that close, and sometimes… the painter can be pretty convincing of his own greatness at times, Andrew is jealous of his confidence.
Tilting his head, Edgar doesn’t even appear angry at him. “You did? Well that’s stupid, you could’ve just said no… ah but you don’t have enough of a spine to say no to someone if it’s to avoid conflict.” Andrew becomes even more frustrated at the dig at him, it is different from the usual comments he is used to though. While anger is making him not think too hard about the words, later he will reflect on the conversation that instead of throwing blind insults and names at him, Edgar gave him some advice, in his own backhanded way.
At the end of his patience, Andrew moves to close the door. “Goodnight Edgar, please do not bother me anymore tonight.” Once the door is closed Andrew thinks ‘Edgar won’t be my friend after this. I was a fool thinking I deserve companionship.’ He takes off his clothes and changes into his sleepwear, fairly ruffled over the long night. The match must’ve taken a long time because the sun is starting to rise, closing his curtains, Andrew lays in his bed for a while. Such a soft surface takes awhile to get used to, his own bed back in his old town was as hard as rock, with springs poking into his back.
Edgar isn’t that surprised at Andrew’s outburst, sometimes he would argue with Edgar, but most of the time he would keep his words to himself—if only to avoid fights. He dislikes when people do that, what are they so afraid of? He’s tried to get a raise out of him a few times before, only for the man to shut down and stop talking to him. So the scathing words are more welcomed than the angry silence he usually has. Humming to himself, Edgar walks down to his room with a carefree expression. He thinks about how he will spend his time tomorrow, probably painting. Andrew might avoid him for a while after this, that’s just the kind of man he is. Perhaps he should tell Emma to give him some food by his door, knowing him he will probably skip meals to avoid him.
Emma is a strange girl, so cheerful no matter what the situation is. She seems to have taken a liking to Andrew, even if he doesn’t acknowledge her most of the time. When questioned she just says. “He is a good person!” Laying in his bed, he relaxes, the match today went well. Slowly his thoughts stop and he drifts to sleep, clothes from the match still on.
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Andrew dreams of people throwing sharp stones at his mother, she protects his small body with her frail own. The townspeople would yell curses at the both of them, calling Andrew a devil’s child and that he should’ve been thrown in the lake to drown. Eventually his mother loses consciousness, her body collapsing on top of him. Struggling under the weight, he cries out when a rock hits his right eye, vision filling with red. The cries awake his mother and she is able to pull her weak body away and back to their makeshift house, almost tripping with Andrew tucked into her chest. “Andy, Andy are you ok!? Your eye… oh my child I am so sorry, please forgive me. What kind of mother am I? Come here… we need to pull the rock out.” Andrew’s eye is filled with tears, everytime he even attempts to look around his right eye shoots pain down his face. Crawling towards his mother, he lays in her lap while she reaches for some tweezers, it isn’t uncommon for either of them to get hurt so they have many materials for injuries.
“M-mama?” He hiccups, but he tries really hard to not be too loud, even while in pain he’s learned to be quiet. “Shush… I will be quick.” She runs her scarred fingers through his bloodied hair. Andrew can’t really tell how close the tweezers are, even with his other eye still intact it is blurred with tears. “Ok r-ready Andy? I need you to count to ten, just like we practiced.” Recently, mother has been teaching Andrew how to count, he loves it when her face lights up when he gets something right so he tries his very best to learn what she is teaching.
Nodding Andrew starts, “O-one, two… t-three, four-” There’s a harsh tug at his eye, screams come from the small boy as blood flows freely from the wound. His mother never stops shushing him and mumbling apologies.
“I am sorry, just hang on for a bit.” Pressure is applied to his eye and bandages are slowly placed. By now the boy’s consciousness is fading, but her kind smile makes the blood loss tolerable. She’s crying, but the words she speaks are soft and sweet. “You did so well Andy, I am so proud of you.” Planting a kiss on his forehead she watches him fall asleep.
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By the time Andrew wakes up, he’s sweating and his breathing is laboured. Opening his eyes, he touches his scarred one. It’s useless and he hides it with his hair. Edgar probably didn’t see it when he cut his hair because his eyes were shut. Ah... he shouldn’t think about him anymore—he didn’t want to snap at Edgar, but the guy gets on his nerves at times. Judging by the light peaking through the curtains, it’s midnoon. Groaning, Andrew gets ready for the day, he doesn’t have any matches so he is confused what he even is supposed to be doing. Usually he would think about sewing in Edgar’s room, but after yesterday no one would want to be with him.
A knock sounds at his door. “Mr. Kreiss! Mr. Kreiss, are you awake! I know you don’t like to talk that much, so I am just here to bring you some food. Have a good afternoon Mr. Kreiss.” Andrew recognized the voice of the kind gardener, Emma. There’s the sound of a plate being placed by the door. After that she leaves, humming to herself. He doesn’t grab it for a while, only opening his door when he is sure no one is around. The aroma coming from the plate makes his mouth water. Slices of meat are squished between toasted bread, lettuce and tomato. Sliding the plate inside, Andrew listens to the growling of his stomach and takes a bite. He didn’t bother to bring it to his desk, instead opting that the floor is good enough. The sandwich is delicious, all of the flavors combine into a savory explosion in the mouth. Soon enough, Andrew finishes it and slides the plate back out.
“Maybe… I should thank Emma.” He says to himself, but that would mean leaving his room. Instead he leaves a note on the plate, ‘The meal was very good, Thank you’ The writing is messy and barely legible. Sadly with his limited education and poor sight, writing is not something that comes easily to him. Sighing to himself, he tries to read a fantasy book to pass the time. Reading may be pointless considering how long it takes for him to even finish one page. However, Andrew really does want to improve on his reading, it really hinders when he needs to read one of Victor’s letters.
After thirty minutes or so, Andrew gives up with a huff. Today will definitely be a boring day alone with his thoughts, his mind is never a kind place. His frustrations of last night also bleed into today, his mind wandering to the match— nothing good comes from this terrifying game. Being chased is something Andrew is used to, often he would have to hide from an angry storekeeper or the landlord Marshall. This doesn’t mean he likes it any more, his clumsy feet stumbling in front of himself, he probably looks like an injured lamb running away.
Laying in bed, he thinks about his shifts in the graveyard, he was lucky he even got the job, even if he got very little pay. It kept him from doing something… worse than a little bit of body snatching. He really didn’t want to, but he was starving and the winter was coming, a few missing bodies don’t do that much, if they are already resting in heaven—this isn’t disturbing their eternal rest, is it?
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Edgar tsk’s at his painting, while beautiful as all of his paintings, it isn’t enough. Being beautiful is boring—everyone expects something to be beautiful, but where is the fun in that? Out of many things, beauty is painted the most, the finest woman, nature at spectacular moments, it’s all so dull. Deciding that the painting is lacking in his favorite colour, he makes a rotting deer the focal point for the eyes to focus on. With all of the green of nature, the dark crimson makes the grass around the wound frame the red in a great way, it makes it the first thing the eyes focus on. The nature he spent hours and hours painting doesn’t matter, the grotesque, mangled body is what someone will look at first, beautiful landscape little more than something to make the scene even more unnerving.
Satisfied with the new idea, Edgar leaves his room to socialize (pester) others. Since his usual option is probably busy feeling bad for himself, he decides that the circus man will do it. Mike is stacking a house of cards, tongue sticking out in concentration. Grabbing a lemon from the fruit bowl, he cuts a slice and silently walks back to the other, he is so concentrated that he doesn’t even see the malicious painter ready to ruin his day. Squeezing the lemon, a few drops land on his cheek and slide onto his tongue sticking out. Startling once the sour juice hits him, his hand knocks over. Turning around in surprise, Mike shouts at Edgar. “Edgar! You horses ass!! You can’t you just-!”
Deciding that words are useless against the painter, Mike just jumps on top of Edgar, latching onto his shoulders and knocking him down. “Get off of me idiot clown!”
High pitched laughter comes from Mike as Edgar tries to wrestle him off, a few others watch on the sidelines with amused expressions. The two are almost the same height, with Mike being a little taller. More swears come from Edgar, and others even start cheering for Mike. Edgar’s plan had failed miserably! Grabbing the shirt of the acrobat, he is finally able to throw the slippery man off. Huffing and tired, Edgar glowers and leaves before Mike could get a chance to hop on top of him again.
Both men stay in their rooms for the rest of the day. Andrew scurries out of his room to clean up a little, he ordered the products Edgar had used on him when he cut his hair, he did like the smell… Using the manor’s showers always scared him a little, luckily, there are doors that you can close to keep your privacy. Staying in his room all day is always boring, only so many things you can do by yourself… and he was starting to get used to the painter’s company.
Shaking his head as he undresses, he turns the water to very cold, hoping it will get the thoughts of the painter out of his head. He shouldn’t think about him anymore, he ruined his chance at a friend and he should just accept that. The shiver that comes from the water is familiar, he didn’t have warm water at his village. After washing his body, he sneaks out of the shower with a towel around his back. Looking down he continues onward, only to stumble into someone else.
“Ah-ah I am sorry! I didn’t mean to-”
“All good my friend! Aren’t you that Andrew fella that Edgar bitch always hangs out with? How can you deal with him, you must have infinite patience. Me personally, I can’t stand him, he got lemon juice on me! What kind of sadistic-” The Acrobat, dislike Andrew has nothing covering him. Why can’t people in this manor find some decency!
“M-me and Edgar don’t really… it just… kind of happens…” He looks down at the ground to see something he wouldn’t want to see.
“Damn… circus boy really has his entire flat ass on display here.” Comes from a certain painter at the entrance. Almost immediately, Mike moves to attack.