Chapter Text
The hue of blue is perfect, a bubbling aegean that bleeds into a deep sapphire as the liquid licks up the beaker.
Flug knows this ideal stage will only last for about eight more seconds.
At the last second he has to put, just a drop, of the magenta out of the dropper that is currently wobbling between the thumb and pointer finger of his marigold gloves.
After then will the potion be foolproof.
Seven.
He watches his eyes narrow off the top of the beaker since it is still clear, the liquid not yet having attacked that far.
Six.
Sucking in a trembling breath, he attempts to force his hands to still.
Five.
He fails, his hands mock him by shaking even harder.
Four.
Oh well, it never stopped him before.
Three.
Just a little set back, but not enough to ruin this potion!
Two.
“Hey Flug~” The tension of the moment is immediately shattered, akin to how the beaker would have been if the doctor hadn’t caught it. He barely manages to, the wet condensation hugging the bottom of the beaker causing the beaker to jaggedly slither down his fingers.
But it wouldn't have mattered if it had dropped. It’s all futile now. The potion won’t work anymore. The perfect blue has wilted into a bitter mocha.
He slams the beaker down onto the ebony table in front of him, but of course not hard enough to break the beaker. More cautiously, he sets the dropper down beside it. That liquid is explosive, after all.
He looses enough beakers on a daily basis as it is with, certain members of the house.
Speaking of those members.
Sharply inhaling, he turns to a widely grinning Demencia, glowering at her. He clenches his fists, shoulders cowering into his back. “Demencia! For the last time I told you-“
She waves her right hand, knocking his stark consonants away, her unwavering simper proving she wasn’t listening nor caring. “I know I know, stay out of the lab. But I’m not here to cause trouble,” she pauses, smile dwindling tightly to the edge of her left lip, stretching the left half of her mouth upwards, “well, actually, I have a favor to ask you.”
Flug’s scalding tension ebbs to a crisp teeth-chattering one. The rougher tension that shoves against his temples, and uses its meaty hands to force his shoulder blades to squeeze together.
A sign he knows this is definitely going to end badly. Anything with Demencia in the mix is bound to.
His saliva sticks to his esophagus, making him almost choke as he struggles to shove it all down. “O-Okay, what is it?”
“I need your clothes.” Her eyes are unmoving, boring so intensely into Flug’s bag he feels like she can see his face.
Flug blinks, puzzlement burning his nerves. He knows Demencia is strange, she has definitely requested much weirder, but this is just a whole new level of bizarre.
He crosses his arms, shoulders and neck loosening. The feeling is always a bit foreign, the aches of the previous apprehensive tension is stained into the crevices of his skin. “And why would I do that?”
Her pupils sparkle, and instantaneously he can tell the answer had been dancing on her tongue long before he asked the question. “Because I knowww you’re sec-ret!” Her words carry an unheard tune; and are cut off by the harsh grin that flashes her chiffon glistening teeth. Between the fangs he knows there are still vowels shoving their way to jump right behind her teeth, early waiting his next sentence to be able to leap out.
“W-what? I don't have any s-secrets!” His arms automatically lock in front of his too still chest, oxygen thinning and struggling to course through his inflating lungs. He draws his slightly quivering arms to his sides, attempting to feign calmness.
He doesn't know why he bothers to when he knows it is insanely obvious.
“Besides what’s under my bag.” The afterthought slips out, gnawing at his fingers to pull the edges of his bag down more. Even though the bag resists, because it can’t go down anymore, he still tugs anyways to attempt and quail the fear.
Her lower lip hangs heavy, sinking down the past light in her eyes. She’s definitely loosing interest. “No no not that, you’re other secret.”
Slowly his finger inch off the bottom of his bag. “You’re bluffing.” He narrows his eyes at her, arms soaring back to cross in front of him. She grins once more, the light shinning blindingly bright and surging to the very brink of her irises.
“You,” She takes a step forwards.
“like,” Her pitch skips an octave higher and somehow her smile doubles in size. It’s comically large, and Flug is sure her face is going to rip in half.
“Black hat!”
All of Flug’s thoughts explode, leaving his brain to chunks. Everything is dull, but bright somehow, and ringing and hissing. His mouth hangs open, his lips met with the rough paper bag. Nothing tells him to breathe, or nags at him to work harder, or do something.
Everything is motionless, but not silent because everything is screaming and it’s literally deafening.
And in their house, silence is hardly ever a good thing.
Flug has killed for his own mind to be quiet for once. But he never wanted it like this.
Suddenly he’s gasping for air, the world snapping back around him. His chest heaves, lugs exploding as the burning air forces its way in. It leaves ashes on his tongue and in his throat; he’s breathing, yet at the same time he feels like that he can’t breathe.
His spine snaps upwards, and is so tight that it wedges uncomfortably between each individual rib.
The alabaster lights of the lab are too much. They pound into his sable pupils, demanding to be seen. They’re way too bright.
And then, he’s chocking up words. They stumble drunkly off his tongue, smashing together, “W-what? That’-s-s ridiculous! W-why would I-I like h-hi-im?” The last of the air that trails out shivers and curls into a unhumorous laugh. She shrugs, tongue popping out.
Her lack of reaction oddly calms him, grounding him.
“I don’t like him.” His arms defensively jump back to his front. He takes a step back towards the table, momentarily glancing down at his crimson shoes.
“The more you deny it, the worse you’re making it. Trust me it’s a lot easier to accept it and then obsess over him. Step one is letting them know you’re interested.” She waggles her thin onyx brows at him.
He shakes his head roughly, his goggles crinkling the sides of his bag. He plops down onto the stool behind him. “Well I don’t.”
“All right then I guessss you won’t care,” she pauses slightly, “if I go tell Black Hat!” Her mouth hangs open; she looks up as her lungs howl and drag in a long deep breath. Her legs turn to a blur of red and mahogany stripes as she takes off to a sprint. “BLACK HAT FLU-“
Flug jumps out of his chair, arms waving so violently he fears his gloves are going to soar off. “Okay! Okay!”
She spins back around by using the pads of her feet, head thrown back and eyes unblinking. All though upside-down her lips appear to be frowning, he knows she isn’t.
Gradually he lowers his throbbing arms back to his sides.
“Okay,” he exhales, shoulders sagging.
If Demencia did get to Black Hat, then he would definitely be able to see right through him. Then he would either get killed, or endlessly teased and manipulated about the situation. And both would be equally bad.
“I’d rather have you trash the lab, or ruin another invention of mine. Fine, you can borrow,” he stresses this, and Demencia bites her lip to cut off a squeal. He continues, “some of my clothes. Who knows what you want with them.” He shrugs, learning it was best just not to ask with her. With her, explanations never come short and simple. They are winding, confusing, and just leave to headaches.
She grins for the umpteenth time, but then again, when was she ever not smiling? She clutches her hands in front of her, rocking on the heels of her toes. “I knew you’d come through. Tonight I’ll leave my clothes on your bed.”
She turns, a bounce in her step and her chartreuse fluffy hair swinging behind her as she headed towards the pearl doors. Flug blanches, her last words rolling through his brain. “Whoa, wait, what?” She turns her head, legs halting. “Yeah, you wouldn't want to walk around without clothes, would you?” She arches her brow at him.
He laughs lightly. “I have more in my closet than just this outfit Demencia.”
“Well yeah, but if you wore that there’d be two Flug’s running around; so no one would be me.” She giggles.
Flug can already feel the pounding of his head. The fast moving thoughts he can’t place along with pure heaviness ram against the sides of his heads, making him groan.
He plops down, almost regretting what he is about to say, but knowing that it is necessary. “Okay what? You’re expecting me to wear your clothes? What exactly is your plan?” His hands run along with his words, emphasizing them.
His pupils trace down her outfit. The further he goes down the more sweat that gathers at his temples and bleeds through his hat. How does one have so many accessories?
The skirt is going to be extremely short on him…
No, no way! He wouldn't even be able to look like her anyways; it is impossible.
“Well, Black Hat is always around you.” She takes a step closer to him, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He blinks. Then blinks again. He’s expecting more, and watches her lips. For them to part, for her to breathe, anything. When nothing happens and she stares, unblinking, his thoughts are confirmed that this is going to be a long conversation.
He slouches forwards, resting his head in his hands. The crinkling of his bag tears through the silence. “Well, yes, I do make the inventions for him” She shakes her head, nose scrunching. She exhales sharply, opening her mouth to make a retort and then stopping herself. She inhales before going onto continue her previous train of thought.
Huh, this really must be important for her since she actually sopped a potential argument. Flug perks up a tad, removing his head from his hands.
“And Valentines day is in two days and I need a date with him. So since he's always around YOU and never wants to be around ME, I’m going to pretend to be you to get the chance to talk to him.” She grins at the end, chin tilting upwards.
He snickers, shaking his head. “That’s crazy! One, we never talk,” she opens her mouth and he holds his hands out, “okay okay, we never carry a positive conversation; and two, you don't sound anything like me.” He nods to himself, leaning back on the stool. His back digs into the edge of the obsidian table, and he removes the pressure off his back slightly by putting his elbows behind him on the counter of the table.
Demencia rolls her lips, “Psh, ha that’s easy!”
Her spine drops, and she holds her arms out in front of her. She makes them tremble; she crouches into herself, peering up through the lashes of her overly widened eyes.“U-um Black Hat s-ir um the invention is not done yet. I’m s-so so-or-rry! I swear it will b-be done by the end of the day! P-pl-ease don’t h-hurt me! I’m so sorry!” Rose erupts horizontally across Flug’s face, wedging itself between his skin cells and scorching his pale skin. It leaks through his bag, staining it. “I-I don't sound like that!” His voice cracks at the end, and he hisses as his shoulders shoot upwards.
She cackles, leaning all her weight into her palms that now rest on her knees. “It was spot on!” She breaks off into more barking; Flug groans as she takes her leisurely time with composing herself. Once she finally does she straightens, smirk somehow on her redend face as she wipes the tears from the corners of her eyes. “And I know I could get a couple more words in with Black Hat than you could.” She ends, smirk more in-depth now because with how deep it seemed to be cutting into her cheek.
“But that means, I’d have to take off my bag.” He fiddles with the bottom of his bag, wearily glancing up at her.
She smirks, peering at the wrinkles in his marigold gloves from how tightly he is clutching this hat. His safety net, hiding his true identity. Her smirk grows, veins bubbling and skipping because she is finally going to be able to see what the doctor has been hiding! “Yep. An added bonus.”
He throws his hands down and away from him, frowning. “Why does this require ME to trade clothes with you? Is he really going to wonder where you are?”
She takes the last final steps, and since he is looking down again he watches her determined expression through the marble floor. Even in the sea of the shades of black on the floor he can see her iris glowing and sharpening. Her hands thud down on each side of him, and she leans in close. From her force the stool swivels, but because her feet are firmly planted and arms stiff, the still rocks back into place. “Yes! It won’t work unless you trade because, come on, if you didn't see me for a day it would be super suspicious. I’m always around.” At the last thought she smirks once more, her determination dulling as she thinks back to all the times she had watched the doctor through the lab’s vents. He had looked around, clearly feeling eyes on him, but not knowing where to look to find them.
More sweat trickles down his forehead, and he attempts to lean back, but all it serves to do is strain the backs of his arms and dig his spine more into the table’s edge. “Erm, yeah. Well why can’t I just clone yo-“
She removes her hands to slam them down once more. “Because that’s going to take too long! Valentines day is in two days! So tomorrow I have to make my move!”
Flug straightens as much as he can until his head comes dangerously close to colliding with her chin. “So you're going to pretend to be me to get a date Black Hat? That’s never going to work, and besides even if by some miraculous chance it did, he would think I'm you.”
He nods to himself. He got her now.
“Well duh yeah,” she shrugs, taking a step back. Her palms remain on each side of his thighs. “But then once we have a great time I rip off the bag and he would learn that he had been having an amazing time with me all along, and fall in love with me!”Flug glances down at her mismatched shoes, mumbling, “Or be livid that you lied to him…”
“It won’t matter, love will blind him.” She sighs, looking off in the distance as wax pools over her pupils. “Heh, yeah right. Black Hat and love do not mix, evil and love don’-” Demencia leaps back, thrusting her hand out. “So we have a deal?”
“It isn't going to-“ He cuts himself off, groaning. There’s no use in fighting Demencia. She's far too stubborn, and always gets what she wants. Besides, she wouldn't stop pestering until he said yes; and she has blackmail material.
That doesn't mean he still isn't going to try and bring some logic to light, though.
“okay even then I look nothing like you. What about your ear? Mine doesn't have a chunk missing.” He would remove his bag to prove this to her, but that would mean revealing his cheek and… he can’t do that. Not until he has to.
Her fangs pop out, glistening. “Well that can be arranged, I can just bite one of yours of-”
He throws himself backwards, one hand clutching his bag while the other holds onto the table. His side now digs into the table, chest heaving a bit. “No way!”
She giggles, “Well most the time my hood covers them, so that will be fine. Black Hat won’t even be paying attention to you!”
Flug glances down at his lap, resting his hangs onto his jeans. His left hand inches to his lab coat, threading through the lapels of it. “My face, erm, I have burn scars on it. All on my left cheek, it’s all red and bumpy. Down the side of my neck as well.” He quickly changes the subject, “And besides my eyes are both gre-”
She's back, invading his personal space once more. “Whoa! So that’s why you wear the bag? I thought you were just really ugly, or secretly a monster.” He deadpans, but regardless she continues, “ And I have makeup, and colored contacts.”
Flug desperately searches for something, anything, to point out anymore of the many gaping holes in her weak plan. Something to talk her out of it.
Sadly, he comes up with nothing.
He narrows his eyes at her dancing pupils. “Really?”
She nods so violently it hurts the doctor’s head. “See? It’s the perfect plan!”
He can’t believe he is about to actually agree with this.
He whimpers, throwing his hand out. “Fine. But just tomorrow, that’s it.” She squeals, gripping his hand to pull him into a hug. Then she rests one hand on his shoulder, shoving him backwards. Flug’s vision sways from all the rough movements.
“And on Valentines day, when I get my date, if it’s needed.” Flug sighs, staring straight across to her navy blue tank top. The tank top he’s going to have to wear… oh great. “All right, d-deal.” Demencia grabs his left glove, wrapping her digits around his wrist as she stares straight into his googles as she turns his arm to a limp noodle.
Doctor Flug swears he can feel pure evil seeping into his blood and poisoning the rich cherry with oily charcoal.
Why do bad things always happen to him?