Chapter Text
The breaking point was the bacon soup he was holding. Another can. Why was there so much bacon soup? Why not anything else? Something like...toast, maybe?
It didn’t help that Henry had been having a bad week. Currently, Henry was stuck in an ink hell, with Boris as his only clear friend, and only bacon soup to eat. His joints ached more than usual, and his back was killing him. So far, it was more successful in its attempts to do him in than the Ink Demon.
Henry had been tolerating all that and the constant violence, fear, and bullshit, for the entire week, but staring down at yet another can of bacon soup, he cracked. What tolerance he had disappeared in an instant.
“Motherfucker! ” Henry let loose all his frustration in that one word, harshly tossing the can of bacon soup despite the pain it brought him, where it hit the wall, bounced with a sad cling, and landed in a large ink puddle. It rolled, dejectedly, for a moment, before coming to a stop.
To Henry’s dismay, a Searcher dragged himself out of the puddle. He grabbed the can of bacon soup, studied it, had a deep moment with it, and then dropped it, sliding towards Henry. The Searchers' inhuman growling used to scare Henry shitless, and make him grab for an axe, but not anymore. Not this time.
Henry was far too done to give a shit at this point. Henry pointed at the Searcher.
“You can go fuck yourself.”
The Searcher stopped, and his animalistic stance dropped. Would words alone have stopped these creatures all this time?
“What do you even get out of this?” Henry asked, now that he had the Searcher’s attention. “What is Joey paying you to be a jerk?”
Looking around to make sure there weren’t any hidden cameras, as if that was the only explanation for Henry’s behavior, the Searcher held a hand up, making a ‘0’ shape.
“Exactly. Even if you are getting paid to ruin my life further, just stop.”
The Searcher bowed his head in defeat.
“If you could pass that along to your buddies, that would be great.”
Instead of retreating into the ink puddle once more, the Searcher made an odd sound, and sort of shuffled forward, somehow tripped, and landed face first on the floor. The point of all this, Henry couldn’t say, but it was at least better then having to axe the Searcher.
If the Searcher tried anything, Henry could just crush him with the heel of his boot.
The Searcher lifted his head off the floor, and looked up at Henry, and Henry could only wonder what look he might be trying to give him. A glare? Puppy dog eyes? If only the Searcher had eyes to begin with.
“If I’m being honest, it’s not you or any of the others I’m mad at, it’s Joey. Joey can go fuck himself.” Henry sighed, pleasantly, “And then he can go back to where he belongs. If only he’d never crawled out of whatever hole in hell somebody didn’t think to permanently close. Then I wouldn’t have ink in places I’d rather not mention.”
The Searcher snickered. This Searcher was already proving to be a more agreeable rantboard than Boris. Henry cared deeply for Boris, but Boris tended to focus more on food than Henry’s mad rants. The Searcher was at least trying to pretend to be interested.
“I deserve someone better than Joey. I deserve someone who actually thinks things through. Maybe Henry doesn’t want to spend a week in a damp studio being chased by a literal demon. Maybe Henry would have gone out with you if you hadn’t presented him a human heart. Maybe Henry thinks he made a huge mistake even meeting you. Did Joey ever think of that? Of course not! All he thought about is himself. What about my needs? What about my aching joints?” Henry stuck his tongue out, at nothing in particular. “I’m not even that old, but everything still hurts .”
And then the epiphany.
“Fuck this all! I’m not putting up with this. If Joey could make cartoons out of ink and tortured souls, I can get something out of ink that will make my life easier.” Stepping around the Searcher, Henry walked to the ink puddle. He put his hands on his hips, and gave the ink an annoyed glare. “Well?”
The ink puddle rippled for a second, and then offered up a scooter.
“No.”
The scooter shifted into a bike.
“Sorry. Still no.”
The bike became a motorcycle.
“Tempting, but I was thinking of something larger.”
That was when the ink, finally taking the hint, offered up the most practical and horrific car Henry had ever seen.
“Would you look at that! The ink is actually useful for something.”
He started to inspect his new vehicle. It was very beautiful, and everything he could have wanted in life. It even had that new ink car smell, and the trunk was large enough that he could stuff the Ink Demon into it, if opportunity presented itself.
Henry was in love.
“This is going to change everything! So,” Henry turned back to the Searcher. “Are you coming along for the ride, whatever you name is? I’m just going to assume Timmy for convenience.”
When the newly dubbed Timmy shook his head, Henry gave the ink creature a short wave of goodbye, and then he entered his new vehicle. It was just as beautiful inside. Henry didn’t have to do fancy things to be comfortable driving. The ink had given him a vehicle perfect for Henry’s needs.
“In honor of spite and sticking it to Joey, I dub thee The Fuck You Mobile. Now, I should go pick up Boris and get this show on the road.” Henry turned the key, and the engine started, purring like a kitten.
Whatever this adventure brought him, the endgame plan was to smack a bitch, and get the hell out of ink hell.