Work Text:
I.
This... was silly. He knew that. He knew that it was all one big lark at his expense, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that someone was paying attention to him-- willingly, for once, and not just because they thought he would swipe something from them or attempt suicide in order to escape their wrath. He didn't even have to endure any stranglings or dismemberments! It was all he could ever--
“You scrapple-eating, pustulous, whore-frog.”
Oh. His hatefully triumphant smirk was magnificent.
Now came his part; he bit his lip and sniffed loudly: “Oh! How can you be so cruel? What have I ever done to you?”
By this point, it had almost become ritual-- instinctive. He would respond with some remark about how selfish, pathetic, cowardly, etc, he was and the cycle would begin again. Now he summoned up the tears in preparation-- he could tell that this one was going to be good. Maybe he would even get a guilt-hug out of it.
He had to suppress a gleefully expectant grin at the thought.
----
II.
He didn't know if he knew about this secret ritual that he had secretly goaded him into. And if he did know, did he know that he knew that he knew?
Magwich couldn't remember the last time he had been this confused. He had spent his entire life walking on thin ice, but this business seemed especially foul. If Charles found out... if he already knew... oh, God. Surely he was just playing along with his game while he plotted some terrible justice. Or maybe-- maybe he new and he... was also enjoying it. Magwich's circulatory system just about shut down at that thought, and he knew he shouldn't even begin to entertain it.
Except perhaps at night, when he knew no one else would be looking...
----
III.
“Okay, that’s enough of this.” Aven stood up and marched over to where Magwich and Charles were sitting. She towered over them, hands on hips, and gave the two an eyeballing that was without description.
“Look,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don't know if you know what you're doing. If you do, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish here, what sort of grotesque mating dance the two of you are performing, but you are grown-ass men and I think I can speak for everyone present when I say cut it out."
Charles stood up in an editorial huff and attempted to diffuse the situation. "Now, just a minute," he said, "I don't know what you're trying to suggest, but--" nothing doing.
"Oh dear god, I don't want to hear it! Do whatever it is you want to do-- kill each other, fuck each other, enter into a murder-suicide pact and then fuck each other-- fine. I don't care. But for the love of all the gods living and dead, do not force us to endure this delusional faggotry a minute longer because it is terrifying to everyone!"
Charles gapped at her for a moment or a day or a century, unsure of how to respond to such a tirade, for indeed it was one for the books. For his part, Magwich simply doubled over in shock, or perhaps death, the capillaries in his eyes having burst from fear or joy or maybe a new sort of fearjoy at this revelation that someone else can see it. The silence was foul and clammy, but for the ragged attempts on Aven's part to catch her breath, the glaping fish noises from Charles, and the sound of nails breaking off into palms.
And no one was willing to enter into this new nightmare world that her words had created.