Work Text:
“I heard you just recently sold your emotions.” The woman says, not a smile on her face. “I’d like to be of assistance to you with your work. Two pairs of hands work faster than one after all.”
I sip my coffee. It seems that not even I am immune to the so-called support slickers. Ever since emotion bottling has been a thing, these people pop up every now and then to help out emotional shells. It’s not like emotional shells require that much assistance in the first place, but there have been some events of slickers looking out for shells, keeping an eye out for their body condition in case they accidentally overwork themselves in their tireless state.
Of course, those were the success stories. The fact of the matter is, some slickers attach themselves to shells parasitically. (That was a metaphor by the way.)
As the months pass by, the Shell begins to regain their emotions, and will likely bond with their support slicker. And some slickers take advantage of this.
I observe the woman. Her attire seemed to be carefully selected to give off the business look. Her face was stern, guarded. Her lipstick, a modest yet stylish shade. Her makeup, pristine. She was what I would once call “pretty”.
I take another sip. “That won’t be possible, because I’m unemployed.”
A fleeting instance of surprise flashes on her face before she recomposes herself. “Then, I’ll help you find a job.”
“Why?”
“Well, with your new Shell Status, you’ll be obviously looking for one, right?”
“No, I mean, why would you do that? There’s no benefit for you.”
She frowns. “Haven’t you heard of Shells overworking and—“
“It’s not a concern of mine.” I say, taking a long chug of my coffee.
“Oh, but its terrible!” she insists. Her eyes narrow with fervor, her acting performance breaking that stern-faced charade she was holding onto mere seconds ago. “It’s not uncommon for Shells to stay up until the morning hours of the next day, to skip out meals, or dismiss even basic hygiene sometimes—“
“I’ve been doing that even before I was a Shell and I haven’t died yet.” I say. If I still had my emotions, I would have probably said those words flippantly and without care. But because of my Shell status, these words were just simple facts.
“I’ve been empty for a long time,” I say. “And being a Shell doesn’t make much of a difference.” I lower my coffee to look at the woman in the eye. “Even if you did help me out in the meantime, you won’t be there once I Turn Back.”
She falters. “Th-that’s… um…”
“And besides,” I say, before attempting to replicate a smile. “It’d mean a lot to my future Self if I accomplished something with my own two hands.
So please don’t get in my way.”