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The dripping was constant.
It hurt its ears a lot, at first. The noise was jarring and inconsistent, and the ears were relatively new and sensitive. It only took a few days to get used to it, though, and that was nothing compared to the years it took to get here.
It had changed a lot in that time. It easily mimicked what it had seen. What it remembered. What it experienced and forgot.
Long, lanky limbs. More awkward than that of other animals. Hair, but only in certain spots. Less coarse than fur. A lack of proper hide, replaced with cotton and leather.
Slimes were good at these types of things. It came to him with ease, until he was nearly indistinguishable from the real thing. Nearly. It wasn’t perfect, that would take decades more. But it was close enough to fool those only taking a quick glance, and that’s all he needed at this point. He had no plans to interact with anyone.
Even though it took years of concentration to become something, turning back into his true form was much easier—relieving, even. His goop poured into the damp cracks of the hole he was in. He remembers hearing humans call it a sewer. He likes it. It’s large and wet, and other than when it was built, no humans go down here.
As he slowly drooled out of the other side of the crack, his eyeballs formed and he realized there was already someone in there. He rushed to take his human form before they noticed, but he must’ve done it too loudly because they turned around before he could finish.
Pale eyes and a translucent figure faces him, head cocked slightly. He realizes that is how wolves look at meat, but this is not a dog, so he stays. There’s blue liquid seeping from their chest. His previous plans to not interact with anyone until he was done forming are quickly thrown out the window.
“Oh, hello!” The other says. “My name is Ghostbur, who are you?”
He remembers names. He knows the concept, he knows humans are fond of them. He does not have one. Maybe he did, long ago, but that isn’t important.
So he says the truth, because it is easy—
“I don’t know!”
—And then he lies, because it is safe.
“I’m just a fleshy guy!”
Ghostbur nods, acting as if this is a normal occurrence, to not know one’s name. “I’m sorry,” he says. He isn’t sure what Ghostbur is apologizing for. The fact that he doesn’t have a name?
He doesn’t think that’s something to be sorry for. It’s just a fact.
Facts can be sad, too, though.
“It’s okay!” He says anyways, for lack of anything else. Ghostbur hums. “Well, nobody should go without a name. Everything needs a name. They’re important!” He did not know this, which is okay; he likes learning. “Do you mind if I give you one?” Ghostbur asked.
“No, I’m okay with it!”
Ghostbur stared at him for a long while, thinking, until he straightened back again. “Ah! Charlie!”
Charlie.
He— Charlie— nods. Yes. It feels right. He has a name, and his name is Charlie. It’s not perfect, he feels like there was— should be something else, but it's close enough.
Ghostbur smiles, before perking up and looking behind him. He seems to have forgotten something coming in. “Hold on, Charlie! I have something to show you.”
Charlie grins, “Okay,” and watches as Ghostbur leaves the room. He takes this opportunity to fully crawl out of the crack, sitting on the floor, his back leaning against the wall. It isn’t too long before Ghostbur enters again, leading something behind him. “Look!” Ghostbur says, a grin in his voice. His gray hands motion towards the thing behind him, leading it towards Charlie.
It is then he realizes that his vision is blurry.
He must have messed something up when he formed his eyeballs. He got the color cones perfect, and the first part of his sight as well, but then he rushed as his vision cleared and didn’t give himself enough time to finish. He can’t tell what he did wrong, but he can tell something is damaged. Eyeballs are complicated, and he’s already too used to this and can’t remember how it was before.
Ghostbur is looking at him again, the same way as before, his head cocked and hair flopping slightly over his eyes. Charlie quickly realizes this is curiosity.
Charlie pretends not to notice, instead leaning forwards and inspecting the sheep. He knows it’s a sheep because only sheep have that puffy coat, and it’s easy to recognize, even when it’s bright blue. Ghostbur’s hand rests on it’s collar, and Charlie leans forward even further to stare at the label.
Charlie can’t read.
He hasn’t needed to in a long time, and it’s even harder when the words blur in front of him. Even when he squints and leans closer, it’s still completely out of focus. Ghostbur notices his struggles and reads it out.
“His name is Friend!”
Charlie nods. Friend is a good name, just like Charlie and Ghostbur. The latter turns around and grabs something off of a nearby table, handing it to Charlie. Thin metal curls around glass.
“Put those on!” Ghostbur encourages. Charlie does. The metal unfolds and rests on his ears, the front resting on the bridge of his nose. His surroundings are noticeably clearer.
“Oh!” Charlie exclaims. “Wow, I didn’t realize my eyes were messed up like that.” Ghostbur nods.
“I noticed you squinting like that, and it reminded me of what I’d do before I was…” He trailed off. Charlie doesn’t ask what was before. “I remember that glasses helped me see better, and I found these earlier!”
“Thank you, Ghostbur!”
“You’re welcome, Charlie! Have some blue.”
The dye stains his fingers, and Charlie smiles.
Charlie slimes his way through the crack in the wall. He knows there is a door, but Ghostbur never asks him to go through there and so he doesn’t. It’s regular to go see Ghostbur now. Neither of them know much, but they help each other with what they can.
But he’s been waiting here for a long time, and Ghostbur isn’t home. Friend isn’t either. The last he heard, Ghostbur was out with the boy with a red shirt, but the clock on the wall was pitch black, a white moon in the center. Night. Ghostbur wasn’t out past daytime a lot.
Just as Charlie thinks this, the door creaks open and Charlie jumps up. “Ghostbur!” He calls.
It isn’t Ghostbur.
The man who turns and looks at him stares with contempt, or maybe something else. It unnerves Charlie. Ghostbur is… solid. And wrong.
He remembers Ghostbur telling Charlie that he is ‘dead,’ though he never truly elaborated on what that meant.
He learns later, that it's the end of a life cycle. It seemed incorrect though, because Ghostbur was still there, right?
Charlie knew that he was something else before Ghostbur, though. There is heat radiating from the man, and it isn’t too long before Charlie realizes this is the before . Ghostbur didn’t like it, he recalls. He never spoke about it.
Charlie doesn’t like it either.
He keeps a tight hold on his glasses and slips through the cracks once more. He doesn’t see how Not-Ghostbur stares at the frames with a hint of recognition.
He doesn’t come back.
He doesn't see Ghostbur again-or Friend, for that matter.
Charlie thinks that this fits more within the definition of death.
Charlie slowly crawls out of the hole, struggling to pull his body weight up. Quackity from Las Nevadas pulls him out the rest of the way. “Thank you!” He says, but stops listening soon after. The coke is thick under his feet, pure goop and slime hidden underneath red sneakers. As he reaches down to touch it again, the crystals stick to his fingers and stay there, even though he knows his fingertips aren’t slimy.
Quackity from Las Nevadas looks at him expectantly, and he realizes he has asked Charlie a question.
“What?”
“I said, do you know what a spy is?” Quackity from Las Nevadas asks. His tone is reminiscent of how he heard humans speaking to their young.
“No!” Charlie answers anyway, truthful. He likes learning. Just like how he was told the name of coke.
“It’s a friend. Do you know what a friend is?”
This makes Charlie pause. He knows who Friend is, yes, but it isn’t the same as how Quackity from Las Nevadas said it. Friend was an animal. There was only one. The way he said it, ‘ a friend,’ would mean that there would be more than one. He couldn’t be Friend, anyway. Friend is a name, and it’s already taken. His name was Charlie, just like how the human’s name was Quackity from Las Nevadas, and Ghostbur’s was ...
Quackity from Las Nevadas was wrong, but Charlie wanted to see what he would say.
He missed Friend.
Ghostbur is gone.
He realizes the pause has gone on for too long, and it was beginning to become awkward.
“...No!”