Chapter Text
Tommy's eyes snapped awake as he heard a loud thump meet the wall next to him. He stares at his moldy popcorn ceiling for a moment, heart fluttering in his chest fearfully, before he hears a fit of muffled giggles. His face scrunches in disgust, and he sits up, knocking the side of his fist against the dim wall of his bedroom. "Hey! Go fondle each other somewhere else, please!" He barks, huffing when he hears the people scrambling away from his wall. Yeah, his wall. No one has the s to the e to the x on HIS wall.
Blue eyes flicker to the neon red numbers of his alarm clock, and he groans. Who gets hot and bothered with each other at five in the morning?? He drags a hand down his face, tiredly. "Me and your mom.." He whispers to himself, snorting.
I so badly want to make Techno just appear and correct Tommy's grammer.
well techno hasnt shown up yet so we shouldnt be here yet either, shut up.
Hey. I make the rules here.
WRRE HERE FOR TOMMY CONTENT NOT YOU CONTENT GGRGRAJH RRAAHH RAAHHHH!@!!!!!
God dman.....
Oh, sorry. Tommy zoned out.
He sighs, swinging his legs over his bed and painstakingly standing up. Mornings, he muses. And then he pauses, another face of disgust blooming. Monday mornings. He almost shivers at the thought. Surely, today will bring him nothing good. And, as he walks into the small room he claims is a kitchen, he knows today will bring him no food either. If he worded that differently, he thinks, that'd make a hard bar. Good and food don't really rhyme, but they're spelt similar. Spelt? Spelled? What's the difference?
Unpeeling the near black with bruises banana, he ponders to himself. Should he go and waste precious money buying food when he still has snacks to his disposal, or should he go do laundry even though literally no one is here to judge him for the stains on his clothes? Obviously, he goes with the laundry. An added pro to this decision is that he gets to see Bad. Nothing can ever go wrong when Bad's around. Hashtag foreshadowing.
All of that in mind, he lazily throws every article of fabric he can see into a laundry basket, hoists it up into his arms, and makes the terrifying trip down the stairs of his apartment building. Honestly, he's surprised none of the prissy elderly people or forty year old mothers have sued the place yet with all of it's health risks. Eighty percent of these steps are mushy when you step on them. Like, literally, foot sinking through the wood mushy. That just isn't natural and he suspects some sort of evil motive at play here.
Hesitantly, carefully, and other synonyms of the like, he traverses down the apartment building until he exits the lobby doors. It's an even scarier adventure with the mound of sweaty clothes in his face, but he braves it like a big boy. Now though, he easily wanders down the empty morning streets, ignoring the biting cold filtering through his shittily made cardigan. Shittily is a word now, by the way. Tommy wrote it in a dictionary himself.
He huffs in relief as he sees Bad's laundromat, lights already on and a singular old couple walking out of it, the man carrying a laundry bag. Bad is a hardworking saint, with his 24 hour service and self owned/constructed business. Tommy sighs happily at the warm air the building hits him with when he enters. "Oh, Tommy! You're here early!" A cheery voice calls, before the basket is taken from his tired arms. He smiles up at the tall- too tall, if you ask him- man.
"Hi Bad. Yeah, my neighbors woke me up by getting it on on my wall." He groans, snickering to himself at the face the other pulls at that. The man had always had a strong hatred for anything past PG. Tommy could just barely say 'frick' without getting a lighthearted scold for his bad language. He's seen a four year old call a hooker on the side of the road a cum dump, and he, a 17 year old, can't say frick. Liberals these days.
The man sighs, hoisting the younger's basket on top of a dryer. "That's another reason I don't like your building. Such rude neighbors..." Bad mumbled, before shaking his head. "Anyways, I'm glad you came today! I brought an extra croissant for Quackity, but he called in last minute." He hands Tommy what seems to be a cream filled croissant. With how warm it is, Tommy doubts the man just brought an extra; he definitely bought this not too long ago. Also, the man seems to have forgotten informing Tommy aof Quackity's quitting last week. He doesn't say anything though, gratefully biting into the flakey goodness.
People always write Tommy as a pity hating type of guy, but I personally thinks he actively tries to get pity for personal gain.
TECHNO ISNT HERE YET, STOP TALKING!!!
well wait isnt this the part where
A bang is heard at the entrance, and Tommy feels the back of his cardigan get pulled into someone's chest. "Everyone down on their knees, and the boy doesn't get hurt." A charming voice rings through the room. Charming in a literal sense, that is. Tommy personally finds it to be too... over the top, he guesses. Like the person thinks their life is one big musical, and they're the star of the show. Well guess what, asshole, it says.... taptaptap, it says "TommyInnit-centric" right there in the tags! This is HIS show. Story. Life. You get the gist.
Quickly, the few customers and workers, including Bad, drop to their knees onto the floor. Tommy feels something sharp press against his throat, and he looks over to see Blood God holding a knife to him, having Tommy tucked closely to his chest. Now, this is the most platonic remark he has ever made, looking at some of you freaks, but the Blood God is undoubtedly one of the prettiest men alive. It's been a trend on the internet for ages now, talking about the man's looks. He can not tell you the number of Tweets he'd seen of the man with people using the word slay to describe him. And also Tweets talking about his boobs. Those are the weirder ones.
At least Tommy has bragging rights for touching them now though! As weird! As that is!
The other villain, Charmspeak, he recognizes, is barking out questions and demands about Quackity. Tommy knew the guy was suspicious, quitting a job when his boss was Bad of all people. Tommy isn't really paying all too much attention though. Instead, he carefully looks up at the villain holding him. "Can I get a picture?" He whispers, and the man gives him a blank stare for a moment before shrugging, leaning in closer as he lets Tommy pull out his phone. He snaps a quick picture, checking to make sure it was good before nodding, pocketing his phone again before the two go back to actually looking like a villain and hostage. He sees Charmspeak shoot him an amused look, and he knows that, on the inside, he's won.
"No one wants to talk?" The brunette villain hums. The rooms stay silent, aside from a little boy's whimpering further back in the store. He sighs, nodding to the Blood God. Tommy tenses when the pinkette behind him shifts, mumbling a quiet apology into his ear before slamming his heel onto Tommy's foot. A few shocked voices cry out, Bad struggling to stand up against Charmspeak's... charm speak. The Blood God pauses though, raising his heel and staring down at the foot he'd just stomped on.
"...Lift your leg, please." The brute orders, to which Tommy complies. his shoe is nudged off by the other's foot, and Tommy groans, quite loudly, when he sees the dented metal of his prosthetic. "Ah..." TBG- we're calling him TBG now- mumbles, dropping the hand with a knife to stare down at the mess he'd made of the blonde's foot
Charmspeak begins to cackle, staring wide-eyed as well. "Oh my- dude! You just destroyed that kid's foot!" The man says, bafflement flavoring his voice clearly. TBG groans into a hand, gently walking Tommy over to one of the benches pressed against the wall of the building, usually for people waiting for their clothes to be done. "I am... so sorry. Uhh.. fuck- the one time I need pocket money-" The older mutters to himself, before pulling a few crumpled twenties from his pocket. "I uh... this definitely isn't enough to pay for your leg but... yeah. Sorry again." The man stutters, shoving the money into the boy's hands and dashing out of the building, his partner in tow. He sees police cars zoom by in the streets, most likely pursuing the villains.
The building is silent, for a moment, before Tommy buries his face into his hands, and groans as loud as possible.
Fuck he hates mondays.
-
Tommy sits, staring down at the metal leg sprawled across his dingy coffee table with squinted eyes. The journey back home was arduous, with one of his legs not working, the crowded streets, a basket of clothes in hand and those God forsaken stares. Honestly, Tommy may just owe his life to Bad at this point, for helping him the whole way. As great of help as Bad was though, the journey back still took about two hours, not counting the hour and a half it took him to traverse The Stairs. Add those together and that's three and a half. Math.
He sighs as his shitty phone pings with another Twitter notification. He'd posted the picture he got with TBG, bragging about being able to touch the man's boob before anyone else, but someone twisted his words and made him seem like a perv about it. They've been arguing for two hours now and Tommy has just stopped responding at this point. He'd rather not get canceled on Twitter for a joke about boobs, thank you. He sighs, leaning back on his musty green couch. Musty or not though, it's a good couch. One of those couches that are so well loved you literally sink into it when you sit down.
Ignoring the slightest pangs of hunger in his stomach, he shifts to lay down, pulling the blanket he'd crocheted himself from the arm of the couch and sloppily spreading it over him. The blanket is a bit too small, seeing as Tommy had gotten impatient and decided to finish it off early, but with the lack of one of his legs from the knee down, he doesn't have to worry too much about covering his feet. Blearily, he closes his eyes, and lets sleep take him.
...Only to hear a tap on his window.
Groaning, loud enough that his widow-goer can most definitely hear it, he sits up, grabbing his crutches from the side of the couch. He hops over to the window, resting one of the crutches against the wall so he can push the ratty blankets he likes to call curtains aside. He's met face-to-glass-to-face with none other than Charmspeak. How thrilling. Slash sar.
He frowns, sliding open the window and glaring up at the villain. "If this is about the boob post then yes I'll take it down; it's caused me more harm than good." He deadpans, though the man just snorts, a mildly confused look on his face.
"Boob post? No, no I know nothing about that." The man chuckles, rudely pushing back the- AMPUTEE!! Amputee, that's the word!- rudely pushing back the amputee to climb through the window, waltzing in like he owns the place. "I, actually, come here baring both an apology and a proposition!" Charmspeak says cheerily, turning back to face Tommy with his arms open wide in a dramatic display.
Tommy stares for a moment, before shaking his head with a sigh, smh fr, limping back to the couch and plopping down on it. Crossing his arms, he glare sup at the older expectantly, to which he grins. "Well Tommy,-" "I didn't tell you my name." "I'm a villain, dear, you should've expected that. But! As an apology for breaking your leg, we have a new on in the works for you. This one far better than that hunk of steel." The brunette gestures to the broken prosthetic on the table. Tommy scowls. It may be a hunk of steel, but it's his hunk of steal, dammit.
"Doesn't that sound a little one-" "Now that may sound a little one sided," The man interrupts, beginning to pace. Realistically, who paces anymore? Like, genuine question, who does that? "But! I do have something in mind for you to do, should you agree to the deal." He continues, spinning around to face Tommy once more. Theater kid.
"You help us make bank, and we'll both split it with you, and get you that leg." Charmspeak mumbles, leaning closer with a near feral grin.
Bank. Bank means money. Tommy loves money.
He leans closer as well, his own grin playing at his lips.
"I'm listening."