Work Text:
Snow.
The soft white specs of crystalized water slowly flutter down from the clouds above, turning everything into such a vibrant shade of whites and baby blues. Megapolis rarely ever receives an inch of snow, and yet for the first time this year, the citizens had woken up to frosted windows and slick, icy sidewalks.
All but a few residents were pleased with this sudden weather assault, and those select few thankfully reside in the dismal, quiet caves that fork and twist below ground.
The others were sleeping. Hibernating, if you will.
Wintertime does that to spider demons.
Yet a lone hunter remains alert and vigilant, two pairs of poison green eyes scan the surroundings just outside the cave entrance. One of many that lead into the Spider Lair.
Huntsman was tired of this. Tired of having to tucker down for the winter under cold rock slate and cobwebs. It was exhausting, as he’d always wake up with a ravenous, almost painful appetite, which tended to turn the hunter grumpy and cold. He did, however, enjoy curling up beside his clanmates, listening to their soft breaths and faint heartbeats until he, too, passes out for the long winter nights.
What’s wrong with me . . ? I should just go back to sleep. I don’t know why I keep watch, he thinks to himself, brow furrowing with irritation.
Yet the faint tug at his chest reminds him why he stays put.
It all started a few months ago, when the big blue giant worked his way into what little space is left inside Huntsman’s heart and began to spread his warmth. It started with tea. It started with a fight. And now it’s like Huntsman could drop by the harbor and be greeted like a friend.
He doesn’t realize he’s smiling faintly until it’s too late. “Gah! Damnit.”
The assassin runs a large, calloused hand down his face, picking at his exterior set of fangs in thought. What if he . . . no. Nah. Shit idea.
His eyes begin following the arbitrary patterns of snowflakes fluttering to the ground. Huntsman sighs dramatically, leaning against the cave wall, arms folded tightly over his broad chest. This exit in particular is the closest one to the harbor. Maybe . . .
A scoff builds in Huntsman’s throat, and he swiftly turns around and walks back down the tunnel, following his nose as he treads through the darkness. He raises a hand, letting the brush of his fingertips against the cold, slimy wall guide him throughout the tunnels. He looks . . . decidedly bored.
Yeah. Fuck it.
“Syntax!” He calls out the second he steps foot into the expansive caves lined with spiderwebs and electrical wires. The assassin follows that trail until he stumbles upon a laboratory door. The scientist had one installed for his so called ‘privacy’, and Huntsman has yet to respect such a request. Not to mention Syntax has yet to join the rest of his clan whenever they hibernate, which Huntsman took as a personal offence. With a smirk, he yanks the door open and waltzes inside like he owns the place.
Syntax is at the workbench, currently busy tinkering with an old spider bot. His ears twitch, and he glances over his shoulder with a scowl.
“Don’t you ever knock-”
“I need your help.”
A dumbfounded look crosses the scientist’s face. The assassin has never asked him for help, why now? “I’m busy. I- hey, don’t sit there-”
Too late. Huntsman pulls up Syntax’s padded chair and sits facing the back of it, crossing his arms over the headrest. With a lazy expression, he watches as Syntax pauses tinkering to face his clanmate with a look of utmost disapproval. His lip curls to reveal a set of fangs, and Huntsman chuckles. “Listen, I wouldn’t be in this metal waste basket under normal circumstances. But you were human once, so I’m gonna cut the crap and ask . . . for your advice.”
That last part escapes Huntsman in a low growl, and he must swallow a bit of his pride to utter them. It’s a stretch to even venture into Syntax’s laboratory in the first place, and each move Huntsman makes is rather jerky and stiff.
Syntax’s eyes flick wide as Huntsman spills his reason for invading their personal space. The scientist then frowns, brow furrowing in thought. “Hmm. I suppose your timing has improved from the last time you paraded in here to disrupt my work.” After another moment to think it over, Syntax sighs and leans against the desk, arms crossed. “Alright, let’s hear it. Make it quick. What do you need?”
Huntsman’s grin widens, his expression almost mean-looking. But a close friend would know he’s just incredibly smug to be getting his way.
“Yeah, I wanted to ask you.” Huntsman clears his throat, opening his mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Just a little squeaky noise and a puff of air.
The assassin grits his teeth, his brow knitting together. Once again, he opens his mouth to explain the cause of his visit – only to stumble on his words. His thoughts have stilled, his mind a mesh of fog and cobwebs.
How the fuck is he supposed to explain that he’s got it bad for one of MK’s crew? Syntax has yet to know of Huntsman and Sandy.
Speaking of Syntax, the scientist tilts his head, observing Huntsman’s lingual debacle.
“Well? Spit it out. Shouldn’t you be with the others?”
He’s asking questions of his own, now. Typical. Huntsman grunts, grinding his teeth and balling his hands into fists – almost tearing a hole into the cushion of the seat headrest. Perhaps he should be with Goliath and Queenie, not keeping watch on a pointless winter afternoon. There’s not a hint of danger afoot, and if Syntax is neglecting his sleep, he should be the one to keep watch. Not Huntsman.
But the assassin is awake for a different reason all together.
“Gah! Fine! I’ll tell you, but ya promise me there won’t be any shit-talking. If I so much as see a hint of a smile-”
Syntax’s eyebrows shoot up at the sudden aggression. However, he remains steadfast in his careless demeanor, arms crossed lazily over his chest. “I won’t laugh. What’s the matter?”
“I- . . .” Huntsman growls, rolling his eyes. No, this was stupid. He doesn’t need relationship advice from a scientist, especially not a lowly runt like Syntax. Who’s just a thorn in the assassin’s side. He stands up, his movements matching the roughness in his tone. “Actually, nevermind. Go take a nap for once in your life and don’t say a word about this. I’ll be going-”
Syntax frowns the second Huntsman stands up to leave. “Go where? Surely not to that blue behemoth who lives by the harbor . . .”
There’s something in the scientist’s tone that lets Huntsman know. He knows.
He’s probably known for a while.
The assassin spins around, getting a face-full of Syntax’s signature smug smirk, his eyes half-lidded. He raises a hand to brush those lime green bangs to the side, tucking them behind one ear. “It might be news to you, Hunts, but you’re awfully inadequate at hiding things. Especially from your clan.”
“How-“ Huntsman takes a step back, eyes widening. He can already feel heart blossoming in his cheeks. “Since when-”
“Ever since I saw you’ve been keeping teabags in your cave a few months ago.” Syntax’s voice is smooth and confident as he continues to lean up against the desk. He’s in no hurry. “You came here for advice. How to not be an absolute asshole and not abolish what little chemistry the two of you share, no?”
Huntsman lets out an irritated hiss. “Shut your trap! I- . . . he’s just a . . .”
Syntax smirks wider, and the assassin lets out a groan.
Fuck this. He shouldn’t have come down here, should’ve left the caves on his own and tried his own hand at socialization. However, now that he’s here, he might as well entertain the idea. Hell, maybe Syntax’s advice will blow up in Huntsman’s face, and the assassin can bug them about it for weeks. It’s a win win, if seen in that perspective.
“Fine. Whatever. Yeah, I’m- I wanted to ask you how . . . how, uh.” Huntsman sits back down in the chair, looking bored. “I mean, you were a human once. How does it work?”
Syntax cocks a brow, fingers drumming on his arm. “How does what work?”
“You know damn well what I mean, runt.” Huntsman grunts, ignoring the way Syntax winces at the mention of his human life. The scientist might still harbor some resentment regarding the transformation awhile back.
After a moment, they roll their eyes. “Fine, you illiterate imbecile. You want the blue brute to like you-“
“Sandy.”
“What?”
Huntsman meets Syntax’s glare with one of his own. “His name is Sandy.”
Syntax’s lips press together, clearly considering the safest route to a comfortable conversation. “I . . . I see. Well, if you want, er, Sandy to like you, you’ve got to change all of . . . this.” Syntax then gestures to Huntsman’s entire being, and the hunter scowls.
“Nah. Sandy seems to like all of this. Try somethin’ else; you’ve got a brain, haven’t you?”
He’s jeering, and it’s not really helping his cause – nor Syntax’s desire to aid him. But the scientist blows out a heavy sigh, deciding to have mercy on the troubled, irritable soul of his clanmate. “Alright. Well – Sandy is a gentle soul, he’ll naturally want to believe someone can do better no matter their backstory. Their sins.” A scornful look crosses Syntax’s lavender features, and his eyes lock on Huntsman. “Try something new. Don’t push him away. He’ll leave you alone if he truly believes you don’t desire his company, no matter how kind-hearted he may be.”
“I don’t do that,” Huntsman grunts, shaking his head. Denial. The hunter just finds it incredibly hard to socialize with someone so tender. “I’m nice to him.”
Syntax gives him a look. “You act like you’re just barely tolerating his presence.”
“Like you do any better. Why am I getting advice from you?”
The scientist is unbothered by Huntsman’s scathing remark. “You came to me. Remember that. Now – consider your relationship with Sandy thus far. How often do you visit?”
Huntsman bites his lip, scratches the back of his head. He’s taken to twisting tiny braids in his thick, gray hair to distract himself. They stick out at the base of his head angled towards his neck. “Uh. . . . Hmm. I dunno, good? I guess? I drop by sometimes - I mean, we talk, and he makes us tea.” A fond look crosses the hunter’s face despite himself, and Syntax cocks a brow as he observes Huntsman. “His stupid cat tries to claw at my calves, and Sandy would start ramblin’ about his therapist or his friends. He’s a good guy . . . uh . . .”
He notices Syntax’s smirk, ever present and ever amused. The hunter scowls once more. “Shut up. Just tell me if I’m doin’ shit right.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Syntax responds smoothly, nose upturned. “Honestly, I think you’re doing fine.”
Huntsman raises a brow, expecting the scientist to backtrack, to pull the rug out from underneath his feet and tell him how much he sucks at building relationships. But all Syntax does is shrug, tapping his chin with a thin finger. He looks exhausted, but perhaps this conversation is a good distraction for him, too.
“I know, it shocks me, too. How could you possibly manage to maintain a relationship with one of the kindest beings in Megapolis? You, of all people-“
“Okay, okay, I get it.” Huntsman huffs an irritated sigh. He’s tired of the mocking.
At that, Syntax’s smirk dims, replaced with something a bit more genuine. He understands where Huntsman is coming from – both spider demons find it hard to socialize with anyone outside of their kind, especially after the whole spider fiasco during New Years. Syntax runs a hand through his hair, the gears in that brilliant mind of his turning like always.
“Hm. Okay. If you really want my advice, then you must promise to consider what I have to say. I won’t have you putting my words to waste. Capishe?”
Huntsman’s face screws up, his scrutinizing gaze fixed on the poor, tired scientist. “ . . . fine. But only if you promise to go nap with the others. Don’t deny that you’re tired, I can see the damn bags under your eyes,” he snaps, pointing at Syntax with a glare. Yes, he’s deflecting, changing topics. But Syntax knows him well enough not to take offense.
The scientist smiles, nods, and pulls away from the desk. “Fair enough. Wait here; if I’m helping you, I might as well go all out.”
***
Shit. This was a bad idea.
Huntsman shuffles from foot to foot, not even twenty feet from the harbor where Sandy’s boat is tethered. At this hour, the blue behemoth should be home watching TV or taking care of his cats.
The assassin was never good at this, never good at socializing. But he and Syntax had spent a good fifteen minutes brainstorming the various ways at which to not fuck up. And Huntsman needed to get this right. Needed to do this perfectly.
Snow fluttered around his face, and the hunter shivered. He hated the cold. The layers of clothes underneath his dark coat doesn’t help much.
“Here goes . . . fuckin’ nothing, I guess,” he grumbles, adapting a careless demeanor as he strolled down to the water’s edge.
Sandy’s boat is expansive yet simple, the cargo ship looking a bit tattered and worn but she’s a keeper. Huntsman can understand sentimentality – he himself couldn’t bear to part with the first teabag Sandy had given him. He may be awkward and unkept, but Sandy hasn’t given up on him. That in itself is a major confidence boost. He can do this, right?
No.
The second he steps foot on the cargo ship, he trips on a splinter – it must’ve been a splinter because Huntsman saw nothing in his way and yet he still fell forward and landed flat on his face.
“Shit!”
The sound of his collision with the floor makes Huntsman’s heart stop.
He scrambles to his feet, brushing himself off, lips already parted to let out a stream of aggressive apologies (and a few chosen insults to that damn splinter) – when he straightens, and he’s met with a pair of slitted green eyes.
“Gh-“ Huntsman stiffens, his own four eyes going wide and the muscles in his body tensing up in preparation for a fight.
But it’s just a cat. One of Sandy’s-
Slowly, Huntsman’s gaze travels beyond the tabby cat, and he blows out a sigh of apprehension. Not just one cat – perhaps Sandy’s entire army of furry little guys, all lined up just staring at him from their posts. A chill runs down Huntsman’s spine, even as me smiles.
Ah. The cats have been alerted.
“So!” He grins wider, shrugging, eyes lidded. “You furry little freaks here for another round?”
He rolls his shoulders, fully prepared to fight the mass of cats to the death-
When a mirroring crash reaches his sharp ears. Huntsman cocks his head, his behavior not unlike the cats, who’s heads turn to the cabin door of the cargo ship. A few more crashes – maybe some pots and pans -, not to mention a loud feline yowl. Huntsman grimaces in response to each sound, wondering if now is a bad time. But he did dress up, and he did get Sandy something this time around . . . “Ehh . . . anybody home?”
He steps forward, approaching the door. Sweat rolls down the sides of his head. Shit, shit, shit-
“Huntsman?”
The loud, deep, yet muffled voice of the blue behemoth sounds from the other side of the door. If Huntsman’s memory serves him right, this is supposed to me the Monkie Kid’s headquarters. Shit doesn’t matter to the spider demon, though.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Yup.”
Another crash – sounds like a trashcan lid being toppled over, along with another faint mewl. “Uh- Hey! C-Come in, just- aw, hey, it’s okay bud . . .” Sandy’s tone dips into something softer, more soothing. Huntsman’s lip curls into an amused, curious little smile as he twists the doorknob and gently pushes the door open. “I won’t hurt ya, I promise!”
Who could he possibly be talking to?
Huntsman snorts, shaking his head in thought. “The hell are ya doin’ in there?” He grumbles softly, entering the room and looking around-
“Mmrrow!!”
The assassin rears back with a loud snarl as the tiny claws of a wild ball of jet-black fluff suddenly lunges right at his face. He stumbles, hands flying in an effort to scrape the furry menace off his face before it could cause any significant damage.
“H-Hey! Ghhk! Gerrof me you little shi- aaAAAAAAH-”
It’s a cat – of course it’s a cat! Huntsman squeezes all four eyes shut as he feels those tiny claws inflict what little damage they could do to his face. His yells are met with mewls and yowls as the two creatures fall backwards onto the cargo ship floor, tumbling on the wood and causing quite the scene. If Syntax were here, he’d burst into a fit of laughter (which is rare for the scientist, but the circumstances would be incredibly annoying). And the little thing is putting up such a fight, too; Huntsman can’t get a firm hold of the thing before it slips from his grasp and to another section of his face.
So tumble he does, rolling over on the ship deck wailing like a banshee – until a pair of large hands gently scoop the creature up and off the spider demon’s already scarred face.
“Hey, hey . . . it’s okay! You’re alright. You can stay on my shoulder, it’s uh- pretty comfy up there.”
A giant, looming blue behemoth of a man stands before Huntsman, talking to the fluffy black demon spawn in a soothing tone. The feline hisses, the hairs along it’s spine sticking up in offense as it broods and paces the length of Sandy’s broad shoulders.
Oh. Shit. Sandy.
Huntsman stiffens, halfway from picking himself up off the floor. There he is.
“Shit- I, uh . . .” The hunter clears his throat awkwardly, realizing that he might actually look incredibly unprofessional lying on the ground. Trying to ignore the phantom Syntax cackling in the back of his head, Huntsman springs to his feet, his posture a bit too stiff to be considered casual. Despite that, he leans against one of the cargo shipment containers, eyes wide as sweat builds on his forehead.
Sandy grins down at him, looking decidedly pleased at the spider demon’s visit. “Hiya, Hunts! Sorry about the little guy, he’s just shy. Aren’t you? Yes you are!” Sandy rumbles cheerfully, raising a finger to brush underneath the kitten’s chin.
Said furry demon calms down after that, fur lying flat on it’s shoulders as it sits on its haunches. Tilting it’s head, the cat hisses softly down at Huntsman.
The assassin hisses right back. Cat communication.
“Yeah- er, nice. Little shit couldn’t even get a decent blow,” Huntsman snorts, trying to play it off. He smirks, waving his hand, his tone lowering to a soft grunt. “It’s whatever. Just- keep it faaar away from me.”
Sandy smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh- will do, Hunts. Honestly, I . . . he’s not the only one surprised by your visit. Why’d ya come?”
As Huntsman fumbles for a reply, the blue behemoth pulls out a bag of bakkwa, popping open the container and pulling out a piece. He divides it and feeds some to the kitten perched on his left shoulder as he turns around. The cargo ship must need some tending do, considering Sandy’s sudden departure to the ship’s front. After a moment’s hesitation, the assassin tails after him, hands shoved into his pockets.
Okay. This is easy. Syntax told him what to say.
“I was bored.”
Huntsman physically winces at his own wordplay, mentally facepalming. No! Syntax told him to tell the truth – that he missed Sandy. That he enjoys the giant’s company. Not this! Bored?!
As Sandy chuckles in mild confusion and endearment, Huntsman waves his hands about, quickly backtracking. “Uh- no! Not what I meant! I just-“ Oh, hell, the black cat on Sandy’s shoulder is wearing the most shit-eating grin Huntsman’s ever seen a cat give him. He growls to himself. “I just- wanted to give ya this.”
Sandy hums in question, hauling a few boxes over to the south side of the ship towards the crew cabin. He pauses mid stride, giving Huntsman his full attention as he sets the boxes down. “Hm?”
It makes Huntsman’s heart skip a beat. To have someone focused on him, despite other duties and distractions, does something to his poor, tiny little grinch heart. Huntsman can feel his cheeks heating up, and in an effort to save his pride the assassin whips out the gift he’d brought.
“Tea.” He grunts. Shoves the little box of Sandy’s preferred tea into his massive blue hand.
Fucking hell, Syntax made it sound so easy. This is harder than hunting down a secret spy corporation in the middle of a Christmas rush hour.
“Huh?” Despite his confusion, there’s not an ounce of judgement on Sandy’s face. Both he and the little kitten on his shoulder glance down at the box of tea, the confusion slowly melting into realization. And then? A genuine smile lights the behemoth’s features. “Oh! Aw, Hunts, ya didn’t have to! I’m not gonna lie to ya, though, I was running out of this specific blend.”
Score? Jackpot? Huntsman finally getting something right??
The assassin breaks into a huge smirk, chest puffed out as he crosses his arms and nods. “Hell yeah. Of course I knew. A-And I won’t take it back, it’s a gift and you’re keeping it because I said so.”
“Well, of course I’m keeping it!” Sandy chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up. Huntsman hadn’t noticed the giant had been kneeling to be semi face-level with him, but the realization makes the assassin grit his teeth. Right. His height will be a consistent hinderance to everything.
“Thanks, Hunts. You, uh, wanna stay for a bit ‘n chat? You and your kind have been pretty absent as of late, I was getting kinda worried.”
“Worried? About- about me? You-“
Huntsman cuts himself off, grumbling under his breath. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Sandy is a natural empath, you’re not special.
He grunts in response to Sandy’s comment, following him as the behemoth ducks into the crew cabin, holding the door open for the spider demon. Cheeks suddenly warmer than before, Huntsman clears his throat awkwardly and peers around inside.
“We were down for deep sleep, big guy. Spider demons can’t function in this shit weather.”
Sandy’s eyes twinkle in amusement, enjoying the way Huntsman seems to make himself right at home in the cabin. He hisses at a few cats perched on the couch, who quickly scurry off to safety as the assassin collapses on the plush cushions. The little black kitten on Sandy’s shoulder remains – they’ve found some sort of safe space up there. Besides, it’s not like Huntsman could ever reach them. Win win.
“Ehh, you seem to function pretty well to me, Hunts,” Sandy replies, sparing an occasional glance over his shoulder to see how the assassin is settling in. It’s honestly rather domestic.
The blue behemoth begins brewing tea, the steam of pre-made boiling water and the smell of herbs reaching Huntsman’s sharp nose, and he takes a deep whiff. “I couldn’t sleep, anyways. The caves can get pretty boring the longer you stay there.”
“W-Well, I hope I’m not boring to you . . .”
“Wha- no!” Huntsman scoffs, letting out a bark of laughter. Sandy? Boring? Not in a million years. The spider demon snorts to himself, making himself right at home on the old couch. His claws pluck at the tears in the cushions, perhaps the work of a devious cat. “Bullshit. You’re not boring. Hell, you’re a warrior! Even if you used to be, your history is something I can respect. And, uh-“ Huntsman tugs at his collar, looking nervous again. “I-I don’t just see you as a bricked-up behemoth of a guy, y’know. This tea gig you got . . . it’s nice.”
Sandy hums in acknowledgement, busy prepping two mugs of steaming tea. There’s a grin on his face; he really appreciates Huntsman’s comments. “Aw, gee. Thanks, Hunts. Pretty sure I told you, but my therapist recommended this tea. Was the first herbal mix I ever tried, n’ I fell in love! Can’t beat a hot cup of tea, always seems to solve every problem.”
“Hmph. If it were that simple, I would’ve opened a damn tea shop myself, big guy.”
“Doesn’t hurt to dream – that’s what I like to think, anyways.”
Sandy chuckles again – a sound Huntsman found he quite likes to hear- as he turns around, two cups of tea on a tray. Huntsman graciously accepts his own mug, blowing on it gently before taking a sip.
Honestly, nothing beats Sandy’s tea.
It seems to calm every nerve in his cold, tired body. He exhales loudly, smacking his lips. “I ain’t gonna lie to ya. This might be the best cup you’ve made yet.”
“Really?” Sandy beams, taking a seat beside Huntsman on the couch – the hunter biting his lip at the way the cushions dip under the behemoth’s weight. It causes Huntsman to lean into Sandy, but not enough to invade his personal space. The kitten on Sandy’s shoulder moves to the crook of his neck, curling up and tucking its nose under its tail. Sleepy little guy. “Thanks, Hunts. What’s with all the compliments, huh? You’re suddenly a pro – been wondering what happened to the old you.”
Huntsman winces slightly, struggling to form words. His fingers drum on the edge of his mug, his eyes darting to the cabinets lining the cabin wall. He can feel every rock and sway of the ship as it floats in the ocean water.
“Uh . . . I dunno. Shit, am I acting weird?”
Sandy blinks, sensing the edge in Huntsman’s rough, croaky voice. “Oh! No, actually I was gonna say it’s a not a bad thing. You were a real bugger back then. What happened?”
Huntsman opened his mouth, wanting to say those deadly words. Sandy happened.
But nothing comes out, and it’s something Syntax will nag him about later tonight (if the idiot is still awake). Swallowing the words he wishes to say, Huntsman glares off to the side. “Dunno. People don’t stay the same, that’s for fuckin’ sure. I’d eat my own grenades if otherwise. Besides! There’s no point in seeking conflict right now ‘cause my Queen has us all on hiatus. Can’t do shit unless she wants to play ball.”
“Ohhh, gotcha. So you’re just- dormant. Temporarily. So launching attacks on Megapolis is like a tradition or something?” Sandy hums, and – oh, wow. He’s teasing Huntsman. The hunter can clearly tell from the twinkle in Sandy’s eye.
He scoffs, snorts, and gulps his tea. “HA! Y’know what? Maybe we will. Launch an attack and purge the city of those furry little freaks.”
Huntsman glares pointedly at the cats wandering about the cabin. A few sense his glare and hiss, not entirely unwilling to start a fight. Huntsman is ashamed to admit he’s lost a battle or two to the mass mob of them. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and slumps on the couch. His tea is about halfway done (and the idiot thinks that’s his timer for how long he’s allowed to stay here with Sandy. So he sips slowly).
“Well, er- they’re not that bad, y’know,” Sandy implores, trying to make his case. He sits awkwardly, but it’s honestly more endearing than anything else. “I can see why you guys don’t like each other, though.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Huntsman’s eyes zero in on the black kitten on Sandy’s shoulder.
Oh yeah, he’s holding a grudge. He can still feel the sting of those tiny claws, the ghost scratches of a panicked creature.
The two fall into a comfortable silence, the atmosphere almost lazy. Within the cabin, Huntsman can barely feel the cold of snow and ice outside, can hardly feel the chill of winter weather crawling up his spine. Maybe it’s the tea, maybe it’s the company. Probably the ladder.
Honestly, moments like these are Huntsman’s favorite. To finally be able to forget about everything else – his duties to his Queen, the constant rivalries between clanmates and citizens alike. For a few precious minutes, it’s just Huntsman and his tea, and a good friend who puts up with his bullshit. The hunter’s cheeks feel incredibly warm at this rate, and he tries to focus his attention on the icicles hanging off the roof end outside the cabin.
“Hey – Sandy?”
He’d phrased it awkwardly, and Huntsman is unable to meet the behemoth’s kind gaze. “Yeah?”
“When the year ends, I . . . will you, um.” Huntsman sighs, the sound so deep and gravelly it comes off as a growl. The spider demon was never good at this. Never good with talking. “Next year, do you . . . d’ya think you’ll stick around?”
Sandy pauses, his cup of tea half drained. With a look that borders on concern, he focuses on Huntsman. “Whaddya mean?”
“Nothing! Shut up- ah, I mean-“ Huntsman coughs, trying not to sound like a prick. Sandy was just asking a question; there’s no need for the spider demon to go off on his ass. The big guy doesn’t deserve that. Mumbling a grudging apology, Huntsman sighs. “Shit happens. People come, and people go, take of from me. I know. But I want you to be level with me. D’ya plan on staying next year? You got places to be outside the city?”
Sandy’s brow furrows in thought. He taps his chin, letting out a hum. “Uhh . . . well, it’s nice of you to ask, Hunts. I dunno! I’ll probably stay – MK and the others, well . . . I kind of like looking after ‘em.”
The spider demon’s heart skips a beat, and he doesn’t know why. For a wild reason, his fingers are tingling for something other than the mug he’s gripping. Something warmer, full of life. Huntsman sighs deeply. “Ah. Right. Your friends. Is everything you do always for them?”
“Well, yeah!” Sandy rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, sipping his tea. “It’s kind of what I do, yknow? If not me, then who else?”
Huntsman rubs his chin. There’s truth in that, he’s unashamed to admit it. Rolling his eyes, the spider demon leans forward on the couch, elbows resting on his knees. With lidded eyes, he gazes down at the tea in his mug.
“So. You’re not leaving, then.”
Sandy smiles, shakes his head. His fingers absently stroke the black kitten’s fur as it curls up on his shoulder. “Nah. Why would I? I’ve got everything I need.”
There’s a small bout of silence.
“What about you?”
Huntsman stiffens, gritting his teeth. All four of his eyes flick to Sandy’s face, watching the way the blue behemoth sips tea and gazes down at him with a curious smile. “Me? You- I . . . well, if my Queen wants to stay, then of course I’ll stay.”
“Yeah, makes sense. But- what about you?” Sandy gently nudges Huntsman’s shoulder, prompting the shorter to look away quickly. “Disregarding what your Queen wants, I mean.”
He’s getting personal. Huntsman always found it hard to engage in this area.
“I . . . I guess so? I mean, there’s a shit ton of benefits to staying in a city full of idiots and prey,” Huntsman snorts, shaking his head. Despite that, there’s a twinge of conflict in the back of his head. What if his Queen sought another place to live? What if that meant leaving Megapolis – leaving Sandy? Huntsman’s gut twists at the thought and he doesn’t know why.
“So you’re staying, too.” Sandy’s eyes are gentle and welcoming.
“Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
The two share a look; one smiling and the other looking a bit baffled – at both himself and the topic at hand. Huntsman’s eyes flick to the black kitten as it stirs and yawns, its tiny teeth gleaming in the snow white light outside the cabin.
Honestly? Huntsman hated cats. Always have, always will (probably). So Sandy wasn't expecting to hear these next few words come out of the spider demon's mouth.
"Can I hold it?"
The blue behemoth took a moment to lean back just so he can see Huntsman in full. So much smaller than he, yet sitting so close their hips almost brush. The couch isn't very big, anyways. Clearing his throat, Sandy nods instinctively, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. "Uh- yeah! Are you sure? He's very friendly, I promise."
As Sandy gently entices the kitten to crawl from his shoulder onto his hands, Huntsman nods, face set. He'll do it for Sandy. The guy adores his cats; the spider demon is just displaying common courtesy, right? This is something Syntax would advise in doing if the runt were here. "You think I can't take him? Pshhh." Huntsman cackles to himself, chest puffed out as he waves his hand. "That thing is fuckin' puny. I could crush it in my hands like a grape."
"Please don't." Sandy chuckles nervously, knowing Huntsman is only joking (maybe).
In a moment, the larger of the two gently plops the kitten in Huntsman’s hands. The assassin stiffens, eyes blown wide, as the black furry demon bristles. It appears neither of them had expected this introduction to occur so quickly.
“Uh.” Huntsman grits his teeth, resisting the urge to hiss. “What’s his name?”
Sandy’s face splits into a cheery, yet understanding smile. “Oh! His name is Vee. I actually just took him in a week or so ago. Poor little guy just stumbled into my cabin one day looking really sick, so I took care of him,” Sandy explains, his deep, rumbly tone as he strokes the kitten’s neck with a finger. The smile on his face only widens as the creature leans into his touch.
Huntsman can feel a growl rumbling in his chest, ready to burst in a fit of reproach and disgust. Yet he continues to simply hold the kitten as gently as possible.
“Huh. So he’s a loner, huh? Little runt cant fend for himself?” Huntsman smirks. “Typical.”
The kitten hisses as though sensing the poison in the assassin’s tone. With an exasperated sigh, Huntsman sets the cat down in his lap, crossing his arms over his chest again.
“Well, he is pretty small. Can’t really help it, yknow?” Sandy hums, arms resting on the back of the couch as he watches Huntsman interact with the cat. Both of them seem to be having a staring contest, sharp piercing eyes trying to see who would back down first. “Honestly, if you think about it, he’s kinda like you. Without your clanmates, you’d be sort of lost, too, right? He needs to be around people who can take care of him, just like all of us.”
Huntsman cocks a brow. He hadn’t thought of it like that. He just saw the cat as weak, someone who would die in a few days of being stranded.
Was that an insult? Was Sandy making fun of him?
He bristles, lip curling as he fixes all four eyes on Sandy’s innocent features. “Huh. Guess you don’t need anyone, do ya. You’re strong enough to fend for yourself? Is that it? I can take care of myself, too!”
Sandy looks a bit taken aback, eyes flickering with confusion and sympathy. “Sure ya can, Hunts. As for me, I . . . sure, I could survive without my friends. But that wouldn’t be very fun. I like ‘em too much, and I really care about them, so in a way, I guess you could say I really can’t live without them. All of them.”
“All of them.” Huntsman scoffs doubtfully. “Even the kid?”
“MK? Yeah! He’s a good kid, Hunts, even though you don’t think so,” Sandy mumbles, but his tone is understanding rather than scolding. It makes Huntsman feel bad for bringing the mood down.
He scoffs, eyes dropping to the kitten in his lap – who, after throwing a little hiss fit, had curled up in the spider demon’s lap. A little black ball of fluff. Adorable – if Huntsman were a fan of cats. Maybe he can let this slide, though. With a grunt of indifference, he lets his hand drift down, fingers scratching behind the cat’s ear.
Purrs vibrate against Huntsman’s legs, and the assassin blinks. “I guess you’re right. Can’t give you shit for havin’ your own opinions,” he grumbles.
“Heh. Glad you understand.” Sandy pats the hunters back in good humor.
Huntsman glances up, unable to help the faintest of smiles. Sandy is a good guy – one of the best, and even though the hunter thinks it’s wasted potential to throw away such strength in favor of nursing a gentle heart, he can’t help but respect it. So with a sigh, he drops the hard topic to focus on the now. And the now is pretty damn good.
That same smile grows, and Huntsman strokes the back of Vee's neck, the tension in his body loosening. His shoulders slump, heartbeat slows, and it's rare moments like these where the spider demon finally lets his guard down. As the snow falls gently outside, the two are kept warm and cozy within the comfy atmosphere of the ship's cabin. More and more cats stream into the cabin as the cold outside becomes too irksome to deal with - something Huntsman can relate to. It's why he downs himself in so many layers of fur.
As the day drags on, Huntsman sees no point in leaving the good company he's managed to keep, and Sandy seems more than happy to give him that time. As the behemoth gives thanks for bringing tea, and the assassin thanks them for letting him stay.
Luckily, Huntsman is blissfully unaware of the audio device pinned to the back of his coat.
And Syntax, deep in the caves, grinning in amusement as he watches and listens to the spider demon stoke the fires of a relationship at last.