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The TV switches to one of the news channel conglomerates, and the two demons seated by the counter turn their attention up to it.
“Reporting live from Thieves Den is yet another attack from Nightshade!”
Slingshot emerges from the back, plates set to serve the Playgrounders. The two turn away from the elevated screen and wave back to the cafe owner, whose attention was tuned into the broadcast in horror.
“The authorities are hard at work to combat the villain, who was first spotted at 10:21 tonight…”
The anchor’s words fade out as the camera zooms into the battle. A helicopter hovers above to commentate on the two phighters; the desert hero and the detested villain clash in a sensationalized show, as if this were all a show.
The hero kicks up a cloud of dust that conveniently masks the zone as well, leaving the audience in abated breaths until the obscuration dissipates and reveals Nightshade pelting the hero with her thorns. The announcers conveniently shift all their focus on the villain’s brutal attacks, ignoring the sustained injuries on Nightshade’s figure.
Obnoxiously loud chewing fills the tense air as Skateboard invites him into their conversation. “You seeing this, Sling?” he asks.
“Yeah,” he follows along, “I do.”
A muffled crack from the TV draws their attention back, finding the villain whiz across the street like a ragdoll. The hero opens their mouth to argue with Nightshade, and the reporters can only guess what was taking place. Causing chaos was a theory, while nefarious plot for rebellion was another.
The camera suddenly cuts out right before the hero stands in front of Nightshade, grinning like she had just caught her prey. Commercials and PSAs and commentary plays again, and Slingshot has to remind himself to not pelt something at its screen to force it off.
“I still don’t get why they put a curfew,” starts Boombox after a certain PSA pops up. “Last night’s party could have been so much more fun if those guys at the top didn’t stick their hand in our business.”
Skate shrugs, too absorbed into his meal to reply meaningfully. “I dunno. They said they were trying to stop those villain attacks anyway, yeah?”
“…There have been more sightings, I guess.”
“Especially with villains!” a fire permeates his voice. “There was this… what did they call him, The Wanderer?”
“You mean the guy who got shot for inciting a rebellion?” Boombox so cleverly informs.
“He cut a building in half! That practically screams bad guy.”
“You’re just mad you didn’t get to watch it—“
“And this Nightshade guy, she’s crazy! She must’ve lost someone close if she’s this ruthless against the higher ups!”
Slingshot stills.
His mind turns to the cold, cold apartment, to the wind that freezes his feet in place, to Vine’s wailing in the cold air as she prays to gods that don’t exist, to Shuri being too cold and still and cold and still—
His friends are talking again, but he doesn’t hear— can’t hear the rest of the conversation. They don’t know anything, can’t know anything about the double life their supposed friend lives yet. He hasn’t told them about the sleepless nights dragging Vine back to sleep, or the long days spent researching for anything that could be a cure.
Sometimes, he wonders if he deserves to have companions like Boombox and Skateboard. Their visits have stretched out after recent laws, and he feels like he’s not pulling his weight in their relationships.
Despite this, he refuses to stand idly by as Vine deteriorates day by day.
“…do you think, Sling?” Skate’s voice permeates through the walls he has unconsciously put up.
“I’m closing up.” he suddenly announces, feet mindlessly dragging themselves to the door. He needs to get Vine out of combat. Why did she even sneak out today?
The two glance at each other, with Boombox elbowing Skateboard to say something. “What? Was it something I said?”
Yes. “No, I’m just a bit… tired.” he flips the open sign to a closed one.
Another glance. “…You know you can tell us if something’s wrong, right?” Boombox reassures.
“What he said!” Skateboard adds.
Their earnest eyes are hopeful, oblivious to the horrors of the world, yet he’d like to keep it like that as long as he can. He stifles a pained chuckle; he’s starting to sound like Katana.
…He misses Katana. His treats are probably rotting away on his doorstep, or maybe they’re sitting in the stomach of some stray cats.
“…I know.” he settles on. “Just, maybe not today.” He wracks his brain and predicts that Vine had probably left through Shuriken’s window this time, which would mean that their supplies would also be left in the same room.
A final glance. They have another silent conversation between them, conversations that they have noticeably left him out on.
“Do you want us to help?” proposes Skate.
Slingshot shakes his head. “Nah. it’s getting late now, and you guys should get going about now—“
The TV blares an announcement again, one that officially signaled the beginning of curfew.
“—or not.” Slingshot groans to himself. Of course they’re stuck in the cafe, and of course she had to go out right before curfew. For someone who lectures them on staying safe, she sure has no concern for her own safety.
Skate leaps from his seat. “Damn, it’s been that long?”
Slingshot looks back at them. He can’t kick them out, less they risk getting sent to jail for something silly like walking around after hours. He doesn’t know if he can take another loss.
“Tell you guys what, you guys can hang out upstairs until morning…”
Their eyes light up at the offer.
“...If you stay in the living room,” he compromises, “…and don’t bother me. I need… my beauty sleep.” That seemed like a reasonable excuse. He doesn’t need them to accidentally stumble across their mangled bodies at 4 in the morning; he would not appreciate having to mediate between his friends and Vine.
They deflate ever so slightly, but their faces brighten once Slingshot opens the staircase door and invites them in. They walk up the small hallway, photos decorating the otherwise barren walls. He lets the distraction warm him up briefly before he hits his head on the door in his daze.
A snort from Boombox echoes behind. “Damn, you are tired.”
Slingshot ignores the comment and cracks the door ajar, checking if there was any glaring evidence of his vigilantism, but allows them inside after a quick glance.
The apartment is cold. He hasn’t had the time to fix the heater, which had to break in the middle of winter. The coldest winter in the past decade, for the record. It doesn’t help that the majority of the plantlike that would have otherwise livened up the room had migrated to Vine’s care.
Thankfully, though, they don’t comment on anything besides:
“Wow it’s cold.”
“Damn, bro, you live like this?”
Slingshot ignores Boombox’s tease and storms to Shuriken’s room, shutting the door behind him. He almost freezes at the sight of the overgrown plants. Or from the open window. The window made more sense, now that he thinks about it.
There’s muffled noise in the living room, presumably from his friends talking, and he only catches the tail end of, “…Isn’t that Shuriken’s room—“
“Do not mess with anything or I’ll get Vine to tear you apart,” Slingshot forces the door open to remind his friends. A moment passes before Skate does a mock salute and Boom echoes an “aye aye, captain!” to him.
He lingers in the doorway, wishing to join them, before slowly closing the door and leaving his friends behind him. Maybe when this is all over he’ll tell them.
But right now? He has a roommate to bring home.