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Spoke wasn’t going to get used to this. He’d seen that stupid, half-obscured face of Ash too many times, and still the sight of the man sent shivers down his spine.
The glitching covering one of his eyes crackled pleasantly at the sight of the pile of elytra on the ground, and the lips of the man they’d been trying to get close to curled into a grin, revealing the row of sharpened teeth underneath.
Proud. He looked proud.
He swallowed down the gross taste that rose up in the back of his throat at the sense of accomplishment he felt as he raised his chin to meet Ash’s gaze — even if the other couldn’t look him in the eyes. He wasn’t here to make him proud. He wasn’t here to impress. Still, the approval with which he stared down at him, his gaze lingering on him specifically, made his chest warm, gave him a sense of belonging.
The words he was speaking didn’t register in his mind — at least nothing but the ones referring to him as ‘fish bucket’. Spoke watched him hop over the wooden railing, his thick boots thudding heavily when he landed on the ground by the elytra. Only when his gaze finally left them and flicked down to the pile did he dare to breathe again.
It didn't occur to him once that Ash might … know, there was no chance he did. He could only focus on the gloved hands that reached to pick up the gear.
“This is … unprecedented.”
He didn’t want the pride swelling in his chest. He didn’t want to see Ash’s features soften, switch to something excited, then ominous, and finally delighted. He didn’t want to imagine Minute smiling at him with a too-similar expression, because comparing those two to each other hurt more than a sword to the gut.
“Come up with me.” Ash said, and finally, he stepped away with a nod of his head, a tiny movement that had the three of them stumbling over their own feet to follow. “Don’t worry, come through the back,” he said, not stopping as he looked over his shoulder to see if they followed.
His eyes trailed the podium of nether bricks as he walked after him. Leo and Mapicc followed close behind, their armour clinking with each step they took. They stepped up the stairs as Ash guided them along, more patient than he could’ve expected from him.
“And just look.”
He did. Following his gesture, Spoke looked out over the great hall, taking in the — albeit empty — seats. All of them were built in a way to face them. It wasn’t hard to imagine people sitting there, staring at him, admiring him.
To his credit, he only jolted in place when an arm was slung around his shoulder, he didn’t actually jump. Ash’s hand rested on the pauldron of his armour, pulled him against his side. Even through the netherite, he could feel the warmth emanating from the man. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel as trapped as he probably should.
“Do you see how it feels to be at the top?” His breath tingled against Spoke’s neck, where his helmet didn’t quite meet his chestplate. It tasted like mint in the back of his throat, suffocatingly so.
“Do you see how it feels to oversee something?” The words were addressed to the three of them, but they echoed around in his mind like he’d personally said his name. The top. He wasn’t there just yet. Iron, gold, then diamond, they were slowly growing within reach of his hands. “Finally, for once in your lives?”
It was as condescending as it was uplifting. He turned his head to Ash, took in the expression he wore, and swallowed the lump in his throat when, in turn, his attention fell on him too. He was getting somewhere. Ash was looking at him.
Ash’s lips twitched into a smile that disappeared quickly again into something more serious. He shook him by the shoulder before he let him go, but not without lingering for a second longer. “You three have impressed me today.”
Admittedly, he didn’t pay much attention to whatever was said next. It was just more of sucking up to Ash, of receiving the bulky keys as a reward — he tried not to compare the scene to a rich man handing out scraps to stray, starving dogs — and being called a friend, somewhat, before three chestplates decorated with shimmering iron trims were pulled from the man’s inventory and dropped by their feet. The three of them hurried to pick up their respective sets. Spoke was the first to unclip his copper-trimmed armour and let it fall to the floor, to be replaced by the iron one.
Once again, Ash’s face was tainted with approval. Spoke pretended, once again, that it didn’t matter to him and didn’t have him puffing out his chest with pride. He was just one step closer to being on diamond rank and therefore getting close enough to the mafia boss to bury his axe in his neck so fast he wouldn’t have the chance to escape. That was all he was proud of.
Not at all because no one looked at him like this, totally. Because, really, when was the last time someone didn’t stare at him like he was a kid, who didn’t know what he was doing? He couldn’t remember the last time someone didn’t look at him with either hatred, pity or some kind of mix of the two. Despite everything, they all saw a kid and war criminal. This was a … nice refresher. Finally, someone didn’t judge him for what he’d done and who he was.
He was snapped out of his thoughts when Ash drawled out a sigh, hands twitching where they rested on the table he leaned against. “I’m going to destroy the server,” were the words that left his mouth, filled with longing, and excitement. “Down to its last atom, and it’s going to be beautiful.” He grinned, letting his head roll back so he could watch them from the corner of his eyes.
It made Spoke step back, glance over at the others even if they wouldn’t see, and swallow thickly so he wouldn’t regret the mistake of making a noise. Was he so caught up in his own head after doing something right for once that he’d momentarily forgotten this man was pure evil?
“I don’t think you’d be able to understand that, and I frankly don’t think you guys understand what my mission is, but the mafia will rule.” He pushed himself away from the table to dig into his inventory again. “And I have full faith in you guys to do that.”
Spoke nodded, hearing the shuffling of the other two doing the same; their movements exaggerated so Ash could properly see their agreement even if his words made their stomachs twist. He forced the nausea down in favour of focusing on the three thin books he conjured up, holding them up between his fingers. When he threw them, the three of them struggled to catch them in one go. Ash just laughed.
“The two other people are- they are long gone; they flew through that hole right there.” He nodded towards the exit on the back end of the stage. “You guys should be ready for your next mission.” And he must’ve let out a huff of amusement at the way they backed up immediately, eagerly opening up their books to see what they would do next. He hardly watched them put on their elytra, back turned to them to stare into the empty space of the church.
“Adios, my three friends,” Ash said, just as they jumped into the air and popped a rocket each.
Spoke couldn’t help but look back at him, even if the man didn’t do the same. Friends. He didn’t like it, he didn’t. Ash was just getting under his skin, getting words into his head to fortify his loyalty. They weren’t getting to him. He had a mission.
He would feel no remorse when killing him. He wouldn’t. He wouldn't … right?