Chapter Text
Your name is Cuno and you know exactly how to solve all of your problems. Well, almost all of them. The one problem you have to solve before solving every single other problem and going to fucking Solved-Problem City, is convincing C to go along with it. And so far, no luck.
“No, Cuno, I don’t like this lame pig talk!” Your main bitch C, your ride-or-die bitch, your take-your-dad’s-punch-for-her bitch, peers at you with obvious distrust in her green eyes. Ouch! That shit’s enough to give you heart damage. You got fucking heart damage up in this bitch now, like some kind of lame wuss. Like some kind of pussy.
BITCHMAKER [Trivial: Failure] - Well, fuck that. You’re Cuno and you’re going to lay down the fucking law.
“Too fucking bad. We’re in Cuno’s fucking Kingdom. Where Cuno makes the fucking law.” You gesture around your fuck shack expansively. Yeah, take it in. The mummified pig head, the bedding, the City of Night, this primo fucking real estate she’s occupying. The FALN pants she’s wearing. Cuno calls the fucking shots.
LOOKING AT SHIT [Easy: Success] - You see her tense up, like a startled animal. Her eyes gleam in the half-light, pupils turning to pinpricks. Shit! Some psycho shit is about to go down.
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST SHIT [Medium: Success] - Stop. She’s afraid. If you push her too much, she’ll see it as a threat to her life. And you know, deep down, how she dealt with those.
STUPID FEELING SHIT [Formidable: Success] - No. She’s afraid of you and for you. She doesn’t want to hurt you or see you hurt. But she will. If she must, she will.
The Kingdom of Cuno is suddenly nothing but a small rickety shack, in a small muddy yard. Wind rattles the wooden boards. Her breath catches in her throat.
“Hold on C, the Cuno isn’t talking right. Hold on,” you sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. It’s fine, you can explain better. You can defuse this. “Cuno got a plan , C. A plan to help both of us. Both of us, okay? Let me explain.”
“A plan? What kind of pig plan are you making with pig talk? Has talking to disco bacon f****t fried your brain? Did he tamper with your dad’s kilo?” She’s skeptical, you can see that, but the tension in her shoulders is gone. No longer a springed coil, a fucking killer, a snake about to strike, tear your throat out, but just a girl. A girl in a hat too big for her, with her arms around her knees.
You start with the classic. “C, pigs are fucking corrupt–” but she interrupts you with an exasperated “–I know!”
You shake your head, continuing. “No, C, you don’t know, but that’s okay, because Cuno does the thinking shit, the lightning fast shit, the conniving shit. Cuno does the tricking shit, the manipulation shit. Cuno got the pig of the apocalypse to respect the Cuno, like the Cuno. Come think with me, C.”
“Uuuughhh, FINE,” she watches you, cautiously. You can see the gears in her head turning, but you don’t know what machine they’re moving.
“Pigs are fucking corrupt. Yes? Pigs protect pigs. Right?” Now this is always a good bet. Nothing gets C going as much as this.
“Right! The fucking paskapääs don’t care what they do to us! Fucking mulkkupäät-” and she trails off in a mumble of her crazy nakkerspeak. Fucking psycho. “So, why do you wanna be a fucking pig, Cuno? You wanna cover for them? You wanna be their bitch ?”
You ignore that provocation. You’re no one’s bitch and you know it. You know how she wants you to act, to puff up and get mad at her and drop it, but you’re death-gripping this plan with both hands. “C, you’re thinking small scale. You need to think big scale. You need to think like Cuno, future king of Jamrock. Now, if pigs protect pigs, and you’re a pig…”
“Then you protect pigs!”
“And pigs protect you .”
Silence. You …think she’s getting it. She doesn’t like it, but she’s getting it. Then, finally, she speaks, and it’s a strangled whisper. “If you’re a pig, if Cuno is a pig, you’d have to take me away. You’d do that, in exchange for their protection…? You’d sell me?” She’s about to cry. She doesn’t get it at all. Her fists ball up and she curls into herself and wheezes, fighting for air.
If you had a heart, this shit would break it. Thankfully you don’t, and the tight feeling in your chest is merely speed withdrawals. Speed withdrawals, and annoyance at how thoroughly she refuses to get it.
STUPID FEELING SHIT [Godly: Success] - She can’t imagine being protected by anyone but you.
You’re having an entirely different kind of speed withdrawal happening in your chest right now.
“No, C! If we’re both pigs, if you’re a pig, it would be fine! You would be safe. No one is taking C away from Cuno. No one is taking C away from anything . C can do what she wants. Pig C, big pig C, untouchable C. Pig cash pig guns pig profit. Pigs funding our shit. Respecting our shit. You get me?”
She’s not convinced, but you can tell she got it. “...But Cuuunooo, we’d have to do pig shit!”
You throw up your hands. “Cuno doesn’t FUCKING care! Cuno can do pig shit. Cuno can out pig the pigs. Cuno can do anything. Cuno can be boss pig, premium cut bacon, grass-fed organic shitting out truffles pig. Cuno can do anything - Cuno would…” Your voice breaks, damn it, your voice breaks – “...do anything, for his main girl C. If Cuno needs to be a pig to do it, then…”
You rub furiously at your eyes. Damn it.
“...Cuno…” Her voice is way too fucking fragile for what’s going on. You don’t want this to be a fucking feelings fest, like some kind of pussy parade fest. What is she, a fag?
Thank fuck, the moment passes. She sounds shrill again, pleased. “I like this idea. Tricking pigs! Manipulating those stupid fägäri into it!” You’re so impossibly relieved.
“Yeah, C, yeah! You fucking get it!”
“But how are you going to convince them, Cuno? You’re fucking twelve!”
Not only are you twelve, but your pig and his main squeeze fucked off somewhere, following clues and shit. Sniffing out truffles. You doubt they’ll return, as you saw some other, far more boring pigs snuffle around Whirling before climbing back into their motor carriage and whizzing off. In such a damn hurry, too - must have been late for their group circle jerk section. Gotta grab your errant pigs and stuff them back into their pens, no doubt.
None of that shit matters, though. You know exactly how to be heard.
“Leave this shit to the future king of Jamrock.”